Riding the marina launch to the recently splashed Karen Marie, I peered through the mooring field trying to get a glimpse of her. My tip-toes found relief quickly when her profile came into view. Her bowed sheer line seemed to smile at me and I smiled looking at the mast, standing vertically for the first time.
Though I had spent months aboard her on land, tending to her brightwork and many cosmetic needs I felt as if I were aboard a totally different boat. Gently rocking back and forth had thrown off my muscle memory as I stumbled aboard and made my way into to the cabin. I would find a flashlight and frantically check her bilge and stuffing box. Seeing both bone dry I breathed a sigh of relief. Cracking open a cold beer I sat with my feet dangling off her stern.
Watching darkness descend on the Newport skyline as the final fiery rays of the day retreating over Jamestown was a sight I have ogled many times before, though it had been a long time (and I mean a real long time) since I admired it from a mooring. It was a moment that was sweeter than the lime in Corona.
I’m glad no one else was out on the water that night, because a man sitting alone on his boat with a goofy grin is sure to give the wrong impression.