Door County Navigator

Door County is a special place to a lot of people! If you have a special Door County Memory, please write to us at Dan@DoorCountyNavigator.com and we may include it in our Door County Memories section below!

Door County Dreaming
By Deborah Schnepper

We affectionately call ourselves the "Door Girls" and have spent the past several years visiting Door County in October during the "Pumpkin Patch Festival"

Over the years we have had new recruits join us but seven ofus are veterans and never miss a year. Our ages range from 29-79 years. We are mothers and daughters, sisters and best friends, that feel like sisters, but above all we are forever friends.

Some of our favorite memories are fish boils at White Gull Inn, chili at Wilson's Ice Cream Parlor, "happy hour" and Bloody Mary's at Bayside and having picnics along the shores of charming Ephriam.

The "Door Girls" travel the peninsula taking in the breathtaking color of the fall foliage and shop-til-we-drop, stopping only for a tailgateparty and a little "livation", as my Mother called it. After feeling sufficiently filled with Door County treasures we go home to our condo to watch the sunset over beautiful Green Bay. Most evenings we have a nice dinner and later relax by a roaring fire listening to music and recalling our favorite stories of past vacations. These times together are precious and priceless to all of us.

We have celebrated engagements and pregnancies and entertained our younger girls with surprise bridal and baby showers during our vacations in DC. For those occasions we each brought a favorite hat to set the mood for our party. We all are still little girls at heart and just love playing dress up and acting silly.

This past year brought sadness to us. My Mother and the Matriarch of our group passed away in the spring. She was always full of love, wisdom and fun and added so much to the "Door Girls." We all miss her terribly, however, she has given us wonderful memories and she will always and forever be a legend and part of our trips to beautiful Door County. It is in her memory I dedicate my Door County Dreaming.

Aboard The Eventyr By Mary Beth Schewitz
I woke up early today, pulled on my sweat suit, tiptoed past my sleeping relatives and slipped overboard into the dinghy. I love Nicolet Bay in the early hours when the sun is just rising and only the shore birds are up to keep me company. With silent oars I row the little fiberglass skiff away from the sloop. I study the ripple from the oars and the quiet seagulls bobbing along the near the water’s edge. I pass other boats that anchored overnight in this sandy cove and whose occupants are also sound asleep.

As I make my rounds I look over the nearby bluffs lined with evergreens, searching out the green painted observation tower up whose100 stairs I have climbed many times. Over my left shoulder is Horseshoe Island, so named for its shape. That’s where we usually anchor, but it was too full for us last night and the weather was good for staying in at Nicolet Bay. Up ahead but far off in the clearing early morning mist I see the church spires of Ephraim.
Having circumnavigated the harbor, I turn my craft back toward the ships tied at anchor and hear people stirring, smell bacon in the air, see hatches thrown open to the sun. As I tie off the dinghy on the Eventyr I realize Grandpa’s awake and that delicious bacon smell is coming right out of our galley.

“Mary Beth, give me a hand setting the table,” calls out Aunt Mary Jane. My cousin Kristin is already making toast and for a moment I feel guilty for having been out and not lending a hand. But the truth is, in a 33’ long sloop there is only room for so many people, no matter how small they might be. The Eventyr sleeps just four, two in the inner cabin, which also houses the galley, dining table and entrance to the head, and two in the outer cabin, which has soft-sided canvas walls above a certain point. My grandpa’s bunk is on the starboard side. The other adult usually sleeps on the port. The kids sleep below. This trip the other adult is my favorite aunt, Mary Jane. My cousin Kristin is not her daughter, but her niece. That’s almost always the way these trips are planned, no siblings and no parents. This is our chance to get away and get to know the rest of the family.

“Great breakfast Gramps!” I exclaim as I wolf down my eggs, bacon and toast. “Where are we headed today?”

“After you and Kristin clean up and row the trash to shore, we’ll sail out to Chamber’s Island,” Grandpa declared. Chambers is a pretty large island, rumored to be complete with an airstrip for the residents of the catholic retreat house located somewhere beyond the trees. I’ve never stepped foot on the island, only sailed past, so I really can’t tell you more.

Kristin and I share the “kid jobs” of dishes, dismantling the table, and rowing the trash to shore while Grandpa and Mary Jane enjoy their coffee and look over charts. Back on board our small hands work quickly to unwrap the mainsail, stow its cover, get the jib sheet unbagged, snapped on to the forestay, and lastly to neatly stow the sail on one side of the deck. Mary Jane ties the elusive “bowline knot” before handing the lines for the jib back to the cockpit for Grandpa to cleat off. Grandpa inspects all of our work before we set sail and pronounces that I may have the honor of pulling the anchor. As he starts the engine and glides the Eventyr toward the anchor I pull with all my might while Kristin works beside me to keep the line under control on deck. We are off! My favorite moment is when the ripples of the smooth water start to bounce off the red painted hull. I grab the forestay like some ancient mariner taking a moment to study the wind and waves before we have to return to action to get the mainsail up.

The blue sky is almost cloudless, and unfortunately, the air is rather still. Called from my reverie Grandpa gives the orders “Raise the mainsail, we’ll carry her on the starboard side.”

