Sailing into New York City

September 1991.

Early the next morning, we set off towards New York City, and sailed under the Tappanzee Bridge late in the afternoon. Along the way, we re-wired the mast and reset the compass in the Autohelm, which is a small gyrocompass inside, which had fallen off it's balance point during a rough time.

Then the George Washington bridge... before we spotted Alpine Marina, New Jersey, and I said to Admiral Bill, “It’s my turn to dock her, it’s my boat”, and he guffawed and handed me the helm.

We pulled up to the marina and I commanded everyone to their stations to prepare lines, and motored Blue Grace gently into the dock, Bill jumped off and secured the bow and I simply stepped off to secure the bow, confident that my docking was much more elegant than the Admirals.

“Why is she still moving?”, I wondered aloud, and the realization that she had been left in gear dawned on me and I jumped back on board to put her in neutral. This went over big with Bill, my chance to be promoted to Admiral of my own boat had been blown.

The marina was closed and we were not allowed to stay on it's dock, so we headed out to an anchorage that looked promising, dropped anchor in The Hudson River and started to prepare dinner. We barbecued steaks and corn, opened champagne and celebrated late into the evening on the New Jersey coastline with the New York City skyline and the Empire State Building on one side and the park land of New Jersey to our backs. Temperature in the ninety’s were breaking records in New England and I slept on the deck that night, waking up to the sights I mentioned previously.

In the morning, we hoisted anchor. My previously clean white lines had become permanently stained a deep brown from the grunge on the bottom of the Hudson River.

We headed off just a ways down the river where we had planned on meeting Patrick Clune the following day. We were totally unprepared for the Marina we had chosen, and as we rounded the breakwater of The Lincoln Harbour Yacht Club, we were confronted with yachts 120' plus with owners named Forbes, Trump et al. Dockboys calling us “Sir” and “Ma’am” certainly buoyed our self-respect and we luxuriated in the feeling.

After securing Blue Grace, we all decided to head to New York City and party... and we were in luck , as Little Italy was having their annual street festival that week and we drank beer, danced in the streets and played silly games. Around midnight, we headed off back to Wall Street, where our bus service was to pick us up, and took the ferry back to New Jersey.