The Adventures of Loon and Her Caretaker: Hatching a plan for Migration
It all begins with an idea.
“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
August 11, 2024
This last week on Lake Champlain has given me renewed appreciation for the boating community here. In fact, it's as much a family as it is a community. A not-so-brief recap:
Sunday, August 4 - Whistling Man Schooner Company (www.whistlingman.com) hosted a company night cruise on NautiPaddle (www.nautipaddle.com) to celebrate a brilliant young crewman who is about to embark on an amazing traditional sailing adventure in Norway.
Tuesday August 6 - Sunrise cruise on Loon (www.cruiselakechamplain.com), buddy-boating with our colleagues of Whistling Man Schooner Company and photographer Stephen Mease (https://stevemease.wixsite.com/stevemeasephoto) for photos and videos.
Wednesday, August 7 - A nice midday cruise across the lake with friends from the marina over to the New York side for a great lunch at Indian Bay Restaurant & Marina. (www.indianbaymarinany.com).
Thursday, August 8 - With the remnants of hurricane Debby expected to hit us on Friday, I was able to move some of Friday's charter guests into a Thursday time slot. The cruise hit a minor snag (literally) when I fouled the prop on a stray line, putting loon temporarily out of commission three miles from our home port. Thankfully good friend and fellow USCG licensed captain Bob "Bubba" Bristow came to our aid and safely taxied our guests back to Ferry Dock Marina. BTW - In my extensive boating travels I have never seen a finer marina than Ferry Dock Marina (https://ferrydockmarina.com/). As soon as our guests were off the boat and in the care of Bubba, Mike "Spike" Hendrickson of Harbor Launch & Tow (https://www.burlingtonharborlaunchandtow.com/) came alongside in his workboat 'Mae" and Mike and I worked together to get Loon safely tied to one of Bubba's secure moorings to ride out the coming storm.
Friday, August 9 - Met for breakfast with two good boating friends, overlooking Burlington Bay and the incoming foul weather. We discussed boats (of course!) and listened while one of our group talked about the escalated treatment for his prostate cancer. It was a leisurely two hour breakfast among three old friends with good conversation and multiple cups of coffee. I was scheduled to drive two charters on Saturday morning for Whistling Man (sailboats) and then three cruises on Loon on the Saturday afternoon. I wasn't even sure if Loon would be good to go and back at her slip by Saturday. So, thankfully, Captein Alexis "Moxie" Kelly offered to take my sailboat shift so that I could focus on getting Loon back in service. (Thanks Moxie!) Later that (still Friday) day I met-up again with Spike at Loon during a brief lull in the weather where Captain (and artist) Hannah "OB" O'Brien (https://www.instagram.com/sailingvessel.../reel/Cx5jgSCr16T/) loaned us the use of her electric-powered dinghy. Spike donned his scuba gear, cleared the fouled prop, and confirmed that Loon had suffered no damage. (Although I can't quite say the same for my pride! After all, I was the one responsible for the fouling.) We left Loon on the mooring to ride out what was to be the worst of the storm. All that evening OB sent me photos and updates, assuring me that Loon was safe all during the storm that punched through the lake with winds in excess of 50 MPH. And as Debby dealt her worst, the brave and professional crew back at Ferry Dock Marina were busy helping to secure boats in that nasty blow.
Saturday, August 10 - Becky drove me back to Bubba's waterfront home so that I could take Loon back to her home port. In the Meantime, Hannah (OB) had graciously bailed the storm water out of my dinghy. By 11:00 AM Loon was safely and happily back at her slip and ready for her three Saturday charters.
That's just a snapshot of what being part of a boating community...a family of brothers and sisters..who always...ALWAYS take care of each other. I am so grateful and so honored to call you friends and colleagues!
Onward! - Captain Tom
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BRIDGES
October 4, 2023, day one of my southern migration. My wife Becky and I were enjoying a sparkling and unseasonably hot October day aboard our trawler Loon on Lake Champlain. We had made a brief stop in Westport NY to pick up a spare part and were proceeding slowly toward Whitehall and the locks of the Champlain Canal. This happened to be the farthest south on Lake Champlain that I had driven my vessel and I was reveling in the excellent conditions and stunning surroundings. The wide, flat, fertile plain of the Champlain valley stretched off to the east where it met the western slopes of Vermont’s Green Mountains. To the west, the steep foothills of New York’s Adirondack mountains tumbled into the lake’s western shore. But I was venturing into waters with which I was unfamiliar. I slowed my pace and focused on the charts, verifying aids to navigation (ATONS) and my position relative to them.
