Voyage on the Connecticut (page 12)

 

My original plan was to camp at the beach near Old Saybrook, but with the wind and current against me, I saw I would never be able to make it. I began to inspect the shoreline for possible camping spots and saw the prospects were not good. In general, as boats increase in value lower down on the Connecticut, so do the houses. For the first several hundred miles, there are few houses, and they are vacation cottages or modest homes. In the last miles near the sea, the homes become more substantial and more numerous, multimillion-dollar mansions one next to the other, their manicured lawns marching down to the water, and no doubt supervised by security firms staffed with German shepherd guard dogs: not good pickings for a commando camper. Where was I to sleep?

When my arms wouldn’t paddle any further, I pulled into the Island Cove Marina near Old Saybrook. It was a very posh facility, with wall-to-wall cabin cruisers tied up in its slips. I found the most inconspicuous place to tie my faded red kayak and scrambled up to the marina office. It was closed for the day. Out on the dock alongside one of the larger cabin cruisers I saw a group of boat owners chatting, and went over.

"I need some advice," I said—my standard opening line. We got acquainted. Lisa said she wouldn't mind my camping on the marina’s lawn. She gave me the access code for the rest rooms. "But don't tell anyone I gave it to you," she said under her breath. Everyone else agreed it was fine with them for me to camp; the trouble was the marina owner lived right across the lagoon, in plain sight.

A 10-year old boy expressed an interest in kayaks. "Want to see my boat?" I asked. I led him, along with his father, Ernie, to the backwater where I had stashed my boat, told them about my trip and answered the usual questions about my strange, portable craft.

Suddenly, Ernie said, "Hey, why don't you sleep in my boat? It's right over there." He pointed to one of the cabin cruisers.

"Do you think I could?"

"Sure, screw the tent. Sleep in there! We're supposed to have heavy rain tonight. You don't want to be in no tent!"

He and Chris led me to the boat, unsnapped the cockpit covering and we crawled into the enclosed forward cabin, which had a horseshoe-shaped leatherette padded bunk area. The area was neat and clean; I was amazed he would entrust it to a complete stranger, and a scruffy one at that.

 

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