My World of Boating (a brief autobiography)

A few years ago, I started writing a book about my experiences on the water and my love for boating. This might interest some of my readers since, as boaters, we often have much in common. I intend to publish it on the blog as a series, releasing each installment approximately a week apart.

I believe that having a personal reason for documenting one's life is sufficient motivation, but a stronger case can be made if the writer assumes that their story will interest others. So, why do I think my life might captivate others? For one, many people who are passionate about boats have followed similar journeys, and as we reflect on our experiences, sharing our trials and tribulations evokes a range of emotions that validate our lives. Simple moments like the joy of owning our first boat, the intense fear of being on the water when it might not have been wise, or catching the elusive "big one" that always seems to slip away—these experiences resonate with many. It is for this reason that I have decided to share my life, my love for the water and boats, in writing.

Early Years on the Hudson River

I was lucky to grow up in Irvington, New York, a quaint village on the eastern banks of the Hudson River, about twenty-five miles north of New York City. Irvington has evolved over the years, but the most noticeable changes when I visit now are along the waterfront. The park has expanded using stones from the old Stearns' castle for fill. This castle once stood where Irvington High School is now located. The Turner Lumber Company docks and the site of the Burnham Company have transformed into a collection of shops and restaurants - it's amazing how things have changed. I seem to remember an Irvington Boat Club, as evidenced by the access dock and several boats moored there.

As a child, I recall spending weekends on the riverbanks at Matheson Park, hopping from rock to rock as waves from the Hudson River Dayliner on its way to Bear Mountain splashed over the shoreline.

Fishing off the rocks along the tracks of the New York Central Railroad was a pastime that helped us pass the summer. Nightcrawlers collected the evening before made excellent bait, and many fish were caught. It's curious that I don't remember any striped bass being caught back then. I suppose we never fished during the spring run - we didn't even know it was happening!

In high school, I had a good friend, George Furst. George's dad was our church minister and had a passion for sailing and the outdoors (I recently learned he died in a mountain climbing accident a few years ago). He had a small flat-bottom aluminum boat he converted into a sailboat. This was quite a task, but from what I recall, it had two keel boards, one on each side about mid-ship that could be raised and lowered, a wooden mast, boom, and rudder, and it could sail. It also had a small outboard motor for when it wasn't under sail.

One of my first adventures on the Hudson was a weekend trip from Nyack north to a lean-to on the western shore across from Croton Point. George's dad drove us to Nyack across the Tappan Zee Bridge, where we loaded our camping gear, launched the boat, and headed north along the shoreline. The campsite stay was fun, but the trip home across the river was, to say the least, very frightening. Our plan was to cross the river to the east shore at one of its widest points - the Tappan Zee Bay. With a strong south wind and an outgoing current, the small boat was at the mercy of three-foot waves. As we neared our destination, another problem arose. Those aluminum boats are held together with small rivets at the seams, and some of them had popped. This must have been a common occurrence as George knew exactly what to do - start bailing! When we finally reached the east shore, we put small bolts in the rivet holes and then continued downriver to Irvington. Experiences that lead you to worry about your own kids growing up.

That wasn't our first adventure in the little aluminum boat. On another trip, we sailed north to a small peninsula with plans to spend the night and return the next day. I had purchased an old army hammock at a church rummage sale and intended to sleep in it, suspended from the trees. Everything went smoothly until a summer night thunderstorm hit. The wind and lightning were terrifying. The hammock and I were blown from the tree, and the pouring rain drenched us and all our belongings. The rest of the night was miserable, to say the least. In the morning, we woke up to find some railroad workers trying to pull the boat onto the shore near the tracks. They thought they had discovered a boat that had broken loose during the storm and decided to claim it. It took a lot of convincing from us, two fourteen-year-old boys, to get the boat back.

During my years at Irvington High School my interest in boats grew; so much that I had more of a desire to own a boat rather than a car. That put me in the minority as most boys back then focused on their first car. I can recall the parking lot at school filled with some of the neatest hot rods one could imagine. There was a car club that was into building street rods. Ford A's and T's with a flathead chevy V-8, a bull nosed '46 coupe and the roar of glasspacks. All put together with hard work, money earned at part time jobs and lots of testosterone.

And me? My eyes were focused on a fourteen foot runabout up on sawhorses in my neighbors back yard. I would wonder over there on occasion, often hoping the guy would come out and ask me if I would like it. It was never used and as far as I know it had been there forever. One Saturday morning I knocked on his door and asked about it.

Part Two

We had an extensive conversation about boats. I wish I could recall his name. He was a pleasant older gentleman who seemed to enjoy chatting with me. A few days later, he called and mentioned that he rarely used the boat anymore and would like to sell it to me. At the time, I was working part-time at Hudson Photographic Industries, a small company by the river, earning about forty dollars a week. My father agreed to lend me the money, which I would repay.

That's often how it goes when buying a boat: someone lends you the money, and you pay it back. The difference back then was that it was interest-free! Well, maybe not entirely. I'm sure my dad was interested in me and was glad to see me with a boat rather than a 350hp hot rod.

We moved the boat into our garage and began working on it. I spent more time on it than on my schoolwork (a story for another time). The boat was made of plywood and needed sanding and painting. I finished the deck with a mahogany stain and spar varnish. The hull was painted with white enamel, and the bottom with blue anti-fouling paint. I bought a windshield and various hardware, including cleats and rub-rails. The steering was a homemade wheel with tension springs on a cable leading to the outboard. It worked well for an outboard not designed for remote steering. The throttle was a makeshift setup with a large pulley and handle, connected by a cable to the motor's throttle—it worked!

Ah, the motor. An old Mercury, then known as Kiekhaefer, made by the same company (they also made chainsaws). Since the throttle wasn't built into the steering handle, my throttle setup was functional. It did have a drawback; to shift gears, I had to leave my seat and reach back to the lever on the motor. Once in gear, I could return to my seat and operate the boat. I'll leave it to your imagination to figure out the issues with this setup.When all was ready I had to borrow a trailer to move the boat to the river where I would moor it.

The village of Irvington had just built a concrete boat ramp, and I might have been the first to use it. Once in the water, I took her on a "maiden voyage" south to Dobbs Ferry and back. My dad joined me, and I recall a look of terror on his face. He was always the cautious type, and I'm sure my presence in his life contributed to his premature white hair. When we returned to Irvington, I had to decide where to dock the boat. We chose to tie her to some piles beside the boat ramp. It still amazes me that no one ever disturbed the boat. Can I compare 1956 in Irvington to today?

I had some wonderful experiences with that boat, exploring the Hudson within its range. Eventually, I needed a car, so I sold the boat to my uncle, who had a cottage on Copake Lake in Columbia County. This arrangement worked well for both of us; he wanted a boat, and I needed money. My last task with it was to fiberglass the bottom for him. This was intended to restore the bottom in a way that would make it last longer (I've since learned that fiberglassing the bottom of a wooden boat can lead to serious issues).

The last I saw of that boat was when he traded it in for a new Starcraft with a 35hp Evinrude. It was an excellent ski boat. I'm sure I used it more than he did, but I sensed his intention was to make it available to the whole family. In later years, that boat provided me with great bass fishing on Copake Lake. One event stands out under the category of "making a fool of yourself." I invited my brother-in-law, Arthur, to spend a weekend at the cabin for some fishing. Early in the morning, we walked out on the dock to uncover the boat. Outboard motors are usually tilted up

when not in use, as was this one. A release lever under the motor had to be moved to lower it into the water. As I leaned over to release it, the motor dropped into position, sending me head over heels into the cold waters of Copake Lake! At 5:00 am, the lakeside community was treated to my exclamation of "son-of-a-bitch!" while Arthur could barely stand from laughing so hard. Lesson learned.

On Copake Lake 1958

New Starcraft 1958

Part Three

My period of owning boats paused for several years while I worked after finishing high school and eventually attended college. During college, I worked at the Tarrytown Boat Club for several seasons, which was both educational and enjoyable. I have a close friend, Bill Karr, whom I've known since kindergarten. We remained friends throughout school and still are today. Bill worked with me at the boat club, and we shared some memorable times. One particular story involves convincing our boss, Harry Beckley, to let us borrow one of his used boats. We had met some young women on a yacht that docked overnight and also a Coast Guard member who wanted to join us. So, six of us got into the boat after work and headed upriver to a well-known bar called Brophys. We had a great night until, on our return in the dark, we broke the motor's drive shaft! Stranded in the Hudson River at midnight, we wondered what to do.

Of course, we flagged down a passing yacht (luckily for us). It was a beautiful sixty-foot vessel. They towed us back to the marina entrance, where we paddled in. It turned out to be an expensive night for Bill and me, as we had to pay Harry for the motor repairs. As I remember, our Coast Guard friend claimed he was "never there, knew nothing, not involved."

At the Tarrytown Boat Club, I met Tommy Taxter. Tommy captained a converted PT boat owned by Lawrence Rockefeller. Every weekday morning, Mr. Rockefeller would arrive at the boat to commute to Manhattan and return in the evening. You might know that Tarrytown was the base for the Rockefeller family (Pocantico Hills). Tommy may have inspired me to pursue my Master's Certificate. He spent time teaching me how to create a deviation table for a vessel's compass. Years later, I finally understood what he meant. It would be nice if we could let those who influenced our lives know how much they mattered. Maybe they do.

For many of us, an interest in boating also leads to an interest in fishing. My interest in fishing grew. I always preferred fishing over going to the beach with my family during vacations. My brother Bob and I spent much of our summer fishing for largemouth bass in a small pond near Irvington. These ponds yielded large fish that would strike at anything. Jitterbugs were excellent surface lures, and we used them often.

One day, we caught a live frog and used it as bait. After hooking the frog through the lip, we let it swim toward a large sunken log. A shadow emerged from under the log, and a bass swallowed the frog whole. As I let the line run out briefly, I heard my brother shouting, "you got the big one." I set the hook and reeled in one of the largest fish I had ever caught.

Some of these ponds were actually private lakes. It took skill to avoid the caretakers while fishing. One lake, known as "Halseys," had many large fish. It was part of a vast estate, and the gardener, whom we called Bernardo, watched over the lake. He was intimidating, and there were many stories about him catching kids fishing. However, he was actually very nice. While fishing alone, he approached me without my noticing and asked what I was doing. My obvious reply was "fishing."

He explained that it was private property but said I could fish if I was careful and should check with him if I wanted to return.

In the 1960s, I attended the State College at New Paltz, majoring in biology. I took a Field Biology course with Professor Heinz Meng, a noted ornithologist who helped restore hawks and falcons in New York State and was a well-known falconer. Later, my business would be named after the knowledge I gained about birds of prey - the osprey.

Field trips during this course introduced me to some of the best trout streams in the country. I had never heard of the Beaverkill, the Willowemoc, or the Rondout. After studying these streams, I became an avid fly fisherman. Much of the time spent on these streams involves identifying insect species that inhabit them. They indicate the stream's "health," marking the start of the food chain. It makes sense that if stoneflies or mayflies are the natural food for trout, then the artificial fly should mimic them. When a "hatch" occurs, the larval form of the fly becomes the adult fly, and the trout feed voraciously.

I spent many evenings catching beautiful trout in these streams. It took hours to learn how to wade a stream correctly and present the fly naturally. Much of my knowledge came from watching and talking to Dr. Meng. Understanding the stream's "biology" greatly enhances your fishing success.

As his student, I was thrilled when he invited me on a trip to the Esopus Creek in Mt. Tremper. We spent most of the day wading various sections, fishing dry flies for rainbows and browns. Moving slowly upstream, casting a Light Cahill or Black Gnat often prompted a rise from a small pool below a rock or log, resulting in a nice catch. Listening to a red-winged blackbird while the water flowed created a serene experience, a key part of fly fishing for me. Perhaps that’s why I rarely fished these streams with others. It was my way to relax.

One of my favorite spots was Chichester Creek, a small tributary of the Esopus. It follows a road from Phoenicia to Hunter. At first glance, one might doubt it harbors any trout. In the summer, it sometimes dwindles to a trickle. However, in the spring, it was delightful to fish, with many small pools containing native brook trout.

Opening day of trout season became a "religious" holiday for me, as did many of my trout fishing experiences. Only a true fisherman might understand this sentiment. I recall some days with temperatures in the fifties, heralding spring's arrival. Others were less pleasant, trudging through snow in the Catskill woods only to find a stream boiling with water and floating ice chunks. Those mornings were spent at the diner, chatting with other fishermen about the coming spring. Over the years, the Esopus has changed. When the weather warms, trout fishermen now contend with "tubers" floating by - so much for my serene and spiritual experience on the Esopus.

Part Four

The year I graduated from college, I got married, and my life changed direction. With a new home and a baby on the way, it became challenging to go fishing as I used to. However, my wife developed an interest in fishing, and we spent many weekends at the cottage on Copake Lake. When we weren't fishing, we were skiing behind the boat. One day we decided to take our baby daughter, Tracey, on the boat. We made a "bed" for her up under the bow and fished while she

Slept. Copake Lake had some excellent bass. The preferred bait was live crayfish, which were easily caught by gently lifting rocks in a stream and grabbing them. Hooking one through the tail and letting it swim slowly away from the boat enticed a massive lunker to bite. I woke my daughter with my loud exclamation, "I got him!" Back then, we ate most of the fish we caught without worrying about chemical contamination. Today, it's a different story, and I wonder if any lakes in Columbia County are contaminated.

Having access to a lake was an excuse to buy a small sailboat, marking my first venture into sailing. My father-in-law worked at FAO Schwartz in New York City, allowing us to purchase a Sunfish at a great price. It was small enough to fit on a car rack and be transported to the lake. A fun boat that sailed nicely, but also a wet one, requiring us to wear bathing suits since we often ended up in the water after capsizing.

One hot summer afternoon, the wind started to pick up from the west, and I decided to take advantage of the breeze and go sailing. As the boat and I darted across the lake, the sky began to darken, and I heard rumbles of thunder. Despite the great sailing, the storm hit with a vengeance about a mile downwind from our dock. Lightning flashed across the sky, and the rain was blinding. I was paralyzed with fear, convinced I would be struck by lightning as I made my way back to the dock. Fortunately, I wasn't, but to this day, I DO NOT like thunderstorms! This is just the beginning of my many boating stories involving thunderstorms.

We owned the Sunfish for several years and eventually purchased a trailer for it. I sailed it numerous times on the Hudson River and vividly remember a particularly great day sailing with a friend who had a Hobie Cat. I was impressed by how fast his boat sailed and the thrill of getting it heeled on one pontoon and maintaining that position. We sailed both our boats from Newburgh to Bannermans' Island and back, and needless to say, he was ahead most of the way.

