Too Little, Too Much

Too Little, Too Much 

- Brian Nazinitsky

Motoring out of the marina on water as flat as glass was not very encouraging, to say the least. The predicted winds were light but I expected more, and remained hopeful as I turned into the river proper and out towards Long Island Sound. An Oyster Skimmer put on a show as he flew inches above the water, just feet from the boat.

Without the usual contrary southwest wind, the flood tide barely made a ripple, but made its presence known as moorings were dragging under and the channel marker tilted and bobbed its pointed red head. I gave the little outboard a touch more gas to keep up. Into the Sound, I could see small cat’s-paws on the water, and the smallest of wavelets. I hopefully raised the sails and cut the engine.

For the next hour or so, I chased wind lines, applied sunscreen and listened to some blues on my i-Pod. Lunch killed a few more minutes. I slowly sailed and drifted by some fisherman in kayaks, enjoying a banner day, or so they said. Then, the cats-paws were gone, replaced by a steady westerly. It was light, but it moved the boat. My friend the Skimmer was long gone, and the terns were now noisily diving for small fish. The boat scooted along, and I turned to beat into the wind, which had freshened considerably. Three, maybe four hours passed of glorious, easy sailing, and if I wanted to catch the tide before I ran out of water in the river I needed to head in. On cue, the wind stopped, really stopped. Dead calm. Down came the sails and I motored in. Egrets lined the marshy shore, stalking their prey in the clear water, while cormorants dried their wings on every available boat.