The Adventures of Loon and Her Caretaker: Hatching a plan for Migration
“Loon”, being a vessel built in Taiwan in 1986 and having had at least three previous owners, had already had her share of adventures long before I became her latest owner…or rather caretaker, in June of 2022. I’ll never really get to know much about her life before she became a part of my life, but that’s OK. I will be happy with the experiences and adventures that we create together. And the fall of 2023 was the start of our biggest adventure together to date. That is when we started our southern migration.
Loon’s home port is in Burlington Vermont on Lake Champlain. (Shout out to Ferry Dock Marina! https://ferrydockmarina.com/ ) And of course Vermont and the entire Lake Champlain region have a relatively short boating season that runs roughly from mid-May into mid-October. The rest of the year Lake Champlain boats are “on the hard”. That means they are hauled out of the water, winterized, put on jack stands, and wrapped in plastic and left to wait out nearly 6 months of winter. It is a sad but necessary part of choosing to boat on North America’s most historic and scenic lake.
Unfortunately, It is next to impossible to perform any significant work on a vessel on the hard during a Vermont winter. That was our situation during the winter of ‘22 and spring of ‘23. Loon needed (and will always need) a fair bit of TLC and I was not able to work on her until late March of 2023. Even then, my earlier projects were performed under Loon’s plastic cocoon. I was not able to unwrap her until mid-April when the worst threats of snow had passed. And then it was a mad scramble to finish as many projects as I could before she was “splashed” (launched) in mid-May.
As Loon and her crew hosted the many dozens of our charter guests last summer (2023), I was pleased with her performance and our guests’ positive responses to their experiences. Together we enjoyed seeing the eagles and peregrines, sharing stories of the rich history of the area, and witnessing Lake Champlain’s legendary sunsets. But in the back of my mind I was haunted by the image of my Loon, high and dry in the winter, wrapped in plastic and encrusted with ice. I could not bear the thought of putting us through that in the winter of ‘23-’24, so I began to incubate our migration plan. Afterall, Loon’s namesake migrates, so why can’t she?
April 4, 2024, marks six months since Loon left her home port in Burlington. And it's been four months and eight days since I backed Loon into her winter slip in Beaufort North Carolina. Tomorrow is also our planned departure day from Beaufort as we start our slow, 960 (+/-) mile journey north to Lake Champlain. My friend John joined Loon yesterday for a much-needed trip on the water. We might have left a little sooner, but the foul weather had other plans. There is an old saying among cruisers that the most dangerous thing on a boat is a calendar. If we let calendars dictate our comings and goings, the weather would have its way with us.
My internet connection has been spotty at best since I arrived here (save for the kind neighbors who let me piggyback on their StarLink connection while they were here). So this may be my last, rambling entry for a while.
Staying in one place as I have for the last four months on tidal saltwater on the Outer Banks, I have found myself getting more in tune with the rhythms of the planet. The inexorable rise and fall of the tides gently cradle my floating home and I experience it as the breathing of the earth itself. The wildlife are all reliable players on this stage. Egrets, dolphins, wild horses, herons, pelicans, coyotes, loons, terns, osprey, mergancers, cormorants, night herons all enter and exit this stage, faithfully performing their timeless roles on cue. I find myself gazing out over the water often and I am trying to reframe my thinking on this...the scene is not a distraction from my daily tasks and chores; The daily tasks and chores are distractions from this engaging and ever-changing scene.
I travel trails of liquid Dreams,
meandering on streams and seas,
If there's any meaning in my wanderings,
maybe time will tell.
The birds all Know where they are bound,
through ancient mysteries handed down.
I may be lost, but they are found
in the rhythms of the Earth
I have so many stories swirling around in my head of the people I have encountered on this adventure ...too many stories to count. Stories that are worthy of special care and respectful expression. For now they'll remain a mental collage. But I can offer a few glimpses:
The man who owns and runs a tired little marina and who used to own several marinas and boatyards. In the past he had turns as a boat delivery captain, prize-fighter, and the owner of a somewhat famous boatbuilding company. When I met him he was greeting the last trickle of migratory cruising boats. He offered me a couple of cold Rolling Rocks and let me beat him at pool in his empty bar.
The guy who washes dishes at the restaurant on the boardwalk next to Loon and works the late shift at the Piggly Wiggly. He hails from Colorado and I've never seen him without his cowboy hat. He can be a chatty fellow and two minutes after introducing himself he made a vague reference to escaping some legal entanglements back home. He claims to have lived off grid in the mountains with his rottweiler and pet mountain lion. On his breaks he circles the building, picking up cigarette butts and offering a running commentary of how people are basically shit. These are probably the most discouraging words I've heard from an otherwise pleasant and positive populace of this sweet little town.
The cruising couple (real rocket scientists) who retired from the JPL (Jet Propulsion Laboratory) in California when it "stopped being fun." Now they live aboard their absolute beast of a little steel boat that is designed to go just about anywhere on the planet. The stars were their career now the world is their oyster.
And on and on...
Time to make a light dinner and head over to the Backstreet Pub to hear tonight's open mic offerings. It'll be sad to leave this welcoming town, but I am looking forward to getting back to Lake Champlain.
Onward,
Capt. Tom Peterson