Suddenly Heaven’s Lights Went Out

Sometimes the darkness after evening twilight can be surprising. To Joe and me, to the two of us together, it happened twice.

I first met Joe while I was busy with the first boat I purchased. The boat arrived at the marina on a trailer and was placed on the keel with stands from the sides so that she would not fall right or left. While cleaning the boat I thought I would have a problem at the stage of assembling the sails and other ropes. The boats I sailed on in the long before were small and simple and in front of me stood a boat that seemed quite complicated to operate. Mostly I was afraid of what embarrassment it would cause me and spoil my joy at a time when I was trying to reboot my sailing experience. My thoughts were interrupted by a question coming from outside the boat. “Is it a Cape Dory 30?” I looked outside and saw a man I didn’t know before. I answered him with a smile and pride that yes, it’s a Cape Dory 30. I asked him where his boat was. He pointed to a boat quite similar to my boat and said, “I’m Joe, that Bristol 32 is mine.” We started talking about sailing and I explained to him about my predicament. He immediately offered his help and I realized that from that moment on I would have no problem outfitting the boat. Later on, I learned that helping others was what Joe was all about.

After more preparations the boat was launched into the water. We met on Saturday at the marina and started putting together sails and ropes. With Joe’s knowledge, everything seemed simple. We finished the preparations in the late afternoon.

My heart was about to explode at the sight of the beautiful boat, and the realization that she was all mine started to sink deep in my mind. I suggested to Joe that we go at once on the maiden voyage. Joe agreed immediately. We released the ropes and freed the boat from the dock. We left the marina behind towards the Hudson River. A refreshing wind blew and we raised the sails. We turned off the engine and headed south. The sight of all three sails filled with wind against the Hudson River scenery was spectacular! The boat leaned on her side with the railing almost touching the water. I held the steering wheel trying to feel the boat for the first time. I was in heaven. Everything seemed to be taken from another world. I thought, maybe this is the original paradise. Neither a woman nor an apple, just sky, water and a sail filled with wind. After a quick hour we reached the Palisades where the towering rocky cliffs seemed to be taller in the evening twilight.

As we relished the experience, at the height of our uplifted spirits, the wind dropped. From the waves in the water, remained only a ripple that faded behind the stern of the boat that had advanced like a ghost. The last light disappeared behind the cliffs and darkness descended on the Hudson.

Heaven’s lights went out.

I cranked on the engine and began to realize that we hurried out without consulting the Tides Tables. We didn’t know what direction of current to expect at this hour on the Hudson. I turned the bow to the North. A few moments later we noticed that we were sailing against the current with a rather small engine. We moved slowly, very slowly. It gave me time to think and I realized that we may have a bigger problem. For me it was a first sail in the area, I didn’t know the coastline, and there was no GPS to give us a picture of our location and especially the location of the entrance to the marina. I asked Joe if he knew the way back to the marina and the answer was a strong negative. He never sailed at night. I sailed during my military service mostly at night, so going out to sea in the evening seemed obvious to me and therefore I did not hesitate to go out for a sail at that time.

Well, now we had a problem.

I decided to sail close to shore and to use the depth sounder to determine the minimum distance from shore. The Hudson is pretty shallow for the most part. I gave Joe binoculars and asked him to try to identify places familiar to him and maybe that’s how we would find the entrance to the marina. At first, after a short hour, we identified the gravel pit and barges that were moored near the shore. A little later, we saw the power plant and we realized that we were close to the marina. The boat progressed quite slowly with a full throttle forward and the engine began to heat-up from the effort. I hoped in my heart that we wouldn’t have to sail like this for a long time.

Suddenly, I heard Joe say, “There’s the Pepsi Cola Vending machine. Maybe it’s the one standing on the refueling dock at the marina. I see the lighted machine well with my binoculars.” We approached the shore and saw that it was indeed the vending machine at the marina and no other. We saw more identifying details and understood that we were in the right direction of the entrance. I also noticed that the marina did not have lights (green/red or otherwise) to mark the opening.

We tied the boat to the fuel dock and after a sigh of relief I realized that after such an ordeal on the maiden voyage we were up for many more such adventures and that there is a God and in times of trouble, He’ll send us a Pepsi Cola machine to light our way.

Joe became a regular crew member on the boat and went on many sails with me—With the family or the two of us alone. I installed a GPS device in the boat.

Towards the end of the summer, we decided to take a long cruise to Block Island.  Block was like the pilgrimage to Mecca for the sailors in our area. On the voyage there, my daughter and her then husband, who was a tall guy, joined in. On this voyage we learned that a tall person can be a serious disadvantage on a sailboat. Every time we changed tack, we asked him to duck. He rose and asked why? The bang of the mainsail boom heating his head was the quick answer.   Ouuuuuch. Since then, we called him “Boom Stopper.”

We arrived at Block Island on a three-day sail along the southern coast of Connecticut. I didn’t know the shoreline and we were helped by charts that at the time seemed uninspiring to me to approach the coast. The coastline was intrusive and strewn with reefs and other navigational obstacles throughout. We entered the anchorages that were easy to navigate. We entered Block Island with great joy as we felt that in doing so, we were certified to join the Cruisers Family.

We met the rest of my family who arrived by a ferry and we spent two days in Block. To sail back, we decided to return along the southern coast of Long Island and thus complete a round trip around the island. We didn’t know a lot of details there and then. With my knowledge today, it’s clear that I wouldn’t have carried out this plan at all.

For this cruise, only the two of us remained. We loaded the boat with water and food and refueled at the Block Island Fuel dock. It bothered me that they had no details about the predicted weather. The weather was fine and a nice breeze blew through the island.

