Bluebird has the distinction of being the only boat left on its mooring down at the boat club. Yesterday, with mainsail reefed, we went out for the afternoon in gusts of 18 to 20 knots and a more-or-less steady 10 knots the rest of the time.
With the sails raised, I prepared to slip the mooring when I saw a not-quite-mustard yellow boat coming out from the marina breakwater on the Pennsylvania side of the river (the same marina where Robin is wintering.) It happened to be friends Andy and Kathy and their son on an afternoon sail to no place in particular.
I sailed over and said hello, then shadowed them as they sailed upstream on a beam reach flying Genoa alone. Before the lift bridge, they turned around. Their mast is too high to clear the bridge when it is closed. Bluebird can make it under three of the bridge spans easily, so I sailed on up to Bristol, PA, perhaps a three mile sail from the club.
As it happened, Monica was attending a play in Bristol at a riverfront theater, having been invited with a group of women. So I sailed as far as the theater parking lot and then headed back. It was about 3:15 p.m. when I turned, giving me a little more than an hour before the sun set.
Now I was tacking against the wind, but I had the current with me and sailed onto the mooring at about 4:15.
By the time I rowed the inflatable to shore, the sun had set, illuminating the clouds a raspberry red, complementing the lavender gray of their shadowy sides.
Now at 10 a.m. I can see the maple leaves, bright yellow, tossing in a breeze that is crossing the yard, and I wonder whether perhaps I should head down to the river once more.
I hope to sail until the last leaf has fallen and, when I step ashore from the dinghy, ice crystals crunch under my shoes.