Party Barge Adventures

by Becca Brin Manlove

I prefer the simplicity of paddling a kayak, but pontoon boats keep barging into my life. It all started twelve years ago, in early November on a second date with David Conard. We were both mature adults when I met him at the private landing on Burntside Lake. But my 23-year-old daughter was apprehensive about her widowed mother going off with this stranger, so I texted pictures of his license plate and pontoon boat. When she called, I handed him my phone. David was over 60. His eyes twinkled at me while he gamely answered her question, “Who are you?” When she asked, “What are your intentions with my mother?” he laughed out loud. So did she. But then, she reminded him that she had pictures. David, a retired Army helicopter pilot, had many adventures to share, but one of his favorites became that call with Celin.

David loved boats (he owned a dozen when we first met). His favorite was The Bentley, his party barge. He put it in as early after ice-out as possible. We broke ice around it to take the boat out each fall. A small stream was inexorably making swamp out of his waterfront. He extended his dock with a pontoon barge. Still we fought waterlilies as he backed away from the dock and out into the bay.

My mom developed Alzheimer’s and my parents struggled to find safe housing for her. David and my brother helped me move them to Ely. Mom lived in the Memory Care unit at Carefree. My dad bounced between sharing her apartment and living with me. They often joined us on David’s pontoon boat and added their own mix of adventure.

My dad was an avid fisherman. Going out on a boat was all about trolling across likely walleye havens. David was Pilot of every craft he drove and had no patience for fishing. They tried, but neither one could surrender to the other.

A week before Dad’s birthday and my parent’s sixtieth wedding anniversary (they were married on his twenty-first birthday), Dad showed up at my office. He was an adorable eighty-year-old man, French Canadian in size and attitude, fierce and funny. His red, button-down shirt, patterned with cars and women, always drew smiles and compliments from Mom’s caregivers. That day, he was beaming.

“Bought myself a birthday present, Beck. Come out and see it.”

A brand-new pontoon boat looked enormous, perched on its own trailer. My heart sank. Another damn pontoon boat. David’s shrink-wrapped Bentley had blocked the view out of one of my windows for three winters already. Where were we going to park Dad’s? And where were we going to dock it?

David’s dock barely supported the Bentley. There was no room for this new party barge.

Dad suffered a stroke about five years before this. Although he regained his ability to walk and talk, his judgement and his sense of direction were impaired. He’d gotten lost in a fishing boat on tiny Minister Lake, a lake he’d fished for thirty years. And he wasn’t very steady on his feet. Even if the pontoon boat hadn’t been too big for the lake, he couldn’t negotiate the steep access from my house down to the shoreline.

But all my objections floated off when I looked at Dad. Mom’s Alzheimer’s had taken away so much of their lives. They’d had to sell their home on a sweet little hobby farm, many of their possessions went away in an auction, they’d tried three different assisted living options for Mom, and Dad had tried to squeeze himself down to fit in those same places. Worst of all, he was losing Mom so slowly and horribly.

This pontoon boat represented getting some of their freedom and dignity back. He pictured the two of them, out tooling around, catching fish and reliving the many good times they’d had. “Wow, Dad, it’s amazing.”

It also represented a little triumph for his granddaughter Celin. David had agreed to Celin’s wedding shower being held at his cabin with one stipulation: the guests couldn’t take the Bentley out without his driving it. When Dad told Celin he’d bought the boat, the first thing he said was, “Now you and your friends can take your party out on the lake.”

A neighbor just a few cabins down from David’s graciously gave Dad docking space. But we were in for a few adventures. We tried to be sure someone who could find their way back always accompanied Dad, but one evening that little voyageur made a break for it, with Mom aboard, and escaped the bay. David and I jumped on the Bentley and raced after them. Even lumbering pontoon boats don’t leave tracks on the water and Burntside’s many islands confounded our pursuit. Dad did finally answer his phone and admit he was lost. When we found them, they were happy, floating in a quiet bay.

