We decided to spend
another weekend onboard and of course we had Cimon, our 5 year
old dalmatian, with us as usual. It was a beautiful August day
with a clear blue sky -- an easy sail across the bay from Morgan,
New Jersey to Great Kills Harbor on Staten Island, New York.
Cimon had slept during most of the trip but was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed once we turned on the engine and doused our sails just outside the entrance channel to Great Kills.
As usual, it was an adventure just getting inside the harbor.
The entrance channel is very narrow, barely enough room for two boats to pass each other. It's a dredged channel with extreme shoals on either side. The east side of the channel is nearly on the beach and there are always swimmers, waders, and people fishing to contend with. And the west side is shallow enough for people to wade out in water below their knees where they can cast a line and fish, so there's no straying from the channel. Once your in it, you're committed to keep on going. There's always 2-way traffic which wouldn't be a problem except for the occasional over anxious powerboaters that cannot wait to get to their favorite fishing grounds. They obey the no wake warnings while they're in the harbor, but once they reach the channel, it's full speed ahead. And there's the jet skis that cut back and forth across the channel hoping to jump a powerboat's wake. It makes the ride into Great Kills like a roller coaster ride. Somebody has to hold onto the wheel and somebody else has to hold onto the dog.
The dog, of course, is distracted by all of this and doesn't know whether to continue to bark at the people on the beach to starboard or the powerboats speeding past to port.
Once we got inside
the harbor we set our course around the harbor's perimeter, around
the mooring field, to head for our favorite mooring nearest the
boat ramp in Gateway National Park. The mooring line was one big
slimy mess of seaweed and barnacles, I couldn't even handle it
with my bare hands, good thing I was still wearing my sailing
gloves. I grabbed the mooring line with the boathook then slid
one of our own lines through the eyesplice and cleated it to the
boat. Then I setup another mooring line on the other side of the
bow from the boat directly to the ring on the top of the mooring.
Once that was done, I removed our first mooring line from the
slimey one and attached it directly to the ring on top of the
mooring as well. We were set for the night.
But first things first. Cimon was getting antsy to get ashore. It was walk time. We brought the dingy up from down below and unrolled it on the cabin top. As usual, Cimon hopped inside the deflated dingy. We chased him out of it several times while we inflated it. Then it was over the side. Bruce hopped into the dingy and I handed him the battery, the electric trolling motor, the oars, a couple of life jackets and a duffle bag with more safety items and supplies, followed by Cimon and then I hopped in too. It was a short ride to the dock at the boat ramp, and then we went for a leisurely stroll in the park, poopy bag in hand. With that taken care of, we rode back to the boat.
We lounged in the cockpit as the sun went down then Bruce prepared a wonderful dinner. Dinners always seem wonderful on the boat. And we lounged around some more. Before we knew it, it was time for bed.
Bedtime on Realization means another dingy ride to shore with Cimon. So in the darkness we all hopped into the dingy and headed for the dock.
Cimon's not content
to just lay down or even sit still while we're in the dingy. He
has to stand with his front feet on the tubes. And he's not content
to stand in one spot. Hop up on the starboard tube then onto
the port tube, then back to the other side. I spend the entire
ride trying to keep him in the dingy. Usually I'm successful.
As we approached the dock, he suddenly leapt from the dingy. Now Cimon doesn't particularly care for swimming but when he's in the dingy, for some reason he thinks he's an Olympic class long jumper. We were about 6 feet from the dock and when he jumped, his feet thrust the slowing dingy backwards away from the dock and he made a very ungraceful landing in the water. Once in the water he swam frantically back towards the dingy -- paws slapping and splashing water every which way. We both tried to grab the handle on his PFD but he was splashing so much I couldn't grab him. All I could do was laugh. Then suddenly he was in the dingy. Then he shook.
None of this took place without an audience. The spectators on the dock laughed and greeted us with smiles as we finally emerged from the dingy, everyone soaking wet, and we proceeded with our walk.
Then it was back to the boat and I realized that we'd have to spend the night sleeping with a damp, stincky dog.
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Last modified: 19 January 2000