Greenwich Boat Show

The 4th Annual Greenwich In-Water Boat Show is taking place this weekend at Beacon Point Marina in Cos Cob. This is a powerboat show consisting of nine regional dealers and the 16 boat manufacturers they represent. With the sun shining brightly early this morning, I decided to give summer a jump start by paying a visit.

While most shows in the region are held in the fall or winter, this one hopes to capitalize on the spring-fever  boat buyers have this time of year. There are no tents with booths selling electronics and fishing gear; it is the boats themselves that are the main attraction. Billing itself as a "show for serious buyers", the models are available to sea trial throughout the weekend. I know of no other show which offers this.

The show occupies three docks at Beacon Point, so I spent the morning hours kicking the tires (okay, fenders) and trying to familiarize myself with many of the new models. No matter how many boats you may  know about, there are always new ones you discover, and familiar ones which have been changed.

Getting acquainted with a boat, however, can take on many forms. For many of the visitors, sitting aboard seemed to be an important test. Steve Shabet of Darien, along with his son Matthew and daughter Sarah, felt  especially comfortable aboard a Grady White, while others aboard a Chris Craft seemed to already be thinking about summer days afloat.

While most boats at the show are in the 20-32 foot range, there were a few larger ones. I had a nice talk with Paul and Sharon Barton of Portland Boat Works aboard  a 36-foot Tiara they have for sale. This is their first year at the show and I made sure to take a tour of the cabin. Very nice!

Another boat that caught my eye was a World Cat 32. This is a catamaran with twin 300 hp outboards offered by Twin Hull Boats of Black Rock, CT. When an opening became available for a sea trial, I couldn't resist. We cast the lines, made our way down the Mianus River, underneath the bridge, and out into the Sound. Once past the Riverside Yacht Club, we opened her up! Stable and dry, this was the perfect boat for an early April excursion.

The Greenwich Boat Show runs through Sunday, April 3. Admission is free.

Greenwich Boat Show: website

Wolf Larsen

Sometimes when snowflakes are falling and the winds are howling, I find myself thinking about Wolf Larsen. No, not the antagonistic character from the Jack London novel Sea Wolf, but instead a former fishing rig of the same name, anchored in the Price's Bend section of Northport Harbor. Brutal and cynical, yet also highly intelligent, she is appropriately named.

I first saw Wolf Larsen several summers ago while anchored here waiting for an August storm to pass. Her outriggers and design stood apart from the cabin cruisers and sailboats surrounding her. There was no activity aboard, and it appeared that there hadn't been any in a long time. Cormorants and herons had assumed ownership with two large nests atop the pilot house. 

Returning here again (by land) in early December, the other boats were long gone, but not Wolf Larsen. There she was, still moored, with her bow pointing into the northwest winds as some early season snowflakes blew around. Was she spending her entire winter at Prices Bend? I don't know.

I do know that when I arrived at Hobart Beach on a blustery March day, I saw her again. Still standing proud, attached to her mooring, a little bit tired, but not for show.

Sometimes it seems as if every harbor has a few of these: an owner with a dream, and not much else. There may  be grandiose plans of Caribbean travel and carefree days afloat, but in the end, divorce, layoffs, and all the other complications of life get in the way.

Old boats require money and time. We often can provide one: rarely can we offer both.

 When times are good, we have the money but wish we had the time. Then times turn bad and we have the time, but the money and the dream are all gone.

Triborough Bridge 1961

Life Magazine Archives: George Silk, Photographer

Soundbounder: NY Boat Show 1961, 1972

1961 New York Boat Show

"You should have seen the Atlantic Ocean in those days."*

There are several funny lines by Burt Lancaster's character in the 1979 movie Atlantic City. As a longtime resident of the declining resort town, he first appears to be someone who remembers the town's glory days. As the movie progresses, you start to realize he is someone who is hopelessly nostalgic about a past that never truly existed. Not only were the organized crime rackets better back in his day, the ocean was better too. Pursuing a much younger Susan Sarandon, it becomes clear what he misses most about the past is his youth.

I don't think I am blinded by nostalgia however when I describe the New York National Boat Show in the 1960's and '70's. Life Magazine covered it; the Tonight Show stopped by; and Jackie O' brought John-John too. It was like Super Bowl Sunday.... a January ritual....a mid winter classic.

