First things first. We survived Erin. The dock-master had us move to a more secure spot and tie off to the fixed wharf, but we probably were fine where we were.
It rained, but not like it did for a week in Pensacola. The wind blew, but not like it did for two months in Marathon. Yesterday and today were clear and warm and glorious. Except huge waves still were pounding out in the ocean, so we sucked it up in Lockeport.
When we decided to stop here, Google Maps showed three restaurants, two of which had decent reviews. When we got here, we discovered that both of those two are out of business. The one by the dock is the only one left. In fact, all of Lockeport feels a bit like a ghost town.
The folks we met were quite nice, of course, and Dana enjoyed the WiFi—between 2:30 and 5:00 and on Thursdays between 6:00 and 7:30—during the moments when the regional library was open.
Lockeport at one point was quite the tourist draw, and from 400 feet or so above town we could see why. Very cool location. But then, from a distance most every town looks happy. Except maybe Gila Bend. Now Lockeport mostly is all about lobstering and fishing, which is a very noble thing especially seeing as how we love lobster and fish.
There just isn’t much for tourists anymore. Even in desolation, of course, we managed to find some cool stuff, like the path around the island and Floyd’s Little Harbour. We don’t know who Floyd is, but ironically his tiny boats just might be the biggest attraction around.
Tomorrow we’re leaving well before dawn in order to ride the tidal current up to Yarmouth. No Drama is hanging back. Hopefully they’ll catch up, but if not we’ll see Jeff and Ann and Zak and Sheila back in Phoenix. Fred is heading home to the land of Cheeseheads.