One of the crowd...

Really, I'm trying. As has been mentioned before Deb and I are not racers and Nomad is not a racing boat. But racing is woven into the social fabric at our marina so in the spirit of pitching in and taking part, Nomad was the Race Committee boat this weekend. Kind of a misnomer that, it was a committee of 2. Deb watched the clock and took scads of pictures. I put flags up and then took them down. Later I scribbled times when boats tripped over the imaginary line between little Nomad and "the pin." It was actually kind of fun, particularly at the start of the second race where all but one of the competing boats tried to cross the start line at the same time. (There was one straggler but he did a pretty good job of catching up.)

Friday night was spent at the marina. It was brutal hot with rain in the forecast making a closed up tight boat likely, which made the AC-at-the-dock option rather attractive. Since we were in the marina we joined the assembled while dinner was consumed. Lots of fun, talk, and stories. Saturday morning was the Captain's Meeting for the race. More talk, more fun, more stories, and Deb and I got a chance to figure out what the Race Committee boat is supposed to do. The races were next. Though Deb and I were alone on Nomad, Nomad was the vocal point for a lot of boats and crews. Afterward was a big pot-luck party. There were lots (and lots) of people, lots of laughter, lots of food, lots of noise, lots of drinks...just lots. I really enjoy the folks at the marina and several have become good friends. But before I could hit the desert table I hit my personal "social limit." Escape was tied to a dock just a couple of hundred feet away and I'm afraid I couldn't have looked more like a running prisoner if dressed in an orange jumpsuit with big numbers printed across the back. I can only hope no one noticed or, if they did, they were not offended.

Mind you, I make my living as a corporate pilot. Being good around people is as much a part of the trade as flying instrument approaches to minimums. (Everyone in the back of my airplane can fire me, or have me fired. Occupational hazard of flying "The Bosses.") I genuinely like sailors and hope one day to be counted among them. I have no fear of public speaking. But sometimes, even in a group of people I enjoy, some distortion of space tilts the room and it is time to be somewhere else. I know it isn't you. Its me.

Slipping through the fence (as it were) Nomad followed the wake of S/V Paradise, who had made an earlier exit. S/V Orca (having recently been freed from extensive winter repairs) was also out on the water, and S/V Quicksilver followed us into the channel. Out on the lake the winds were more than expected so we decided to leave our aging drifter in the bag and head south on just the main. Nomad was still making a touch over 5 knots but Quicksilver soon ghosted past flying two sails to our one. Reaching the Cove she had just been secured when Nomad pulled along side, and I'm here to testify that 4 sailboats and 7 crew do not a crowd make. Friday night's rains brought a break from the heat making the Cove on Saturday a perfect summer evening. Entertainment for our little raft-up group included two passing satellites, uncounted stars, some pretty good stories, and one spectacular shooting star. S/V Paradise was playing some tunes from a group called "Three Pints Gone." That's some raucous music there! (The "Moose" song was the funniest I have heard in a while.)

"Human beings," the experts say, "are tribal animals." Who am I to argue with the experts? But for me "tribe" is a pretty small number, and tribe + one = "crowd."