Travel Tales From Around the World: July 2020

The time we almost sent Pika home.

     No better Third Mate exists. She endures rough waters with the patience of Job. When folks come by to admire Green Eyes, she comes out on the back deck with her tail held high and a soft mew in greeting. Then she's the one getting all the ooos and ahhs.
     "You have a cat on board?" asks everyone in surprise. There are lots of boat dogs, but we have yet to see another with a feline. Do they know something we don't know?
     Yes.
     You can read Chapter 1 to understand why we brought our kitty along on our tug boat journey, and why it seemed a good idea. Back home in California, before our trek out to Michigan, we fantasized about how much Pika (Pee-ka) would love being on the boat. "She'll probably hang out on the navigation desk, so she can look out the front window," Scott said. "Yeah," I'd agree smiling, thinking about how she'd stand at the prow of the boat like Kate Winslet, fur blowing in the wind. But the reality proved to be more like Life of Pi, the movie with the temperamental Bengal tiger that is very, very upset that he is on a boat with a human.
     The first week aboard, Pika fluctuated between terror and fear. It wasn't long before she was the talk of the marina. Or was the talk about her kitty mom who was worried sick that Pika would go overboard and drown. That's how I am. I pretty much worry all the time that people or pets I love will die. My family knows it, I know it, Scott definitely knows it. Remember the movie Terms of Endearment? The character played by Shirley MacLaine stands by a crib checking on her sleeping newborn baby all through the night, ultimately climbing into the crib and curling up next to the baby so she can watch her breathe. Scott once said that if I’d been lucky enough to become a mom, he could TOTALLY see me doing that. I could too. Anyway, I ordered three different harnesses for Pika, and made her miserable whenever I put one on her. My worrying turned vocal and soon Paula, a seamstress at the marina in Grand Traverse Bay, was making a screen to close off the opening of our bedroom so that Pika could stay safe and sound while we were underway. Paula's husband Bull installed it. The snaps held tight and there were no gaps. During our first sea trial, I should have remembered that Bull demonstrated the "breakaway" feature of the screen because as soon as the boat hit some rather large swells, which caused it to lurch and bounce and bang, Pika burst through the screen like a racehorse at the starting bell. She took the three steps to the wheel house in one bound, landed in the galley, and made a mad dash for the open salon doors that lead to the back deck, the dingy, the motor churning up white water, and the deep blue inland sea that is Lake Michigan. The only thing that stopped Pika from committing suicide was my hand around the tip of her tail, which, by the grace of God, and that superhuman adrenaline thing that enables women to lift a vehicle off a child (and because I'm like that character in that movie), I caught a piece of her as she flew by. Scooping her in my arms and muttering apologies into her soft little brow, I tucked her into her cat carrier and zipped it shut. Now Pika, as almost all pets, hates the carrier because the only time she is in it is for a trip to the Vet. She was unhappy. Furious. Almost Bengal tiger-like. But as soon as I draped a towel over the carrier, she relaxed. Spraying a blast of "Kitty Calm", a product that is said to duplicate mama cat pheromones seemed to help too. We finished our three-hour tour around Power Island and headed back to Elmwood Marina where I kissed Pika's head some more and gave her a healthy portion of mea culpa Fancy Feast.
     I can't express how upsetting it was to see her that terrorized. I felt selfish and guilty that she was with us for our pleasure, not hers. I recalled that a month earlier, back home in San Jose, California, a neighbor stopped by to wish us bon voyage. When we told John where we were starting our voyage, he mentioned that he had friends in Traverse City, Michigan, the very destination where Green Eyes was waiting for us.

