BIRDS OF A FEATHER flock together. Throughout the day, local avians scatter to scavenge and squawk at each other far and wide around our lakes and waterways, but as the day draws to a close, some will arrange themselves into formation and take off, and quickly that flapping chaos turns into a precision line or “V”: a cohesive cloud chasing the wind. And every Tuesday in the summer, on Seattle’s Lake Union, local sailboats do the same.
This is Duck Dodge, an informal gathering of sailboats that is part exhibition, part racelike recreational competition and all party. There is no formal organization that runs this gathering, no preregistration and no fees; it exists simply by agreement that those who love to sail, love to sail together. And they have been doing so for 50 years now, every summer since 1974, and always, according to organizers, on a Tuesday.
The sailors come in costume — and sometimes, so do the boats — according to a theme that changes every week: togas, prom attire or characters from favorite films. Usually 60 to 70 boats participate, though on beautiful days, it can swell to roughly 100. At the appointed hour, the boats gather in what appears to be a jumble of rigging and sleek wood and fiberglass toward a single boat anchored in their midst, the “committee boat,” a vessel staffed with eager volunteers whose job it is to record the names and sail numbers of vessels joining in this aquatic jamboree.
Sign-up is completely free, informal, refreshingly analog and distinctly nautical; sailors approach the committee boat and call out names and their preferred heat; the faster boats and the most experienced crews generally start in the first, the slowest in the fifth. Luffing sails glide by each other like cranes with wings outstretched, scoping out rivals and mates, passing back and forth, and calling out greetings and friendly taunts as they sort themselves by skill and speed.
And then, with a honk like a giant mechanical goose, an airhorn signals the start of the first heat, and the chaos quickly and spontaneously transforms into an elegant kind of order as the boats set off around the course, and the tangle of craft becomes a line of sails coursing merrily at roughly 5 to 7 knots.
The event was founded by three fellows: Ron Lloyd, Mike Rice and Bruce Gilbert, and the name Duck Dodge is, according to organizers, a nod to a concern voiced by specific parties back during the early days of the event that such a gathering might disturb the lake’s resident waterfowl. This led to the name and an informal rule that no duck should be made to change its course as a result of their activities. It also means that duck-related monikers abound among the volunteer corps; the year’s informal organizer (currently, one Mike Danger Adams) is known as the Head Mallard; and another as the Mother Flocker; and this summer’s committee boat, a vessel named the Kraken, is referred to as — you guessed it — The Quacken.
This is very much in the spirit of Duck Dodge, where the “prize” for finishing first, second or third in any given heat is that week’s bragging rights and a duck-shaped sticker. Most weeks end with the boats rafting together in a line so the crews can pass freely from boat to boat, sharing snacks, drinks and sailing stories, a party bobbing on the water until the 10 p.m. noise ordinance cutoff ends it for the night.
Duck Dodgers are a merry, open-armed bunch, happy to teach, and delighted to see new faces, and those with an interest in participating but no boat of their own can ask to join a crew via the Facebook page (facebook.com/groups/3556380106) or volunteer on the committee boat as boat spotters, sign preparers or airhorn tooters — fun tasks all.
And if you get motion sickness, you still can watch this ballet of canvas from the houseboats that line the lake, the dock in front of the Museum of History & Industry or Gas Works Park, where the not-so-distant sails dancing together is part Discovery Channel, part regatta and oh-so-very PNW.