Mystic

One of many stones that date to the 18th century or earlier give mute testimony to the town’s age.

Saturday, 21 June, Summer Solstice

Hark now, hear the sailor’s cry.  Smell the sea and feel the sky.  Let your soul and spirit fly as we sail into the Mystic.  Van Morrison

For a gal from Kentucky or a guy from Rhode Island, it’s difficult to describe the feeling that goes with piloting the Mystic River on your own keel. For one, this is the New England she’s been waiting to see, the weathered shingle homes perched on massive granite slabs, buildings and monuments that pre-date the Revolution, museum-quality wooden yachts that conjure names like Alden and Herreshoff.

For him, it’s just good to be back, back to New England, to two-lane US-1 and roadside soft serve where clams are “Famous,” the Red Sox on the radio and “Hi, neighbor, have a ‘Gansett.”

The reputation of the whole bellies at Sea Swirl are well-deserved.

So, if there’s a question, the answer is yes, this was a great day. Preceded by an interesting night.

That anchorage at Duck Island Roads is recommended. Get in between the breakwaters as close as you dare—the chart shows four-feet at low water—and the bottom’s good holding and you’re safe from the ever-present swells and wakes from Long Island Sound. There is a current though, more than a knot’s worth, that you know will turn every six hours or so. And when the wind shifts and pipes up, well that’ll tend to rouse a body from his bunk, it will.

But Steadfast stood fast though the night, her anchor aweigh at 0910 this morning—the longest day of the year, remember—and off she went toward Crane’s Reef, where she came left to 095 magnetic and proceeded just north of the six-mile Long Sand Shoal. Having caught the fair current, the shoal’s east end was made in less than an hour. (That’s right, Steadfast was moving at just five-plus through the water but over the bottom, at speeds north of seven knots. Sweet!)

Past Falkner Island, Niantic, the New London ferries and on into Fisher’s Island Sound to North Dumpling, where the man who invented the Segway has built his own independent “empire” of sorts.

North Dumpling is its own little grid-independent kingdom, complete with a replica of Stonehenge.

You might cross the wakes of “big boats” racing on the sound or need to cut back across the wake of a big sportfisherman. Boats of all sizes and dispositions are likely to be encountered on these waters on a summer Saturday.

The light at Noank is a classic.

From the Dumplings, it’s a straight shot up to the green can that marks the entrance to the Mystic River, aptly named because things mystical occur within its courses.

Yes, let your soul and spirit fly, indeed!

Steadfast out.