Seeing how miserable Pika was, and imagining having to become a Bengal tiger tamer, I emailed John and asked if he thought his Traverse City friend might be interested in fostering Pika for a few months during our tug travels. It turned out that his friend Enid is a professional pet sitter! I took this news as a gift from God. Or a plea from Pika.
    Between the time I wrote to John in San Jose and connected with Enid, I sent out a plea for support to my brother Sean and his wife Ann. Ann loves kitties and wants one badly. My brother, not so much, but since Sean and I both know we'd do anything for each other, and since Ann knows how it is to worry, I took a chance on asking. Ann responded immediately that she and Sean could take Pika for a time and that her sweet sister Janet was willing to take her for the rest of the time. How kind. How generous and loving and feline-saving. I'd have to fly Pika across the country to get her to Sean and Ann, something I had never done before. I asked Ann if she could stand by, as we were still working with Pika. Asking folks to care for Pika made me feel like a kitty-mom who couldn't hack it.
     A few days later, Enid contacted me and she and her two girls came to the boat. They couldn't have been nicer. The situation couldn't have been more ideal. But what did I say? "We're going for another short cruise tomorrow. Can I let you know for sure after that whether we'll leave Pika here in Traverse City or not?" Enid was gracious and said of course.
     But it rained the next three days so we didn't go out. Instead, we reinforced the screen, built a platform for Pika's porta potty, petted her a lot, and tried to determine by her sweet mews what she would want.
     Pika would be safer with Enid or Sean and Ann than on the boat, no question. Except when we were underway, Pika was happy to be with us. She seemed to accept her duties as Third Mate (sleep a lot and greet people, purr and roll over for tummy rubs). She explored new areas on the boat each day and even got brave enough to walk the gunwale all the way around the boat. She jumped up on the roof, and embraced the new locations of her potty, her food, and her water. The more I thought about her not being with us, the worse I felt. Scott said he would leave the decision up to me, only saying that he would feel bad if she weren't happy not being with us. I wasn't worried about that part because Enid seemed a warm, intuitive person who looked like she knew how to rub a cat's tummy. And Pika knew and liked Sean and Ann. But whichever way I decided, I felt like a bad mom.

            The weather cleared and we went out for a cruise. We tried out a new way to ensure Pika would be safe and have her with us, and it seems to be working. Before Scott starts the engine, I put Pika in her pink life vest. The effect of this is that she melts to the floor. She becomes Liquid Kitty. Every time I put her vest on her, she flops to the floor. If she does move, she walks like a drunken sailor, taking a few steps then falling over. In this temporary stuporous state, I scoop up her limp body and pour her into her carrier. The carrier gets positioned in the wheelhouse between Scott and I, where she can see us. I fill out the log book and where it says “crew”, I write in Scott, Tris, and Pika or simply S, T, P.
     I'm amazed how well it works, how safe she is, how quickly she forgets her entrapment. As soon as I undo the snaps on her vest upon arrival at a new marina, she acts like it never happened.
     I'm ever grateful to John, Enid, Ann, Sean, and Janet, and my nieces Treese and Briget who were willing to care for her too.
     I also can't imagine being on Green Eyes without our resilient Third Mate.

Scott and Tris

Aboard Green Eyes in Petoskey, Michigan

The Adventures of Green Eyes, Cruising in the Time of Covid

Chapter 2

Social distancing can be easy while cruising on your own boat, providing you don't have to make trips to Home Depot, Pet Smart, Target, Costco, Sam's, Tom's, or the marina restroom (which is 550 feet from our primo slip at the end of the pier, near the harbor entrance and with a stunning view of Grand Traverse Bay.)

We're mostly in our own little world. We're content toot-tooting along, or sitting on the poop deck enjoying sundowners, and ominous or multicolored cloud formations. At night, we curl up on the seven foot couch and watch The Saint series from the 60's while snacking on M’nMs. Staying home afloat is easy and fun and beautiful. But then we realize we are in need of wine, or cat food, or showers so off we go into the Covid Stew of the bigger world, the real world in 2020.

