Interesting Things

In a day all kinds of interesting things happen. After a night repeatedly woken by weird dreams it was decided we should move on. Carrie Rose was in Turnbull Harbor. Quite large, about the size of Montrose Harbor in Chicago but instead of 750 boats there were six of us all swinging on various anchors. To enter there are multiple warnings of submerged rocks, which of course due to low lake levels are no longer submerged.

Aikens Island was to be our next stop. Here we connected with Canadian friends met at last years Nordic Tug rendezvous. They travel in a group of three and their main preoccupation seems to be catching as many fish as possible. The plan is to discuss our trip east to the Trent-Severn waterway. This is one couples yearly trip up and back to the North Channel.

Aikens Island is only 14 nautical miles from Turnbull, so there was no need to rush but of course that is what happened. I quickly entered a route (much easier now that my charts are contained on my MacBook Air). Next we did all the things we do to prepare the ship and ourselves to depart.

I will not bore you with the raising of the anchor other than to say that the nature of the clay on the bottom of most of the North Channel is tenacious. If I were a potter it seems the perfect consistency to make sturdy pots.

Motoring out of Turnbull was much less stressful then motoring in. The cruising guide that we use is rightfully pessimistic on the chances of negotiating some of the more notorious anchorages. Problem is, this mindset—at least for me—begins to infect every anchorage. I have decided that this year before entering any of them I will smile and think pleasant thoughts. Yes, I mean like Mary Poppins’s kind of pleasant thoughts. It is akin to smiling before picking up the phone. Even if you are a grumpy S.O.B, if you smile you’ll sound sweet.

Carrie Rose followed Sir Tugley Blue until the last moment. She, or should I say he, took a shortcut and we went the way of the cruising guide. They thought we were leaving them. In the end it proved prescient. Our friends were lined up with anchors out and sterns tied to the shore with long lines. Sir Tugley Blue had time to accomplish this before we showed up so then it was our turn.

The task entails driving in and picking a spot between two boats and then dropping the anchor far enough out but not too far, for it to set and then to back down on it towards the shore close enough to tie a line to bring the aft of the boat inline with everyone else’s. Lucky one of the dinghies helping coach me in was able to act as a tug and push Carrie Rose’s rear end around. Another coach grabbed my long line and tied it to shore.

With the line to shore I let out more chain and then a voice from a neighboring boat said pull in the line to shore. Between the anchor rode out front and the long line out back we got the boat taut. Hurrah! And this was done in a drizzling mist worthy of the Pacific Northwest.

The other interesting thing was the razor like Dewdney’s Rock just above the surface that I did not noticed until Charlotte mentioned I might want to head further off shore. That was another moment in time and time, after all, is what it is all about for us mortal beings.

6/28/2013



Turnbull Harbor, ON



A sweet sailboat in Turnbull on the way to Lake Superior



OMG at Aikens Island, ON



Tied to shore



My contribution to the fish fry

Mañana

We woke up to the pitter-patter of rainfall on Carrie Rose’s front hatch. It is directly above us. When there is nowhere to travel due to rain and thunder at the beginning of the cruise it is concerning. Later in the cruise, when more relaxed the sound of thunder will be comforting, but today it is annoying. A decision will have to be made, go or not.

I reach for my phone and summon up the radar app. Telecommunications is slow in the Upper Peninsula, MI, so the wisp of red, yellow and green reflections off of rain and clouds appears in a pixelated mass at first and then more defined. A narrow band of red dots is making its way across our location. One after another appear. As I write this we sit in a lull between red radar dots.

Red, as you can imagine, denotes the worst clouds that are dense with moisture and reach high into the sky. Red is to be avoided if possible and that is one of the rules I try to live by. Conditions can deteriorate quickly on the lake. Within minutes it can go from a calm to a Turner painting.

Then there is a knock on the door and Bill from Dolly appears. We are leaving correct and I know more than to question his fifty years of experience. Quickly the boat is readied to leave. It is important not to rush. To rush is usually to slow down. Twenty minutes and we are at the dock pumping the head. I ask the young kid if this is a great summer job and he affirms that it is.

Then we are out cruising. It has taken a long time to get out on the water this year, but as this day on the water goes by — 7 hours and 37 minutes to be exact — it all comes together. Carrie Rose has passed through these waters before and it makes all the difference. As they say I can relax a bit and smell the roses.

My other cruising partner Dave on Sir Tugly Blue is ripe with technology. He radios to inform me that a 700-foot bulk carrier will be passing in front of me in twenty minutes. I turn to look and sure enough there it is. I had my radar set to only a 2-mile range and so I missed him. After some discussion with the John L. Block I slowed down and do a 360-degree turn. He thanks me and I wished him a great trip.

