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Pirate Fest, June 2010 - Put-in-Bay, OH
(Photo: Mission)
Chapter 4th: Speaking of the multitude of things that
happened in the evening including the importance of wrist bands, the
generosity of our sponsors, free eats, an overwhelming number of
reciprocal photo shots, missing the ferry and a night out on the
town. What amazes me is that this journal was planned to be two pages
long with an epilogue and here we are on page four, with no epilogue in
sight. (Ok, it is in sight, but we're still talking about way more pages
than I had originally planned.) It's a good thing I get paid by the word.
You know?
After watching one of our own capture the coveted title of King of Costumes of the Put-in-Bay pirates, which doesn't fit easily on a plaque, we all headed back to camp. Daniel had generously stayed behind to watch the site and this is when he was able to do presentations on my surgical gear. (That's Daniel above left, showing a woman how to look sharp for a prize on the other side of the park.) Daniel had actually arrived sometime in the early afternoon and probably wasn't even around when I gave him credit for being a presented a few pages ago. (So you're getting double creds here. Live it up, pal.) I went back to work at the table, amusing and horrifying the crowds with tales of the ghost of surgeries past. The afternoon turned out to be another nice mix of busy and relaxed, which is my favorite kind of presenting.
(Photo: Trish)
(Photo: Trish)
Shortly after we got back someone finally figured out how to get Mark Gist's
second boat, the Firefly, into the water to go for a tour. (I am
resisting the Gilligan's Island riff here...stay strong...) Trish,
Michael, Sam and Mark thus decided to go and see what could be seen from
the water, probably in an effort to avoid doing any dishes that were left
from lunch. Based on the reports from
the
Santa Maria event in May, the Firefly has been a bit leaky
lately, but this wasn't enough to keep them all landside doing those dishes.
While they were out, they visited the tall ship sitting in the harbor -
The Flagship Niagara, which the website tells me is the "Official
Flagship of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. No, I don't know why it was
at Put-in-Bay either.
Around the same time (I'm guessing by the sky) M.A. d'Dogge and Jay decided to visit the Niagara from the land. So we have a number of very nice pictures of this tall ship that I thought I'd share with you here. Enjoy.
(Photo: Trish)
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 (Photo: Clint Beach) |
(Photo: Clint Beach)
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(Photo: Clint Beach)
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(Photo: Clint Beach)
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(Photo: Clint Beach)
(Photo: Trish)
A truly lovely ship, we leave her with this lush photo taken from the shore
(at left). Meanwhile, aboard the Firefly,
they had long since lost interest in the Niagara. Michael had foolishly
agreed to race for pink slips with the owner of the Amphibicar (as you can see at right). This did not turn out to be a wise choice
as you can also see. Once they got landside, the owner of the Amphibicar
looked the Firefly over and noticed that Mark and Trish were still
bailing water out. Since he had recently had to fix such a buoyancy problem
with his car, he thought he knew what would have to be done to fix the craft
and passed on the pink slip. So Michael learned an important lesson in this
After School Special.
(Photo: T Available at ThinkGeek.com)
Back at the camp, I met some folks of whom I really should have taken a
photo. I failed, but I must tell the tale. Two couples in their late
teens/early twenties sauntered through the site with an appraising eye.
I first noticed the baby doll T that the two girls were wearing (see left).
I called out to them and said, "How do you know?" They both turned
around and the back noted that the cat was alive. Clever girls. They talked
with everyone, asked intelligent questions and were just the sort of
audience you like to have. Turned out that they work aboard the brig Niagara,
so they were history wonks. The more serious girl seemed to
know all about the instruments I had on my table and started explaining
them to me. I asked her if she did a surgeon's impression, which she
admitted she did not. She knew someone who did, though. I gave her the
address of the Surgeon's Journals and suggested she check them out. Her
surgeon friend is named Mea Clift, who used to have her
own Surgeon's Journal called Clift
Notes which is almost entirely unlike my journals. (In other
words, they are a serious attempt to try and re-capture history in
words. You, reader, get this drivel.)
Some time around 5 or 6pm the secret signal was given that the outdoor
activities were over. I knew because the vendors behind us all packed
up their things. I don't know how often they attend events, but based on
the rapidity with which they folded up their shops, I'd have to say it was
pretty frequent. We, on the other hand, took a long time to sort our stuff
out. A local had told us that the city turned on the sprinklers in the park
every night to keep the drunks out of it, so we spent part of our time
debating the wisdom of leaving our gear. Eventually Ty showed up and
verified that the sprinklers did come on every night, but he would see if
they could leave them off for this night so we could leave the Green
Black Sheep and the tents in the park.
