Island Light and Cambridge. It isn't a question of
where to go, but how much time you have. [February 2006]
I peer around the dodger, straining for signs of change. On the first leg of our two-week tour of the wide open Choptank River, we've anchored inside keyhole-like Cambridge Creek below the drawbridge, in about the same spot we had been five years before. On this August afternoon, as then,Strider
stands alone in a harbor that a century ago would have been packed with working skipjacks. Now, a palisade of condos flanks the bridge, filling space once occupied by canneries, and only the skipjack
rests against the public bulkhead alongside the Dorchester County municipal building. Despite a plethora of private slips, only a few pleasure boats nod about.
Clambering through the companionway into the cockpit, my husband Randy scans the harbor. "See what's missing?" he says. I follow his gaze and feel a twitch of disappointment. Another piece of shoreline in the southwestern corner has been transformed: The old fuel dock/gas station is gone. It had been wedged between street and water, and cars used to idle on one side while boats sidled up to the other. In its place is a narrow freshly seeded lawn, shadowed by an adjacent highrise, empty and waiting for whatever stage of development comes next. Farther upstream I see raw clumps of clay—the site of another new condo—and more Tyvek-covered housing sprouting where a small marina once stood. I feel a little better whenStrider
swings 90 degrees toward the old brick patchwork building on the other side of Snapper's restaurant. There a couple of watermen aboard the sleek deadrise
are tidying up after depositing a cargo of crabs at the J.M. Clayton Company, a family business that's been picking and packing crabs since 1890. After decades of boom along the dangling peninsulas north of the Choptank, economic revival has finally crossed the river and hit this Choptank town. The local tourism office has been saying it for years: "Discover Dorchester," referring to Dorchester County, which laps the southern edge of the Choptank from its mouth to Hunting Creek, well upriver from the Malkus Bridge (Route 50). Our view from the cockpit would suggest that people have discovered it indeed, and are fueling this surge of development along the shore of Cambridge Creek. In spite of the influx of condos that will alter the skyline, I hope that the courtly traditions and slower-paced lifestyle on this side of the river won't change too much.
Randy and I have chosen Cambridge for the start of a two-week meander around on the Choptank River. We've been here before, many times, but this time we want to linger longer in some of the places we found intriguing on other visits. We can swap sail time for more shore time by staying within the confines of the Choptank's wide open mouth (besides, our tall mast can't get past the Malkus Bridge). Within this small piece of Bay geography, we can sample just about everything the Bay has to offer, from the traditional waterman's community along Knapps Narrows to the quiet streets of Oxford and the city-like thrum of Cambridge. We can even get to St. Michaels. If we tire of playing tourist, we can drop the hook in any number of breathtaking anchorages and just relax.
Now, however, we are ready to dinghy ashore and stretch our legs. I want to replenish the galley, so I head for a shop owned by Carol Levy, a woman I had met before at a boater's potluck at the Cambridge Municipal Yacht Basin. Originally from Philadelphia, Levy opened A Few Of My Favorite Things in 2003 after buying the vacant building and tackling much of the restoration herself. Then she shaped herself an upscale apartment out of its long-neglected loft. Like an old-fashioned shopkeeper, she walks downstairs each morning to purvey her utterly contemporary specialties: cheeses, wines, chocolates and other edible and nonedible kitchen goodies.
Since these are some of my favorites, too, we become even better acquainted while I sample delectables from her shelves and showcases. In fact, Carol is slicing a wedge of aged Gouda when I mention that Randy and I will take it with us on our cruise. Her animated face rotates toward me, anticipating some ambitious and exotic plan, but our itinerary just causes a pronounced posture droop. "Two weeks in the Choptank? But once you leave Cambridge, you have . . . what? Oxford and then Tilghman. Can't you just zip in and out and see them in a couple days?"
That was one thing we didn't have in common. I'm a dawdler who can't even zip in and out of a Quick Stop. My dilemma would not be running out of places to go, but rather squeezing them all into two short weeks.
With Cambridge's infusion of verve and esprit de retail, things are starting to change, but I hope the town won't lose its Mayberry feel. Boys still pedal bikes from neighborhoods to the waterfront, one hand gripping a fishing pole against the handlebar. Local residents who know your name respectfully address you Southern-style—even in phone messages like the one I recall from the local West Marine: "Miss Diana, your cabin light is in." Genteel evening waterfront promenades, with or without dogs and babies, thrive here, too, and nods from the cockpit usually turn small talk into introductions.
