During the years that I lived aboard my boat here, the fourth of July tradition was to pack as many guests as possible on board, and sit tight on my mooring inside the harbor, watching the show. The fireworks were ok, but watching the incoming boat parade and the display of drunken boat handling in the pileup at the launch ramp afterwards was often much better.After I rudely sailed off into the sunset, taking my party platform with me, my friends were forced to find another venue for enjoying the fourth of July festivities. I had spoiled them; sitting ashore among the commoners was no longer good enough. The new tradition became to load everyone on one friend's classic wooden powerboat docked at the shipyard, and motor out to another friend's classic sailboat, which was moored right off the town beach and right by the fireworks barge. The two woodies would be rafted together in a lovely photo op for those who had boring ordinary fiberglass vessels. When I arrived back here boatless last year, I was welcomed aboard Safari. I had heard the legendary stories, had met the owner on shore a time or two, but had never been aboard.
There's nothing like a classic wooden boat. There's something about that timeless feel, the warmth of the wood. Maybe it's the dry rot. Yes, that's a ladder up the mast. The owner asks for no comments, please. It's a work in progress.
This year had a particular poignancy to it, as last year turned out to be the final fourth of July Safari would ever see. Last October, she came loose from her mooring, and died on the rocks in a wicked Nor'easter. The owner was not a member of the boatless club for long, however. The party must go on!
Uh oh, busted by the fun patrol. Sorry, officer, we'll try to behave. No promises, though.
We avoided the drunken boat parade pile by not unrafting until very late, returning to the dock well after the last boat had already parked. The most miraculous part of the evening wasn't that the owner of the former Safari had so quickly managed to recover the sailing lifestyle after such a devastating loss, or that we were lucky enough to celebrate this new boat, but that it wasn't raining! And we didn't freeze to death! After so many cold, gray, wet evenings, we were all gobsmacked to discover that it actually doesn't get dark until well after nine at night. Like it was summer or something.
Another successful fourth of July, where nobody fell overboard and nobody exploded.
*This replacement boat is actually not named Safari; in fact it has no name yet. We offered to put suggestions into a hat for the owner to draw one, but for some reason, he didn't care to try that.
