postcards from the road
Pete Peters at the helm of Obadiah.
It’s already growing dark when Doug gets my attention, says the crabs and oysters are ready and I’m missing them. Indeed, people are seated around long tables under the trees. Sounds of laughter and conversation, and crickets. Shadows seep from the woods and collect in pools beneath the sycamores and cypress. Fireflies lift off from the lawn, scribing arcs above the grass.
Sunrise at Freeport Landing
Dawn is very noisy. There’s a rooster. A rooster very near, like next to my head. The sun is barely up, and he is hard at work. Also, something else making a racket I can’t quite place. A sheep? No sleeping through it, rise and shine.
Lightning #2833 with the boom tent
Mike’s Melonseed “Pepita”
“Don’t wait for me.”
“Where are you?”
“Just pulling out of the driveway. Of course. Still a lot of things to fix.”
“Oh. OK, well, call when you get here. Not sure where we’ll stop, but we’ll be back sometime tomorrow.”
Two hours later, Freeport Landing looks deserted. The sun is low, throwing long shadows across the water. A row of empty trailers lined up near the ramp. One lone boat there. Hmm, maybe someone went along as crew and left their boat. And Mike’s Melonseed is anchored off the beach. Not a soul in sight, though. Sometimes people double up for company or to lend an extra hand.
The Lure of Sirens
The tradition of sailors abandoning their quest for the comfort and pleasures of shore – both real and imagined – is a pretty long one. I’m in good company. Or at least lots of company.
The trip back was a 10 mile romp. The wind was now blowing at 15 to 18 knots, with a gust to 25 picked up by a buoy at the mouth of the Patuxent. Once we got away from the shore you could feel it. Most of the boats had reefs in. George stayed near the south shore where the chop was not as bad. I didn’t like what the trees did to the wind, so moved farther out, the rest riding it out in between.
The basic plan is sail upriver until hungry, stop for lunch. Sail all the way back, and then some, to St. Leonard Creek. Hole up there for the night. If that ends up too far, turn into one of the smaller creeks along the way.
When scouting maps for launch spots, St. Leonard had looked promising. There was a place marked on the charts as a fairly large marina, but went by the odd name of “Vera’s Beach Club”. Hmm. A little googling rendered details of a seafood restaurant, bar, full service docks, etc.. Likely bathrooms and showers. Also, wet t-shirt contests. Bill’s on Broomes Island was more our style, but Vera’s did offer some appeal. St. Leonard was looking pretty good.