Late Coffee…Early Cocktails

Lowering the colors

I discovered that I needed to go to sea in order to notice and appreciate the fragrance of the earth.  Greg and I enjoyed a salty life cruising on Yoohoo but today we sold her and stepped back on land. We cannot say that we will never cruise again nor live aboard a boat, but for now, we’ve decided to pursue a landlubberly life. The past five years have been privileged with challenge, rich in friendship, and brimming with enough thrills to make up for the grittiest moments.

Our hearts are filled with anticipation of the future and the tang felt when leaving a good life behind.  So we will not say farewell to all our cruising friends who we will miss dearly but fair winds. If you see Yoohoo out on the water give new owners Fran and Joyce a hearty Yoohoo! and make sure they are taking good care of her.

Tillergirl & Capt. Claw

Hurricane Irene over the Bahamas

We were still lounging about on the houseboat, about 10 feet from the Ontario border when our cell phones started whirring, beeping and ringing.  It seems we’d been so deep in Voyaguer’s National Park that we’d had no cell phone coverage for several days.  Suddenly we had 3 different messages about a Category II hurricane (or did he say III???) headed for the Virginia marina where Yoohoo was berthed.  We listened to all the messages, climbed to the top of the nearest hill and called H.C., our expert interpreter of all marine weather forecasts and our go-to man when we are unable to gather data.  And hurricane forecasts are very hard to come by in the north woods of Minnesota.

H.C. was glad to check the web for us despite having just recently discharged himself from the hospital where he had been treated for a severe allergic reaction to an attack of fire ants.  OMG, Did he say FIRE ANTS????   H.C.’s analysis gave us the info we needed to instruct our people in Virginia in preparing Yoohoo for Hurricane Irene.  Despite the enormous generosity of our friends in adding another couple of hours of work to their hectic pre-Irene tasks, Greg and I still spent the day pacing back and forth on a little rock island perched in Rainy Lake.   The surrealism was complete later that day when Greg’s phone rang again with daughter Jen on the line from D.C.  ”Don’t worry, I’m fine” she announced.   She’d been driving on the Beltway when an earthquake hit but was OK.

We are back in Virginia now and all is well.  Irene passed directly over our marina but thankfully was not quite as strong as forecast.  All boats at Southall Landings Marina fared well. We did manage to break a bolt off in a custom SS fitting on our dodger as we reassembled it.  It took Capt Claw 6 hours, 2 drills, 4 drill bits, 2 flesh wounds, an alarming amount of blood and a wee bit of cursing before the demon bolt was exorcised from the custom fitting,  but, once again, man wins!  Jen has put all the contents of her apartment back to their pre-quake locations and H.C. will get a new copy of the DVD “Antz” as thanks for his storm scrutiny.

The Aurora Beached

You may not have heard of the United State’s 4th coast — the Norwegian Riviera.  Here in Minnesota, the north shore of Lake Superior and the endless string of lakes nestled between the Canadian and U.S. borders are fondly referred to as the “Norwegian Riviera” and offer recreation opportunities ranging from busy resorts to remote solitude accessible only by foot and paddle.  My Dad had been scheming I think for awhile at how to return to his favorite haunts “up north” and finally convinced the family to try a houseboat trip. So my four siblings, our spouses, and my father headed up to Voyageurs National Park on the Riviera this month for a week-long rendezvous on a 50′ houseboat.

Yep, you counted right, eleven adults on one 50′ boat. Hmmm, and this was our vacation away from our

Three Hour Tour

boat. Not to worry, though the “Aurora” came equipped with only 4 cabins there was plenty of deck space to pitch tents around the hot tub and the charter company provided tow bars for any number of supplementary watercraft needed for escapes.  So we towed four speed and fishing boats behind, creating our own little parade through the granite-lined channels and sylvan shores.  There were moments we thought we’d be stopped and asked whether we were filming Captain Ron II or creating a floating embassy but we made it through the week with no incident more notable that the requisite launching of a boat without the plug.

Voyageurs is beautiful, FREE, and liberally sprinkled

More boats please

with campsites designated solely for houseboat use. The only daily dilemma was which site to pick to maximize fishing, swimming and hiking while minimizing potential weather hazards. We stayed on Rainy Lake and luckily the gorgeous weather did not live up to this lake’s name.  Instead of anchoring, these houseboats are beached and tied to shore.  Greg and I found it disquieting that this beaching process usually meant on top of a rock. The banging of the steel hulls on granite whenever a wave or wake went by was not a noise sailors ignore easily.  I also balked when my siblings brought out the floaties and jumped into the 65 degree water, issuing the traditional grinning lie:  “the water’s warm, c’mon in!”  Somehow Greg managed to escape this fate but I finally relinquished on the last day and plopped my tropical-baked bones down in the glacial lagoon.

