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Original Post November. 9, 2022
This was it. The last leg of the final journey toward putting Oyster to bed for the winter. Florida felt light years away and yet within weeks before we would make LaBelle our winter home. Neither of us dared talk about the next phase of the plan. We were both unready to leave this venture behind.
Instead we chose to let the days ahead flow. Today was yet another glorious, sunny morning with a nip of fresh autumn air. We cruised easily across Long Island Sound to the mouth of the river in Old Saybrook, Connecticut where two small lighthouses and a ferry guided us in. I could see that the low train bridge was down from afar, which meant that we’d have to call the bridge master to open it up for clear passage. This would be a first for me. I picked up the VHF radio, turned the dial to Channel 13 and tried to sound like an old pro as I called it by name as instructed by our trusty Waterway Guide.
“Old Lyme Draw, Old Lyme Draw. This is recreational vessel Oyster requesting a bridge opening. Over.”
Jeff and I couldn’t help but chuckle. Every time we added a new boating skill we became downright giddy. This was no exception.
The bridge master responded cheerily. He’d be happy to raise the bridge as soon as one more expected train passed. He even called me “Captain” twice. We got a kick out of that one.
Once we passed through, Jeff and I thanked him and started to meander upstream. Leaves on the trees were just beginning to change color with hints of deep crimson, flame orange and bright yellow, lending a quintessential New England feel to the banks on either side. Autumn is definitely my favorite time of year up here. It was incredibly special to be able to experience nature’s transformation – and by boat, no less!
We continued on through, knowing that the upcoming East Haddam swing bridge ahead was also one we’d have to request be opened for us. Thankfully the manager of our marina had warned us ahead of time that it was undergoing reparations and therefore was only opened twice a day to boat traffic, so we at least knew what to expect. She hadn’t known the exact times, though, so we decided to take our chances.
As we approached I picked up the VHF radio once again. The bridge master responded by informing us of the 10am and 1:00 pm scheduled openings. We’d only missed it by a half hour. One positive thing about our mid October travels meant that the waters were quiet because most boats were already stored away. The empty dock to our left looked like just the place to settle in, so Jeff sidled up and docked parallel to it with no one in sight. The Plan B was to anchor out if anybody came to kick us out.
Meanwhile, we were delighted to find that we were sitting in the perfect spot to enjoy a show of nifty water planes taking off and landing on the river. The bright red hanger was right across from us! Later that evening the hanger transformed into the perfect garage for a live band to practice. Who knew we’d get to be the only audience to a live jam session on the Connecticut River?
The next morning we set out as soon as 10:00 came around. Other boats had already formed a line behind us. There wasn’t any need to call the bridge master this time, but we still got on the radio to thank him once we’d passed. What an incredible marvel it was to see a swing bridge open from this new perspective. He stood up on a platform and waved to all below. Another first!
As we continued on I spotted what looked like an old tall ship schooner heading our way. Curiously, it seemed to be under motor power but was still being pushed down the river by men in a dinghy.
The VHF cackled.
“This is the Amistad, Amistad, here. Will the vessel sailing northbound down the Connecticut River please respond.”
“That’s us!” I said. “They’re calling us!”
“I doubt it,” said Jeff. While I understood how illogical that seemed, I disagreed.
“Yes, they are.” The radio cackled again and the message was repeated. I pulled out the speaker.
“This is Oyster replying to the Amistad, over.”
“Hello, Oyster. We’re calling to ask that you pass us high speed to create as big of a wake as possible. It’ll really help push us along down the river.”
Jeff laughed and responded on his own. “Sorry, Amistad, but this vessel only pushes to 7 miles an hour. We’ll try our best, but can’t make any guarantees!”
The Captain chuckled, saying that he would appreciate anything we could do. I then asked about the ship, and was told that it was a 2006 replica of the original vessel Amistad. They were taking it to Olde Mystic Seaport. How cool was that? We wondered after they passed, though, if they’d reach the East Haddam bridge by 1:00pm in time to be able to get through and continue on their way.
The rest of the trip was uneventful. As we came up to the city of Middletown where “little Ivy” league Wesleyan University is located, we were keenly aware that our destination marina was only a little bit further. We both grew quiet again. I called by phone to let them know we were close by, and they told us where we should pull Oyster in. It was all we could do not to weep.
Join me in the next blog as I share both the intriguing yet emotional process of putting Oyster “on the hard” for storage. So many firsts, both happy and this one absolutely not so much!
