Deep River: A Place So Nice We Went There Twice

A few days after our last weekend cruise to Deep River I asked Karen what she wanted to do next weekend. Here’s how that weekly conversation usually plays out:

“Mmm, I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

“Uhhh, I don’t know. Go somewhere on the boat?”

“Ok, but where?”... And it goes on like that for some time.

So I was pleasantly surprised to hear, “Let’s take the boat to Deep River again.”

“I don’t…wait, what? Yeah, OK,” I found myself saying.

And with that we again pointed our bow north and enjoyed a weekend of leisure in the sleepy town. The marina there must not get too many transients because after we arrived a guy at the fuel dock greeted me with, “Hey Dan, you burning up another one of your free Brewer stays?” Mind you, we only spoke for about a minute the weekend prior.

I could bore you all by recounting how relaxing it was to unplug and walk around the quaint streets or how the changing leaves provided a picturesque backdrop but instead I’m going to let some of the images from the weekend tell that story. I hope you enjoy them.

Discovering Deep River

On a typical day most of us drive through a dozen towns, maybe more. But how many of us can say that we’ve stopped, walked around or explored any of those towns to see what they have to offer? Probably not many. Even one rainy weekends where complaints of boredom are echoed, the odds are unlikely that we’ll take that time and simply drive around or explore a new place.

I know myself, I drive each day from Middletown to Essex without giving as much as passing thought to the towns I’m driving passed. Their enormous green road signs blur together in my subconscious as my mind wanders to the day ahead.

When I’m on the boat however, that’s a different story. I can search around on Active Captain for hours looking for a secluded or hidden harbor to explore (I even click around in harbors overseas, you know, incase I suddenly need to find an anchorage in Italy). In fact, it was during such a planning session that I spotted a small little Brewer marina a few miles north in a town called Deep River. Our current Brewer membership awards us two free nights at Brewer locations so I figured, what the hell, why not go check it out?

So with that we packed the requisite cooler, sheets, and pillows and cruised north. Boat traffic had dramatically dropped off since the leaves began to change color, so our hour-long trip north was pretty darn peaceful (a nice change of pace from our recent sporty trips across the Sound).

While Karen admired the fall foliage I enjoyed the sight of a classic Huckins cruising passed us.

While Karen admired the fall foliage I enjoyed the sight of a classic Huckins cruising passed us.

With plenty of open moorings in Deep River, we picked a nice spot off by itself and got settled in. The marina would prove to be up to Brewer’s high standard. There was a clean in-ground pool, clean facilities, plenty of propane grills for guests to use etc.

I recalled seeing that the historic Gillette Castle wasn’t too far from the marina and when I asked a dockhand how far it was he nonchalantly responded, “oh not far at all, go just around the corner and you’ll see it.”IMG_3323

And with that grossly undersold measurement of distance we hopped in the dinghy with its 3.3 hp outboard and went to go check it out. Now, the dockhand wasn’t exactly lying, you could see the castle from there, the problem was the giant castle looked like a spec off in the distance and motoring against an incoming tide had us motoring at a turtle’s pace. We plowed through our snacks and drinks before making it halfway there.

Against the odds, and the tide, we eventually made it to a small stretch of beach beneath the castle; things were looking up. It was an absolutely beautiful day and I wasn’t particularly in the mood for an indoor tour but again we figured, why not? We sprung for tickets and headed up to the towering stone castle for a tour.

We step inside the castle and hand our tickets to an overly enthusiastic guide. Ms. Peppy then says, “let’s just have you wait here a minute while the group ahead of you gets ahead.”

“Alright, is it a big group?” I ask.

“Oh, it’s a group of about a hundred seniors that are here on a bus trip.”

A long pause ensues before I mumble to Karen, “a simple yes, would have sufficed.” She of course rolled her eyes.

Now let me reiterate, it was a stinkin beautiful day outside; it felt like a July day. And I strongly dislike crowds. And I respect my elders just like I was taught to, but listening to the shuffling crowd complain, “Oh, that bus was too cold!” “You’re right Muriel, I’m going to say something to the bus driver.” “I thought it was cold too, Dorothy, much too cold,” well, that just wasn’t how I wanted to spend my Saturday. If we could just scoot ahead of them I thought.

