Steve sent a text saying if I arrive in time, meet at the Chesapeake Crab and Steakhouse for dinner.
There I found him, with Webb, Curt, and Tom. First order of business was to recount how each of us had come here. Tom had trailered his Pathfinder 1300 miles all the way up from the Florida Keys. Webb, of course, had sailed in Gannet most of the way around the world to get here, dodging a hurricane on the way. Steve started in Cambridge and sailed Spartina for two weeks on a circuitous route of about 300 miles. Curt started on the western shore and sailed Annie across the shipping channel in the dark from Shady Side, Maryland. I weathered DC rush hour traffic towing a boat and risked aggravating Homeland Security.
So, for all of us, the trip to St. Michaels was an adventure of trials and tribulations. Being mariners all, some of us approaching ancient, the telling of the tale is part of the package. Mine would have seemed more adventurous in other company. Except perhaps for Tom, though, all would choose their tribulations over mine.
After dinner I found Dave Gentry and pitched a tent in the dark and rain. The campsites had filled up more than I’ve seen on a Thursday. I understand they had the most people ever on the Wye Island gunk hole trip. And Kristen, the museum president, was on her way back from solo-ing in a kayak for 60 miles around Kent Island.
Friday morning was cool and breezy as a front blew out the rain. Good sailing. Took a bunch of photos of boats along the docks, then launched Caesura and spent the day on the water, returning in time for the traditional festival kickoff of steamed crabs and raw oysters.