Hydroplanes hearken back to local boomer's childhood

From where he sat, right beside Lake Washington, Mike Ronk could point to the places where hydroplane history was made.

Right over there, the famous Bill Muncey nicked a Coast Guard boat and sank it. And way over in the corner, that's where Miss Wahoo roared across the water, then flipped, and never raced again.

Forty-five summers in this spot, he said. There's just something about it.

"It's my childhood," said Ronk, 53, of Kent, sitting on the concrete ledge, his legs dangling over the side.

Before the Mariners and the Sonics and the Seahawks, there were the hydroplanes, competing for the Seattle sports fan's affection. Saturday, thousands of residents and visitors lined the banks of Lake Washington to see them race again.

With a roar, the boats sped past the crowd at 180 mph, their bright bodies barely touching the water, leaving only a fountain of foam in their wake. It was the kind of sport that looked too tough to try. Ronk said he was not even tempted.

But Spencer Bowman, 8, said he could certainly do it. Since he does not have a driver's license yet, Spencer said he would like to start out in the ocean.

"I'd have more free space to roam," he said.

The boy sat by Ronk's side, one of more than a dozen friends sharing the day. They were all settled in by 10 a.m., with the blankets, and the fried chicken, the trail mix. The baked macaroni was gone within the hour.

For Ronk and his 19-year-old daughter, Amy Ronk, it was tradition as usual. They sat in their favorite spot, right in the line of vision of the first turn on the course. They've sat side by side every summer for the past 15 years.

"It's like if you were stuck in an airplane hangar when the airplane just got turned on," she said.

A few days earlier, she and her dad were busy with another tradition: a good, long look at his Seafair blanket, where Mike Ronk has attached more than 300 pins from hydroplane races past.

Ronk told his daughter stories about how he used to camp out on the hillside as a kid, so he could get a good spot the next morning. And how, when he got older, he would roll kegs down that same hill the day of the event.

"It's our thing," Amy said. "It's something special me and my dad have."

For the Ronk family, Saturday was another slow, lazy Seafair day, punctuated by thrilling performances. The Blue Angels raced across the sky to cheers and clapping. A hydroplane sputtered, then sank, then rose up again, then sank back down.

Mike Ronk sat smiling, taking it all in, and telling his stories to anyone who asked.

Cara Solomon: 206-464-2024 or csolomon@seattletimes.com