And with that I dragged Karen passed what I’m sure were many interesting rooms until we were ahead of the group, finally. We walked through the next door, which ended up being the end of the castle, and you’re “not allowed” to go back the way you came. We had missed practically the whole castle. But I smelled the fresh air and wasn’t about to go back and hear more about the great temperature debate; I promised Karen we’d come back another day.IMG_3329

Back on the boat sipping a cold beer, I had no regrets. In the evening we walked about a mile into town where we enjoyed a great dinner outside at a barbeque restaurant called the Red House. We ate too much meat and cornbread, if that’s even possible, before making out way back to the boat. The following morning we’d enjoy a nice walk through the quaint little town that boasts only a handful of stores, and not much else. We ate breakfast at a popular little hole-in-the-wall breakfast spot called Hally Jo’s. It’s a happening little spot on a Sunday that seems to attract the entire town.

Too soon after we’d head back to Essex and our mini adventure in Deep River was over. Not only did the quiet little town provide a welcome escape after a busy week, it reminded me that if you slow down and look around once in a while you might just find a fun adventure hiding in plain sight.

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Savoring Summer in Shelter Island

Leaves along Connecticut’s Route 9 had begun to trade their deep green for hints of orange and yellow; nature was showing its hand. Fall is here. With a long holiday weekend on tap the Karen Marie would be chasing the horizon at full throttle trying mightily to catch back up to summer.

That’s how it came to be that we motored from Essex early Saturday morning, hitching a ride down the river with an outgoing tide. The early, yet strong rays of sun burned off the morning dew providing a smoky hue to our cruise. Short chop in the Sound and the confused waters of Plum Gut made for a less-than-leisurely ride over to our destination of Shelter Island’s Dering Harbor. Covered in a weird combo of salt spray and sweat, we eventually tied up to our mooring in the southeast corner of the harbor and took in the view of sailboats and blue-hulled powerboats bobbing up and down in the clear water surrounded by beautiful homes and lush green tress.exposure 1

After a bit of settling in, we hopped in the dinghy to explore town. It would be a short trip. The main street in town, and the hub of activity, is a short block comprised of a True Value, a gas station, toy store, a rustic looking bar/restaurant called Dory and a café/deli/grocery store called Marie Eiffel Market where we stood on a line nearly out the door for a pair of excellent sandwiches. It was clear that we would be back.

After a bit of R&R I had a little “work” for the magazine to tend to. For the next issue’s gear column I was testing and photographing a uniquely shaped inflatable standup paddle board called the Sea Eagle NeedleNose 126. (I know, I know…tough job!) The paddle board ended up working great; it went from rolled up in a backpack to fully inflated in two minutes and as you can see from these outtakes, it ended up being a lot of fun.

An evening of grilling and watching the sun set capped off the rest of a pleasant night.

Day two was kicked off the Shelter Island way with breakfast from, where else but Marie Eiffels. Determined to better see what the island had to offer we rented bikes from the gas station (apparently specialty stores aren’t real popular here). The plan for our half day rental was to take a “nice easy” ride out to the northeast jetty and then double back to a marina/boat builder called CH Marine where we could shower and inspect any new builds in progress. Well, that plan lasted until the first stop sign when Karen tried to pass me. A two hour race would ensue that I’m sure did little to help tourist relations. (When the island wasn’t whizzing past, it was really a beautiful way to see Shelter.)IMG_2964_1

Stopping at CH Marine yielded both refreshing showers and the chance to see a newly built 34-foot runabout. With a really unique blue Awlgrip paint job and sweet down east lines, I was not alone in ogling the new build. Many visitors stopped to snap a few pictures.

Refreshed and feeling like humans again, we hopped a 5-minute ferry ride from Shelter to Greenport, a beautiful town that is often referred to as one of the most beautiful on Long Island. The thing about the most beautiful place on Long Island on the most popular weekend of the summer is, well, it gets pretty darn crowded. Crowds of inebriated college kids, ice cream-covered children and older couples filled the streets in what would be become a very strange scene. We would enjoy a cold beer at the Greenport Brewery before I convinced Karen that it would be in our best interest to explore a nearby down-on-its-luck boatyard. She hardly puts up a fight anymore and just rolled her eyes. After climbing around a few rotten wooden boats, I found a real gem. Something that 7-year-old-boatyard-exploring-Daniel could only have dreamed of…tucked being an abandoned rust covered building, surrounded by a small flotilla of derelict sailboats was…a 1967 Lockheed submarine. My jaw dropped as I took in the site. “You can trespass in boatyards your whole life and never find something like this,” I whispered to Karen who began to realize another plan, this time for a “5 minute yard visit” was going out the window.IMG_2411

After poking around the sub for too long, we decided to end the day with a drink at the waterfront bar called The Blue Canoe. Watching the sun set with a couple cold rum drinks, you couldn’t really write a better official end to the summer.