Now I have to catch up with Dolly and Sir Tugly Blue, and manage too right before Detour Passage. A thousand footer to my right, a seven hundred footer ahead and to the right two other behemoths in line to transit the passage like the airplanes in the sky over our house following each other to O’Hare airport. My compatriots make it across the passage but I decide to let the tug-barge combo pass in front of me. Another couple of 360’s and then I am behind him in his prop wash.

We head north into the calm beautifully wooded island territory of the North Channel and I have to pinch myself. Once across the North Channel and docked at Thessalon, Ontario with the sun high in the sky, the crystal clean air and the light, oh the light! Then I realize that there is no manana, there is only today . . . and today we saw a single loon off St. Martin’s lighthouse and what could be better than that.

Community

How does an inanimate object draw people together in a community? I have been pondering this question since we arrived at the Nordic Tug rendezvous this year. Charlotte and I have attended each of them since the beginning, seven or eight, I cannot quite remember.

There are retired folk and working folk, engineers and physicians, and many successful small business people. They are from all over the Midwest and Canada, and they travel all over the world.

Most have put their heart and soul into their contrivances. The boats come with a steep learning curve; knowledge of machinery, navigation and ship handling needs to be studied to operate the tugs safely. Now many years into ownership it is difficult to remember how naïve we were when we attended our first rendezvous, let alone the first time we motored out of the harbor and crossed Lake Michigan.

The tugs range from 26 to 53 feet with most around 32 feet. Couples mainly pilot them. They, the tugs, are so cute you cannot miss one in a harbor. Most children squeal with excitement when they first lay eyes upon them.

Nordic Tug came close to dissolution when the economy tanked in 2008. We have become so attached to this chunk of fiberglass that it felt like a family member was in peril. With the hardship the depression brought for so many people it was odd to have such feelings about a boat, but a world without more of them being created seemed a diminished world.

And now that I think of it, it was not the boats I was grieving for it was the loss of the community of fellow owners and enthusiasts. This 2013 rendezvous in Elk Rapids, MI proved it to me again, though less in faces and boats it was not less in camaraderie. I marvel at the ability we have to dream and then to choose this magic carpet to realize it.

Chain

In a never-ending search for security we do many things. Every large city is a testament to this in the form of its skyline devoted to insurance companies. Just a few are the Aon and Hancock buildings in Chicago, the infamous MetLife behind Grand Central Station in NYC and San Francisco’s Transamerica Pyramid, deemed earthquake proof.

There are at least ten types of insurance I am involved in: malpractice, auto, marine, towing, life, disability, homeowners, dental, medical and long term care. There may be more. How about Apple Care for the Mac Book Air I write this on and the service contract for my phone in case I drop another one in the bilge!

In my lifetime I have had few claims and I hope to keep it that way. If I had to do a root cause analysis I’d say this is because of a combination of caution and good luck. Can you hear me knocking on wood? The mere mention of this topic brings superstition into play. Well educated in the sciences, I like to think of myself as above all it, but I am not. A childhood spent in the spell of Sicilian superstitions has taken care of that.

So, yesterday I arose determined to take another step at self-determination; add fifty feet of Acco HT 3/8” Grade 40 chain to my existing seventy feet. This will give me, really Carrie Rose, 120 feet of very heavy chain attached to a 20 kilogram Bruce anchor. Charlotte and I should sleep better knowing all that galvanized steel sits on the bottom.



Watch your fingers



Ditto!

Outside

Try as we may it is hard to connect with nature in Chicago. I think we do a good job with our postage stamp size backyard. It’s been a work in progress since we moved in over twenty years ago. At first I did not have much to do with it. Charlotte and my stalwart parents went at it.

It was full of nuts, bolts and other sundry metal from the previous owner’s delinquent children. There was no garage and so, nothing to stop them from driving wreaked cars right up on the back lawn. Oh, what would Lady Bird Johnson have thought?

The first thing to do was build a garage. It was Charlotte’s idea and she took complete responsibility for it. Calls were put into various contractors. One by one they came to the house with estimates. As I was prone to come home late from work, I’d invariably walk in on the discussion between the sales person and Charlotte. To a man, and they were all men, they would stop talking to her and knowingly address me. I would try to wave them off without success and as they walked out the front door another builder would get checked off the list.

This scene replayed itself for quite some time until one enlightened soul paid me no mind correctly deducing where the power lie. The contract was signed and the garage a reality in two weeks. It was amazing what one carpenter and his lackey could do in a day.

