The Journey of the Osprey: Stamford to Morehead City

The Journey continued from Stamford Connecticut. For several weeks we had taken it easy. From Cape Cod to Stamford we did only day sails in relatively protected waters, nice weather, and all in sight of land. Plus we enjoyed plenty of lay days. Our last long sail, from Southwest Harbor to Provincetown, was a piece of cake. We set sail from Stamford a confident crew. That confidence would be brutally tested.

We left early on a pleasant morning. We sailed west in Long Island Sound for about 20 miles, before entering the East River. We sailed past Laguardia airport and other places of which I had heard, but have never seen.


After an hour or so, the East River turned south and there was Manhattan. That's when the sail became spectacular!

We sailed past the United Nations, the Chrysler Tower,

past the Empire State Building,



and under the Brooklyn Bridge. One of the attractions of the Bi-Centennial was the tall ships. Tall Ships from all over the world gathered and toured US ports. We saw a couple tall ships at dock on the East River.



The East River ends at Battery Park on Manhattan (far left in the picture).


The harbor opened up and we saw a number of other famous New York landmarks. The first was Ellis Island,



then the Statue of Liberty.




Looking back we had an awesome view of New York City. In 1976 the World Trade Center, only a few years old, stood proudly near the tip of Manhattan. This was one of the most memorable sails of my life. I was, and still am, in awe of New York City.



We sailed under the Verrazano Bridge in the afternoon, leaving the protected water and into the open ocean again. The plan for the next couple of weeks was to sail down the Atlantic seaboard, then into the Delaware Bay. Then we would sail up the Delaware to the canal that links it to the Chesapeake Bay. Finally down the Chesapeake to Norfolk, Virginia.

We had a beautiful evening and night sail down the New Jersey coast. I loved night sails when we could navigate by the lights on shore. The next day started just as pleasant. One thing you learn sailing, nice weather doesn't last forever.

The last thing I remember seeing on shore was Atlantic City, late in the afternoon. Earlier, I heard a weather report that called for scattered thunderstorms. So when the storm approached us from the southeast I really didn't think much of it. I figured we would simply ride it out and continue on our way. But THE STORM wasn't going to make it that easy.

Winds picked up and the rain pelleted us. We dropped the mainsail and the head sail and raised the foresail, leaving us with the infamous mizzen and foresail combination.

The winds strengthened to gale force. The waves grew to enormous sizes, huge ocean swells the likes of which we had never seen. Foam was spraying off the tops of the waves. We were fortunate for one thing the wind was coming out of the north which allowed us to sail downwind. Osprey raced downwind, surfing on the waves, lurching and heaving by the might of the wind and waves.

"Pitch-poling" is where the bow digs into the water and the boat flips end over end, "Broaching" is where the boat get sideways to the wind and waves and rolls over on its side. I could see how either could happen in these conditions. It was scary!

The helm was incredibly difficult to handle, and having the mizzen up didn't help. As a wave would approach us from behind it would lift the stern up and push the stern hard. The mizzen would catch the wind, adding to the force spinning Osprey into the wind. It would take the boat sideways to the wind and the waves, nearly laying the Osprey on it's side. To keep this from happening the helmsman had to counter the wave action just as the stern was lifting, by turning the wheel to starboard with all one's might. Too soon and you risked jibing. Too late, or too weak, the boat could broach. The strain on the rigging, especially the rudder, was incredible too. You could feel rudder shimmy and shake, as you leaned on the wheel with all your strength. We had a steering quadrant break in the Great Lakes the summer before. I just prayed Osprey would hold together.

Dad, Doug and I took one hour shifts at the helm, which seemed like an eternity. The hours went by slowly. This "scattered thunderstorm" wasn't relenting. In fact, it kept getting worse. Night fell and the sky went black. THE STORM blew harder. The waves got bigger, scarier.

Dad tried to lower the mizzen sail while going downwind but the sail was pressed tightly to the mast and rigging. The mizzen wasn't going anywhere. We didn't dare to turn into the wind to drop the sail either. Coming into the wind would require us to risk broaching twice. I was impressed when Dad threw warps over the stern which improved the helm somewhat. The drag from the ropes also reduced the chance of pitch-poling. Still it was a fight, a battle, a struggle. At the helm, I cursed the storm and screamed for it to quit. It didn't.



Navigation was sketchy. Using dead reckoning we plotted our course and running position. The storm pushed us south. For a while, I was hoping we could find the entrance to the Delaware Bay. If we could get behind Cape May, I thought, we could get some shelter from the wind and the waves. Our latest position fix was at least six hours old. We would need to identify a buoy if we were going to make the turn. But there was no chance the waves were too big, the sheets of rain and the spray too thick, to see a buoy.

Not knowing exactly where we were or exactly where land is made the anxiety more intense. (GPS navigation sailors never experience this. What a shame!) Our dead reckoning navigation showed us passing Cape May with no way to safely turn into the Delaware Bay. Now, we had a new concern, and this one just as threatening. Before, we wanted to stay close enough to shore to make the turn. Now, we needed to stay far enough out to sea not to run aground the on the land that juts out on the south side of the Delaware Bay. The new challenge at the helm was to make as much eastwardly progress as possible, as the gale pushed us onto a lee shore. To do this the helmsman had to risk broaching all the more. It was exhausting.

