Getting Do It Now Home

I finish my Great Loop trip and jump through all necessary hoops to get my boat back to Washington State, battling covid along the way.

If you’ve been following this blog or my Great Loop trip blog, you know that since October 2022 I’ve been cruising with my boat, Do It Now, along the Great Loop. You can learn more about the trip in that blog.

I finished the trip — or “crossed my wake” — on August 12, 2024. That was in Chicago, IL, which is where I began the trip. I’d had my boat shipped out there from Olympia by a boat shipping company. Since then, I’d bought a boat trailer for it and planned to haul it back to Washington myself. This would be a 3 part (or)deal: fly home with my pups, haul the empty trailer back to the Chicago area (2000 miles), and haul the boat back to Puget Sound (2150 miles).

Chicago to Malaga

Deep Dish Pizza
Deep dish pizza at the Navy Pier. I was a total tourist.

I spent Monday and Tuesday in Chicago taking care of personal chores. I needed an eye exam and my pups needed grooming. I had Chicago deep dish pizza, which I really like.

On Wednesday, I cruised to Waukegan, where I planned to have the boat hauled out when I returned with the trailer. When I arrived, I was pretty sick with classic flu-like symptoms. I took a Covid test and, for the first time ever, got a positive result.

Shit.

I flew home (masked) with Covid on Thursday. I got a prescription for Paxlovid that cost a small fortune. Because my housesitter would be living in my house until month-end, I stayed in my truck camper in the garage. It was comfortable. The air conditioning worked great and was needed. The new garage bathroom was very good.

I spent a lot of time sleeping. My body clock got completely screwed up. NyQuil became my evening elixir, helping me sleep.

Boat trailer In Garage
I used my Jeep to get the trailer out of the garage.

On Monday, I felt good enough to get the boat trailer out of the garage. I needed to use the Jeep, which has a hitch on the front. I honestly don’t know how I got it in there — I had a heck of a time getting it out. Then I packed the truck with the things I’d need to come home, including the “Oversize Load” banners and a long tape measure.

I still tested positive for Covid.

On Tuesday morning, I was ready to go. I’d decided to stop and have my local trailer guy check things over before I left. I showed up there at 7:30 AM. He looked it over and found some problems with wheels and one of the brakes. I kicked myself for not bringing it by sooner, then unhitched it, left it with him, and went home.

Driving East

On Wednesday morning, still testing positive for Covid, I went to pick up the trailer and start the 2,000 mile trip to Waukegan. I would take I-90 almost all the way. It would give me an opportunity to review the route before I headed west with the boat in tow.

The boat trailer is about 36 feet long. It’s a bumper pull so wide turns are required. I fueled up with the big rig truckers at truck stops.

Fueling the Truck
I fueled at truck stops.

My dogs and I stayed at crappy cheap motels along the way. Covid was a definite issue; I still had plenty of symptoms and was exhausted at the end of each day. We’d get to the hotel, I’d walk my pups, I’d drag my luggage in, I’d feed my pups, I’d walk them again, and then we’d all go to bed, usually before 8 PM.

In the morning, I’d wake before dawn. When it got light, I’d feed and walk my pups and then put them in the truck. If the motel offered breakfast, I’d choke down some cooked powered eggs and greasy sausage. Then I’d go back to my room, get my luggage, drag it back to the truck, and leave.

I got decent mileage — about 15 mpg. I was fueling once or twice a day, getting at least 500 miles behind me each day.

On Saturday, when I got close, I stopped at a Discount Tire to get my truck’s tires rotated and the trailer tires checked and properly inflated. The trailer tires had plenty of tread, so I figured they’d be fine.

I stopped at a Walmart supermarket for provisions.

At Waukegan

We arrived at the boat yard in Waukegan on Saturday afternoon. The yard was closed. Fortunately, I had a key card from my previous stay that opened the gate.

I spent the weekend prepping the boat to be hauled — all the canvas and the mast and antenna had to be taken down and any seat covers had to be secured. It was brutally hot — there was a heat wave in the Chicago area — and I could only work in short bursts with rest and cool-down periods in between. It took all day Sunday to get the boat 90% ready. I’d take care of the other 10% on Monday morning.

