The Adventures of Green Eyes the Nordic Tug--Cruising in the Time of Covid. Chapter Five--The Great Scoop

             PHOTO, taken in Galveston Bay Texas the day we bought Green Eyes on January 31, 2020.

      I received a text from a friend today asking, "When will you start your trip?" 

     "We started in June!" I replied truthfully. But I understand her confusion. You see, we bought this boat specifically to do The Great Loop, a year-long, 6000 mile journey on North America's eastern lakes, rivers, and canals. Because it's a circle, you can begin anywhere on the Loop. In May, we didn't know when, where, or if we would start the Loop. When our county in California relaxed Covid travel restrictions on June 1st, we high-tailed it out of San Jose, California to Grand Traverse Bay Michigan, which was as good a place as any, with pandemic supplies, custom sheets for the boat, and our cat. 

     We launched Green Eyes in Traverse City. It would be a good springboard for the pristine waters of Georgian Bay, and The North Channel in Canada, our planned destination for summer 2020. Only, Covid and Canada saw things differently. The Canadian border is closed indefinitely. So, after pleasantly putzing around Northern Michigan-- from Suttons Bay and Northport, Leland and Pentwater,-- we made our way up the mitt to the villages of Charlevoix, Petoskey, and the especially picturesque Harbor Springs, where the rich and famous keep their yachts. We've loved so many of the towns we've docked in that in three we put down cash money to be put on a waiting list for a summer berth. The lists are twenty years long, and they aren't transferable, so that wasn't very well thought out given actuarial tables and all. Oh well.

     Each port has something unique to offer. Some have gigantic sand dunes, or dedicated bike lanes, or charming main streets. There's always a shop selling local ice cream or fudge or both. It wasn't long before we adopted a tag line to our Great Loop journey when, while I licked my fifth soft serve cone in ten days, Scott said, "I thought we were on The Great Loop. It's more like The Great Scoop." My personal taste leans towards soft serve ice cream. I've had soft serve in literally every stop so far. Always a single serving of vanilla on a cone (I mean, how can you adequately compare if you aren't having the exact same thing at every town?) After more than a dozen taste tests, "Frosties" in Greilickville near Traverse City wins. It's hands down the most perfect-tasting soft serve in a hundred mile radius. The luscious twist stands tall and keeps its shape. It doesn't melt too fast. The teen-age kids who work the walk-up window take my order quickly, then patiently pile the creamy goodness into the cone, as if they are making it for themselves, or for their best ice-cream-loving buddy. The entire cone (old-fashioned cake cone, of course) is filled from the bottom and they don't leave any empty space in the middle. Can you almost taste it? It's so good. 

     But there are other delicacies. It's cherry season so Farmers Markets, roadside farm stalls, and mom and pops offer cherry pies, cherry turnovers, cherry scones, even cherry-chicken salads. There is usually a big Cherry Festival in Traverse City, but the Coronavirus nixed that this year. It nixed the 43rd annual Wooden Boat Festival in Hessel too. The Charlevoix Venetian Festival was cancelled as well. Everything is cancelled. Not that we knew in advance about any of the festivals, but through our usual blithe luck, we unwittingly arrived at each of these ports on the very day the festival was to begin. I say we are lucky because in a normal year, we couldn't dream of getting a slip in a marina during a festival. They are just that popular in Michigan. It's a good news-bad news thing. We didn't get to see the festivals, but we did get to stay in the cool town. That is A-OK by me because I hate being in crowds, even without a pandemic.       

     Because of Covid, we have never had a problem getting a berth, even last minute, even in the most popular harbors, such as Charlevoix, or Harbor Springs. We were even able to stay at Mackinac (pronounced Mackinaw) Island for as long as we wanted. And we wanted. We rented cruiser bikes and rode around the entire island. We dined at the Grand Hotel and set a spell on the longest porch in America, 660 feet long. We walked, had soft serve, discovered Stauffers Ginger Snap Cookies (this is a bad thing because we eat them all the time now), and watched ferries come and go from the pier. We did everything on the pedestrian-only island except take a buggy ride. The horses looked exhausted, and, after you've taken a carriage ride in Central Park, what's the point of doing it anywhere else?