The battle at the helm continued through the night. The storm at sea scene in "Forest Gump" is a decent depiction of what it was like. For hour after hour the wind blew a gale. The sky was pitch black but the water was glowing from the phosphorous being churned up. It was surreal.

On my shift, sometime around 4 or 5 in the morning, the wind subsided. THE STORM was over after 12 grueling hours. Some scattered thunderstorm! As the sun rose the wind died. For what seemed like hours I sat at the helm of the Osprey, becalmed. The sails slatted back and forth as we bobbed in the undulations of the ocean. I couldn't see land. I knew everybody was dead tired, but I was still surprised at how long they slept that morning. I just sat there looking at the glassy water, pondering what we had just been through. Finally Doug, Mom and Dad arose to a hazy, but sunny and warm morning.

The question was, "Where are we?". Our best guess was that we were about 50 miles south of the Delaware Bay. Without wind we turned the engine on and steered a course west, back toward shore. After a couple of hours we saw a buoy. We read the markings. Doug tried to identify the buoy in our navigational aids book. He couldn't find it. Then he looked in a different book or a different section and finally found the buoy. It was the Chincoteague Delaware buoy about 10 miles off shore. The reason Doug couldn't find it was that it was 60 miles south of where thought we were. To go this far we must have been traveling at 12 knots during the storm, nearly twice Osprey's hull speed.

At this point, it was easier to go on to the Chesapeake Bay, than to go back to the Delaware. So we plotted a course south. Next stop Norfolk Virginia.

After a long day of powering we finally arrived a Norfolk Harbor that night. Norfolk is a major base for the US Navy. In the dark of the night we sailed past the huge silhouette of an aircraft carrier. It was so big. I was in awe.

While in Norfolk Doug and I noticed that the musical group Chicago was coming to town. Chicago was one of the hottest groups in the country. Unfortunately, the concert was going to be after we left. Doug and I decided to take the bus back to Norfolk from Morehead City.

We left the Osprey docked in Norfolk and we drove to Washington D.C., Annapolis Maryland, Williamsburg Virginia and Charlottesville Virginia.

This was an especially great side trip for me. I had never been in this part of the country.

I really enjoyed being in our nations capital. There was so much to see, including the Jefferson Memorial.

Thomas Jefferson seemed leave his mark on everything. We saw the University of Virginia,



and his wonderful and beautiful home Monticello.



Annapolis Maryland was one of the ports that we thought we would visit by water. But because of the storm, we drove to Annapolis.


After the great side trips we started down the Intercoastal Waterway, the final leg of the trip for me.



The inter-coastal waterway from Norfolk to Morehead City is a long and tedious trip. Hours upon hours of time at helm navigating from marker to marker to marker. The sun was brutally hot. I decided to take the opportunity of 3 days of isolation to quit smoking. This was a bad idea. I was uncomfortable and irritable. This is not the prescription for a happy day with 4 people on a 50 foot boat.



A beautiful Sunset near Pamlico Sound, part of the inter-coastal waterway in North Carolina. The beauty of the Sounds in North Carolina was the redeeming quality of the trip. After a very long trip powering down the inter-coastal waterway we arrived at Spooner's Creek Marina, in Morehead City.


I immediately bought a pack of cigarettes, putting the stamp of futility on the quiting smoking idea.

This was the end of the line for me, but just the beginning for my mom, dad and brother.



As with everything Dad had carefully planned Spooner's as the place where they would outfit and supply Osprey for the around-the-world trip. Dad was a meticulous planner and that would serve them well in the years to come. Reading accounts of other voyages, reading weather charts and learning about ports and facilities around the world, the trip was planned out in great detail.

From Spooner's Creek Marina looking out towards the inter-coastal waterway, you can see the inlet to the ocean. I said good-bye to Mom and Dad. This was tough. It was an emotional good-bye. I felt they would be fine, but there were so many unknowns and uncertainties. And there was the fact that just about every time into the ocean we got lost!

As planned, Doug and I took a bus from Morehead City up to Norfolk to see Chicago in concert. The concert was at the Scope Arena, downtown Norfolk.

On the street corner outside the Scope Arena, I said good-bye to Doug. It wasn't a particularly sad good-bye. But, I remember seeing something in his eyes. Whether he was just disappointed I was abandening ship, or apprehension about his adventure to come, I don't know. At that moment the thought crossed my mind, "There is a chance I may never see him again." Perhaps Doug sensed the same thing. I wished him luck.

With that, I walked off to the train station, my ski instructing job in Crested Butte Colorado and relative safety. Doug went back to the bus station, back to Morehead City, Osprey, and continuing the adventure.

The Journey of the Osprey: Cape Breton to Stamford

This foggy picture is of St Peters, Nova Scotia, the southern access to, and exit from, Bras d'Or Lake. The Atlantic coast of Nova Scotia is known for it's fog and treacherous rocky shoreline. However, when we cleared this point we had decent weather, sunny, good visibility, 8-10 knot winds, and 1 foot waves. None of this would last!

Not knowing what we were in for, Mom fixed us lunch, baloney sandwiches. I ate the sandwich not knowing this wouldn't be the last time I would see it.

We sailed into the Atlantic Ocean for the first time. Once we cleared the protective land to the west the waves grew, remanence of Hurricane Belle. The seas were confused. It was a real rough ride. Something broke on the mast and during the repair I got seasick. In fact, I think I got seasick just looking for the screwdriver to make the repair. That's when I got the second sighting of the baloney sandwich, as I threw up over the rail! I wasn't alone, everyone was feeling seasick.

