sv Lorelei
06-15-2008, 12:07 PM
The plan was supposed to be that since Saturday was forecast to be another brilliant day, We'd finally getting to take Lorelei out of the slip. After a succession of sub-par and obligated weekends this was going to be it. However as the birds twittered their dawn check-ins and the trees began to loom forth from the shadows of the false dawn, it was obvious that the day was going to be hazy and a bit close. In other words not a breath of wind, and likely fog on the sound.
With showers predicted for late afternoon early evening, we opted to spend the majority of the morning working around the house. But there's only so much weeding one's psyche can take and by lunchtime having confirmed that indeed Sunday was going to be wet, I made the executive decision to get a quick sail in by taking the Islay Skiff, Caer Bannog down to the nearest launching ramp on the CT river.
My logic was that though there wasn't a lot of breeze, it would likely be better down at the river as the CT river valley can tend to funnel what air there is into a more active and hopefully usable form. After announcing my intentions, my 10 year old signed on as crew and we pressed his older brother to join us as rail meat.
A half hour later we were pulling into the Haddam Meadows state boat launching ramp and though the skies were a dull white, there was no sign or feel of impending precipitation, and the sun would burn through from time to time just to let us know it was still there and interested.
A good breeze was blowing up from the South as we stepped the mast and I laced the sail on. It would blow around 8-10 for a few minutes, then die off for a few. Caer Bannog took to the water and eagerly cuddled up to the northern dock of the ramp. Tied off I took the truck up and parked it in the lot around 50 yards from the ramp.
Haddam Meadows is basically a flood plain in one of the wider spots on the river. There is a sandy mud flat just north of the ramp that is a favorite place for folks to park their PWCs and small boats and hang out beach-like. The river takes a bend about a mile and a half to the south and we could just see the Goodspeed Opera House on the far bank of river as the curve takes a harder turn to the West at that point.
Under main alone, and with 10 year old Liam at the helm, Harrison on the forward seat, and Myself manning the sweeps, we pulled away from the dock and hoisted the main. The boat ghosted out and Liam pointed her up heading her ESE. As we cleared the channel the breeze came up and the water burbled happily under our keel as Caer Bannog leaned her shoulders into the rippling water and picked up her skirts.
The far side of the river here is a promontory that is formed by the Salmon river which joins the CT river just above the Goodspeed. Narrow and lumpy, it's largely just a spit of wood and meadow giving one the impression of what this stretch of river looked like prior to the incursion of the Industrial Revolution. We drove her along under the gravelly banks and tacked a couple of boat lengths away from shore. Pointed up and headed down WSW Liam finally started to settle in as I fixed the trim of the main and we scooted over back towards the channel.
It's great to have a boat that you can drive in shallow waters with a great deal of impunity. I'd been told that the traffic up here could be a bit much especially the PWC's skittering about, but whether it was the heat of the day or just the gloom of the morning there wasn't really all that much traffic. A few 16 to 24 foot power boats soldiered up and down the channel but otherwise all the customers seemed content to lounge along the bar to the North.
I considered hoisting the jibs but we were doing just fine and it was a nice relaxing sail. As we neared the marshes on the Western Bank I gave Liam the word and Hard A-Lee we came about. The tide was going out so despite the Southerly breeze we were making good progress down river. Making the most of the puffs as they'd come up and then trusting to Caer Bannogs long drag to help push us along southward. We could hear traffic along Saybrook Road as we'd get close to the West bank, but it would die away leaving us in relative peace as we'd head over to the Eastern bank again.
Finally the sun was showing us a few of the thicker sections of cloud starting to build a bit, and I figured it was time to see if we could head North against the tide and river flow.
Growing up, a friend of mine lived in the house that Albert Einstein rented about ten miles or so downriver, and it was said that Albert would go out and sail the river but that he never got a feel for how much the tides and currents could affect your progress so would find himself hindered and was eternally getting stuck or coming home late. Now I'm no Einstein, but I was concerned that the ballast of three bodies in our doughty skiff, coupled with the finicky breeze might make for a slow ride back upriver.
We tacked off the West bank and I let the sail out to run North. The green daymark on the shore stayed off our Port side as the wind died down to nothing. Then it started to slip ahead of us as we slowly drifted downstream. I broke out the oars and with the aid of a few breaths of air we got back on the plus side of the equation. Clearing the channel the welcome sight of ripples approaching from downstream were enough to tell me to ship the oars and mind the mainsheet. Caer Bannog picked up her head and daintily slipped off to the North working up the West Bank.
With the breeze dying in and out and shifting from SW to SE, we did a couple of slow jibes and headed just to the North of the launching ramp. Uncleating the peak and the throat halyards Liam brought her alongside the floating dock as I lowered the sail. Even the guy pulling the power boat out on the other side of the ramp looked impressed (and relieved).
The clouds were filling in and the air gradually was growing heavy. No doubt that there was precipitation on it's way eventually, but we'd stolen a few well earned hours on the water and discovered a new flavor of sailing. The calm protected waters and pastoral banks of the river, far different from the rolling salt water of the Long Island Sound or the ocean swells of the open Atlantic, but still an adventure.
