Years ago, 1973 in fact, I was sailing an old Alberg 35 with the new owner around the Cehsapeake Bay with out benefit of an engine. The Atomic 4 had frozen up. Our slip was up Spa Creek just by the bridge. Our SOP was to raft the dinghy along side, and fire up the 8 horse engine when needed to move the "Molly Brown" around in close quarters, or when there was no wind. After returning from St. Michaels one weekend, we were gliding up Spa Creek with a gentle beam reach moving us along at about 2-3 knots. Perfect, who needs the dinghy? Just let her stay behing on her painter. Our plan was to cruise up to the bridge, hang a left, lower sail,[main only, as the genowa was already down] and ease up the row of slips to ours near the end, where I would put a line around the nearest piling and work us around into the slip. My buddy George would manage the helm. And, oh yes, at the end of the slips sitting broadside, was a very nice looking Hinkley, brightwork gleaming. Things were going great, and we were a sight to see from the bridge as folks watched, anticipating this demonstration of seamanship. I was forward as we approached the turn. George threw the helm over,and eased the main, aiming us down the long row of slips. Yachts were sitting gracefully in their births in the warm late Summer Sunday evening. Owners were hovering over their beauties in some of the slips, getting everything shipshape after a weekend of sailing. Just at that moment, however, a strong gust of wind came out of nowhere!! The main filled instantly, and the responsive 7.5 ton Molly Brown took off toward the Hinkley, jealous I guess of its good looks. I went for the halyard, and managed to get the main down, but not before the Yacht had picked up some speed. Too late to turn back into the creek, George suddenly had a flash of geneous, which he failed to talk over with his crew. He would leap off the Molly Brown into the dinghey, throw the outboard into reverse, and save the day. From my position now on the bow, I looked back to see George abandon the helm, make a fine leap for the dinghy, land the dinghy, [very athletic of him] fire up the outboard, gun it, and then, and then, in the exitement, THROW IT INTO FORWARD! The dinghy zipped almost instantly to the end of its teather, went up into the air, and flipped, throwing George as it did the loop. I have a permanently imbedded picture in my mind of the scene. The outboard ran for a few seconds before drowning. George popped up with a look of disbelief. I was now the sole occupant of the runaway yacht headed or the Hinkley. From my perch on the bow there was little I could do. People gathered quickley on the bridge, docks, boats, everywhere to watch us make dissastrous and dangerous fools of ourselves. Fortunately, the gust was gone, the helm slipped to one side a little, and we headed more toward a piling than toward the Hinkley. I was able to kick us off of one piling after another, slowing the yacht in the process. As we approached the end of the slips, one quick minded captain, threw me a line which I was able to snub down, bringing us to a halt. George bought me one of the best dinners I have ever had in Annapolis if I would refrain from telling this story. Mostly, I have been pretty good. I have only told about a hundred or so until now. Capt. Tim "Out There" 91 MacGregor26S