You should have seen the boat show back then.

We would arrive on a Friday night; check out the spanking new boats; mingle with summer friends; gaze in awe at the swanky new gear; and leave with stuffed shopping bags full of brochures and giveaways.  Afterwards, we would eat at Lima's Fish-A-Teria (any fish you wish). My dad would have the fried fish special with a Lowenbrau; I had linguine with red clam sauce and a Freddie Bartholomew. My dopey older brother would ask for beef burgundy, in white wine, without the beef. It was a cosmopolitan and nautical, slapstick nirvana.

Four decades have done nothing to diminish those midtown-Manhattan, Polaroid days. Yes, the mostly mythical Mad Men era of girdles and scotch gave way to a more gritty and declining New York in the early 1970's. Films such as Serpico, The French Connection, and Midnight Cowboy show a city on its last legs, far removed from Breakfast At Tiffany's and An Affair To Remember. New York no longer had God (or Gerald Ford) on its side.

The New York National Boat Show however, was Burt Bacharach in a turtleneck, and Sterling Hayden smoking a pipe; with Natalie Wood-dressed girls inviting us aboard. Created in 1905, it was held in such long lost locales as the second Madison Square Garden, Grand Central Palace, Kingsbridge Armory, and the New York Coliseum. It is the Coliseum (1958-1986) years where it reached its highest fame. It is also the years I remember best.

Like baseball's All Star Game, the show began to lose its cache sometime in the 1980's. And also like the All Star Game, it was for a multitude of reasons: 

1. the autumn in-water shows are now larger.


2. potential customers today don't need to wait for a product to appear at a show in order to view it.


3. many boats today are not transportable by land due to their height and width.


4. there are cheaper ways for companies to showcase their wares.

The photos above are from the Life Magazine/Google Archives circa 1961.  I am not sure, but it looks like they are delivering a Stephens Cabin Cruiser to the big show; maybe a 35-36 footer. Rolling through the streets of Manhattan......I sound like an old coot, don't I?

You should have seen the teamsters in those days.

The New York Boat Show is underway at the Jacob Javits Center, January 19th-23rd. Though only a shell of its former self, it is still a fun way to spend a winter afternoon. Sadly, Lima's Fish-A -Teria is long gone; so are the Freddy Bartholomews.

NY Boat Show

Google/Life Archives: 1961 Boat Show Delivery

Soundbounder: Triborough Bridge 1961

Video: 1964 Boat Show Newsreel

Video: 1963 Boat Show Newsreel

YouTube: 1970's Lowenbrau Commercial (Merv, you're a genius)

YouTube: Burt Lancaster, Atlantic City (quote is at 1:15)

November

"November always seemed to me the Norway of the year."

EMILY DICKINSON

Hauling a boat is a ritual that I often try to postpone. When the calendar reaches November, a strain of denial seems to overtake me. I become convinced that there will be plenty of warm days ahead. I try to remind myself of the years when I sailed on Thanksgiving weekend. A few peppers still growing in the garden reinforce this delusion. Unfortunately, the calendar and the thermometer do not lie. Sailors, like aging starlets and men with bad combovers, need to acknowledge the passing of time.



The sail from Noank to the Connecticut River boatyard is an easy one. It is the preparations that are most consuming. I needed to make sure the yard had a dock space available. I also had to make arrangements for getting back to Noank to retrieve my car. Finally I had to dig through my bedroom closet for gloves, a wool hat, and the rest of my winter wardrobe. A gentle autumn day on land can sometimes feel like January just a few miles from the shoreline.



November is lonely on the water. An occasional commercial boat is the only other vessel you may see. The shoreline in the distance seems deserted too. Gone are the crowds that flocked to these beaches just six weeks ago. Waterfront homes that overflowed with guests, look empty and silent. Their awnings and Adirondack chairs have been removed from the lawn. Only an occasional whiff from a fireplace tells you that someone is home. A lighthouse that seemed like a quaint image for artists and tourists in June, becomes a utilitarian navigation aid in November.