The winds picked up and we had to make a sail change. I had to go to the bow sprit. In big waves the bow sprit was like a dunking stool. When I think of the biggest wave I have ever seen I think of this moment. I was sitting on the bow sprit bagging a sail facing aft, as we were going into the waves. I turned my head and looked over my right shoulder, then looked up...way up. Up there a wave was cresting. It was like looking up at a second floor balcony. "Oh Shit!" The wall of water broke on top of me. I have never looked up at a wave like that before or since.

We took a long tack out to sea, then a long tack back. On the return tack, we had lost a lot of visibility. We were in a the famous Nova Scotia fog. We were hoping to be able to pick up a buoy or a point of land to confirm our position but no luck. Late in the day, our dead reckoning position said it was time to tack back out to sea. At dusk, we tacked back out to sea without confirming our position.

The Nova Scotia coast is very rugged and unforgiving. There are lots of little islands (big rocks) and spits of land jutting out. I'm sure it would have been beautiful except we couldn't see a damn thing. Because the coastline is so treacherous, Nova Scotia has two lines of navigational buoys dotting the coast; the inner buoys were 4 miles apart 5 miles off shore, the outer buoys were 8 miles apart 10 miles out. We stayed on the tack out to sea all night.

The next morning, Dad took stock of the situation; sea sick crew, rough seas, difficult sailing with slow progress to windward, last fixed position more than 24 hours old, dangerous coastline and zero visibility. It could have been worse... there could have sea monsters! Dad made a truly heroic decision. Based on our latest dead reckoning position he plotted a course that brought us back to land at an angle. The thinking was that this would give us the best chance of sighting a buoy before a hitting a rock. He drew a line on the chart to a buoy, the outer buoy near Liscomb. Then he turned on the engine and powered.

We powered for hours in thick fog. The further we went, the closer to land we were, the higher the anxiety. After hours and hours of powering we saw some fishing boats. We tried to hail them with the radio as we approached them. If only they could give us a fixed position we would be alright. Just then we saw a buoy! We powered over to the buoy. On it was written one word,"Liscomb". Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. It was a miracle!

Once we had a fixed position the rest was pretty easy. We ran the outer buoys using dead reckoning. When we got close to a buoy we would go silent and listen for the bell or gong or whatever sound the buoy was making. Then on to the next buoy. We arrived at Halifax that night. The approach was foggy but the Harbor Master helped guide us in on the radio with his radar. (We had radar too, which I remember using in approaching Halifax harbor, but I can't remember using it to find the buoys. Oh well, it's been 35 years) Once we were inside the harbor the fog magically lifted and the lights of Halifax seemed like the brightest lights I had ever seen.

Halifax was a great port-o-call, giving us plenty to do and think about to forget our first encounter with the Atlantic Ocean. At this point we were getting pretty good a docking Osprey. I remember bringing our 51 foot boat in to a 25 foot berth. It was a challenge and exhilarating.

I was a fast-pitch softball pitcher in a pizza and beer league in Colorado...mostly beer. So I jumped at the chance to see the most famous softball pitcher of all time, Eddie Feigner "The King and His Court", who was playing in Halifax. Doug and I had a blast. This was just one of the many unplanned opportunities that being on this adventure provided.

One of the icons of Nova Scotia is the schooner Bluenose, the pride of the Halifax fleet around the turn of the century. It was a working fishing boat, as well as an outstanding racing boat. A replica of the Bluenose graces the harbor today.



From Halifax we took two side-trips in a rental car. One was east along the Atlantic coast to a famous fishing village and artist community, Peggy Cove.


Peggy cove was interesting and picturesque.


The other side-trip was north to the Bay of Fundy, the north coast of this part of Nova Scotia. The Bay of Fundy has the highest tides in the world. Using the same "bathtub effect" as the St Lawrence River Estuary, tides raise and lower over 50 feet, twice a day. We looked at a boat high and dry, miles from the water, knowing in a few hours the boat would be floating. The Bay of Fundy is truly unbelievable.

Our next sail was to cross the Gulf of Maine, which includes the Bay of Fundy. As water flows in and out of Bay of Fundy it creates up to 6 knots of current in the Gulf of Maine. What's more, the current goes in both directions! So how in the world were we going to account for that with our Dead Reckoning navigation? Looking at the Bay of Fundy took on a different meaning for the navigator of Osprey.



From Halifax we sailed southwest along the Nova Scotia coast. Visibility was a lot better leaving than when we arrived. We could see land most of the time. Cape Sable, the southwestern point of Nova Scotia is about 150 miles from Halifax. We sailed the first day and through the night. The next day we rounded Cape Sable and started crossing the Gulf of Maine. I was disappointed that we couldn't see the Cape. It would have been nice to get one last position fix from land before we started the crossing. On the other side of the Gulf of Maine was Mt Desert Island, Southwest Harbor, and the Hinkley shipyards where Osprey was built. It was Osprey's home port from 1959 through 1969. We were taking Osprey home.

We sailed through the night with fair winds and weather. The next day we knew exactly where we were, somewhere in the middle of the Gulf of Maine. The navigator confidently set his hand on the chart and said, "I reckon we're here." Dad practiced his celestial navigation again. Although the position was unlikely, at least it was in the ocean. We sailed on.