Admittedly, many of the people you'll meet in Cambridge are come-latelys, but they are the catalysts for the Cambridge renaissance, the dusting off of old storefronts and dog-eared Victorians—especially along High and Race streets, now full of new shops and avant garde eateries. This isn'talways
a good thing, and as I approach the corner of Race and Gay streets I wonder if I will see the little eatery called Doris Mae's, a nondescript and slightly seedy place that has occupied that piece of downtown for a quarter of a century. When I first discovered it years ago, the grimy building, with its ceramic poodles and mallards arranged along the windowsill, looked less than inviting to a newcomer's eye. There was no upscale signage, for example, and the uninitiated passerby was more likely to walk past without venturing inside. Now as I head in that direction, it occurs to me that owner Doris Mae Todd may well have cashed in on a lifetime of home cooking and turned her corner cafe over to some passing gourmand. With relief, I see that the ceramic figures are still there and it looks as if the place is still going strong. I step inside the door and savor pure Americana: Doris Mae herself is there behind the counter, still dishing up breakfast and lunch—"real food," she calls it, fresh and from-scratch. I bury my nose in the aroma of her fresh coffee and wonder why people bother going to Starbucks.
Late in the afternoon of the following day, the next leg of our cruise takes us just barely up the river. We've timed our departure from Cambridge not so much to catch the tide as to snatch an unobstructed view of the sun setting against the Western Shore. Our first waypoint is just seven miles away: Choptank Light. This unattractive but serviceable metal sculpture replaced a charming cottage-style screwpile lighthouse that stood here until 1964. We had learned that a replica of the old light will become the centerpiece for the Cambridge Munici-pal Yacht Basin's ambitious expansion (including a new fuel dock) in 2006.
We swing past the light and let our chartplotter guide us in glassy-smooth twilight toward vast but shallow LeCompte Bay where we drop the hook in a mere 81/2 feet of water. This is a fairly exposed anchorage, but we've got good weather ahead of us, and the quiet stillness holds us in thrall as the stars come out and the water becomes their mirror. The next morning, all that surrounds us are jumping fish, alert osprey and a putt-putting waterman as we putStrider
on a 12-mile course for Tilghman. We pass Castle Haven, catching a glimpse of its mansion in the trees and wondering about the long wharf and large white building on the east side of this landmark promontory. As early as 1690, a ferry traversed from here over to Chlora Point on the Talbot side, where today we see only riprap and thick trees. Perhaps this is the old steamboat landing, one of scores built along the Choptank and its tributaries, when Tidewater rhythms were set by soot and schedules, and never-ending comings and goings of produce and passengers.
By noon we are anchored near Tilghman's Dogwood Harbor and have dropped the dink to motor into Knapps Narrows. Tilghman Island's history reveals a halting development since it first appeared on charts, circa 1659, as Great Choptank Island. Now the demography, livelihoods and lifestyle here are again verging on change. What began as a waterman's community shortly after the Civil War has more recently given way to weekend homes belonging to pilgrims from the Western Shore and Pennsylvania. New houses occupy long empty farm fields, and the waterfront hums as much with pleasure boats as it does with the workboats of commercial crabbers and charterfishing captains. Following a small white deadrise,Miss Murphy
, we thread the needlelike waterway of the Narrows, between docks full of boats—old, new, some nameless, some with names scrawled by unskilled hands, all reflecting various prosperities and propensities—and against a steady stream of recreational vessels coming from the Bay. On both shorelines, decks with colorful umbrellas, planted in rows like mammoth zinnias, await offloading weekenders.
We motor under the drawbridge—one of the busiest in the world, they say—past Fairbank's fuel dock crammed with inactive clam-dredgers and the proud bows of theCrow Brothers
buyboats. Looking for a light lunch, we take a spot at the Tilghman Island Inn, where guests relax in Adirondack chairs on the green in front of sumptuous suites, and a combo tunes up for Saturday's crowd. From the shaded deck we watch a scene somehow peaceful yet disturbing. Between us and the marshy shore opposite, a persistent parade of boats struggles by as the current makes the view and summertime congestion all the more interesting.