November is also a sad month on the water. No matter how enjoyable the time might be, you know the days are numbered. This year is no different, as my day is spent looking back in time, rather than forward. I think of my trip to the Thimble Islands, and a starry night anchored in West Harbor. Any sort of thought to suppress my approaching winter ashore. The seasons of the year have come full circle.



I arrived in Saybrook without a hitch, and made my way to the train station the next morning.

It was a spectacular fall day with sunny skies and temperatures in the 60's. As the train passed through Niantic, Long Island Sound came into full view. There were several boats in the distance, taking advantage of the lovely weather. For a brief moment, I started thinking that I should drive back to Saybrook and take one more sail. There would certainly be enough time, and it would be a shame to waste such a nice day.

Eventually I realized that this would not be possible since I had already removed the sails from the boat. My sailing season was over, and there was no way to delay its inevitable end.



But in spirit, it never ends.

 

This was originally posted in November 2008; but I had no readers then.

The Late Season Mooring Field

Essex, October 19, 2010



Map

Cedar Point, East Hampton

There are thin slices in the year when everything seems to come together. The winds pick up, the skies are clear, the crowds disappear, and the world is yours. It's as if someone left you the keys to paradise since they won't be needing it any longer. It's a time of year I feel most comfortable in and around Long Island Sound. A moment in time when even a place like East Hampton becomes my long-lost hometown.

If I were a film director, I might very well have situated a coming of age movie in Sag Harbor and Shelter Island Sound. I spent many summers here working aboard a 53' Hatteras and calling these waters my own.  Along with Norwalk in my high school years, it is where everything, good or bad seemed to happen to me between ages 18 and 24.

But time rolls over everything, and I no longer have the attachments I once had to Sag Harbor. The docks in town are terribly expensive, and much of the atmosphere has changed too. The little bar I used to visit is now an upscale restaurant with a name I can't pronounce. The bookstore is gone; so too is the hardware store ; and few seem to remember any of the names of  people I once knew here.  

While the towns have changed, the waters never do!

Just east of Shelter Island and northeast of Sag Harbor is an anchorage I refer to as Cedar Point. Cruising guides rarely  mention it, and when they do, it is just a line or two. The charts call it Northwest Harbor, but I have yet to meet someone who uses this name. While never crowded, the anchorage can be uncomfortable in the summer months from the wash of passing mega-yachts circumventing Shelter Island.  When the late summer winds are not too strong however, from the south or west,  it becomes an ideal location for a night on the hook.

The surrounding land is part of Suffolk County's 600 acre Cedar Point Park. Much like Napatree Point, it is a narrow sand spit dividing the calmer waters on one side from the more exposed. And just like Napatree, the land here was altered by the Hurricane of 1938. Prior to that storm, the 1860 lighthouse and western half of the point had been an island.

Rowing ashore, we had the beach all to ourselves. While the south shoreline was hot and windless, the northern side had enough breeze to remind us that these warm days were numbered. We managed to walk a good portion of the peninsula, catching the view of a fishing boat passing  every now and then.. By late afternoon, with the sun already low in the sky, we were back aboard for an early dinner.

The shorter days make it seem much later aboard than it actually is. It's as if I enter a different time-zone and need to set my watch forward, the moment I cast the lines. There was no activity on the water and only a few stray lights could be seen in the distance. Surrounded by darkness and silence, along with the warmth of an extra blanket, I was asleep before 9 p.m..

Why is it that a 50 degree September morning feels colder than 30 degrees in January? It is one of the mysteries of the world to me. It was not yet dawn when I awoke, but I had no desire to climb out of my bunk to check the time. After unsuccessfully trying to sleep a bit more, I soon noticed the skies through the cabin portholes, slowly changing from black to pale. In no good humor, I abandoned my bunk and faced the chill of early day.

I lit the stove and  lingered alongside it, embracing the traces of heat while the coffee brewed. The wind was calm, with just the sound of water slapping lightly against the hull. Sliding back the companionway hatch, I was greeted by the sunrise of another spectacular day. I climbed on deck, easily reminded of why I loved it here so much. It was good to be back.