The question, "exactly where are we?", was becoming more important every hour. As the sunset we were closing in on the coast of Maine. Our Dead Reckoning position put us close enough to see land. We thought we had fairly good visibility, but at sea it's hard to know exactly how good. The Maine Coast has some pretty high hills that should be easy too see, but we couldn't see them. It is also jagged, dotted with lots of small islands (big rocks)...not very friendly. We weren't looking forward to a repeat of Nova Scotia. Yet still, we couldn't see land.

The yellow and pink hues of a beautiful sunset turned deep red and purple. Reluctantly, Dad went below to get some rest. His last words were, "Let me know if you see something." Within minutes we saw a flash of light off the port bow. Dad popped back on deck, breathing a sigh of relief. At first we thought it was the Mt Desert Rock light, but the flash was 10sec not 15sec. We determined that it was the Matinicus Rock Lighthouse, which can be seen for over 20 miles. We were about 30 miles south of course. Not to bad considering the tidal currants and other variables.

We plotted a new course towards Mt Desert Rock light. Through the night visibility seemed to improve and we spotted the Mt Desert Rock light, 15sec flash. Early in the morning we made our final course change toward Southwest Harbor. Osprey was heading home.



Doug and I took the watch. It was a glorious morning, a royal blue cloudless sky, and a warm 15 knot wind just forward of the beam. Protected by islands, the waves were small. Osprey cut smoothly and swiftly through the water. Like a "horse to the barn", Osprey was racing towards Southwest Harbor.

Doug and I trimmed the sails just right, and lashed the helm. Osprey was self-steering. Actually, Doug and I created an imaginary helmsman, named Fred, who was steering the boat. With Fred on the helm Doug and I were free to roam. I went below and fixed coffee and breakfast. For miles Fred steered. Doug and I enjoyed the morning, the scenery, and Osprey flying through the water. To add to the euphoria was the satisfaction of safely crossing the Gulf of Maine. I look back on this as the most enjoyable sail of my life! It was perfect!


Sailing on, we encountered an amazing number of lobster pot buoys. which presented a unexpected challenge. We arrived at Southwest Harbor around noon. From Halifax to Southwest Harbor took more than 3 days, our longest sail to date.

We anchored in the harbor, and almost immediately we started getting curious looks from passer-bys. "Osprey's Back" was the talk of the town.

Ashore, Mom went into a drug store. Looking at postcards, she noticed a postcard of Southwest Harbor featuring a boat that looked like Osprey. Taking a second look, it was Osprey! Mom bought dozens of those postcards. I was proud to be on Osprey.


The plan was to spend a couple of weeks in Southwest Harbor. Dad wanted to take advantage of the craftsmen familiar with Osprey to get some repairs done, which would take sometime. Dad met the former captain of the boat. He always disliked that postcard picture of Osprey because the bumpers were over the side when the picture was shot. Dad was told about a lady who made pies. "Pies you can heft." I believe was the selling point that carried the day. So we ate delicious pies the whole stay.



A Hinkley yatch moored in Southwest Harbor, Maine; with Acadia National Park in the background.



Acadia National Park, the first National Park east of the Mississippi, was the major attraction on the Mt Desert Island. We climbed Cadillac Mountain. The view was spectacular.

We went on other side-trips around Mt Desert Island, but the big trip, and the most unbelievable story, was when Doug and I hitchhiked to Boston.

Our plan was to stay at a cheap hotel downtown, the Carlton House. and see the historical sites of Boston. We started out early Friday morning. Boston was nearly 300 miles away. It would take all day to get there. Doug and I caught a ride out to US Hwy 1. Then another ride or two south on US 1 to Camden. Maine. It was a little slow going. Now mid-afternoon, we stuck out our thumbs again.

This time a young man in two seater Triumph pulled over and offered us a ride. Fortunately, he was going all the way to Boston. Doug and I crammed into the passanger seat, spilling on to the console stick shift. We zoomed off.

As uncomfortable as this was, what really concerned us was the driver was speeding, doing 80 mph on the two lane road. I will never forget the first words out of his mouth, "My hassle is I got to get to the Western Union Office in Boston by five. My dad is wiring some money and I need to get there before they close." It was Friday and he couldn't wait till Monday to get the money. The driver was clearly upset. Doug and I feared for our lives.

Doug and I figured there was no way we would get there by 5:00pm even if he went 90 mph. That's if we didn't have an accident first. This is where Doug proved his worth. He came up with an idea, "In the next town we come to, you could go into a bank and see if the wire could be sent to that bank." The driver thought that made sense, and he slowed down. I thought, "Agarn, I don't know why they say you're so dumb!"

The next town was Bath, Maine. The driver went into the bank and came out a few minutes later. "Can they wire the money here? we asked.

"No, but the Western Union Office in Boston is open 24 hours!" he smiled. Now that the pressure was off he turned out to be a good humored guy. The driver's name was Rick Money, about 20 years old, from Ohio. He was heading to Boston, Cambridge really, to play his guitar in Harvard Square. He had heard it was a Mecca for street musicians. Also, he said there were lots of Coffee houses with live music. He was planning to stay at the YMCA.

In the bank, he got the word about the ship building museum in town. Before we left town we went to the museum. Everybody was relaxed and having a good time. It seemed Rick could find a joke in just about everything, just like Doug and I. We made quite a trio.

"Who says I'm dumb!!!" said Agarn.

Rick got directions to the Western Union Office at the bank too. We got to Boston after dark. We exited the freeway, went one block, looked around, and there was the Western Union Office. It was that easy. Rick went inside and got his wire. The next stop was Cambridge.

