Our Passage to Mystic River Part 2

When we passed Watch Hill, the sun was getting low, but it was still light out and visibility was high. We could see Fishers Island about 2 miles off in the distance, along with the buoys that would guide us into Fishers Island Sound. But by the time the sun was setting and we were less than a half mile off the shore of Fishers, we suddenly couldn’t see much of anything. A thick grey fog had circles around us like a great wool sweater. Peering into the seascape before us was just like trying to see through the small fuzzy spaces in cable knit yarn. Are you kidding me? I thought. Almost there and now this!? I was beginning to think Joe had orchestrated this whole trip full of tests and hurdles to see if I was truly worthy of being his sailing companion.

Prior to leaving on this trip, I had wanted to solely use the paper charts. I didn’t want to be tied to screens with GPS. It felt like cheating. I have certainly changed my tune on this and was deeply grateful for the technology at our fingertips. My only regret was that I did not learn the software better before we left. It is important to have a paper chart for wherever you are, but when you suddenly can’t see jack shit, the GPS software is a lifesaver.

Joe had dropped the sails as soon as he sensed the fog rolling in. Years of sailing in the San Francisco Bay had give him tons of fog experience. Once the sails were lowered and made up, he took over at the helm and I took over navigating with the help of the iPad. Unfortunately, the fog left so much moisture in the air that the iPad kept getting rain drops on it, even though it wasn’t raining! The device registered these drops as taps and kept zooming in or out on the map in infuriating ways. I positioned myself half in and half out of the dog house, so that I could look for buoys and talk to Joe, but still keep the iPad out of the elements.

“There’s a red buoy coming up in .5 miles,” I said. We couldn’t see it. “.4 miles now.” Still nothing but milky atmosphere in our sights. Only moments before we had had 9-10 miles of visibility, now we had about 200 feet!

About 3 miles into this foggy darkness, we were looking for red nun #20 which had a bell and light. We could hear the bell, but we were practically on top of it before we could see the light. Luckily, a few moments after that, the fog began to lift. First I noticed the stars. If I could see stars then the fog must be thinning. Indeed it was! And soon we could see shore lights.

Just in time, too, because navigating Mystic River for the first time in the dark was a big enough challenge! It seemed like there were boats everywhere, and the buoys were a little bit off from where the digital charts said they would be. (Imagine me looking at the GPS going “Number 14 coming up in .1 miles.” Meanwhile, Joe is pointing to red nun 14 off our starboard side at the same moment.) There are numerous shoals and mini-islands to watch out for. At one point I saw straight ahead what appeared to be the silhouette of trees and bushes in the middle of the river. Was I hallucinating or was that really there? (It was really there. Mystic River is crazy!)

Joe kept calm and took it slowly. He had studied the charts well before we left so he had a pretty good mental map of where the channel was, even though he’d never been there before. There was an eeriness to the river, like we were sneaking through a sailboat graveyard—dark shadowy masts, backlit by the light from the shore. Fortunately, there was no other traffic in the river so we just had to look out for fixed obstacles. (Of which, there are plenty!)

We were almost to the Railroad Bridge. On the other side of that was Fort Rachel Marina—home! We had sailed across the sound, come through the fog, navigated the spooky river of masts and beaten the hurricane home—the only remaining obstacle was that we couldn’t reach the bridge operator to open the railroad bridge for us! The Mystic Railroad Bridge (pictured above) is a swing bridge, similar to a drawbridge, in that it needs to be opened for us to get on the other side safely!

We started calling the operator on the VHF when we first got into Fishers Island Sound, with no response. I was trying to figure out some other means of reaching the operator (like using a land line) to no avail. Finally, about 10 minutes from the bridge, Joe tried again: “Mystic River Railroad Bridge this is Sailing Vessel Cygnet. Over.”

Finally a voice responded! And we arranged for the bridge to be opened.

We slid through the bridge opening and went past Fort Rachel Marina, upriver so that we could turn around and enter our marina from the other direction.

After Joe essentially pulled a U-Turn in the river, he had me take the helm again so he could prepare the dock lines. Then he took over and maneuvered that boat into our very own slip with such incredible precision and grace that I was blown away.

And then… I exhaled! We had made it! We had really made it! Over 100 nautical miles with various challenges thrown at us, but now we had arrived. Our boat was a little beaten up, but she had protected us well. We were safe and our relationship had somehow reached new levels even after 20 years together. I let everyone back at home know that we were tied up safely in our boat’s new home and Joe and I went in search of a drink and a meal.

Sitting at the bar at The Captain Daniel Packer Inne, I felt like we were in the closing scene of a movie. James Harris was singing in the corner with his lilting voice and plucky guitar, the drinks were perfection, and we chatted with new local friends about our trials at sea. We had rolled in tired, but elated, and we left nourished in every way. The closing scene of our epic journey could not have been more perfect if Hollywood had created it.

Of course, this wasn’t the end, but only the beginning. There was still the issue of the pesky oil leak to contend with, and many family adventures to come. But first, an incredible night’s sleep, cozy in our new port of call.