Ty also came bearing gifts in the form of wrist bands (below left). The wrist bands allowed us to have breakfast and dinner at Ty's restaurant, Pasquale's Cafe during this trip. (See the link for a teaser about the long and storied history of Pasquale's Cafe.) Someone also told me it allowed us to get into bars. Indeed, it said "Drinking Age Verified" on it (below center), but this turned out to be irrelevant as you cannot get into most bars on Saturday night in Put-in-Bay during the summer without the Jaws of Life. Still, if true, it was a wonderful gesture. In fact, the folks in and city of Put-in-Bay went way out of their way to take care of our crew, supplying us with free ferry passes, a campsite, a golf cart, a place to shower and now food. It was even tempting for me to stay in the campsite just to take advantage of the wonderful opportunity. (Of course I didn't. We can't be getting too giddy here.) As a result of his generosity Ty was rewarded by being the only person on the island to see and hold Lob (below right). Or maybe he was being punished for not providing us with a bathroom featuring gold plated toilet fixtures. You never know what the significance of Lob might be.
(Photo: Mission)
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(Photo: Mission)
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(Photo: Jessica Bagley)
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(Photo: Mission)
Having packed everything into the Bagleys van, we all took the Barneymobile
back to the site. There we sat around dithering until I finally announced
that I was bored. Since dinner was graciously being provided by Ty, it
seemed logical that we should all head over to the restaurant now that the
surgeon was bored.
Unfortunately, the Bagleymobile was stacked to the gills with display crap and what with everyone being so sweat-sodden, nobody wanted to unload it, much less figure out how to park a large white van in town. (Hint: while vehicles can get to the island, once you get there, you're on your own.) So Michael instead decided to take everyone in the Barneymobile in stages. On our trip, we garnered a lot of attention - like the golf-cart load of women at left who giggled and took several photos. It was an exciting drive.
(Photo: Mission)
Michael dropped the first Barneymobile-load of us off and then whizzed away.
Well, 'whizzed' is probably not quite the right term, but he rocked back and
forth in best Flintstone style and then puttered away. Shannon, Trish and I
were left on the sidewalk, where Shannon decided it was a good time to have
a smoke. Having no such addictions, Trish and I scooted into the welcome
air-conditioning of Pasquale's Cafe. A waitress approached, smiled brightly
and said, "Two?" Trish said, "No, eleven." This was
clearly a breach of protocol or something. She called over another waitress
who looked equally confused (at right). So they
asked us to wait. That got dull pretty quickly. I suggested we sit at the
small bar so we could order a cool drink. Being a small island requiring a
ferry to get there, I had been wondering where the wait staff stayed. So I
asked one of them. "We stay in dorms. It's a lot of fun." Actually,
I'll bet it is, too. They do the same thing at nearby
Cedar Point
("The Amazement Park!") I've heard stories...
(Photo: Mission)
While we were at the bar chatting, the second wave of pirates arrived
and joined us at the bar. Pasquale's is a pretty small place and they
were in danger of having their bar overrun with re-enactors, so a
strategic wait-staff planning session was called. It was decided that
they had to divide our group up. Unfortunately, the larger tables were
in the back and the two groups there had decided to enjoy a good long
conversation while cheerfully ignoring the bill sitting right in
front of them. We wound up getting spilt quite far apart with the adult
re-enactors going to one table (at left) and
the boisterous kids going to another (of which I took no photo. Sorry!)
I don't know how the conversation went at the adult table, but at our table we talked a lot about movies and all the women that Sam and Jay were going to entice that night. Of the two topics, the movie discussion seemed more interesting. Jay is currently acting in a movie that's being filmed in Michigan, featuring Wednesday Addams as a woman during the Civil War. He noted that whatever you think of Christina Ricca from movies, she is absolutely magnetic when you meet her in person.
(Photo: Mission)
Following dinner, no one was quite sure what to do with themselves. Since
we had clearly not perspired enough, we all stood out in front of
Pasquale's for awhile. Quickly growing weary of this pointless exercise,
Mark Gist and the girls decided to go check out the air conditioned stores
on the way back to the camp site, thus proving that girls really are
smarter than boys.
Not having been given instructions, we stood around at the corner and tried to look cool. (I can hear that Snoopy song "Joe Cool" even now...)
Right: the infamous boy band Literally Hot and Goofy Pirates. I told everyone that I am the quiet, anachronistic one.
Once we started taking photos of ourselves, we became targets for the amateur paparazzi. I believe every drunk or possibly soon-to-be-drunk women stopped by and asked for photos of themselves with the people pretending to be genuine pirates. This led to so many rounds of reciprocal photography that I feared for my camera's battery life and decided to just pose for them without requiring reciprocation. I have assembled some those I did take below. (After my the adventure of the missing jogger shots from the morning, I was always on the lookout for cougars. I could never decide what exactly made someone a cougar, however, and I finally came to the conclusion that I probably wouldn't know a cougar if one bit me (er, so to speak.) So I gave up on that. For what it's worth, Michael claims the photo below left is of cougars. I'll just have to take him at his word.)