Cedar Point County Park

Soundbounder: Cedar Point Lighthouse

Map

An Occurrence At Old Lyme Bridge

No matter what the calendar and thermometer may read, it is the Old Lyme Railroad Bridge that marks my seasons . When I sail north of this span in November, the bridge closes behind me, and my winter begins.

For the past several years, Carina has spent her winter months in a boatyard a few miles above this bridge. I still sail her occasionally in late fall and early spring, but always north of the span. Until I venture to the other side, it all seems like a preseason exhibition game. It doesn't really count. This 1907, truss-style, bascule bridge is my Checkpoint Charlie; my San Ysidro. Passing beneath her is my spring and autumnal equinox.

There is something that feels very unnatural when a boat passes under a bridge. The charts and signs all show that there is plenty of clearance, but I still find myself second guessing the dimensions. I envision the mast being too tall, hitting the bridge, and then falling down. If only Freud were aboard to diagnose and explain my  mast-envy, and dismasting anxiety.

But there are no mishaps, and the bridge operator gives me a wave as I clear the opening. I turn to wave back and immediately realize that I am south of the bridge. "See you in November" I yell to him.

Ahead of me I can see the two lighthouses at Saybrook Point, and I smell the salt water in the breeze. A small wave rolls in from the Sound and smacks the hull broadside, spraying my face lightly. It's a brisk and salty reminder that Carina has been released from her winter stall, and is now free to roam in what F. Scott Fitzgerald called "the great wet barnyard of Long Island Sound". 

Saybrook-Old Lyme Bridge

Soundbounder: November

Soundbounder: Ferry Landing Park

Sea Otter IV

While most boats are launched in the spring, there are a few that get hauled out instead. Like many fishing and commercial boats, Sea Otter IV stays in the water all winter. Once the spring rush of launching boats begins to subside, she gets hauled to have her bottom cleaned and painted. Within a few days, she is back in the water, and as good as new.

Commonly known as a short haul, a boat will come out of the water for anywhere from a few hours, to a week or two, depending on how much work there is to be done.

Spring Commissioning

Old Saybrook, April 2009

November

"November always seemed to me the Norway of the year."

EMILY DICKINSON

Hauling a boat is a ritual that I often try to postpone. When the calendar reaches November, a strain of denial seems to overtake me. I become convinced that there will be plenty of warm days ahead. I try to remind myself of the years when I sailed on Thanksgiving weekend. A few peppers still growing in the garden reinforce this delusion. Unfortunately, the calendar and the thermometer do not lie. Sailors, like aging starlets and men with bad combovers, need to acknowledge the passing of time.



The sail from Noank to the Connecticut River boatyard is an easy one. It is the preparations that are most consuming. I needed to make sure the yard had a dock space available. I also had to make arrangements for getting back to Noank to retrieve my car. Finally I had to dig through my bedroom closet for gloves, a wool hat, and the rest of my winter wardrobe. A gentle autumn day on land can sometimes feel like January just a few miles from the shoreline.



November is lonely on the water. An occasional commercial boat is the only other vessel you may see. The shoreline in the distance seems deserted too. Gone are the crowds that flocked to these beaches just six weeks ago. Waterfront homes that overflowed with guests, look empty and silent. Their awnings and Adirondack chairs have been removed from the lawn. Only an occasional whiff from a fireplace tells you that someone is home. A lighthouse that seemed like a quaint image for artists and tourists in June, becomes a utilitarian navigation aid in November.

November is also a sad month on the water. No matter how enjoyable the time might be, you know the days are numbered. This year is no different, as my day is spent looking back in time, rather than forward. I think of my trip to the Thimble Islands, and a starry night anchored in West Harbor. Any sort of thought to suppress my approaching winter ashore. The seasons of the year have come full circle.



I arrived in Saybrook without a hitch, and made my way to the train station the next morning.

It was a spectacular fall day with sunny skies and temperatures in the 60's. As the train passed through Niantic, Long Island Sound came into full view. There were several boats in the distance, taking advantage of the lovely weather. For a brief moment, I started thinking that I should drive back to Saybrook and take one more sail. There would certainly be enough time, and it would be a shame to waste such a nice day. Eventually I realized that this would not be possible since I had already removed the sails from the boat. My sailing season was over, and there was no way to delay its inevitable end. But in spirit, it never ends.