Eventually, we sold the Sunfish, and for several years, I was without a boat. One Christmas, I received a card from my friend Bill Karr (whom I worked with at the Tarrytown Boat Club) featuring a sailboat in winter solitude on the cover. Initially, I thought he was off on a holiday trip to an island. Upon opening the card, I learned he now owned a Mariner 28 and was sailing it on the Hudson. What an opportunity for some serious sailing! That spring, I met Bill on the "Billy Jo," and we sailed on the Hudson from the New Hamburg Boat Club. I was very impressed with the Mariner. It was a comfortable boat and sailed well. I have to thank Bill for introducing me to sailing on larger boats—Sunfish and Hobie Cats are great for learning, but you truly appreciate sailing on a boat like the Mariner 28.

Sailing on the Hudson is somewhat limited as the river shallows abruptly, requiring familiarity with the waters to avoid grounding. The river has many mud flats with very "skinny" water. It's best to sail within the channel, but with local knowledge, one can sail outside its limits. I recall a particular sail with Bill in November. We left the marina around noon and sailed south with a strong Northeast wind past Newburgh and Cornwall into a narrow cut just below Storm King Mountain. The area acts like a funnel, increasing the wind's velocity. It was the most thrilling sail I had experienced up to that time. Caps were blowing off the three-foot waves, and we were burying the rails on each tack. Occasionally, water cascaded over the gunnels into the cockpit. Bill was an excellent sailor, and I could see how he anticipated his actions in handling the boat.

Returning north to the marina was a long, enduring task as we now had short tacks back and forth across the river, along with an outgoing current. It was after dark when we finally tied up "Billy Jo" at the dock.

As fall continued, my usual anticipation of winter and skiing became blurred with the vision of owning my own sailboat. During January and February, I traveled around Connecticut looking at used boats. In Norwalk, I came across a used Hunter 27. It was well-maintained and affordably priced (winter is a good time to make offers on used boats). It was powered by a small Yanmar diesel, equipped with a roller furling head sail, and had room to sleep four, meeting my requirements. There were some changes I wanted to make as the season approached, and my son and I spent many weekends traveling from our home in New Paltz to Norwalk. The tiller was replaced with an Edson wheel, which was not easy as it involved contorting my body into shapes I never thought I'd recover from. Getting under the deck from the quarter berth access door was challenging.

Portable toilets were never my preference. I'd rather walk behind a stately oak—you can leave when done. After exploring boating catalogs, I chose an ElectrSan head. Effluent is treated with seawater, and through electrolysis, the salt becomes "chlorine" and is discharged overboard. Additional amenities included a new carpet, a VHF, life jackets, and fire extinguishers. We were ready to go!

The plan was to sail the boat from Norwalk to Kingston. Having made the journey before with Bill, it seemed simple. Sail west on the Sound, enter the East River, navigate through "Hell Gate," around Manhattan, and up the Hudson to Kingston. With spring vacation approaching, it was an ideal time. With a week off, we also had time to explore other harbors if desired before heading west. Bill (the experienced sailor), Herb (a fisheries biologist with the DEC and longtime friend), and I were set to go. My wife drove us to Norwalk on the morning of departure, and we loaded the boat with supplies.

Things began to deteriorate from that point. The boat wasn't ready! With numerous apologies from the broker and a promise that it would be rigged by noon, we had no choice but to wait.

Finally, we set off, and I still remember the broker's words as we left the dock: "Stay on the lee shore." There was a reason for his advice. A cold front had passed during the night, and the winds from the west were very strong—a small craft warning had been issued! What did I know? It was a sunny day. Bill's comment was "great sailing." I had little reason to worry, as Bill was in control and had the experience. As we motored out of the harbor, the waters were calm, no problem.

Passing the Norwalk Islands and entering the Sound, we turned our bow to the wind and raised the sails. We were off with a moderate chop splashing off the bow. Our destination was Port Jefferson on the Long Island shore. As our course led us across the Sound, the waves began to build to three to four feet. We had to reef both the head sail and main. The boat was pounding against the waves, and frequently the water would cascade over the bow and into the cockpit. The roller furling on the headsail jammed, and Bill had to go forward to release it. He almost went overboard. Fortunately for him, he had brought a harness and was wearing it—it saved him for sure. Conditions continued to worsen! The seas were monstrous, and I was starting to get sick—really sick. The kind of sick that makes you care less about what happens. After a few bouts of "tossing my cookies," I swear my intestines were in my mouth. The horror continued for hours until Bill and Herb sailed the boat past the breakwall and into Port Jeff harbor entrance.

"This was a really great sail, and I think we should anchor behind the dunes to spend the night," said Bill. "No way," I replied. "I need to get off this boat." "OK, you're the captain," said Bill. We dropped the sails and started motoring towards the town docks (about a mile down the harbor).

There was a full moon that day, and if I had known then what I know now (hindsight?), lower lows and higher highs. It was the lower low that got us into trouble. But it wasn't only that. We had no charts of the harbor and were unaware of many factors. The docks were a good mile from the harbor entrance. A good amount of fetch for waves to build, and build they did. As we approached the docks, a wave lifted us, and the boat came down on a sandbar. The force bent the rudder shaft, and we lost steerage. The waves were driving us towards the dock broadside.

It was now dark and cold as the boat started banging against the dock. Looking up, we could see we were at least fifteen feet or so below the dock. The spreader arms were slamming against the lights above, and glass was shattering and falling onto the boat. The headsail was being torn on the furling, and the rails on the starboard side were being bent as we hit the pilings of the dock. We felt helpless as we tried to hold the boat off. There was no one around to help.

I decided to get on the VHF and call for help. The Coast Guard out of Eatons' Neck replied.

"Are lives in danger?" they asked. "We are doing all we can to keep the boat off the dock; it is dark and impossible to get off the boat. Going into the water is too dangerous; yes, I would say lives are in danger." They were going to send a boat to help. It was then that the Suffolk County Sheriff Marine Division responded to our call. They were in their boat a short distance away at their dock. "It is far too rough for us to bring our boat around, but we will get assistance to get you to safety."

Port Jeff Harbor

In a short time assistance arrived. If I recall most of the men were volunteer fireman. The plan was to tie a line to the bow of our boat and walk it around to another dock allowing us to tie up bow to the waves. After a great deal of effort the task was accomplished and my thanks went out to all involved.

That night was spent at a local hotel as it was impossible to stay on the boat where it was tied. The next morning brought bright sunshine and hight winds out the northwest. The waves in the harbor were still three feet or more. After assessing the damage, which included a torn head sail, bent roller furling, a bow rail that had been torn from its base, bent rudder shaft and a line wrapped tightly around the prop we determined this boat was in no shape to continue its voyage. Arrangements were made with a local marina in Mt. Sinai harbor to haul and block the boat on a trailer and transport it to its homeport in Connolly, New York. However, it would be impossible to tow it from Port Jeff to Mt. Sinai under the then current conditions. Another night in the hotel. Making matters worse (if they could get any worse) the following morning we discovered that someone had broken into the boat and stolen just about anything they could get their hands on.

During the day, we had made friends with the local marine police and spent some time talking with them on their boat. We shared our predicament; getting a tow to Mt. Sinai harbor was not feasible at that time of year. The police boat was our only hope, and it required quite a bit of pleading to persuade them to tow us. Perhaps my good relationship with the police force in my hometown was beneficial. The following morning arrived with bright sunshine and no wind! By mid-morning, we were ready to depart. Our boat was secured alongside the police boat, and we set out from Port Jeff harbor. The tow was challenging because our bent rudder shaft had us fully turned to port. It took over an hour to reach our destination east of Port Jefferson. As we entered the harbor, another issue arose. It was low tide, and the police were unwilling to go any further. They radioed the marina owner, who came out with a small skiff to complete the tow. It was tricky as we ran aground twice. He managed to spin the boat to free us, and we eventually reached the pit for the travel lift. The boat was then placed on a trailer and prepared for the journey upstate to Kingston.

The truck could only accommodate three people in the cab, but there were four of us. One person had to ride in the truck bed. It was a cold and windy ride back there. Fortunately, we all agreed to take turns.

We reached Connolly just after dark, and the owner of Certified Marine kindly waited for us to lift the boat off the trailer. Around this time, I began to have doubts about sailing. I was utterly exhausted and unable to think clearly. Should I just give up on sailing and perhaps sell the boat as it was? A few days passed before I took any action.

Spending that time preparing the gardens for spring and returning to teaching helped clear my mind. After meeting with the insurance adjuster and discussing the damage, I started to feel excited about the boat again. I am one of those boaters who enjoys working on boats as much as operating them. Let's return to the adjuster. I introduced myself when he arrived at the marina; he was a very nice gentleman with little knowledge about boats. "I usually look at roofs," he said. I suggested we get a ladder to board the boat and assess the damages. "I'm not about to go climbing up there; I do enough climbing when I look at roofs." He wanted to know the "bottom line." What is the total estimate for repairs? A detailed estimate for repairs, including labor and materials, was presented to him. He proceeded to write a check for half the amount. I received the balance by mail within a week. This worked out very well for me financially as I did all the repairs myself.

This could have easily been a total loss for the insurance company. A check for $5,000 instead of one for $20,000 only benefits them. I submitted a letter from the Coast Guard stating we did everything possible to minimize damage and secure the boat. We could have just abandoned her, but we did not.

I often wonder what the situation would be today. In the end, I got a new rudder and shaft, a new head sail and roller furling, and a new bow rail. The hull damage was repaired, and the topsides were cleaned and painted. She looked like a new boat. Reflecting on this "event" in my life was a true learning experience, and I think about it often. I was inexperienced and made the mistake of not preparing myself for sailing. Yes, I had an experienced sailor on board, but it was my vessel and my responsibility. I often share this story when teaching safe boating classes. It serves as an example of not being prepared. I did not familiarize myself with the waters we were sailing, ignored the weather, and had no paper charts on board—lives could have been lost!

There are more stories to come. It did not end in Port Jeff.

Part Five - Sailing the Hudson River

The Hudson River is among the most picturesque and historic rivers in our country. Its banks are lined with mansions and castles from bygone eras. Names like Vanderbilt, Gould, and Rockefeller come to mind as one passes these grand residences. Traveling upriver from New York City, one can see factories and auto salvage yards. Thankfully, progress has been made in correcting the environmental issues they created. Raw sewage that was once freely dumped into the river by municipalities is no longer. Numerous private organizations, along with New York State and the Federal Government, have made significant progress in cleaning up the Hudson. It is now a river that befits its status as a great river. Many communities depend on the river for drinking water, and beaches along its banks attract swimmers and recreational boaters. It also serves as a major commercial waterway between the Atlantic and Albany, with many smaller vessels able to travel further north or west along the Champlain or Erie canals.

Sailing on the Hudson about ninety miles from Manhattan can be quite enjoyable. Once I got over the initial shock of my "maiden voyage," I persuaded my wife to join me on short trips from the Rondout Creek. Initially, it was just motoring without sails, perhaps a mile or so downriver on a calm, sunny day. These excursions gradually turned into sailing with just the main sail in light breezes. Things improved. We invited friends to join us on evening "cocktail cruises." Close friends, Jake and Enid Kelder, became regulars, bringing wine, cheese, laughter, and good times. Jake became the core of our confidence. "Hey Peter, let's see what this boat can do in a good wind," he would say, and my wife's confidence grew as she began to enjoy sailing more. She often took the helm and issued commands to the crew (usually me). "Ready to come about? Coming about," or "we are going to jibe!" We had great times on the river and developed a strong sense of confidence in our sailing abilities.

Bannermans Castle

West Point Military Academy

During the second season on the river, I decided to take a week to sail with my friend Herb (who was with us on the infamous maiden voyage) to Long Island Sound. We left the Rondout with the outgoing current early in the morning and motored downriver all day. Those familiar with sailing know that a sailboat has a displacement hull, which means it "plows" through the water rather than skimming on top like a power boat. By late afternoon, we reached Tarrytown and spent the night at the Tarrytown Marina (the same one I worked at during college). The next morning, while trying to back out of the slip, we found ourselves aground—"stuck in the mud." It was low tide, and there wasn't enough water to keep us afloat. After two hours, we were floating again and continued downriver.

With the two cylinder Yanmar banging away our five knot headway brought us past the old Anaconda building in Hastings. It was a horrible sight, an environmentalists nightmare. My uncle worked there when I was a child. Very few people back then seemed to care much about what industries such as Anaconda were doing to the environment; especially those located along bodies of water such as the Hudson. Another uncle was a V.P. at the Fort Orange paper company in Castleton, a small village just south of Albany. i think back now and give him a lot of credit as he was very concerned about the waste water being discharged into a creek which eventually entered the Hudson. Environmental issues regarding the Hudson have always been a concern of mine and fortunately I have observed some very positive changes over the years. I would consider the Hudson today to be a clean river. Yes, it is not crystal clear and it will never be as it is an estuary with a very muddy bottom. Water clarity changes with varying conditions; spring runoff as an example.

There are two routes to reach Long Island Sound from the Hudson. For sailboats, only one is feasible due to bridge clearance. You can sail down the river and around the Battery, the southernmost tip of Manhattan Island, unless you're prepared to lower the mast to pass under the many bridges spanning the Harlem River. Taking the longer route isn't too bad, as witnessing one of the world's greatest cities in action is a marvel. The variety of sounds is astonishing! The whistles of vessels "communicating" with each other, the sirens of emergency vehicles on the West Side Highway, and the "whomp, whomp, whomp" of helicopters overhead make it a very busy place. Once you pass under the George Washington Bridge, everything begins to unfold.

Staying close to the East shore, we pass the old steamship docks, the Intrepid aircraft carrier (now a museum I highly recommend), and an old firehouse with a fireboat moored at the dock. On our starboard side, we catch sight of the "Lady" holding her torch high above the harbor. We slowly navigate around the tip of Manhattan with Governors Island on our starboard side. This is a place where you must remain vigilant. It's the meeting point of the East River and the lower Hudson (New York Harbor). It's a bustling area with ferries from Staten Island and New Jersey entering and leaving their slips at the Battery, and tugs moving up and down the East River—all converging.

