On Wednesday, we had motored most of the way to Stonington, slicing into a headwind much of the time. But today, there was some angle to the wind. At first, we sailed on a beat, crossing Fisher Island Sound on a slant until we were in danger of running aground on the far shore. Then we kicked on the motor and motorsailed much of the way to the Thames River, which separates New London, to the west, from Groton, to the east.
New London is home base for a number of ferries that cross Long Island Sound, and as we approached the mouth of the Thames, we saw a couple coming and going. We knew we needed to be careful.
Soon, we were in the shipping channel, where scores of United States submarines have, since the beginning of World War II, sailed their maiden voyages. (They were built in the shipyard at Groton, which is now home to the Electric Boat division of General Dynamics, builder of the nation's atomic subs.)
Ever observant, we noticed that a ferry was approaching from the south and the Sound while another was just leaving it slip to the north in New London. We decided that the best move would be to cross the marked channel and motor north, to the west side of the green buoys, outside the channel.
The two ferries drew closer and closer. We were glad we made our decision to get out of their way.
Then the outbound ferry slanted to its starboard, clearly aiming on a course that would take it outside the marked channel.
It was headed directly for us, and it was coming fast.
I grabbed the microphone.
"This is the sailing vessel Robin inbound on the Thames River near green bouy (let's say 19) calling the outbound ferry approaching us. Which way are you going?"
There was a slight delay before the voice replied: "South."
That wasn't what I wanted to know. Now we were very close to the ferry's bow. To turn to port seemed suicidal, and so I steered sharply to starboard.
The voice came back on the radio: "I'm giving the inbound ferry more room."
Thanks, we thought. Thanks a lot! Either decision I might have made could have been wrong in the absence of details on which way the outbound ferry was planning to go. As it turned out, I made a lucky choice and the boat raced past our port side perhaps 50 feet away.
This wasn't the best first impression a port could make on a visiting cruiser.
We had decided to take a mooring in the new city mooring field, just south of the ferry terminal, and moments after we passed the rude vessel, we turned to port and into the mooring field. We had called ahead and knew that we were simply to pick up a mooring and then go ashore to settle up. It turned out that the city didn't yet have a harbormaster to deal with transients.
The moorings were big and stable looking, and they were clustered just off the downtown district. From the water, the town looked suspiciously like Gloucester had -- pretty blue collar. With no harbormater and no apparent security, the setup posed some important questions.

I dinghied ashore and met the young lady who collected the fee. Then Monica and I both went ashore for dinner and ice cream. When we returned to the dinghy, we were met by the skipper of another sailboat that had just taken a mooring. He had noticed that our hailing port, lettered on Robin's stern, is Burlington NJ. "I was born in Camden and grew up in Moorestown (where our local Wegman's supermarket is,)" he said.
Small world.
We settled in for our next-to-last night of the cruise, and I wondered whether we'd be visited in the dark by any pirates.