     With Canada closed, instead of staying strictly on the most common American Loop Route (down Lake Huron to the Erie canal and beyond), we've been exploring side trips such as the St. Mary's River and areas that are "Canada light." The Cheneaux Islands, a group of thirty-six small islands that abut the Canadian border (were we, or were we not, in Canadian waters for a lap of a wave or two?) has been our favorite place to drop the anchor or dock the boat so far. BIG favorite, as in it was hard to leave. It's not only a bird-watching paradise, the water is crystal clear, the small towns are laid back, and the pace is easy and slow. It reminds me of being on the Camino is Spain. Or in the Sixties. And the clouds. Oh my word, the clouds are right out of Heaven. Though we are quite far North, we haven't been lucky to see the Northern Lights yet, but the clouds, and the colors in the rainbows after a thunderstorm, have been truly spectacular.

     Anyway, cruising in the time of Covid has its weird advantages. We were able to get a same day table at the Culinary School in Hessel (fat chance of that in a "normal" year), and get a seat and a gin at the popular Distillery in Cedarville. Because all the attractions are closed, there are no crowds. The only time I am worried about being "out and about" during Covid, is when I use the marina bathrooms. But the young seasonal staff work hard to keep things disease free. The kids in the marina near Traverse City cleaned the bathrooms after every shower.

     Employees in grocery stores, gas stations, and restaurants up here in Northern Michigan seem to have taken this new normal in stride. But like Everyone Everywhere, they seem to be getting tired of it all--the extra work with the fewer tips, (because up to half the tables have been removed from restaurants.) The wiping down of shopping carts between customers. The sweaty masks. People in general seem tense. I think it's the uncertainty of it all. No matter where you are in the world, it's a very unsettled, very crappy time right now. But up here at least, Grace is given and received readily because, I guess, we realize we are all having this same weird, bad experience together.

     People have asked about Pika. She is doing fine. Though she still dislikes being underway, the three of us have developed a comfortable routine. She still purrs, and talks softly, and pedals her red bed as if she is kneading ginger snap dough. She likes to look out the windows, especially if there are dogs on a sailboat. We three love our cozy house on the water and feel lucky to be on a boat rather than stuck at home.

     Where are we now?

     We've rounded Michigan's mitt to Cheboygan, Rogers City, and Alpena. Due to thunderstorms, or high winds, sometimes fog, more days than not are "no gos." We sit by the marina pool, or bike to town for a soft serve, or undertake a new project on the boat. (Today's project is finding a better place to store our emergency back-up anchor.) The locals tell us it's an early fall. Brrrr. It feels like it. Many boaters are pulling their boats from the water for the winter. They'll have to wait for Memorial Day 2021 to boat again. 

     Soon, we will have to decide if we want to trailer Green Eyes to warmer climes to cruise a bit longer. We'll also need to decide where to leave her in late November to set us up well for continuing the Loop in the Spring. The possibilities are many. And with the actuarial table and all, we don't want to put off to later what we could and should do now. Do any of you feel the sense of urgency that I do?

     With or without Covid, we are very glad we bought a boat that can be trailer-ed so that we can pick up and go South. Not too far south though, on account of hurricane season and all.

      How are you coping with Covid? 

Stay safe,

      Scott and Tris, Green Eyes, August 26, 2020

NEXT: Lists!

 

The Adventures of Green Eyes the Nordic Tug, Cruising in the Time of Covid--The Boat. Chapter 4

Green Eyes is a 1991, twenty-six foot long tug boat. We think we are the fourth owners. Her original name was Legacy. We don't know which owner changed it to Green Eyes or why. It doesn't matter. Green Eyes suits her, and it suits us just fine too. It was love at first sight, but I think the name influenced our decision. One of the nicknames my mother had for me was "Green Eyes" so as soon as I saw the boat, I thought of my mom. I loved that.

