A long day and a quiet night...

Various weather sources suggested that yesterday would be a really good day to make the 47 mile, 8.5 hour trip from the Solomons to St. Michaels. With Grandson Eldest at the helm, we pulled the anchor out of the mud and putted down to Solomons Yachting Center where he did a picture perfect job of getting us on the fuel dock, his first docking of this boat. When they showed up for work, we were already tied up starboard side to looking for the full monty: fuel + water + pump out + trash + ice. Filled up or emptied out as appropriate, our young Captain drove us off the dock and out into the bay. There we found that the various weather sources were on it today. Only the occasional and somewhat feeble whitecap thumped against the bow and by early afternoon even those had faded completely away. It was, as they say, “Smooth Sailing” only without the sails.

We had planned to anchor in a cozy little spot just a short dink ride from the town and well protected from all quadrents. But there was already a boat in there and one is all that will fit. After a bit of motoring around we ended up with a few other boats out in the broad Chester River. The anchor bit hard but where we sit has some pretty long fetch from NNW to ESE. So we are hoping that the weather sources are correct again with their forecasts of storms coming from the WSW. We also hope to be at Kent Island for the weekend, which we might make Friday afternoon depending on those very same storms.

Regardless, it feels pretty good to have this last long leg behind us. Two more short hops should see First Light in Oak Harbor waiting to be pulled for the winter. That is far from the original plan of having the boat in a slip near St. Louis for the winter. But (as the Taoist sages teach) life unfolds as it will. Accept what happens with a bit of humility and do one's best to stay on the path. It may take a while to come to terms with all that has happened this summer. Brushes with dying and shattered bones? On the one hand neither are new or unique experiences for Deb and I, though this is the first time that she has gone under the knife for broken bones. (Me? Lost count a long time ago.) Word has it the Doctor told her that the fatality rate for my kind of heart problem is somewhere around 97%. Slightly higher than the 95% number that was bandied around after a particularly nasty car wreck many a moon ago, but perhaps a bit lower than the near miss with a bout of meningitis also many a moon ago. That time I was saved by a 100 to 1 chance of an intern questioning a test an ER doctor had scheduled. A specialist was consulted instead, one who immediately had me tossed into and ambulance and hauled over to his facility. There we were informed that the test would have certainly proven fatal. Yikes. 

Throw in a motorcycle crash or two plus more close calls in airplanes than I can likely remember, and one might think shrugging this one off would come as second nature. It is a practice the Stoics refer to as “Memento moi”. But I'm not there yet. At some point, of course—tonight, tomorrow, or years from now—that number will be 100% and this particular sojourn will end. But sitting here in this quiet anchorage, having managed to get this far in spite of it all, it is hard not to marvel at just how lucky we have been. Still, I haven't quite shaken the need to take metaphorical looks over my shoulder.

A small world is very strange

We are waiting out 20 knot winds currently stirring up the waters that lay between First Light and St. Michaels, which worked out really well as it gave us a chance to take the Dink down the river a bit to visit the Calvert's Maritime Museum. That they have a free Dink Dock nestled in among the historical boats tied up in their little bay suggested it would be an interesting place actually full of “maritime” stuff. 

Within steps of getting out of the Dink one of the employee / volunteers stopped to give us directions. He asked where we were from, so we explained how we are working on getting First Light to St. Louis. He smiled and asked where we lived in the city as he went to school at a college called Parks across the river in Cahokia. I was a bit taken aback and asked him to repeat that several times, Parks college in Cahokia IL? He gave me a puzzled look while assuring me that he had gotten both his A&P license as well as a degree in Engineering at that school. The puzzled look turned into a big smile when I explained that I had spent 8 years flying out of Parks while employed as the Director of Operations for St. Louis University's (of which Park's college is a part) corporate flight department. Deb and Grandson Eldest walked away to buy our passes while John and I exchanged stories. He had been at the school years before I had worked there, but the coincidence was still kind of remarkable. He has been a long time resident of this area and, though officially retired, still works in a simulator at Pax River on something that has to do with F-16s. Part of his job at the museum is keeping a traditional oyster boat floating, of which he gave us a tour. Before we wandered off John volunteered that, should we need anyone to look at First Light while she is up on the hard, he would be happy to check in on her. Sometimes things unfold in remarkable ways.

After a final handshake with a new friend, we climbed up into a lighthouse that was once out in the Bay and had been relocated to the museum. This one was round like a cake with two layers of living space topped by a single, massive lens for a candle. After climbing back down the narrow, twisting staircases, we started to explore the rest of the facility. Around their little bay are several buildings full of maritime information and displays. In one of the buildings volunteers build and assemble boats using traditional assembly methods, though they do use modern tools. As luck would have it, they work on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The shop was a busy place when we visited and the shop foreman gave us a tour. After that, we wandered through the rest of the displays spending several hours. It was certainly a place worth the visit.

With the next weather break we will be heading across the Bay, one more step toward getting First Light settled in for the winter. It feels like we are doing okay...but don't tell anyone I said that. After this summer I still have a habit of looking over my shoulder to see what might be sneaking up on us now.

The Drum Point Lighthouse

The lantern in the lighthouse. It has a couple red glass panels in the windows
to make the light appear to flash red as it turns

The red reflections on the floor from the red window panels

Part of the living quarters in the lighthouse

The Patient Small Craft Guild is building this replica tender for the lighthouse

These patterns are laid on the floor to shape the ribs and spars

Some the forms used to curve the wood

The plans used to build the tender

One of the tools used to design the curves in the wood

The anchorage in the Solomons. One of the prettiest and secure places we've ever anchored.