Before leaving Tarrytown, I checked my Eldridge Tide and Current book to ensure we would have a favorable current with us on the way up the East River. For a sailboat limited to a hull speed of six knots, this is crucial. Can you imagine battling a six-knot current? That's right, you'd be going nowhere. With the current on our side, the trip through "Hell Gate" was swift. There are many frightening tales about 'Hell Gate.' Some may be true, but many are just stories. What makes this area challenging to navigate is the confluence of the Harlem River and the East River. A significant volume of water moves through, and when the currents are at their peak, they can create whirlpools and standing waves. As we approached, the water appeared relatively calm with some swirls and minor chop. Herb was at the helm, and I was sitting looking aft. A tug had just passed us going southbound, and I saw a look on Herb's face that concerned me. Herb exclaimed, "Holy shit, look at that wake!" The wake from the tug was rebounding off the shore against the strong current and was enormous. The bow of the sailboat plunged into the trough and then crashed into the wave. A cascade of water washed over the boat, soaking us both. I now understand how a small boat could capsize if it broached one of these wakes. To make matters worse, the forward hatch had been left open, allowing water to enter the forward cabin. The bunk was flooded with East River water. We spent the rest of the day trying to dry everything out.

East River

We spent that night in Huntington Harbor on Long Island's north shore. The following day, we set sail for Clinton, Connecticut. I had previously stayed there with my friend Bill on his boat and really liked Cedar Island Marina. It was clean, affordable, and offered amenities that made life comfortable: a great restaurant (Top of the Dock), a swimming pool, and showers. The sound was as calm as a millpond, so we had to motor most of the way, which took the entire day.

That evening, we enjoyed clam chowder and a few beers at Top of the Dock. Our plan was to meet my friend Bill at Duck Island Rhodes (an anchorage just east of Clinton) and then sail to Block Island.

We arrived at Duck Island Rhodes, and as we approached, I contacted Bill via VHF. He suggested we anchor where we were, and he would find us. Soon, he was alongside, and we raised our sails, heading east towards Block. Passing Watch Hill, Bill began to pull away from us. The Mariner 28 had a slightly better hull speed than the Hunter 27 and Bill was more experienced at trimming the sails. We had agreed the last boat into Block would be buying the beer - looks like it was going to be me.

Block Island

The evening was beautiful. The setting sun painted the sky bright red to the west, with cloud formations resembling Picasso's brush strokes. I noticed three sailboats behind us, heading directly into Block, preferring to motor rather than sail. To reach the same destination, we had to tack back and forth across our track line. We crossed paths with them on each tack, indicating we'd all arrive simultaneously. I preferred sailing, with the diesel's drumming replaced by the gentle swirl of water against the hull. It was one of my best times on the sailboat, and when we finally anchored in Block Island's Great Salt Pond, I felt a real sense of accomplishment.

The "Pond"

That evening, we all walked across the island to Ballard's in the old harbor (the town center) for dinner and the beers I owed. We stopped to talk to some guys on a sport fish who had just docked and had a large marlin hanging above the deck. This was my first encounter with a BIG fish, sparking a lingering interest in me that was soon to become a passion.

With the weather radio predicting calm seas, we decided to leave the next morning to begin our journey home. Bill stayed at Block and then sailed to Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket. He planned to sail most of the summer and return home in late August.

The trip from Block to Clinton wasn't as pleasant as it began, and once again, I faced a "learning experience." It started with an attempt to raise a light air sail, similar to a spinnaker without the pole, designed for downwind sailing in a light breeze. Setting it for the first time was challenging, and during the process, the "sheet" - a line tied to the sail's base and fixed to a winch - slipped through my hand, causing a painful burn and blistering. Sailing gloves are worn to prevent this; now I know!

I abandoned the attempt to set the light air sail and switched on the motor. Just as we lost sight of Block Island, the fog began to thicken ahead. At that time, my only navigation tools were dead reckoning, a compass, knotmeter, paper charts, and a clock. As adrenaline surged through my veins, my heart rate rose, and visibility dropped to zero. This situation tends to cause anxiety for most boaters—seeing nothing but fog all around. By knowing my speed and keeping the correct compass heading for Fishers Island Sound (determined by compass and course line), we cautiously moved westward. At one point, the Block Island Ferry passed on our starboard side, appearing like a ghost ship emerging from the fog. I contacted the captain via VHF to get his heading; the reciprocal was ours and matched our course line. Somewhat reassuring. We were managing fine. Progress was slow, and Herb was responsible for sounding the fog horn. Each time we spotted a buoy, we would approach it until it was visible and check its number. This provided a reference point to verify our location on the chart and either confirm our current heading or adjust our course. Although I was confident in determining my course, the factor of current (set and drift) was not included, and each time I calculated our position, we were off track. The visibility remained poor as we navigated from buoy to buoy into Fishers Island Sound and Long Island Sound. The markers of Long Sand Shoal were very helpful, and as we neared the west end marker, the fog finally lifted. It was only a short distance into Clinton Harbor from there. I don't think I've ever been so relieved to tie up the boat and head to the bar. It was an incredibly long day. I call it the "kid beating his head against the wall" syndrome—it feels so good when you stop!

We left Clinton the following morning with clear skies and no wind. The "clacking" of the diesel became the tune of the day. As is common during the summer, the freshness of the morning turned into a very hot and humid afternoon. Stopped that night in Tarrytown and returned home to Kingston the following evening. All in all a good trip and the experience of sailing to Block Island, even with the fog event, was a good one.

My confidence was building.

Part Six -The Family Outing

After numerous trips on the Hudson with my wife, children and assorted friends we all felt as though we were seasoned sailors. The trip the previous summer was a good experience for me and did wonders for my sailing and seamanship ability. I had learned a lot and convinced my wife we should take the kids and go on a family sailing trip to Long Island Sound. It would follow the same route and plan that I had done earlier except for going to Block Island. I thought that might be a bit much for the first time my family would be on the boat.

Checking the tides we planned our starting time for seven in the morning. This would give us a fair current for most of the trip to Tarrytown. We would spend the first night at the Tarrytown Marina and have dinner with my parents who lived only a few blocks away. It was a fun trip; the first time my wife and kids had seen the Hudson Valley from the river. I recall my daughter telling us all to hold our breaths as we passed the Indian Point nuclear power plant. We do not want to inhale radioactive particles. I wonder who she had as a science teacher?

Dinner was great with the folks and we returned to the boat early to prepare for the rest of the journey.

We got a late start the next morning but at least had enough water under the boat to get out of the slip - unlike my first time in Tarrytown. The plan was to meet friends in Manhasset for dinner that evening and if all went well we should arrive there by five or so in the afternoon. The trip along the west shore of Manhattan Island was of great interest to my new crew. We took our time in New York harbor as I wanted to show them the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. By the time we were rounding the Battery and heading up the East River I noticed our headway was slowing and realized we were bucking the current! I had neglected to check my Eldridge tide and Current tables, a mistake one can ill afford when navigating a sailboat up the East River, it took that little Yanmar diesel all it could muster just to keep us from going backwards. Every now and then we would gain a bit but for the most part we were going nowhere. "Look Dad, that lady pushing a baby carriage is moving faster than we are", exclaimed my daughter. At this rate we would be in Manhasset well after dark.

There was a good wind out of the south and it struck me the one-fifty genoa might just give us enough increase in speed to make some headway. I unfurled it all the way and used a boat hook like a spinnaker pole to hold it out. It worked and we gained two knots against the current. We were on our way.

We crept further on. Through Hell gat (uneventful) , under the Triborough bridge, and past Rikers Island. It took forever and it was getting dark. Looking up at the Throgs Neck Bridge with all its' lights made me realize it was not going to be easy getting into Manhasset Harbor in the dark. I kept a positive attitude and assured all everything was going well. We were just going to be a little late.

Entering Long Island Sound was a lot different at night. This was a first for me. As we motored along I used my chart to locate the harbor but finding it on the shoreline was a lot more difficult. Lighted buoys were my best reference. It was similar to navigating in the fog as these references were getting me to where I wanted to go. Making a turn towards shore and entering the channel for the harbor becam a task; traffic lights on land were confused with red and green buoys - until they changed! Background lights created a real confusion. We finally located the marina where we had reserved a slip. It was now close to ten o'clock and I was concerned our friends had put out a missing vessel report (back then there were no cell phones). But, there they were walking down the dock. We finally relaxed and settled in for a decent dinner at one of the local restaurants. I assured my wife the events of the day were not uncommon and at no time were we in any danger. It was a monumental inconvenience and the remainder of the trip should be great (little did I know at the time the "Gods were against us").

Arising at a reasonable hour the next morning we tossed the dock lines and set out for our next destination, Milford harbor on the Connecticut side of Long Island Sound. It was eighty degrees

at ten in the morning and promised to be a very hot and humid day. The air was very still and the water so calm it reflected our images. As the day wore on it felt like a tropical rain forest.

The humidity was unbearable. The kids were splashing water over us to keep us cool.

This was afternoon thunderstorm weather!

Once within a reasonable distance of the Connecticut shoreline I turned the boat East and set back to focus on locating Milford Harbor. It was now about four in the afternoon and as we turned into the long channel entrance to the marina the sky over the land ahead turned black. Within minutes there were stabs of white lightening striking the ground. This storm was going to be a nasty one and we were heading directly into it. Sailboats do not outrun storms - period!

Approaching Storm

My wife and kids went down below and secured the hatches. I moved any loose items on deck into the lazarette. My heart was pounding and I was genuinely scared. We motored on in the channel with perhaps a mile to go. The rain was pounding us in sheets and the lightening was ferocious. All of a sudden a bright flash and crash enveloped our world. Holding the stainless steel wheel felt as though I had put both my hands into a light socket. There were numerous sailboats moored on either side of the channel and one had just been hit by lightening. Blue smoke arose from the top of its' mast and there was obvious damage to the antennae and wind vane. I was in a trance and could only focus on getting to the dock. Someone once told me lightening does not strike sailboats - wrong! As we were tying up, people came over to see if we were alright. They thought the strike was on our boat. So much for "terror event" number three.

We spent a quiet evening walking around Milford and eating ice cream cones. It was the lull after the storm. The harbor was peaceful and we all got a well deserved sleep. In the morning we had breakfast on board and planned the days' events. Then the calm morning air was broken with blood curdling screams of a lady in distress. We rushed to her boat to see her coming out of the cabin with burns to her face and arms. It seems she was attempting to fill or light an alcohol stove in the galley when the fuel spilled and ignited. She was rushed off to a local hospital and once again the adrenalin was flowing. It was a good thing our kids stayed on our boat as this was not an event I would have liked them to see. This trip is not over yet and the tales get better.

We untied the boat and were on our way to Cedar Island Marina in Clinton. It was a perfect summer day. We all enjoyed the tranquility of the moment. As I was taking a bite out of my sandwich I happened to notice the New Haven Lighthouse off my starboard side! "That's strange", I said to my wife, "we are on the inside of the lighthouse, it should be on our port side". "Your the captain" was her only reply as the boat struck bottom. It was a soft jolt; most likely sandy or pebble bottom. I tried to back us off to no avail. We were stuck. I made a call on the VHF for assistance and got a response from the local Coast Guard auxiliary out of New Haven. They were on their way. I was not to concerned about the situation as it appeared the was no damage to the boat but, once again, the family was on board and my wife was approaching panic mode. When she saw a small sailboat approaching (it was a sunfish) to offer assistance it calmed her a bit. He jumped into the water to show her he could stand, it was not that deep. Yeah, that is why we went aground. Why, I do not know, I would have preferred it was over his head. He assured us the bottom was sand and shells and would be easy to get off. "Perhaps you should try backing off as the waves lifted the boat", he suggested. It worked, we were off. Once again we were on our way and as I rounded the lighthouse I called the Coast Guard auxiliary to let them know we were OK and thanked them anyway for their offer to help.

In a few hours we were in sight of Kelsey Point, the landmark for Clinton harbor. We made a reservation for a slip, tied up and went to the pool for a swim. Our friends from home, Jake and Enid Kelder and their daughter Chrissy drove over to meet at the marina for dinner and spent the night at a local motel. In the morning we all had breakfast together and went for a pleasant sail - no white knuckles, no adrenaline. It was a well deserved relaxing day and evening.

The trip home began with a warm sunny morning.

Clinton Harbor

We stopped in Milford again; no thunderstorm this time. From Milford we sailed under a moderate breeze to Stamford, Connecticut. It appeared our luck had finally changed and hopefully the remainder of our trip would remain uneventful (those of you who are boaters well know this in not always true).

We had the opportunity to spend the night at the Stamford Yacht Club. My brother was a member and had arranged for us to pick up a mooring. This was an interesting experience for us. Up until now our boating experiences all involved typical marinas and boat yards. Stamford Yacht Club was a cut above! I must admit I felt a bit our of place. My brother and his wife met us for dinner at a nice little bar and grill (more my style).

Another morning dawned early with the sun rising over the eastern horizon. We quickly left the mooring and set out from the harbor, heading west towards New York. On Long Island Sound during the summer, a day that begins beautifully doesn't always end that way. Just east of Greenwich, we encountered a fog bank. It came upon us so quickly that turning back was impossible. Visibility was about one hundred feet, reminding me of the trip Herb and I took to Block Island. There's a proper protocol for navigating a vessel in fog. I instructed my wife to go up on the bow and sound our fog horn every two minutes, while also listening for others and keeping a close watch. We all donned life vests, and I determined our last known position from the chart. Using the compass, fathometer, and chart, I carefully navigated towards Stepping Stones. We came within a few hundred feet of our destination and noticed many boats anchored, waiting out the fog. Whether my next move was wise or not, I can only guess, but it worked out in the end.

I knew there would be relatively shallow water across the channel where we could anchor without the crowd of boats around Stepping Stones. Using my chart and compass, I took a heading almost due north. The plan was to monitor the water depth until I was clear of the main channel; perhaps ten to fifteen feet, then anchor. Suddenly, I heard five rapid blasts of a fog horn - a BIG fog horn! It filled us all with fear. We had no radar, and I assumed he did and knew our location. If I stayed put and continued sounding our horn, perhaps he would steer clear of us. Soon, a massive tug appeared out of the fog and passed to our port, maybe within fifty feet. I saw the captain wave, and my wife swore she could see the color of his eyes.

After the tug passed, I continued on course and nearly ran into another sailboat anchored well out of the channel. We accepted his offer to raft up next to him and wait it out. Apparently, his many maritime tattoos led my wife to believe he was an experienced sailor, and she felt very safe.

The fog lifted, and the sun shone brightly overhead. It was a different world. We were now on our way down the East River (this time with a favorable current), around the Battery, and into the Hudson. What else could go wrong? Lightning flashed in the dark afternoon clouds over the Palisades! Winds picked up to gale force, and a driving rain moved in from the west. The boat was heeled over with just the rigging, no sails. As I navigated towards a marina in Fort Lee, New Jersey, I saw a bolt of lightning strike the George Washington Bridge. We entered the marina just as the rain stopped and the sun emerged. It was late afternoon, and we decided to spend the night and depart early the next morning on a rising tide.