I ordered my Oversize Load permits on Sunday. The woman at JJ Keller who helped me was not the sharpest knife in the drawer. She asked me dumb questions, insisted I needed a DOT number that I didn’t need, and then gave me misinformation about my route. But the permits started arriving via email the first thing Monday morning.

I was still testing positive for Covid, although my symptoms had faded to just a cough.

On Monday, around midday, they hauled the boat out and put it on the trailer. That was a fiasco. The trailer, which had originally hauled someone else’s much older R-29, had the bunkers set up for a different hull configuration. It took the guys at the marina three hours to figure that out. In the meantime, we kept launching and retrieving the boat on the boat ramp. The bow of the boat struck the front of the trailer frequently enough to cause some damage to the gelcoat.

Hauling out
They started out okay, using the Travelift to pull the boat out.

Finally, by 4 PM, the boat was secure on the trailer. Of course, it was too late for me to leave so I wound up spending the night in the boat, parked on the ramp in front of the marina.

My rig
It took all afternoon to get the boat on the trailer and it still wasn’t quite right.

I took a cool shower to cool down before going to bed. I didn’t care that the water splashed out onto the asphalt in front of the building.

Driving West

I got underway at sunrise on Tuesday morning. I was still testing positive for Covid, but I was feeling much better. The only symptom was a cough that came and went. There wasn’t even that much phlegm.

I went through my first weigh station less than 10 miles from my starting point. I rolled onto the scale and a voice came through a loudspeaker, asking if I was hauling the Minnow from Gilligan’s Island. I told him I hoped not. The light turned green and I rolled out.

Flat Tire
One flat gave me the idea I was towing a time bomb.

I got a flat tire on the trailer four hours into the drive. Fortunately, BoatUS sent out a tire change guy for me. He pointed out that although the tread looked fine, the tires were six years old. I suddenly felt as if I were towing a time bomb. How long before another tire blew? So rather than just get the spare replaced, I drove directly to a Discount Tire an hour away and had all six trailer tires replaced.

Tire Replacement
My rig couldn’t fit into the garage at Discount Tire.

I spent the first night at a truck stop in Rapid City, SD. I arrived after sunset and the place was jam packed. By some miracle, I was able to back my rig into a narrow semi parking spot. I still can’t believe I did it after the day I’d had.

Truck Stop Parking
I can’t believe I parked here.

In the morning of Day 2, it was very foggy. I didn’t get started until almost 10 AM.

Later, while climbing a steep hill in hot weather, the Check Engine light went on. The truck seemed to drive okay, but I started rethinking the route the idiot at JJ Keller had given me. Because Google Maps takes people off I-90 and onto US 212, a slightly shorter route through the Crow Indian reservation, before rejoining I-90, I would be away from the Interstate for several hours. I had been on Route 212 before and I knew that there were very few facilities along the way. If the truck decided to die, dying on that route would not be optimal. So I decided to ignore the route and stay on I-90, even though my permits said I’d be on US 212.

Of course, that caused raised eyebrows at a truck weight station I did need to get out at in Wyoming. Although I’d purchased my permit the day before — it was the only state JJ Keller couldn’t buy the permit for — my permit showed the wrong route. I explained my dilemma and the folks there just updated my permit with the new route and sent me on my way.

I pulled into a watercraft inspection station in Wyoming near the end of the day and waited while they inspected the hull and bilge. (For the record, I’d had the hull power washed and bilge cleaned when it was taken out of Lake Michigan.) They didn’t find anything, but they wanted to attach a hose to my engine water intake and have me run the engine. I said no. I told them there was no way that I’d start an engine that cost $25K to $40K to replace unless the boat was in the water. They were fine with that.

Watercraft Inspection Station
The first watercraft inspection station I stopped at was in Wyoming.

But by the time they’d finished searching the boat, it was too late to get to my destination 150 miles away. The rest area where they’d inspected me was very nice so I just spent the night there. It was wonderfully quiet.

RestStop Parking
I parked overnight at a really nice rest stop.

The Truck Part
This is the part that caused the Check Engine light to come on.