For the most part, folks here in Northern Michigan are "being good". Nearly every business has a cheerful sign on the door stating that masks are required. There's always tape on the floor, spaced six feet apart in the shape of a big X, or there’s decals of the store's logo dotting the floor. But not all the employees wear masks and they never turn away (that I've seen) customers who exercise their right to be unmasked, uninformed, or political. I coped with that back home in Silicon Valley California too, where, overall, most folks were considerate science believers. But there's a thing I've noticed here in Michigan that makes me more nervous when I encounter the mask-less, because some Michiganers I’ve encountered are breathy. I mean, when they say "Hi" it comes out of their mouth like a mini tornado. Okay, a gale. But the fact is, it's more wind than sound. Some also have a habit of removing their masks the instant they are at the exit to Target or wherever with a dramatic "Whew!" tornado aimed at the patron a foot away who is in the act of putting their mask on, as required, to enter the store: "Whew! It sure is hard to breathe in there with a mask on! But the sale on pool noodles makes it worth it!" People in California did that too. People sometimes act as if Covid doesn't exist anywhere masks are not required. As if EXIT doors are barriers to bacteria.

I've seen only one boating party here in the marina wearing masks. The owner of the sailboat two slips down is a doctor. When he takes guests out on his boat, he arrives at his boat masked, firmly reminding his friends to don their masks or they can't come. He's not rude. He cares.

What makes social distancing so difficult is that boating is so social. Boats exit the harbor nightly for sunset cruises with 10 or 12 or 20 souls on board. They raft up with other boats and party hard. Like it’s a normal summer or something. Weekends are nuts on the Bay. Fourth of July at nearby Power Island, and on Torch Lake, were cauldrons of open-mouthed cootie incubators.

Michigan's Governor, the one the U.S. President famously and rudely called "That woman" is concerned. She has pretty strict Covid guidelines in place and she is trying her best to herd the kittens. But some say she opened the marinas not because her constituents endured a long hard winter indoors knowing life would begin again once they are able to launch their boats, but because her boat-owning-winter-surviving husband nagged her to do so. Opening the marinas benefited us, so I should not comment. And I'm not slamming boat owners or people who "come up North from Southern Michigan on vacation bringing the Covid, as Northern folks tell us. Some folks back home were just as adamant about not wearing masks or following the rules of social distancing. But Californians have sunshine. They haven't endured long, brutal winters like the ones here in Michigan. And Californians aren't as desperate to get out and about and enjoy some much needed Vitamin D, because they can have it any old time they want it.

In fact, people in and around Traverse City are some of the nicest we've ever met. Truth. Young, affable employees at the marinas always stop to talk as they work their way up and down the docks wiping away thousands of dead bugs that are caught in massive spider webs, which are built nightly while we sleep. Sam plays the sax in the high school band. Jimmy dreams of owning his own boat someday. Being here reminds me of how San Jose and Santa Cruz was when I was a kid. Traverse City is small, with a good airport, miles of bike trails and beaches, and a few blocks of quaint downtown. Everything we need seems to be a twelve minute drive away. They have the best, literally the best, Classic Rock radio station. The local Tom's Supermarket just down the street (lake?) carries the New York Times, so I’m able to feed my crossword monkey.

And we can tune in to a good public radio station for BBC news or in-depth stories. I can even listen to my favorite weekend show, Wait Wait Don't Tell Me. We both really like this small city, except for the dreaded winters we keep hearing about. I mean, damn, the lake the size of inland sea, partially freezes!

I look out at it now and can't imagine how cold it has to get to rearrange that many molecules. I get it why people here must have their summers.

How, you might ask, did we end up in Traverse City, a town we'd never even heard of?