The marina proved interesting; from a headless floating pig to a topless lady washing her boat.

I remember my son asking where the camera was. To this day, we have those photos.

I recall thinking, "this is where Frank Sinatra grew up." What that has to do with anything, I do not know.

GW Bridge

Stepping Stones Light

Six a.m. and I was up and ready to go. the rest of crew was sleeping. I cast off and headed out into the river. With a strong south breeze I gained speed by using the head sail (a 150 genoa) as well as the motor. The boat heeled a bit to port and the crew was awakened. The trip upriver to our homeport in Kingston was uneventful, even peaceful and we loaded up the car in the marina parking lot just as it was getting dark and headed home to sleep in real beds!

Part Seven-Decisions, Decisions

The remainder of the summer and fall was spent doing our usual sailing on the river. We could always choose our days when the weather cooperated, and most trips were no longer than a few hours. This made my wife happy, and her confidence in boating and sailing was starting to return. Over the winter, I had time to reconsider owning a sailboat. If sailing was going to be limited to the Hudson, as my wife and kids had no interest in ever going on an extended trip again, and I was not overtly happy with sailing without them, perhaps it was time to think about selling the boat. An acquaintance had expressed some interest in partnering with me on the boat. Perhaps it was worth giving it some thought? I have been in partnerships before, and for some reason, they never seem to work out. Maybe it's me—I like to be in control. In the end, this individual purchased the boat. It was a sad moment; I had put a lot of work into it. He did offer to let me sail with him or even use it when I wanted, but I never felt comfortable doing either.

I learned many years later that he had sold the boat to a retired couple from Westchester County, and before they could ever use it, they were killed in an automobile accident. It remained in storage in Peekskill, New York, for several years and apparently suffered from neglect and weather. The last record of it was when the yard owners removed it from Coast Guard documentation. I recall a saying, "the happiest times of owning a boat is when you buy it and then, when you sell it," that has never been the case with me. I become attached to my boats.

So, the decision was made, and I went for seven years without owning a boat. I continued to fish the streams and lakes. The Adirondacks beckoned. There was fishing, hunting, and skiing. I have always been an avid skier, and one of my favorite areas was Gore Mountain. As a family, we would travel north on the weekends, spend the nights in a cheap motel, and ski. My wife and kids became great skiers, and I eventually taught at the Gore Mountain Ski School. It is strange how we justify things. Let's see, no boat expenses, so let's buy a camp in the Adirondacks. At the time, I had left my teaching job at New Paltz High School to build houses and had a great crew willing to help restore a "handyman special." Within a year or so, we were the proud owners of a year-round weekend home on Loon Lake in Chestertown, New York. It was about fifteen minutes to Gore. My intent was to use it primarily for skiing and not spend much time there in the summer; perhaps rent it? I often said, it is more peaceful at my home in New Paltz than it is on Loon Lake on a weekend in the summer. Trying to sleep at night with all those kids and fireworks from the rental cabins across the street drove me crazy. But as time would have it, we did build a dock at the lakefront. A dock? Well, a dock looks empty without a boat.

One Saturday in July, my son and I drove to Schenectady to look at a sixteen-foot Hobie Cat. Looked, bought, and took it home. Along with a kitten the owner insisted we take (my wife and daughter loved cats, me, not so much). A little soap and water, a lot of waxing, and the "cat" (the boat) was ready to sail. If you have never sailed a catamaran, you are missing something. Some of the criteria to do so include a bathing suit, wind (lots of wind), and a propensity to err on the side of craziness! These boats haul ass, and when they do, the trick is to get them up on one pontoon, hike out using a special harness, and start screaming. Many a summer was spent pushing the envelope on the Hobie Cat.

One particular sail comes to mind. My brother-in-law, Arthur, and his girlfriend's father, Carl, decided to go out with me on a windy day. Carl cannot swim a stroke and is wearing a life vest. Arthur and I are hiking out, sailing on one pontoon, ripping through the water. Carl is seated on the forward part of the trampoline and hanging on for dear life as the angle of heel is approaching forty-five degrees. "Whatever you do, Carl, do not move!" I exclaimed. The speed was mind-boggling. The stability, precarious.

All of a sudden Carl shifts his weight and says, "what did you say?". The pontoon dives sharply into the water. The Cat pitchpoled forward catapulting us over the sail and mast. I must have hit something pretty hard as I recall blood running down my face as I surfaced. The boat was "turtled" with the mast underwater facing directly toward the bottom of the lake. Arthur surfaced soon after me and shouted "where is Carl?" "I am over here" came a reply. "I am on the pontoon"; and there he was bloodied and bruised hanging on for dear life. Others on the shore were watching and within minutes a number of power boats came to our aid. Righting the boat is not an easy task from its' "turtled" position. First you have to all stand on one pontoon and try to get the boat up on one side with the mast and sail parallel to the surface of the water. Remember, Carl cannot swim and trying to get him to let go of the boat and rely on his life vest was no easy undertaking. Eventually the boat was righted and we sailed back to the dock to address our wounds (battle scars). One boater that came to help was chastising us for being out in such strong winds. What does he do for excitement?

Wow!

That winter, I faced another decision about boats. You can't fish from a Hobie Cat. Maybe a small center console would be perfect for the Adirondack Lakes?

One rainy Saturday morning in February, I woke up intending to go skiing at Gore. I was teaching there and needed to commit to twenty-five days on the mountain during the season, so despite the rain, I could at least get a day in. After standing in the cold rain watching my dog do his morning routine, I decided against skiing and chose to drive back to New Paltz. As I drove, thoughts of boats, fishing, and spring crossed my mind. Perhaps I could stop by the Boat and RV place in Clifton Park just off the Northway? I'd grab a coffee and donut and see what they had in the showroom. It wouldn't hurt to look. Of course, I would consult with my wife before buying anything.

"Hi, can I help you?" a salesman asked. "Well, I was going skiing, but the rain changed my plans. I thought I'd stop by and see what center consoles you have."

"We can offer you a great deal on a Wellcraft if you're interested. There's an eighteen-footer just inside the showroom door at the back of the building and a larger twenty outside. Just let me know if you have any questions. I'll be in my office."

The eighteen-footer was exactly what I had in mind. It came with a 150 Force outboard and a trailer. This was a fishing boat. It had plenty of space, live wells, rod holders, VHF, and a fish-finder. My only concern was the Force outboard. Although built by Mercury, they didn't have the best reputation. However, it was under warranty. I called the salesman over to discuss the price, and he said, "make an offer." I did, making a low offer (or so I thought) and said it was all I could afford. He hesitated, mentioned it was less than they had in the boat, and countered with a price two thousand dollars higher. Once again, I explained I couldn't afford it and would look for something smaller. I thanked him and started to leave. "Hold on a minute, let me talk to the sales manager." Both returned from the office with a slight price adjustment and a few extras included. I bought the boat. Early in the spring, my son and I picked it up and brought it to its new home on Loon Lake.

Some of the finest fishing in the Adirondacks occurred in early spring during "ice-out" (when about half the ice on a pond or lake remained). Trout season had just begun, and locals were buzzing about excellent fishing at places like Thirteenth Lake and Palmer Pond. These locations weren't suitable for trailering the Wellcraft, and shore fishing wasn't productive enough to be worthwhile. Thus, another vessel was added to the "fleet." A canoe was necessary—a lightweight fiberglass one that could be carried. I purchased a canoe.

One of the initial outings was to Thirteenth Lake, about thirty minutes from Loon Lake, a pristine body of water. Easily reachable by truck, I could transport the canoe there with minimal effort. A small stream flowed into the lake on the east shore, a prime spot for trout. Streams entering a lake bring "food" for fish washed off the shore along the stream bank. In early spring, this area loses ice first. I maneuvered the canoe along the receding ice and approached the stream. Dropping a streamer known as a silver darter and slowly retrieving it yielded a beautiful speckled trout. It was the first fish of the season, followed by two others of decent size. As spring gradually turned to summer, I suggested to my son that we take the canoe to Palmer Pond. Vehicle access was limited, and a four-wheel-drive pickup was recommended due to the rough road. Even then, a half-mile hike from the parking area was required. My Dodge Dakota was suitable for the trip, though it later proved to be one of the worst vehicles I ever owned. The canoe was placed in the truck bed unsecured due to the short trip (big mistake). A severe bounce over a large rock propelled the canoe forward through the rear window. No injuries occurred, but the window was shattered. We unloaded the canoe at our destination, filled it with fishing gear, and began carrying it to the pond. It was challenging, and occasional rests were necessary. However, the biggest issue was black flies. If you've never encountered Adirondack black flies in spring, you can't imagine the horror. I'd prefer a million houseflies at my Fourth of July picnic over black flies. It was a nightmare. To make matters worse, once we reached the pond and launched the canoe, we spent hours searching for fish. The pond had a good reputation for trout, but none were found. In fact, there was no aquatic life present—no salamanders, minnows, frogs, or tadpoles. Frustrated, we headed home. At least bacon and eggs awaited us, allowing us to put our early morning "safari" behind us. It was not a successful fishing trip.

Palmer Pond

On my way home, I stopped by the local lumberyard to grab a few supplies for a project I was working on. I chatted with Gary, a yard worker and an enthusiastic fisherman. He noticed my broken window and asked if the canoe was to blame. "Yes," I said, "and that was just part of a rough morning. After all the trouble we had getting into Palmer and dealing with black flies, we didn't catch a single fish."

"Well, I'm not surprised. The DEC used Rotenone there before restocking. You'd think they would have put up a notice at the parking area! But I guess that would require some planning."

As summer went on, I trailered the boat to Schroon Lake. The south end of the lake featured one of the best boat launches I've ever seen. It's well-designed with enough space for launching multiple boats simultaneously, well-maintained docks, and plenty of parking for both vehicles and trailers. There are many tales of large trout being caught in Schroon, but sadly, I can't contribute to them. I seem to have better luck fishing along the banks of the Schroon River where it flows out of the lake near the launch. And, as with most of these lakes, it's best fished in early spring, not during the summer heat. Lake George, however, has always been generous to me. Early one fall, my son and I stopped at Lake George on our way back to New Paltz. Our black lab "Sonny" was with us for the first time. Initially, the dog was hesitant to get on the boat, but after some encouragement, he jumped on and settled at the bow. We fished around Diamond Point using down-riggers. It was my first time using them, and it took some adjustment. The advantage of this system is that it allows you to get your lures down to where the fish are in the water column. There are other methods for this too. Using a wire line is one option. The downside is the large amount of wire needed to reach the desired depth. Once a fish is hooked, you have to reel in all this wire, losing the thrill of fighting the fish. It's quite different from reeling in monofilament or braided line. With down-riggers, you lower a weighted ball on a cable to the desired depth. A release clip attached to the weight holds your fishing line. When a fish bites, it pulls the line out of the clip, and the fight begins! Of course, it's wise to raise the weight and cable once the fish is hooked. If you don't, you risk tangling the line and losing the fish.

We had a successful day catching many bass, but no lake trout or land-locked salmon. It was great to be able to trailer the boat to different lakes and explore what they had to offer.

After returning home, I thought about a trip up north to Lake Ontario. The salmon run in Pulaski was famous, and I was interested in trying it out. Joe Trippi, a neighbor and friend, shared many interests with me: education, flying, hunting, and fishing. One evening, over a few beers, we talked about a trip to Ontario and ended up contacting some places to stay near Pulaski. Mike Ruger joined our group, or rather, I joined Mike and Joe since these two were inseparable; it was rare to see one without the other. I arranged to be "sick" from work (there were several such "illnesses" in my life when it came to outdoor activities) on Friday so we could start early Thursday evening.

It was a long drive from New Paltz towing the boat to our destination past Watertown, but we arrived late Thursday evening without any issues. We stayed in a small house that catered to fishermen during the season. The next morning, we launched the boat at Lighthouse Point and docked it for the duration of our stay. Fishing in this region during the salmon run is an experience, and I would likely avoid it in the future. The area is incredibly crowded. My opinion might be biased because I generally dislike crowds (as evidenced by my choice to avoid doing anything on weekends since retirement, simply because everyone else does it then). It was difficult to find a fishing spot without being surrounded by others. There were also conflicts among fishermen. The only time we had some space was when we left Pulaski on the boat and fished Lake Ontario near the power plant, miles away.

We trolled for hours with no luck and I can only blame it on inexperience. There were other boats much farther out in the lake that were catching fish and I had come to realize that one really has to do the research on the area you are fishing if you want to increase your odds of productivity. We had not. The following day our decision was to fish the river. With our boat it was possible to get into some rathr shallow water along the banks. Once again, everyone else was there as well. Getting situated without offending anyone was difficult. Fishing for these salmon was more or less snagging them and if you did get caught by the DEC doing so it rendered a hefty fine.

Our luck in the river was the same as in the lake - zilch! But, we did manage to see a guy in a small rowboat hook into a monster and it was an experience that I will not forget. After hooking up he shouted to his buddy to haul in the anchor and they both began shouting "fish on" as it pulled the boat past us downstream. We never did see him land fish ass he was out of sight within a short time. Probably a good idea; let the fish haul you around until he was tired and then land him. I guess the local economy depends a lot on the salmon run season. Guides, tackle shops, restaurants, board and the fines levied by the local courts on errant fisherman not abiding by the laws. At least that was the story I was told. We returned home with no fish but all agreed it was a worthwhile and fun trip.

Part Eight-Hudson River Striped Bass

54 pounder taken aboard "Osprey"

During the winter, I sold the Wellcraft and started searching for a boat that offered protection from the weather. I also wanted a head and a small galley. On a cold, snowy February day, I visited a Bayliner dealer in Newburgh, New York, where a boat caught my eye—a Bayliner Trophy. It had an inboard engine with an outdrive, which didn't thrill me due to the common issues with outdrives if not well-maintained. The seals can leak, leading to water damage.

I preferred an outboard engine, which I would need to order, with some customizations. They offered a "tower type" hardtop for mounting my radar and antenna, providing some weather protection. The boat was a trailerable Trophy 23, ideal for saltwater fishing and for trailering to Loon Lake to keep at our dock. We made a deal, and I ordered the boat.

The Trophy 23 arrived at the dealer in early April, and I was eager to pick it up. Once home, I installed the electronics: a VHF radio, chart-plotter, fish finder, and radar. There was space above the helm for these, allowing easy viewing. Doing the installation myself was enjoyable and educational. I often say, "I enjoy working on boats as much as driving them."

