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BREE'S BLOG: In The Wake of the Fitzgerald

Safe at last -- or not?

Now under power of my 5 horsepower outboard engine, I circled the pier which was festooned with colored flags. Banners proclaimed that the small Minnesota town was celebrating its hundredth anniversary. I was now in Two Harbors and tall ore loading docks loomed dark and rusty red. At least I was off the storm-tossed lake. "You can't moor there," a man came down the steps to shoo me off. I thought fast: "It's okay," I bluffed. "I'm in town for the festival and one of your officials said I could tie up here." He looked at me suspiciously. "Who told you that?" "One of your festival chairmen," I bluffed. "He told me to stop by on my way up the North Shore since this is your hundredth anniversary." He grew thoughtful. "Well, okay then, " he said, backing down. "Maybe the mining company is relaxing its policy during the festival. " "I think he said something like that," I said, going below. We were done here and he left. Two Harbors was a town I always drove by in my car but now that I was traveling by 20-foot boat this summer on Superior, I thought I'd find out a little about this century-old waterfront town. I wasn't going anywhere with the lake acting up. I was stormbound. Besides, docked nearby was an ancient tugboat, the Edna G. Maybe I'd take a closer look.
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