Catskill, NY (To Unstep the Mast)

[Kyle]From Kingston, we took the afternoon flood further up the Hudson to Catskill. We had originally planned to go to Castleton, where the Boat Club there has a DIY crane you can rent for $75, to unstep our mast. We had stepped Prydwen's mast there when we were southbound in 2003. We liked it a lot. Back then, we were the only two people there that day and it went just fine. {Maryanne: For those not familiar with the term, unstepping the mast is removing it (stepping it is putting it back up), it involves undoing all the wire supports and then finding someplace to store it - we needed to unstep the mast since we were planning to go through the Erie Canal and it has many bridges that are just too low for us to get under with the mast up.}

The sail up the Hudson is lush, green and with plenty of bird sightings

The more I thought about Begonia's beefier mast, the more I realized it would be tricky with just the two of us. The big problem was the roller furling and the fact that the mast has a forward-facing spreader for the jumper stay. In order to keep from bending the furler too far, we needed one person to hold it away from the spreader, at least one to hold the mast and one to operate the crane. We understand that there's usually some helpful soul hanging around who's willing to lend a hand, but what if there's not? Also, unstepping is a little more involved because of the complication of working around the supports on deck that hold the mast when it's down. When Maryanne suggested we fork out the extra dough to have a yard do it for us, or at least with us, I conceded it was probably not such a bad idea.

Catskill, a small town surrounded by woodlands, and already with several other boats here for the same reason we are. Our daily excursions found plenty to enjoy

With Castleton out of the running, our northernmost option in the Hudson, before the bridges started getting too low for our mast, was a marina/boatyard at Catskill. We called Hop-O-Nose Marina (named after the native American village that originally occupied the site of modern-day Catskill) and they said they would be happy to fit us in whenever we got there.

After a day of prep work, we finally had everything ready to go. When we pulled the mast off the deck step, the problems began. It was all fine, but the supports that Mark and I (mostly Mark) had made as a male bonding experiment in Norfolk turned out to be too short. I had allowed space for the spreaders to clear the cabin, but forgot about the diamond stay running from the end of it to the mast. It wanted to rest on the bimini and there was no way to roll the mast far enough to clear it without the other spreader hitting the deck. We needed something taller, but replacing just the aft one angled the mast too close to the water in the front. Thus, we needed a whole new setup and we needed to find it now.

Unstepping the mast was helped by many hands, we were very glad we didn't try to do it alone

We had a little time because they had put the mast on the dock so we could do some more work before stowing it on Begonia's deck. We grabbed a measuring tape and headed to the shed where they keep the old supports left behind by other boats in the past. They have an easy system; if you think you may be coming back, write the year on each support. We were told we could help ourselves to anything dated before 2023.

After some rummaging and measuring, we found a pair of beefy supports that would only need minor modification to adapt to Begonia's deck space. While Maryanne sorted out and tidied up all of the mast's loose lines and stays, I went to work with drill and saw to alter the supports. Once we got them on deck, we started the job replacing our old radome with a new one and snaking the cable through the mast.

We also wanted to replace our forestay – the last remaining of the original three installed back in Western Australia. The other two had broken strands at their swages far too early in their expected service life, which led us to want to replace it out of an abundance of caution at 2 ½ years, rather than the insurance company's recommendation of 8-10.

I inspect the rigging with stabilizing binoculars every time we use the sails. Then, just to be sure, I go up there myself about once a month to give it a closer look and to prod each strand. That's how I found the last one that broke. The actual break was hidden in the swage, but play in the strand revealed it not to be attached to the end under compression.

All the strands at the top of our forestay (where it failed pre-Brent) were bound in a nice, tight bundle. The swage at the bottom, however, is buried deep inside the furler. It isn't visible without partially dismantling the unit. Well, sure enough, once we got the thing off the mast, on the dock and taken apart, we slid the stay out of the furler and found two broken strands. Sonofa...

This failure was hidden from view by the roller furler drum - we were VERY GLAD we checked!

We had the replacement stay ready (we generally carry a spare stay for our longer passages 'just in case'), but the process of sawing the ends of the old one off so we could keep the good fittings took longer than expected. Between that and the radar installation, our hour under the crane had turned into all morning. We were worried the yard guys were going to get impatient with us, but every time they came to check on us, they told us to take all the time we need and then asked us if there was anything they could help with. I wonder what the rate is for the extra time.

When we finally gave them the thumbs-up that we were ready, they returned, picked up the mast off the dock and swung it over the deck supports. Once the supports were taking the mast's weight, they decided they didn't like something. The forward one was taking too much of the load, they said. The mast would have to be moved back and they wanted to add a third support right behind the bow to help spread the load.

With four guys working, they had all of the adjustments and modifications done before we had even had a chance to start for the shed. It reminded me of watching our Panamá Canal line handlers switching everything over before the next lockkeeper had even announced the change of plan. Half an hour later, everything was secure enough for us to return to our slip across the river, where we finished the job by tying every piece of free line aboard to every secure point we could between the mast and boat.

