It was late September on the coast of Connecticut LI Sound. I had been a tag team of friends, sailing to Boston and back from Cape Cod, Newport, and Cuttyhunk. We were on my boat, sinus, which was also my home.
The current could only friend on board with me for three days, and that was three days. We did enjoy the sailing Saybrook to Stonington, then Saybrook to The Thimbles, a really charming little chain of islands east of New Haven.We would be short term in Milford sailed in the late morning, and my friend had to catch the train back to New York.
I decided I did not want a docking fee in a port, night, so we pay just behind Duck Iceland, about two miles from the mouth of Milford Harbor anchor.
We would take us in the dinghy, and then I would line out of the ship.
The sun was shining. The wind was a light breeze. I did not listen to the weather report with both ears.
Cue scaryMusic.
We loaded ourselves and my friend's luggage into the dink. The nautical talk for inflatable boat, the nautical is talk of what is essentially a floating teacup. If you have an existing small boat with an engine, is called to make an offer.
We were definitely in a Dink. A dinky dink.
I go, rowing. It did not seem to take too terribly long to get the port, only about 40 minutes or so. I tied the Dink, we went to the station, and I saw my friendout.
I saw a poster in the station advertising a Mexican restaurant, saying that this was the best Mexican restaurant in Connecticut.
I'd been at sea for more than a month, and everywhere I could stop it was seafood, seafood. I had a penchant for salsa, chips, enchiladas, and margaritas.
I grabbed a taxi outside the station and the restaurant, which was headed much farther than I had expected.
The driver gave me his card --"Hey, sailor Dame - just call my dispatcher twenty minutes before getting picked up and I'll ya want to go back into the harbor!"
It was now 3:30. I thought I'd get out some Mexican food, and again in the dock by 5:00. Sunset was at 5:40 at night.
I was only half full.
Cue the fear of music again.
I ate dinner. If this was the best Mexican restaurant in Connecticut, was this place, there was no evidence of actual Mexicans in Connecticut. That was definitelyMexican food from a wasp.
At 4:15 I called the sender, and asked for a taxi. He told me that they would in a quarter. Twenty-five minutes later I called again. He is right, I was told. I called several times, appeared before a taxi. At 5.35.
The sun had disappeared. The cab is radio was on an AM station that gave its report just as we are constantly tuned to the port.
A series of strong thunderstorms was moving westward atapproximately 40 miles per hour over New York City and Westchester County. What was about 30 miles east of where I was. The wind was increasing, as I untied the dink and started rowing out towards the mouth of the harbor. The last country to function, I was enjoying at the Milford Yacht Club - people were in the bar and the dining room, after a long day on the water.
I rowed past in the gathering darkness and increasing winds.
Once I was in the Bay I knew I was in difficulties. The wind1-2 waves had kicked up, his feet were and buildings. I pulled the oars with all the pretty-good-for-a-girl muscular torso I had.
It was full dark.
The wind from the west was picking up.
Over my shoulder against the western horizon, I saw a flash.
Now I was very frightened.
I had, as I left the ship in the afternoon, turned around and turned on the boat at anchor masthead light.
When I stretch my head around, I could just, apparently for many milesremoved, a tiny point of light as I imprint sine light.
It seemed not getting any closer.
I started up.
Wait! Is it a boat?
"Hey, Hey there! Over here!"
In that short time, not rowing, wind and waves, I had been pushed back about 100 meters to Milford.
And the other boat was too far away to hear me.
I had no signal light.
Keep rowing.
The waves were more than three meters now. I was soaking wet, and the dinkwas about 4 inches of water in it.
Keep rowing.
My hands were on fire.
Keep rowing.
My back ached.
Keep rowing.
I asked my long-deceased U.S. Navy admiral grandfather, keep an eye on me and me through this.
I heard his voice that always said "rowing".
After what seemed like hours, I stuck to my head and saw Sinus approximately 20 meters. I paddled as I have tried an outboard motor.
15 meters.
10 meters.
5Meters.
Less than 10 meters!
A few more blows, and I reached for the ladder.
IT broke in my hand!
The wind and the waves swept past me and away from the boat.
I grabbed the dinghy's painter, and seized the boat last starboard stanchion, as of whipped cream.
I dragged myself up over the embankment, and came up into the cockpit.
I took a deep breath, and at that moment a bolt of lightning from the water about twenty feet, and a cloudburststarted, had to choke me.
I tied Dink a rear cleat, opened the Companionway hatch and climbed down.
My hands were raw. I tried the kerosene lantern in the cabin light.
I grabbed the loose bottle of rum from the fleet, gave me (a huge pain, even if the screw holding the bottle and the glass of my tears) in the eyes, and threw him down.
The thunder and lightning, more intense outside, but I was back in my cozy cottageHome.
Wet, with bleeding hands.
I did my first aid, and wrapped some gauze and surgical tape around my hands.
I gave myself a "read the barometer and listen to the weather report with both ears" speech.
And I crawled into my bed.
The next day was a perfect fall day - fresh, clear, with a beautiful northwest at about 15 knots of wind.
It would be tempting to sail on that day.
But I could not. I could hardly hold the tiller as Idrove west toward home.
I've heard to whisper my grandfather, "you learned some valuable lessons last night, eh, my girl?"
I had.
First, a signal leads flashlight with you in the Dink.
Second, gloves if you are rowing over 100 meters.
Third, and most important - a sailor ignored the weather, literally at their peril.
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