On Day 3, I hunted down a place that could read the code for the check engine light. It was an air intake temperature sensor. I was at O’Reilly and bought the part for $30. They gave me instructions on replacing it, but I didn’t feel comfortable doing it myself. I tried a Ford dealer and another car fixit place in Sheridan, WY but neither one was willing to do the 10 minute job without making me wait at least two weeks. Jeez! I continued on my way.

Locked boat
This boat lock is a bad joke.

I got to the Montana watercraft inspection station late in the day, still about 100 miles from that night’s destination. They found zebra mussels on my trim tabs. At least a dozen very tiny ones. They delayed me for more than an hour while they sprayed down the entire hull with hot water. Then they did something I considered ridiculous: they locked my boat to the trailer with a cable lock that any decent bolt cutter would cut right through.

Boat Wash
They washed down the hull of the boat with 140°+ water.

When they finally let me go, I was able to do another 25 miles before stopping at a truck stop for the night. I walked to the restaurant next door for an Asian chicken salad to go. When I got back to the boat, I discovered there was no dressing on the salad. It was that kind of night.

In the morning, I started before dawn. It was day 4 and I was eager to get to my destination at Des Moines, WA before 4 PM, so they could launch the boat before the holiday weekend. But it was not to be. I had two more watercraft inspection stations.

Idaho didn’t find anything and let me go after stamping Montana’s paperwork.

Thirty miles later, Washington’s crew found a few more mussels. They sprayed down the boat again. This was where things could get ugly; they had the power to force me to keep the boat out of the water for 30 days. I pointed out that the boat was going into salt water, which would kill any remaining mussels. Finally, after pouring hot water into my bilge (which the bilge pump eventually removed), they unlocked the boat and let me go.

But that time, there was no way I’d get to Des Moines before 4 PM. I rolled up at 5, unlocked the gate, and backed my rig in. I spent the night right there.

At Des Moines
I parked for the night in the boatyard.

The Des Moines Fiasco

Because it was Labor Day weekend and I’d already seen the eastbound traffic the previous afternoon, I was in no hurry to get into Saturday morning traffic to get home. So I stayed at the marina and spent the entire morning reinstalling all my canvas, lines, fenders, and anything else I needed to get the boat ready to go. Finally, around 1 PM, I headed home, making a stop at Trader Joe’s along the way.

It was a three-hour drive, which actually seemed short after all the driving I’d been doing.

My house sitter was gone so I went right into my house. He’d left it pretty clean, although using the vacuum did not seem to be part of his clean up process. I didn’t care. There were clean sheets on the bed. I made myself some dinner and was asleep by 8 PM.

Did I mention I still tested positive for Covid?

I left home at 5 AM on Tuesday so I could get to the marina early enough to get the boat into the water. When I did some heavy braking in traffic near Seattle, that check engine light went off. (Go figure, huh?)

I stopped at a supermarket for provisions along the way.

I got to the marina right around 9:15 AM. I stopped in the office to tell them I was there and ask them to look at the damage on my bow.

Bow Damage
It cost me $300 to have the damage to the bow ground out (shown here) and then filled and painted. I have to give the worker credit, though. He did an excellent job.

They came out to look 2 hours later. They fixed the damage 3 hours after that. So now the boat had fresh paint beneath the waterline. They could not launch it that day. All thoughts of a quiet anchorage that night on my way to Roche Harbor evaporated.

As for my thruster battery, which I’d told them the week before needed replacing, they did not have the battery on hand and insisted on wasting time “diagnosing” the problem. I paid $350 for them to tell me I needed a new thruster battery. (Duh.) Then I paid more than $500 for the battery, which they did not have until noon the next day. So instead of launching my boat on Tuesday so I could have a nice, leisurely cruise from Des Moines to Roche Harbor — a distance of about 85 nautical miles — I had to haul ass out of Des Moines and run at top speed to get there before sunset on the same day.

And don’t even get me started on the vehicle parking issues at Des Moines. I had to get a special permit to park my truck and trailer for the 5 days I’d be cruising in the San Juan Islands. Normally, they don’t allow overnight parking at all.

I was very disappointed with CSR South services and the marina’s parking policy. I will not be back with my boat. I’ve already arranged for a one-way car rental from Anacortes to fetch my truck. I’ll use Anacortes as my base until it’s time to pull the boat out for the winter.