Any lingering doubts I might have about how much of the 21st century has come to Tilghman are put to rest by the chilled soups we choose from the menu: a tangy and decidedly nontraditional crab, and an asparagus soup garnished with a probably-not-local, plum-sized raspberry. Randy and I decide to go our separate ways and join up later at Harrison's Chesapeake House for their "no apologies, lots of butter" dinner. I head toward the road for a walkabout, and Randy revs up the outboard to assist someone who had run aground.
Not so long ago, Tilghman seemed content to be disregarded by the mainstream. The island was a rare out-of-the-way stop for adventurous voyagers and cultural voyeurs. There's still much of that atmosphere remaining: Locals still wink at inside jokes and slump cliquishly on the bench at the Fairbank's gas station, and Harrison's Seafood still hugs its spot just east of the bridge. But the come-heres now outnumber the natives and tourism is going strong. Minivans and motorhomes clog the only north-south road, with only occasionally a refrigerated seafood truck among them.
I am intrigued by some unusual three-corner houses I see as I walk along the quiet neighborhood lanes. Just past Dogwood Farm's self-service produce market (vibrant vegetables and an honor-system metal box) I find another one of the unusually shaped homes with three gables. Two brick chimneys stand like candles on an elegantly simple, gleaming white cake. A smidgeon of gingerbread trims the front-porch eaves. The building's unifying feature is a central gabled-section with wings angling toward the front along both sides, nearly enveloping the main entry. Wanting to learn more, I continue south toward Wharf Road and stop at the Corner Market, where the only two people there, lifelong islanders, shake their heads apologetically when I ask about this peculiar architecture. Outside, an apron-clad artist glances up periodically at the store, one of the island's oldest buildings, while dabbing her brush on a small canvas. Did she know about the three-corner houses? The artist, Nancy Davis, a former lobbyist from Howard County, says no, but we begin to chat. She is closing soon on a weekend cottage here. I glance at her nearby Subaru Outback, whose bumper-stickered opinions are diametrical to those pasted on the two large pickups on either side, and wonder how the new gentry, fresh from the city, will be received in a hamlet where blood and livelihood were once the major bonds.
By the time Randy and I meet up again at Harrison's over a tray full of crabs, I have found four more of the three-corner houses, the last one unexpectedly while walking along Wharf Road minutes from our rendezvous. There a breathless woman had run up to me waving a one-use camera. "Would you please take our picture? We just bought this place." She sprinted up the brick walk toward a white-framed house, impeccably garnished in green with three distinct gables. A grinning Pat and Bill Clark gave me a full tour of the unique and sunlit interior of what they called their Tilghman House. "We were on a weekend getaway and just fell in love with it," Pat explained, showing off its museum-quality 1950s era decor: prim black-and-white kitchen, pink- and gray-tiled baths. It will be a second home for the Potomac, Md. couple. When I asked about previous owners, Pat pointed out the kitchen window, beyond the backyard. "One's buried right over there." I saw a small headstone gracing the yard and wondered what it would be like to live so close to a grave. A little creepy, I had to conclude.
We leave Tilghman and motor up Harris Creek the next morning, past a windmill that is marked on our chart. It is not the stout romantic one I envisioned, but a narrow and functional-looking skeleton. (I was hoping for something more akin to Spocott Windmill on the Little Choptank River.) We anchorStrider
in the middle of Dun Cove while we explore by dinghy the lush solitude of shallower spots upstream where modest and grandiose residences are interspersed along the shoreline. We decide to stop at the sleepy, deeply shaded community of Sherwood, since I'd heard that two of the three-corner houses are there. The only soul around is a green heron, unaccustomed to tourists. He has staked his claim to the long narrow public dock and is fishing from the gunwales of several idle skiffs. We stroll past him and up the narrow streets of Sherwood. Modest homes sit next to the roadway leaving little space for pedestrians, but there's no automobile traffic as we wander.
The community—a single neighborhood, really—offers nothing majestic or new, just tree-shaded yards and comfortable-looking porches. Old cars or boats are tucked away in almost every nook and cranny. Laundry hangs from a few clotheslines. An old general-store-turned-antiques-shop sits next to the main Tilghman–St. Michaels Road, but we don't go in. We find the two three-corner houses I'd heard about, but they are unremarkable in themselves, and I'm beginning to feel frustrated at not being able to learn any more about them. We wander back to the dock. The heron croaks disgustedly, temporarily abandoning his vantage points, until we've climbed in our dinghy and chugged away. We haul anchor and turnStrider
south, then east to Broad Creek, passing trot-liners and chicken-neckers, and reset the anchor at the mouth of shallow Balls Creek. As the gull flies, it's less than three miles from where we've just been, but we log nearly eight as we navigate well beyond Nelson Point and around green "1".
