Birdsongs by day and frogs by night. Crickets calling dawn and dusk. There’s a new treefrog here, an invader from Cuba, with a great galloping fallingwaterdrop of a call. Friday night was good night indeed.
Should wander around at night more often… like Friday night. Managed to avoid going to the bar with the boatyard crew, but after checking my mail and locking up, i spied a group of folks on the sandspit. Seems most every evening, there’s a group of dog owners there at sunset, for bathing, beauty, beverages, and general socialization (for both the two- and four-footed set.
Robin was there with Kailey, and Carl has his new (and tiny!) yellowpuppy rescued from a dumpster. Tracy was there with Roughy, and others with dogs whose names i can’t recall. There was some great conversation, on politics and national identity; seems i’m not in a minority as a dual-citizen here! After some time, the sun dropped stonelike o’er the horizon, and we each began to point ourselves home. A sudden invitation spared me another night of east-coast cable tv, however, as the crew of La Buscadora invited me out for a drink. Or several.
After a short blast in the dingy out through the charter boats hiding in Soper’s Hole, we made it to La Buscadora’s outside mooring. A delightful night ensued, with good talk, good food, and good drink. A great print on the aft salon bulkhead showed a US and British frigate in close action, and it was great to have a couple interested sailors to discuss square-rigging with! Great to find a couple more youngish adventurers here, working their way around the sunny side of the world, going from boat to boat!
Brody managed to weave her way back through the flood of moored charter boats and drop me off at the boatyard dock. I bid her goodnight, and wound my own way home, through the frogvoices, moonshadows, and other rum-fuddled delights of the night.