We’d return home the next morning and our mini vacation, much like our bike ride, and our summer, would end all too soon. But this short weekend reminded us of how much we enjoy cruising to, and exploring new destinations. There’s just a certain excitement that comes with not knowing what’s around the next corner, it might just be the submarine you’ve spent 20 years searching for.

5 Lessons In Having Fun on a Boat

Swinging on a mooring on a beautiful sunny Saturday in Hamburg Cove, just a few minutes from Essex, Karen and I were enjoying some quiet time reading in the cockpit. Our afternoon entertainment would be provided by our neighbor in an express cruiser with a cockpit filled with kids.

At first glance they didn’t appear to be your normal kids. There was not an iPad nor iPhone anywhere in sight; the boys are girls were chatting with each other in an animated fashion. The owner/father tied a line to StandUp Paddleboard and tossed in the placid water behind his boat. Like well-trained golden retrievers the children jumped in after it. An epic game of “King of the Board” would soon ensue.

We left for a long dinghy ride just as things were really heating up. After a couple hours of exploring Seldon Creek to the north we returned to our mooring and were shocked to see the kids still splashing around in the water. Twisting the top off a cold beer to celebrate all the exercise my dinghy outboard got, I was getting tired just watching these kids.

These kids would continue swimming, jumping, paddling and well, just being kids even as the evening rays gave way to moonlight.

Growing up on a boat I enjoyed similar simplicities such as swimming long after your fingers had pruned, perfecting your cannonball technique, and enjoying a crispy hotdog from the grill. When family friends or fellow cruisers were aboard my brother and I would sit with them and be part of the conversation, even if we had very little to contribute to the topic at hand. It was a childhood I hope every kid gets the chance to experience, if even for a short while.Screen Shot 2015-08-28 at 7.36.19 PM

As Karen and I heard the gaggle of kids scream, as kids do, before splashing into the water for the umpteenth time, Karen mentioned how it was nice to see kids actually enjoying the outdoors instead of being glued to a screen. I nodded in agreement as a screech came across the quiet cove, “I’m king of the boaarrrdddd!”

So I would only be slightly annoyed when I heard the distinctive sound of a perfectly executed cannonball at 7 the next morning.

Screen Shot 2015-08-28 at 7.35.09 PM I’m sure some of my neighbors found the screaming kids to be annoying at times, but I really didn’t mind it. I saw a lot of myself in those constantly splashing children. In fact, I’m thankful they were there to remind me of a few things; such as

  • It’s impossible not to smile while doing a cannonball
  • You can do cannonball without screaming “cannonballllll!!” before hand, but it’s more fun if you do
  • Charred hot dogs after swimming tastes better than the best cut of steak on a normal day
  • It’s OK to fall asleep at 8:30 after a full day on the water
  • If you want to swim as soon as you wake up, do it. Anybody rolling their eyes at you is just jealous.

Thanks for the reminder, kids.

Breaking Murphy’s Law

I like to think that there’s an alternate universe where best laid plans actually come to fruition; a place where anchors set on the first try, seas lie flat on travel days and spare parts stay sealed and tucked away in the bottom drawer. In short, if such a universe existed, it would be the opposite of this past weekend in Essex.

The plan was for my folks and family friends to cruise up the river and spend the weekend, while my brother and his girlfriend would drive up to meet us. It all seemed simple enough. Then our friends had a medical scare that forced them to return to the dock one day into their vacation. My parent’s port prop was introduced to one of the many semi-submerged logs floating in the Sound, causing them to limp in one engine. And as for my brother, Murphy’s Law visited him in the form of a dead battery when he stopped in the middle of Connecticut. Not really the start to the weekend I was expecting.

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The staff at Brewer Dauntless carefully raise the Sharon Ann.

