After taking the Sanger back to the Konocti Saturday afternoon, it was decided to mess at the Richardson Park steak feed, a known but hitherto untried culinary adventure. The feed closed up at 8:45, it was now 7 p.m. That meant a fast trip to the campground to freshen up, 
then a fast trip to RP in order to make the deadline. After the usual waffling, Cap'n Brian, reluctant to fight the sunset chop, agreed wholeheartedly to station the Sanger in situ at the Konocti and speed back to the campground in the Four Car Special, a 21-foot Regal runabout powered by a Chevrolet fuel-injected 302, owned and operated by Gary, crewed by Dave, to freshen up before the big night out.
So, instead of negotiating swells in the flat-bottom, a 35-minute hull-battering cruise, the combined crew wailed back in 20 minutes. Everyone put on their best shorts, Crew Four Car showered, and 
this reporter, currently unemployed and on a diet (miserable fellow, what?) chowed a couple of burgers brought from home. At 8:10 the combined crew re-embarked on the Four Car Special and Cap'n Gary rang down for full speed.
Richardson Park
The deep V-hull split the waves, driven by the sustanential desires of grown men faced with the closing of the grill. The FCS made port with 10 minutes to spare--there were a couple of fresh half-sirloins on the grill. Three of the four crew members, visions of thick steaks in their heads, bellied up to the ordering window, only to come away with something completely different: skinny flank steaks. This reporter was secretly relieved he had eaten cold hamburger(which he likes just fine) when he saw the $8 "steaks" being served.
While the combined crew gnawed at the Richardson Park chewsteaks, the fourth member mixed drinks. A word here on the potations consumed on Clear Lake might be appropriate.
Separators
Cap'n Brian had long been a fan of the drink called a Separator. Normally, this is brandy, Kahluha and cream, poured over ice. Cap'n Brian had modified it for volume consumption and fat content by altering the ingredients a bit, and instituted a few other conventions. The recipe for what has become known as a Sangerator follows.
First buy a couple of hobnailed cups at Wal-Mart. These are a late addition to the recipe, but have reached an almost mystical status as part of the experience. They are 20-ounce balloon tumblers coated with slightly tacky plastic and little raised bumps, making them perfect for boat drinking.
The Makings:
Ice (ranks with gasoline as a commodity on the lake)
1% milk (bring a gallon-you'll use it)
Cafe de Santo (Safeway has it on sale pretty often)
Gallo Brandy (Costco in the big bottles)
Fill the tumblers with ice to about 1.5 inches of the brim, then just cover the ice with 1% milk. Add a jigger and a half of brandy, and top off with 3/4 jigger of Cafe de Santos. Stir with the ceremonial stirrer (a number of which decorate the bottom of Clear Lake after four seasons of boating). This season, a fork is the ceremonial stirrer, but in the past there have been long spoons and even glass mixing rods. The actual implement is not important, however, there does seem to be some magical element added by rinsing the stirrer off in the lake following drink making.*
The Sangerator falls under the "chocolate milk for adults" heading and, unless one modifies one's consumption of the chilled, sweet, intoxicating nectar, it is certainly easy enough, as this reporter well knows, to drink too many of them, resulting in an uncomfortable night terminating with the premature expulsion of undigested food, accompanied by headache, ameliorated only by aspirin.
So, while three-fourths of the combined crew dined, this reporter mixed up the first round of Sangerators in the boat (the management at Richardson Park being peculiarly opposed to visitors providing their own inebriants).
Following dinner, it was observed that the quality of the crowd at RP equaled the quality of the steaks, so a determination was made to shift the floating party to the Konocti, where there was likely to be a better quality crowd and band. Besides, the Sanger was still moored there. Another batch of Sangerators was mixed and the 10-minute run was made in the comfort of the FCS.
The Konocti
It was 9:30, the Konocti had a hot band going and there was a good crowd, which means there were plenty of people to look at without having to worry about being assaulted by some crank-head. The Konocti women in attendance were dressed for an evening out, which made for a more festive atmosphere than the rather seedy Richardson Park with it's sleazy bar-fly broads stuffed into jeans.
