Dear Honorary Loopers,
As I mentioned in the last entry, we left the traditional Loop route in Trentport. This year’s visit there felt very different. In 2024, I was excited, feeling anticipation and suspense as we started the Canadian canal experience that we had heard so much about.
This time, two years later, we entered Trentport having traversed not only the Trent-Severn, but also, in the intervening year, the Champlain, Richelieu and Rideau Canals. Those experiences are still very much with us, and when we’re with first-time Loopers, I have to consciously refrain from monopolizing the conversation with our stories of “been there, done that.” When we gathered for docktails in Trentport with this year’s Loopers, I felt so excited for them, knowing just what they were in for. It was so tempting to pontificate about our favorite locks, towns, meals, and experiences – the list of favorites is so long!
I also experienced an acute sense of nostalgia, for both things that were the same (the clean luxurious free laundry facilities and the on-site Kawartha ice cream) and some that were different (my favorite Muskoka chair had been repainted due to weather damage; the bear cub no longer spreads his front paws wide, inviting the sitter to relax into his “bear hug”).
In an odd way, once we left the known quantity of Trentport, I regained my “beginner’s mind,” that wide-eyed sense of wonder unburdened by prior knowledge, assumptions or expectations. I knew I was in for new experiences, and it felt freeing. No more pontificating for the “newbies” – it was our turn to experience the unknown.
On July 30 we watched the other Loopers get fuel, get pumpouts and get underway north under the bridge, with a small yet sharp pang of regret that we were losing our comrades and all the pleasures of that journey to Lake Huron. Then we got our own pumpout and were off, proceeding west a few miles to the Murray Canal.
This straight and narrow waterway, which bisects a small peninsula, usually requires payment of a fee. This year the fee is waived, which was actually disappointing, because we missed out on one of the local boating traditions. The fee is typically collected by the canal tender extending a long pole on which a small basket is dangling. The cash is placed in the basket, and the pole is withdrawn. No docking, delay, or unnecessary interaction. I imagine the curmudgeonly canal tender muttering to himself as he fumbles for the basket; not your typical friendly Canadian.
We did admire the efficiency of the Murray Canal bridgetender, who masterfully coordinated raising the bridge for two sailboats approaching from one direction and one powerboat (Affection) approaching from the other. He clearly aimed to minimize the length of time the vehicle traffic had to sit idling their engines. By my watch, he took less than two minutes to get us all through the bridge and lower it!
Once out of the Murray Canal we were in open waters the rest of the way to Toronto. We continued to follow the northern shore of Lake Ontario (regardless of what some might call it now, it was Lake Ontario when we cruised in it, so Lake Ontario it shall remain throughout our Great Lakes cruise). On the way we stopped in only one lakeside town, Cobourg, which was a complete unknown. Awaiting me within that “unknownness” was an unexpected range of emotions.
We had at first allocated only one night’s stay in Cobourg, mostly because we were focused on all the delights of Toronto, our next stop. But as soon as we got close to the shore, it became obvious that Cobourg had something special, in fact, several special things, going for it.
One: it had a real beach! Where much of the Lake Ontario shoreline is rocky, forested, and restricted by private “cottages” (some more like mansions) or timber and gravel silos, downtown Cobourg has a long, sandy, scenic beach.
Two: The beach is right next to the marina, so we could take a short walk and then dip our toes (or more) in one of the Great Lakes! This was our first opportunity to go swimming. One might think that stopping every night in a marina (so far this year, we have not anchored) gives lots of chances to swim – we’re surrounded by water, after all. What’s the problem? Swimming is not allowed in marinas – ever. “Water, water everywhere and not a chance to get in it” (to paraphrase the old complaint)… Why not? Science lesson of the week: Water is an excellent conductor of electricity. Stray electrical current from a frayed submerged cable or faulty wiring on a boat or the dock can cause electrocution, often leading to electric shock drowning from paralyzed muscles.
Three: Just inland of the Cobourg beach is a trailer park, where dozens of different kinds of recreational vehicles provide temporary homes for travelers. Walking along the beachfront boardwalk, we enjoyed watching people enjoy their firepits, picnic tables, lawn chairs and hammocks. Beachgoers exchanged greetings with RV’ers, and RV’ers played cards or petted dogs and watched kids frolicking in the calm shallow water. Summer at the beach, in an RV, and on a boat – all within a few hundred feet … I immediately relaxed into that indolent heavy-limbed feeling I associate with summer.
That “perfect summer day” feeling was reinforced by a few other things, including our coming upon a lawn bowling center in the beachfront park. Dozens of people stood talking in groups, watching others take aim and roll the bocce-size balls along the long sand pits toward the small target balls or the other large balls clustered around it. It felt like a time machine had opened a window onto a past century, like the seaside resort in the movie Somewhere in Time.
And then, as we walked back to the boat from the RV park in the soft summer twilight, we saw an inflatable movie screen in the park next to the marina. Families were gathered in lawn chairs and on blankets, watching that quintessential summer movie, Field of Dreams. We brought our hinged cushions out of the boat and lost ourselves in the shared audience exclamations absorbed into the soft night air, the star-lit sky above the moving pictures on the screen, and the comfort of knowing that everything would be alright in the end.
For me, the cherry on top of this “summer sundae” feeling came from two different couples with whom we interacted in Cobourg. One couple, Leo and Brett, sat at the adjoining table in an outdoor sidewalk patio. We try not to miss opportunities to interact with the strangers we meet, and soon we were exploring our different ways to deal with stress and worry. Brett practices Muy Thai to give himself an outlet for tension and anxiety. Leo fits a “worry hour” into his workday, instead of suppressing his anxiety all day and waking in the middle of the night to worry. I loved learning new techniques for handling the stress that affects us all, and witnessing their affectionate and respectful manner with each other – so inspiring!
The other couple was very different, but the effect was, if anything, even more evocative and powerful. Jeff and I went to the beach together, but I stayed in the water longer, taking a slow walk in the hip-deep water along the whole length of the beach and back. In an area removed from the main concentration of frolicking kids and frisbee-throwing teens, I approached a couple exemplifying love in action. An elderly grey-bearded gentleman slowly and carefully rowed a colorful inflatable dinghy along the beach, as his passenger, an elderly woman sitting calmly under a parasol, watched him row. Their air of stately elegance brought to mind paintings of couples boating on the Seine. His turban and her headscarf added a surprising cultural twist to the portrait, and their age and dignity negated any absurdity in the situation.
I watched them for a long time, pondering the significance of what I had witnessed. Here was a relationship in which service to a loved one was taken seriously and accepted graciously, no matter how it looked to the outside world. I hold that image in my heart and hope that as Jeff and I age, we continue to serve each other with loving gestures, and gratefully accept those gestures in the spirit with which they are offered.
In witness,
Judy