Editor’s Note: If you missed Part One, you can read it here. Last month the author covered the necessary preparations and outfitting required to get Soul Rebel, a 1995 Chaparral 2550 SX, from Maryland up to Lake Michigan and then undertake an extended cruising voyage. This month, the journey begins.
When Traveling by Boat, One Never Knows What One Might Find…
I always chuckle when landlubbers ask, “what are you going to do? What’s the plan for each day?” I typically attempt to respond kindly, without contempt, but the truth is that the whole point of going somewhere on my boat—versus taking a proper relaxing holiday that operates in accordance with fixed schedules—is to force myself to adapt to whatever circumstances I find myself in. Make no mistake: life aboard a 25-foot cuddy cabin boat (or even a larger vessel) is not easy, or purely peaceful and tranquil. Instead, it is dynamic: one must adapt to the locale and environment. Challenging myself to be responsive and adaptable is the whole point of going in the first place!
Day Two
Our first full day on Beaver Island was our most normal, in a good way, but assuredly not our best. We woke up, got ready in the marina bathrooms (not a pleasant experience, but something boaters must bear), and proceeded to have tea and coffee at the Wild Strawberry Café. After lunch, we toured the town of St. James, visiting various points of interest along the crescent-shaped harbor. Such stops included a neat maritime museum (that had an aged workboat on display), a very interesting and peculiar toy store, and the Beaver Island Harbor Light.
An interesting and unlikely occurrence also transpired: while walking the harbor, I saw the unmistakable outline of a boat so dear to me. Upon closer inspection, and for the first time in all my years boating, I witnessed another 2550 SX out in the wild—of Beaver Island, MI, no less! Inching closer (as she was berthed at a private dock), I was able to snap a few pictures of the pristine-looking vessel, which had a green hull band and striping: indicative of a 1996 model.
Over the following days, we walked by the “other” 2550 SX numerous times—and I even shouted to the owners that I had the same boat, albeit a 1995 model. They shouted back, replying that they loved the boat too, confirming that it indeed was a 1996—the last year such vessels were produced by Chaparral.
On the way back to the boat, I stopped at the only grocer on the island to pick up a few odds and ends that I had forgotten: the goal of preparation is not to pack and provision for any contingency, but to minimize the number of items one must pay exorbitant “island prices” for. Once I got back, I proceeded to take the boat out southbound around the island, headed towards the southern coast of Beaver Island in search of a shipwreck, the Bessie Smith, but alas I did not find it.
Upon returning to harbor, we tidied the boat before relaxing on deck before bed. As the days progressed, I found myself enjoying the present moment far more and preferring the virtual world less and less.
Day Three
On day three, we were in need of a bit of a reprieve from the excitement of the trip thus far. So, we simply stayed in and explored the island a bit more, embarking on our first of three bike rides, borrowing the marina’s complimentary bikes. But first things first: once awake and ready for the day, we looked for a place to get tea/coffee and eat but found none that looked appealing.
On islands such as Beaver, there is little competition—therefore, businesses are often hit or miss. And like most islands, Beaver Island operates in accordance with “island time,” or that notion of not following suggestions such as posted dates or hours. For instance, for most of our time spent on the island, we found, frustratingly, most of the businesses (like restaurants and coffee shops), were shuttered—so we were forced to adapt; and adapt we did: brewing our own tea, eating our own scones (that we had made before the trip in preparation), and cooking our own meals. Cooking multiple meals a day on such a small boat without stand-up headroom is definitely a challenge but a worthy one, nonetheless. As our trip progressed, we found ourselves adapting to our new way of life.
Once we recovered from the early-day pitfalls, our trip seemed to reach an upward inflection point. We stopped worrying about what the town of St. James lacked, and started taking what came our way, e.g. later that day, in our ramblings across the island, we stumbled upon a park with old farm equipment and numerous nature trails. The vistas we encountered were truly priceless. That night we hung out in the marina lounge watching college football and cooked a single-pot dinner that proved to be surprisingly good.