     The name Green Eyes is cheerful. At least the way children say it sounds cheerful. We've only been cruising and living on her for two months, but we have heard countless children from the docks exclaim her name the way they would say "Santa!" when spotting one at the mall at Christmastime, or "Horsey!" when choosing a seat on a merry-go-round. "Green Eyes!" is always accompanied by a smile and a hop, as if they wish to jump on board for the adventure. I think our tiny boat reminds children of a storybook character, perhaps Tootle.

Or maybe they may have seen photos of Theodore the Tugboat in Canada. We are pretty far north so this is more likely than not.

     But Green Eyes even makes grown ups smile and point. Honestly, we hear "Green Eyes!" happily exclaimed daily. It's sweet. The boat looks like a sweet boat. She's slow and a bit old (thirty years). Her engine is quiet, and, at a maximum speed of 7-8mph, she makes very little wake so she doesn't disturb other boaters.

We had a bit of attention from a patrol-type-looking boat as we neared the famous Mackinaw Bridge when we were cruising from Lake Michigan to Lake Huron the other day. It was cruising in our direction then suddenly spun around and came speeding towards us with lights flashing. Being raised Catholic, I immediately thought we were guilty of some wrongdoing. Scott never used to think that way (On our first date he told me he was a Frisbetarian. "We believe," he said with a grin, "that when we die, our soul goes up on the roof and we can't get it down."), but after more than 40 years with me, he too was ready to offer mea culpas if needed. I would recite the Our Father and Three Hail Marys. We slowed to idle. When the driver was about 20 yards away, he shut off his flashing lights, saluted, turned around, and proceeded under the bridge. We were never called on channel 16, (the channel the Coast Guard, marinas, and other boaters monitor) so Scott concluded, "I think he just wanted to admire the boat up close."

     It wasn't out of the question that we thought we might be doing something wrong. After all, we are power boat newbies. To me, almost all the systems on the boat are puzzling. For one, what is an Inverter? "Invert" means to turn something upside down. I don't want to be upside down anywhere, least of all on a boat. But the Inverter is a very important system on our boat. I know that because it groans periodically from beneath the couch. It, I think, enables lights and stuff to work whenever we aren't plugged in to shore power. It is only recently that I have stopped asking Scott before we pull away from a dock, "So, is the switch for the inverter supposed to be UP or DOWN? And what about the charger? UP or DOWN?" I still don't fully understand it, but I now know the proper positions of switches when we are underway, or when we are plugged in to shore power.

     Many years ago, when we were young, long before I had ever heard the term Inverter, we had a sailboat. A forty-foot Wharram designed Catamaran. We sailed it all the way from Santa Cruz, California to Hawaii. It did not have an Inverter. It didn't have any electronics whatsoever. It had an outboard motor, but we mostly propelled ourselves with sails. We steered by tiller. Scott navigated with a hand-held sextant, "an instrument with a graduated arc of 60° and a sighting mechanism, used for measuring the angular distances between objects and especially for taking altitudes in navigation" so says Wiki. It had a porta potty, which was entirely disturbing. I almost blew us up one day when I used household chemicals to try to disappear the odor. We carried spare water and fuel in jerry cans, which were lashed to the deck. We bathed by laying in the net between the hulls and letting the ocean wash over us. Seriously. We did that. In the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Different Drummer was her name. She was simple. The times were simple. We were simple. No. We were YOUNG. Anyway, a boat with just an outboard and a tiller is a whole lot easier to manage than a tug boat, even if the tug is only 26' long and 9' wide. Green Eyes has thousands more moving parts than Drummer did. Also, it has been a long time since we've owned a boat.

