Port Washington, Hell Gate, Rikers Prison, and the Carpets of Dalton, Georgia

Sheepshead Bay to Port Washington - 32 nautical miles sailed, 2 miles in dinghy, 7 kilometres walked

After four nights on a mooring at Sheepshead Bay, it was time to move on, but instead of heading up the Hudson River towards our ultimate destination, we decided on a little side trip to Port Washington, in Long Island Sound.

By 6:30 am we were on the water and carefully snaked through the shallow channel using the GPS track we had saved from our tumultous, but ultimately successful passage into Sheepshead Bay. I put Dad on the helm and we sailed west and north around Brooklyn, winding around large anchored freighters, until we reached the south end of Manhattan and its imposing skyline. Here, we turned north east and traveled up the East River, passing the towers of Manhattan to our left, Brooklyn to our right, numerous massive bridges directly above, and raging but favourable tidal currents below. The ride was exciting as we were passed by high speed ferries, commercial vessels, a few private boats, and a small airplane on floats that we watched rip down the river and take flight just in time to soar over the Williamsburg bridge.

As we proceeded north and into the narrower passages of the East River, the current velocity increased and we hit a maximum speed of 13 knots as we blasted across bubbly, swirling water and watched the shoreline passing by at a speed never before experienced on SeaLight.

After putting up the headsail to take advantage of the building winds (and to go even faster), we passed through the treacherous Hell Gate, where East River splits off into the Harlem River which runs north and loops around the top of Manhattan. This geographical configurion makes a right old mess of the tidal currents, but SeaLight motored through the chaos admirably.

Soon afterwards we passed Rikers Island, notorious for the massive prison with its 10,000 inmates and reputation as one of the worst correction facilities in the USA. We did not stop for a tour.

We soon reached the end of the river and the start of Long Island Sound, which runs for 80 miles between the mainland and Long Island. It was only a few miles to Manhasset Bay where we picked up a mooring near the Port of Washington town site. Dad had his first experience with balancing at the bow of the boat with a flimsy boat hook trying to snag a mooring line and we nailed it on the second attempt.

Fun fact: Dalton, Georgia is known as the Carpet Capital of the World and is home to over 150 carpet plants which produce 90% of the world's carpets. Their carpet production uses up one-third of the Conasauga River's summer water flow and the river itself and city water supply is contaminated with carpet chemicals.

We took the dinghy into shore and went exploring, finding a cute town with an unusual abundance of Asian restaurants and barber shops. After walking the entire length of Main Street and accidentally stopping for coffee at a daycare center (and looking like a couple of creeps, especially after we asked to play in the Ikea-like ball room), we found the incredible town library and settled into comfy chairs with a stack of magazines and books. It was heavenly and we stayed for a long time, but Dad probably had no idea how long we were there as he faded in and out of consciousness, in the clutches of the nap-friendly chair.

After a stop at the grocery store to pick up a few things (but not the seven-dollar hot dog buns) we returned to SeaLight and fired up happy hour and had so much fun and had so many great ideas that we forgot to eat dinner until 10 pm, under the night beauty of the anchorage, ringed in by 360 degrees of sparkling lights from the houses, boats, and marinas. Dad pointed out the magnificence of our current situation in life. I hadn't noticed. I explained to him this was just a regular night for me in a long sequence of magical evenings in beautiful places.

When one's regular is incredible, you know you're doing something right.

The Admiral Goes Home

Manhattan, NYC - 12 kilometres walked

It was always going to come to an end for Ana before me.

I had arranged for a work gap of 10 months, but Ana just 7 as she wanted to be back at work in advance of Glenhyrst's huge annual fundraiser. So yesterday after traveling together for more than 4000 miles at sea, I said goodbye to my Admiral, my lover, my wife, and my best friend as we kissed on the platform of the Norstrand Avenue station then she stepped onto the train and didn't look back, eyes directed towards Canada. For the next month we would be on separate journeys; hers aclimatizing to regular life and mine returning SeaLight to her home in Newport Yacht Club. I am going to miss her. Yet I belive in the adage that absence makes the heart grow (even) fonder.

Dad and I left the station and began walking to a different station to catch a train into Manhattan. We were a bit sluggish and still full from our huge farewell breakfast of bacon, herbed hash browns, eggs, fruit, and toast, but the walking felt good. The ride here had been ridiculous as we hadn't entirely settled on the best route for Ana to take to the airport and as we rode the bus, the Google advice on when to get off and which bus or subway to take kept changing every time we looked at it, so we sat paralyzed as we moved northward, reviewing the persistently changing options, getting more and more frustrated. We finally got close to the station Dad had arrived at from the airport so took that option, which ended up being the most expensive and certainly not the fastest.

