Imagine the sound track to Pirates of the Caribbean, surging into dramatic life with the thrum of cellos and violas backed up by bassoons and the deep, soft boom of kettle drums. Violins shift the register a little higher and the pace picks up. Waves of tension build, settle, then build again. Images of the majestic pirate captain standing erect high atop the mast of his gallant ship tease your imagination toward a swashbuckling epic of hero pirates and wilting damsels in distress. Then, ...wait a minute, the towering mast sinks into the bay as the now obviously buffoonish wannabe pirate king, braided and mascara-eyed, steps onto the rickety dock of Dry Tortuga. You wonder what you've gotten yourself into as he strides off into an antic adventure of animate skeletons fringed with rotting flesh and pompous British commodores in hopeless pursuit of romance with clueless maidens, ineptly thwarted by naive boys-grown-men and plotting sea-going naves.

Okay, now you've got me at the Pacific Northwest Cruiser's Party, arriving in Anacortes on a mission to simultaneously get critical chores done while enjoying an increasingly madcap atmosphere with friends and family.

Eva Lombard had planned to arrive on Saturday afternoon to execute her ex-officio Coho Hoho duties in her husband's stead. She'd invited my daughters Lisa and Emily to drive up with her and share the double bed in her hotel room, relieving anticipated weekend pressure on Mabrouka's bunk space and setting up a crazy girls' weekend. Sadly, that silliness went by the wayside when Eva volunteered to come up on Friday to help me sew the new suit of lee cloths. She slept in Mabrouka's quarter berth Friday night and found a bunk on Emerald Lady for Saturday. My crew wasn't to move aboard until Sunday, so Emily and Lisa stayed on Mabrouka Saturday night.

As welcome and ultimately useful as Eva's help was, she attracted an entourage of fellow Hos that set an enjoyably distracting setting in which we'd attempt to get actual work done. My daughters were less of a magnet for visitors and eagerly helped to knock more chores off the list. Most of all, these helpers gained me enough breathing space that I was able to shed my feelings of duty and enjoy the fun.

Crew member, Ed, arrived late Saturday afternoon with an eye patch, pirate hat, leggings and fiancé, JoAnne, on his arm equally bedecked in wenchly attire. A small fleet of Hohoers showed up, too with Lars and Laura from Sail la Vie garbed to the hilt in braids and bandanas and plastic sabers. Other Hos (Apropos, Abby Normal, and Velvet Sky) established less flamboyant residence in nearby slips. Emerald Lady parked right next to Mabrouka, and Andante took up residence in its usual position at party central next to the tented barges that would host the bands and the barbecues.

More and more boats pulled in, most sporting pirate flags and banners, some manned with skeletons and some armed with cannons with which they commenced to blast the days to smithereens. I recognized Bob Bitchin himself as his big motor cruiser turned the corner by Mabrouka's slip and headed down to its place of prominence near the head of the dock. Bob has a long and notorious history as a biker-gone-sailor and was the founder of Latitudes and Attitudes magazine. I haven't researched the whole story, but I gather that business (d)evolved into the present Cruising Outpost magazine, which is the primary sponsor for this pirate melee.

As Saturday afternoon's projects dissolved into the evenings' revelries, we left a few beers in our wakes and moved on to the party tent. Free barbecue lined our stomachs and live music started our feet tapping. Eventually I coerced Lisa onto the dance floor where, in my own clumsy fashion, I spun her around swing-style until I had to rest and let the sweat evaporate from my forehead. I got Kam, a lady-acquaintance from the Hoho seminars, out dancing too where she graciously submitted to being tossed around in front of amazed standers-by.

The evening had worn me out me out by eleven or so, which was later than usual for me, so I must have been having a great time. Lisa and Emily and I removed to Mabrouka and went to bed.

Morning rose for me at a leisurely 6:20am and I moved toward my usual routine, intending to find a quiet place for coffee and a pastry while the girls slept in. Stumbling down the dock through a cool morning that was fuzzy with dew, I found that Gary Peterson, his tricorn hat set on a head that I'm sure was still in a haze from the previous night's party, had gathered Abby Normal's crew on her bow to perform the blessing of the Coho Ho Ho fleet. I'd thought there would be an individual blessing for each departing boat, but soon understood why that was impractical. Gary read an elaborate ritual, citing all the Coho boats' names, invoking King Neptune, and splashing champagne into the bay with each request for indulgence and protection. Gary sought the blessings of the ordinal winds as well with splurps of bubbly north, south, east and west.

Next, First Mate Gay took the honors of cutting the ceremonial dock line, severing the final lubberly restraint to heading off atop the bounding blue. Owners Gay and Brad posed for photos on the bow with crew Natalie and Tolga, then cast off the real mooring lines, backed out into the causeway, and motored out around the seawall that separated the marina from the entrance channel. They were off and I wasn't to see them again until we met up two days later in Neah Bay.

Individual departures were interspersed throughout the morning and early afternoon, with Mabrouka last to go. Each boat would share sips of celebratory champagne among the crew and with King Neptune, hacking a bit more off the ceremonial dock line, posing for pictures, then going on their way.

I went through a version of my morning coffee and commenced whittling a few more little tasks off my to do list when I got back to the marina. One was to lower the Portland Pudgy from the davits and fit the life boat canopy. Lisa helped me drop it down to the water and haul it up onto the dock. Spreading out the canopy and fitting in the air canisters, I noticed something odd, ...there were three sections, one labeled front on the leading edge, one labeled front on one edge and back on the other, then a third labeled front. What? This labeling was intended to be a kind of put tab A into slot A sort of code, but it was all wrong. They'd sent me one middle and TWO fronts. ARRRGH!

Okay, I've described this debacle before, but I just couldn't resist another venting. Anyway, a little ranting and raving over the phone seems to have resolved the issue, so I should just move on.

Jim, Ed and Robert had all taken rooms in the area for the night, so they appeared at the slip in the late morning to stow their gear and help with final departure preparations. After one more provisioning run to the local Safeway, we had to find more nooks and crannies to stow fresh vegetables and fruit, then gathered up the remaining loose ends and commenced our own dock line cutting ceremony.

We cut the line, toasted each other and King Neptune, and posed for pics. Eva, John and Kelly from the cast of Hohoers were there to see us off, not to mention Lisa and Emily. Emotional partings always catch me by surprise. I don't think of myself as subject to such things, but I felt their surge as I hugged my girls goodbye. It's not that there was any expectation of finality in this departure, but the coming physical and temporal distance were making themselves known and I could feel their impending effect.

So I backed Mabrouka out of her slip and turned her toward a course for the Guemes Channel, Straits of Juan de Fuca, San Francisco, and beyond. As I'd expected, the flutters in my stomach at this big step faded, waiting for the next wave of nerves and excitement to build them back to a crescendo.