An Unfriendly Shore

Posted By: .Jeffrey Anzevino
Date: 11/21/00 6:02a.m.

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Sunday afternoon November 12 46 degrees wind North 12 mph High Tide 12:30 PM Low Tide 7:30 PM An Unfriendly Shore Tide Rider is safe and sound tied to a slip in the sheltered south end of the marina. The brisk north wind presents a terrific opportunity to justify risking my boat through last night’s battering waves. If I’m going to keep my boat in the water through the bitter days of November, I’d be a fool not to sail her, right? Today I’ll motor north against the wind to the Brass Anchor, raise the jib and sail back, replicating a daylight version of my November 1st moonlight sail. At about 2:30 PM I untie and motor away from the marina. The flood tide has just flipped and a weak ebb has begun sneaking southward to the sea. Manageable two-foot waves course down the Hudson. Tide Rider handles each easily. I stand in the cockpit with a sharp eye peeled for driftwood, which might break a shear pin if I would strike a piece. Under power the 1.9-mile trip to the Brass Anchor takes about a half-hour. Just short of the Brass Anchor, the waves seem to diminish even though the wind still blows at a constant rate. I surmise that since nearly 2 ˝ hours have passed since high tide, the ebb has sped up and now flows concurrently with the wind, thereby smoothing out the waves. The trip is pleasant and uneventful. Tide Rider is the only boat on the river today. After warming up inside the Brass Anchor, I return to the boat for the sail back. With jib raised I begin sailing southward at approximately 3:30. Between the 10 or so mph wind and now swiftly ebbing current, Tide Rider wastes no time making her way south. I push the tiller to port and make a southwesterly course down and across the Hudson. Midway back, the radio reports that a tugboat pushing a loaded cement barge is approaching Crum Elbow and headed southbound in my direction. As a result, I decide to linger a bit to catch a glimpse of the tug and barge. Rather than maintaining my course straight toward the marina, I decide to steer back east across the River and let the tide carry me south at a more leisurely rate. That way, I might tarry until the tug approaches. My eyes are glued to Crum Elbow Point as I hope to catch a glimpse of the bow of the barge as it first emerges around the bend, about three miles to the north. Before long the barge appears, pushed by a large gray tug. I continued to sail as the tig makes its way south. Deterrred by the late afternoon chill, though, I steer back across the channel back toward the western (home) shore. Since the tug is approaching rather quickly, I crank up the eggbeater and pass safely through the tug’s intended path. The motor carries me to the marina and the tug and barge continue on its way. Since the wind is still blowing, I opt to drop the jib to make motoring into the slip easier. I’d hate to have a gust fill the jib and blow Tide Rider into the dock. This is the conservative way, I think. When I push the kill switch on the outboard, my ears detect a short snapping sound, which seemed to come from the lower unit. I quickly look behind the stern to see if I had struck a piece of driftwood, but see none. I convince myself that the sound was my imagination. Upon the foredeck, I remove the jib at a leisurely pace while the current carries Tide Rider and me south. I dutifully stuff the jib in its sailbag and start the motor. But, when I shift into forward, the propeller doesn’t spin. This is the second busted shear pin in less than two months. By this time, the tide has drifted me clear to the railroad trestle, about 1,000 feet to the south of my intended destination. No problem – don’t panic. I quickly deploy the oars in the locks and begin rowing. “Good,” I think, “seems to be making progress by the wake behind the stern.” However, when I glance at the shore about 50 feet away, it soon becomes apparent that the current is stronger than I was able to row and I make no progress. Plan B calls for removing the outboard, rowing to shore and trying to replace the shear pin. I cannot allow the tide’s current to sweep me further south. I leave the oars unattended to raise the daggerboard, and remove the rudder and outboard. Upon returning to my seat I am surprised to find just one oar in its lock. The other oar is drifting in the river. That’s $32 floating away! Fortunately, I am able to row into position with one oar and retrieve the stray. In just a minute I am able to row to land, which is a jumble of large boulders comprising the rip rapped shore filled in to accommodate the railroad. Fortunately, the waves have subsided and I am able to secure the bow line to a tree. Back in the cockpit, I cannot remove the cotter pin from the prop. I remember when I replaced it a few weeks ago, one end bent over upon its self. I should have known when it came time to remove it I’d pay the price. This leaves me with one choice. I must try to walk the boat along the shore all the way back to the marina. I jump back out of the boat and onto the rocks with bow line in hand. One by one, I step from rock to slippery rock. Soon, I find myself in the water, at first up to my knees and then up to my waste. After nearly loosing hold of the line, I decide to tie a loop in the end and wrap it around my wrist. If I would loose the line, Tide Rider would be just that – riding the tide, but without me aboard. I’d be helplessly standing on the shore watching. I make my way to an old wooden bulkhead, which I must scale with the line in my hand. This is a break. I can walk the boat around this bulkhead without being in the water. But soon, the bulkhead ends and I must drop back onto the rocks. Next comes a small pebbly “beach,” which provides another spell of relief. At least I am making progress. More rocks present themselves, but then a small delta-like shallow area at the mouth of a small brook is easily traversed. Now I am close. But first I must negotiate a series of pilings about 15 feet out into the river. I wade out in water up to my waste and pass the line around each and pull Tide Rider forward. At the end of the pilings I find another bulkhead, which I jump up on and walk my boat the final yards to the last obstacle. Roberto’s boat is between my slip and my tired wet self. Fortunately I am able take hold of one of his mooring lines and step muddily on Tide Rider and pull her around his stern to the slip. Relief. In a flash she is tied back securely. Between last night’s battering waves and this broken shear pin and encounter with an unfriendly shore, I am ready to put Tide Rider up for the winter. She is lucky to have survived the past 12 hours with just a few scratches from brushing against the rip rap. I am ready to take this boat out of the water and bring her home.