The week did not pass without a bit of adventure. A strong low passed over the Riviera thwarting the

Greg in the library

appetites of all fish and bringing winds of 25 to 35 mph on the day my brother John and his wife Laura were scheduled to return to base via an open fishing boat.  Though these waters are protected by many islands, gusts to 35 mph made progress to windward very wet and wild.  After an hour of hard work John & Laura had only made it 1/3rd of the distance they needed to cover so they wisely pulled into the Visitor’s Center and John hitchhiked to International Falls to pick up his truck and boat trailer.

That same day another camp reported to base that life jackets, tackle boxes, boat seats and other debris was floating up on shore at their campsite and the Park Service launched a search mission immediately. We watched two enclosed Park Service boats head to the

Dad and I aboard the Aurora

area, followed soon by a float plane.  We were all relieved when the search was called off.  A smaller houseboat that we had watched that morning struggling to head to windward had capsized the nice fishing boat they were towing and were forced to cut it loose.  The next day my brother Jim recovered much of their gear that had been in the capsized boat and he sent it off with the Park Service officer that came around checking fishing licenses.  Unfortunately along with some of his own gear.

The low pressure system cleared the area in time for our last day, leaving balmy weather and a few hungry walleyes in its wake. Dad escaped the houseboat crew for a few hours of quiet fishing and a majestic sunset before we started packing up our gear to return to

Norwegian Riviera Sunset

civilization.  As our somewhat shorter procession wound its way around rocks I had to admit that Dad’s schemes always worked out in the end — the scenery on the Norwegian Riviera was spectacular, the campfires cozy, and the company the best!

Syd riding Toby

We came back home to Minnesota for our annual visit of friends, family, and all things of the firm earth.  Two years ago at the Minnesota State Fair we noticed that granddaughter Sydney had an affinity for any creature found in the horse barn.  That affinity, combined with her trademark fearlessness, prompted Capt. Grandpa to ask Syd if she’d like to join him in a little trail ride.  YES!  A few days later Grandpa and Syd moseyed down the dusty trail, Syd mounted on Toby, and Grandpa close-hauled on Zeus.  It seemed like just days ago when Grandpa would hum to toddler Sydney, “pony girl, pony girl, won’t you be my pony girl……” and now she’s a regular wrangler.  Sigh. The cowpokes wound their way through oak savannah, meadow and wetlands before returning to the barn just a little saddle worn. I’m not sure who had more fun, Grandpa or Syd!

Syd leads Grandpa down the trail

Jacqui at the helm

Sadly for us, our granddaughter Jacqui has packed up her sparkle, bounce, and brio and returned home, leaving the usual Yoohoo crew whirling in her wake.

This was Jac’s first time staying on board and we prepared the usual guest lectures regarding our finite resources while away from the dock. Our spiels were unnecessary as Jac started asking questions as soon as she arrived. Does the refrigerator work out on the water, which lights can we use away from the dock, does someone have to stay up all the time, can I run this fan all night, will jellyfish be sucked into the toilet?

She mustered for duty with few preconceived notions and was willing to try anything at least once. We

Up the mast -- no problem!

stopped short of testing her with bilge mucking duties but were tickled that her boundless enthusiasm included a trip up to the top of the mast, 57 feet above the water! The only thing she asked for in return was breakfast at the Waffle House — how could we argue with that form of settlement?

Breakfast did have to wait until we escaped for a cruise on the Chesapeake Bay. We anchored the first afternoon in Mobjack Bay and quickly donned our swimsuits, eager to cool off in the East River. As soon as we had all towels on deck the jellyfish proliferated but this had little impact on Jac’s desire for a dip in bona fide saltwater. Though she really, really wanted to try it she would not go in without decoy flesh preceding her into the water. Our argument that both of us should stay on deck as we were in a better position to see the next influx of nettles was filibustered by pleas no grandparent can ignore.  So Capt Claw also earned his waffles by climbing in and parting the jellyfish just as Moses parted the Red Sea. OK, maybe not exactly like Moses but Grandpa did make 6 trips down the swim ladder dodging toxic tentacles 5 times before, finally, the all clear was sounded and Jac splashed in for a quick dip.

Looking for Waffle Houses

Our cruise ended the next morning when a forecast heat index of 103 sent us scurrying back to the marina.  The change in destination provided a rousing close reach and — woohoo! — we flew along at 7 knots just 45 degrees off the wind….with a little help from the tide. Some unknown vessel set off their Digital Selective Calling (DSC) Alert allowing us to assist the Coast Guard by calling in our position and time when we heard the alert. This lead to a stealth trigonometry lesson and Jacqui spying the Coast Guard copter flying a grid search pattern from our reported position. We all got extra credit.

We are contemplating what our next step will be once the boat sells. Many folks in our age group have purchased homes in “communities” that greatly restrict the type of resident allowed, requiring sameness to a degree just short of cloning. We’ve scratched out heads at this practice and wondered why anyone would want to surround themselves with unvaried predictability. For us Jac’s visit accented how energizing it is to break routines, try new and unexpected things, and listen to someone whose thoughts are not ingrained along tired political lines. Surprises are a welcome part of life even if they involve someone abruptly yelling “WAFFLE HOUSSSSE!!!” as you drive down the highway.  Enthusiasm rules!