Much as I love to see everybody out enjoying their boats, it's pretty
easy to tell which groups are out for their annual "boat ride".

We only went about 20 miles, roundtrip, today. But what a freak show!

There's some sort of Viking festival going on in Ballard, a Seattle
neighborhood that was once populated almost entirely by Scandinavian
immigrants. It's at the west end of the ship canal, on the opposite
bank from my marina. Eastbound through Seattle and into Lake
Washington today,
we happened to meet a runabout loaded with young 20-somethings, and
all were wearing goofy plastic Viking helmets- horns and all. We
assumed they were volunteer beer inspectors for the festival. They
were pretty well up on plane, throwing a huge wake, probably making 11
or 12 knots in a highly patrolled 7-knot seed zone. Worse yet, they
were about to round a point where they would be buzzing across the
dock of the SPD harbor patrol. Not too bright, to say the least.

I opened the portside pilothouse door as they sped past, holding up
five fingers on one hand and two on another- hoping that they would
slow down to 7-knots and not risk a ticket. Maybe they thought I meant
25,-I'm sure they sped up. One of the Vikings in hanging over the
transom returned my 7-finger salute, flashing that punk rock deal with
the pinky and index fingers extended. Sigh..........

We motored on through Portage Bay and out through the Montlake Cut,
where we witnessed some of the worst seamanship imaginable. Another
group of young people, in another runabout, were dodging and weaving
from one side of the channel to the other. They came at our boat from
the port side, and must have crossed out bow at about a 70 degree
angle. The channel isn't that wide, and they were headed for some
derelict pilings.
Without slowing down and apparently without looking they jerked back
across the channel the other way- just in time to narrowly miss a
canoe.
The "skipper" of USS Zig Zag (and I didn't choose that nickname
without full consideration) proceeded to cuss out the innocent
canoeists as he cranked the helm over hard enough to barely miss the
paddlers. As he sped off to meet his destiny, he all but swamped the
canoe with a consderable wash.

A couple of hundred yards later we were treated to some numbskull
bawling out who-knows-who on Channel 16. "Thanks for the wake, you
asshole! Don't you know how to run a boat?" I successfully resisted
temptation to pick up the mike and ask if he knew how to use the
radio; (there's no point sinking to the same level as an idiot).

We motored around a little and stopped in Kirkland, where we enjoyed
good grub at the Irish Pub. Shepherd's pie, soda bread, a pint of
Guinness, some Irish music on the PA system- nice lunch. Strolled
around a while to burn off the pint, and headed for home.

We noted a few more crazy antics on the way back- but just as we
neared the Montlake Cut we observed the same boatload of plastic
Viking horns and helmets apparently returning from the Ballard
festival. Oddly enough, the little runabout was down to displacement
speed, probably no more than 5 knots and without generating more than
a ripple's worth of wake. All aboard seemed infused with a serious
demeanor- a sharp contrast from the party hearty attitude we noticed a
few hours earlier. "What got into them?" I wondered. Just as we
rounded the bend into Portage Bay, I'm sure I saw the answer- the SPD
harboar patrol boat was just getting underway from a dead stop in the
middle of the bay.

Moral of the story- If you're going to be nearly up on plane in a 7-
knot zone, don't rock the water cops' boat with your wake. It's great
to see so many people out for an annual boat ride, but it's a
certified fact that there ain't no cure for the dumber time blues.