But before you think this is a sad story, think again. In today’s world of watching out for only numero uno, we encountered a lot of people willing to offer a helping hand. A perfect stranger helped jump my brother’s truck before leading him to the auto parts store for a replacement battery. The staff at Brewer Dauntless Marina would call in staff in on a Sunday to haul my parent’s Egg Harbor and pull the props. It would have been easy for them to leave the boat on land while waiting for the folks at the nearby Hale Propeller to scan and fix the props but they insisted on towing the boat back to their original slip as to not disturb our weekend plans.

Our friend’s vacation may have ended abruptly but the medial diagnosis yielded a wholly treatable condition, for which we were all thankful.

We may have all met up a little later than expected and after a trying morning it would have been understandable if everyone were a bit grouchy. But faster than you can say “let’s go to the pool,” we were relaxing and having a good time. The evening would prove to be equal parts simple and pleasant. With a couple racks of ribs and corn on the grill, we enjoyed some beverages and caught up. Our nightly entertainment was courtesy a wildly-over-the-top party on a Sea Ray at the end of the dock. Loud club music and frequent shrieks of “whoop-whoop” was hysterical when heard from afar.

Breaking out a game of Catch Phrase (which always seems like a good idea at the time) would elicit a similar, albeit more sober, intensity. By the time we put the game away only one death threat had been made, which is pretty good.

Sunday provided us with a brilliantly beautiful morning and while most of the crew probably would have liked to stroll and shop in town, I had other plans. As loyal readers know, I have been in the grips of a fierce battle with crap-filled cormorants and my guests were unknowingly about to become my recruits. Armed with spike strips and reflecting tape, I planned on converting my classically inspired wooden mast into an intimidating death stick.

Together my parents, brother and Karen carefully and slowly pulled me to the top of the mast. I guess I took a little too long setting my spikes because next thing I knew everyone tied down the lines they were holding so they could better critique my work. “Swing your whole body out to the side,” suggested my old man. With a tie wrap stuck between my teeth, one arm around the mast and the other tying down the strip, I mustered through gritted teeth, “oh yeah, no problem.”

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Yes, I’m sure I’m doing it right!

When the chores had ended we retreated back to the pool before all going our separate ways. A lot of obstacles originally stood in-between us and a successful weekend, but that’s the great thing about boating; it doesn’t take much to create a great weekend on the water. You don’t need reservations, or a big crowd; or as I would relearn: plans. Some of the best memories come from the simple spontaneous things like a stupid game, horsing around in a pool, or completing a simple project.

Murphy’s Law be damned.

A Terrible, Perfect Night

Tired, frustrated, and drenched in sweat, I spun the Karen Marie in a tight circle to retrieve my lost boat hook that was lodged in the chain of a mooring ball and now protruded straight up from the water like a big middle finger. No, my evening was not going according to plan.

My original vision for the night began with a nice easy wash-down of the boat, which in recent weeks had become a bombing strip for cormorant crap. Then Karen and I would enjoy a cold drink or two on our glistening boat, enjoying all that is right in the boating world.

Well, as the old saying goes, when it rains it pours. With a temperature near 90 and not even a zephyr to cool us off, we were sopping with sweat. We’d wash the boat from bow to stern and then notice some stubborn spots we missed. We scrubbed and scrubbed. My suggestion to Karen that she “try using some elbow grease” was met with a look that suggested I was in for a world or more than bird crap.

From there I spilled some content from our porta-potty on my hands while en route to empty it. Simmering at this point now, we returned to grab our mooring, which we’d done a hundred times. This time our pickup stick (a float used for easily retrieving a mooring line) broke off and our mooring line became impossible to grab. “It’s fine, we’ll grab one of the empty moorings then I’ll fix it,” I said. Good plan but then our boat hook got stuck in the before-mentioned chain of the mooring ball, ripping it out of Karen’s hands.

By the time we retrieved our boat hook, fixed our original mooring ball and tied the boat up for the night, my pride hurt more than the sweat in my eyes.

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Annoyed yet determined to salvage some of the night, I stripped down to my boxers and dove into the water. And I have to say, I surfaced feeling like a new man. I swam over and grabbed a hold of the dinghy with one hand and let the four-knot current rush passed me. Looking back towards shore, I watched as the pink and purple remnants from sunset slowly disappeared. Karen even agreed to join me in the raft and sit with her feet in the water.

The harbor was whisper quiet, such that the only sound was the rushing tide that carried away the stress from the day’s many mishaps.

