Here comes … the Acacia
Winter ended at the end of March but then returned. April's arrival
had promised freedom from the snow and ice, but with a new ten
inches, everyone on Beaver Island was glad to hear the news: “the
boat, the icebreaker: she is coming!” So on April 10th twenty-five
people and several equally cabin-fevered dogs gathered at Whiskey
Point to watch the sturdy steel-hulled Acacia, fresh from winter
duty in Chicago, carve up the foot-thick barricade that had surrounded
Beaver’s shores.
The wind was perfect, blowing to the northeast: the burgs the
icebreaker was calving would blow away from the Emerald Isle's
route. Some thought the ice would be thicker, but an earlier two
days of rain had created warm lakes on the surface that mirrored
the melting action of the current below, and the great white tectonic
sheet that had blanketed us broke easily into mushy pieces.
When the welcome ship passed the Coast Guard Station, everyone
acted spontaneously, jumping back in their car or truck and racing
to the Ferry Dock, where the kids who'd been let out of school
were waiting with another thirty adults. They needn't have hurried
because a thousand feet out the powerful boat had come to a complete
stop. There she sat, as the gathering joked: it had to be lunch
time.
Then she came on, her motor churning and seagulls billowing as
she chewed through ice that had thickened to thirty inches, without
being strained. Cameras clicked; dogs turned frolicky; and people
said hello to those who'd hidden out in their cabins during the
long run of short days. The Acacia came right up to the dock with
the grace of a dolphin, and then backed away–time and again,
widening the path to the rest of the world. But on one of these
feints the calculation the Captain was making from her high perch
was not quite good enough and the ship tapped the bow of our beloved
Emerald Isle. The row of observers did not quite believe what
they had seen; the railing was bent at three stanchions, and a
dimple left in her bow plating. The ding was only cosmetic, but
it was a reminder of the raw force and skill involved that we
often take for granted after seeing the ships being maneuvered
flawlessly year after year. When the Acacia steamed away, there
was a narrow alley cut in the ice, through which groceries and
fuel oil and building supplies could be brought, starting with
a trip the day after the following day. But two days later ice
showed up all the way from Traverse City–apparently needing
a vacation–and the Acacia had to come back!
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