Wednesday morning we are on our way up Broad Creek to San Domingo Creek and St. Michaels. With afternoon thunderstorms in store, we figure that tucking ourselves into the sheltered water near red "14" will be perfect for the next few days. I keep scanning the shoreline with my binoculars, nursing the fantasy that I'll find the seat of some important family on these thickly shaded shores. Vice President Dick Cheney has a residence hereabouts, [see "No Fly Boys Here,"Channel 9
, page 17] and Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld now owns the estate called Mount Misery. The politicos have chosen well, I suppose. These waters are no stranger to powerful people, but centuries have whittled wharves into spindly black spikes, and foliage obscures old brick homes with names like Haphazard and Crooked Intention.
This is the "back way" into St. Michaels. Look for the public landing at the foot of Chew Avenue, where workboats and dinghies line the sides of an old wooden pier. There's not a lot of depth up close, so we stay well off in the deeper water near the channel. The long-but-scenic dinghy ride from there into town is just as we remember, and we find an out-of-the-way spot on the dock to tie up.
St. Michaels has an interesting geographical claim: It occupies a tapered twist of land lapped by the waters of two major rivers. On the Miles River side, Navy Point crawls with boats and people; on the San Domingo side, by contrast, life itself seems to crawl. The walk into town is a pleasant, civilized approach. Randy and I meander through a shade-dappled waterside park with quaint wooden gliders, then turn left toward Chestnut Street, ringed with old-time street lamps and neatly renovated houses.
Though merchandising meccas aren't my cup of tea, I have to admit that flag-infested Talbot Street looks cuter than ever. And getting lost among the relics and replicas of the ever-more-amazing Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum is always a worthwhile way to spend a day. That done, I wonder if real estate folks along Talbot Street know anything about those Tilghman houses. No luck. In the library, Ted Cutler, who moved to Tilghman two years ago from a much farther western shore (Colorado), was curious, too. "You mean the M-houses?" He delves into the local history section but finds nothing.
With the house mystery still unsolved, my afternoon ends in the Carpenter Street Saloon, where I meet Randy. Foliage spills over the brick sidewalk out front; patriotic bunting underlines each window. But inside, unframed photos and business cards are still tacked to the wall, giving the place the same uncontrived charisma I liked about it years ago.
Randy is at the end of the bar near the vault. The 1880s building has been a bank, drugstore, newspaper publishing office and phone company. Now the old strong room is an office and drink cooler. Randy sips Fordham's Oyster Stout and munches back-fin skins—potatoes with a thick layer of crabmeat. I chat with tavern owner Diana Mautz over a glass of wine. We share something besides our first name: She has sailed the Great Lakes, too. After 34 years here, Diana and her dentist husband are considered successful transplants. But she's seen a fair share of "come-heres" that didn't "take."
"The trouble with newcomers," she says, "is that they always start rearranging the furniture."
After our quiet sojourn in St. Michaels—a spate of thunderstorms notwithstanding—we enjoy a leisurely sail back to the river and into Irish Creek, a sedate little gunkhole on the Choptank's north shore. The next morning we head for Oxford, just inside the Choptank's first major tributary, the Tred Avon River.
Oxford, whose fortunes rose and fell with tobacco, was once a business and political center but is today so quiet you can hear a cotter-pin drop. And those who have moved into the old homes, with prim and proper porches and picket fences, have steadfastly resisted anything that would disturb that. They still, however, will politely receive what arrives by water.
We anchor in a small bay north of Bachelor Point in about 12 feet of water with good holding, so Randy can shuttle me and my bicycle to the nearby marina's dock and I can pedal into town. Aside from new construction on the fringes of town, the core is movie-set perfect. Unlike St. Michaels, whimsy is not so easy to find here. Instead, Oxford's few storefronts display more sedate services—like financial planning and real estate.
