Handing my backpack to the deckhand for stowage on the Isle Royale passenger ferry Sea Hunter III, he said, “Are you the boat driver?”
“Well, a small boat driver,” I replied, anticipating the two weeks I’d be handling the 25 foot Boston Whaler for the Rock of Ages Lighthouse Preservation Society.
“Hi, I’m Bill. I’d like to talk to you about the Lighthouse after we get underway.”
Bill looked to be upper-middle age, with graying, short hair under a ball cap, dressed in a nice, orange Helly Hansen rain jacket. His hands were large, deeply tanned and looked like they had handled their share of ropes and lines.
After Captain Don (the BIG boat driver) maneuvered Sea Hunter III into the bay and Bill had the lines and fenders stowed, he met me at the stern starboard rail. He wanted to know about my job as a boat operator for the lighthouse. He had read the appeal for boat operator candidates a couple of years ago and thought it would have been an ideal opportunity for him, since he was looking for ways to spend his retirement on the water.
“So how did you become a deckhand on this ferry boat,” I asked, with a hint of incredulity? He didn’t look like someone who needed a job that someone of limited skill normally held, or that he would be sufficiently challenged with that as part of a retirement plan.
“Oh, I’m just filling in for a friend who needed the day off to go to a wedding. My day job is captain of the Hjordis for the Folk School in Grand Marais,” he replied.
You know the expression “you can’t tell a book by its cover”? Or remember that advice to avoid assumptions based on first impressions or how a person looks? I was about to become immersed in a living exercise of those principles.
“How did you qualify to be a substitute deckhand on the Sea Hunter,” I asked?
“I worked for Don a couple of years back before working full-time on the Hordes. I had been pestering him for a job earlier that year, so when he had to let his deckhand go in the middle of the season, he called to see if I was still interested, and I worked the rest of the season.”
Deckhand to commercial sailboat captain within a year or two? Curious, I asked, “so the Hjortis is the sailing vessel the North House Folk School in Grand Marais uses to sail tourists around the harbor right? How did you go from deckhand to captain of a commercial sailing vessel so quickly?”
“Oh, I’d been a deckhand on the Hjortis for a few years already and was on the school's board when we decided to buy it.”
“The board?” The book was starting to belie its cover. “Do you live in Grand Marais?”
“I do now, since I retired. I owned Sawbill Canoe Outfitters near the Boundary Waters, and worked there since I was a little kid. My parents started it in 1957. Now my daughter and her husband own it.”
Bill grew up and lived in the wilderness his entire life. Throughout those years, as a son and as an owner, he welcomed customers, chopped wood, launched canoes, sold supplies, and offered advice. The nearest town of any size, Grand Marais, and home to his school growing up was 1-1/2 hours away. Quite an unworldly life, with limited exposure to modern or international society you might think.
If so, which was not the case as he and his family travelled in the off-season, he took care of that when he retired by volunteering for the Peace Corps.
“I thought the Peace Corp was only for college students wanting to expand their horizons or do good in the world,” I postulated.
“No, actually, quite a few adults volunteer, too. And many of the organizations that benefit from folks placed by the Corp ask for adults with broader experience explicitly. That’s how I ended up working for a local NGO in Uganda.”
“So what kind of work did you do?”
“Anything that needed doing. Digging new waste pits, helping families build additions to their homes, and drawing up building plans. This NGO had assisted coffee growers in another town successfully and was trying to replicate that success in this town, so as I came to know the people - learning the local tribal language while I was there - and the business of coffee, I spent time visiting growers and advising on markets, supply chains, sourcing of needed equipment and supplies, that kind of thing. I really enjoyed it, but then Covid hit.”
After the first year of his two-year commitment, the Peace Corps sent Bill home through a labyrinth of flights and destinations, trying to beat the coming travel bans. He made it back, but since then has returned to Uganda every year on his own dime to consult and spend time with the locals.
“In that part of Uganda, status is not measured in wealth or ancestry,” he explained. “Instead, your place in their society is determined by how many guests you entertain, and by the status of those guests. You can imagine my reception when, as a white man from a faraway land and speaking their language, I stopped by to check on them and how things were going. The only downside to those visits is that they never let me leave without a feast and visitation by all of their neighbors and family.”
It all made my little lighthouse gig seem trivial by worldly impact standards.
He asked about my role and how it worked, and explained, “I would have loved to spend time on Isle Royale and the lighthouse. But then there was Covid, so I didn’t apply. I’m thinking about doing it now. And you should come deckhand with me on the Hjortis.”
I encouraged him to pursue the Rock Hopper next year. Either way, I hope we can work together and take up our conversation where we left off. I need to explore more layers of this deckhand’s past and his plans for the future.
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