“I wish we could buy a place in Rehoboth,” I whined last winter, knowing full well that every cent of our disposable income was tied up in that hole in the water into which we’d been throwing money—our 27-foot cruiser “Bay Pride.” That’s Bay, with a “B” and a wink, for folks who see us cruising the Chesapeake Bay and waving our rainbow flag.
“Why don’t we just move our place to Rehoboth?” the captain adventurously suggested.
And so it began.
On Friday June 30 our four-woman crew left Annapolis and headed up the Bay, past Annapolis and Baltimore to the C&D Canal. By Saturday we’d crossed through the canal alongside huge tankers, ventured out into Delaware Bay and took refuge from a tremendous thunderstorm in the Cohannsey River on the Jersey shore.
Best we can figure, the Cohannsey is noted only for swarms of green head flies. Until we could anchor and retreat below deck, our crew looked like Bogart and Hepburn in the pestilence scene from African Queen.
As we waited out the thunder and lightning, we relaxed in our air-conditioned quarters, cooking shrimp in the microwave and chatting by cellular phone with friends in Rehoboth. Ah, camping.
On Sunday we headed to Cape May, where, to the amazement of an assortment of deep-sea fishermen, our all-gal gang executed perfect docking techniques. Leaving on Monday morning July 3, macho captains all around patronizingly patted their wives heads, saying, “See honey, you can learn to drive the boat.”
Fortunately, we were out of their earshot as we crossed the wide-open bay towards Cape Henlopen and admitted being humbled and yes, a little frightened by the incredible expanse of BIG water. When the Jersey shore disappeared into the mist behind us and we couldn’t yet see Lower Slower Delaware, heebie-jeebies set in.
“Maybe we’ve strayed into the ocean.”
“Maybe we’re heading for Portugal.”
“Is that a Russian periscope or a sea gull?”
Before too long we spied a black and white speck ahead, which, as we gained on it, turned out to be the Cape May-Lewes
Ferry. Our captain’s compass heading had been perfect. We, ahem, knew that.
At the entrance to the canal in Lewes, DE, we phoned our Rehoboth buddies. “We’re here!” I said into the phone to alert the folks who promised to watch us arrive under the Rehoboth Avenue Bridge. “We’re here, we’re queer, get used to it,” echoed all hands on deck.
As we cruised toward the bridge I got my binoculars out. “I think there are three people. No, four. Wait a minute, I think there are more.” At least 10 Rehoboth campers waved at us, blowing noisemakers, waving streamers and taking pictures. We felt like passengers on the QE II.
Unfortunately, a few minutes later it seemed like we were on the QE II—the entrance to Rehoboth Bay got very, very shallow. Only skillful maneuvering by the captain kept us from being skewered by the submerged rocks along the entrance.
By the time we got to the Rehoboth Bay Marina in Dewey, our welcoming committee had arrived, too. Bay Pride, with its rainbow flag flapping in the breeze, its all-woman crew, and its jubilant welcoming committee, caused quite a stir.
Since our arrival July 4th we’ve spent as much time as possible living on our floating condo, enjoying everything about Rehoboth and returning to Maryland “for just a few days” each week.
This past Sunday evening, just as the captain and I zipped up the canvas preparing to “lock-up the house,” a set of grandparents arrived on the pier to watch their nuclear family members on rental jet boats.
Gramps, watching us batten the hatches said, “You girls do all the work and your husbands get to drive the boat!”
“There are no husbands on this boat. Women do the work and women get to drive,” I said.
Granny gave us a “thumbs up.” We love it here.