Less than a month after Dad bought the pontoon, he fell and hit his head while disposing of fish guts. Yes, fish he caught from the pontoon. He died of a brain bleed, exacerbated by undiagnosed leukemia. We didn’t tell Mom he was gone. When she asked where he was, I told her he was out on a fishing trip with my late husband, Mike (on days when she remembered David, she wouldn’t have believed the two of them were fishing). Although Mom had no memory of it, sometimes I said Dad was out on the new pontoon. Because in my heart, he was.

I was grateful Dad bought that fancy barge for his last month, but I had no desire to own it. My brother uses it now with his family. When David died, his family adopted the Bentley and found storage for it. So I was at last free of pontoon boats.

A few years later, I sold my Minister Lake place. Dad’s love of fishing never did take with me, but his love of the water did. In a whirlwind purchase just before the COVID-fueled lakeshore buying craze started, I became owner of a little rustic cabin on a good-sized lake. And with it, came a pontoon boat. I suspected my dad’s spirit was somehow involved.

We zip and strap my little granddaughters into their life jackets to take them out on the pontoon. Of course, the little girls love the hairchurning ride, the benches to climb, and railings to test. I’m grateful for the loops at the back of their lifejackets and have made a rule: No moving around when the motor is on. My daughter is happy to be the pilot while I cling to the girls.

I lack the courage to take the pontoon boat out on my own. I’m happy to clamber into a kayak and tool around, exploring shoreline and islands. But the mechanics of the pontoon motor freak me out. And my fears have been born out.

One day, Sean, my son-in-law launched the pontoon boat. His parents were visiting and so was my mother-in-law. We were going to give his hard-working parents a little tour of our end of the lake. Out in the clear, away from the dock, I suggested I drive to become more comfortable with operating the party barge. Sean gave me the helm. Then, equidistance from the cabin and the public access, the engine stopped. We all assumed it was pilot error. After a few tries, I gave the wheel to Sean. Neither he nor his dad, Craig, could get it going.

Sean noticed something tangled in the prop. He jumped into the lake and discovered the battery cable was wrapped around it. For some reason, the cable was very long—about ten feet. It had snaked off the deck and was caught in the churn of the motor.

The cable was nearly cut through. Luckily, Sean and Craig are resourceful mechanics. Sean held the cable together (without getting shocked) while Craig got the motor restarted and drove us back to the dock. Then, instead of relaxing at the lake, Craig and Sean went into town, bought a new shorter cable, and replaced the damaged one.

Last summer, family and friends used the pontoon some, but I paddled my kayak. Then at the end of the season, I had to scramble to get the boat out of the water. A neighbor loaned us a trailer. My daughter was working. Sean loaded the two little girls into their car seats in his truck, hooked up the trailer and drove to the public access. He backed the trailer down into the water and waited for me to bring the boat across. He called to say the baby had fallen asleep and the three-year-old was getting restless but he was keeping her in her car seat where she was safely out of the way.

I managed to start the motor and only went the wrong direction briefly before I got it into reverse and backed carefully away from the shoreline rocks and the dock. I gained confidence and slowly increased speed, watching the string of cabins on the shoreline recede behind me. Most were seasonal, like mine. Only a few were occupied this late in the fall.

A sharp beep sounded from the motor and it quit. I remembered that

Camp Voyageur

A camp for boys 10-18 with water and land sports plus wilderness canoe trips. Guided trips for girls. Located at the edge of the Boundary Waters Wilderness. 800-950-7291, www.campvoyageur.com sound from David’s boat. But I didn’t know what it meant. Again, I was equidistance between my dock and the public access. The landing was on the back side of a point, out of sight.