The only good news: I tested negative for covid on Tuesday morning.

Determination and Going it Alone

A chat with a fellow boater starts me thinking about the importance of independency.

[Note: I wrote this post at least two weeks ago and, when I was done, I decided not to publish it. I thought it might be a bit too self-serving. But then I had an exchange with another user on Mastodon today, after my (solo, of course) cruise across Lake Michigan. You can see a screen grab of the exchange below. I decided that it was very much related to the rest of the content in this post — the elephant in the room, so to speak — so I decided to add it and publish the whole damn thing. – ML]

Lately, I’ve been meeting a lot of people on my Great Loop trip — more people than I’d met on my journeys down the inland waterways and up the ICW. People are going out of their way to meet me and chat with me. Most of them are impressed that I’ve been doing the trip (mostly) alone. These people are invariably couples and they are blown away by what they consider an amazing achievement.

A Rockstar? I don’t think so.

But it all came to a head yesterday when I was in a restaurant in Killarney, ON and a couple at a nearby table called me over as I was leaving.

They recognized my boat by its name and had seen me on it. Apparently, there’s some talk going around about me among the other Great Loop cruisers. A woman doing the Loop alone!

The wife of this couple told me I was a “rockstar” among the Loopers. That’s pretty hard to believe, since I don’t participate in any of the online forums most Loopers are drawn to. But okay, I’ll take it.

Cruising the Great Loop as a Learning Experience

We chatted for a while about cruising and the Loop and the percentage of people who jump into this 6000+ mile journey with little or no boating experience. The husband of this couple had boating experience similar to mine before buying his current boat, a Mainship: growing up around small boats and owning a few throughout his life.

But there are far too many people who start the Great Loop with little or no boating experience on a boat that’s brand new to them. Some folks even sell their boats as they’re finishing up the Loop but continue to cruise to the end, looking forward to the day they can be done and leave their boat for good. I find that mind-boggling.

I met a couple along the Trent-Severn Waterway who had begun their cruise near St. Louis and claimed they “felt done” by the time they were in Florida — not even 1/4 way through the trip! They were selling their boat the day I met them, but wouldn’t turn it over to the new owner until they got to St. Louis moths later. I’m still trying to figure out why they continued a trip they apparently weren’t enjoying. This is pleasure boating, folks; it shouldn’t feel like a chore or an ordeal.

We talked about how much experience a boater can get from a Great Loop trip — that’s actually the number one reason why this trip has meant so much to me. Simply said, it’s made me a good boat captain. How can it not? Navigating more than 7500 nautical miles (so far) on rivers, lakes (including Great Lakes), canals, the Gulf of Mexico, the Intracoastal Waterways, and the Atlantic Ocean. Dealing with locks, bridges, other boaters, and marinas. Cruising in weather from severe clear and calm to thunderstorms with hail. Resolving minor (fortunately) mechanical issues, like losing a stern thruster or having a bilge pump that won’t operate automatically. Having to find and make good stops to refuel, buy groceries, get water, dump garbage, refill propane tanks, and do laundry.

How can all this not make you a better boat captain and all around long distance cruiser?

Determination?

And then one of them said, “You must be pretty determined to do this trip by yourself.”

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. I never thought of myself being determined to cruise the Great Loop. I just saw it as the boating world equivalent of a classic road trip, like cruising Route 66 or driving up the California Coast. I thought about the experience of visiting all the places along the way, seeing how people live, checking out the local history, eating the local foods. I thought about the challenges of planning and navigating a course, dealing with weather, and living the confined space of a boat. I thought that a boat trip that somehow started and ended in the same place without backtracking would be a great adventure — before I even knew the Great Loop existed.

The Great Loop has never been a “bucket list” item for me, something I can brag about to friends. I’m not going to hang a gold flag sold by a for-profit “club” that exists solely to separate cruisers from their money. Heck, most of my friends don’t know what the Great Loop is and, if they’re not boaters, they don’t really care.

So have I been “determined” to finish the Great Loop? For me, the goal isn’t the achievement of “crossing my wake.” It’s the journey and what I can take away from it to make me a better person.