What looked like miles of open water concealed vast areas of shoal water. Up ahead, on the New York side, Bulwagga Bay stretched south into protected water bordered by grassy marshes and drowned forests. It looked calm and peaceful in the mid-afternoon sun but the narrow entrance to the bay was protected by shoals, submerged pilings, and various other underwater obstructions. Definitely a “no-go” zone without local knowledge aboard.
To the left, on the Vermont side, Hospital Creek has been discharging its runoff from miles of farmland for centuries, forming a substantial shoulder of muddy shoal. Here again, smooth, flat, open water beckons but the ATONS, which from some angles appear to be out in the middle of the lake, warn me to steer clear.
Through all this checking of my surroundings and cross-referencing the charts, I make sure to allow myself fleeting glimpses of the bridge that had begun to reveal itself where the lake narrows and doglegs. It will be the first of many dozens of bridges that I will encounter on this 1000 mile trip…and perhaps one of the most beautiful. Its structure traces gentle curves against the sky, slender and elegant. She bids me to approach and presents herself as the welcoming gateway to my adventure. And as I slow down to savor the moment I reflect on the history of this remarkable structure.
October 16, 2009 was a Friday. We remember this day in our family because that was the day Becky drove through the countryside of Vermont’s Champlain Valley and across the old Champlain Bridge to sing at a cousin’s funeral in Westport NY. Becky was unaware that within an hour or two after she crossed into New York, the state authorities closed the bridge to all traffic. Later, at the reception after the service, is when she found out that the bridge was no longer available and that she’d have to take the ferry home or add nearly 100 miles of driving to take the long way around the lake and back to Burlington.
The states of Vermont and New York had recently embarked on a plan to rehabilitate the historic 80 year-old bridge. In the course of that rehabilitation, close inspection of the piers on October 16 revealed that the ravages of age were much worse than expected. The old bridge was in danger of catastrophic failure. Authorities ordered immediate closure leaving travelers on both sides scrambling to make alternative arrangements to reach their destinations. The bridge never reopened and on December 29, 2009, explosive charges dropped the structure into the lake in a controlled demolition. The innovative and iconic structure that had become such an integral part of people’s lives was gone.
The area of Lake Champlain between Chimney Point, Vermont and Crown Point, New York is only 1600’ wide and has been an important crossing point for humans since the end of the last ice age. All manner of watercraft, from dugout canoes, to rowboats, to horse-powered ferries to steamboats had carried people and goods across the narrows for thousands of years. By the early 1920s, the growing population and increased commerce in the region called for a faster pace of travel between New York and Vermont. So the two states each appropriated $200,000 to establish the Lake Champlain Bridge Commision and by 1927 plans were underway for a new bridge. On August 26, 1929, the ribbon was cut and the new bridge was opened to the public. Remarkably it was completed in just 14 months.
Fast forward to fall of 2009 with the closure and demolition of the 1929 bridge. The residents of the region now had to deal with a missing vital link in the chain that bound east and west, one to the other. But once again, with a shared will and sense of urgency, citizens and officials came together with the common goal of replacing that link...and as quickly as possible. The new Lake Champlain Bridge, built in the footprint of the 1929 bridge, was open to traffic just two years and one month after the old bridge was closed. As someone who has spent most of my adult life managing capital construction projects I can say that, considering the complexity of the undertaking, it is impossible to overstate the significance of the speed and efficiency of this bridge replacement effort. Some of you may have heard that Lake Champlain is home to a mythical beast (named Champ) akin to the Loch Ness Monster. In fact the aforementioned Bulwagga Bay is the site of dozens of sightings of the beast dating back over 80 years and is in close proximity to the Lake Champlain Bridge. Shortly after the opening of the new bridge in 2011 there appeared in local papers a cartoon by Mark Wilson showing the new bridge rendered in the likeness of Champ. The caption reads: “A government that invests in infrastructure and can rebuild a bridge in two years?! Now THAT’s a mythical beast!”