Day Four
Day four of our trip began with a bit of R&R on deck and breakfast was cooked skillfully by Hannah. Once satiated, we headed out to the nearby Garden Island with no real plan; finding a wonderful, protected bay, we anchored and spent the entire day. Nothing really noteworthy happened, yet this day was rich and wonderful: we donned our wetsuits and snorkel gear and swam to shore.
Sure, the initial shock of the glacial, 67-degree water, chided our bones, but such an unpleasant sensation soon abated, and we made our way to the rocky deserted beach in the middle of Lake Michigan. At about 7:30 p.m. we returned to St. James Harbor, where we borrowed the marina’s complimentary bikes for a ride to the point before returning at dusk to brew up some tea and scones to enjoy under the stars.
After a bit of relaxation and conversation, Hannah showered while I went below to start dinner. All things considered, we ate remarkably well on this short trip! Yes, we had to refill our (unpressurized) alcohol stove on numerous occasions, but as a safe and effective cooking apparatus, it served us well. In the age of convoluted and integrated onboard systems, it is important to remember there is greatness in simplicity yet!
Day Five: More Vacation and Transit Home
By day five it was now the second of September, the day after Labor Day, and we were one of two boats left in the marina; as a side note, on our trip we were the smallest boat at the marina for the entire duration. Either way, two nights prior, I had been checking the weather on the Windy App, when I became aware of a descending fall front line that would soon afflict the area. As a result, we decided to scrub our plans to travel another 40 nautical miles farther to Mackinac Island, where we would have been stuck for an additional five nights or so, instead opting to return home after spending an additional two days exploring the islands surrounding Beaver.
Upon exiting Paradise Bay, I decided to head to the westernmost island, High Island, to find a secluded and protected area to hang out for the day. Off the northern beach, which on this day was leeward, we anchored in about 10 feet of translucent, emerald water and proceeded to cook lunch. After lunch, we hung out and enjoyed the picturesque scene.
Around 4:30 p.m. I donned my wetsuit, mask, snorkel, and fins and went for a swim. Under the chilly water, I took in the rocky seascape. I do not think I saw a single fish except a small goby; it always amazes me how “empty” the waters of the Great Lakes seem to be when attempting to view them via mask and snorkel.
Later Hannah joined me in the water, and this time we jumped from the front of our foredeck into the cold, clear water: a first for me on Soul Rebel, I do believe. After drying off, we hung out a bit more, attempting to find every last reason to prolong our state of freedom and bliss. But all good things must come to an end, and we started to prepare the boat to traverse the 35 some-odd nautical miles of open water back to Manistique. The trip home was rough, if uneventful.
Nonetheless, on the trip home, our isinglass canvas and newly minted windshield wiper were of great use, keeping spray off our faces so that I could battle the waves. It was a slog, but just before 8 p.m. we made it, managing at least 20-24 knots the entire way. A few other boaters who we ran into later at the boat ramp were shocked we had come all the way from Beaver Island on this particularly sporty day. Upon arriving in Manistique, we tied the boat to the dock and went to do a small repair to the trailer’s v-guide before tidying up, retrieving, and heading home.
We Need To Do This More!
Ultimately, the trip proved to be incredibly rich and rewarding, if difficult. Life onboard a 25-foot boat—particularly one without stand-up headroom—is not easy or for the faint of heart, but as the trip progressed, we showed ourselves to be adaptable. Sure, there were plenty of annoyances, the four-foot gulf between the fixed dock and our boat being chief among them. The bugs, which I had to scrub off the hull and cockpit vinyl every morning with a damp microfiber towel, were also annoying, but ultimately, over the course of the trip, I gradually found and rediscovered parts of myself that lay dormant. It was after I stopped pressing and imposing, and started accepting and appreciating, that such parts welled up into embodiment. In our over-connected digital world, we often lose touch with the real world: the world that makes us human.
In short, we found immense human and spiritual value in such a trip. It was at sea I rediscovered my purpose, and it is just as well for I have recently, with my wife, acquired a 1992 Hunter Legend 37.5 sailboat that we are to live on and restore, hoping eventually to set off on grander adventures in the form of far longer cruises, but more on that later. For now, we must be content with our voyage in Soul Rebel.
By Drew Maglio