The first outing was on the Hudson River during the spring striped bass migration, introducing me to "world-class" fishing. I used live eels as bait, which are tricky—slimy and prone to tangling. A tip I learned was to keep them in ice-cold water to slow them down. Lower them into the water column and let them swim freely. When a bass is near, they become agitated. Once a bass takes the bait, let it swim before setting the hook. My average catch was around twenty-five pounds, and we caught fish every trip. The season runs from late April to late May, depending on water temperature. Once it hits sixty degrees, the bass spawn and soon leave for the ocean. As a biologist, I learned a lot about striped bass, enough to write another book. I gave lectures and wrote articles about the Hudson River fishery.

While on the river, I met charter boat captains. Many chartered during the striper season on the Hudson. Captain John from Vermont spent the rest of the year on Lake Champlain. He was busy on the Hudson daily, earning well. I thought, "I can do that."

In winter, I contacted the Coast Guard to apply for my license. It was a long process, requiring proof of three hundred and sixty days of "sea time" in the last five years (owning boats helped), a physical exam, and a drug test. I didn't need a first aid or CPR class as I was an instructor with current certification. Then came the exam!

Preparing for the exam was time-consuming and exhausting. I attended a weekend class but needed more preparation. The exam, held at the REC (Regional Exam Center) in the Coast Guard Building in Manhattan, has five parts. The first is "rules of the road," needing a 90 to pass. The other four are "open book," but prior knowledge is essential. The books available include specific CFRs, Bowditch American Practical Navigator, and others. Familiarity with them is crucial. Other parts include Deck General, General Navigation, Chart Navigation, and Deck Safety. It took nearly a year to prepare. In spring 1998, I went to New York for the exam, which I found easy.

As a teacher, I understood the importance of preparation. I finished by lunchtime and was told to return after lunch to collect my certificate.

That summer was a hectic period for me and my boating endeavors. I established a company, Osprey Marine Ltd., offering fishing charters on the Hudson River during the striper season. I relocated the boat to Loon Lake for the rest of the summer but realized it was more advantageous to fish in salt water. This would be the plan for the next summer. Over the winter, I created a website for my charter business, aiming to book charters before the striper season. I attempted print advertising, but it yielded no return on my investment. Eventually, a publication called Northeast Saltwater Fisherman reached out and asked if I would write a weekly report on striper fishing in the Hudson. I enjoy writing, so I eagerly accepted. All I wanted was a short byline to promote my business. This led to speaking engagements and articles in other publications. This opportunity resulted in multiple charters, keeping me busy for most of May. Once I finished with the Hudson River stripers, the plan was to fish Long Island Sound from Clinton, Connecticut. We had spent time there with our sailboat and knew there were excellent fishing spots close to the harbor. One day in July, my wife and son joined me on a trip trailering the boat to Clinton. We planned to secure a slip for two days and try fishing.

As we left the harbor at daybreak I had a feeling this was going to be a good fishing trip. The waters of Long Island Sound were calm almost serene. We were headed out to six mile reef which ran north and south perpendicular to the current. It was slack water and would be difficult to actually see a chop breaking on the reef. Initially we would need to follow the contour lines on the chart-map to locate it. As we approached there was a lot of bird activity indicating bait fish on the surface. This was a good sign as bait fish get trapped in the current and become "sitting ducks" for larger predatory species. There was a good chop now and lots of activity in the water. Spotting an area of bunker (Menhaden) working the surface became our point of focus. My son set the umbrella rigs on the trolling lines as we approached. We let them out perhaps thirty yards or so and trolled the area around the active bunker. "Fish on", he screamed as both of the lines went taught and the reels screamed! We had a double hook-up. My wife handled the boat as my son and I reeled in the catch. Not only was it a double hook-up but one of the umbrella rigs had two fish on it. We were into a large school of bluefish. The action never let up and we must have caught over two dozen fish; all but one were released and that one was dinner that night.

I did get a charter that summer. It was two teachers from western New York who specifically wanted to fish for "blues". I arranged for them to stay at the local motel and meet them at Cedar Island Marina early in the morning. It was a replay of my trip with my wife and son earlier in the season. I knew there would be activity at six mile reef. As we headed out I told them to keep an eye out for birds (I could already see them on my radar out on the reef). as we approached I was waiting for them to see them. "Hey Cap, look over there, birds!" That got their blood going. we set up to troll and started hooking up right away. "How many can we keep" they asked. I replied, "as many as you want, there is no limit". Well, that was a mistake. After fishing for two hours of a three hour charter they were exhausted. "Cap, let's call it a day and we will buy breakfast".

We were heading back with a bloodied boat (blues are messy), my thumb was bitten by one so maybe some of the blood was mine and there were sixteen fish on board! I had promised to fillet them so I never did get breakfast. They did bring me back a hard roll and coffee. Future blue-fishing charters were told the limit is two - my limit, on my boat.

Blue fish are an oily fish some people like to eat them, most do not. I prefer a small one freshly caught baked in foil with mayonnaise, tomatoes and herbs. They do not freeze well. What these guys were going to do with them I do not know; perhaps bury them in the garden for fertilizer?

There are a number of species of fish in the waters of Long Island Sound. Ones that I targeted on my charters were striped bass, blackfish (tautog) and fluke. Each require different techniques of fishing. When trolling for stripers we used wire line to get the jigs down deep enough. It was effective, but, as I mentioned earlier you lost most of the excitement of fighting the fish because you were hauling in stainless steel wire. Blackfish and fluke (summer flounder) were bottom feeders and drifting over sandbars with bait or using small crabs in rocky areas were the preferred methods.

Blackfish

Some Blackfish caught off of Kelsey Point using small crabs as bait. We lost our anchor in the rocks on that trip.

A real hazard when anchoring in rock areas.

Summer Flounder - Fluke

A typical summer flounder or fluke caught drifting Long Sand Shoal. We used a "fluke rig", hook with small spinner and jig.

Part Nine-I am Going to Need a Bigger Boat!

I had started giving some thought to purchasing a larger boat. My saltwater fishing was leading to bigger adventures offshore, something I dare not do in a twenty-three-foot outboard. There was a transient boat in my marina the past summer that caught my eye. It was a boat strictly designed to fish. A Luhrs 290 Open with a tower. It could sleep four comfortably, had a head with shower and a galley. It was powered by twin Marine Power inboards (very reliable engines).

Just by chance, while visiting my daughter in Syracuse, I picked up the current issue of Soundings Magazine. While looking through the classifieds, I spotted that exact Luhrs 290 I had seen in my marina. It was listed at Norwalk Cove Marina in Connecticut. I called the broker to ask about its availability. It was still on the market, so I arranged to go and see it when I got home. Another cold, blustery day was at hand on the Connecticut shore; it was the exact same boat I had seen. The owner was a restaurateur and had decided it was too much boat for him. The only issue I had was the Bayliner. I needed to sell it prior to committing to another boat. I could tell the broker was anxious to close on this deal. "How about I talk to the owner and see if he would take your boat on trade? It is a boat he would feel more comfortable with, I am sure."

It looked good when he called me to set up a time to come and look at the Bayliner. A deal was struck, and later that spring, Osprey Marine took ownership of the vessel. A new canvas rear enclosure was in order, but everything else was fine. It had up-to-date electronics, which included a Horizon VHF, Furuno radar, and a Garmin GPS/Chart-map. Once the boat was in its homeport at Rondout Yacht Basin, I added an autopilot and a heater to the lower helm area.

She was ready for the spring striped bass run in May! Lots of charters that month. Most of my customers were businessmen taking clients out fishing. I had a group of cardiologists treated to a day on the river by a sales rep for a pacemaker company (three charters that season from him), a group of local realtors, and more. By the end of the month, I had done twenty-six charters.

The boat was supporting itself.

In June, we moved "Osprey" to Cedar Island Marina in Clinton. I planned on doing charters there as well, but there was more competition, and the numbers were much smaller. My charters on the Hudson River were far better. To this day, I attribute part of that to the boat. It had a head, which was important to the ladies on board, a heated helm area to get out of the May cold, and always had a pot of coffee on the range in the galley, as well as assorted rolls and donuts.

My good friend, Don Kelley, ran a marine repair business at the marina; he was also a very good fisherman. We discussed taking the boat to Block Island for a few days to fish. Our targets were sharks, perhaps a Mako.

The two-hour drive to Clinton was pleasant as I always enjoyed talking with Don. He was a bit of a character with many stories to tell; mostly about boats and fishing. We arrived at the boat around six in the evening and planned to leave early the next morning for Montauk. It is a three-hour run turning about eighteen to twenty knots. Our course took us across the Sound and through Plum Gut; itself a great area to fish as there was a very strong current there. Once through the Gut we encountered loads of birds feeding. It was to our advantage and we stopped to fish for blues. Bluefish fillets (or even a whole bluefish) would make excellent shark bait. In Montauk we fueled up and bought several buckets of chum. Then on to Block. After getting a slip at Champlins Marina in Great Salt Pond we walked over to the "Old Harbor" for an early dinner. As a kid I spent two weeks for several summers with my parents on Block Island. Back then there were no cars permitted on the Island, only those owned by locals. It was a very small town with a movie theater, some shops and several large hotels. Ballard's was a local hangout near the new harbor in town. As I remember it was quiet and quaint. We rode bicycles everywhere. One of my favorite places was Mohegan Bluffs. It was a desolate part of the island with steep bluffs and pounding surf. Getting to the beach you had to climb down the bluff (very carefully).

It has all changed. Many cars are ferried in by tourists (some who barely know how to drive) and the crowds are horrific compared to what I remember. They even built a stairway down the bluffs. I bet the locals love it after Labor Day!

We headed out at daybreak about twenty miles to an area southeast of the island. It was a deep hole along a steep rise in the ocean floor. The day was becoming unbearably hot and humid. The ocean had barely a ripple. The chum bucket was inverted in a plastic milk crate, tied to the stern and allowed to drift along with the boat. It sent out a noticeable slick for a hundred feet or more. We set four lines using heavy weight rods and Shimano TLD reels. Don was adept at tying wire leaders and double heavy monofilament line before securing to the regular line. Two lines went deep, the other two were using balloons as floats to keep the bait just below the surface. We had a number of blue sharks circling the boat within an hour or so. One took a deep bait and it took about ten minutes to bring it to the boat, cut the line and release it. Blue sharks are fun to catch but you cannot eat them. Metabolic urea is not removed by kidneys as urine, it is released through their muscle tissue and then the skin. Not palatable. A few species, Mako for example, do not process urea the same therefore making them fit to eat. Mako is delicious and I prefer it over swordfish.

The blue sharks disappeared. Perhaps a sign of a higher-level predator in the area; a Mako. I had blue jeans on and went below to change into shorts. Just as I took my jeans off I heard a loud splash. "What the hell, Don, did you fall overboard?" I shouted as I quickly came up on deck in my underwear. Don quietly said, "No, Peter, that's your Mako". Again it jumped, twisting its body trying to get loose. It was a big one and cleared the water by eight feet or more. I grabbed the rod as Don put the fighting harness around my waist - still in my tighty whities. I watched as the line spooled out away from the stern of the boat. Then, all of a sudden, the shark jumped again less than ten feet off our starboard side! He had come back on the line so fast I thought he was still heading away. "Start the engines, we need to be able to move the boat." The last thing you want is a pissed-off Mako jumping into the boat. I fought that fish for over an hour and finally asked Don to take over. At first he declined. "Peter, if that is a record fish you cannot relinquish the line, it won't count." I didn't care, I was exhausted and besides I needed to put some shorts on. I am glad Don never thought to take a picture of me. After a long two hours Don managed to get it to the boat. We slipped a noose over its body and secured it by the tail. The bitter end of the line was secured to a cleat and we proceeded to tail drag through the water. At the same time a fillet knife was secured to the end of our boat hook allowing us to cut the gills and bleed it out.

Once we had it in the boat we headed directly back to Cedar Island Marina.

Mako Jumping

Don Kelly aboard "Osprey" back at Cedar Island Marina

Once back at the marina in Clinton we stopped at the gas dock for a photo shoot. Don wanted to get his picture taken with the shark. We loaded the gutted shark in the back of my truck and stopped at the local deli to buy bags of ice to pack around it. It took about three hours to get home and we were cutting Mako steaks until midnight in my driveway. I kept a large chunk whole and called a friend who owned a local restaurant (The Gilded Otter) to see if he was interested in buying it. "Absolutely, I will get a price from my fish guy and will get back to you". The market price was fair for both of us and it helped pay for the trip. That evening the Gilded Otter had a special on fresh caught Mako steaks, including my picture with the shark. Very cool.

I did numerous charters on the Hudson and Long Island Sound for the next few years. Most all went well. I did learn a lesson about taking children on board for fishing. When I say children I am talking about youngsters. There are many children that love to fish and I encourage it. I did have one experience, however, that was a nightmare. A couple from New York called to book a charter on the Sound. They said they wanted to bring their two children who enjoyed fishing. They were eight and ten years old. This would be the first time I would have children that young on board. They showed up around nine on a Sunday morning. Nice people. We headed out ( a bit late to fish) and began trolling. The parents were getting upset because we were catching no fish. I explained to them I would have normally headed out at daybreak but to meet their schedule we left later. Fishing is not good when the sun rises overhead, it really slows down. Most wildlife, including fish, feed in the early morning or at dusk. The children were getting "antsy" running around the boat. "Can we watch television?, they asked. "No", I replied, "we are fishing". Their parents were no help. They were spending their Sunday reading the New York Times! I became a babysitter. Maybe it's just me, but anymore I do not have young children on board.

Another story comes to mind about a charter on the Hudson.

There was a group of six young men, perhaps in their late teens who wanted to go striper fishing. It was early in the season and they could only go after work - around five thirty. They met me at the boat with a large cooler filled with beer. One had a bottle of Jack Daniels as well. I gave little thought as we headed out into the river. It was a cold rainy evening and no fish were to be found. The drinking went well and they were all "sloshed" by the time we returned to the dock. They unloaded the boat and began walking up the dock. "Hey guys, you owe me for the charter". No cap we don't, we didn't catch any fish". "Not part of the deal", I replied. "Fuck off", was their response. At that point I went to my VHF radio and contacted the local sheriff. They had a substation just up the road from the marina and said they would send a deputy down. My "customers" were so drunk they took forever to get their act together - good thing for me. The sheriff arrived, parked his patrol car and walked down to the dock. As I was talking to him one of the guy came down the dock. "Hey Cap here's your money, we were only kidding around". I took the money and he walked back up to his car. "Is all good now", the deputy asked. I said it was but my other concern was their ability to drive. As they drove out of the lot the sheriff pursued them and I heard a blip of his siren. The following morning I called the sheriffs' office to voice my concern about them coming back to perhaps damage my boat. They could rightfully assume it was me telling the deputy about their drinking. The responding deputy called me back and told me I had nothing to worry about. He made it clear to them that any issues with me or my boat would point to them.