The next day, they came over with the bill. We got charged $7 per foot of mast length for the unstepping, plus nothing for the extra time in the crane slip, nothing for the supports, nothing for any of the little bits and pieces they gave us, like wood, screws and bolts, and nothing for the use of some of their tools. They did get Maryanne for $14 for four nylon tie-down straps with rachets, but only because they were new in the packaging. The rate for our transient slip was $1 per foot per night, which would have been normal in 2003, but is less than half of what everybody else in the area is charging now.

Don't get me wrong. The marina is not particularly nice. They seem to be having a real fastener shortage, where everything is held together with only half as many screws or bolts as it originally had, as if there was a huge black market for them, but every time we pointed out an issue, they sent a guy right over with some new ones to deal with it. They were always really friendly and understanding about it, too.

After we left, Maryanne posted a recommendation for Hop-O-Nose on U-Face, based on our experience, which was shared by the other boats we were with there. This is where the internet really saves time because if you are ever wondering who's out there that is better than you, you don't have to worry because they will tell you.

Firstly, we are some truly awful people for saying such bad, unfair things about Castleton. We didn't. Maryanne pretty much said the same as in the first paragraph. Secondly, any idiot should know that Hop-O-Nose is absolutely terrible at absolutely everything. Any newbie idiot who has wasted their last twenty years doing nothing useful, when they could have been sailing up and down the same stretch of river the whole time, isn't even smart enough to deserve to be here.

Hop-O-Nose dropped a mast in 2019 (they did). Anyone who wasn't too much of an idiot to be a local would have known not to come within a mile of them with their boat. They should have gone to Castleton for a chance to drop their own mast themselves instead. Everyone whose mast didn't get dropped by Hop-O-Nose just got lucky. Perhaps, but our unstepping was competent and done with good cheer. In the end, it's more secure than my setup would have been and they saved our asses in many tiny ways all throughout the day. The others we talked to pretty much echoed the same sentiments. It may be that they don't deserve to be forgiven like Exxon or McDonald's or ... oh ... Brent!, but I think there's a chance that some of the people on the internet may just be complain-ey jerks. They should have a name for that.

Inbetween prep and unstepping the mast, we did get to do a few walk/runs and try out the ice cream store. We found out late in the day that the pizza store was cash only and had to scramble to pay a server by paypal so he could pay cash on our behalf (Oops).

Kingston, New York

[Kyle]Apart from running out the last of the flood, my main reason for picking Kingston as a stop was because it has an popular Maritime Museum, complete with reasonably-priced dockage that includes the entrance fee. Maryanne loves a museum. Like her brain is not overflowing already.

The turn into Rondout Creek from the Hudson River is marked by this impressive lighthouse; the creek itself, is lined with boats (of all types)

The museum is very well-done and much more extensive than the size of Kingston would suggest. The complex also includes a wooden boat building school that also runs local rowing and sailing programs (along with boat building of course).

We both really liked Kingston. We were definitely not in Norfolk any more, with its slightly southern, colonial feel. This was upstate New York, where everything is built into steep green valleys covered in thick trees covered by trails of vines. The buildings were either wood or brick and many of the older ones were leaning alarmingly as if their walls were weary from supporting all the weight over the decades. It felt like being on the set of every Mark Wahlberg movie ever made. Everyone we met, even the shady-looking characters, was exceedingly friendly.

Kingston is a small, walkable town with several trails and plenty of places to eat!

Since we should be able to step off the boat every morning for at least the next month or so, we both added morning walk/runs to our routine of walking all over the place anyway. This allowed us to see even more pretty valleys and exchange friendly greetings with even more locals.

We more than offset this with the local fare. Kingston, at least the area around Roundout Creek, has quite a few nice-looking restaurants. The first one we found was a Mexican on a back road called Armadillo. We met the owner as he was sweeping up and we promised to return later when they opened. I thought our custom would be doing them a favor, since they were off the beaten path, but when we arrived, they were already rearranging things to make space for the constant stream of patrons filing in.

We samlpled the museum(s) and the many fares

The food was indeed very good. I made the mistake of ordering something called a Oaxacan Margarita. That was not so good. I’m sure it was well made by the bartender, but it turned out to be out of stuff that I would soon realize I didn’t really like (not the fault of the bar tender, I just don't like the taste). I don’t remember them all, but the main ingredient was mezcal instead of tequila. The resulting concoction tasted exactly to me (Maryanne tasted it and agreed) like what you would get if you took a Coleman camping stove, untwisted the filler cap, put the thing to your face and started gulping down the white gas fuel. I guess I should have had a Corona.

They even have an active Trolly Museum (and a Mexican restaurant which kept Kyle happy)

Armadillo had some nice-looking desserts, but we had seen a pirogi place that had something on their menu they were calling their version of Death by Chocolate, so we decided to walk off some of our meal in pursuit of that. They were closed, so we ended up somewhere else.

We continued in that vein for the rest of our twenty-eight hour stay at the Maritime Museum dock. Just before we left, Maryanne informed me that we had charges from five different restaurants on our card since yesterday. Okay, that’s probably a bit much. We should think of toning it down a bit. First, I made one last run to the pirogi place for my umpteenth try at catching them when they are open. Maryanne stayed at home to figure out if we had any money left.

