The Discrete Charm of the Chesapeake Dock Bar

Shall I sing the praises of the Chesapeake Dock Bar? A magical place for the end of a long sail, or a day of working on the wayward starboard engine, or just lunch, or the cap off to a lovely day of day drinking, the dock bar is an institution in the sailing community. Seedy or elegant, streamlined or wonderfully ramshackle, it has the power to transform the scruffiest deckhand to landed (or shipped) gentry and your slightly warm bud light with lime into a glass of chateau neuf du Pape '55, at least, for the moment.

In an age when places of grace and beauty, especially for the common man, are few and far between, the dock bar is a standout, and we are fortunate here on the Chesapeake to be bless with a number of the very best.

So what is it that generates this magical aura? There are a bunch of elements to look for in a great dock bar. First of all:

The View or Lack Thereof

One of the great complaints of novice sailors is that there simply aren't enough windows in the cabin. The water is beautiful, one argues, so why can't we see it from in the cabin? This sensibility lasts until the first really long overwater voyage, when the lack of any place in their overglazed galley to get away from . . .well. . .the water becomes apparent. Hours on watch in the endless water and sun takes it's toll, and a quiet place away from the rollers and the baking heat becomes a necessity. A great dock bar gives you both: a wonderful relaxing space with a great view of the water and it's comings and goings, and a bar sufficiently cave-like and sequestered to provide you with a retreat from five days in the weather.

Libations

Here's a matter of taste, but let's be clear: If you can't afford the bar, you won't go there, and if the drinks be swill, you'll find another port. At the very least, there needs to be things on the drink menu that lay somewhere between “I may need to sell the car to afford a second” and “I got a headache the minute she opened that bottle.”

The Crew

The patrons of a dock bar are also a matter of taste. We've all been to the well with a bunch of “Adults with no Inside Voices” dominating the room. I, myself, tend toward the quieter places, but to each their own. A good set of regular local patrons always helps set the tone. You'll know when you walk in the door.

The Barkeep

And of all the elements regulating a great Dock Bar, the being behind that bar is perhaps the most important. A great bartender knows your –or can convince you they do, even if you've never set foot in the door before—can flirt, can chat, can deal with drunks gently and quickly, and all while being unflappably efficient. It's a profession with the combined talents, of chemist, politician, tight rope walker, and used car salesman. Far underrated and underpaid if you ask me, and having been a restaurateur, I know that the person behind that counter can make or break your establishment.

So Where are They?

We on the Chesapeake are gifted with a plethora of rivers and streams, inlets and bays, in which to explore, and each of those is a wondrous opportunity for someone to have turned a mundane dockage into a destination worthy of your time and money. From the Sassafras to the Susquehanna, from the Middle River to Rock Hall, just boot up any decent map program and bring up the bars and restaurants. The choices are almost endless. Each reflect their clientele, and the spirit of that particular port in a storm.

It's summer. Time to go exploring. You'll know the moment you walk in the door if you've found a new home port for the afternoon.

The Summer is Icumen In

The spring creeps up on you on the water in fits and starts. The most miserable weather, with wind and rain and ice and snow suddenly will break into a day or two of glorious sunshine, only to retreat into cold and wet. But the cold gets progressively less cold, and the wet turns from snow to warm rain, and suddenly the nice days on the bay become the rule, not the exception.

Today is one of those days, bright and sunny and not a breath of wind. We're sitting in the cockpit enjoying the sun and a libation, talking about travel, going through “the list” of all the stuff that needs to be done aboard before we set out for any adventuring, knowing full well well go before half it's done. If the motor will start, we could go out today. Once the motor inspires confidence and we've gone shopping. . .Once we've gone shopping and renewed the lifelines. . .Once we...you get the idea.

But eventually, the call of the Chesapeake will get loud enough and my restlessness will be antsy enough that we'll strike a line across “The List” right where we are and we'll cast off and head out. A short trip at first, just to make sure, then something of several days length, something to get used to sailing again, to get comfortable with the feel on the water and a life untethered to the bother and noises of time and the land. Magellan, our redoubtable and somewhat ancient ship's cat, climbs into the cockpit and looks at the docks questioningly. He knows what's coming. Travel is his forte. Once the sails are up and the noise of the motor is done he'll sit next to me in the cockpit watching the water, watching me mess with lines and the tiller. He's been eleven years on the water, and seems to love every moment of it.

Or maybe he picks that up from us. Don't get me wrong, the dock is fine, and we love our neighbors and the marina neighborhood. But the Chesapeake is something else, something special, with something new to discover every single day for those adventurous enough to cast off and go.

So we will, in just a few more nice days and a couple of shopping trips. In the meanwhile though, the sunset is beautiful, the spring is here, and the moment is worth savoring.