Driving the dingy to shore at 5:15 this morning, my eyes still blurry and adjusting to the first rays of sunlight, Karen said, “I definitely think we should do this more often.” Thinking back to all the work it took just a few moments of peacefulness I responded, “absolutely.”

New York State of Mind

With summer weekends getting snatched up faster than you can say “we’re going boating,” Karen and I were determined to spend the 3-day 4th of July weekend doing some overdue cruising. So at 0700 on Friday we meandered down the Connecticut River to the Sound. We sailed against an incoming tide in very light air for the better part of an hour. Music was cranking, the sun was shinning, and all was right in the world. That is until I looked back and saw, well pretty much the exact same scenery I had been looking at an hour prior.IMG_1922

“OK, we tried,” I shrugged as we fired up the engine and set a more direct course to Long Island’s Gardiners Bay and our intended destination of Shelter Island. A fleet of fishing boats, a ripping tide, and ferries kept us on our toes and justified a few early afternoon beers (as if justification was really needed.)

With all the island’s slips and moorings filled thanks to the nearby Tall Ship Festival in Greenport, we were constrained to a small anchorage in the corner of Coecles Harbor. The clear-blue water looked almost drinkable and made for some serene afternoon swimming. If you’re cruising this area, I highly recommend this anchorage as the holding there is excellent.

But even the best anchoring conditions don’t totally dispel my phobia of dragging anchor, so we didn’t spend too much exploring the island; I hope to return, rent bikes and see what else Shelter has to offer. But for now, I’ll fondly remember the simplicity of swimming, reading a good book and some long dinghy rides.

The following morning, anticipating dreary weather and dreading a long day hiding in the cabin, we set out for Three Mile Harbor, East Hampton. It was a two-hour trek to the harbor but it was definitely worth it. The Harbor was well protected, and lined with lush green forest. It was a beautiful spot even in less-than stellar weather.

The early start to the day coupled with two nights on the boat left Karen and I with different cravings. She really wanted to use a bathroom/shower ashore and I wanted to find breakfast foods. Suffice it to say, the mooring line had barley kissed the cleat before we were in the dinghy bound for shore.

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It must have been early into our walk.

Once there I fired up my cell phone and typed in b-r-e-a-k-f-a-s-t. Nothing. In today’s instant gratification world we were in a fabled dead zone. We opted to set out on foot. “How far could it be until we hit town?” I foolishly wondered aloud. (Editors note: Blinded by a hunger for bacon and coffee, I neglected to think to myself “you know, just maybe they call this place Three Mile Harbor because, I don’t know…it’s three miles long?”)

In our haste we neglected to change out of the clothes we were wearing during the chilly sail over; our outfits were comprised of jeans, multiple shirts and raincoats. Our remaining essentials were stuffed into a red-drawstring bag. In short order the sun broke through the cloud cover providing a hot and humid backdrop for our quest. During our walk I would see something that looked like a diner, which would give us hope. “No, it’s only an old station wagon,” Karen would comment on my many mirages. 4.26 miles later we arrived in town.

Before us in neat little rows were stores emblazoned with names like Michael Kors, J Crew, Lululemon, Lilly Pulitzer etc. Frenzied flocks of hipsters shuffled between stores with multiple bags in hand, stopping only for triple macchiatos from one of the two Starbucks. It’s safe to say that we stuck out like, well, we stuck out like sailors in the Hamptons. We grabbed breakfast at a small deli on the outskirts of town before I relented to visiting some stores with Karen. Considering the 4th is also our anniversary, my wallet trembled with fear.

You can imagine my delight when after visiting two stores Karen suggested we skip the crowds and catch a mid-afternoon movie. “Woooo-hooo! Umm, I mean yeah ok, we can do that. Why don’t you go ahead and pick out some candy too!”

After a couple hours of relaxing and watching Ted 2 we stepped outside to realize the crowds had doubled in size. That cab ride back to the boat we were hoping for would not be in the forecast. We wrapped our blistered toes in Band-Aids and trekked back.

The glass-half-full part of this story is that we had once again earned some evening drinks and dinner at the East Hampton Point Restaurant. The pain from blistered feet seemed to melt away as we enjoyed a nice meal served with a stunning view of the sunset over the harbor (or maybe that was the alcohol, I digress). The meal was great but the weekend left a renewed appetite for cruising to new places. So, from now until October don’t be surprised to hear us say, “we can’t, we’re going boating.”

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See you next winter.