Fogbound in Fishers Island Sound

The rippling waters of Fishers Island’s Hay Harbor sparkled in late afternoon sunlight the other day as a fresh breeze kicked up from the southeast, gently rocking our kayaks.

It had been a pleasant paddle from Esker Point in Noank across Fishers Island Sound into New York waters, with a short detour to the sandy islet named Flat Hammock, where squawking, nesting gulls discouraged our group of six paddlers from lingering.

Thus driven away, we steered toward Race Rock Light but decided that landmark, just outside one of the most treacherous passages in the Northeast, was too distant at this late hour.

Instead, we ducked into Hay Harbor to admire some of the waterfront mansions that once prompted writer Cleveland Amory to describe Fishers Island as “the last resort of the big rich, and they want it kept that way.”

Bob Teneyck, paddling next to me in the sleek, wooden vessel that he recently finished constructing, glanced at his watch.

“Almost 6 o’clock. Better start heading back,” he said.

As we spun around and prepared to paddle more than four miles home to Connecticut, Curt Andersen peered over his shoulder.

“Hey, check out those clouds!” he exclaimed.

Actually, they weren’t clouds but a giant fog bank, far in the distance but heading our way.

The six of us quickened our pace — in addition to Bob, Curt and me were Bob Foltz, Will Kenyon and Bill Wright.

With the wind now at our back, we soon shot between the tiny islands of North and South Dumplings. Years ago, I had kayaked to North Dumpling to interview the island’s owner, Dean Kamen, inventor of the Segway, who was simultaneously being filmed by a crew from “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.”

No stopping on this voyage, though — we were racing the fog, which wasn’t coming in on the “little cat feet” of Carl Sandberg’s poem, but sprinting along like an angry cheetah.

“Whose idea was this, anyway?” Will griped … “Oh, mine,” he added.

The edge of the fog was now over Stonington and spreading west across the sound.

I gazed west toward New London. Uh-oh. Another fog bank had formed near Ocean Beach and also was drifting in our direction despite an opposing southeasterly wind. Not more

than 10 minutes after squirting between the Dumplings, we were completely enveloped. Classic pea soup. At least the seas were calm — one less thing to fret over.

We were in the middle of a weird fog vortex and half-jokingly began describing lost-at-sea scenarios.

Bob pretended to be more upset that he only had a short time to enjoy his new kayak.

“It’s only been in the water 10 hours!” he lamented.

“Don’t worry,” I reassured him. “I’m sure it’ll find a new home.”

To be honest, we weren’t so much worried about getting lost — Esker Point is almost due north of Fishers Island’s West Harbor, and our flotilla was equipped with multiple compasses and GPS trackers.

The greater risk: getting run down by a powerboat.

I reached for the whistle tied to my life jacket and put it in my mouth. Paddling in a tight formation we kept our ears cocked for engines.

“Boat coming, 2 o’clock!” someone called.

A fishing vessel emerged from the mist, and we were relieved to see it would pass well in front of us. A few minutes later, another boat appeared, also at a safe distance. So far, so good.

Another dark shape soon materialized.

“Intrepid Rock,” Will announced, referring to an outcropping only a half-mile south of Groton Long Point. Almost home.

In another few minutes, we could see The Spindle, a spar-like navigational aid jutting from the water just off Clubhouse Point. “Land ho!” I called. Finally, we were back in the protected waters of Palmer Cove, with a flooding tide pulling us beneath the Groton Long Point Road bridge to the parking lot.

“Well, that was fun,” I said, pulling ashore.

The rest agreed being fogbound was “pretty cool” but added that the experience served as a reminder of how swiftly marine conditions can go south and of the importance of carrying safety gear.

I was also reminded of how kayaking is the perfect activity for social distancing during a pandemic. There’s almost no way you can get closer than six feet from another paddler unless you intentionally raft up or accidentally collide.

By the way, I must have gotten water on my brain last week because I mistakenly credited Becky Noreen for suggesting the Ayers Gap hike, when the recommendation really came from Paul Carolan. Mea culpa.

Becky recommended the Rock Spring Preserve, which I plan to write about soon. Like Ayers Gap, it is indeed a stunning preserve. If you have any suggestions, post an online comment on this column or email me at s.fagin@theday.com

Stay safe, everybody, and stay active. Oh, and paddle and hike responsibly.