The day’s sail north of the marina started sluggishly and tense, as Stew and Rob repeatedly were heckled by youngsters in a Flying Scot claiming luffing rights and announcing “no adults on board.”
The winds picked up though, and soon we were racing along near Four Mile Run near Karen, Steve and Ajit in Monsieur Whistlebritches, leaving the young’uns far behind in their unchaperoned glee. The wind picked up further, the wide river beckoned, and soon the brace of feathers were far off to the south tacking between Bolling AFB and Old Town. Hiking out, zigzagging through the chop, and yelling with delight, the two crews reveled in the sunshine and bow spray. Back on land, tired and happy, with apple slices to soothe our windburns, we realized impishly the kids actually were talking about us.
Dugongidae Potomus Aquatica
Clad only in her ochre thong Grazing among the seagrass throng. Her fusiform figure growing long Creating no wake as she paddles along. But there are no mangroves on Daingerfield, and she moves on. A mournful knell singing her song, the graceful sirenia (Latin order).