After getting camp set up on the "Water Field," we never got the chance to put the boat in the water. We arrived as the Governor's Cup was ending and four boats were capsizing in the gusts. We were amazed with the beauty of the venue. A long, new pier stretched out into the Ware River (which really wasn't what a person from the Midwest would call a river.) There were few boats on this body of water. The tide varied three feet each day with low tide in the morning and high tide in the after noon, an hour later every day.

Monday came and we couldn't race because of bad weather. No practice race. Into the clubhouse to socialize. The clubhouse is paneled in warm Virginia pine and offers great views through its expansive windows. The kitchen has a nice pass through for food and conversation. Every morning they had coffee and food to gnosh on.

We raced Tuesday and the weather and wind gave us three great races. Afterward, Greg Fisher reminded us about how important "speed wrinkles" are. Everyone benefited from this discussion.

Wednesday we had the same but the wind was lighter. We ate Chesapeake blue crab for dinner (watch out for Dave Pullen, crab-eating champion). Gus broke out the squeezebox and the electric guitar as others watched the video of the race; it was almost a soundtrack for the video. Peggy and I sat with Brad Sindle at the end of the pier, listening to tales of Harry’s sailing career and grwoing up along the Chesapeake.

We had a Class meeting, and we talked about our great boat. We were all glowing with pride from the turnout and turnaround of the Buccaneer Class. We met the new builder, Hugh Armbruster. He met everyone and heard the words of the class.

And we listened to Harry's wonderful stories, about New Jersey, and the Olympics, and his father, and his children, and his wonderful adventuresome life, and about the Buccaneer. It was really surreal.

It rained over night.

Then the storms really came; we rushed to batten down the hatches. Lightning lit the sky at and into the night. Some elected to sleep in the air -conditioned Club. Rain soaked the ground; winds blew tarps and tents over. Pink flamingoes stood guard over puddles.

Thursday was rained out, and we to the Maritime Museum in Newport News. This great museum featured nautical paintings and miniature ships, Monitor and Merrimac exhibits, Chesapeake Lore, Small craft exhibits, even a Sunfish! A few of us gathered over dinner and drinks at a local restaurant to laugh and swap stories. We talked about the whole class and the small successes we have had. It was great to sit and jawbone with the whole enchilada of Bucc’ers, near the Chesapeake, where this country was founded.

Friday brought the last and hardest fought race of the event. It was fantastic. And then it was over. John and Dave, and Dwain and Dave, joined us for a sail to the mouth of the Ware River and into the beginnings of the Bay, on a ribbon of thermal air that paralleled the northern shore. At times, the water was glassy, as though not a stirring of air and yet there was air aloft and we were healed as we skimmed over the glassy water. Out to a fishing boat, then a tack back for the run to the club. Under spinnaker, we saw an osprey perched over her fledglings on a piling. She circled and resettled as we sailed back to the dock for the last time. It was great.

We packed up the gear, stowed the tent, said our farewells, and began to make our way over the mountains to the Midwest and to work.

The event was a success, we felt befriended and welcome, and we lost and won and enjoyed. I really enjoyed myself. When I got home and it was over and I had to go to work again, I was sad. But there will always be next year. I might not have believed it a few years ago, but now I believe.