The Solo Aspect

The Woman Thing
Here’s the exchange I had with another Mastodon user today that sums up my thoughts on the “female aspect” of my situation, which, frankly, I’m pretty fucking sick of dealing with. Read it to understand why.

It’s the solo aspect that everyone seems to focus on. This conversation really brought that point home to me.

Honestly, I don’t think that doing this trip solo is a big deal. In so many ways, I think it’s better than doing it with a companion. Not only do I get to make all of the decisions — and change my mind as often as I want to — but I don’t have to deal with the pet peeves we all develop when traveling with someone else.

I like to travel alone. I’ve been doing it since the 1980s in my first corporate job and, even when I had a “life partner,” I often made trips by myself. So there’s no part of traveling alone that’s unusual to me. It’s traveling with a companion that’s odd and somewhat difficult at times.

Yes, there are additional challenges when you’re driving a boat by yourself. There’s no one else to handle the lines or put down the fenders when docking or sit at the helm while you take a pee or make a sandwich. (And no one to make a sandwich for you.)

But can’t we all rise to the challenge? Having to deal with fenders and lines while docking alone has forced me to learn how to control my boat in confined spaces — I’m basically forced to get the boat up next to the dock at a near standstill so I can step off with a line and secure it. (There is no jumping on the dock from my boat and very little tossing lines to strangers, since half of them don’t know what they’re doing.) Having no one around to take the wheel when nature calls has taught me a few tricks for leaving the helm briefly while under way without dropping an anchor. And when I know I have a long cruise ahead of me, I make lunch in the morning, before I leave, so all I have to do is fetch it out of the fridge.

It’s problem solving. How do you do the work of two people when you’re just one person? You find ways to make it work. That’s part of the challenge of cruising. That’s part of what makes it interesting to me.

And let’s be real: having a second person aboard who doesn’t know or care about helping out when “needed” is worse than being alone on board. (I’ve been in that situation and it sucks.)

The other question I get a lot is about whether I get lonely. The answer, for the most part, is no. I’ve been alone for so much of my life that I’m used to it. I keep busy. I don’t have time to be lonely. The only thing that makes me a little sad is that I can’t share this incredible adventure with someone I can talk to about it in the years to come.

I’m not the only solo cruiser out there

I also want to mention here that I am not the only person doing this trip solo. Nagui, who I met while cruising last year, completed the loop solo in his Rosborough, Boundless.

I’ve also met Matt on Seaview, Ed on Freedom, Mark on Brandywine, Michelle on Plan B, Chris on Brown Eyed Girl, Bob on Bayleaf, and Harry on a homebuilt sailboat whose name I can’t remember. (Get boat cards, folks!) My apologies to the folks I missed in this list. While not all of these people might be “doing the Loop,” they are all on long-term cruises that require them to do everything that needs doing.

Independence > Dependence

Meanwhile, I feel bad for the folks who think they can’t go it alone. The people who depend on the company of someone else to do things.

I’m not just talking about cruising, either. I’m talking about the things we do in everyday life: dining out, going to the movies, attending live events (do you know how easy it is to get an excellent seat for concerts and shows when you’re a party of one?), traveling, and participating in social activities that may include mostly couples. If you’re single and think you can’t do the things you want to do by yourself, why the hell not? Why depend on the presence or moral support of another person when you’re perfectly capable of doing things on your own? Be independent!

And the only thing worse than feeling as if you can’t do things alone is feeling that you can’t do anything without the partner you might already have, someone who simply doesn’t want to do anything you want to do. Been there, done that! Got a ball and chain? Cut it loose! Live the life you want on your terms.

The End is Near

My trip is coming to an end. I’ll be done in less than a month now. Yesterday, I spent a few hours planning the rest of my route and the stops along the way. I wanted to make sure I could finish it on time — I created a deadline when I bought plane tickets to get home. Unless there’s some crazy bad weather ahead of me when I hit Lake Michigan, I should be fine, with a handful of days to spare in case I need to change plans.

