The Voyage of the Merrilee II by George Merrill

There’s nothing like the exhilaration of getting things right. It rarely happens twice in a row. I learned the hard way.

I lived in Connecticut many years ago. I dreamed for years of navigating my small sailboat, Merrilee II, from Westbrook across Long Island Sound and around the north fork of Long Island into Peconic Bay. For a hairy-chested sailor it’s pretty much of a cakewalk, but as I am a chicken-of-the-sea I can get very apprehensive about large open bodies of water, especially in a twenty-one foot sailboat. One day I mustered up courage and made a decision to go for it.

The significant challenge is the run through Plum Gut located off Orient Point where tide changes can propel currents upwards to ten knots. If tide and wind are contrary, the chop gets mean. If you’re not there at exactly the right time, the current can drive you into the rocks around Gardiner’s Island or wash you miles off course. I’d been on the Orient Point Ferry some years prior and seen the skipper of a large Cat Boat doing all he could to keep his boat under control. I tried to keep that image from my mind.

I studied the charts and tide tables scrupulously (no electronics then) as though they were divine injunctions written for my instruction. I carefully estimated time, currents and distances again and again. I calculated the course I’d have to follow in a variety of scenarios, with wind or without it, blowing strong or light, motoring, all in the service of being at Orient Point precisely at the ebb.

Just shy of Orient Point a ferry overtook us. People on the deck waved. I thought at first they might be warning me about something, but on second thought I was sure it was a signal of good will extended to our tiny vessel. If I got it right, the current would usher me into Gardiner’s Bay the way leaves flow on a moving stream. Indeed, that is precisely what happened. I reached Plum Gut right at the ebb and traveled the flood into Gardiner’s Bay as smoothly as you please. When I arrived at Southold in Peconic Bay, I was giddy with success. I got it right. But not for long.

Basking in the warm glow of my successful passage, and still jubilant from my successful voyage, I now had to attend the less glamorous task of trailering the boat back to Connecticut. I treated the preparations casually. I brought the boat to the ramp, secured her on the trailer and began pulling the boat up the ramp. She rose effortlessly. I began driving into the parking lot and suddenly there was a jolt, along with crackling sound followed by a loud hiss. I stopped immediately and got out of the car in time to watch a display of sparks shooting in every direction like a fireworks display. The aluminum mast had struck an overhead power line. By the grace of God no one had his hands on the shrouds. There were no injuries. I backed off, unstepped the mast and began driving–no, slinking, really – away from a curious crowd that had assembled to watch my colossal misadventure. Some viewed it with compassion, others with amusement. I later learned that Southold remained without power for two hours. I didn’t get that one right, for sure.

“To err is human.” The venerable quote rolls off the tongue like liquid. As a generality it’s heartily acknowledged and frequently quoted. However, when it’s you that just laid the egg, the maxim rings hollow. Getting it right and messing up are cyclical phenomena, like weather that one-minute brings sunshine and in the next minute, storms. I’ve learned never to depend on getting it right twice in a row. I’ve found some peace of mind in accepting that reality.

I treasure those moments when in a literal and metaphorical sense, the boat, the tide, the currents, the wind and the course taken all converge to create a perfect confluence of events. It’s a small variation of an old idea called the fullness of time.

About getting it right all the time: what if I could get it right all the time – I’m sure I wouldn’t have any friends since nobody likes a know-it-all who is always right. People like that are, if not irksome, intimidating.

And so it goes.