(Photo: Mission)
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(Photo: Mission)
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(Photo: Mission)
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(Photo: Mission)
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We now come to the portion of the Journal where your surgeon stopped taking pictures. I will try to be brief to avoid leaving you with a huge wodge of text to read with no photographic relief, but you know how it is. After wearying of being included in every passing woman's photos, I decided to walk back to the campsite. I found Shannon and Trish there, so we chatted. Other people from our group drifted into camp and there was a lot of discussion about taking showers and going into town. (This makes "going into town" sound like it was an ordeal. It was two blocks away.) I thought about taking shower, but it seemed sensible to me to head back early enough to enjoy my own shower at home. So I remained perspirated while others drifted off to the hotel that thoughtfully provided them with water. As the sun set, the mosquitoes realized that they there was a willing smorgasbord in the middle of their field. The only thinly clothed part of me was my ankles, but that didn't stop the little beasts for having a go (I always knew that they were ankle-biters.) The grey stick citronella candles were lit (see page one for photo), but the mosquitoes only laughed their evil little buzzing laugh and continued to attack. The discussion turned to the efficacy of various mosquito repellants. (See, this is why I usually include lots of photos - the whole journal is actually like this, you just don't realize it because the photos distract you.)
(Photo: Mission)
Mike, Sam and Jay were the first to head out, hot and hopeful on the trail
of the ladies. I later heard that Mike wound up back in camp with someone,
but I don't know how Sam and Jay fared. I suspect their tales might astound
and amaze you. (Whether they'd be true or not is another matter entirely,
but they'd probably astound and amaze you.) I was itching (literally) to ferry
off towards my shower so I announced that I was leaving on the 9:45 ferry. I
said my farewells and wandered off with my bike. Alas, the 9:45 was booked and
the next available was at 11. (I'm not sure why, but it never occurred to me
that the ferry would be fully booked.) The folks in the ferry office were very
nice and they let me leave my bike and backpack there so I didn't have to haul
it all the way back into town. (Also about two blocks.) Once in camp I found
some interest in going into town.
(Photo: Euphemistically borrowed
for the sake
of the monkey)
Town proved to be the place to be. I think they had imported a few people
from Canada so that they could get the bars as crammed as possible. Every
bar on the main drag seemed to have 30 people waiting to get in - and that's
saying something. (Put-in-Bay must have an ordinance that every third building
in town must be a bar.) Peering in the windows proved that they were packing
them in there, apparently using large spatulas to push people into the press
of bodies. We passed by several such places. Of
note, I did spot a light string monkey in a gaudy light palm tree in front
of the Beer Barrel Saloon (see the red arrow in the photo
at right.) I decided to rename this the Monkey Bar in honor of the TV
show Tales of the Gold Monkey, which is now available on Amazon
for purchase. This show features an intelligent,
crotchety Jack Russel terrier with an eye patch and that along is worth
the price of entrance. (Not that I'm suggesting you buy anything here.) But
I digress. Michael, Kate and M.A. d'Dogge decided that it would be best to
go to Hooligan's
Irish Pub. I think this was an effort to make me nervous, because it was
in the opposite corner of the long main square from the ferry. (Much more
than two blocks.)
While Hooligan's was crowded, it was not so crowded that you had to stand in line to get in. Loud live Irish music poured out of the doors as we stood on the sidewalk. You could swim though the tide of people to the bar and procure a drink. So that's what Michael did. He told M.A. d'Dogge he would get him a beer and disappeared. I stood out on the sidewalk, which was conveniently located under a large clock tower. ("Save the clock tower!") I was still nervous about missing my ferry. Some passers-by engaged Mr. d'Dogge in a conversation which he seemed to enjoy so much that when Michael re-appeared, I was able to steal M.A. d'Dogge's Guiness. Before I could get a second sip, Michael insisted that I come back into the bar with him and get a photo of him with "the bucket girls." While you have already noticed the pictures below, I was utterly baffled by Michael's request until I saw them. They were celebrating the girl at left's birthday, apparently by wearing buckets. (Have you ever seen a happier face?) I got through about 1/2 of the beer before I had to leave. M.A. d'Dogge never did make it into the bar while I was there.
(Photo: Mission)
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(Photo: Mission)
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I made my ferry with a bit of time to spare. I picked the same seat I had taken in the morning which proved to be a bad idea. I'd probably have been wiser to sit up top in the open air instead of in the enclosed lower section. I began to think of everyone sitting around me as human heat sinks. I got into a conversation with a slightly drunk woman behind me about "Arr" jokes. (I swear I heard no less than 100 "Arr" jokes on the island.) Explaining that there is no evidence that pirates ever said this word proved hopeless as she sprung two more on me. (I have a theory that in order to enjoy an argument with someone who's been drinking you have to be at approximately the same level of intoxication. It sounds like a fun theory to test, doesn't it?) I gave up on this woman. I blame my irascibility on being coated in a sheen of perspiration and soggy linen. Once back in my truck, bike loaded, hat stowed and air-conditioning blasting, it occurred to me that I was sorry to leave. I had had an excellent time. I look forward to going next year.