Ah, the bridge is closed and getting closer...

So the story I have not told you...

We are headed back home from vacation, a 6 hour sail (if all goes well). We leave early in the morn, 5:30, it is damp and freezing. Did I mention dark? We let the kids sleep, pull up anchor (Mel) and sputter off.

First sign of trouble: the motor is smoking up a storm and doesn't sound right. The rpms are way too low. This worries me, but I've dealt with worse, plus we've got sails...

So on the way out I try to tune the engine a bit better and put put-silence. She dies. Great. Sails are up and we are still moving (barely) so I am not to worried. I manage to get her started again and we are off at the same pace.

We run the engine on and off until we get to New London where I expect traffic. Not so, so we kill the engine and rely on just sails.

We head up the CT river back to our creek and approach the train bridge, always a daunting thing, it seems to rise and lower regardless of who is underneath. A narrow passage and the current quickens all contribute to heart palpitations.

So within 200 yards, the motor quits. Sails are up but we are in a lull around the bridge. The tide is gently pushing us upriver, toward the closed bridge. Fantastic.

I tear the skin off my finger trying to restart her, then decide to use my head. No, not like a French soccer player head butt the engine... Nope I get smart. I figure it one of two things, water in the gas (explaining the poor performance) or just plain low on gas. Could be either or both at this point. So I tip the tank and steady it. Now we wait.

No point in starting the engine now and have it really run out under the bridge. So the bridge finally lifts and I manage to start the motor. Will it get us through? Or will my luck run out just under the bridge? I don't bet in casinos for just this very reason.

I decide to push her forward, all the time scoping for a boat to tow, I ready a line to throw to a boat to tow us out of danger. Mel is in a prayer cocoon, holding onto the safeylines in a death grip, the kids are playing in the v-berth oblivious to the steamy-pot-o-tension on deck.

We get through and head over to the gas dock. I ready the fenders, prep a spring line and hand Mel the tiller. She steers away from the dock and I admonish her to ram it, she does a masterful job and I jump for the dock and we are safe.

New gas does the trick and we motor back to our mooring without incident (other than cold sweat in my shirt). It is trials like these that let me know it is all about experience and confidence. Yeah, that or dumb luck and a someone upstairs looking out for me and mine.