We arrived to the platform just as the subway we needed was about to leave so we jumped on, then didn't realize until we'd whizzed well past our intended stop that we were on the wrong train. No matter, we're walkers, so we got off and walked. Being in Manhattan was a shock - so many more people and tourists, the towering buildings, shading out the landscape, the enhanced noise, the closeness of everything.

We walked around Columbus Circle and the edge of Central Park then down Broadway until we found the cross street which lead us to New York's Museum of Modern Art - MOMA. Before going in we snagged a hot dog from one of the hundreds of sausage carts on the street as this one proclaimed "New York's BEST hot dog!" It was pretty good, but not sure if it lived up to that bold claim.

The MOMA was extraordinary. I was glad Dad had wanted to come as this had been on my list of things to see for our first stop in Manattan last fall but we hadn't found the time to visit. The four floors of exhibits had works from recognizable artists such as Salvador Dali, Andy Warhol, Jackson Pollock, and Henri Matisse, but most were from artists I'd never heard of. I enjoy modern art but never pretend to understand any of it, and I don't think it is meant to be understood; it's how it makes you feel. The stuffed animals sewn together, faces inward, arranged into large balls, suspended from the ceiling made me feel whimsical and a little disturbed that I couldn't see their furry faces. The 17 CRT televisions with identical images of a swaying palm tree made me feel Videodrome. The painting of a black man in a dark corner with jarring white specs of eyes made me feel like I was being watched. The chocolate brown image of a young girl holding a doll which struggled to pull itself out of artwork left me creeped. The spread open legs of a delimbed and mostly detorso'd woman, perched suggestively on a box of ammunition made me feel simultaneously eroticised and revolted.

But the most impactful experience were the thirty minutes between 1:30 and 2:00 where we watched The Clock, a film pieced together with snippets of other movies, all of which contain images of clocks and or mentions of time. For example, there is a scene from a black and white movie that zooms in on a clock showing 1:43, then a man calls to his wife. Paul Newman appears, looking at his watch, which reads 1:51. As a clock shows 1:53, Peter Parker shows up late for his shift at the pizzeria and is told to have an order delivered miles uptown by 2pm otherwise he will be fired.

We didn't know anything about this movie and I sat in the comfy couch seat, leaned way back, intrigued at the strange fluidity of storyline as it cut from movie scene to movie scene, with actors doing different things, but all focused on time. The soaring background music, which flowed through the abrupt scene changes somehow held the film together, creating a strange sort of narrative where none existed. When the movie reached 2pm then kept going onto 2:01, I checked the time on my phone, wondering how long this movie ran for and if we should leave. It was 2:01. I started to wonder. Dad and I left as we still had much of the MOMA yet to explore, and at the exit of the small screening room was a description of the work. It was indeed a 24-hour long film, synchronized to local time, made with 8,000 patched together snippets of one hundred years of television and cinema. It was an extraodinary artpiece and like nothing I've ever seen before. I hope to watch it in its entirety some day.

Dad and I left the MOMA, happy with our investment of time there and with perhaps a new perspective on time itself.

We walked southward, looking around and up, recognizing buildings, enjoying the spectacles, pathing through the crowds, until Dad was derailed by a sign for an Authentic German Beer House and an arrow pointed that way. We immediately turned left and found it a block down.

The beer hall was nearly empty but that didn't stop Oompas like us, despite paying twelve bucks per half litre of Germany's finest.

After our pints we walked down into a station and the B train that would take us all the way to Sheepshead Bay had just arrived, perfect timing, so we jumped on just as the doors were closing. It wasn't until about 30 minutes later that I noticed the giant "D" on the subway car's interior and looked at my Google maps to see we were well on our way to Coney Island. My navigation game has been so unbelievably off.

Alas, after an extended sightseeing tour of residential and gritty Brooklyn we arrived at Coney Island station, transferred to the Q line, which whisked us to Sheepshead in 8 minutes, passing the larger-than-expected Coney Island Amusement Park along the way.

I felt compelled to tour Dad through the two food markets we'd discovered the other day and he was suitably impressed. Our final, final stop was the giant Liquor Warehouse to pick up a box of cardBordeaux then we walked back to the Sheepshead Bay Yacht Club, returned to the boat, had a call with Ana and heard about her successful journey home, then made an amazing dinner of fresh garden salad (sprinkled with trail mix, Dad's innovation), fresh bread, rice, and ginger soy tuna steaks, then hung out chatting until we were tired.

