It’s in their marrow. Sailors are sailors. So we always knew Maggie would get in a scow and not want to get out. The only surprise is that she hornswaggled most her family and a good friend into this escapade. Power of persuasion.
Maggie and her son Quinn joined Karen in the M16 “Chalupa” on May 18 for a waltz in gentle east winds that took them quickly down the boat channel and out into the Potomac. Up river they scooted with a good twist on the main. Quinn was plane spotting. WOOSH…”That was a Boeing!” ZOOM “There goes another.” He arranged the tiller extensions straight out, so they were like wings on the Chalupa. When you are on a smooth planing scow, there is an airborne quality. And certainly this evening, there was a lot to enjoy out on the river, especially for a young lad who never closes his eyes to wonder.
Jeremy, Evaline and I heeled up Whistlebritches and chased down the Chalupa. At between 12 and 17 degrees of heel, the waterline on a scow becomes a canoe and the boat settles into a dynamic harmony. Hard to comprehend all the forces at play as the wind stiffens the bilgeboard against the slot, and the scow begins to lean over. But the result is undeniable as we felt Whistlebritches skim over the water.
Maggie showed us some tactical tricks as we drew near, blocking our wind and heading us as we tried to overtake her. A savvy sailor, with a crew of co-conspirators. The sun was low as we headed in. Boats covered and put away by sunset. Perfect evening.