I restarted the engine. It caught, turned the prop and pushed the boat forward. I said a prayer of thanks. But it hadn’t gone far when that beep shrieked and the engine quit again. I probably re-started the engine five or six times. Each time the engine ran a shorter distance. The last push carried me around the point and within sight of Sean and the trailer before it died. Across the water, Sean patiently explained trouble shooting the motor to get it re-started. He eyed the frigid water, wondering if he should wade in to get me. I tried his suggestions but the motor refused to turn over again. Mentally I prepared to leap into the breath-taking water to tow in the boat. Luckily a breeze sprang up from just the right direction and I floated near enough for Sean to catch the bow rope and pull the pontoon boat into position over the trailer skids.

Outboard Repair

Joe’s Marine and Repair. Chainsaw and outboard service. Mechanics on duty Monday through Saturday. Full of boating accessories for “Fun on the Water.” 25 W. Chapman St., 218-365-6264

The breeze also wafted the smell of a burning engine. Sean looked at the motor once we’d pulled the trailer out of the lake. He offered hope that I might not have totally ruined the thing. He thought the problem might be some whatzit that often fails when an engine isn’t run frequently enough. Is this party barge worth all the hassles? My knee jerk response is HE-double hockey sticks NO, but I think Dad and David would have a different answer. I’m going to climb into my kayak and paddle around, meditating. Weighing upkeep costs versus benefits; my kids’ joy against my fear of being stalled equidistance between self-sufficiency and having to ask for help—again.

Becca notes that she’s writing through her Party Barge Period, kinda like Picasso and his Blue Period. You can find more pontoon stories at her blog, Love With Roots, and in Summer Times archives at RavenWordsPress.com.

100+ Years of Drama

Decades ago, It was common for people with mutual interests to form a study club, usually with membership exclusive to those chosen by the organizers. The group would meet regularly with a few members presenting an educational session on the current topic for study. Meetings were usually held at a member’s home. (I remember my mother thoroughly cleaning our house and getting out the good china for such meetings.) Science, history, and the arts were common organizing subjects. In Ely in1923, such a group formed from the collaboration of two smaller groups to create the Ely Music and Drama Club. In case you didn’t do the math, they are celebrating their 100th anniversary this year. Originally the group met three times a month with elaborate productions that included costumes, music, and props. At that time, research had to be conducted at the library or in private collections of books and music; Google makes this easier today. Now the club meets once a month and presentations lean more towards the informative than the theatrical.

Through the years, Music and Drama Club became more civicminded, supporting community arts rather than only studying arts in distant times and places. For many years they provided a preperformance audience for the Spring Musical, helping the cast know when to pause for laughs and applause. Members brought a meal for the cast, orchestra, and crew during the daylong rehearsals the weekend before opening. The theater lobby was transformed into a costumed cafeteria with side shows of singing and dancing as the chorus polished their numbers and consumed enough potluck energy to make it through the tech rehearsal that lasted until late in the evening. Scholarships are another way Music & Drama has supported the Ely arts community. The Zella Richter Memorial scholarship, begun in 1950, has been awarded to graduating high school students who excelled in the arts. The scholarship program has expanded to provide funding for talented middle and high school students wishing to pursue their arts passion at summer workshops or camps. Funds are raised through membership dues and donations, as well as a few events.

Music & Drama Club is most definitely not a thing of the past. They are still active, studying a variety of subjects at monthly meetings, providing scholarships, and presenting the annual Community Service Award to someone who has contributed substantially to Ely’s multi-faceted arts scene. A plaque with awardees’ names is on display in the college theater lobby.

For anyone interested in becoming a member of this fine organization, an invitation is extended to attend a meeting on the third Monday of the month May-September, 6 pm, at Ledgerock Church. The by-laws limit membership to 25 people, but recently several members have transitioned to honorary status, creating room for new theater and music enthusiasts to join. No worries about cleaning house or polishing the silver; just think of a topic you’d like to explore, perhaps in cooperation with others. Not at all stuffily prestigious, as such groups could be decades ago, this group is fun and down-to-earth. Happy Hundredth Anniversary, Music and Drama!!