In high spirits, we left Block and headed south towards Montauk. From the very beginning we realized that we would have to sail in a zigzag pattern because the wind did not cooperate with our plan. Joe was on the helm. As a salty mariner he was calling for change of tack in a loud voice “Hard-a-lee. “He turned the wheel to the wind and I pulled on the jib sheet. We changed tack from port to starboard and then again from starboard to port, time and again. We made very little progress. We realized that the current probably set us back to almost the starting point of every turning point. At that time neither of us knew how to predict the currents. We sailed through a wide tidal strait between Block Island and the eastern point of Long Island. In high tide, the ocean tides flow through this area into Long Island Sound and back out to the ocean during low tide. This makes the current volatile and hard to navigate. I learned all of this in the following years.

In the evening, just after dark, we saw the Montauk Lighthouse up close. In total we sailed about 14 miles from the morning, an unimpressive distance to say the least. From here we set sail west along the southern coast of Long Island. The wind blew strongly and came from a southwest direction forcing us to tack. One tack moved us forward, and closer to the lee shore. The opposite tack moved us very slightly forward but that tack took us away from the shore. The wind grew stronger, and stormy condition took over the sea. The foam of the waves blurred the glitter of the stars reflected in the water. Waves began to crash on the port bow. The good boat proved her strength to us and forgave us for not reducing sails, as good seamanship dictates. The Cape Dory is designed for the hull to tilt on its side for optimum speed and the boat felt good when the railing dipped in the water. Not a single boat was visible around us, we were completely alone in this part of the ocean. On the radio, we heard Russian seamen who seemed to be sailing on large fishing boats in the vicinity.

Joe went down to the galley from time to time to prepare sandwiches to satisfy our hunger. It cost him a lot of effort, but those sandwiches tasted so good and he didn’t even have to add salt.

At one point we started to maintain a watch schedule so we could rest. Joe stayed to rest in the cockpit and didn’t understand how I managed to get down the ladder to my bed and fall asleep right away. It was impossible to describe to him what it means to sail in the Gulf of Suez.

Dawn broke the next day and the sight of the storm raging around us was spectacular. We were alone in the ocean south of Long Island. With dark clouds above us, our white sail was the only one visible all the way to the horizon around us.  Our destination was to get to the Ambrose Canal which is the gate to enter New York Harbor. The wind was still blowing from the southwest and getting even stronger. I went below to use the head (boat language for bathroom) and bumped my forehead when the boat rolled violently. After that experience, we decided to keep a bucket handy in the cockpit rather than go below.

 Thus, we progressed slowly until in the afternoon we passed between the anchored ships waiting for permission to go through the Ambrose Canal to their port. We knew we were close. The sea calmed down a bit and the wind backed (changed direction counterclockwise) and came from our port quarter. We could swear that at some points we were surfing on the waves. With the rising speed of the boat, so raised our spirit

We arrived at the entrance to the canal at sunset. We were sure that we would identify the canal by the flashing lights on the large buoys that marked the canal. They were well visible on the chart.

The evening twilight came to an end. The last rays of the sun were extinguished.

Heaven’s lights went out.

The lights on shore turned on.

Millions of colored lights were visible ahead. Most of them sparkled due to the hot weather. Lights of Brooklyn, Staten Island and New Jersey. Traffic lights, signs, buildings and streets. The canal’s marking lights had no chance of being detected in this celebration of lights. Thus, the hopes of a dignified entry as befits seafarers longing to get to New York Harbor after a cruise in the Atlantic were dashed.

 The wind diminished down to a whisper.

For a moment there was confusion on the boat and in the next, a new idea was born. We had a GPS so I would enter coordinates of the first buoy. That would give us an exact direction and a range to reach this buoy. I asked Joe to take a flashlight and go to the bow and try to read the buoy number when we reached it and thus make sure that we had indeed reached the correct buoy. So, we did and so we progressed from one buoy to the next until we saw the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge clearly and could advance to it without overcoming another navigational obstacle on the way.

To the Battery, the most southern corner of Manhattan Island, we arrived exactly at midnight.

The Hudson welcomed us with a warm hug, the wind was calm, no ferry rush and no annoying wake. Only peaceful silence and the noise of our boat engine could be heard in the darkness – pft, pft, pft.

We were both exhausted, changing watch every two hours to sip the last 35 miles up the Hudson to the Marina at Haverstraw. On the way, from time to time, we had to give the right of way to a barge in tow crossing our route.

 In the early morning with the first light, we entered the marina. We washed the boat and fell asleep for a few hours until the noise of the marina woke us up to continue cleaning and put the boat in order.

It was an incredible experience and according to the tradition of this boat, we carried out a blessing ritual. We were blessed to have left the docks. We didn’t bang another boat and no one banged us and we managed to come back safely again.

We had many more adventures on the sailing trips we took, during which we learned to find sources for weather forecasting, currents and places to dock or drop the anchor. Sometimes nature prepared surprises for us, but our experience has helped us overcome them without first needing the blow to the forehead.

The third time heaven’s lights went out for me, was when I came back from a visit to Israel and I wanted to meet up with my friend Joe. Joe was very ill even before I left. I called him and got his wife, Melody, who apologized on the phone on his behalf, because he couldn’t get to the phone at that moment. She promised me that he’d call me back as soon as he could. Two hours later, Melody called me and told me that Joe was no longer with us.

This is how Joe left port on his own. Alone at the helm, on his last voyage to other oceans.

Fair winds and following seas, Dear Joe.

Thanks to my wife Amy for helping, you to understand my English.