The 2012 Killa Flotilla cruised into port last weekend; reminding those fortunate enough to witness our landfall, of those halcyon days of yore, when true sea-farin' men ruled the waves. This year's armada consisted of 20 of the strongest, bravest, most handsome men - assembled from nearly 3 dozen applicants, not all of whom made the cut. As their unquestioned leader, the burdon fell most heavily on my broad shoulders, to ensure each and every one of these seal pups returned safely to the arms of the women they love. As a sign of respect, the men applauded my wearin' of the dayglo PFD, donned only by the sturdiest of river men.
After a modest breakfast (by comparison - more on that later), we launched our crafts into the roarin' Juniata; there were 17 ships in all - 14 kayaks and 3 canoes. We kept the first-timers (nearly a third of the fleet) busy with initiation-like chores; they were barnacle scrubbin', sail mendin', gear totin' and the like, while your Captain remained firmly in control of the rest of the waterboys. 
When at sea, it's crucial to maintain dicipline; making sure the crew knows who's in charge is vital. Sadly, one of the plebes got a little rambunctious, and I had to throw him overboard; but all was not lost, as several of the cry-baby, bleedin' hearts in the crew rescued the unfortunate miscreant. But by now, the tone had been set - under my command, no shenanigans would be tolerated; no further corrective actions were required.After many hours of
Soon enough, all were scurrying about the island, setting up camp at what one of the older salts opined, was the "Augusta National" of campsites. It had everything - plenty of level tent space, loads of dry firewood, and a defensable position, should interlopers set upon us under cover of darkness (more on this later, as well). As the sun began its inexorable descent, I experienced the warm, satisfying feeling that an alpha male in any wolf pack must feel, knowing all his pups are safe and well cared for.
Throughout the evening, the crew blew off enough steam to power several sternwheelers, but as captain, I could not rest; despite hearing the tempting siren's call, I remained vigilant - on guard, ever at the ready. This proved fortuitous, as a renegade band of scurvey laden sailors from another land suddenly appeared on our shore, ostensibly, seeking refuge. Immediately, my years of experience proved their worth, as I assembled a fierce show of force to resist these invaders. They were summarily dispatched, with rancor, and we saw them not again. Peace returned to our island, and the balance of the night passed without further incident.
Dawn comes callin' early when you're on the river. At first light some of the men roused from their grog-induced stupor, and they made their way expectantly toward the fire, like little piglets, they lined up for nourishment in the form of Uncle Speed's River Chow. I provide this for the crew, 
The remaining time on the island was spent packin', cleanin' and, for some, answerin' the call. It wasn't long 'till we were back on the river, charting a southerly course for our final stop. Along the way, your captain provided some much needed navigational expertise, the Xs & Os of sailing, so to speak, adroitly guiding the crafts toward the leeward side of Lady Liberty - avoiding the ship's graveyard that is the water surrounding that bleached edifice. At this point, most of the crew mutinied, and ran their crafts aground at Fort Hunter. It remained for one of the senior officers and me to continue on our charted course for City Island; this we did, and a mere 4 hours later, we reached that golden shore.
So there you have it, me hearties; another KF is in the books. For those of you wondering, my personal watercraft performed flawlessly. Applications have already been received for next year's Flotilla, and they're being reviewed. Until next time, I leave you with Speed's river wisdom: keep the clean side up, and the dirty side down. S'long, mateys.........