We bought a boat, a 26' Nordic Tug, on January 30, 2020 in Texas, but we had to move the boat out of Texas before hurricane season (June 1st). Plus, we wanted to do this bucket list thing called The Great Loop, a 6000 mile, one year boat journey on North America's lakes, rivers, and canals. (All that stuff is in the Eastern part of N. America.) So, in late May, Scott flew to Houston and met "Lenny" who had driven our newly purchased trailer, one specific to Nordic Tugs, from it's location in Traverse City, Michigan to League City, Texas. Then Lenny, with Scott as co-pilot, drove the boat and trailer back to Michigan because that was as good a place as any to start the Loop and it would be a great jumping off point to the Canada portion of the Loop, which is said by all to be the most scenic. Scott launched the boat in Grand Traverse Bay, flew back to California to collect me and the cat and we drove to Michigan (see Chapter 1 to read about driving cross country and camping with a cat) where, on June 6th, we boarded Green Eyes and where we've been, pretty much, ever since. There are many reasons for that, the main one being that since we like "old stuff" that has "character", we bought a thirty-year-old classic Nordic Tug, a boat we didn't know a thing about. We know very little about ANY power boat. In the olden days, we were sailors, but that was a long time ago. Our 40' catamaran named Different Drummer had an outboard, and a tiller for steering, and zero electronics. But it got us from Santa Cruz to Hawaii in twenty-one days and it was a hell of a lot of fun, mostly (I reflect now) because it had zero electronics. Oh, and because we were in our twenties. Anyway, it turns out that our vintage tug is adorable, but in need of many non-vintage things like: a new throttle, five new marine and house batteries, a leaky water tank repair, a new radar, a new-to-the-boat AIS Transponder, which lets other boats know our location and we can "see" them too. We needed a storage system (oh the nooks and crannies!) not to mention finding a place for our cat Pika's bed, her toys, her cat food, her treats, her cat carrier (which we refer to as her Quonset hut and which she retreats to at the sound of any noise or detection of any movement). And, oh my God, a place for her porta potty. This last task took about a week to design and install. We tried out every conceivable location before Scott finally built a triangular platform that fits perfectly on the floor at the end of the bed at the bow of the boat. One of us has stepped in in only once (so far) when getting out of bed in the middle of the night.

Our home on the water is truly cozy. Contained in 150 square feet, we have a bedroom, a small loo or "head", a seven foot couch, a two-burner stove, a fridge and freezer, a deep sink, a microwave, and plenty of storage for dry goods, cat food, and "stuff". The amount of storage on our tiny house is amazing. There's under-the-couch storage, drawer storage, closet storage, and lots and lots of under-the bed-storage made so because the bed is so high off the floor. Honestly, it's about the height of my gall bladder, if I had one. Getting into bed requires one foot planted on the floor while the other pushes off the sloped side of the hull. It's fun helping one another into or out of bed, either by pushing or pulling. The shape of the ceiling of the berth is low, which means that the person sleeping on the inside has to slide over the person on the outside when getting up to pee at night. So that is fun too. The only thing we are not "on the same page" about is that Scott thinks the boat is a tool and spare parts shed, and Pika and I think it is a home.

There is so much to see and do in and around Traverse City that we haven't been bored while waiting for parts to arrive. We've visited most of the charming towns in the area. Towns like Glen Arbor, Petoskey, Charlevoix, Leland, and we drove to Pentwater just to have a burger the size of a dinner plate at the Brown Bear.

We also had a chance to donate to a street-corner, trombone-playing, nursing student's college fund. Never have I had the opportunity to do that in California.

We drove the length of the Old Mission Peninsula, an 18-mile long spit of land that juts out from the end of Grand Traverse Bay. It brings to (my) mind the image of Sacajawea pointing the way to Lewis or Clark; straight, direct, confident. It feels different from the rest of the surrounding landscape, mostly consisting of farmland, wineries, one country store, one gas station, lots of very pretty lake-front homes and a picturesque lighthouse built in 1870.

We drove to Cheboygan on Lake Huron because I had a craving for bratwurst, but it was the wrong Cheboygan. (Just so you know, Cheboygan Michigan doesn't have bratwurst. They do have Chicago style hot dogs at a place called Weinerlicious. Sheybogen, Wisconsin is the place for bratwurst.)

We hiked to the top of Sleeping Bear Dunes, which was long and hard and burned the soles of our feet,

and we swam in Lake Michigan to escape the heat and humidity. We took the dingy on many sunset tours. Sometimes Scott just rows me around the marina, which is very romantic.

