"Pick up your bag and grab the shuttle to the docks," my old pal The Skipper says to me on my cell phone while I wait for my luggage at the Logan airport Delta carousel. Apparently there was a change in plans regarding my being met in Boston last Thursday. I had flown in to attend the annual Wienie Roast Fly-In the good Captain and his wife, Betty, throw every summer. It's a get-together for all of their seaplane flying buddies that has become legendary in New England after a couple of decades. I had not attended since 1993 and was overdue for a dose of that clam "chowdah" accent. I don't fly a seaplane but have been high in my living room and am always dependably ready for a good debauch with or without an invitation. I was there and down to clown with the Red Barons and Baronesses of the float plane air force.
The Skip had decided to fetch me from the Boston airport not in a car but in his tugboat the Captain Shorty, a key asset in his New England Harbor Services fleet. A few years ago he purchased the company after retiring from being a full-time captain of ocean going oil tankers. The business keeps him about as busy as he wants to be and is a fine way to be "sort of" retired and out of Betty's way.
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| The Captain Shorty |
Just as he told me to do, I caught the shuttle with the life ring on its grill outside the Logan terminal and was off to the Boston docks. To my relief the Captain Shorty, the Skipper and a crew of two suspicious looking high seas reprobates were there to meet me. Now, past sunset, we were off to the Shorty's slip in Quincy where we would spend the night.
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| "Which way to the marina?" Isn't the captain supposed to be at the wheel? |
I can't say that the Shorty's amenities were all that upscale but it did have running water and a working refrigerator that struggled to keep things cold. I was grateful for the futon provided on board for me and am reasonably certain that I will be able to eventually stand up straight once my back heals in a couple of months. In the morning we hit the road for the Lake Sunapee region of New Hampshire about an hour and a half north of Boston where the Skipper and Betty make their home on Otter Pond in Georges Mills. It's a beautiful place for float plane enthusiasts and a wonderful spot for a party.
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| Inflatable First Mate Lem Motlow |
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| The Skipper saluting the REAL boss |
There was much to do before planes began landing at their dock the next day: chairs and tables needed setting up and multiple trips to the grocery and liquor stores for hot dogs and booze were also on the "to do" list. It was fun to be there to offer helpful hints like: "I think you'll need more booze." and "Do you think 30 bags of Cheetos is going to be enough?" I was glad to be of service.
The big event went off without a hitch. Crowd estimates all hovered around 100 depending on when the counting was done. Toward midnight several of the non pilot attendees from the Skipper's maritime days may have been seeing double and over counted. I can see it will be necessary for me to return next year to supervise. I hope the Shorty is available.
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| A chef prepares |
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| The Skip's nephew flew in from South Carolina |
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| Tube steaks supreme were the star of the show |
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| NO Ketchup allowed! |
1 comment:
Envious! Very!
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