     For the first two weeks that we lived aboard Green Eyes at the Elmwood Marina on Lake Michigan, we'd watch sailboats quietly come and go, drop their anchor in the bay, or hook up to a mooring ball in the harbor. "That looks so simple," I'd say. "Not many mechanical parts." It turns out that isn't really true because most sailboats these days come with hi-tech navigation systems. And they probably come with an inverter too. So when I looked at the sailboats and thought "simple" I really meant "young".

     But here we are, owners of a power boat capable of taking us around the Great Loop, a 6000 mile, year-long journey through North America's Eastern lakes, rivers, canals and inland waterways. We have no fewer than four screens telling us what to do, which way to turn, and at what depth we are nearly running aground. They give us course direction and compass heading. They tell us where we can fuel up or pump out (never could do that with the porta potty. But I'll get to a story about pumping out a different potty later.) The screens show ship wrecks and submerged navigation hazards. They show anchorages, marinas, and harbors of refuge--places one can duck into should the weather turn suddenly fierce as it is want to do at times on the Great Lakes. It DOESN'T tell you when to have the Inverter on. Scott says he likes me to have my own iPad open to Aquamaps charts just to have extra eyes on the route and depths. But really, I think he likes me to have it on my side of the navigation station (wheelhouse) so that I'm not bugging him all the time. "Are you on the pink line?"  I ask A LOT. Why is a GPS line pink? Because women ask for directions.

     So, back to that porta potty story. Green Eyes came equipped with lots of extras: a dingy and a davit, a Bow Thruster which helps give the boat a little push port or starboard when docking (I would have paid extra for the boat if I'd known how handy a Thruster can be), a full complement of tools, an extra propeller, several additional anchors, pots, pans, dishes, bedding, and last but not least, a wet vac. I noticed the full-sized wet vac the first time we flew to Texas to look at the boat. It was in the closet in the bedroom. For a tiny boat, it was a big wet vac. If we bought the boat, I wondered where I would store it other than in the only clothes closet on board.

     We loved the boat and all the extras that came with it so we gave an earnest money deposit and flew back to California. Several months passed. Covid arrived. Still, we needed to pay the balance and move the boat a two-day cruise away so we flew back to Texas in January. The amiable owner agreed to cruise with us to show us the ropes, which was so kind and generous, especially since he said he had other folks interested in the boat. We set off. Scott and Gerrit did all the driving. I took notes whenever Gerrit said anything about the boat, especially the Inverter. All the terms were new. I felt quite overwhelmed. Sometimes I went to the back of the boat and sat outside on a camp chair. I'd imagine us on the Great Loop. I made lists of items to buy for the boat to make it "ours". And I wondered again where I would store the wet vac.

     After two days, we arrived at our temporary home port in League City Texas, part of greater Galveston Bay. We sealed the deal to buy the boat and thanked Gerrit for all his help and instruction. It was invaluable. Then I asked him, "Gerrit, did you always store the wet vac in the bedroom closet? I mean, is there somewhere else on the boat we could store it? Did you even use it much?"

     "Well, I'll be honest Miss T (that's what he called me), we used it a few times to remove water in the bilges and in the lazerette, but it really came in handy the time the toilet was full to capacity and the marina pump out we counted on was not working. So we used the wet vac to empty the holding tank. And it worked really well. Believe me, my wife cleaned it out thoroughly before putting it in the closet."

     So many images sprung to mind at once.

     The first thing we did after waving goodby to the owner on the dock, was to vacate the wet vac. Scott, who thought it a creative use of a wet vac in an emergency started to say, "But, we might need it..." but I stopped him with a look. You see, I am not simple or young anymore so the odds of me using a wet vac to empty a marine head is pretty much zero. I'll stand on my tippy toes before I'll use a wet vac on poop.

     Anyway, Green Eyes may not be simple, but with her storybook looks and cozy rooms, and mostly because she takes us to new places, she makes us feel young again.