A Virtual Cruise During Lockdown

On March 23, 2020, much of the country was shutting down. People were staying home, keeping their distance from friends and family, and wondering how long the COVID-19 lockdown would last.

Debbie and I had decided to shelter in place aboard Hunky Dory at Green Turtle Bay Marina. If we had to remain somewhere for an uncertain length of time, the boat seemed like a pretty good place to do it.

We also realized that taking Hunky Dory out could give everyone stuck at home a temporary escape. We decided to stream a boat ride live through Facebook, allowing people to cruise with us virtually, look around the boat, and ask questions as we traveled.

Debbie opened the broadcast while I maneuvered Hunky Dory away from her covered slip.

“Hello, everyone. This is Debbie Geier with Jim Geier, and we are leaving our marina to start our little video,” she announced as the camera looked forward across the bow.

The marina’s covered docks and rows of boats slowly slipped behind us. Once I had Hunky Dory safely out of the slip area, Debbie took the wheel and I took over the camera and narration.

“We don’t usually wear our headsets,” I explained, “but today we are, since this is the first time we’ve ever shot video like this on our boat while we’re also driving it.”

The headsets allowed Debbie and me to communicate while I moved through the boat. They also allowed her to relay questions that Facebook viewers posted during the broadcast.

As we left Green Turtle Bay, I pointed out the nearby mooring cells where barges sometimes wait before passing through Barkley Lock. Barkley Dam stood beyond them. Hunky Dory was entering the Cumberland River, where the impounded portion is known as Lake Barkley.

Following the Cumberland upstream would eventually lead toward Nashville, but that was not our route that day. We planned to turn into the approximately mile-and-a-half canal connecting Lake Barkley with Kentucky Lake, part of the Tennessee River system.

That geography gave the surrounding recreation area its name: Land Between the Lakes.

The purpose of the outing went beyond showing people the waterways.

“Debbie and I decided to stay on our boat through all this mess that’s going on,” I told the viewers. “We figured if we were going to get stuck somewhere, we’d rather be stuck here.”

As we passed a point near the marina, our friends Byron and Cynthia stood outside their home and waved. Because everyone was keeping apart, this was about as close as we could come to visiting them. Byron appeared to be wearing protective clothing, prompting me to joke, “It looks like Byron’s got his chemical suit on.”

The moment captured the strange mixture of isolation and connection that characterized those early weeks of COVID. We could see our friends, and dozens of other friends could see us, but everyone remained physically separated.

“Unfortunately, we can’t visit much because we’re all trying to quarantine,” I said. “So we’re out on the boat today. I’m glad everyone can join us, whether you’re looking at this live or looking at it later on a recording.”

With Debbie settled at the helm, I began the actual tour. I walked down one of Hunky Dory’s covered side decks and explained why having a safe walkway around the entire boat was so useful. The side decks provide access for handling lines and fenders, particularly inside locks, while the overhead protection makes it possible to work outside during rain.

At the stern, I showed the covered aft deck with its teak table and chairs—a shady outdoor living area that we use in almost any weather. Beyond the railing, the water churned gently behind the swim platform. During warmer weather, we often anchor in a cove, launch the small boat carried on the upper deck, and swim from the platform.

The tour also revealed one of the defining characteristics of Hunky Dory: teak—lots and lots of teak. I showed the varnished aft doors, cap rails, and exterior ladder leading toward the upper deck. I had refinished the ladder during the previous summer after it had weathered almost completely gray.

People often see our boating pictures on Facebook and imagine that owning Hunky Dory is one long vacation. The tour offered an opportunity to correct that impression.

“These boats are a lot of work,” I said. “We spend hours and hours working on this thing.”

Inside, the camera moved through the salon and into the galley.

“This has a full kitchen—called a galley on a boat,” I explained. “We’ve got a full-size refrigerator, microwave, stove, sink—everything you would have in a small apartment.”

There was, however, one notable omission.

“Debbie always likes to tell me this doesn’t have a dishwasher, so we have to do it old school.”

The view from the sink helped compensate for that inconvenience. Instead of looking at a wall while washing dishes, we could look through the large windows at the lake and passing shoreline. As I added, it also helped that I tended to be the one doing the dishes.