I walk my bike so I can savor the pitted-brick, sometimes-heaving walkways and the boxwoods almost bumping against porch tops. Inside the tiny but worthwhile Oxford Museum I meet resident Tom Collier. "All the old characters are gone," he says, referring to some of the town's long-familiar faces. "Miss Louise [Willis], she had the store here. She died a few years ago at a hundred and three [years old]. Everybody has a Miss Louise story." Collier arrived in 1980 when he bought his house for $18,000. "I asked the realtor for the keys and he told me, 'There are no keys.' " But that changed, he says, when aWashington Post
story spread the news that no one locked their doors in Oxford. "We all had to go out and get keys then." He likes the security of living on a peninsula that's nearly an island. "There's only one road in and out," he says. "Troublemakers can't make a getaway."
Easterlies had picked up and were clocking around to the north, so we moveStrider
two miles up the Tred Avon River and into the pastoral protection of Plaindealing Creek, named for the Quaker merchants who first set up shop on its shores. The anchorage is well protected and we spend a tranquil night. By Wednesday morning we are backtracking down the Tred Avon. Conflicting lore keeps the river's original name a mystery: "Trade Haven" or "Thread Haven" for its industries, or "Third Haven" because it offered sanctuary to uprooted Quakers who ultimately established the Third Haven Meeting House upstream in the town of Easton. Spelling variations over the years are almost as numerous as its winding creeks. The river offers plenty of room for sailing, and weekend regattas—including Chesapeake log canoe races—are a weekend norm. But we have to watch for the Oxford-Bellevue ferry that cuts across the channel between Oxford and the landing at Bellevue, where a boat ramp and, often, a headboat or two, keep the wharf busy.
Continuing upriver on the Choptank, we soon turn into La Trappe Creek where we'll spend our last night on the hook. Just inside the mouth of the creek is one of the most popular and scenic anchorages on the Bay. Its primary attraction is an inviting but privately owned spit of sand, where rowdy revellers have inspired a thicket of no-trespassing signs. At the headwaters of the creek—a long and scenic way past largely rural landscape—is the old Dickerson boatyard where the popular Dickerson ketches were built during the late 60s. We split the difference and anchor about midway up the creek where we watch a cloudless sunset melt into a deep purple indigo. The next day we head back to a slip at the Cambridge Municipal Yacht Basin for one last visit.
The town clock peals noontime as I walk toward Doris Mae's corner of Race and Gay streets to meet friends for lunch. And opening the door, I see Doris Mae glance up and smile, looking fresh despite having hovered over the griddle since dawn. From my springy seat in the booth next to the poodles and mallards, I survey the scene. The antithesis of modernity, her place isn't all chocolate-box pretty like her new neighbors; chilled soup isn't on the menu and acrylic pepper-grinders haven't found their way inside. Doris Mae tells everyone she'll work at her business another 24 years, retiring before she hits 100.
I reach out idly to touch the scoured tabletop before me, as if I can rub off some of the staying power that feels so comfortable here. Randy and I have winged around the Choptank and seen a lot of changes since our first sorties here. Some are welcome and refreshing, but I'm glad that enigmas remain—like those intriguing Tilghman houses. History leaves its mark, always. We may not know how to read it or what to make of it, but it's there, indelibly stamped below the surface. Here in Choptank country, a river threads through it all, and leads to stunning sunsets or glorious meals or new-found friends. Take your pick, but if you can, stop and smell the coffee at Doris Mae's.
Cruiser's Digest: Choptank River, Md.
The wide mouth of the Choptank River covers about three square miles of open water. Tilghman Island marks the northern lip of the river's mouth, Cook Point marks the south. West of Cook Point, in the open Bay, the Sharps Island Lighthouse leans precariously, like the Bay's own Tower of Pisa. The island it once marked sank beneath the Bay long before the polar ice caps began to melt, and shallow-draft recreational boats now fish in its shadow with impunity.
Boaters coming into the Choptank from the south slide past Sharps Island and enter the river at the flashing red "10" bell buoy off Cook Point. Boaters with 5 feet of draft or less generally opt to squeeze through Knapps Narrows. This passage can be nip and tuck, depending on how recently it's been dredged (eight years ago, we're told). According to the folks at Knapps Narrows Marina, the channel was supposed to be dredged again last year, but it didn't happen, and no one knows if or when the project will be rescheduled. Meanwhile, the marina berths a 6-foot draft vessel that regularly goes in and out of the Narrows, but the captain is cautious and tells us he stays carefully within the narrow channel—especially on the west side of the island, where the channel enters the Bay.