Visiting the Middle East in Downtown Brooklyn

Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn - 10 kilometres walked

When I was a kid there were many movies and shows set in New York City. And the city was typically portrayed (probably not unfairly) as a bleak, dangerous, and hopeless place where gangs ruled the streets, riding the subway was a deathwish, graffiti plastered every surface, and unbroken windows were a rarity. I don't know how much of that was true, but with my worldview limited to the few square miles between the 7-11, the big hill, the government grain elevators, the railroad tracks behind the apartment buildings, and St. Mark's Elementary (my Dear Watson...) school, all located around our home in Fairhaven, Saskatoon, I just had to go with what I saw on TV.

Well, the New York City of today is nothing like that. It is safe, clean, progressive, fun, and full of tourists. It is also very big. NYC is composed of five separately governed boroughs: Manhatten, Statten Island, Brooklyn, Queens, and the Bronx, with a combined population of 8 million people, making it by the largest city in US by far.

We had a light breakfast then got on the water and into the dock where we walked a few blocks to catch a bus headed north. For some reason we decided to get off the B44 bus we had correctly caught, thinking we needed the B44 SBS, which I think is actually the same bus. But it was all good - if you want to walk over 10 kilometres every day you can't be ass-surfing busses and subways all the time.

We walked until we found a bagel and coffee shop, and the stready stream of Jewish people coming and going confirmed it as a good bet. We enjoyed hot drinks and a snack then continued our walk to a subway station where we rode into downtown Brooklyn for Ana to hit the giant Marshall's store she had noticed the other day. While she was popping tags, Dad and I unsuccessfully attempted to break into the Barclay Center to see what we could find, but all we found were locked doors so we walked the surrounding Atlantic and Flatbush areas looking for food or beer or both.

At a corner Yemeni bodega we picked up a pudgy, sultry falafal wrap for pre-lunch and split it down the middle as we sat at their single outdoor customer table watching the world swirl around us. We then scoped out an Israeli restaurant called Miriam for proper lunch then wandered around aimlessly until Ana found us. We led her to Miriam, she approved of the menu, and we enjoyed a spectacular long lunch, nearly on our own as the packed lunch crowd had dispersed.

On the return trip Dad found a really nice seat on the subway and wondered why nobody had taken it. I snapped this photo as it contains a hidden clue to solve the mystery.

Back at the boat we were too full from lunch to eat a big meal, so instead we snacked-up in the cockpit, had several rounds of happy hour bevvies, and put our bets in for the results of tomorrow's Canadian election.

A New Crew Member Arrives

Brooklyn, New York – 12 kilometres walked

After exploring the local neighbourhood yesterday, it was time to go further afield. We were both up early and walked to the Sheepshead Bay Marketplace to start the day with a coffee. Along the way we passed a local Brooklyn swan who had made use of the harbour garbage to fashion a cozy nest on a partially submerged dock, and in the nest were four massive eggs, enough for at least fifteen omelettes. In the market Ana picked up a latte and I went for a super caffeinated, turbo-charged Turkish java, the small sludgy cup of which was sufficient to put me on a caffeine high for the entire day. It was delicious, as was the pistachio croissant we had for a post-breakfast snack.

We got onto the subway, going the wrong direction, so lost half an hour in the turnaround but finally got going in the right way. As the train sped northward we passed the enormous Green-Wood cemetery, at nearly 500 acres and containing more than 600,000 gravesites. Both Ana and I like visiting cemeteries, but this one would have to wait.

After 20 stops we arrived at the neighbourhood of Dumbo, which I learned is a Disneyish acronym for the clunky “Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass” and is one of the most popular neighbourhoods in Brooklyn for visitors. It is located directly south of Manhattan so offers phenomenal views over the city which you simply can’t see when you are on the island.

We lucked out with our timing as the Saturday Dumbo flea market, located beneath one of the massive bridge supports, was in full swing and packed with hipsters, funksters, and groovesters digging through tables and racks of custom jewelry, vinyl albums, vintage clothing, ethical coffee, and flashy handbags. I found a cool vintage jacket with Ernie and Bert macrame artfully sewn into the back, but after seeing a price tag of $250 pinned to a nearby plain, boring jacket on a rack, I directed my interest elsewhere, as the Sesame Street jacket would likely set me back a thousand.

From here we wandered, exploring the streets and popping into shops, crowd-watching, and enjoying the vistas provided by the bridges and Manhattan skyline. Ana eyeballed a Shake Shack so we stopped for burgers and fries and an unbeatable vanilla milkshake. We then started walking towards Brooklyn downtown and walked and walked and walked until we reached the Nostrand Avenue Station. After five minutes, SeaLight’s newest crew member appeared on the station steps – my dad!