We didn't have directions to Cambridge. But how hard could it be to find a whole city? We just jumped back on the freeway and off we went. The first wrong turn took us down to "Old Ironsides" the US Constitution. We found this amusing. That was the start of a series of missed turns, and incidents that had us laughing for hours.

Leaving Old Ironsides, Rick mistakenly turned the wrong way on an empty one-way street. We yelled, "Rick, this is a one way street!" Before he could turn around we drove past a police station going the wrong way on the one way street. Rick said something funny. Another missed turn took us to Fenway Park. We pulled over to ask someone directions. They reccommended we take the subway. We pondered that, "Will the car fit on the subway?" We found this hystarical. Another time we drove past a crowd of people standing on a corner. Rick stopped the car and we all got out to ask directions. By the time we got back to the corner, everyone was gone, a bus was pulling away...more laughs and jokes.

Several hours after we started our search for Cambridge, we drove over a bridge and to our surprise we saw a sign that said "Welcome to Cambridge". We drove past the YMCA. Now to find Harvard Square. We saw a group of kids. Rick pulled over, rolled down his window to ask directions. Before he got a word out, a beautiful girl leans in and says, "You guys want to go to a party." "Yeah!" Rick said. Unbeknownst to us this WAS Harvard Square! The party was a few blocks away at one of the kids houses. Although the party wasn't much, they let us stay the night.

In the morning, Doug and I said good-bye to Rick. He was an entertaining guy. Doug and I took the mass transit to Boston. We took the walking historical tour around downtown Boston and checked into the Hotel. The Carlton House gave you everything you needed in a hotel room, a door, a window, 2 beds, a bathroom, and not much else.

The next day we went back to Harvard Square to check out the street musicians and the coffee shops. Who do you think we ran into? Rick Money! We decided to go somewhere, so Doug and I piled into the Triumph again. It was like old times, missed turns, wrong way on a one way street, and more zany antics.

Later, we actually did watch the street musicians, including Rick Money. I was praticularly impressed with a pantomime act. The coffee houses were also very entertaining.

The next day Doug and I hitchhiked back to Southwest Harbor and Osprey. Mom and Dad asked, "How was your trip to Boston?"

"Oh, it was very educational."



When the repairs were finished on Osprey, we set sail. Our next port of call was Provincetown MA, on Cape Cod, about 200 miles away. The sail was fairly close to shore the whole way. Which meant we knew where we were the whole way.

Although it was uneventful there was something that made this sail memorable. I was on the helm at night. We decided to reduce sail, by dropping the main. The mainsail was big, 470 square feet of canvas. We always used two people to handle the mainsail when we dropped it. Doug did it by himself without a hitch. From that point on I knew Doug was a sailor.

Provincetown and Cape Cod were completely different landscapes from what we just experienced. It had small sand bluffs over looking the ocean. Also, there were many more tourist, boats and people. The contrast made me appreciate Nova Scotia and Maine all the more.


From Cape Cod the plan was to do a series of day sails from Massachusetts to New York. The first stop was Martha's Vineyard. We sailed through the Cape Cod Canal, Buzzards Bay, and Woods Hole. We anchored out at Vineyard Haven.

A short sail away was Block Island.



From Block Island we sailed to Mystic Seaport Connecticut. Mystic was the first amusement park we had visited in a while. Actually it was more of a historical park, but it did have a Ferry Boat ride. The approach to Mystic Harbor was a river channel with sand shoals on the sides.

We heard the Ferry Boat whistle blow twice. We figured that meant the Ferry was coming out. Doug was at the helm. He held Osprey off to the side of the narrow channel, expertly using forward and reverse to hold our position.

The ferry didn't move. After about five minutes the whistle blew again and the ferry started backing out. At this point we figured the first whistle was just signalling the tourist that they had five minutes to get on the boat ride. None the less, Doug held his position feathering forward and reverse. I checked our position against the shore and I was amazed at the steady job Doug was doing.

The ferry backed into the channel, spun around, and started down river past us. Doug gave the ferry a wide berth holding Osprey perfectly still on the side of the channel. The tourists on the ferry smiled, pointed and waived at us. We smiled and wave back proud to be on the Osprey.

After the ferry past by Doug put it in forward and gave it some gas. Osprey didn't move. A little more gas...nothing. We were aground and probably had been for the last three paragraphs. You got to wonder what the tourist were smiling and pointing at..."Look Mommy, that boat's aground!" Doug gunned it and Osprey dislodged from the sand bar.

We docked in Mystic Seaport and explored the museum and boats the next day.


Our next stop was an Essex, Connecticut. Essex is about 10 miles up the Connecticut River. It was a very quaint and picturesque town.



We tied up to the municiple dock and walked through town to quaint and picturesque Inn and had a wonderful meal ashore. Essex displayed New England charm better than any place we went.



Our last stop on the Northeastern Seaboard was Stamford, Connecticut. We stayed at one of the largest marinas in the US, Yatch Haven West. Yatch Haven had lots of boats...ambiance not so much.



Being a bedroom community, Stamford has a commuter rail to New York City. I experience the morning commute with men and women who brought their cup of coffee and newspaper on the train for the hour ride. I tried to imagine what life would be like with an hour commute each way. This was only the second time I had visited New York City.

