Shawl Bay, August 14-15, 2012: Another Dock, Another Cocktail

Approaching Shawl Bay

Shawl Bay Marina

Our next stop, a short 1 ½ hour ride south, is Shawl Bay, the funky one.  There is no grocery store but there are daily fresh baked pies and cinnamon rolls (raisins, too, too sweet).  The Bead Lady sells jewelry in a tiny shack on the dock and there are a few one room rental cabins plus a Doggy Yacht Club, the now standard 6’ x 2’ patch of grass at the end of a float.

Cabins on the Dock

Leads to Doggy Yacht Club

I decide to make sourdough bread for dinner with some starter I snagged from a fellow boater in Ketchikan in May.  But the starter has now separated, is a funny gray color and my recipe calls for two cups of this goop – the whole thing doesn’t seem right to me.  So I stroll over to the pie lady but she doesn’t know sourdough, only pie crusts.  She directs me to The Bead Lady – her qualifications are unclear and when I meet up with her on the docks, she confirms her lack of knowledge.  But Utsi, a woman on one of the nearby boats, just made some sourdough herself – really, only 15 boats in the harbor, what are the chances of this – and shows me her own starter, similarly unappetizing.  Jill, on the boat next door,  overhears our conversation and chimes in with her take: yes, 2 cups seems too much, no the color is fine.  A group has now gathered, each woman offering her own ideas on the state of the sourdough.  This is my own version of googling since there is no Internet here.

My baking takes me right up to happy hour under the big blue tent decorated with flags.  Everyone participates and the appetizers are amazing and plentiful, there is no need for dinner – you can just segue right into the morning pancake breakfast served daily, in said tent.  But of course, we have dinner with some very tasty hot sourdough bread.  I made an extra loaf which I shared with Jill and Ray who gave me such good baking input.

Happy Hour Here

It’s dark now and even though we have taken Zippy to the Doggy Yacht Club several times, he has turned up his nose at this pathetic strip of dried, overgrown and under cared for grass.  Jill, who used to show dogs, is sympathetic and lets me in on The Official Dog Show Secret:  before dogs go into the ring, they must go potty so as not to drop a pile on the white carpeted stage.  In order to facilitate this  ah, elimination - and here I caution small children to leave the room -   the handler  takes an unlit match - yes, that's right, a match -  douses the tip with saliva (this  step cannot be skipped for reasons I'm not clear on)  and, well, unceremoniously sticks it up the dogs, um, rectum.  This will immediately produce the much hoped for release.

  Jill helpfully brings over several matches.  I demure, as does Zippy.  After several more glasses of wine and a couple more trips to the Yacht Club, Jill offers to accompany us to assist with The Official Dog Show Secret, the match insertion.  I’ll spare all the gory details, but let me say this procedure is best done by a professional – which Jim and I are not, but luckily Jill is.   Zippy now has said unlit match firmly inserted but being stubborn, he merely clenches the match and refuses to go with the flow for quite some time, astounding Jill. Finally, after scurrying here and there, and never on the actual grass patch, he finally gives  in to nature.  The small audience that has gathered applauds and all is well.  Do not try this at home.

Resting Comfortably After the Ordeal