I’d had a call from my brother Curtis earlier in the day regarding a potential Mars Volta concert in Toronto in November and he told me that our dad had collected him and his family at the Saskatoon airport at 1am the previous night. They’d just returned from a spectacular two week European vacation and Dad wanted to see the grandkids before leaving for his trip…which began a few hours later with his 4 am taxi back to the same airport. My dad’s always been the master at the all-nighter, and seems to do them as frequently in his 70’s as he did in his 20’s.

We took a long bus ride back to Sheepshead, welcomed him aboard SeaLight, had a lengthy happy hour visit in the cockpit followed up with a nice chicken stir fry, some more visiting, then called it a relatively early night.

Our First Taste of Brooklyn – A Double Grounding, Premium Russian Supermarkets, Lamborghinis, and Browsing Hamsters

Sandy Hook to Brooklyn, New York – 13 nautical miles sailed, 6 kilometres walked

Ana and I sat in the Sheepshead Bay Yacht Club bar, perched on wooden stools, drinking Corona beer. Several of the dozen or so club members hanging out there on a Friday night stopped by to say hello (using intriguing, thick Brooklyn accents) and provide recommendations on what to do in the area, focused exclusively around food: where to get the best steak, the best fish, the best bagels, the best sandwiches, and where not to get coffee. Three screens hung from the walls, one playing football, one basketball, one baseball. Children of the members kicked around a soccer ball in the large adjoining hall. The classic pool table behind us remained dark and unused. It had been a busy day and we were tired, but chatting with the locals, in this place, feel like we were in the opening scene of a fantastic movie.

The day began early, with a fill up of diesel and water at the Atlantic Highlands fuel dock then a quick spray down of the boat to rinse off the accumulated yellow pollen dust, which flowed like thinned mustard in a stream down the boat and into the water. The 13-mile trip north to Brooklyn was easy and there were few boats around, other than a massive container ship that crossed ahead of us in one of the two main channels leading into New York City.

We scanned the charts closely as we made the approach to the shallow channel leading into Sheepshead Bay, which sits at the south end of Brooklyn. At low tide the suggested route provided for six feet of water. We were an hour away from low tide, providing additional depth. I slowed the boat and entered the channel and almost immediately felt her grind to a halt as the keel imbedded itself into a shoal of sand, probably built up over the winter as the depths did not match what was shown on the chart. I slammed the boat in hard reverse, nothing. Ana took the helm while I pushed out the boom to the port side then hung off the end of it, trying to tip the boat and free the keel. No dice. We weren’t excited at the thought of remaining here for several hours for the tide change as a large wind was expected to develop, which would probably stick us in even further. So I dropped the dinghy and we attached the spinnaker line to the bow towing ring then I motored in reverse as hard as she would go, applying sideways pull to the top of the mast, leaning the boat and lifting the keel ever so slowly while Ana gunned the engine in reverse. Finally, she popped off and SeaLight was free. I hollered at Ana to take her to deeper water while I used our portable depth sounder to find the best route in through the channel. I was able to find just barely six feet of depth using a S-shaped path, winding through the shoals in the channel, but with the tide still falling it was simply too risky. I turned the dinghy to return to SeaLight and saw Ana waving her arms and yelling something. The boat had drifted in the building wind as Ana was adjusting the spinnaker line and was grounded again, this time in even shallower water.

We repeated the technique, but this time it did not work and the boat wouldn’t budge. I then used the dinghy as a battering ram and pushed into the side of the heavy boat, with no results…at first, but finally she started to move and I managed to get the bow pointed into deeper water, which stuck in the rudder even more as the stern was pushed into the sand. I quickly moved the dinghy to the stern and gave it full power as Ana did the same in forward gear on the boat. Slowly, ever so slowly, she started to move, but not before the dinghy reared up and the towing ring put a new smash mark into SeaLight’s stern. But alas, we were free! Ana took her further into deeper water while I reattached the dinghy in the davits then we tossed the anchor and had naps in the cockpit while we waited for the ever dependable tide to come in.

It was 3 pm when we finally made it into Sheepshead Bay and picked up a mooring at the yacht club where we’d made a reservation for four nights. Ana was down to her precious last few days of the trip so wanted to get into shore as soon as possible to take advantage of the remaining hours of the day. We took the dinghy into the club, tied up at their dock, then were immediately met by several of the members – Michael, Jordy, and Kevin who gave us a rundown of club protocols then Jordy took us on a tour of the clubhouse, along the way telling us his interesting back story as a lifelong local resident of the neighbourhood.

