Nestor Falls lies just south of us — a mere 20 minutes by car. For Bearcruzer, however, there is no shortcut. A boat our size means the long way around the Aulneau Peninsula, and the long way around it would be.
We topped off our fuel in Sioux Narrows and set out on what would turn out to be one of the more eventful days of the trip. We wove our way through Fire Island Narrows, back through Whitefish Narrows and Long Bay, skirted west past Yellow Girl Point, and along the north shore of the peninsula until we passed Skeet Island, where we turned Bearcruzer south and pointed her toward French Portage Narrows.
Now. In our defense, we had navigated quite a few narrows by this point. Fire Island Narrows. Whitefish Narrows. Barney Narrows. Eagle Passage. We had begun to feel, if we are being honest, perhaps just a little bit capable. Confident. Dare we say it — experienced.
How bad could it be?
It was a beautiful sunny day, the kind that makes everything look more manageable than it is, and a speedboat was heading into the narrows just ahead of us going the same direction. We took this as a good sign. The water sparkled. The sky was blue. We pressed on.
The first hint that this might not be like the other narrows arrived when the speedboat reappeared — coming back the other way. The captain stood tall and saluted us as he passed.
We noted this. We did not, perhaps, note it quite enough.
The second hint came from a more familiar source. An eagle appeared ahead of us, flying low and purposeful — heading in the opposite direction. Away from the narrows. Dad, it seemed, had an opinion about this plan.
We pressed on.
The water began to shallow. The narrows themselves came into view, and what came into view was not encouraging. Large concrete blocks jutted from each bank, leaving an opening of perhaps fifteen to twenty feet between them. Beyond the blocks, the channel narrowed further still, threading between rocks just below the surface on the way out the other side. Mike trimmed the engine up. We looked at the opening. We looked at Bearcruzer. We looked at each other.
We have been enjoying a remarkably stress-free trip up to this point. We have nothing to prove. We are not in a hurry. We have worked too hard and come too far to leave any part of this boat on a rock in French Portage Narrows, however sunny the day or however capable we may have been feeling approximately twenty minutes ago.
The speedboat had turned around. Dad’s eagle had turned around.
We turned Bearcruzer around.
It was, we agreed as we retraced our route, absolutely the right call. Not every narrows is meant for every boat, and wisdom — as it turns out — looks a lot like knowing the difference. We carried on the long way, and eventually found our way to a lovely little anchorage just off the aptly named Tranquil Island, where song sparrows sang in the reeds, and snapping turtles watched us with great solemnity. The evening was calm, the night was calmer, and nobody ran aground.
The next morning I woke early to find an eagle perched above the anchorage, watching over us in the quiet before the day began.
Dad’s eagle. Back again. Patient as ever.
We like to think he was pleased with us — that the lesson he’d tried to pass along at the narrows had landed, that we’d finally taken the hint. There is, after all, no shame in turning around. Sometimes the wisest thing a captain can do is listen — to the speedboat heading back the other way, to the eagle flying in the opposite direction, to the quiet voice of experience that says not today.
Always listen to your elders.
We’re learning, Pops. We’re learning.
Living the Dream 