To this day I limit any alcohol on any of my charters. I never want to deal with a boatload of drunks again.

What to Do Now?

In 2007, the economy took a major downturn. My charter business was severely impacted. Hudson River charters had dropped to less than ten for the month of May. Since my customer base was made up of businessmen taking clients fishing, I could only assume the recession was to blame.

Out of curiosity, I contacted one of my best customers and asked why he was no longer chartering. "My entertainment money is done," he told me. "No more fishing trips, dinners, or golf outings." Well, there you have it.

The boat could no longer make enough money to cover my expenses; I would have to sell it. I could not afford to keep it on my retirement income. Home and personal expenses took priority.

At the end of May, I started to get the word out to some of the other charter captains in the area that the boat was for sale. I had one person from Vermont who really wanted it. There was only one problem - he had no money, and I was not interested in financing it. A friend and local businessman (Jeff) had gotten word "Osprey" was for sale. He was an avid fisherman, a Lake Ontario fisherman who also loved to fish for stripers on the Hudson. We met at the boat one afternoon, and he immediately said he would buy it. A cash deal, no haggling about price. He knew me and how well I took care of anything I owned. However, after he purchased it, I ran into a problem. I had forgotten it was listed with the marina owner, and I did owe him ten percent of the selling price. An agreement is an agreement. I informed Jeff that I had neglected to include the commission in the sale and that it was my own fault, not expecting anything from him. I always knew he was a straight-up guy; he gave my son a nearly new lawn tractor after he had bought his home. He said to me, "Don't worry about it, I'll pay the marina the commission."

That boat became his downfall. I felt bad, but at the same time, I was heartbroken about what he and his friends did to the boat. At one point, he had arranged a charter and needed me to captain. I agreed, not knowing what I was getting myself into. Déjà vu, drunks on a boat! It was a nightmare, and I refused to captain for him again. Later that summer, I learned he had one of his employees take the boat over to Cedar Island Marina in Connecticut. The guy had no idea what he was doing. It never made it . He ran the boat up on the rocks off New Rochelle and nearly sank it. I got a call from a local marina there asking what I was going to do about my boat. There was a substantial amount of money owed, and they wanted the bill paid and the boat gone. Apparently,Jeff had never documented the vessel in his name. The record showed Osprey Marine as the current owner. I had to send proof of sale to the marina to get out of it.

The boat finally made it back to the Rondout Creek, how I do not know, but I saw it tied to a dock at a small marina at the end of the creek. "My" boat had been destroyed, and so had my friend. He lost his wife, business, and the boat. It was bought by someone in Connecticut, and he had contacted me with questions about it, I simply told him I had nothing to say. It was too emotional. The same thing happened to my sailboat. It rotted away in a boatyard. You think I become attached to my boats?

As time passed, my accountant informed me I should dissolve the corporation or buy a new boat. I did not want to do either. By chance, I started working for Precision Propeller out of Newburgh, New York. I had gotten to know Gabe, the owner, through our common interest in boats. He was interested in having me work as a sales rep for the Lake George region. It was great for me as the house on Loon Lake was still in the picture, and weekends were spent there. The other benefit was to the corporation, Osprey Marine, it would now show income. I was very lucky. My first visits to the marinas on Lake George turned out to be a windfall. The previous prop repair guy had just retired, and it looked like we were going to take over all his accounts.

As time passed, the job of committing myself to weekly trips to the Adirondacks began taking its toll. On Fridays, I would spend several hours making the rounds of Lake George marinas, but then, as business grew, my territory grew, and I was driving farther out of my way. Getting the damaged props back to Newburgh by Monday morning also became stressful. They needed them early morning in order to fulfill the commitment of getting them back to the customer the next week. I know, it's a job, and I respected it. I also felt a commitment to Gabe and his brother Mike, but I had to give it up. They needed someone who had more time and could fit their schedule. And, I missed owning a boat.

The winter of 2010 was focused on skiing. I was going to St. Anton with a group organized by one of the local skiers at Gore Mountain. This would be my first time skiing in Europe. I was excited. We flew into Zurich and then took a charter bus into St. Anton. For many weeks leading up to the trip I had been working on my German using a program called Babble. It was fun and not all that difficult. Perhaps because my lineage is half German. We all stayed at a quaint home which catered to skiers and included meals. The food reminded me of my grandmothers cooking. Skiing was great. We would spend the day skiing from one little town to the next. If you were unable to ski back to St. Anton at the end of the day your lift pass included a bus ride. I will never forget one event during this trip. We joined others in our group to go to an "apre's ski" bar called the MooserWert. I have never experienced anything like it. As we approached everyone was singing "Sweet Adeline". This was a gathering of hundreds of skiers from all over the world. Most had skied down the mountain to it - how they ever found their own skies afterward I will never know. Skis were scattered all over the snow. It was a gathering of people who had skiing in common. Everyone was happy and having a great deal of fun. We met a large group of Norwegian skiers who were drinking vodka and schnapps, some from Italy - it was an international event. Everyone was a "happy drunk". I had to think, would't it be nice if all the worlds politicians could gather like this? That will never happen.

We returned from Austria and on the flight home I gave a lot of thought as to what Osprey Marine was going to do this year. There was no doubt in my mind about buying another boat. It was a foregone conclusion. But what will be our business model. Are we doing fishing charters?

What about sailing? Once home I started looking at sailboats. Fishing charters were out of the picture. I love to fish but I really did not want it to become a business. I was done getting up before daybreak, cleaning the blood off the boat and filleting fish. Sunset sails on the Hudson made a lot more sense to me.

I contacted Jim Vallone at Great Hudson Sailing in Haverstraw, New York. They were a Beneteau dealer and most likely had some preowned boats. He showed me many brokered boats, we traveled as far as Rhode Island to look at one. None of them seemed to move me. Then, Larry, the owner called me and said he had just the boat for me. "It would be a great boat for charters', he said. "OK, what do you have?", I asked. This was a trade- in. A 2008 Beneteau Oceanis 40. It was beyond my financial capabilities. "Just come and take a look, we can work something out", he said. I will look, but it will only be "eye candy". There is no way I can afford a boat like this.

Larry met me at his office in Haverstraw and we walked over to the north yard where the boat was on the hard. It was a cold spring day with mounds of snow still left over from a not so nice winter. The boat was shrink wrapped and we needed a ladder to get on board. This was a mistake, I thought to myself. It was a beauty, very roomy with two staterooms, a head and galley. It was bright and airy even under wrap. The previous owner had hardly used it. This sailboat was a fresh water boat never taken past the Tappan Zee Bridge. Apparently they would use it as a "condo" and spend weekends on it. The head was never used, instead they used the restrooms at the marina. "Sure wish I could afford this," I said. "Well", Larry said, I need to sell it, my price to you is exactly what I took it in on trade for. I know you wanted radar, so I will include that if you buy it. We will also redo all the teak and wax the complete boat. And, it is a dealer boat, so we are obligated to warranty it." The price was $150,000. "Let me see what I can do," I said and went home to give it some serious thought.

Larry could arrange financing within my budget, I had savings I could use and Osprey Marine would own it and depreciate it. But the bottom line? I was not getting any younger and I wanted this boat. It was an ideal boat for charter with a roomy cockpit, two wheels and set up to single handle. The following week a deal was struck and Osprey Marine owned a Beneteau 40.

"Osprey"

Great Hudson was true to their word. Radar had been installed, the complete boat waxed and all the teak looked like new. The first season I kept her at Haverstraw Marina. It was a nice marina with a large swimming pool and a great restaurant on the river. Both the marina and Great Hudson Sailing helped me market my charter business. I had several charters that summer and it was nice to sail in a part of the river that was wide enough to extend our tacks.

Haverstraw was a good hours drive for me from my home in New Paltz. Keeping the boat on the Rondout Creek would be a lot easier especially in the spring and fall when work needed to be done. That fall I moved it to Rondout Yacht Basin for winter storage. I purchased a custom winter cover which allowed me ample room to get on board and move around the deck, it also saved me money by not having it shrink wrapped each season.

The Hudson River Maritime Museum is located in Kingston on the Rondout Creek. They have dock space but, it is primarily for transient vessels. I became active at the museum by volunteering my time for various projects with the hope of perhaps keeping "Osprey" there the following season. Running charters out of Rondout Yacht Basin would be problematic. There is a bridge with low clearance and I could only get under it at low tide. Dockage at the museum would solve that problem.

The museum had issues with electricity at their docks. The system was old and not very reliable. There was talk about upgrading it, and I caught word about it. Over the years, one of my side jobs was as an electrician. My father was an electrician for the railroad and had taught me a lot. I did both commercial and residential wiring. One of my larger projects was redoing the electrical stanchions on the docks at Rondout Yacht Basin. I offered my services to the museum and would install a new service and stanchions if they liked. The job opened the door to keeping my boat there. It was a great location for a charter operation, and the museum liked seeing my boat at their dock. The following season, I was appointed to the Board of Directors and became very active not only as a board member but as a volunteer. One of my accomplishments was helping procure a restaurant next door to the museum, which had been for sale for a number of years. The building now houses the Riverport Wooden Boat School.

I had a number of great charters on the Hudson. Many of my customers were returns, and it was not unusual to have multiple charters from the same people. I remember one couple in particular. They had a home in Rhinebeck as well as New York City and ran a business in both locations. They would bring their friends on board for a sunset sail with all the "fixings" - wine, snacks, etc. It was a great time, and I had the chance to meet a lot of nice people.

There is an interesting story that developed around this couple. They obviously developed a love of boats and both had a fondness for antiques. One in particular was a restored MGA automobile. I received a call one day in the winter from them inquiring about purchasing an antique wooden boat. My first thought was perhaps a small runabout,The type you would see on Lake George. Perhaps a Hackercraft or Garwood? I made the suggestions and heard no more until early spring. They had located a boat in Toronto, Canada. It was a 1984 Taylorcraft, a wooden boat completely restored by the present owner. A captain was hired, and after having a survey done, they were on their way south.

The trip took a lot longer than expected due, in part, to some mechanical problems encountered along the way. Once the boat was in Kingston, I was hired on as the working captain. The repairs that had been done to the upper helm steering did not solve the problem, it was inoperable. I contacted SeaStar in Seattle with hopes they would have a unit to replace the old one. They did not. The original unit was built by Carter, the same company that built carburetors. I now knew why working on older boats was difficult. SeaStar was able to modify one of their new units so that it would accommodate the setup from the older hydraulic model. This repair was very expensive. The hours put into removing the old unit and installing the new one exceeded what I had estimated, not to mention the cost of parts from SeaStar.

The owners were not happy. Welcome to the world of boating - especially old wooden boats.

There were other issues as the season went on but were handled accordingly. The following season their boat was docked at my marina. It made it easier for me to take care of it, and I could observe it each day. One day I ran into the young man I had hired to wash it and give it an overall visual inspection. He informed me there were orange mushrooms growing on the deck. Yes, there were! Not a good sign. Further inspection on my part found black spots on the white hull. If I pressed my thumb into these areas, it would actually make a hole in the soft, rotted wood. I could not reach the owners as they were in Italy for the summer; however, upon their return, I presented them with the bad news. It was obvious the boat needed major repairs. This was beyond the scope of anything I could do. I suggested we set up a meeting with Scarano Boat Builders from Albany. They sent a rep down to take a look and come up with an estimate. This was going to be a major job. They agreed to the work being done, and late in the fall, we moved the boat from Kingston to Albany.

I checked on it occasionally as the work progressed, and it was obvious the "can of worms" had been opened. There was a great deal of work not anticipated as more and more rot appeared. The costs were starting to get out of control, and the owners started to realize it was way beyond what they could afford. Work came to a halt. The moral of the story? If you really want to own a wooden boat, you need to be able and willing to put the effort into maintaining it. It is expensive.

The Taylorcraft was for sale. It was on the market in "as is "condition, which was not going to be an easy sale - if at all. The last I heard it was shrink wrapped and on the hard in Scaranos' yard. It has been there for several years. At some point the owners will give up paying storage and the boat will be scrapped. It seems to be the destiny of many boats; fiberglass or wooden.

It is rather rare for boats to hold their value and many times the owner just gives up trying to sell and walks away rather than pay storage and insurance. Marinas are plagued with abandoned boats and so are many waterways. It is costly to "junk" them. Fluids must be drained and disposed of, metals removed (including engines) and brought to be recycled and finally the hull cut up and hauled away.

If a marina goes up for sale one of the problems is abandoned boats on the premises. It can impact the price. Who pays for the cleanup, buyer or seller?

I had another customer, Mike, from the Albany area who brought his office staff on a charter. He felt bad because "he worked them so hard"; they deserved a sail on the river. We had an extended sail downriver and Mike took a great interest in sailing the boat. He told me he had taken sailing lessons in Newport, Rhode Island and was interested in buying a sailboat. Several weeks passed and I received a call from his secretary. "Mike saw a boat for sale in your area and was wondering if you could take a look at it for him?" she asked. "I would be happy to", I replied. It was located at a nearby boat club. I met with the owner and discussed the boat. It was in good condition and the price was fair; a Beneteau 281, a manufacturer and model with a very good reputation.

After speaking with Mike, he agreed to purchase the boat and arranged to come down to look at it. A survey was done and he was the proud owner of a Beneteau 281. There was no room at my marina so he secured a slip at one across the creek. Small and well protected. It was also easier for him to dock the boat as there was no current to deal with. "Is there anything you might suggest we do to the boat?", he asked. Well, the shore power was an extension cord. I explained if it were my boat I would install a shore power outlet in the deck and wire it direct to the 120V fuse box and then purchase a Marinco shore power line. "Agreed, go ahead, do it and send me the bill."

Over the years I managed the boat for him that's the way it went. Do it and send me a bill.

My only concern was he never used the boat. He was either doing autopsies or testifying in court. When he did get a chance to get away and sail he always gave me a heads-up and wanted me to join him. One of the nicest people you would ever want to meet. Over the years I replaced all of the ports, had the complete interior redone, installed refrigeration, new sails, refinished the teak, new bottom paint and an annual compounding waxing of the entire boat. To this day it looks like a new boat.