Then, we walked, as we love to do. We walked west along the length of Sheepshead Bay, passing a string of restaurants – Randazzo’s Clam Bar, Opera Café Lounge, Rocca Café and Lounge, Momo Hibachi Steakhouse and Bar and many others before finding the Cherry Hill Gourmet which we walked into and were instantly stunned. Everybody spoke Russian. Hundreds or maybe thousands of wicker baskets hung upside-down from the ceiling as decoration. Products we’d never seen before packed the shelves, from fancy cheeses, to imported beers, to exotic tea to jams and wrapped candies. The bakery section had a mouth-watering presentation of desserts and fresh bread. The fish counter had smoked sturgeon, thousand-dollar tins of caviar, and canned fish of every variety while the meat counter had all the standard cuts plus more interesting ones such as trays of marinated beef tongues, skewered chicken livers, and broiled Peking ducks. Some of the customers looked Asian, some European, some black, all spoke Russian. One glamorous Russian lady with expensive sunglasses and more expensive facial enhancements bought a basket of caviar, croissants, wine, and gorgonzola then stepped outside and into her fiery yellow Lamborghini Urus SUV with license plate “JUSTMILA” and peeled away. It was an extraordinary place, but I was too foodstruck to even buy anything.

From there we walked north on Ocean Avenue and found yet another grocery, this one called Sheepshead Bay Marketplace. After spending nearly an hour inside I now know what it feels like to be a heroin addict. We browsed, in increasing hunger pain, through the endless, artfully curated aisles and were mesmerized by the sheer abundance and quality of foods. A bread counter with baking from dozens of local bakeries. A deli with counter with smoked meats, every kind of sausage every made, bulging tubes of proteins. A coffee counter making lattes and Turkish coffee. Fruits and vegetables of every variety. Imported foods. Local foods. Flowers. A bank of dozens of drawers full of nuts and bulk cooking ingredients. Coolers with frozen dumplings, six varieties of. A prepared foods section with olives, salads, herbed vegetables, roasted meat, and soups, the smells of which brought painful cramping to my stomach as I swallowed back saliva. I moved from aisle to aisle, section to section, frantically, eyes darting from items to item, barely noticing the other customers jostling for space as I pushed through them. But I was paralyzed by choice, stunned by variety, incapacitated by abundance. In a haze I grabbed a jar and went to find Ana.

“Look at this!” I said, holding up my discovery to her, trying to pull her attention from her own hypnotic browsing. “Peas in brine, only a dollar-fifty!”

“Canned peas? Are you serious?”

“In brine. And in a jar. Really nice jar too, don’t you think?”

“We never eat peas. There’s two cans of peas in the boat that have been there since Haverstraw, six months ago.”

“But they’re dollar-fifty! In brine…” I said wistfully with vacant eyes.

“I think I need to get you out of here,” she said as she pried the jar of peas from my hand then led me out of the store. I watched the beautiful food passing behind us, salty tears rolled down my cheeks and a stubborn lump in my throat.

Fortunately, Ana had bought one large crusty roll, a latte, and an apple Danish. We found a sizeable rock protruding from the ground on a boulevard, sat on it, and greedily devoured our purchases. They were delicious and brought instant relief to my ravenous body.

“Are you okay now?” Ana asked as she cupped my chin.

“I’m better,” I said with a dreamy look in my eye, drunk with my food fix. “I’ll remember this moment. Always.”

We continued our wandering, loving the grit and the busyness of the downtown area of Sheepshead Bay. It felt like a real neighbourhood, very much unlike Manhattan, which often comes across as staged and curated. And everybody was still speaking Russian.

Ana’s retail radar began pinging off a Marshall’s, so I was marshalled away down the street and deposited at a PetCo pet superstore to research hamsters while she dug for deals amongst the Russian value chasers. For a rodent hater, Ana has a curious love for hamsters. In fact, she has pledged to buy one as soon as she gets home, and this time there will be no illusions that it’s Stella’s hamster. It will be Ana’s. And she will love him. It does mean less attention for me, but that will be more than compensated for by the pleasure I receive from her enhanced level of joy, experienced every time she looks at the little fella running on his wheel, eating a freshly made salad, or lounging in his cushy cage furnishings.

After staking out the rodent section I left then sat myself outside the Marshall’s, on a flattened guardrail, and watched the Brooklynites passing by, spiritually lifted by the arrival of another glorious Friday.

