Overnight, we pressed up a glassy Hudson River under power long after we lost our favorable tide. This was the coldest night of the trip. We bumped into one or two drifting trees, but no harm done.

We arrived home at the Nyack Boat Club at 0500, and tied up to the touch and go dock as the early glow of dawn broke over the Westchester side of the river. There were suburban land birds singing, and I fell asleep to the sounds of Canada geese honking their way up the river -- a sound of home waters. At 0900, Bill Minke is in his kayak, knocking on our hull and welcoming us home.

Today is opening day at Nyack Boat Club, so we are just in time for the festivities, with many friends interested in our stories. I fly all the courtesy flags from our trip. It seems so normal to be here, but so strange to be at the end of our voyage. I sleep most of the afternoon.

I am not ready to let go yet; there is a front forecast for tonight and I would worry about the boat at the mooring, so, believe it or not, I do not go to our house, and Robin and I spend one more night on the boat. Beryl is off to a sleepover at a friend's house.

Late this night, the north wind blows, and we chafe through two dock lines. Fortunately, Robin awoke before this happened, and encouraged me to double up the lines, so we stay at the dock, rolling in the river wind.

In the overnight hours, we motor on a flat calm sea. I know we are moving; it just does not feel like it as the boat is steady as if tied to a dock.

During my off watch, Robin was able to sail a little. Robin saw sei whales.

I overslept my 1000 watch -- noone woke me. Under power on a still and rippled sea, there are now a few fishing boats about.

We caught a bluefish at 1230. Some pilot whales broke water to the West. A yellow haze to the north announces the metropolis over the horizon.

We are sailing again at 1530, a nice close reach in a 10 knot wind. I have no luck raising Southbound II on the radio, just to check in; we don't really need more weather routing advice. Beryl and Robin pull in a second bluefish at 1700. I try calling the Coast Guard about check in procedures, but they do not seem to know what to do.

1745 -- Land Ho! Highlands Lighthouse in Highlands, NJ is visible on the horizon, together with a lump of higher land. Beryl does not believe me, and claims I am looking at a container ship. No, I am looking at the thing to the right of the container ship. That's just another container ship, says Beryl. If it is, it is the container ship New Jersey, and it slowly grows as we sail north in the freshening breeze.

We sail the freshening breeze right to the Verrazano Narrows bridge. It was Beryl's watch, so she piloted us across East Bank, through the Narrows, and into New York harbor, where the wind promptly died. We started the engine to avoid being driven by the tide directly into a buoy. Beryl steered us to the Battery in the brilliant glow of the Manhattan skyline.

We cleared customs by phone; something I did not think you could do any longer.

It is still bumpy in the early morning, as we beat into the cold post-frontal Northerly. There are waves of warm and cold air, as pockets of warm air seem trapped in the troughs between the warm Gulf Stream waves. There is still have heavy west swell running steeply, knocking us around a bit.

We seem to have picked up some kind of favorable eddy, with the current setting us to the northwest, towards New York. We had expected contrary currents in the Gulf Stream, and that we would try to cross it quickly. With this favorable eddy, it is alright to cross the stream obliquely, In fact, if we headed due north to cross at right angles, we might expect to find the opposite side of the eddy and an adverse current. This is good, because with the north wind, we cannot point high enough to cross the Gulf Stream at right angles anyway. This will keep us in the Gulf Stream longer.

At 0830, the jib sheet gets fouled again as Robin rolls up part of the jib in the stiff Norther.

At 1000, we are bouncing along on lumpy seas, with a strong current setting north -- the edge of the eddy? Skies to the north are clear; overhead is overcast grey. The wind is north at 15-20 knots.

Robin makes crepes for breakfast, including one flying-fish crepe -- a "fish in a blanket"

At 1045, the water temperature drops rapidly, from 72 degrees to 58 degrees in a matter of minutes. The water immediately grows calmer -- we are out of the Gulf Stream. Still, there remains a north setting current.

The seas calm greatly, and we now have nice smooth sailing directly towards New York, under sunny skies. But it is COLD all of a sudden.

I took an afernoon nap, and almost slept through the check-in with Southbound II and Herb Hilgenburg. Herb tells us to expect light winds on Friday and Saturday.

Before dinner Robin wonders aloud whether we will see any more dolphins on this trip, and, on cue, a school of dolphins appears. The wind has died to about 4 knots, and we are making about 3 to 4 knots, but we do not want to ruin the last quiet moments of sailing, so we do not start the engine yet.

Engine on at 1740, I leave the jib set and we motor-sail at around 6 knots.

I make a paella for perhaps our last cockpit dinner at sea, and a dolphin joins us, too. Beryl appears on deck in flannel pajamas and a blanket; Robin is bundled up in fleece and hat and gloves as we get used to the northern weather again.

We have calculated an arrival in New York on Friday night, at 6 knots, and will motor if we have to to get there . . .