They were open! Then the guy told me they don’t serve the Death by Chocolate on Mondays. Mondays are prep days for the rest of the week. He then took me into the kitchen to show me how they make them; chocolate dough folded into ravioli shapes around a filling of ricotta and chocolate chips. Oh, Man!

When I told him I was leaving today, he reached into the freezer and handed me the last bag of frozen ones from the week before. “Seven minutes in a skillet on medium heat. Flip ‘em over, turn the heat to low for four more minutes, then cover ‘em in chocolate sauce. You gotta start with ‘em frozen or they won’t cook properly.”

When I asked him how much, he waved his hand at me. “Foggettaboutit! Have a nice Day!”

That bag probably was meant to serve eight, but we don’t have a freezer, so I had to cook the whole lot right away. They also apparently don’t keep, so there’s an early, if indulgent, lunch sorted. We did get lucky enough to have visitors drop in right as I was finishing up, so we were able to hand out about a third of them as welcome snacks, as if we had known they were coming.

Norfolk to New York (State)

[Kyle]On the Sunday of our departure, Norfolk and the surrounding area was hit by some serious wind storms (even a few tornados), but the forecast assured us that it would all pass and we would be safe to depart. As soon as the rain eased to a drizzle (around 10pm), we untied from the condo dock and headed out into a decidedly gloomy night.

We departed in the gloom - but with a kind treat from Janet, one of the residents of the Condo who had befriended us

The very first few miles were the worst. Craney Island reach was a sloppy mess. Southbound waves were pushing into the northbound current and then reflecting off each side to make a jumble of box and pyramid-shaped seas that ate away half the speed we should have been making on a close reach in twenty-five knots of wind.

After passing Willoughby Bay, things improved dramatically as wind, wave and current all swung astern. By two a.m., we were over the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel and moving fast along the coast in the Atlantic.

Over the next day and a half, the wind swung from west to south-southwest. Since we were only a few miles offshore, we really had no waves to speak of. I was a little worried it would be rough crossing the strong currents at the entrance to Delaware Bay, but I slept well through my off-watch and Maryanne reported nothing eventful.

A cold passage - we broke out all the foul weather gear (and quilts on the bed)!

We had to race up the New Jersey coast a bit in order to make it to the entrance to New York Harbor during the flood there. The turn into the harbor required us to sail close-hauled to get through the Verrazano Narrows Bridge. The boost from the flood helped our angle just enough that we didn’t have to tack to get through.

Approaching NY City - via Lower Bay and the Verrazano Narrows Bridge (into the Hudson River)

There is a really interesting looking village at the confluence of the East and Hudson Rivers. It seemed there was a lot going on, but the choices for visiting boats are less than optimal. Two of the four main facilities for boats along the Hudson have closed in recent years, including the one where we spent a happy winter opposite the Empire State Building. Supply and demand being what it is, the others have started charging yachts, as in the quaint British term for personal sailboats, as if we were Yachts, with the big capital Y. The powers that be are apparently working diligently to resolve the issue, but for now, there is no way we are going to spend half our monthly budget to be allowed to tie our lines to four cleats for twenty hours. That’s before we even buy Metro cards and foldy pizza slices.

So, as difficult as it was to do, I left Begonia in Maryanne’s care just as were passing the site of our former marina. She was left to dodge all the ferries and other river traffic while I did my best to ignore the excitement of all the gleaming lights, turn off my brain, and sleep through my night off-watch.

She finally ran out of wind approaching Haverstraw Bay. I briefly remember hearing the engine under the opposite berth start, but I was soon back to snoozing away. When midnight arrived, we were just getting to the winding, really pretty part of the river north of there.

Sailing at night along the Hudson River and it's many bridges (this one is the Tappan Zee Bridge)

What a difference six hours makes. Every sign of the city behind was gone. Begonia was now a lone boat slowly puttering up a glassy river sided with steep walls covered in trees. Only the occasional freight train on the left or commuter train on the right bank broke the stillness of the moonlit evening. During the entire half hour that I could see the Bear Mountain Bridge, only one set of headlights appeared, crossed the bridge, and then disappeared into the woods.

The flood returned with the dawn, so we continued upriver until it finally ran out. I had only had a couple of bumps in the night, which the spotlight revealed were fireplace log-sized chunks of wood receding in our wake. Maryanne’s day watch was much more eventful. She ended up weaving through whole debris fields, which included entire trees and even one floating dock that had broken free.

Daylight arrives and the river is changed once again - beautiful scenery gets better as the sun arrives from our anchorageoff Rondout Creek

After the flood turned to ebb, we anchored in the protection of the downstream breakwater at Kingston, New York. We noticed a few big trees floating by, but the outflow of Rondout Creek always pushed them around us. There, we waited out a spell of cold weather that was definitely out of the comfort zone our years in the tropics has accustomed us. We reacclimated ourselves to a normal diurnal sleep routine, then it was time to go ashore to see what Kingston (the town off Rondout Creek) had going on.