Now backyard restoration began. My father dug while my mother picked thousands of weeds by hand; and Charlotte along with much grunt work, acted the consulting landscape architect. Annuals, perennials, trees and a fence all appeared. Once my parents departed this world I took over many of their tasks but did none as well. They should have been farmers.

As we prepared the garden this year for another absent summer we were both surprised at how well-tended it looked. It’s a shame to leave, but we did, and have not looked back. You see on the boat we are really outside. Of course we are not in the wilderness. That is except when in the middle of the lake or at anchor in one of Canada’s deep coves.

Our boat, while modest in some respects, is a beautiful space to spend time in. There’s not much between the outside and us. The walls are thin. There is plenty of glass, and the waves rock and roll it. It is hard to keep the outside out. We fight to prevent the plague of insects from sharing our inside space. It is all these things, but really it is a passport to clean air, azure blue skies and quiet.

Spring . . . again!

Launch

In line



In the air



In the water

Projects

Cheers to the Jacuzzi family for inventing the hot tub. The only highlights of the inn we are staying at prior to Carrie Rose’s launch are it's reasonable price and the hot tub in the enclosed pool area.

I am not a big fan of hot tubs after being spoiled by Japan’s onsen/soaking baths. They have a ritual associated with them, which I studied to avoid creating an international incident. I was way over prepared.

While I dutifully scrubbed my skin off before entering the bath several rough looking Japanese men walked in, took off their clothes and without even attempting to wash got in the water. I suppose in Japan’s obedient, compliant society this is a way of being a rebel. I decided not to correct them.

Here in Northern Michigan I looked forward to my soak each afternoon in the Jacuzzi. I needed it to diminish the residual effects of each days boat project. The antenna was replaced. I confirmed that the salon bilge pump functions. Installed a new depth sounder and untangle the anchor chain and rode. I also decided to add anchor chain but this turned into a fiasco. I know it does not sound like much, and I want to believe this, but I returned to the motel each day sore and tired, with multiple self-inflicted wounds, and itching all over due to fiberglass exposure.

Plus, no facilities exist in the spotless, wood and aluminum shed where Carrie Rose spent the winter. Charlotte and I became more frantic to finish as the day progressed. Of course this lead directly to the invocation of Murphy’s Law, and lengthens the project by 57 minutes and 45 seconds.

Now post Jacuzzi-ed and ready to try yet another restaurant to see if a non-Boboli pizza actually exists north of the 45th parallel, I am comfortable and ready for another days work. For this I thank the family of Italians that immigrated to California and invented the hot tub.




Fiasco!



Heaven sent

Surprised

At first glance many of the small towns we encounter on Carrie Rose seem on hard times, deserted or beyond touristy. It is hard to get far from the harbor. Sailors the world over have the same problem. Sign up and see the world is the enticement, and rundown wharves the reality. But as we have matured (in our boating lives at least) we spend more time in each port: sometimes as a necessity, e.g. weather, and sometimes by choice. Mackinaw City, MI is a case in point. It is one of the touristy types with rows of motels staging hordes of folk ferrying to Mackinac Island. The downtown is lined with t-shirt, or it being so far north, sweatshirt shops. And then there are the fudge shops. Each claiming the original lineage back to the original French settlers in the 1700's. Today we took the road least traveled and stumbled upon the restored McGulpin Point Lighthouse (one of over a 100 that are being lovingly cared for by the Great Lakes Lighthouse Keepers Association), and the Headlands International Dark Sky Park (one of ten such sites in the world). And we meet all kinds of vibrant people. Today we had breakfast with a retired geologist and her engineer husband who graciously put up with our North Channel ancient rock reverie, and the restorer of the lighthouse who has a boat in the same harbor we will spend the next few weeks in. So I, a self-proclaimed big city snob, am no longer surprised by what I find in population centers measured in the hundreds!


McGulpin Point Lighthouse


Self explanatory


The Big Mac in the background


A Blue Bunting as seen from up on the lighthouse

Entre'

Another year has flown by! A cliché I know but considering my increased quotient of aches and pains, true. We arrived in Mackinaw City, MI today, saw Carrie Rose, and unloaded the contents of the car into her -- including two (that's right) two boats. She looks great especially since Charlotte ponied up the cash for the old dull gelcoat to be waxed and buffed. Can't wait to see the 23 y/o gal on the water. The plan is to get in the H2O, spend a few days living on her before driving back down to the Nordic Tug rendezvous in Elk Rapids. I know I said driving and you are wondering why not take the boat. Good question. Neither of us wants to traverse the Straits of Mackinaw twice in a week. Especially since we are heading East this summer into the Canadian canal system. More on this later.


Grateful to leave after hours of packing


Grateful to unpack after hours of driving