by Nancy Canfield

Created on: July 24, 2009

Some of the most enjoyable vacation days I have ever experienced were aboard "The Capricorn Lady", owned and operated by Dan and Judi Gilman, in Tortola, BVI. It took some doing, but I was convinced to share, with my obsessed friend, her husband, his brother, and my ex, an experience of a lifetime. I did and I did. This story comes to mind because recently I watched the destruction of the 71' Trumpy, and found myself reliving those days of carefree barefoot elegance. The Lady may be gone, but we cherish our memories.

Not being much of a people person, I was surprised at the level of comfort I felt from the first moment I met Dan and Judi. We were treated as royalty, yet grounded by their down-to-earth personalities. Laughter ruled from day one, with Dan and Judy perfectly willing to join in, and at times instigate, our adventures. The Capricorn Lady was unique in that she was a restored 1947 Trumpy, and while navigating through the tiny islands, it was not uncommon for the smaller sail boats to approach her with awe-struck people hollering "Is that a Trumpy?" It became my friend's assigned duty to holler back in her un-decorous, truck driver's tone, "Yesssss!"

We booked a cruise in late October one year, and brought along costumes for Halloween, which was highly celebrated in the islands. My friend and I dressed as hookers, her in a spandex "leopard skin" dress, and me in a little black number with a massive gold lame' bow displayed on my chest. She was quite striking, being skinny, but I found it necessary to wear body armor, which fastened with crotch snaps.

We made our bumbling entrance, with the men following far behind, to find a shimmering candle lit table, adorned with fine linens, china, crystal wine goblets, and food painstakingly prepared by Judy and fit for a king. To say we gorged ourselves would be an understatement, because the availability of scrumptious hors d'oeuvres between the three squares a day was a constant. The wine wasn't too shabby either.

After several tiny taste tests of a naughty Argentinean offering, a fire broke out. My Rod Stewart wig had become entangled in my lame' bow, and while trying to separate the two, my rhinestone cigarette holder flipped out of my mouth into the mess. The men saved my life the night, as my friend watched in delight. She was jealous of my wig I think, because someone out maneuvered her in a dust up at the hair salon, and bought the one she wanted.

Due to the excitement, I experienced a sudden

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