Ana eventually returned (it took a looooong time) and we went to see the hamsters. She fell in love with a pack of four little Roborovskis, and had decide that would the sub-species of her next pet, but they started attacking each other and then three of them turned on the smallest one and beat the turd pebbles out of him. She decided to stick with the proven docility of the dwarf hamster variety.

On the way back to the yacht club we were drawn into the Roll-N-Roaster - a vintage fast food joint - and shared a Roast Beef ‘N Cheez sandwich, Disc Fries, actual real authentic pan drip Gravy, and a Lemonade. We considered a bottle of Moet champagne for sixty bucks to celebrate our first day in Brooklyn, but cheaped out and stuck with the lemonade, which was very good. The chicken breasts we’d left thawing and abandoned in SeaLight’s sink would have to wait until tomorrow.

Movie Night and a Call from Naples

Atlantic Highlands - 2 miles in dinghy, 5 kilometres walked, 2 miles paddled

It was a very, very slow day. After a lovely paddleboard ride around the bay on still water, then a bit of stretching, we enjoyed a leisurely morning on the boat, where the only thing of note I accomplished was finishing off our tax returns and Ana did some Glenhyrst and yacht club work. Otherwise, it was sparsely consumed with reading, drinking hot beverages, doom scrolling, and just laying in the cockpit.

Our excitement for the day was going to a movie at the Smodcastle Cinemas. The movie was called Warfare and it was tense and brutal to watch and certainly got its point across, the point being (as I understood it) war is chaotic despite appearances of order and precision, a bunch of ragtag, but enflamed invadees can beat highly equipped professional soldiers, innocent bystanders are left broken and destitute, and it really, really hurts to have your legs blown off. The cinema itself is quite remarkable. It is very old, and the theatres are small; in fact Ana and I were the only ones watching the movie - truly, a private screening. There were images of Kevin Smith, the film maker and actor, plastered everywhere, and one of the dudes working there told us Mr. Smith was from the town next door and had grown up watching films at this cinema, so when the opportunity came to buy it, that's what he did.

We received a video call from Magnus, who had arrived in Italy the previous day and after a train ride from Pisa was now in Naples at the home of our exchange student Dom and his family. Of course, he had just been fed the best meal of his life and he and Dom were on their way into town, presumably to visit the local drinking establishments and probably eat late night pizza (unlikely to contain pineapple). We had a quick video chat with Dom and his folks and reassured them that we would be the next to visit....but we'd be staying far longer! Magnus is now in the final couple days of his European holiday and returns to Edinburgh this weekend for two more weeks of school, one final trip to the continent (with his sister), then it's back to regular life in Canada, but undoubtedly returning as a changed person.

A Day Out With Our Favourite New Jerseyans

Asbury Park and Beyond - 2 miles in dinghy, 5 kilometres walked, 60 kilometres driven

One of our best weekends of the trip was with our friends John and Catherine when we joined forces on SeaLight and and first conquered the Devil's Backbone passage then conquered all the bars we could find on Harbour Island. It was like a crazy teenagers weekend, except that we had money and probably knew better. That's why it was so fun.

Well, John and Catherine happened to be home in New Jersey on a short break from their cruising adventure and live only an hour's drive from the marina (I would learn from John that everything is within one hour's drive from their place). They made arrangements to pick us up around noon for a day trip around the area, and after a short shopping expedition to the St. Agnus Thrift Store, where Ana picked up a new purse and dress for her collection, and me a few books for mine, we met our friends, jumped in the back seat, and were off for a car ride

When traveling, there is simply nothing better than having a local to show you around. Catherine and John don't just know every square foot of New Jersey, they have also been sailing the New York area for many years and know all the waterways and anchorages too.

Our first stop was at the Navesink Twin Lights lighthouses and museum at the top of a very steep hill that was much more pleasant to reach by car than by foot. We had a close-up look at a Fresnel lense then moved into the museum where they had interesting displays on the history of these lighthouses, stories about the many female lighthouse keepers, lighthouse artifacts, and a mannequin wearing a fancy lighthouse keepers suit. I was tempted to have John distract the volunteer guide so that I could pilfer the fine suit as I know our buddy Daryl back in Newport would have loved wearing it. But I'm too honest for that. And so's John.

Next up was a cruise down the Jersey "shore" (not beach...it's called shore here) where we passed many newly built commercial and residential as hurricane Sandy has wiped out this area, leaving just a few of the stately old mansions, nearly all of which has been fixed up. It is a really cool area with a beach vibe that runs through everything. We were lucky with our timing as they told us the place becomes jammed with people in the summer, and today was beautiful, sunny, with no crowds in the least.