I’ve already planned my next two cruises when I get back to the Pacific Northwest. First, I’ll attend the Ranger Rendezvous, which I first attended the day after I took delivery of Do It Now in September 2022. And then I’ll join a flotilla of boats to cruise up to Desolation Sound and back in late September. There’s a chance a friend will join me for that trip, but I’m not sure right now whether I want company.

And then I’ll let Do It Now get some rest in my garage while I enjoy the comforts of my “dirt home” for a while.

I live there solo, too, and I love it.

Winding Down My Travels

As I near the end of my Great Loop trip, I contemplate bringing my boat back to Washington (and elsewhere) and possibly spending some time at home.

Why So Long?

If you’re wondering why I’ve got so many miles on the Loop when most places put the mileage count at about 6,000, blame it on my side trips. I boomeranged from the Annapolis Area to Key West and back this past winter and also made round trip cruises up the St. Johns River in Florida and up to Lake Champlain in New York and Vermont.

If you’re wondering why it has taken me so long to do the trip when most folks can do it in a year, it’s because I had to come home last summer to work — I wasn’t retired yet — and I also took a few other short trips home. The northern portion of the loop can only be done in the summer and I’d been working every summer since 1998.

It’s July 18, 2024 and I’m less than a month away from the completion of my Great Loop cruise. (If you don’t know anything about this trip, you can read about it in my Great Loop blog (which is painfully out of date).) So far, since mid October 2022, I’ve spent a total of 438 days/nights on my 2019 Ranger Tug R-29 CB Do It Now, covering 7,724 nautical miles (or 8.889 statute miles or 14,305 kilometers) in 17 states, one province, and two countries. I’m currently at a very pleasant anchorage in the Georgian Bay of Lake Huron, on the Canadian side of the border. I plan to cross back into the US at month end and then get to Chicago, where I cross my wake, on August 10 or so.

Do It Now at Statue of Liberty
I stopped for a selfie at the Statue of Liberty when I went through New York Harbor in May.

If you did the math, you’ve probably realized that I’ve been away from home an awful lot — but not a full year and a half. Although I started my travels on October 13, 2022, I came home for three weeks in December 2022, five months for the spring and summer of 2023, and then a few weeks in April 2024. But other than that, I’ve been living on the boat.

Some thoughts on Cruising

My boat is not large, but it’s certainly large enough for one person and two small dogs, especially when they’re accustomed to spending months at a time living in a slide-in truck camper every winter. My boat is bigger than my camper and more comfortable, with waterfront views everywhere I go. It’s also slower and burns more fuel, but that’s a topic for another discussion. Having a second person on board works with varying results, mostly depending on the expectations of that second person.

With 240 more days of active cruising experience than I had when I started this Great Loop adventure, I’ve learned a shit-ton about boats and boating. I’ve also gotten in tune with my boat, much as I had with my helicopters: I can pretty much predict how it will respond to nearly every situation. (You know it when you have that kind of relationship with a vehicle; it’s a rare and wonderful thing.) Simply said, I know how to drive my boat.

At Go Home Bay
Here’s Do It Now at a recent anchorage called Go Home Bay. Maybe that’s what got me thinking about home?

People see me cruising alone and think they need to rush out to help me with docking or locking. Usually not so. I recently brought my boat to a complete stop beside a man at a dock who had rushed over to help me with my lines. I looked at him standing there idly just two feet away from my window and said, “This ain’t my first rodeo,” before stepping off the boat with a line to cleat up. “I see that,” he replied. More recently, at Lock 37 of the Trent-Severn Waterway, a fellow boater offered to climb on board to help me lock through. I looked him in the eye and said, “I’ve done 35 of these solo so far; I think I’ve got the hang of it.” (There is no Lock 33 and I wasn’t counting the dozens of other locks on canals I’d traveled on.)

Bruce and LeaAnne at Waterfall
Here are Bruce and LeaAnne on New Bearings. We anchored about 3 miles from this waterfall and dinghied up to it with our boats. It wasn’t quite hot enough to get me in the water with them.

But I haven’t actually been alone the entire trip. I had friends on board for a total of 102 days: Janet, Alyse, Jason, and Cheri. And I’ve been “buddy boating” with others since getting on the Erie Canal and continuing north and west. I play leapfrog with many boats. Today, I’m trying to plan a meetup with some sailing friends at a place called Bad River where we can get our dinghies out and explore the waterfall there.

