Drummond Island - way too long

Well, I can't even come close to Jay's amazing adventures... But, we
roused ol Fat Albert out his slumbers Saturday and flew North to
Drummond Island for lunch... The last time I landed on the island was
in the 60's with my Skylane, the airport was a gravel strip, I was
young and flat bellied and had all my hair (I still have all my teeth
at least)... Once the Dominoes pizza guy got done with the island it
has a paved runway big enough to take corporate jets...

After landing at the airport I went looking for the terminal
building... I know there is one because they answered my radio call for
the winds and active... Walking past the remains of several auto's, an
old wrecker, a rusty portable sign that still advertises regular for
$1.00 + 9/10, we found ourselves out at the gas station at the road...
Sure enough it is the terminal building... Inquiring about a
restaurant, we were informed there was a good one "down at the four
corners"...
"Do ya need a car?", he inquired...
"Well, that would beat walking."
He fished around in the cash drawer and came up with a wad of keys...
Picking one out he pointed to a Ford diesel pickup, with a used car
dealers sticker hanging from the mirror, tossed the key towards me and
walked away... Didn't know me from Adam, didn't ask for a signature,
or a deposit, or a drivers license, didn't name a price... Just tossed
the keys and went back to tinkering with something greasy on the work
bench - the whole place is covered with a fine patina of oil and
grime...

We drove to the NorthWoods Inn and had a good lunch... Nothing fancy,
but the salad was crisp and the bread was fresh... Char spotted a tee
shirt tourist trap and was gone like a shot, leaving Pasta (15# of fur
ball ChiPoo) and me on our own... So, I wandered across the highway to
a building that looked like the chamber of commerce... Sure enough, it
was a combination realty office and free maps for tourists... The lady
fell all over Pasta (they all do, he's the biggest chick magnet on the
planet)... She plied me with maps, used colored markers to separate the
gravel from the paved roads, and basically had a weeks worth of touring
laid out for me... Prying ourselves loose from her we went back across
the highway... Char is still in tee shirt heaven...

I'm leaning against the fender when a young lady pulls up in a pickup,
with a huge dog on the back, gets out and begins filling five gallon
jerry cans with water from a hose bib on the side of the tee shirt
joint... She spots Pasta and is all over him, making conversation,
wants him to meet her dog, telling me where she is staying, etc... Oh,
to be twenty years old again... Char comes out and getting into the
truck sniffs and says with a wicked grin, "I saw that."

Moving along we go to the local museum... Lots of old stuff... Nothing
really museum quality, but the junk and the pictures give you a feel
for life on the island in the 1800's, a really sparse, basic,
living... From there we went to the Yacht Haven marina at the harbor,
I'm a sucker for boats as well as airplanes... Wandering around the
place we see a young couple with a ten year old down at the waters
edge, the dad and the boy are fishing, the mother is reading a book
sitting on the bench under the flag pole... The boy is a tow head, in
blue jeans and a tee shirt... An all american family on vacation... The
father has tattoo's covering every inch of visible skin, a mohawk
haircut, rings through his ears and nostrils... The mother has tattoos
also, and a couple of piercings... Apparently ready to leave, they
smile and say hello pleasantly as they pass by...

I'm wandering the docks and Pasta attracts another lady... She is
loading stuff from her car onto a 42 foot Grand Banks trawler... She
has an orthopedic shoe on her left foot and was struggling to pull the
cooler from the trunk... "Let me do that for you.", I say, and lift the
heavy cooler from the trunk... It's a good 70 pounds and a handfull for
me much less for her... She scurries to the boat urging me to hand it
to her across the railing... Well, there is no way in this world that
this lady is going to handle that cooler, especially on a ships ladder
with a broken foot... I plant my buttocks on the rail and swivel onto
the deck, then down the ladder into the saloon, with her fluttering and
fussing behind me, "Oh, that's not necessary, well gee, I guess, oh my,
thank you."... An older gentleman is deep into a pile of equipment
manuals.... He is introduced as Don, her husband, and yes they just
took delivery of the boat that day... Being an old rag bag sailor
myself, Don and I are quickly into mastering the equipment... In the
end I have the autopilot, radar and Loran working, but I can't get the
GPS to find a satellite - I suspect the coax is shorted somewhere up on
the mast... The other problem is that there is no indication of
charging from the engine alternators... Being that it is both engines,
I suspect a switch is turned off somewhere in the engine room going to
the battery set... Don says he will get into that in the morning when
it is cool down in the engine room...

"Lets go for a ride.", he says...
Well, gosh, hurt me by insisting that I go boating on a beautiful,
warm, blue day, out where the air smells like perfume, and it is water
and green islands as far as you can see... Off we go... As the bow
begins to swing away from the dock a 'line' movement catches my eye...
The shore power is still connected! Well, jeez Louise, we are about to
extract Mrs. Edison from the dock, and I am sure she will throw a hissy
fit over it... The other corner of my eye sees that the shore power
cord is secured to the windlass and runs to somewhere around the port
side of the pilot house and there is not enough time to solve that, so
I vault over the rail, snatch the plug from the shore box and toss the
power cord back onto the boat so it doesn't fall into the water... The
lady comes running up the deck screaming for me to not jump for the
boat... Well gosh, momma didn't raise no stoopid children, I simply
stand there and wait, Don juggles the engines to stop the swinging of
40,000 pounds of boat, gently brings the bow back to the dock, and I
calmly step aboard - no problemo...

Outside the harbor the water in the straits is stirred up by the wind
and other boats are flying by, pounding through the chop... Everyone
looks at the Grand Banks and waves... The heavy trawler, with the twin
Ford Lehman diesels idling at 1000 rpm, slides along like it's on
rails... My glass of ginger ale sitting on the console doesn't even
jiggle the bubbles loose... After we get back to the dock, Don refuses
my thanks, says he is the one who is thankful because it was the first
time he has been out in a boat in years and is rusty (you couldn't tell
he was rusty by how smoothly he brought the trawler up to the dock in a
cross wind)and I had saved him at least a day and money for a
technician, in getting most of the systems working...

Back at the airport after 5 hours - and 3.5 miles on the odometer - the
guy takes the keys to the truck and says, "Is ten bucks OK?"... It's
OK, I agree... Going home I opt to play tourist and instead of jumping
directly South across Lake Huron, I fly west along the Upper Peninsula
shore line, past Bois Blanc Island, directly over the harbour at
Mackinac Island (busy for the holiday), South past the Mackinac Bridge,
and follow the interstate down the center of Michigan enjoying the
sight of the heavy traffic down there, while we blow along at 130
knots up above... The sun is low on the horizon as I roll up to the
hangar and pull the mixture... Home again, home again...

denny