So it turns out that a “regatta” is a place where sailors gather for a few days to eat and drink too much. Oh, and race sailboats. I know about the racing because Merriam-Webster says that a regatta is “a race or a series of races between boats (such as sailboats)”. Funny thing is, the dictionary doesn’t mention anything about eating roast meat or drinking beer, rum, or wine, which I thought strange since there was an awful lot of these substances being consumed in the big tent in the evenings. It seemed a pretty important part of the event from where I stood.
Now you might be thinking I just heard about the activities at the big tent but, oh no, I was there. Me. A dog. At the parties. Meeting the people. Snacking on bits of roast pork that had found their way under the picnic tables. Best time ever! Even Logan had a good time. Well, until someone started taking photos with a flash and he thought it was lightning. He started shaking and trying to wedge himself between people’s legs. I wasn’t afraid. I knew it was just a camera and I WAS AT A PARTY!
We missed the party on the final night but we did hear the singing from our campsite — What shall we do with a drunken sailor — catchy tune, a whole crowd singing, and apparently at least one drunken sailor dancing on the picnic tables. Probably best we weren’t there. The table dancing might have freaked Logan out.
T and Nollind’s sailboat’s name is Reggae. We saw her at home, then she disappeared behind Sid the fifth wheel, and then there she was again when we got to Kinbrook Island Provincial Park on Lake Newell. I didn’t get a chance to ride on Reggae but that’s okay because it looked to be a pretty rough trot. The wind blew strong all day on Friday and T and Nollind were banged up when they got back to the trailer. Nollind was even worse after the party on Saturday night, something about boats breaking free in the storm that blew through at dinner time and Nollind being part of the rescue crew. His leg was bad enough that T took him to the emergency in Strathmore when we got home to make sure it was okay. Despite the bruises and missing hide, they seemed to enjoy the sailing, but I think I’ll stick to truck and Kubota rides.
T took us for walks along the Marsh Trail in the mornings before they left for the day’s races. Birds! There are so many birds and so many kinds of birds in that park. If you are a birder, I highly recommend it. I’m a bit of a birder myself but T didn’t let me get close enough to get a good look. And, in addition to the bird life, on Sunday morning after the storm, there were snacks all along the trail, crunchy little pieces of some kind of creature. T took one from me to inspect it and said it looked like a little crab claw. She Googled it when we got home and turns out they were claws from crayfish. Whatever they were … very tasty. I do love seafood.
Even though we didn’t see the racing or go on the boat, I felt we were part of the team, and our team placed 2nd overall and was the top Canadian boat in the regatta, the San Juan 21 North American Championships. We were pretty excited when they brought the trophy back to the trailer on Saturday night. Even though it was late, they took us for a celebratory walk all around the campground, I think to make us feel like part of things.
Sunday there was supposed to be one more long race but it was cancelled due to lack of wind. Can’t say I was disappointed — it meant a longer marsh walk and the peeps being back at camp earlier. I would have been happy to spend a few more days exploring Kinbrook Island but we were packed up and heading out around 4 o’clock on Sunday. We were home by supper and tucked in for an evening movie. Well, T and Nollind and Nat and I did. Logan doesn’t like movie noises so he was upstairs on the couch.
A dog’s definition of a regatta? “A wondrous place where dogs are included and fussed over and fed well.” I hope we go to another one soon. And thanks, Newell Sailing Club for being so dog-friendly!