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By Capt. Ron Parker —
Spring 2006
SEAFAIR, SEATTLE—The first time I attended Seattle’s annual celebration of maritime history, I was new to the city and didn’t have a boat of my own. To get out on the water for the big hydroplane racing finale to the monthlong cavalcade of parades and pageants known as Seafair, I had to borrow a friend’s inflatable. Into the small open boat I packed my girlfriend, our two brothers (one of whom is 6-foot-4), our dog (a 55-pound Shepherd-Doberman mix), a watermelon, a large cooler, a super-giant deluxe air horn, the required PFDs, a handheld VHF in a waterproof bag, and a large variety of squirting devices. We barely had any freeboard, with water balloons weighing down every conceivable space. Our Jolly Roger flying from a mop handle, we wallowed along barely afloat, our tiny one-cylinder outboard sputtering and groaning in protest.
We were such a ragtag bunch that even the Seafair pirates—a swashbuckling band of sword-swinging, beer-chugging ne’er-do-wells who ride around in an amphibious landing craft-
turned-pirate ship named Moby Duck—looked down upon us with curiosity and disdain. Unconcerned, we continued with our plan to raft up to a friendly boat on the 6,000-foot log boom. Lake Union is too deep to allow for anchoring around the two-mile hydroplane racecourse, so large logs are secured and tethered together to form the log boom. Reservations are required, and space fills up early, even with rates that start at $250.
Trying to dodge the myriad wakes that zigzagged in our path as we headed for the log boom, we eventually succumbed to the fun of being repeatedly swamped. Then we retaliated by deluging the boats with a tirade of air horn blasts, dog barking, and water balloons.
At last, we approached the log boom. Boats of all shapes and sizes were tied up: tugboats, fishing boats, even large motoryachts. Friendly faces alerted to our presence by barking peered down, laughing at our waterlogged crew. Pity eventually got us invited aboard one of the boats.
The view from the top deck of the 48-foot Tollycraft was great. A long line of boats stretched along the log boom, packed with revelers, while across the racecourse brightly colored hydroplanes were being lowered into the water. Later their thunderous roar pierced the morning, and rooster-tails merged as they homed in on the start line. The leaders screamed around the first turn at speeds of more than 100 mph, showering the trailing boats in clouds of spray.
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