What’s Next?

At the 2022 Ranger Rendezvous
Here’s Do It Now at the 2022 Ranger Rendezvous. I had just picked it up the day before in Olympia and made the two-day cruise to the event with very little experience. Since then, I’ve added a bimini top, a screen enclosure for the aft cockpit, and a new dinghy davit.

As I plan these last days of a very long trip, I’m thinking about what I’m going to do next. I know that I’m going to trailer my boat back to Washington state, where I’ll have it launched in Tacoma or Anacortes for the month of September. I know I’ll spend a good portion of that month cruising Puget Sound, fishing for salmon, and taking my Washington friends for day trips. And, of course, I’ll attend the 2024 Ranger/Cutwater Rendezvous, where I hope to do a presentation about why Ranger Tugs are the perfect Great Loop boat.

But what about after that?

Well, I don’t want to cruise Puget Sound in Washington state in the winter — that’s for damn sure.

I had toyed with the idea of bringing Do It Now south and launching it in Lake Powell for the month of October. I already talked to the folks at the marina in Page, AZ and they can provide the launch/retrieve assistance I need, truck and trailer parking, and even a marina slip if I want it. But whether I go there depends a lot on the water level; it’s about 6 feet higher than I need it to be now, but in October? And I don’t want to spend the winter there, either.

Lake Powell
I can’t tell you how many hours I spent flying my helicopter over Lake Powell with charter or photography clients on board. I have at least a half dozen people interested in joining me there on my boat.

If I have it at Lake Powell, it isn’t much farther to go to Lake Havasu for the winter. But I have a sneaking suspicion that they don’t sell diesel on that lake. And I think it might get boring if the Colorado River is drawn down for the winter and I can’t leave the lake. I could take it to Lake Mead instead, but I think it’ll be a lot colder there. But maybe not. And my boat does have a heater. A good heater.

Homesick

Of course, the main feeling I’m tackling right now is the simple fact that I miss my home. While “homesick” might be too strong a word, I definitely miss the comfort of my own (considerably larger) space. I miss having a dishwasher and a washer and dryer just steps away from my bedroom door. I miss my jewelry studio. I miss my incredible views and my garden and my deck. I miss being able to take my Jeep or truck or Honda anywhere I need to go, anytime I want to go, without having to rely on a taxi.

Home
My home has kickass views and a very large garage.

The closer I get to my trip’s end, the more I realize that I just want to spend some time at home.

But I don’t want to spend the winter there either.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my home. I had it built to my specifications and it’s just about everything I want or need in a home. It’s very comfortable. But I don’t like the winters in Washington state. There isn’t enough light. I’m usually okay until they change the clocks and then I’m miserable, with the sun setting at 4 PM — or so it seems — and my body wanting to sleep at 6 PM. And the Shadow Time.

Although I’ve never been diagnosed with SAD, I’m pretty sure I get it. It starts when we change the clocks and ends sometime in late February. In recent years, I’ve tried to stay home but invariably headed south.

Maybe this year can be different?

Giving the Boat a Rest

Either way, I suspect I’ll be giving Do It Now a rest on its trailer. The good news is that it can fit inside my garage. (You know I have an enormous garage, right?) Although that space isn’t heated, I’m hoping to get away with a minimal winterization, even if it means having to put heaters in and under the boat for the cold season.

But never fear! I have spring and summer plans for Do It Now. I’ll likely launch it sometime in April or early May and spend the spring cruising around the San Juan Islands. But the big plans are taking it north into the Inside Passage, possibly as far as to Alaska. I’m working on getting other Ranger Tug owners in the Pacific Northwest to buddy boat with me for all or part of a trip. Another summer away from home, another summer on my boat. I’m looking forward to it.

And if the bug to buy a bigger boat doesn’t stop nibbling on my brain, there’s a pretty good chance I’ll upsize for 2026. That’s when I’ll start taking paying passengers on 1- and 2-week cruises along the Great Loop.

But all that depends on whether I’m sick of cruising by then. At this point, I’m not sick of it. I just want to enjoy my dirt home for a while.