Trares
We had quite the pirate adventure over the weekend.
OK, maybe that’s too strong. Our family trip to the islands of Lake Erie was more about relaxation and catching up than pillaging and plundering.
Still, there were ships and grog and, as anyone who has been to Put-in-Bay can attest, a little bit of rebellion in the air.
Put-in-Bay is a tiny community on South Bass Island, a rocky outcropping in Lake Erie about a 25-minute ferry ride from the mainland. The township is remote and nearly empty in the colder months; the only way on and off the island is by airplane.
But in the summertime, it becomes the modern-day equivalent to Port Royal of pirate lore. Weekenders flock by the boatful to the town square, where tropical-themed bars and dockside taverns sling beers and frozen drinks by the thousands. The harbor is packed from Friday night on, and late nights tend to get a little dicey.
We weren’t getting into any of that. Instead, it was time for a biannual tradition — the Trares family reunion. My aunt and uncle have a house on the island, and every other year, invite the whole clan up for a weekend. There were about 20 of us, who had come from Chicago, Indiana and all over Ohio.
From the moment we pulled up to the ferry dock, Anthony was giddy. The walk down the ramp to the oversized boats, packed with cars and people, inspired a million questions and a sense of awe. We settled into a bench on the upper deck, and watched the water as we crossed over to Put-in-Bay. Anthony pointed out sailboats on the horizon, and watched sea gulls float on the breeze.
We were fascinated by the story of Rattlesnake Island, a small dot of land we could see in the distance. The private island is closed off from the public, patrolled by armed guards who only let island club members ashore — or so the stories go. We tried to spy what kinds of nefarious deeds were going on there.
Once ashore, we caught a ride across the island to my aunt and uncle’s house. Nearly the whole family was there, and spent hours catching up, bringing back old jokes and getting up to date on everyone’s lives — new jobs, new hobbies, new experiences.
Meanwhile, Anthony found his home for the next two days. The above-ground pool, with its floats and tubes, was the focus of his attention almost immediately. I’d take him in for a swim, and it was nothing but dips and dives underwater, cannonballs from the side and stretches on the pool noodles.
We’d get out after an hour, only for him to complain minutes later, “Daddy, I want to go swimming!” Over and over again, we’d put our swimming trunks on, splash around until we were pruney, get out and change. Wash, repeat.
Luckily, the weather was perfect for pool time, and the whole family joined in the aquatic fun. There were many sun-reddened shoulders and waterlogged bodies by the time the weekend was done, interrupted only to refuel with the carb-rich casseroles and other dishes put together by my aunt.
When pool time was over, it was time for roasted marshmallows over the bonfire, sunsets over Lake Erie, fishing, golf cart rides and more. Forget about Anthony being overstimulated; we were all exhausted, but happy, by the time it was done.
Heading back to the ferry on Sunday morning, the disappointment in leaving was overwhelmed by the genuine fun we had as a family.
We had survived our trip to Ohio’s own pirate town, with a treasure trove of memories to take home with us.
Ryan Trares is a senior reporter and columnist for the Daily Journal. Send comments to [email protected].
