Wednesday morning, we pack up the truck with luggage, food, and drink. Mom makes a yummy avocado toast breakfast and gives us big hugs goodbye…or so she thinks. Dad drives us down to Irish’s where the boat is shining in its slip. Hold up. As I near the boat, I see the engine hatches are up. Well, that can’t be good. There is a man in the engine room looking hot and irritated. I ask him how long he thinks he’ll be, and he says a couple of hours for sure. I call William, who has gone to the office to settle up, and give him the news. He is not pleased. The boat has been at Irish’s for weeks now, and it is clear that they just started working on it. Labor is in short supply, and they have been backed up all summer. We head back to my parents for some deep breaths. Mom says she won’t strip the beds just yet, ye of little faith.
Two hours
later, William calls for a status update. “Well sir, we’ve run into some
electrical issues, so it’s going to be a while.” William says, "I’ll be right
there." He heads down there again only to discover that they can’t find the
house batteries. Ha. We’ve been here before (see previous post), and he is tickled
pink to show them exactly where they are under the floorboards. A shore power outage
the night before had caused the fridge to drain the batteries. A quick charge
and the boat is good to go. Crisis averted, so Wm returns to get us from the
house.
One of the mechanics helps us load everything on the boat, and we chat as we work. He explains
he used to work for Irish’s and has just returned after a three-year hiatus. I say I bet they’re glad to have you back. He
explains that work had been nonstop since he got there. He then gives me his cell
number and says to please call if we run into any issues. You just can’t be mad
when people are so nice.
Another hug
for Dad, and we jump into boat mode – loading coolers/fridge, stowing belongings,
and getting rid of the f-ing spiders. They are everywhere, webs and all. We sweep away
as many as we can and head out. The day is beautiful, and the water is calm. We
work our way past Charlevoix and down to Sleeping Bear Dunes for a swim stop.
The two-hour
cruise down is lovely. William and I are listening to tunes on the flybridge
and feeling fine. We may even enjoy a smooch, only for me to open my eyes to a gigantic
spider crawling around his collar towards my face. Way to kill the mood,
arachnid.
At North
Manitou Island (Sleeping Bear Dunes Preserve), we pull into a lovely cove. A
boat in the distance might be yelling at us. I’m pretty sure they were trying to warn
us of boulders, but we already see those on our chart. They eventually motor by and
aren’t yelling anymore so I guess we’re in the right spot. We get fairly close to shore, and the children
proceed to leap off the flybridge into the turquoise water. William and I follow
suit at a lower level; the boat is sitting proudly in the water not moving a muscle. There is no
wind or wake so we do not even need an anchor. We swim for a bit, enjoying the
beautiful sand dune island in front of us and the blue water around us. As we
get back on, Mason announces this is the best trip we’ve ever taken. Excuse me for
a minute, I’ve got something in my eye.
Onward to our
overnight spot, Ludington. It is a beautiful ride with gigantic sandy dunes along
the coast. We make it in three hours and neatly pull into our slip. Another
friendly fella helps us tie up and asks if we are doing the Loop. We explain we
are but in fits and starts, accent on the fits. He tells us that three vessels around us are all doing
it and chastises us for not having a flag. Apparently, the white flag means you’re
currently doing the Loop, and the gold flag means you have completed it. He
then gives us his boat card to keep in touch. William teasingly tells me I have failed
in the Loop swag department. Another Looping couple strolls up with their dog
and talks to us about our travel plan. The wife says it sounds like a logistical
nightmare. Once again, we are significantly younger and more optimistic than
the average Looper. It feels good to be young and dumb.
We head to a
local restaurant for dinner. Everybody is in a great mood, and it’s a fun
dinner. The children tell us stories about current and future classmates and a
few hijinks that keep us laughing through the meal. We head back to the boat,
quickly realizing that we have not set anything up. Some of the good spirits
dissipate as we wrestle tabletops for bed set-up, crunching a few scattered goldfish
underfoot along the way. Looks like we will be reviewing the shipshape systems
in the morning.
Nighty night
all.
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