One Sunday, we took the dingy to nearby Cedar Lake, which we circled twice before throwing out the anchor and napping in the shade.

We went back to Cedar Lake the next day, taking with us the stand up paddle boards that came with the boat. We perfected a "kneel up and paddle" position, and we both got up to standing, but we'd like to trade them for folding bikes or an inflatable kayak, either of which we think we'd use more often and would keep us dryer than s'ups because we fall off so often. Another day, we took the dingy up a river that leads to Boardman Lake.

But the water is so high this year, we couldn't get past the first bridge so we turned around dingy-ed into Lake Michigan and swam and read.

We drove to several lighthouses and museums, all closed due to Covid. We walk to Frosties across the street or drive to the Dairy Lodge for good old fashioned softie cones or shakes.

We drove to MOOmers Ice Cream Farm, and bought Northern Michigan's famous fudge in Charlevoix to send to neighbors back home. We spend hot lazy afternoons at a shady lake park at the end of the bay, sitting under a tree or swimming up until sunset, which is between 9:30 and 10:00 P.M. It makes me feel like a kid again to get to enjoy summer nights like these at the beach. Old-fashioned fun.

A swan family comes to visit every morning and evening, which is as adorable as a relaxed cat or husband.

But you know what? Things just aren't as much fun when there's a pandemic going on around you. We all know that. I mean, you can try to ignore it, but there's just a whole lot of anxiety in the air.

We have been out for a meal only twice in four months. At the Brown Bear, tables were a good distance apart, and only a few diners were allowed in at once. The other time, we had fish and chips at a pub in Charlevoix, and used the outside dining option. Though we're invited to go out for sundowners on other people's boats, we decline because of Covid. It's tempting. The folks here in the marina are kind, helpful, and fun. One man, Bull, knows pretty much everything about boats and, it turns out, we both like M'nMs and Original Doritos. He invited us to his annual Brisket Fest which was very kind of him and bar none it was the best brisket I'd every tasted. His wife Paula made a mesh screen for our bedroom so that Pika could be enclosed and won’t commit suicide by leaping overboard, as she wants to do every time Scott or I start the motor. I guess we'd go out with the doctor, if he invites us. If we could just go along with the fun, I'd feel less like a fuddy duddy. But I don’t want to wake up dead from Covid. Our neighbor Patrick, who takes his boat out almost daily, is so kind and so gregarious. But as much as we would like to take him up on his offer of wine at sunset, I really. really don't want to get or give Covid, so we always decline. We did attend a boat owners coffee one morning, but everyone (all ten of us) wore masks. Mostly, life is just we three, Scott, Pika, and me. It's lucky that we all pretty much like one another a lot, mostly.

Sheltering in place will be easier once we don't have to make so many trips to Home Depot, and when all the parts are in. (Big shout out to our neighbor at home Keith, who collected the new throttle which was sent to San Jose by mistake and express mailed it to us here.) We'll finally pull away from the Elmwood Marina for good, and carry on up, or down, or around the Great Lakes, all summer long, or until marinas shut down again, as soon as all the parts are in.

*Due to the Canadian border being closed indefinitely, and the Erie Canal not opening until August 10, and the Illinois lock closure until October (all of which are part of the Great Loop), and due to Covid, we have revised our plan for cruising the Great Loop to cruising the Great Lakes. Since we don't have to be home until the end of November, at least we will have the Great Lakes portion of the Great Loop ticked off by the end of the season.*

Canada's Georgian Bay and canal systems was our plan, but Trudeau's decision to keep the border closed is wise. I get it. With our infection rates, no one really wants Americans at the moment. Maybe it's time to pull out our Irish passports....

I miss my family and my spacious back yard, where I could have people over, BYO-everything and sit over there please, safe and sound.

Meanwhile, I'll happily shelter in place here on the Great Lakes on Green Eyes, with Blue Eyes (Scott) and Yellow Eyes (Pika) as long as they continue to cuddle and push and pull me through the boat. And oh, the clouds! It's worth it to be here just for the clouds.