We drove to the town of Asbury Park and saw the legendary Stone Pony bar which has hosted bands of all stripes, including local hero Bruce Springsteen, whose career and music is heavily influenced by this town. I'm not much of a Springsteen fan, but I'd never say that out loud here, as you'd probably get the same sort of brutal thrashing you'd get if you announced "The Tragically Hips sucks!" anywhere in Canada. Though I don't love his music, the guy really is an eternal legend.

We parked and walked the streets of Asbury Park, dipping into a groovy bookstore then a groovier vintage clothing/antique/record/barware/jewelery/intimate products shop called Severed Wing. Catherine then led us into her favourite dive bar, on Bond Street, where the ladies enjoyed pairs of miniature Corona and Stella beers and John and I stuck with the, but always delicious, PBR. It was awesome and we talked and laughed non-stop. Last time we were doing drinks at a bar it was in Harbour Island where the cost of each round exceeded a standard mortgage payment. But here? Fourteen bucks.

We wandered a bit more then dipped into The Black Swan for lunch where we were led to our own private room and served fine beers and amazing meals as we visited at a leisurely pace, catching up on news since we'd last met and scheming for the future.

As fellow boaters, Catherine and John fully understand the luxury and scarcity of private transport, so on the way back to the marina (where we took the scenic route, covering every side street and hitting every traffic light in half a dozen towns, you know, to see how the regular people live) we stopped at a grocery store for us to pick up a few supplies for the boat. Then we jammed it all in the back of their vehicle and effortlessly returned to the marina instead of having to slog down highways and parking lots dragging our rapidly disintegrating shopping buggy.

At the marina we said our see-ya-laters (never goodbye...) then Catherine and John coasted away, back to their home, which we hope to visit one day in the very near future, and we hope they too will visit ours.

I must say, the greatest thing we will take away from this incredible adventure are the friends we have made. Full stop.

Walking the Highlands

Sandy Hook - 2 miles in dinghy, 10 kilometres walked

This area in the crook of Sandy Hook is truly beautiful. It was laundry day, and as cruisers know, laundry does take an entire day so it's a good thing we have few time restrictions these days. We walked a gorgeous and well maintained trail east along the waterfront, shadowed by the mansions stubbornly clinging to the steep cliffs above, and passing through thick thatches of Dr. Seussian weed stalks to the left, sometimes obscuring our view to the bay, and the NYC skyline and Carolina forest to the right. The sunny conditions were shaping up to provide for the warmest day we've had for a while - up to the mid 20's.

Nature today was showing her strength. There had been a pollen explosion last night and a powdery yellow coating had dusted everything, including the dinghy and SeaLight herself who taken on a mustardy sheen and was aching for a washdown. Along the trail we were treated to frequent whiffs of fishy ocean smells, not unpleasant, and other sniffs of forest life when the slight breeze shifted direction. Near the town of Highlands the trail ended and we continued into a residential neighbourhood where the more recently planted trees were dotted with emerging green buds. The landscapes had changed greatly in the last few hundred miles; everything was now looking and feeling very Canadian-like - the Spanish moss, scurrying lizards, warm and humid evenings, and palm trees had been replaced by pine and oak, blue recycling receptacles, arrow-straight streets, and that chill and excitement and variability of springtime air, where you need to put on then remove your sweater twenty times per day.

The village of Highlands was cute and the laundry facility was great. I noticed a Stop sign that was circled with flashing red lights, powered by solar, and wondered why I'd never seen any of these in Canada, as it seems a cheap and easy way to provide additional visiblity at problem intersections. I'll have to check this with the traffic folks back home.

With our sack of clean clothes we started the return trip, but this time went up the hill and walked along the streets. It was entirely residential except for one small strip mall where we were drawn into a sushi restaurant, harbouring low expectations, but were rewarded with a stupendous bento box stuffed with teriyaki beef, veggies, a California roll, a spring roll, and rice, plus a pad thai as good as any we'd had.

Our journey then led us to the ridge of the highlands and the Mount Mitchell Scenic Overlook where we found a sombre 911 memorial, a lush park, a lengthy pergola structure buzzing with bumble bees, and an extraordinary view over the bay with a hazy NYC skyline in the distance. From here the streets began a long, slow decline to the coast, passing though beautiful wooded neighbourhoods with residences ranging from classy mansions to cute cottages. One area had a series of urgently blooming cherry trees and we stopped to inhale the sweet fragrance from the flowers, and took our time doing it.

