With that succulent bird basking before us, it didn’t take long before plates started clanging, corks were popping and knives were pulled from their sheaths. Yes, we keep them in sheaths. We’re sailors, remember?
See? She is totally a sailor. … Totally.
I whipped my sea-gull carver out of its holster and went to town on that turkey.
I severed every single morsel I could off of her while the crew hauled the patio table in from the balcony (very classy) and set us a royal feast.
We snapped a few fun shots on the deck and toasted the sunset while the last of the Thanksgiving goodies were baking.
And, I can assure you none of us was donning anything that could be remotely considered a “skinny jean” for this meal. Calories don’t count on Thanksgiving – or so I’ve been told. Only stretchy pants and elastic waistlines would do for this crew. And, if what they say about turkey is true, it certainly worked on Phillip and I:
Within fifteen minutes of dinner, we were out. (Although, it seems the turkey myth has been busted! Apparently, they now believe it’s actually a combination of booze, bad conversation and boatloads of carbs. Well, we had all of that too, so … who’s to say). We were sleeping soundly, with little wishbones and sweet potatoes dancing in our heads. And, John Besh. He was definitely dancing through mine. It was a great meal, spent with a great group and was a nice change of pace from the quiet little dinners Phillip and I had been cooking up on the boat during the voyage. But, we were – as always – ready to get back on her. We spent one more night on the pull-out at the condo, ran eight more loads of laundry (including the curtains) and started readying the boat the next morning for the last leg of our Thanksgiving Voyage.
We waved goodbye to our sail groupies, tossed the lines and headed back out toward Wolf Bay.
Dinghy in tow.
The wind was blowing about 25 knots that day, though, and it was some tight maneuvering through the ICW, so we couldn’t raise the sails for the day’s jaunt. We had to motor, but I shot some Pulitzer-worthy footage of us braving the wind and weather that day.
Video here. A Chilly Happy Holidays!!
The sun was out, though, which meant the temp was decidedly tolerable, and we weren’t suffering from frozen phalanges and snotsicles. This time. We motored from The Wharf back to Fort McRae and decided to drop anchor at one of our typical haunts, Red Fish Point (just west of Fort McRae), to enjoy one more peaceful night on the hook.
We curled up with some books and a few choice cocktails and took in our last sunset of the trip.
Great view of the pink horizon from inside the boat:
Although we had been out there ten days, it seemed to fly by. I couldn’t believe the trip was coming to an end. Getting a bit sentimental, I even made Phillip suffer through a shamefully embarrassing “selfie” to memorialize the event.
And, for those of you unfamiliar with the term:
A picture taken of yourself that is planned to be uploaded to Facebook, Myspace or any other sort of social media networking website. You can usually see the person’s arm holding out the camera, [or a shadow of the camera itself] in which case you can clearly tell that this person does not have any friends to take pictures of them so they resort to find internet friends on whose pages they can post pictures of themselves, taken by themselves.
Ouch. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that doesn’t apply to us. All evidence to the contrary (i.e., me, posting a selfie on the blog), we do have a few real friends. But, the term was apparently awarded the high honor of word of the year in 2013, with the best selfie shot going to this chick:
Who totally earned it with that heroic display. Click!
It even appears our esteemed president finds himself in the ‘selfie’ mood on occasion.
After our selfie shoot wrapped and the sun set, I got creative and baked us up one last Thanksgiving treat – some fresh homemade pumpkin bread.
A box mix is still considered homemade, right??
It was delicious regardless and we savored the setting, the silence of the evening and the sanctuary of our last night on the boat. And, as it usually happens, the best is somehow inexplicably saved for last. The very last day of our 10-day ‘voyage’ turned out to be the best sail we’d had since the last leg of the Gulf Crossing. And, I’ll bet when I start to say “another great day of sailing on the Plaintiff’s Rest … ” many of you glaze over and check out, and while I get it. I do. At the same time, I hate it for you. I know it’s just because you don’t know how freeing sailing really is. I hope, with this blog, and my meager words, over time, I can change that. I can give you a glimpse of what sailing means to us. At the very least, I can try to take you along with us, transport you, plant you right there in the cockpit beside us, one hand gripped tight around the Jenny sheet, the other wiping a splash of salt water from your face, as you watch the sails pull taut and get that roller coaster feeling in your gut when the boat heels over. Hold on to your drinks kids, we’ve got plenty in store.