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, Cruising in the Time of Covid Chapter 2

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.

     I'd love to hear what you are up to this summer. How are you coping in the time of Covid?

Tris

Green Eyes

Lake Michigan

Next, Chapter 3: We almost send Pika home.