If yesterday’s post was a tad snarky, perhaps it’s because Charlevoix, while pleasant enough, is no Harbor Springs. Turns out Charlevoix is no Leland either. We docked just in time to join the massive lunch crowd at the Village Cheese Shanty. It may not look like much, but the sandwiches are well worth the pushing and shoving.
One of Michigan’s last working fishtowns is along the river.
Original shanties make unique shops and such. There’s a movement afoot to preserve the area as is. We even contributed.
Mallory pedaled one of the Hobies over to Van’s Beach and read all afternoon. In the drone video she’s the very small dot pushing a very small yellow kayak off the sand.
These two red cars are amphibious. Kind of like duck boats. Not a chance we’d be caught dead in one of them.*
There are photos around town of them cruising out on the lake, filled to the brim with bikini-clad models smiling and sunning. Not a life-jacket to be found. Mallory caught one of them approaching the boat/car ramp. She was on a dead sprint, hence the blur.
“Up just a little more, Punkin.”
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*If it’s too soon for duck boat references, we apologize.
Before we left Leland, a sailor much older than us—carrying laundry no less—whipped down the hill, onto the dock, around a corner, and to his boat, all on a little electric wheel. One of us now badly wants a SoloWheel Glide 3. The other two people on the boat think it’s a horrible idea. “No way, it’s too dangerous” and “Dad, you’ll kill yourself” was the theme. Meh. Looking forward to a 16-inch diameter present under the tree, and it better not be a Roomba.
But back to the Loop.
Not too much excitement on another stretch along the Michigan coast, although the scenery was different. Between Leland and Frankfort lies Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore.
Who knew there were national lakeshores anyway? This one is comprised of sand dunes and cliffs. Who knew there were sand dunes in Michigan anyway? Just past the park people built houses on the sand. In the previously-referenced biblical parable, building a house on sand is what the foolish man did. We saw evidence of people whose intricate stairway to the sand crumbled—duh—effectively leaving them without beach access. How foolish is that?
Here’s the Betsie Point Light, which is about the zillionth “Most Photographed Lighthouse” we’ve passed.
We dutifully took our picture but the puffing is tiresome. Although puffing is a good word to know. Remember the carbolic smoke ball case?
Sadly Mallory left us again to head back to school. We love that kid, and are very proud of the way she handles her business.
After our second trip to the Gerald R. Ford International Airport, we took the marina Buick—rusted out body, bad transmission, worthless gas gauge, faulty tire pressure sensor, original cigarette lighter that actually would light a cigarette, smells like a grandfather and all—to the dunes. The dunes were very cool.
Unfortunately the payoff for schleping the drone up the dunes was nothing, as the video all was blurry.
One might think this is a selfie of Brent and Karen, our buddies who’ve been traveling with us.
Nope. It’s a photo of Dana. Look again. If only we were mooners.
Have we mentioned the spiders? We’re so over spiders. There should be a law limiting each state to one disgusting and annoying pest. That should do away with the spider epidemic here, since Michigan already has Jim Harbaugh.
Dockside grilling with Second Wave, Texas 2 Step, and our old friends on Bucket List. Great to catch up with them.
Apparently Saturdays are great for fishing, because there were small boats bobbing about everywhere as the day lengthened. Mostly they were fine and we did much waving. But a few seem to think it a bother to let a 56,000 lb trawler pass unmolested. Everyone can see us coming literally miles away, poking along in a straight line. Like ants watching a fat slug approach. The fellows aboard Fishing Lies thought it quite funny to cut across our path from port to starboard and then slow to a crawl about thirty feet off our bow. They actually laughed when we stopped to keep from hitting them. This is on the fifth largest lake IN THE WHOLE WORLD, mind you, so it’s not like there isn’t room to maneuver.
After an exchange of pleasantries that brought Dana running to the flybridge, they realized we had snagged their lines. We could hear their reels spinning as we pulled away, exchanging more pleasantries with Doug right up until our line cutter did its thing. We figure right now they’re probably feeling pretty grateful for the life lesson.