What I just gave you is a very rough sketch of the history of two bridges in one location. (“Just the facts ma'am.”) But what fascinates me…and provides me with a deep well of hope, is what bridge-building represents. For starters, I’m fascinated and inspired by how a range of disciplines collaborate to guide such complex projects along the path of need, concept, design, execution and completion. Experts in archaeology, geophysics, civil and structural engineering, finance, administration, heavy construction and more…all lending their talents to overcome monumental challenges. And all pulling together and in the same direction until the project is completed. But none of those tasks are possible without there first being a social need and political will.
I think the civil/social/political aspect of building actual bridges is, for me, the biggest source of inspiration and hope. In my view virtually all bridges represent some of the best examples of human ingenuity, cooperation, and progress. This is summed up so nicely by a local resident who depends on the Lake Champlain Bridge, who said, “We are two states, but one community.”
I feel so fortunate to have sailed under some of the most iconic bridges in the world and I’m inspired by their very existence and eager to learn their stories. As media, including social media, continuously remind us how divided we are as a nation, I’m finding I need to tune a lot of it out and find my own peace and hope in the world. Sometimes all I need to do to find that peace and hope is to study a bridge. And maybe even cross it.
Capt. Tom Peterson
November 2024
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11/18/2024
(One year ago today, November 18, 2023, Jackson Creek, Deltaville, Virginia)
During any trip on a cruising pleasure boat there are bound to be a few unscheduled layover days. Weather is often the cause for these delays, but other causes can include mechanical issues, crew exchanges, or maybe a need for a little R&R. Today it was weather. Our next scheduled stop would be Norfolk Virginia. From Deltaville to Norfolk is a run of about 51 nautical miles. That’s a longish day in a slow trawler but certainly doable, even solo. But the run is mostly through exposed waters of the southern Chesapeake and the wide mouth of the York River, both of which open directly to the North Atlantic. There is a lot of fetch where wind and waves can build to uncomfortable (and sometimes dangerous) levels if the offshore weather is foul. Southeast winds can be especially troublesome as they are compressed and intensified between Cape Charles to the North and Cape Henry to the South in a sort of venturi effect. Such was the case today. Hence the layover in Jackson Creek.
For the past couple of days I had been “buddy boating” with my friends Richard and Kay and their golden retriever Otis on their trawler Circe. We arrived in Deltaville yesterday, the 18th at 1:00 PM (1300 hours in mariner’s parlance), giving us plenty of time to go ashore to stretch our legs. Our pace was leisurely. We dinghied to shore and paid the $5 fee to tie-up at the marina. We walked through the woods and over to the grounds of the Deltaville Maritime Museum. The museum was closed for the season but the grounds are always open and the outside displays of old boats, tools, and other assorted nautical paraphernalia are interesting to examine. The museum grounds also contain a beautiful sculpture garden along paths that wind seductively among pines and live oaks. A thick layer of pine needles and waxy, fallen oak leaves cushion every footfall along the paths. The lifesized sculptures, fashioned from copper, depict herons, hawks, fish, cranes, dolphins, and other fauna native to the region and are nestled randomly and naturally in the undergrowth of the forest. This is not a “hiking” trail. It is more a path with the vibe of a labyrinth, inviting one to walk slowly and pause frequently to absorb and appreciate the beauty of nature and the artistry of humans.
Another path takes us down a gentle slope and leads us to the shore of a shallow backwater where the F.D. Crockett is tied to the dock. She is a traditional Chesapeake buyboat built in 1924. She was a working vessel for 70 of her 100 years and has been lovingly restored and meticulously maintained. If she could have been coaxed into telling her stories I would have happily parked myself there and listened for days.
As we slowly made our way back to the marina Otis was happy to romp in the open fields of the museum grounds. Then back through the woods and into the boatyard. Before returning to the docks we allowed ourselves a saunter through the yard to admire the interesting variety of vessels there. We studied their lines. We made notes of their names and hail ports and imagined their stories.
Back at the boat that day we had dinner aboard Circe and played a dominoes game of Mexican train. (Sometimes those games can last for days!) I dinghied back to Loon in the dark, checked the anchor, and slept soundly.
The next day, Saturday the 18th, I went to shore alone and went on a long walk and explored a local junk shop, a hardware store and the local library. Another cooperative dinner aboard Circe and an early night. Our brief layover at Jackson Creek totaled only 42 hours, but we were eager to get underway. The weather was cooperating. Anchors aweigh at 0720 on Sunday and we were off to continue making our own stories.
Capt. Tom
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