The Konocti can draw an impressive crowd. It often hosts top name bands, albeit those who have fallen from the mainstream a bit. Fleetwood Mac, the Beach Boys and many other recognizable acts play regularly in the outdoor amphitheater. There is also an indoor concert hall and, finally, a dance band which, this evening, was outstanding. The club had an end-of-summer air about it, with everyone doing their best to squeeze the most fun out of one of the last Saturday nights of the season.
Crew Sanger, rebels to the end, acquired plastic cups from the bar and spent the evening filling them with boat-drinks to avoid paying for mediocre bar drinks. The band rocked on, playing popular modern dance tunes. The crowd did it's thing: girls dragging dates out to dance, single men stopping just short of harassment to get women on the floor. One of the greatest things about Clear Lake is the total lack of age constraints. One is as likely to see a 50-year old shakin' it on the dance floor as a 25-year old, and having as good a time.
One interesting note: there are a trio of big, powerful cigarette-type speedboats that usually come to the Konocti on Saturday night and hang out. These boats are typically occupied only by 25-35-year-old men, but this summer a woman had joined them. She was an extremely statuesque "blond" 30-something, whose appearance had obviously been enhanced by surgery and careful attention to diet and dress.
Known among the combined crew as "the Frankenstein chick," there was much speculation in the preceding months on the nature of her duties and motivation for hanging out with a bunch of overly-muscled manly-men. Conspicuous by their absence, none of the three power craft were in evidence this evening, possibly due to the marina being closed to non-woody boats in honor of the Antique Boat Show.
One major crisis arose as it was realized that milk, one of the critical Sangerator ingredients, was running dangerously low. As this had occurred before, the near-disaster was remedied when a half-gallon of milk was purchased from the cafe at the Konocti for five clams.
The combined crew continued slugging down drinks and watching the action. Near the end of the evening, this reporter noted that nearly every one in the club was on the dance floor. The combined crew stuck out like a sore thumb, four men occupying a table, gazing at the revelers.
Finally, one woman broke the hex by asking this reporter to dance. A happily married man, he agreed because the song was good and he was a little bored, though the woman was not overly appealing. As often happens, the song was nearly over and the dance lasted only a 10 or 20 seconds, at which point this reporter returned to his drink, ego satisfied.
The night was winding down for most of the partiers, but the Sanger was just getting warmed up. At 1:30 a.m. the club began to empty, and by 1:50 bouncers were enjoying the visceral satisfaction of shepherding the last drunken visitors out the door. The Four Car Special fired up and headed for the camp grounds. The Sanger pointed it's long nose out into the lake and rumbled off into the darkness, looking for adventure.
Drinks under the Milky Way
A typical visit to Clear Lake involves a few courtesy calls, one of which is on Cap'n Brian's bohemian friend Jason, his lovely wife and their child, who have cozy A-frame in Glenhaven. Jason has often welcomed visits at 2 a.m. and that was the next prospective stop. As the Sanger negotiated the channel to the docks at Glenhaven, it was found that the water level was uncooperative: the boat crunched gently into a submerged sandbar. After a few minutes up to the knees trying to drag the boat over the sandbar, Crew Sanger reversed course and squatted at a nearby bass-fishing resort, a clear violation of sovereign dock rights.
After threading through the silent resort and the usual five minute walk, it was found that Chez Jason was deserted: the family had not come up to the lake this weekend. Fortunately, Crew Sanger had portaged drinks, so the time was not wasted. The crew returned to the boat, but spent the next hour in desultory conversation while resting in chaise lounges thoughtfully left on the dock by the bass resort managers. More drinks were mixed, and as these two old friends talked over the world's problems under a star-lit sky, their low laughter carried across the quiet lake.
Finally, around 4 a.m. engines were started and the crew returned to the campgrounds for a well-deserved four hours of sleep. Check-out was noon and the next day was the big picnic at Anderson Island, so time was running short.
Next: Picnic At Anderson Island: Hobnobbing with the Quality.
*Not necessary while in harbor, due to water quality.