I explained that Hunky Dory is a 55-foot Cheoy Lee trawler built in Taiwan in 1979. We had purchased her about six years earlier and had been gradually replacing and modernizing her systems. Much of the navigation equipment, sanitation equipment, air conditioning, and other machinery had already been renewed.

Our approach was to modernize the equipment people depend upon while preserving the boat’s original 1970s character. The camera lingered over period dishes and decorative objects that had belonged to Debbie’s father, along with other vintage furnishings we had collected.

Even the extensive interior teak reflected that goal. The teak-and-holly floors and varnished walls gave the boat warmth and character, although maintaining all that wood was practically a year-round occupation.

“Around the dock they jokingly call me Captain Teak,” I said. “It’s kind of like painting the Golden Gate Bridge. You just have to keep going and keep at it.”

The tour continued forward into the pilothouse, where Debbie remained at the wheel, wearing her headset and watching the water ahead. The helm was surrounded by gauges, radios, switches, navigation displays, and the large metal-spoked wheel.

I explained that this was where we spent most of our time during longer trips. On the journey to the Gulf of Mexico, we had sometimes operated the boat for eight to fourteen hours in a day. Debbie and I alternated at the helm, navigating around barges, floating debris, bends in the river, and the locks and dams along the route. Hunky Dory also had an autopilot, but someone still had to maintain a constant watch.

As we approached the canal, Debbie monitored the Automatic Identification System for commercial traffic. We had delayed our departure slightly after seeing a tow in the area because the canal could become crowded when a large barge passed through it.

Facebook viewers began sending questions. Debbie read them and relayed them to me through the headset.

“If you have any questions, go ahead and put them in the comments,” I told them. “She’s going to relay them to me over the headset.”

One viewer wanted to know how fast Hunky Dory was traveling.

“We’re doing 7.1 miles per hour right now,” I answered. “We’re only running at about 1,400 RPM.”

At a normal traveling speed closer to 2,000 RPM, Hunky Dory could cruise at approximately ten or eleven miles per hour. It was a leisurely pace compared with a car, but it was the sort of pace that allowed the shoreline, islands, channel markers, and other boats to become part of the trip rather than merely scenery flashing past.

We continued through the canal and beneath the bridge leading between Grand Rivers and Land Between the Lakes. I pointed out the bridge-clearance marker and explained that Hunky Dory required roughly twenty-five feet of clearance. Even when a bridge appeared more than high enough, checking the clearance was an important habit.

On the other side of the bridge, the canal opened into Kentucky Lake. Kentucky Dam appeared in the distance, along with barges waiting near the lock and an osprey nest built atop a navigation marker. The same route could continue south along the Tennessee River toward Pickwick Dam and, eventually, through the Tennessee-Tombigbee Waterway to Mobile and the Gulf of Mexico—a trip Hunky Dory had already made.

Before ending the tour, I went below. The camera passed through the wood-paneled lower passage between the two engine rooms and entered the master stateroom with its large bed, built-in cabinetry, adjoining head, full shower, and stacked washer and dryer. I briefly opened a machinery-space door to show one of the large yellow Caterpillar diesel engines.

Farther forward were another head and shower, guest sleeping areas, and multiple bunks. Two of our cats made appearances during this part of the tour—one walking across the floor and another watching from a berth—providing an appropriately unscripted conclusion to the accommodations tour.

After returning to the pilothouse, I handed the camera back toward the bow. The final minutes showed Hunky Dory moving steadily across the water, the stainless bow rail and small burgee framing the view.

“We’re not leaving our home to do this,” I had explained earlier. “We’re practicing social distancing in our home that’s moving around.”

That was really the heart of the virtual cruise. Hunky Dory was not merely a recreational boat that day. She was our home, our refuge, and a way to bring other people outside without asking anyone to leave the safety of their own homes.

For about forty minutes, people who were isolated in houses and apartments could stand virtually on Hunky Dory’s foredeck, pass through her pilothouse, walk around her teak-lined interior, meet the cats, ask questions, and travel with us from Lake Barkley to Kentucky Lake.

As the camera settled on the open water ahead, I ended the broadcast simply:

“This has been fun. Thank you for watching.”

Then came the most appropriate farewell possible for that uncertain time:

“Be safe.”