I was going to meet Joyce in New York City for a few days. I had found a cheap hotel, the Essex Hotel. (I think it was a sister hotel with the Carlton in Boston. They must have been a chain).

I arrived at Grand Central Station; Joyce was coming in at Port Authority. I walked down to the Essex Hotel ,which was on 42nd St near Broadway. In between Grand Central and Port Authority, less than a block from Times Square, it was a great location...until dark. After dark it was scary! At night, between the hookers and the drug dealers there was barely room on the sidewalk. The Essex had a back entrance which opened on to 43rd St which didn't have any street lighting. The front was so bad we opted for the dark alley. I apologized to Joyce for choosing such a sleezy Hotel.

While in New York Joyce and I did a number of the standard tourist things. We went to Central Park, the Empire State Building, Statue of Liberty, and saw a musical on Broadway "Pippen" with Ben Vereen. We also went to Nightclub in Greenwich Village, and listened to Ron Carter Jazz Bassist.

Some people go to New York and fit in. They have street smarts. They're in rythem with the City. That's not me. I am the tourist who is gauking at the Empire State Building and a passer by asks, "Is it still there?"

Yet I had a great time. When I was in New York I felt like I was at the center of the universe. I understand why they call it the big apple. It was an exciting diversion from the sail.

The sail from Cape Breton to Stamford was noteable for several reasons. It marked the first time we had sailed in the Atlantic Ocean, or any ocean for that matter. I saw my biggest wave. We accomplished our longest voyage, the three day crossing of the Gulf of Maine. The sail into Southwest Harbor was my all time favorite sail.

Our sailing skills had improved a lot, but the Atlantic would really test our skills, and Osprey, on the next leg of the journey.

The Journey of the Osprey: Kingston to Cape Breton

I'm sure Kingston is a wonderful town, but there is only one thing I remember about it, the inside of a pub.



We docked Osprey at the marina which was right downtown. Doug and I decide to walk around downtown and get something to eat. We went into a pub, which was really crowded. Everyone was watching the a baseball game on TV. The crowd was yelling and screaming, really getting into it. Being in Canada, I was surprised that a baseball game was drawing so much attention. Then I noticed it was a Tigers-Yankee game. Being a life long Tiger fan, that really got my attention. Doug and I ordered some food and watched Baseball history in the making.


There was a reason the crowd in the pub was loving this game; Mark, "The Bird", Fidrych was pitching for the Tigers. When he took the mound he got down on his hands and knees and smoothed out the dirt. The crowd went crazy. Before he pitched he would talk to the ball, to the delight of the fans in Tiger Stadium and the pub in Kingston.


Then the Yankee batters would strike out, or hit a pop up, or ground to second. The crowd at the pub would cheer and Tiger Stadium went wild.

Fidrych pitched a complete game victory for the Tigers that night. At the end of the game the crowd at Tiger Stadium gave him a standing ovation. They stood and chanted "We want Mark" for several minutes until he came out and took a bow. The announcer, no less than Curt Gowdy, said "I've been in baseball 35 years and I've never seen anything like this!"

It was the rookie's 8th win of the season. He went on to pitch in the All-Star, win 16 games for the Tigers (who were pretty weak otherwise). "The Bird" was a phenom and the most exciting thing to come along in Baseball in along time.

If it wasn't for the decision walk into town and lucky step into that Pub, I would have completely missed one of the greatest stories in baseball and Tiger baseball history. For a lifetime Tiger fan, like myself, that would have been sad. As it turns out the game is immortalized on Youtube. Here's the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sMSDo3BX5Ds

Kingston is at the beginning of the St. Lawrence river, an area called the Thousand islands.



The Thousand islands are definitely beautiful. Several of the islands had huge mansions built on them. The scenery all along the St. Lawrence River was very green with lots of forest, farmlands, and dotted with villages.


River sailing, by definition, has its limitations. You're in a river after all. Even if the river is wide, the safe deep water usually is not! The St Lawrence River has a dredged channel that guarantees 30 feet of water. All we had to do is follow the buoys and channel markers. Every once in a while, we went through another lock.

As for the sailing...we had three types of wind, right in front of us, right behind us, and no wind at all. None of which is good for sailing. When the wind was on the nose we often had no choice but to power. Dad hated to use the engine.



When the wind was behind us we usually sailed wing and wing. This is when the mainsail is on one side of the boat and the headsail is on the other. Steering wing and wing is very tedious. You have to pay attention to the sails all the time. Go too far one way and the mains'l backs; too far the other way the headsail collapses. Then when you make the correction, the sail re-fills with air making a loud pop and shakes the rigging. It's like an alarm alerting the rest the crew, "Hey the helmsman just screwed up!" Being at the helm wing and wing is a tough job.

When there was no wind we powered...most the time. However Dad hated to us the engine; so occasionally we just floated downriver. Osprey could get caught in an eddy and spin around and we would float downriver backwards. It was frustrating.


Our next port of call was Montreal. I was told Montreal is 1000 miles from the Atlantic Ocean. Once again we brought our floating circus act to an amusement park, La Ronde (pictured). La Ronde was a nice place to stay. Like Ontario Place in Toronto, there always seemed to be something going on. Being 1976 the bi-centennial year, it was unfortunate we were out of the U.S. for the 4th of July celebration. However, we saw our share of fireworks at La Ronde on Canada Day, July 2nd.



