I could go on for a week about the start of the Bermuda Race — and maybe I will. Honestly, it was a scene, and not an altogether serene scene, despite any/all images of sailing to the contrary.
The spectator fleet was significant. Not to mention diverse. It felt like the whole world was out there: boats from all over (including one that might have had a larger following if the Celtics had fared better last week) and others you might see every day.
A few (just a few) folks opted to watch from Castle Hill, where according to my neighbor you'll find "the preppiest dog scene in the world." I wasn't sure what he was implying at first — turns out he was being literal, as he went on to describe all manner of designer collars and leashes and bulldogs from England with names such as Winston.
But back to the water: it was unruly — like a highway going in every direction simultaneously without the relative order granted by lines. It was also LOUD, given the assortment of vessels under power (on water and in air) and cannons going off at regular intervals to announce the starting sequences. Every so often the Race Committee would come by to push everyone back from entrants heading our way. Other than that, there was nothing keeping anyone from the front of the line ...