Sunday was the ash scattering. I should not have expected less, but Yet I was still surprised by how many people showed up to send Dory off on the next leg of his journey. It couldn't have gone better. The wind and waves were calm, it wan't cold or foggy, and just a little overcast. I was on Rob's Ranger Tug, "Mud Hen" with Carl and Rob. Many, many Potter Yachters and friends were there with me, all around. I could feel the love and support. I had to wait for some boats (Don!) to move from dead-downwind of me, and then I did it. It was the oddest thing: I was totally calm, almost detached. It felt as if I were operating from remote, hidden in back of my mind like some puppeteer. Whatever it was, it wasn't what I expected, but I'm kind of glad, because it helped me do what needed doing. When I finished, there was nothing to be said, all that needed saying was already said at the services, Carl, Rob, and several Potterers within earshot clapped for me. I feel honored, and loved even more. I don't know what else to say, except "thanks." Thanks for being there, and thanks for the friendship. Hoping for many more years to come.

After I gathered up my things, Rob called out on the radio for a volunteer to take me on as crew for the inaugural Dory Taylor Cup race. Dave Scobie from Sage Marine took me on his Sage 17, hull #1. Wow. What a wild ride, and very instructive. I got to learn how to tack with winches, and got to do some really easy jibes, too. We took third place, led only by a Balboa 20 and another Sage 17, hull #0. Yep, zero. Jerry Montgomery was sailing that one. The cup is an interesting thing, all mirror bits and glass sparklies. I kind of like it, really, it looks neat. I like to say that it's just ostentatious enough to guarantee it comes back each year. Hah! Really, it's nice. I want to see it covered up in names. Unless we install some sort of handicap, it won't ever have my name on it, since I sail a Potter 14. Not an ice cube's chance on a skillet do I have of winning against a bigger boat. Not with my old sails, not with the new sails I need to buy, and not even with the tie dyed canvas sails I dream of having cut and me dying. Not like canvas is for racing, anyways. 

The drive home was relatively uneventful, except when a lady tries to polish my ball hitch. What is it with that thing that is so attractive to small cars? That's the second time someone rams into it, and leaves a nice mark in their fender, only to leave undamaged me driving off, shaking my head. My shins may hate me for it, but I don't ever take that thing off, now. 

Photos of the scattering by Bud Kerner.

The race begins. Photo by Goose Gossman.

This shouldn't be sideways. The Dory Taylor Cup. My photo.

The winners.

Late each year the Potter Yachter officers would discuss via e-mail who the year's Potter of the Year should be. Last year I noticed that I wasn't included in the discussion. That meant just one thing, and I bet Dory suspected it, too. He never got to find out, but yes, he got that year's award. He did, after all, start it all.