Although we had an awesome day for cruising, things turned more sour about an hour from Manistee. The wall only is long enough for a few boats our size, and the boats from last night wanted to stay around. The dock master said to check back at noon.
But we were past the cool breakwater lighthouses and deep in the scenic canal by 11.
How about topping off with fuel at Seng’s Marina? That should kill thirty minutes or so. Maya was quite helpful in getting us set up, and apologized for their five-gallons-per-minute pump. We needed 450 gallons. That’s a lot of minutes. We got the starboard tank full just fine, but then they ran out. Wait what? Balancing the tanks is easy but takes time. Grrrrr.
The bridge guys, however, were as good at their job as any as we’ve encountered so far. The dude at Maple Street popped it up so that we didn’t wait a heartbeat. The dude at the Memorial Bridge was confident we could get under but came down to watch at mast level just in case. We hadn’t planned to go into Manistee Lake at all, but the bridges made it a non-event.
Now for the best part. After our third trip to the Grand Rapids airport in the past week, we returned home with Shannon and her mess of luggage in tow. We loved having Mallory with us and we wish we had them both at the same time, but at least we’ll have one of them for another week even if all the car rides do confuse their brothers. We think the boys will get over it.
Unfortunately we had no time to explore Manistee, so can’t really comment on its worthiness. There are high winds on the menu for Tuesday and Wednesday—plus the new water pump is acting up—so we’ll probably have a few days to see what Ludington is all about. We’ve heard good things.
This morning we postponed our planned departure because of fog.
It wasn’t horrible fog, but there was enough of it to cause worry. And we certainly didn’t want Shannon to worry on her first day of cruising in several months.
At 9 we pulled off the wall with the radar spinning madly, past the smelly dead salmon and the bushel of greens we dumped out of the AC strainer. Gross. Fortunately Shannon still was asleep, so she missed it.
Lake Michigan was so smooth we didn’t activate the stabilizers. And we activate the stabilizers to cross canoe wakes. Just about the time we reached the iconic Big Sable Point Light—which has been saving mariners since 1867—the fog dissipated and blue sky emerged.
Shannon still was asleep, so she missed it. But the lighthouse is available for sightseers so maybe we’ll pop over later in the week. Given the weather forecast we may be here a while.
Years ago when Doug formed his law firm, he attempted to grab the domain name belknaplaw.com. Alas it was taken. A few years back, the ne’er-do-well Oregon attorney who snaked the address contacted Doug about a client. Turns out Wendell Belknap is a great guy after all, and over time we’ve bonded, albeit mostly by email. Wendall is a genealogy savant who has compiled a database with detailed documentation and information about more than 25,000 Belknaps. That’s more than a boatload of Belknaps. We now know that Mallory and Shannon are Wendall’s 5th cousins, twice removed, or some such thing. Certainly close enough to hit up the same family reunion we say.
How’s that relevant to Misty Pearl’s adventures? Easy. While traveling through this part of Michigan we discovered Belknap Park and Belknap Lookout. Through the wonders of Google we learned about Charles Belknap—from Grand Rapids—who made a name for himself in part by helping Sherman burn Atlanta and by attacking the brave Sons of The South who were defending Chattanooga and Chickamauga. For all that he won some medals or something. Anyway, today we had some time to research how we’re related to ole’ Chuck. And by “research” we mean ask Cousin Wendall, who graciously did the legwork to determine that the Hero of Grand Rapids/Villain of Chattanooga also was Mallory and Shannon’s 5th cousin, but three times removed. Since he’s been dead a long time we figure there won’t be any awkwardness at the reunion.
Ok enough of that. The Ludington Municipal Marina sign welcomed us at about 12:30. Docking was a bit tricky but we managed to get in safely. Shannon still was asleep, so she missed it.
We tied up the lines, hooked up the power, checked in, and were heading to lunch just as Shannon showed up. Good thing. We were about to call a doctor.
Lazy afternoon and cards along the lake waiting for the SS Badger. Hopefully we can get the drone up later this week to video the docking performance. It’s pretty cool.