Regardless of how you get there, once you're inside the river, it's smooth sailing—literally. This is one of the finest stretches of sailing water the Bay has to offer. The Choptank here is deep and wide, with none of the shallow patches that can bring a boater up short—provided he's paying attention. The creek necks often throw out long underwater fingers that demand respect, but they are well marked. Study your chart before heading in. You'll see skipjacks at work here, as well as traditional log canoes at play. There are still a good number of commercial watermen in this area; watch for their trotlines.
The north rim of the river offers several popular anchorages. Dun Cove, on Harris Creek just above Knapps Narrows, offers good holding in sheltered water. Farther up the creek is the community of Sherwood, where you can dinghy in to the public dock and stretch your legs on its quiet streets. If you're up for the walk, you can make your way to the restaurant at Lowes Wharf, about half a mile away overland. Broad Creek offers plenty of interesting gunkholes, beginning with Balls Creek and the village of Neavitt (there's a public launch ramp). Edge Creek branches east just below Hambleton Island—known locally as Willeys Island (now islands). You'll have to tuck around these islands in order to get into San Domingo Creek and St. Michaels. While the islands are now completely separated, you still need to goaroundthem, not between them. No short cuts here. Irish Creek is a pleasant sheltered anchorage, but it is fairly built up and may not afford the privacy you'd want. Island Creek is worth the effort, but the entrance is tricky. Try to follow someone in. La Trappe Creek is scenic and accessible, with plenty of places to drop the hook (Dickerson Harbor lies at the end, 410-822-8556). Beyond Oxford, the Tred Avon River leads to the town of Easton. It's a long but pleasant trip (watch for occasional barge traffic and be aware of the ferry between Oxford and Bellevue), with a small but accommodating marina at its head (Easton Point Marina, 410-822-1201).
Marina facilities abound, ranging from the Hyatt resort (above the Malkus Bridge) to full-service working boatyards. Fine dining is within easy walking distance of any marina. While natural shoreline abounds here, boaters have a right only to the area below the high-tide mark; they should remember that what lies above high tide is private property. Dogs are increasingly not welcome.
Unless otherwise noted, the following marinas offer overnight slips, electric service (30/50 amp), showers and pump-out.
Harrison's Chesapeake House(410-886-2121;
www.chesapeakehouse.com) lodging and dining.
Knapps Narrows Marina and Inn(410-886-2720;
www.knappsnarrowsmarina.com) fuel, full-service boatyard, lodging and dining.
Severn Marine Services(410-886-2159) full-service boatyard.
Tilghman Island Inn(410-886-2141;
www.tilghmanislandinn.com) lodging and dining; no pump-out.
Tilghman Island Marina(410-886-2500;
www.tilghmanmarina.com) boat rentals.
www.tochesapeake.com) real estate.
Campbell's Bachelor Point Yacht Co.(410-226-5592;
www.campbellsboatyard.com) full-service boatyard.
Campbell's Boatyard at Jack's Point(410-226-5105;
www.campbellsboatyard.com) fuel, full-service boatyard.
Campbell's Town Creek Boatyard(410-226-0213;
www.campbellsboatyard.com) full-service boatyard.
Cutts & Case Inc.(410-226-5416;
www.cuttsandcase.com) full-service boatyard, no pump-out.
Hinckley Yacht Services(410-226-5113;
www.hinckleyyachts.com) full-service boatyard.
Mears Yacht Haven(410-226-5450;
www.coastal-properties.com) fuel, full-service boatyard.
www.oxfordboatyard.com) full-service boatyard.
Oxford Yacht Agency(410-226-5454;
www.oya.com) full-service boatyard, no pump-out.
Pier Street Marina(410-226-5171) dining.
Schooners Landing(410-226-0160) dining.
Cambridge Municipal Yacht Basin(410-228-4031;
www.gate waymarina.com) fuel, full-service boatyard.
Generation III(410-228-2520) full-service boatyard.
Hyatt Regency Chesapeake Bay Resort(866-378-7077;
www.chesapeakebay. hyatt.com) fuel, lodging and dining.
Yacht Maintenance Co.(410-228-8878;
www.yachtmaintenanceco.com) full-service boatyard.