I woke up to light streaming in through the window, Blue Hill backlit by the sun, and waves from the wake of a passing lobster boat lapping against the barnacle-studded shoreline. I sat up and just stared out the window, amazed by the pinkish, orange light and the quiet that was interrupted only by laughter and the clinking of spoons against bowls coming from the kitchen. I brushed my teeth, folded the homemade quilt under which I had slept, and went downstairs to join the Cheerios party (more, more, more after the jump).
After breakfast and a quick jog around Blue Hill where I encountered a flock of wild turkeys, some fast moving trucks, and stretches of empty, quiet roads, I headed down to Wooden Boat's harbor with the rest of the crew who hadn’t spent the night on our fair vessel. We stragglers caught a launch out and sprang into action, taking off sail covers, turning on the huge, impressive motor that lives in the hull of the boat, and motoring out to begin the race.
Unfortunately, the wind gods weren’t totally on the sailors’ sides for this ERR. Our start was delayed by a few hours, and we putzed around the starting line longer than we thought we’d have to. Now, I must say that putzing around the starting line at the ERR is not like putzing around other starting lines; it means spending time gaping at multi-million dollar wooden boats, the likes of which people generally only see in period movies, but around which I seem to be lucky enough to have grown up. The boats have sleek lines, crisp sails, and crew wearing matching shirts and hats (so key). The boats are, simply put, the sexiest things I've ever seen.
The race finally began after one false cannon (“ignore that blast” we heard over the VHS), and some sandwiches. The boat we were on, while beautiful, is not much of a racer, but the family whom I race with (and love dearly!) every year coordinates the whole regatta, so it’s kind of like being on the princess’s float at the Fourth of July parade. We also looked pretty good, if I do say so myself, in the shirts I designed; ten different people who sailed by us called out to tell us how much they liked them. And while I didn’t choose the purple, which is what they were most likely responding to, I like to think they enjoyed the drawing I did on the back.
The race took us about five hours; we crossed the finish line to a canon salute (the perks of sailing with the people whom everybody knows and loves) and headed back to Wooden Boat. We proceeded to the barbeque where we ate delicious food, drank cold beer (I was tipsy after about one sip; dehydration and sun will really make a drink go to your head), and regaled other sailors with stories from our race. I got to hand out the awards at the ceremony after dinner (another perk), and then we danced the night away to the cover band that played classics from “All Right Now” to “Mustang Sally.”
The night ended back at the house with a glass of wine, a bowl of ice cream, and the moon shining over Allen Bay. Life doesn't get better.
And now, boat porn:
Our motley crew. Crue.
Le shirts!
The Heron.
Ginger.
Starting line.
Adventuress.
Ginger again. One of my favorite boats.
Adventuress.
This boat, called "When And If," was the boat General Patton bought himself before WWII. How amazing is the name?
About to round Egg Rock.
Downwind leg. The spinnakers come out.
The sun starting to get lower over the bay.
Knot tying competitions.
Party time.
From Instagram (@thewilderthings):
That morning light I woke up to. Not bad, not bad.