Kristin gets the honor while I watch as the sail travels along the track to the top and begins to fill with wind. I’m leaning against the port rail, feeling it rise, listening to the swish of waves against the hull and bracing my feet to keep me on the deck as it bobs from the pull of the wind.

“Mary Beth, please raise the jib.” I pull the halyard hand over hand, hearing the clackity-clack sound of the hanks flying up the track carrying the sail upward, the line at the bottom corner with the bowline snags momentarily on the rail and then it too snaps into position as my grandfather expertly trims the line to eliminate any luff. Grandpa and Mary Jane assess their course, while Kristin and I spy our seats for the sail. Heading on a southwestward tack with Horseshoe peaking out between the sails, the sun was perfect for tanning. Grabbing the square lifesavers for pillows we try to share the small forward deck, concluding we will have to sit for both of us to stay up front. Conversation is spare, but the wind improves as we clear the point and get out into the bay. The bobbing becomes progressively higher and longer. I straddle my legs around one stanchion while Kristin does the same to another. We gaze past our toes into the deep black green water and are lost in thought.

We are sailing away from the limestone cliffs whose frequent caves and shadows make for speculation about what must live within. It’s a fair run to Chambers, probably two hours there and two back. Sensing our restlessness, Grandpa calls up to see who wants to take a turn at the helm. Kris jumps at the chance, while I am grateful for uninterrupted deck space. Catlike, I stretch in the sun, hogging both lifesavers and all the sunshine, promptly falling asleep.

Awakened by a shiver, the previously cloudless sky has allowed some large intruders to steal the sunshine from me. I jump up and hear the bells from the clock below.

“What time is it Mary Beth?” queries Grandpa in a testing manner. I listen closely and count six bells.

“Eleven O’clock!” I proudly reply. Scampering to the cockpit I notice that we are midway along the length of Chambers.

“Mary Jane proposes that we anchor off the west shore for lunch, and possibly a swim. How does that sound?” I nod in assent to Grandpa and Mary Jane who is at the helm.

“How about if you take the helm here,” offers Mary Jane as she stands to let me ease into position at the tiller. “It is surprisingly challenging in the lee of the island.”

Nervously, I glance at the compass setting knowing I cannot rely on that alone. “What landmark are you using?”

“The tall pine on the end of the island for now,” replied Mary Jane. “But after you clear this cliff face, we’ll have to adjust the course to get over to the beach.”

I locked onto the tree, and then with a deep sigh looked at the set of the sails. Grandpa was one tough customer to please. It didn’t matter that we were going nowhere in particular and weren’t in any big hurry, he always wanted the best speed the hull could deliver and that left no room for luffing sails or wandering off course.

“The puffs of wind off the cliffs are visible on the water,” Mary Jane helped out, “But don’t overcompensate when you see one coming. I found if I just held her steady on the tree, the boat took care of herself.”

Mercifully, the Eventyr did seem to take care of herself. I relaxed, holding the tiller handle behind me as I stood watching the course ahead. Grandpa seemed engaged by his book, but I knew that any sound from a luffing sail would call his attention away from the page. By luck, the sail stayed full to the tip and he never as much as glanced up.

“Ready for a change of course, Captain?” Mary Jane questioned. “Since we want to get to the beach and we are just about to pass the cliffs into the open water, we will have to take a southward tack, but not until we clear the shoals marked by the can ahead.” I was too embarrassed to mention that I hadn’t even noticed the marker for the shoals until she pointed it out. “Keep on this compass bearing until I tell you.”

With fresh tension I waited for the change in the wind as we cleared the cliffs of the island and received the uninterrupted force of the southerly breeze. Mary Jane was there to bail me out again. She pulled in the mainsail and tightened the jib sheet a smidge resulting in a faster speed with the new wind force. I alternated my focus between the sea and the compass, happy with the stronger wind as it made it easier to keep the sails full.
The time between setting the anchor at the beach until we again dropped anchor in Horseshoe Bay later that afternoon is a happy blur of swinging from the spinnaker boom into the deep green water, scrubbing the water line, and word games with Grandpa.

Later that night we alternated forkfuls of grilled pork chops (cut extra thick) with tales of the day’s events at our candlelit table in the galley. Tomorrow would bring a change of crew. We would find Uncle Jim, my brother Tom and cousin Erik waiting at the boat launch in the park to be picked up as we were dropped off in the dinghy named for Grandma, the Amazing Grace.

Grandma hadn’t been on the boat since she was burned in a galley fire before I was born. But at mealtime her presence was strongly felt as we helped ourselves to her homemade frosted ginger cookies packed between layers of waxed paper in a two pound coffee can, or spread fresh strawberry jam on the our morning toast. My Dad disliked the boat as well. He was nearly 6’ tall, smoked like a chimney, drank like a fish and was too much in need of society to view the Eventyr as anything but a solitary lock up. For some sailing was balm, for others torture. And so it is today, down through the generations that followed. Some own day sailers, one runs from reality with frequent long distance jaunts aboard the Cavelle, and, heaven forbid, some even own “stink pots”! Boating careers, avocations and an abiding love of the water, especially the waters of Door County, were spawned aboard the Eventyr all those summers ago and will no doubt continue to manifest its history as destiny in a generation still to be born.