The greatest gift of this adventure of ours has been the gift of time. Our time has been our own to do with as we please. Going to sleep when we are tired, waking up when our bodies are ready, not having to rush from place to place checking chore items off a perpetually expanding list, stopping to sit on park benches, taking time to smell the cherry blossoms, and having the luxury most days of waking up and saying, "What shall we do today?" It has been soothing for the soul and nourishing for the body. We'd told many people before this trip that we were using it as a practice retirement, and in many ways that is what it has been like, with one key exception: there is an end date. This end date has provided us with an manageable sense of urgency, and not having an end date would have changed the spirit of the trip, because then we would be faced with the perpetual question of What comes next? Unlike regular life with two day weekends and occasional seven day vacations, this sense of urgency has been clocked in months instead of days, which has been a perfect countermeasure to the downside of a directionless perpetual holiday.

Time has been on our side. But, this may be easier for me to say, as just over one week from now, Ana will be back at her job in Glenhyrst Gardens bringing art, beauty, and culture to the citizens of Brant and beyond and I will be hanging out with my dad on SeaLight as we slowly work our way back up the Hudson River, continuing the adventure.

Atlantic Highlands - Buying Basil, Curling Egg Salad, and Rolling the Rrrrrr's

Atlantic Highlands - 2 miles in dinghy, 4 kilometres walked

After a truthfully pleasant ocean voyage with no collisions, sinkings, or issues of any type, besides trying to stay awake overnight as we passed over abnormally calm seas, we sailed into the New York harbour at 7 am and were the only boat there. As we worked our way up the channel and around the Sandy Hook pensinsula then south across the bay, we met just two fishing boats heading out to sea. Strangely quiet.

It was around 8 am when we finally reached the anchorage behind the breakwall at the south end of Raritan Bay and dropped the hook then crashed out for a couple of hours to catch up on sleep lost from the overnight passage.

By early afternoon we'd taken the dinghy into town and had a look around. I was completely unfamiliar with the geography of this area but learned that Sandy Hook refers to the 6-mile-long sand spit that runs south to north and creates a large, moderately sheltered bay. And it is not the same Sandy Hook where the horrible school shooting happened - this is in Newtown, Connecticut, which is a couple of hours away from here. In the nook of the hook are a series of smaller towns, the closest of which is Atlantic Highlands - where we spent the afternoon exploring.

Atlantic Highlands is a cute town, with an interesting high street, but not much was open on a Monday, particularly the Monday after Easter. We did find a grocery store and picked up a lovely little basil plant, which was the same price as buying a small clump of basil. I was also intrigued when Ana walked up to me carrying scruffy-looking egg salad sandwich, hermetically sealed with a triple layer of plastic over the plastic casing and a plastic sticker announcing the price of $5.99 in strengthy US dollars, translating into a ten dollar snack.

"Want to split this?" Ana asked me, as she fluttered her lengthy and luscious eyelashes and smiled.

"Didn't we just leave the boat?" I asked her. "I had lunch before we left and thought you did too?"

"All I had was toast."

"Why didn't you eat more? Man, you're meal planning is atrocious," I said, realizing these overnight passages tend to flatten my kindness.

"That's all I wanted for breakfast. Fine, I won't get it," she said, flinging the sandwich down the toilet paper aisle where it slid like a curling rock, slowly turning and coming to rest right on the button and, ironically, right beside where a teenage worker was sweeping the floor. He was clearly not a curler; if he was he would have been Hurrying Hard instead of watching it just slide down the floor.

"Damn, don't be so hasty! You can get the sandwich, I just don't want any," I said, trying to dig myself out of the hole I'd slipped into. But by that time she'd already moved on and found a couple of freshly baked rolls and an apple for half the price. Disaster averted.

After a stop at an antique/junktique store where they had a lovely collection of knick-knackery, but sadly no vintage Playboys or Hustlers like you often find in these places (and are rarely shielded from viewing in plastic packaging), we returned to SeaLight to chill out for the rest of the day as neither of us were feeling at the top of our game. Yet, we were relieved and pleased to have made it to NYC and finished our final overnight passage.

I scanned the FM radio, looking for a good Latino station and made an astounding discovery. You know the radio voice that comes on saying station's call letters, slogans, promos, and that sort of thing. After scanning a dozen stations, and recalling all previous Spanish FM radio stations I've listened to over the years, I realized it's the SAME GUY. It's the same guy on every station. The voice is identical, with it's baritone texture, frantic, yet understandable delivery, animated inflections, hoppity rhythm, and rolling those double r's like a motherfucker. That dude must have nailed his first radio job in his teens and cornered the entire market.

Or.....maybe it's just a clever AI.