...and even as I type this. Cair Bannog sits on her trailer in the yard ready for more, dreaming of the water gurgling under her flanks as we discover what lies ahead around the next bend.
With showers predicted for late afternoon early evening, we opted to spend the majority of the morning working around the house. But there's only so much weeding one's psyche can take and by lunchtime having confirmed that indeed Sunday was going to be wet, I made the executive decision to get a quick sail in by taking the Islay Skiff, Caer Bannog down to the nearest launching ramp on the CT river.
My logic was that though there wasn't a lot of breeze, it would likely be better down at the river as the CT river valley can tend to funnel what air there is into a more active and hopefully usable form. After announcing my intentions, my 10 year old signed on as crew and we pressed his older brother to join us as rail meat.
A half hour later we were pulling into the Haddam Meadows state boat launching ramp and though the skies were a dull white, there was no sign or feel of impending precipitation, and the sun would burn through from time to time just to let us know it was still there and interested.
A good breeze was blowing up from the South as we stepped the mast and I laced the sail on. It would blow around 8-10 for a few minutes, then die off for a few. Caer Bannog took to the water and eagerly cuddled up to the northern dock of the ramp. Tied off I took the truck up and parked it in the lot around 50 yards from the ramp.
Haddam Meadows is basically a flood plain in one of the wider spots on the river. There is a sandy mud flat just north of the ramp that is a favorite place for folks to park their PWCs and small boats and hang out beach-like. The river takes a bend about a mile and a half to the south and we could just see the Goodspeed Opera House on the far bank of river as the curve takes a harder turn to the West at that point.
Under main alone, and with 10 year old Liam at the helm, Harrison on the forward seat, and Myself manning the sweeps, we pulled away from the dock and hoisted the main. The boat ghosted out and Liam pointed her up heading her ESE. As we cleared the channel the breeze came up and the water burbled happily under our keel as Caer Bannog leaned her shoulders into the rippling water and picked up her skirts.
The far side of the river here is a promontory that is formed by the Salmon river which joins the CT river just above the Goodspeed. Narrow and lumpy, it's largely just a spit of wood and meadow giving one the impression of what this stretch of river looked like prior to the incursion of the Industrial Revolution. We drove her along under the gravelly banks and tacked a couple of boat lengths away from shore. Pointed up and headed down WSW Liam finally started to settle in as I fixed the trim of the main and we scooted over back towards the channel.
It's great to have a boat that you can drive in shallow waters with a great deal of impunity. I'd been told that the traffic up here could be a bit much especially the PWC's skittering about, but whether it was the heat of the day or just the gloom of the morning there wasn't really all that much traffic. A few 16 to 24 foot power boats soldiered up and down the channel but otherwise all the customers seemed content to lounge along the bar to the North.
I considered hoisting the jibs but we were doing just fine and it was a nice relaxing sail. As we neared the marshes on the Western Bank I gave Liam the word and Hard A-Lee we came about. The tide was going out so despite the Southerly breeze we were making good progress down river. Making the most of the puffs as they'd come up and then trusting to Caer Bannogs long drag to help push us along southward. We could hear traffic along Saybrook Road as we'd get close to the West bank, but it would die away leaving us in relative peace as we'd head over to the Eastern bank again.
Finally the sun was showing us a few of the thicker sections of cloud starting to build a bit, and I figured it was time to see if we could head North against the tide and river flow.
Growing up, a friend of mine lived in the house that Albert Einstein rented about ten miles or so downriver, and it was said that Albert would go out and sail the river but that he never got a feel for how much the tides and currents could affect your progress so would find himself hindered and was eternally getting stuck or coming home late. Now I'm no Einstein, but I was concerned that the ballast of three bodies in our doughty skiff, coupled with the finicky breeze might make for a slow ride back upriver.
We tacked off the West bank and I let the sail out to run North. The green daymark on the shore stayed off our Port side as the wind died down to nothing. Then it started to slip ahead of us as we slowly drifted downstream. I broke out the oars and with the aid of a few breaths of air we got back on the plus side of the equation. Clearing the channel the welcome sight of ripples approaching from downstream were enough to tell me to ship the oars and mind the mainsheet. Caer Bannog picked up her head and daintily slipped off to the North working up the West Bank.
With the breeze dying in and out and shifting from SW to SE, we did a couple of slow jibes and headed just to the North of the launching ramp. Uncleating the peak and the throat halyards Liam brought her alongside the floating dock as I lowered the sail. Even the guy pulling the power boat out on the other side of the ramp looked impressed (and relieved).
The clouds were filling in and the air gradually was growing heavy. No doubt that there was precipitation on it's way eventually, but we'd stolen a few well earned hours on the water and discovered a new flavor of sailing. The calm protected waters and pastoral banks of the river, far different from the rolling salt water of the Long Island Sound or the ocean swells of the open Atlantic, but still an adventure.
...and even as I type this. Cair Bannog sits on her trailer in the yard ready for more, dreaming of the water gurgling under her flanks as we discover what lies ahead around the next bend.