A man at the next table said, “Anyone taking the ferry to the mainland this morning is in for a rough ride.”
Not what I wanted to hear, but I’ve been there. The last time I’d been to the Lake Erie islands, I kayaked in seven-foot waves, eventually taking a swim — and pulling the coaming off the cockpit getting out of my overturned boat. I don’t do Eskimo rolls. I do the scared white guy getting the hell out of there maneuver. In kayaking jargon, that’s known as a “wet exit.” They probably call it that because, at that point, you’re so terrified you’ve pissed yourself.
It was quite a ride. The waves looked to be in the five-foot range, and the ferry from Pelee Island to Sandusky was a tub compared to the mini luxury liner I’d taken three days earlier from the Canadian mainland to the island.
But I didn’t mind. I’d been in Canada much of August and it would be good to come home. Unlike previous trips up there, I felt satiated, like I’d done all I wanted to do. I spent time fishing at Lake Nipissing with my father and brother, canoed and camped eight days in Algonquin Provincial Park and finally visited Pelee Island. I also ate at half the Tim Hortons in Ontario.
As the saying goes — It is good to be king; it’s even better to be retired.