We took a number of trips into the city. This was our first encounter with French speaking Canada. There was an active French separatist movement at the time. Some of French speaking citizens wanted Quebec to be a separate country. There was a bit of friction between the English and French population. So it was much appreciated if you try to speak French, which Dad did. He tried. I actually don't remember a successful conversation.

Dad gave us a list of chores to do in Montreal. One chore was to get some equipment and supplies for the boat. Doug and I were riding in a cab on the freeway to a marine supply store, when we saw a sign "Sortie Exit". We speculated that all the "Sorties" must exit there. Not being "Sorties" ourselves, we continued on to the store. Bilingualism took a back seat to a good joke for Doug and me. Another chore of mine was to fix the automatic bilge pump. I never did figure that one out.

Montreal retained a lot character from it's rich historical past. We ate at wonderful french restaurants. Although, ordering food in French was a challenge. It was fun, interesting and beautiful.

After a several day layover we were back to sailing out the St Lawrence River.

We ran into a language barrier at the "Three Rivers"...er..."Trios Riviere" Marina. Then we ran aground. It was after dark and Osprey puttered towards the dock. We had called ahead and were told the Marina had "plenty of water" by someone speaking English. At night we couldn't see any channel markers, and there was no one there to guide us. Mom was on the bow hailing to someone on the dock. The guy on the dock couldn't understand. He said something in French, then we ran aground.

Out came the dingy and the anchor stuff. We decided to use the light anchor and light anchor rode. We carried out the anchor and set it. Unfortunately we neglected to attach a trip line and buoy. So when the anchor rode broke, which it did, we lost our 20lb danforth in the muddy water.

We ended up anchoring that night in one of the three rivers for which the town was named.

As we got closer to the ocean, the river current was starting to be effected by the tides. At one point in the river, the Richeliue Rapids, the current could be as strong as 6 knots if the tide was going out. When we went through there was barely a current, called slack tide.

Just one day sail downriver was Quebec City. Without a breath of wind, we arrived sailing...drifting downriver. Dad hated using the engine. Osprey was at the mercy of the swift currents and swirling eddies. Ingloriously, we drifted underneath the bridges that marked our arrival to Quebec City...backwards. Frustrated, I went forward to the bow pulpit and watched the mast clear under the bridge. Forwards or backwards watching the mast clear under a bridge was always cool.



Quebec was the first place we encountered the huge tides of the St. Lawrence River. The floating dock in this marina would rise and lower over 10 feet with the ocean tides.

At the marina Doug an I met a yatchy, who invited us on his boat. He was a military pilot. We told him we were sailing around the world. He was impressed. He said he flew over the Pacific Ocean and proclaimed it as "the biggest thing I've ever seen." Doug and I both thought that was a funny way to say that and later had a good laugh. Nobody was safe from Doug and my "Mad" sense of humor.



Whatever Montreal was Quebec City was more so. It was more French. They were more separatist. Quebec City had a more colorful historical past, more fun etc.



The Chateau Frontenac and the surrounding fort were the main attractions of Quebec City.

At Quebec City we added crew, my girlfriend Joyce and her uninvited friend Rene. Surprise!!! This was not a good idea, nor a welcome surprise. Now we had 6 people on board in pretty tight quarters. Joyce and Rene had never sailed before and did not particularly like sailing. Still they had redeeming qualities, their french was very good which helped ordering food in Quebec. Surprisingly, Rene turned out to be a determined helmsman, wing and wing.



After a several day stay in Quebec we set sail again. This part of the St Lawrence River is called the estuary. The "Bath Tub Effect" causes water to slosh in and out of the estuary twice daily. The tides raise and lower 18 feet and create currents as much as 6 knots. I remember sailing downriver but against the tide. Although we were making good headway through the water we were nearly stationary against the shore. Tides also affected anchoring, making two anchors a must. Another difference was the water turned from fresh to salt.

The next port of call was Le Malbaie, next to Point-Au-Pic. We tied up to the municipal pier.


The Manoir Richelieu was built by the Canadian Pacific Railroad at Point-Au-Pic, "the end of the line". It was unexpected luxury on the edge of civilization.

La Malbaie had huge 18 foot tides. At high tide we could step off the boat on to the pier. At Low tide we had to climb up a 18 foot ladder. While docked at La Malbaie, at low tide, Dad was talking to a man on the pier. He dropped his business card down to Osprey's deck. He was the owner of a restaurant, which was out in the countryside. He invited us to dine with him. We took a cab through the rolling hills and woods, for what seemed like forever. I was thinking the cabby must have gotten lost, but finally we arrived. From the restaurant we enjoyed a dramatic view of a pink and purple sunset overlooking miles of forested rolling hills. We were also treated to a memorable steak dinner. It was surprising to me that there was such a nice restaurant in the middle of the wilderness. The sail from La Malbaie was highlighted with sightings of the famous white whales near Tadoussac and the Saguenay River.

Our final port of call on the St Lawrence River was Riviere Au Renard (a.k.a. Fox River) on the Gaspe' peninsula. We tied Osprey to the seawall, shown here, along side the fishing boats. The seawall was equiped with black rubber bumpers, that look like ribs in the picture.

Joyce and Rene left the boat here. We took a bus to the town of Gaspe' about 30 miles away. Joyce and Rene got on a bus or plane to who knows where. I went back to Osprey.

