We motored into a remote anchorage in the Whalesback Channel of the North Channel, Lake Huron, Canada. The northern shore of our little Shangrila was the Serpent River Indian Reservation. Otherwise we were bounded by numerous tiny islands and granite rock outcroppings, all carved from Ice-Age glaciers, ions ago.
At first, we thought we would be the lone boat but as soon as we rounded a bend, a small, red sailboat came into view. A person could be seen eying us as well, as is common in anchoring situations. After we were secure, Captian SO took off in our dinghy to offer greetings from a fellow boater. I could hear bits and pieces of the conversation and, shortly, the dinghy came putt-putting back to our boat.
The red sailboat was very small and, from all outward appearances, had frequently been 'ridden hard and put away wet'. (Pun intended.) Captain SO reported that the couple appeared to be "over sixty", very friendly, and sort of marooned at the moment. Their old Evinrude motor's pull chord spring had broken, thus leaving them without the means to motor out of the small cove and into any possible wind. They were waiting for a mechanic whose shack was visible on shore but he hadn't been seen in several days.
Later a small fishing boat slid through the cove and stopped to help the couple. After the fishing boat and its occupants went on its way, we dinghyed (my term) back to the red sailboat and the man and woman were still on deck. They raised their arms in a victory pose and cheered, for their motor had been repaired. The man had flowing, white hair, kept in check only by an old, battered and floppy hat set atop his head. His clothes were ragged but his countenance was cheery and upbeat. The woman - assumption made it was his wife - was grey-haired and hat-topped as well. We visited a bit and learned that they hoped to stay at anchor for five more nights. Their appearances truly gave the impression of stepping right out of a California mining camp in the late eighteen hundreds. The only 'thing' missing in this vignette was a mule named Penelope. They used nary a light nor any other item that required electricity or battery power.
To the Prospector and his wife: Safe travels to you wherever you roam. Your faces are forever etched in my memory. Happy water trails to you.
Ancora imparo
