…at the 86-year-old Red Lodge on the shore of Lake Manitou. Still running after all those years, and quite busy, and the food was better than expected.
Our party consisted of old-time Island friends and acquaintances, so lots of reminiscing, though hard to talk to everyone when seated at a long table.
No AC, so very warm. Photo by Sue.
Flat calm from sunrise until 10 am, but with rollers from the northeast. Must have been a disturbance way out in the big water on beyond Gooseberry. It made for interesting rowing.
A breeze came up as I was heading in, and that built into a serious southerly, which made possible a lively afternoon Windride.
On the big lakes everything happens, and it’s hard to know what to expect.
Very sunny and very warm.
For dinner tonight, a smorgasbord: the Heliotrope hors d’oeuvre (liverwurst, onion and mustard on triscuit), Purvis smoked whitefish, Burt Farm beef jerky, local farmer’s market pickled egg, tomatoes from marina Jim, and some imported aged Wisconsin cheese, along with a few Cheetos and a little Clamato juice.
Followed up with Sue’s plum torte.
Oh, yum.
Slow start followed by row/paddle and swim. Sunny and warm.
Photo by Sue
Dinner with B&W.
…around the bay, with Bob and Wendy. Perfect breeze.
Nor should any reasonably well-found and well-managed boat.
My thoughts on the Bayesian sinking:
1. Silly design, more show-off than common sense. A single mast of 246 feet is plain dangerous; if that much sail is needed then rig the boat as a schooner or ketch.
2. Decorative lights were strung about the boat and left up regularly. Stuff left dangling aloft adds to windage which adds to heel.
3. The swing keel was left in an up position, thus reducing the righting moment of the boat. (More tippy)
4. The boat was anchored in an open roadstead in 160 of water, which means swinging on an enormous amount of chain. A boat at anchor can swing wildly, sometimes broadside to the wind.
5. In spite of storm forecasts, doors, windows, and hatches were left open.
For a happier fate:
1. Anchor at a reasonable depth in a sheltered place.
2. Pay close attention to weather forecasts, and plan ahead.
3. At or before the first hint of bad weather, stow everything stowable, put the keel down, batten the hatches, gather everyone aboard in the safest place (with PFDs), review the emergency plan.
4. Before the storm hits, get the anchor up and the engine on, and prepare to hold the boat pointing directly into the wind.
5. Furthermore, before all this, buy a sensible boat.
Super-yacht Suzie Pea being storm-proofed
Took Therese for a great ride on Heliotrope, to Harbor Island and back. No stop; just a look-see at the crumbling resort. Five to seven knots all the way, each way. Easy beat out, beam reach home. Actually POSH—Port Out Starboard Home
Below, a few shots around the house.
…Bay. From maelstrom to flat water, and now a slight breeze from the south.
Time to braid a little sweetgrass (grown in and imported from Whitewater). Also repair work on the old, green dinghy, aka the Suzie Pea, which, though rescued from a burn-pile, has proven to be a real workhorse.
We are staying up way too late watching the convention, but that’s why naps were invented.
…antlions, that is. (Myrmeleon)
The rocky, sandy ridge just up from the shore seems to be ideal habitat, and in spite of predation by grandkids, the population seems to be growing.
Meanwhile, today is day three of a traditional three-day blow. Wind lying down a bit, but still strong and producing sizable rollers. Kayaking among them quite interesting. Transients still stuck in the marina. (BTW, Hemingway has an interesting story titled A Three Day Blow, set, I believe, on Lake Charelvoix.)
Ferocious north-easter. Marina a maelstrom. Helped transient Looper try to secure his 44 foot powerboat, and offered night in the bunkie (declined). Hydro out all evening, so candlelight supper and early to bed. Early morning call to help move boats as a section of finger dock had broken. City crew also called to help, and help they did, although not really familiar with lines and cleats, but no one injured.
Still blowing like stink, but power on, and looking forward to watching the convention.
Sunday drive and picnic.
Back home to find the power out. As of now, out for about 4 hours.
…from caterpillar to butterfly.
The wee caterpillars gathered by the grandkids when they were here were tended by our neighbors while we were recently away, and while being looked after, the pillars metamorphosed. They are now out and about, and probably heading south.
…in the rain. Without a splash jacket. Getting soaked is kinda fun, although proof positive of a lack of planning.
Someone gave us a big hand as we drove on Highway 17:
Beautifully crafted—could it be part of some great sculpture?
And, welcoming us home, bottle gentians in bloom:
From sometime crops (but mostly weeds), the untended garden is being changed over to grass, ever bearing raspberries, and possibly a cherry tree. (We will need to find a supplier for beets.)
Grass seed spread, and in October the fencing will come down.
…along with a few other minor chores, and, of course, voting.
Above, silphium or cup plant, a prairie native, completely engulfing a drainage (and bullfrog) pond.
Might qualify for the Iron Butt squad. Dropped a trailer off in Minocqua and then carried on to Whitewater for—minor re-supply, hair cuts, yard touch-up, and VOTING. Our absentee ballots did not move fast enough, so now we vote in person. Remember, vote NO on the 2 trickily worded amendment issues.
Cicadas and crickets providing neighborhood background music.
But on the upside, we were able to find, deep in the fridge, the missing mayonnaise.
Overnight rain probably put an end to the recent partial fire ban.
Moving through the season. Yesterday’s sail race below.
Sailboat race (Heliotrope by a whisker pole), pizza party, traditional rock photo and annual measurement, etc.
More photos to follow.
Lots of activity.
