We Must Be Rich! By Rich Johnson


and it’s easy to engage in a conversation with perfect strangers who soon become friends. That afternoon, there was a live


band on the grassy knoll just north of the marina. We heard the music and, like mice listening to the Pied Piper, we scurried to see what it was all about. A local band with a name that was something like, “Never Been To Utah,” was warming up the crowd, playing favorites from every decade since the Fifties. They sounded pretty good to me. When Becky and I used to play (banjo for her, guitar for me) in family- style hootenannies at the home of our friend, Tex (no kidding, that’s his name), he used to say, “Hey, if you ain’t good, at least be loud.” Well, the guys who had never been to Utah were loud. Maybe they were even good. Soda pop and barbecue sandwiches


Size Doesn’t Matter After All We launched our boat from the


ramp at John Wayne Marina in Sequim Bay (Washington) and sailed out into the Strait of Juan de Fuca. On an easterly heading, we sailed through Admiralty Inlet and into Puget Sound, then hung a right and cruised into Port Ludlow. It was Labor Day weekend and we were hoping to score an empty slip, but half expecting to find everything filled to overflowing. Becky and I talked about anchoring


out in the secluded bay behind the tiny islands called The Twins, if the marina was full, but we were really hoping to have close access to the shoreside amenities. As we cruised into the harbor, I got on the VHF and called the harbormaster, ‘cause you never know until you ask. “Port Ludlow harbormaster, this is


Three Eagles, over.” “Three Eagles, this is the Port Ludlow


48° NORTH, JULY 2011 PAGE 38


harbormaster,” came her reply. “This is Three Eagles. We’re a


26-footer looking for a slip for the night. Got anything in our size?” A minute passed with no answer.


Then, “Three Eagles, we have a slip for you at B-14.” “Great,” I replied. “We’ll tie up and come to see you.” “Take your time,” she said, “Port


Ludlow, out.” We grinned at each other. Port


Ludlow is one of our favorite stops on our way up and down Puget Sound to various other destinations. To find a slip on this busy weekend was almost a miracle. After tying up and signing in at


the office, we wandered the docks — a favorite pastime — looking at all the other boats, waving to people and occasionally stopping to chat with someone. Boaters are such sociable folk


on hoagie buns were being served under a shade shelter, and people lounged around on picnic table benches, eating and smiling and tapping their toes or gyrating other body parts to the rhythm of the band. We grabbed a sandwich and a can of pop and kicked back to enjoy the mellow sunshine and the tunes. The longer we listened, the better these guys sounded. Pretty soon, I looked over at Becky,


and when I caught her eye I winked. “Wanna dance?” I asked. She winked back, ever the tease.


“Sure,” she smiled. We were the only ones on the grass


dance floor, but we didn’t care. We just whirled and twirled and pranced to the beat of whatever song the non-Utah group played for us. And we grinned big, having the time of our lives. Then another couple, who probably couldn’t stand to see us having so much fun all by ourselves, got up and started to dance. Then another. Before long, the grassy knoll overlooking the marina at Port Ludlow was host to a fantastic fresh air sock hop. The guys who had never been to Utah were in the goove, and played music that brought smiles to the faces of the crowd. We danced a while, then sneaked


away hand in hand to walk the docks again while still listening to the music in the background. The sky started to pink up a bit, and the distant Olympic Mountain range began to glow. A mirror finish on the water inside the


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