The next morning I awoke to a gentle rocking of Osprey. I went on deck and...OH MY GOD!!! The wind and waves were pushing the Osprey hard (not gently) against the seawall. OH MY GOD!!! The black rubber bumpers were chewing up Osprey's wooden toe rail. I noticed all the fishing boats were GONE!!! We had to GET OFF THE SEAWALL!!! This triggered an all out fire drill on Osprey. We tried a aft spring line to help us get off the pier but the mizzen boom got in the way, keeping us from heading off the wall. My best recollection is that we powered down the pier a couple hundred feet, rubbing against it, before we inch by inch got off the wall. To this day I really don't know how that worked. It shouldn't have.

Without a place to dock, we decided to start the next leg of the sail. This was the inauspicious start to our crossing the Gulf of the St Lawrence, our first major crossing. But as Dad says, "Nothing to it, but to do it!" Once out to sea the crew got to work. We plotted the course, and planned the shifts on the helm.

That night, Mom and I were on duty for a beautiful night sail. We sighted a light on the horizon. Was it a freighter? The light got bigger. It looked like a big sail being illuminated. A sailboat? Then it became obvious, it was the moon rising as a slim crescent... mysterious and beautiful.

We were out of site of land for over a day. Our dead reckoning navigation must have been good because we made a successful landfall, sighting the island to the north of Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia. Yet whenever you're relying on dead reckoning, because of all the variables, you always have the feeling that you don't really know where you are. You have that "I reckon we're lost" feeling, until you see land again. The 250 mile sail took just over 2 days.


Cape Breton Island proved to be a wonderful sailing destination. It was late July and the weather was warm and sunny. The perfect time to visit Cape Breton Island, a tribute to Dad's planning. Ingonish had a quiet harbor and picturesque resort.

The locals spoke English, which was refreshing. They had a cute expression that they added to a statement, "Ay", which rhymes with "Way" or "Bay". Like "It's a nice day, Ay!" (More recently, I've noticed Canadian Hockey player say "Ay" a lot too. I'm not even sure how to spell it.) It was cute with the locals, but when it started catching on with the crew of the Osprey I thought it was humorous.


The effort it took to get here, the remoteness, the beauty of the hills and bays, the unique history all made Cape Breton feel like a special destination. A "We're on our way around the world now, Ay!" type of place.

From Ingonish we sailed down the coast toward the Bras d'Or Lake. When we got to the entrance the tide was against us. We met a 6 knot current in the narrow entrance. We had to power. Our progress was measured in inches against the channel bouy that had a seagull sitting on top, looking at us with curiosity.

At the same time we noticed that we were taking on water. The water in the bilge was almost to the floor boards. What made matters worse was that our hand bilge pump broke, and I had never fixed the auto bilge pump. So there we were doing 6 knots, but going vertually nowhere, and taking on water with no working pumps, basically sinking, Ay!

An intial search for the source of the leak failed. I started bailing water into the galley sink using a coffee can. Dad took a more thoughtful approach. Taking the hand bilge pump apart, he found that the flapper was broken. I didn't even know what a flapper was! He was able to fashion a new flapper out of the sole of a tennis shoe. It worked! I was impressed! Soon we were pumping water out quicker than it was coming in. Later it was determined that the damn auto bilge pump was siphoning water into the boot.



Osprey finally prevailed over the seagull on the bouy. Calm returned to the scene and we started enjoying Bras d'Or Lake, Ay.



Our first stop in the Bras d'Or was Baddeck. As can be seen in the picture Baddeck has a little island that creates a great little harbor for the town. On a blustery day Doug and I decided to circumnavigate the island in our Avon dingy with a 1/2 horsepower British Seagull motor. Fighting 20 knot winds and choppy seas, we got soaked. It was fun, Ay!



The anchorage was protected but a little crowded, Ay.



The normal use of the dingy was to ferry crew to and from shore when we anchored out, Ay.



Alexander Graham Bell's summer home and museum were main attractions in Baddack, Ay.

Bras d'Or Lake was very enjoyable sailing. From Baddack we sailed to several other anchorages. One cove near Iona was particularly beautiful. I remember looking at Osprey from a bluff overlooking the cove, thinking what an awesome sight. We took a picture of Osprey...one of my favorite.

We didn't have any pictures of Osprey undersail. So on one sunny day with not much wind, I got in the dingy and the family sail around me in Osprey and I took pictures. The pictures revealed the family needed work on sail trim, Ay.

We were in the Bras d'Or when the Marine weather started talking about Hurricane Belle. We started tracking Belle, even though there was no way it would make it to Nova Scotia. It was taking a northerly track and was heading towards the east coast of the United States. Belle wrecked havoc from North Carolina to Massachusetts with deadly 120 mph winds, skirting the coast the whole way. But there was no way it would hit us, Ay.

As Belle continued north of Massachusetts, inland, it weakened. Because the prevailing wind is from the west Belle started heading east. The storm system got back over water, the Gulf of Maine. Now Tropical Storm Belle, packing 50 to 60 mph winds, was heading right at us. We had to find a place to hole out the storm, Ay.

The anchorage we found was a very tight cove near the town of St Peters. We tied off to trees on both sides of the shore. We used anchors to weigh the lines down in the water, which gave them some spring. The winds started picking up in the afternoon and we hunkered down in Osprey all night. In the morning, the storm had passed. I was not surprised that we were fine, but I was shocked to see that somehow a sailboat had found it's way behind us. How did that boat got past our lines?

We let the storm pass before we continued on our trip. Next stop was Halifax, Nova Scotia. But Belle was not done with us.