Shrouded in fog

Our passage along the shore of Long Island was notable for dense fog that made it impossible to get a view of anything, including our own bow slicing through the water at 8 knots. Christoph and I took turns on watch, sleeping in the salon when we had the chance. At the helm, I rely upon radar and AIS, the automatic identification system that identifies other vessels and their courses. At 5 a.m. the fog lifted enough for me to spot two dolphins keeping pace with us on our port side, leaping and diving into the ocean off the coast of Fire Island. Dolphins are Delfina’s namesake, and my heart soared as they made their graceful arcs.

The harbor’s moorings were all taken when we arrived at Block, so we anchored in the harbor. After the third attempt, the anchor finally set. The bottom is muddy and deep, so we let out plenty of scope. We launched the dinghy and then lowered the outboard, which is secured to the stern rail on ocean passages, and headed over to The Oar for some drinks and sushi.

The next day was cool and overcast. We went for a long walk and stopped by the house we rented for a week in September, at the very end of our trip, when our three sons , their partners and our beloved 4-year old granddaughter Juniper will join us before we sail home. Since it was’t a beach day, the local shops were crowded. We loved the fish prints at the Chatowsky gallery.

It’s so interesting to slide right back into boat life, to feel the constant pull of the water beneath the hull, to steady my body whenever I move, feeling the moon’s pull of the tides in a visceral way.