"Orion"

The winter of 2017 was not a good one for me. My knees had reached the point of no return. The active lifestyle over the years had taken its toll. Skiing was no longer fun. Between my knee problem and lousy weather, I was giving some serious thought to selling the Adirondack camp. Spending summers up there was not what it used to be. The charter business was good, and I needed to be home and aboard "Osprey." The other issue was my need for peace and quiet; Loon Lake in the summer was the antithesis of "peace and quiet." Sleeping in New Paltz in the summer was pleasant. The only thing I heard with the windows open were the crickets, as opposed to the never-ending fireworks on Loon Lake.

While visiting Florida, we looked at homes for sale on the water; or perhaps I should say on a canal with open water access. I had always dreamed of the day when I could own a home and just step out the door and onto my own dock - with a boat tied to it. Selling the Loon Lake camp might allow this to happen.

The camp went on the market that following summer. It was really more than a "camp," although I liked to call it that; more "Adirondacky." It was a year-round home. I put a lot into it over the years, and there was an emotional attachment. I seem to become "attached" to most things I own. So, it sold, and for a price I was very happy with. "Seller's remorse," yes, but that did not last long as we had found a house in Punta Gorda, Florida. It was a typical Florida house with a pool and lanai, located on a canal with a dock and boat lift and a short boat ride out to the open water of Charlotte Harbor. It was about twenty nautical miles across the harbor to Boca Grande and the Gulf of Mexico. I had great hopes of fishing the Gulf.

After closing on the house, the first thing I did was go looking at boats. Sailing "Osprey" to Florida was out of the question for me, and I needed a fishing boat anyway. I liked center consoles with twin outboards. We took a trip to a Sea Hunt dealer in Port Charlotte. The model I really liked was a Gamefish 25. It had to be equipped with a VHF radio and a chartplotter with fish finder capabilities. Once all the details were worked out and the price was finalized, we were ready to place the order. However, a problem arose. Delivery time would take up to four months! Not good. By that time, we would be home for the summer. Time to start looking for a pre-owned boat. After several hours on the internet, I located a Sea Hunt Gamefish 25 in St. Petersburg (about a two-hour drive north). I called the dealer, and he filled me in on all the details. The boat was two years old with very low hours. It had twin Yamaha 150s and was loaded with extras. He referred to it as the "Simrad boat" because the previous owner was a sales rep for Simrad electronics. It was the demo boat he took to boat shows. Included were twin twelve-inch MFDs, forward and side scan sonar, radar, sat XM weather, autopilot, Yamaha engine monitors, a custom hard top with misters, and a beautiful blue hull. This was the boat. And the best part was it would cost me the same as that new one we were going to order but with thousands of dollars' worth of electronics. Prior to signing the contract, the salesman informed me there were still two years on the warranty. I was a happy boater

Sea Hunt Gamefish 25

I asked if they could deliver it to Punt Gorda and he responded, "why, take it down on the water, choose a day when the winds are out of the east, stay a few miles offshore and you will be fine."

My new neighbor, Brad, was willing to go with me and I was looking forward to the four to five hour trip.

We left St. Pete around ten in the morning. The waters around Tampa Bay were a bit choppy, most likely due to the boat traffic. Once out in the Gulf we turned south and began our trek to Charlotte Harbor. It was a beautiful day and the water was calm with no wind to speak of and as the day wore on it got hot. It took some getting use to the instrumentation but it was a fun learning experience. I set a coarse heading on the autopilot and we both sat up front and had our lunch. We were not any more than two miles offshore and the view of the beaches was amazing; a new panorama for me. As we approached Boca Grande inlet I concentrated on the electronic chart and noticed we had to turn to starboard and run a mile or so west, away from the coast in order to enter the approach channel. Brad noticed some boats entering the channel from the north closer to shore. Being new to the area I had no "local knowledge" and felt it was prudent to follow the charts. Boca pass is bordered by the northern tip of Cayo Costa and the southern most end of Gasparilla Island. It is a narrow, deep cut with strong currents. Known for its' tarpon, a very popular fishing area and populated with many fishing boats. It is necessary to remain alert when passing through this channel.

Boca Grande Pass Looking South

Once through the pass we entered Charlotte Harbor, a vast expanse of water stretching about twenty miles to our west. It is fed by two rivers; the Mayaka and the Peace. Both rivers, and the harbor itself, are bordered by vast stretches of mangroves. This flora population is essential for the well being of the waters and act as a barrier, protecting the shoreline from erosion and wave damage during storms. Many communities bordering the harbor were built by sacrificing the mangroves. Thousands of acres were stripped and canals dug to allow for the development of homes. A home and area I now live in. It is nice to have a home on the water, but, I wonder what the eventual consequences are going to be.

We crossed the harbor and entered the channel for Alligator Creek. It is well marked by dayshapes which must be closely adhered to. The waters of Charlotte Harbor are very "skinny" (shallow). The deepest areas are holes about twenty feet. I can't imagine sailing here. For that matter the Gulf of Mexico continental shelf out to about one hundred fifty nautical miles is very shallow. Near shore depths range from ten to twenty meters. The Florida escarpment is the "end" of the shelf and the water depth increases dramatically. Shallow water extending that far out has a dramatic effect. Summer water temperatures can reach ninety degrees! It's like swimming in a bath tub.

After about twenty minutes of slowly moving up the creek we entered the canal system of Burnt Store Isles. My home was located on one of these canals. We secured the boat to the lift and raised it out of the water. Home at last.

Boating and Fishing in Florida

Boating in Florida was a bit different from what I was accustomed to. I began to notice how many boaters did not appear to know much about boating. Watching people trying to dock while approaching with a current was interesting; both humerous and dangerous at the same time. They would seem confused as to why they could not control the boat. Jumping from the boat to the dock seemed to be common place. A good captain would place the boat on the dock to allow the mate to step off with the line. Then there were the "Rules of the Road". What "rules?". The majority of boaters I dealt with on the water were clueless. I was asked several times what the red and green markers meant.

There was a restaurant located on the creek on the way out to the harbor which was very popular with boaters. With limited dock space, it was not unusual to have a boat or more blocking the channel while waiting for someone to leave. I was almost hit by a pontoon boat cutting across the channel. He had no idea of the rules regarding vessels in channels and was swearing at me for not stopping (there may have been some alcohol involved on his part).

An opportunity presented itself regarding sailing. I became friendly with a pilot from Allegiant Airlines, Zach, who ran a sailing charter. He was looking for a captain to do sunset sails on the harbor.

I was reluctant at first as I knew from firsthand experience how shallow the waters were; but, I do like to sail. My first charter was rather interesting. The boat was a Hunter 37 named "Calypso." She was a pretty sailboat and responded well under power, a good thing as getting her turned around in a narrow canal was a bit tricky. I had a mate helping, which was a policy of the boat owner and always worked out well for both me and my customers. We would sail Calypso across Charlotte Harbor to the Charlotte Harbor Yacht Club. There we would pick up our customers for the sail. This was necessary as no one could run a business from their home where the boat was docked. Access to the yacht club was a nightmare for a sailboat with a five-foot draft. We could not enter or leave at low water. So, charter times were dependent upon the tides. The other issue was the wind. A strong south wind would make it very difficult to turn the boat in the small turning basin. So, on my first charter, the wind caught me sideways as I was turning and with next to no room to maneuver, I was drifting down the basin with my bow and stern narrowly missing boats tied to their docks. One boat owner was on the stern of his boat and suggested we throw him a line from our bow. He secured the line to his dock cleat. Our boat now swung ninety degrees parallel to the waterway and allowed us to make forward headway out of the yacht club. A strong south wind became a determining factor as to whether or not we would do a charter on several occasions after that.

Working for Zach was fun, and it did give me the opportunity to sail. Any documented time on a boat was important as it would count towards "sea time," days needed to renew my Master's License. I did some other "gigs" as a captain while in Florida; one working for a brokerage during sea trials. This is when a boat owner is unable to be on board his boat during a survey. Most insurance companies require a licensed captain to run the boat. A few more bucks for Osprey Marine.

Then there is Florida West Coast fishing. It was a disappointing experience for me, brought on by my expectations. Previous saltwater ventures included cold water game fish in the North Atlantic and other species in the Caribbean (Wahoo, Mahi, etc.). Because of the warm shallow waters of the Gulf, fishing was marginal. Weather permitting, you had to go fifty miles or more offshore to fish wrecks and reefs. Any decent-sized fish were grouper. Now, don't get me wrong, if you wanted to fish inshore, there were snook and redfish. In Charlotte Harbor, if you got lucky, you could pick up Spanish mackerel while trolling. I actually caught a bluefish trolling through the Boca Pass one day. All that being said, fishing was not what I thought it would be. Some locals were saying the area has been overfished - I cannot confirm that.

Red Tide Fish Kill

The presence of red tide is also a consideration. It is an algae bloom that produces toxins harmful to the marine environment, killing fish and making shellfish dangerous to eat. Near shore, the air becomes irritating to humans, and huge fish kills can be found along the beaches. During one "bloom," I pulled into Burnt Store Marina for fuel only to discover the harbor filled with floating dead fish!

There is a lot to be said about why and how these blooms occur. It is not only red tide but blooms of green algae as well. Homes along the canals adjacent to the Caloosahatchee River in Fort Myers have experienced green algae blooms that make the waterways look like the fairways on a golf course; and then there is the odor that permeates the air.

If one looks at the history of the Florida Everglades and Lake Okeechobee, you can see some of the contributing factors to the problem. Natural drainage of the Everglades was curtailed by the Army Corps of Engineers by building canals to drain the land for agriculture and development.

This directed the waters into the major drainage basin for the Caloosahatchee, which, in turn, were rich in fertilizers (nitrogen and phosphorus). In simple terms, it "fed" the growth of algae.

If you do the research, you will find Florida has all sorts of water problems. The Florida aquifer is an underground "river" which permeates the limestone bedrock. In many places, it forms large cavernous pockets of water where the limestone has been eroded. Florida relies on this aquifer for its fresh water supply. Now, consider all the development the state has undergone over the last hundred years or so. Yes, it has, and is depleting the aquifer and is leaving large voids resulting in sinkholes. Simply put, Florida is running out of water. I could write another book on this subject.

Change is Inevitable

In 2020, we were spending the winters in Florida, as usual. But events were happening that we had no control over. One of those was the COVID outbreak. It affected us all; there is no need to elaborate on it - we were all there. One of the personal effects on Osprey Marine was the inability to do sailing charters once we arrived home for the summer. "Osprey" was an expensive boat to maintain (I know, all boats are). I had recurring annual expenses that were around $15,000. With no income derived from charters, it was difficult to justify keeping the boat. It was a sad day when "Osprey" was sold. A doctor from Long Island bought it, and the upside was I actually sold it for what I had paid for it. The downside? It had been depreciated over the years it was owned by Osprey Marine, and I owed the IRS big time! It all comes around to bite you in the end.

We still had the Sea Hunt in Florida, so we were not without a boat. My summers in New Paltz were occupied with gardening, fishing, and golf. Yes, I had added golf to my passions. But yet another major event was to take place that had an effect on my "life around boats": Hurricane Ian. It hit Punta Gorda with a wallop! Damage to our house was minimal compared to our neighbors. Financially, it would not be more than our insurance deductible, so after receiving photos of the damage from my neighbor, the decision was made to do the repairs myself. We were in New Paltz at the time and had to plan the trip down after loading the truck with the needed building materials.

Hurricane Damage to Dock and Boat

The truck was loaded, and we were ready to depart. I was tired of the drive to Florida, and under different circumstances, we would have flown. Leaving a car there was always part of the plan, but given the current situation, we had no other option. After completing all the repairs, we planned to fly back home for the holidays, leaving the truck behind, and then return in January. The Honda Ridgeline was a dependable vehicle, offering the comfort of a car and plenty of space for my needs. As we approached our first overnight stop, I noticed the transmission acting strangely. By the time we reached Roanoke, the truck struggled to maintain fifty miles per hour, with the engine revving at four thousand rpm—not a good sign! The next morning, I was at the local Honda dealership as soon as they opened. The diagnosis confirmed my worst fears: we needed a new transmission. Once again, the COVID situation posed a problem. It could take months to get one. It only got worse. What were my options? Leave the truck with the dealer and rent a truck to continue on to Florida? That was not going to work. My truck would be in Roanoke for many weeks, perhaps months, and I would still have to find a way to get home to New Paltz. I decided to ask the sales manager what used trucks they had. "Take a look at the lot," he said. There was nothing. "How about a new one?" There were two new Ridgelines; one was gray, the other white. "I'll take the gray one if you can have it ready early this afternoon." My God, I just bought a new truck. The last thing I wanted to do, but I had little choice.

We continued on to Florida, completed all the repairs on the house, and thought we were done with this fiasco. This was not over. While I was working on the house, several roofing contractors stopped by to tell me my roof had considerable damage. I knew it did not. I was up there shortly after we arrived to take a look, and aside from a few cracked tiles, it was fine. But, why not contact my insurance company and see what they think? They were very nice and actually went out of their way to get an adjuster over before we left for home. Several weeks went by before I heard back from them. It was an engineer's report that confirmed my observations; the roof was fine.

But, here's the proverbial "straw that broke the camel's back." My agent called to let me know my roof is now twenty years old, and I could not get insurance unless I replaced it. I reminded her of the engineer's report. "That has nothing to do with its age," she replied. Logic, what logic?

A new roof was around fifty thousand. Money I did not have; I just bought a new truck.

Enough of Florida! If we sell the house now, we could almost double our money. Sell we did, along with the Sea Hunt. We were lucky; it sold only several days after listing at our asking price.

All these "events" leading up to selling the house were what got me back to focusing on Osprey Marine as a private charter business. I needed a boat.

Shopping for Yachts

The winter of 2024 was spent in New Paltz. After undergoing knee replacement surgery in the fall of 2023, I was hesitant to ski. The dreadful weather made it easier to avoid the mountains. I spent my time researching boats online. Many boats for sale caught my interest. I decided against considering sailboats because I couldn't manage a charter solo as I once could; my agility isn't what it used to be. Class and comfort were important factors. Osprey Marine aimed to offer charters on a motor yacht. Another consideration was competition. There are numerous sailboat charters on the Hudson River. A motor yacht equipped with all the amenities for private parties wasn't available at the time, but ours would be.

A Mainship 43 aft cabin listed in Annapolis, Maryland, caught my attention. It appeared impressive on the broker's listing and included most of the features I desired. I had noticed one as a transient at my marina the previous summer. Mainship is a well-known trawler often used for the "loop." Its bridge clearance (air draft) permits passage under the bridges on the Erie and Champlain canals. The price was within my budget, so, weather permitting, we headed to Annapolis.