So the weather has stuck us in Ludington for who-knows-how-many-more days. There’re worse places to be stuck, but Ludington has run its course. We’re fighting the urge to let boredom push us into certain death, since in the harbor it’s gorgeous.
But the big water outside the harbor has four-footers from the west, building to eight-to-ten by Saturday. That’s way too many feet. Grrr.
Mostly we feel bad for Shannon, who now is forced to sleep most of the day in a sleepy Michigan town rather than sleep most of the day while we cruise. But at least she got in a little kayak time.
Ludington is sandwiched between Lake Michigan and Pere Marquette Lake, which is named for Father Jacques Marquette. There are murals all over Ludington, including one depicting that time the good Father shrewdly traded a cheap Chinese rifle and rusty hatchet for all of the Natives’ ancestral lands and then they made s’mores on the beach.
Ludington also is about mid-way down the Michigan coast, and at about the narrowest place to cross Lake Michigan over to Wisconsin. The S/S Badger is the last coal-powered steamship on the Great Lakes, and ferries things and folks across to and from Wisconsin. The Badger coming in is a big time for the locals in Ludington, who flock to the lakeside to watch. This either speaks well of the boat or speaks poorly of the town, of course, since the boat docks twice a day. We flew the drone over to check it out up close. There may or may not have been a black-box obscuring the screen with a no-fly warning and it was getting dark, so we didn’t get the best of the video possibilities but it’s all we have.
Since this is lighthouse country, we strolled out the north breakwater to the cleverly named North Breakwater Lighthouse.
Inside we found a photo from November 10, 1975.
That’s right, this is the Lake Michigan tip of the storm that sank the Edmund Fitzgerald in Lake Superior the same day. The significance of all that of course is the unexpected opportunity to work in another Gordon Lightfoot line. Does anyone know where the love of God goes, when the waves turn the minutes to hours?
The next day we drove a rental car up to the Big Sable Point Light.
From the shore the waves looked pretty big.
From the top of the lighthouse they still looked pretty big.
Until recently, we’ve slept quite well aboard Misty Pearl without incident. About a week ago though—at 3 a.m.—someone was shrieking “Help! Help!” and banging on the hull. Clearly some woman was dying. The below-deck hallway isn’t particularly wide, and there are odd angles and steps to get to the salon and out to see what’s happening. It’s hard enough for klutzes like us to avoid what we call boat bruises in broad daylight; at night it’s impossible. So hearts racing we leapt up and bounced off the corners like groggy pinballs (but without the pleasing electronic sound of scoring points). Turned out Mallory was having a bad dream. Relieved, but still tough to fall back asleep.
One night in Ludington—at about 1 a.m.—someone was on the foredeck shining a flashlight, the beam of which bounced down into our cabin. Clearly some dude was trying to steal the kayaks or the flybridge chart plotter or warming up to drop through the hatch and murder us like Herb and Bonnie Clutter. So hearts racing we leapt up again, pinballed off the corners again, and started yelling at the intruder. Turned out Shannon decided to retrieve something she left up there. In the middle of the night. Relieved again, but still tough to fall back asleep. In both instances, our loyal guard dogs stayed on the bed. As far as we could tell, at most they were annoyed at the ruckus. They’ve both proven to be pretty worthless in a crises.
We’ve now seen Mamma Mia 2, washed the boat, done laundry, been to the grocery store and Lowe’s, picked up yet more medicine for Benny, taken the obligatory tourist photos, and seen about all there is of Ludington. The blog post for the rest of this stop might be pretty thin unless we stumble into something interesting.
“Up just a little more, Punkin.”
Here’s the Betsie Point Light, which is about the zillionth “Most Photographed Lighthouse” we’ve passed.
But the big water outside the harbor has four-footers from the west, building to eight-to-ten by Saturday. That’s way too many feet. Grrr.
Ludington is sandwiched between Lake Michigan and Pere Marquette Lake, which is named for Father Jacques Marquette. There are murals all over Ludington, including one depicting that time the good Father shrewdly traded a cheap Chinese rifle and rusty hatchet for all of the Natives’ ancestral lands and then they made s’mores on the beach.