Some of My Own Memories By Janis Robinson
My family has been going to Fish Creek since 1958 and we'd always stay at the Hill's Pink cottage, because Harwood and Ruth Hill were good friends of my parents. What a wonderful place to spend a week or two every summer! We have photos of my brother holding a big string of fish every trip. He'd spend most of his time down on the pier in fisherman's heaven. My mom would make him wear a life jacket when he was little, worried that he'd fall in and drown! As he got older, my folks would splurge and let him tag along on a charter boat occasionally.

We'd walk down the hill to town, to swim at the beach, skip stones and watch the sunset down the end of the road by the White Gull Inn, or buy an ice cream bar at the little grocery store. My cousins and I would hike through the woods behind the cottages to the "haunted" stone buildings, making up stories about the witch who built them a hundred years ago. I remember waking in the middle of the night to a lot of banging and clanging. The raccoons were after my brother's fish, even though he put a big rock on top of the pail to keep them out. What wonderful memories of a simpler time!
My husband and I spent our honeymoon at the same cottage in Sept. 1976, and Door County was deserted that time of year back then! We were appalled at how expensive gas was, $0.50 per gallon, so we drove all over trying to find a cheaper gas station!

I live in Colorado now, but I still try to visit Door County as often as possible. Now my daughters get to make their own memories, although life is no longer as simple in Door County now. But it's still a wonderful, magical
place.

Whitefish Bay Road, Door County, Wisconsin – “From the Lake to the Bay”
By Steve Scheuring

“I’m goin’ for a ride.”
“I’ll join you,” says friend Dany up from Chicago.
“No you won’t,” I reply shutting the door behind me.

After tossing the ’73 TR6 through Glidden Drive’s famous twists, I head for my favorite path of blacktop… Whitefish Bay Road in the heart of Door County. At the stop sign before the cemetery I see the canopy of golden maple leaves over the endless stretch. The topless car roars as the dual downdraft Webers feed the unrestricted straight six. A farm boy gapes as I pass. Surely this car was built solely for this road.

By Steven Valley

I grew-up spending my summers in Ephraim and I recall when it was a very quiet and slow place in the summer.

I remember this area from 1969-1982. During that time my parents would pack us up the day after school and drive us north where we would stay the duration of the summer. From around May 10th through August 28th we would stay at our cottage on Valentine lane. My family would come and go and my brother and I would spend our days in the woods, fishing, swimming and sailing. We would have brat's and Jay's chips with Squirt at night from Sohn's Grocery and then walk past the Moravia Cemetery when it was getting dark (very scary at 8 years old) to Wilson's for hand dipped cones and to skip stones on the bay by the Municipal dock.

When we would wake up to go fishing we would walk to the Mobil station to buy a cup of night-crawlers to catch perch and bass with. On the way back we would stop by the Post Office to get the paper, the mail, and see if there was anything going on that night. I remember the Falcon, the black 2-masted schooner that was moored in the center of the bay. Rumor had it, it was owned by the publisher of the Chicago Tribune, don't know if that was true but it made for a good story. I also remember a time when Andersen dock actually had space on it where you could write your name. I also know where one of the original Andersen's had inscribed his name. Look above the pay phone in the north east corner of the building up by the eaves and you'll see it... very cool. It was sinking back then and falling apart and you could look down from parts that were still above water to see the original cribbing that he used to build it on.

I remember having to go fetch my Grandpa from Husby's bar where he drank Schlitz' and tell him that Grandma wanted him. I also remember going to Ace Hardware for various supplies and tools and getting dressed up to go to dinner at The C&C Supper Club and eating at Al Johnson's after church on Sunday mornings. I also recall when they built it. It was shipped from Sweden, the parts that is, and I was told that goats were going to be on the roofs eating the grass. Funny side note I remember that there was a lot of accidents in front of his restaurant initially as all sorts of tourists stopped to take pictures and gawk. It caused a great deal of consternation in the town. I remember seeing trailers for the "Night of the living Dead" at the Skyway Drive-in and then watching "Cool Hand Luke" from the back seat of my folks’ car. I also recall the Haunted House at Thumb Fun and how I never walked through it cause it was too scary.

The Potters Wheel, the Artists, the Shops, and the Red Barns, Eagle Tower, tubing off the back end of my friend’s wooden Cris-craft motorboat. I also recall that we always would get our school clothes in Sister Bay at the shop next to the church and across the parking lot from Husby's and always looking just a little behind the times as far as fashion was concerned when we started class. I don't think Sister Bay was known for being in with the latest fashions. I always knew my summers were over when we would leave Fish Creek and we would go up the long hill by Bunda's Hutch.

You see all summer we never ventured further south than Fish Creek. Only when we would leave. It's funny I miss that time now. Anyway I am coming back this summer . . . and I was doing some research to find a place to stay and I found your site... very helpful and it brought back a lot of memories.