Annapolis is one of my favorite destinations. Whether you're a boater or not, it's a worthwhile trip. The area boasts some excellent restaurants. One of my favorites is the Boatyard. I refuse to eat crabcakes unless they're made in Maryland; all others are imitations, and the Boatyard offers the best. The day after our arrival, we met the broker in Tracey's Landing, about thirty minutes south of Annapolis. The boat was on the hard, requiring a ladder to board. Despite some minor issues, I placed a deposit.

Upon returning home, I contacted a marine surveyor to arrange a survey date. If the initial survey went well, we could plan a sea trial once the boat was in the water in the spring. I called the broker to coordinate the survey and was informed the boat wasn't ready for surveying. "What, why not? It's listed for sale," I said. He responded, "The owner had the boatyard remove the turbos for rebuilding." Red flags went up! I withdrew from the deal and was graciously refunded my deposit. There's more to come regarding this vessel.

Mainship 43

I continued my search for the ideal vessel and found myself increasingly impressed with Ocean Alexanders. Their build quality appeared superior to Mainship, with a reputation for detailed woodworking, evident in their craftsmanship. Located in Stuart, Florida, one of these boats piqued my interest, and after discussing with the broker, I decided it was worth the trip. Moreover, escaping the northern winter for warmer weather was an added incentive. In February, we flew to North Palm Beach, rented a car, and drove to Hutchinson Island. We planned to spend a few days at the Marriott, enjoy the beach, dine out, and inspect the Ocean Alexander. My brother's ex resides in Stuart, so we met her and her husband for dinner at "Kyle G's," which features a fantastic outdoor Tiki bar. It was a great evening, perhaps too enjoyable, as it took more than two coffees the next morning to clear my head.

As we drove along the shoreline, we started wondering if we should have bought property on the East Coast instead of Punta Gorda. However, it was too late for that; we were focused on boats. The Ocean Alexander immediately caught my attention upon entering the marina. She was stunning.

Ocean Alexander

The broker hadn't arrived yet, but the owner was already on board and invited us to join him. This was somewhat unusual, as brokers usually prefer to keep buyers and sellers apart. Perhaps they feel threatened? It was clear from his demeanor that he was passionate about his boat. We toured the vessel, and he eagerly pointed out all the improvements he had made since becoming the second owner. The engine room was immaculate, which is one of the first things I check. He had added a small work area with a complete and well-organized set of tools. A freshwater maker and an oil change unit were installed on the port side aft, while a new fuel polishing system was on the starboard bulkhead. Eventually, the broker arrived. The electronics were outdated and needed replacement. The next day, I planned to meet with a local Raymarine dealer for an estimate. Normally, I would handle the installation myself, but since the boat was in Florida, it would be best to have it done there so it would be ready for the trip home.

Upgrading the electronics would run around $15,000, a price I would have expected with labor involved. This was the boat. I asked the owner if he would accept my offer which amounted to a price ten percent lower than the asking price. He did and was willing to wait until I got home to wire a deposit and move forward with a survey. Well, time is everything and in this case it worked to my benefit. Once home, I started to put numbers together. The time it would take to move the boat from Stuart, Florida to Kingston, New York would be about two weeks. This was based upon average speed, time spent on the ICW and running around six to eight hours a day. The cost of dockage had to be considered and other incidentals and then there was fuel. At the current cost of diesel it would be over $6,000 in fuel. I started to wonder if this was a good choice. The final decision maker was the price I was paying. It was high for that particular boat based upon comparisons of sold boats at the time. After contacting the broker I opted out.

It is interesting to note the broker contacted me a month or so after to let me know the owner was willing to lower his price and install new electronics. I came Soooooo close to buying that boat.

And the search continued. Another Ocean Alexander turned up in the Jacksonville area. It was a beauty with a dark blue hull, newly redone brightwork and kept at an indoor slip. The owner had recently died and his widow was selling the boat. The broker sent me a detailed list of what was included, the specs for the boat, service records and numerous photos. A friend was spending some time in the Jacksonville area, I called him to see if he would go and look at the boat. He did and was very impressed with what he saw. The price was much lower than the previous Ocean Alexander I had looked at and I felt comfortable making an offer and sending a deposit.

On the plane and off to Jacksonville. Now, you might be thinking, why another Florida boat?

Fuel will be the same as well as travel time. Well, travel time a bit less, it is closer to home. But, the cost of the boat is much less offsetting the cost of fuel. We drove to the boat the day after arriving in Florida. It was everything I had expected and more. All gear on board was included.

The broker let us spend the day doing an inventory but, while going through some papers I notice a recent fluids analysis. Engine oil on the port diesel was red flagged! It showed high levels of iron and sodium - not good. I checked the service records and they indicated the exhaust riser on that engine had been replaced within the last year. This may be an indication of sea water entering the engine and the cause of the oil analysis red flagged. I went to see the broker and explain my concerns. He assured me the issue had been resolved. It was a Friday afternoon and we were scheduled to fly home the next day. I contacted a local diesel mechanic and begged him to take a look at the issue. "It is too late to look at it today, it will have to wait until Monday", he replied. More begging! "OK, I can be there at seven in the morning and do a quick analysis but it will cost you $400." I agreed, met him in the morning at the boat. He started the engine and immediatly did not like what he was hearing. "Sounds like the main bearing is going. Let's remove the oil filter and take a look." He cut the top off the filter and had me rub the oil between my fingers. It felt like sand; it was metal! He then removed the paper cartridge and held it up to the sun. It sparkled like stars; metal! "That engine is never going to make it to New York." An estimate to remove and rebuild it was over $30,000. I was heartbroken, I thought this was the one. Deposit graciously returned and we were on our way home.

As spring approached, I was beginning to become disenchanted with buying a boat. I became fearful of being drawn into the "money is burning a hole in my pocket" syndrome. I had just spent the day raking the lawn and preparing the garden when I received a phone call from the broker in Annapolis who represented the owner of the Mainship I had previously seen. Apparently, all had been repaired on her, she was in the water and ready for a sea trial, if I was still interested.

A trip to Annapolis in the spring was not a bad idea. Crabcakes at the Shipyard were in order, and off we went (although skeptical). We walked out on the dock, and as I approached the boat, I remembered why I was not that impressed. A rather poor paint job on the hull was evident in the sunlight, and getting closer, numerous repairs were visible. Once again, I entered the engine room. It was a mess! Dirty with no order to hoses and wires. It was not a wasted trip. We had a great dinner, enjoyed the spring weather, and planned our trip home the following morning. Our route home was a bit different. A leisurely trip up the eastern shore on a warm sunny day was in order. As we crossed over the Chesapeake Bridge, I made a decision to give up on boats, at least for the near future. It was becoming stressful and worn out.

But, my lady friend had other ideas. She was still looking at boats on her laptop unbeknownst to me. A Symbol 42 motoryacht showed up in Rockport, Maine, and she really liked it. "Are you crazy? I am not going to Maine, I am done." An hour or so passed, and she found another Symbol 42. "We should call, this one is in Maryland, and it is on our way home, nearby." Symbol yachts are few and far apart, especially on the eastern seaboard. This must be an omen. Perhaps worth the twenty minutes out of our way. Our diversion over to Rock Hall was pleasant. The rolling farm land being prepared for spring reminded me of the farms I enjoyed back home. As we approdached Rock Hall it became apparent we were in boating country. The village was quaint with many historic homes lining the streets. Passing through the village led us to the marina where the boat was. There was the sign, "Osprey Marina" at Osprey Point. This was getting scary. Recall, my company was Osprey Marine? As we entered I could not help but admire the grounds. Well manicured lawns, shrubs in full spring bloom and a small Inn. We parked at the inn and were met by the broker. After a brief period of congeniality we proceeded down the dock towards the boat.

It struck my eye almost immediatly. The bright white hull stood out like a brand new boat. "Has she been recently painted?" I asked. "No", replied the broker, "that is the original gelcoat." I took a close look at the hull and he was correct, it was gelcoat. The boat really looked new. It was obvious the current owner took very good care of her. Keep in mind, I had never heard of Symbol Yachts before and realized some research was in my game plan. The broker informed me it was a Taiwan built boat and the 42 Sundeck was one of the smaller ones. Prior to going out of business several years ago they primarily focused on larger yachts.

The custome canvas enclosure was only two years old and there were records and receipts for

it (over $10,000 !). The topside was clean and shining with ratan furniture on the sundeck. We entered the main salon and I was taken back by the interior.

Taiwan built boats are known for their woodwork and it was apparent in this vessel. The cherry interior was a fine example of detail. Their were no shortcuts taken in building this boat. One of my first concerns in any boat is what the engine room looks like. Is it clean and organized? Are the bilges dry and clean? Is the engine clean? Is their order in the manner the hoses and wires are run?

Upon entering the engine room I was impressed with the overall appearance. Ample room was available to move about. Standing in most areas was possible for my height and it met the aforementioned criteria. Initially, I was concerned this vessel was only a single screw (one engine) as opposed to twin engines. There are benefits to having twin engines; the obvious one is if one fails you have the other. That being said, I started to see the benefits of one. Less maintenance for both the engines and the drive train and with one engine it is centered in the middle of the boat allowing for much more room - you can literally walk around the engine. When it comes to routine maintenance or any repairs, this is a big plus. The other big plus is the engine is a diesel; a Catepillar 3126 and it had only 1200 hours, low for a 2002 boat.

We finally found the boat. An offer was made and after a bit of back and forth, a price was agreed upon. On our way home I contacted a surveyor to set a date for the survey. This would require yet another trip to Maryland, but, this time there was a definite purpose. Two weeks after returning home we headed south again. I made reservations at the Inn at Osprey Point which was only about a two hundred yards from the boat. The morning of the survey was chilly and rainy, not a pleasant day to be on the water. The surveyor spent several hours going over the boat prior to the sea trial. All went well except for some minor details. We then went to a marina that was going to haul the boat to further examine the hull, shaft, prop, etc. Once again a few minor issues. All in all the boat was sound.

I had made a list of the items that needed to be addressed. Most could be done once she was at her home port on the Rondout Creek. Two, however, I wanted to take care of prior to our trip up north.

Fluid analysis was all good except for the transmission. This is not unusual in many boats. When checking transmission fluid levels the oil appears to be clean; that does not mean it need not be changed. Many boaters just neglect to change the oil based upon its visual appearance.

Levels of copper, due to normal wear, tend to accumulate and when the analysis is done it is high. There was no record of an annual transmission oil change so an oil change was in order.

The other task was to remedy an annoying rattle of the cover over the belts and pulleys.

Closing on the boat was done electronically; there was no need to return to Rock Hall. Once we owned her it was time to plan the trip back to Kingston. I arranged a rental car to drive one way to Rock Hall the day prior to our departure. That turned out to be a bad experience. After picking up the car in Poughkeepsie, I noticed a strange noise coming from the rear. Once home I called the rental company and they said they had no other cars available. "Come and get your car!", I repled in a rather nasty tone. We loaded my truck, knowing that yet another return trip to Rock Hall woud be in order to retrieve it, at some point, after getting the boat home. I had asked a friend, Jeff, to join us on the trip up to Kingston, New York as I was more comfortable with an experienced boater on board. He was happy to join us and was at our house in the morning. We arrived early in the afternoon, did the repairs and spent the night on the boat. We now owned it!

Our plan was to get an early start the following morning.

And start we did, on a dreary, rainy morning in June. We headed north towards the Delaware-Chesapeake canal where we would cross to the Delaware River and subsequently down the Delaware Bay to Cape May, New Jersey. Weather aside, it was a good trip north. Channel markers were easy to follow and there was very little boat traffic, if any.

Our initial destination was the Delaware City Marina, and it was a very pleasant experience. The dock master was extremely friendly and helpful, and the rates for both docking and fuel were lower than I anticipated. The town itself is charming. I highly recommend Crabby Dicks as a restaurant. Check out the menu; you won't stop laughing—it's not exactly PG, if you catch my meaning. We ended up staying for two nights because the Bay was a bit rough with a strong wind against the current. On the second day, it calmed down, and we headed off to Cape May.

      We spent the night at Utsch's Marina in Cape May. It's a nice place with very friendly people. Located on the Cape May Canal, it's just a short Uber ride into town. Cape May is a must-see if you're passing through the area, with good food, interesting shops, and charming homes that reflect the area's history.

We departed Cape May around 6:30 am and headed into the Atlantic. The seas were one to three feet with about a 4-second interval, making for a comfortable ride. We planned to travel north to Atlantic City and stay at the Golden Nugget Marina. As we entered the inlet, we encountered a large Viking sport fish heading out. Some boaters just don't get it! His speed was excessive for an inlet, and his wake was enormous. He never slowed down, barreling past without considering the potential damage or injury he could cause. One day, he may learn his lesson, as he's responsible for his wake, and serious injury could land him in court.

Atlantic City was a lot of fun, with a great band playing at the casino's dock. We enjoyed it so much that we stayed for two nights. Early the next morning, we left Atlantic City, traveling north about five miles offshore with seas of two to three feet at 6-second intervals. It took about twelve hours to reach New York Harbor, averaging around 8 knots. The sun was setting as we passed the Statue of Liberty, and I didn't want to spend the night in New York, so we continued up the Hudson River, reaching Croton Bay around 22:00 hours. Croton Bay is north of Croton Point on the east shore of the river. It's a nice anchorage but can get bouncy with a strong north or west wind. We weren't in a rush to leave the next morning, as our journey north to Kingston would only take about seven hours. It was nice to relax and have a leisurely breakfast before setting off.

The trip upriver was delightful, and no matter how many times I've traveled the Hudson River, I'm always in awe of its beauty. The United States Military Academy at West Point is a sight to behold, as are Bannerman's Island and the Hudson Highlands. Many mansions line its shores, built years ago by wealthy businessmen. Hyde Park is home to the Roosevelt Estate, and further north is the Vanderbilt Mansion. Most of these are along the east shore.

Kinston Light House at Head of Rondout Creek

Finally the Big Apple

Calm Seas - Atlantic Ocean

We arrived at our final destination, Rondout Yacht Basin on the Rondout Creek (Kingston, NY), around 17:00 hours. We were a bit tired but felt a great sense of accomplishment. "Osprey" served us well, with only a few expected glitches. The old autopilot quit somewhere on the Delaware, and the chartplotter failed after leaving Croton Bay. These were old Raymarine units I had planned to replace anyway, so it was no big deal.

As of now, all electronics have been replaced with new Raymarine units, and I'm planning to rebuild the stern thruster. The spring of 2025 will bring more necessary work. We bead blasted the bottom this fall, and when the weather permits, it will be barrier coated and painted. The swim platform will be extended by eight inches with two staple-style rails for customer comfort when boarding, some canvas will be replaced, new carpet on the upper helm, and the list goes on. Good thing I enjoy working on boats!