Overnight on the lake

Nostalgia, New York mountain vistas, an amble upcreek cruising Lake Champlain

Depending on the viewing angle, Sloop Island can be many things to many people. (JOE CITRO FOR THE BOSTON GLOBE)

It feels like an elegant houseboat. If anything, the Moonlight Lady, a replica of a 1920 swamp yacht, is a throwback. With its launch last month, it has become Lake Champlain's sole floating hotel, a brass-lamped 65-foot-long sanctuary of chenille throws, soft couches, and open-air feasts. Overnight lake excursions may have disappeared with the steamboats, but this one is leading the revival.

What's puzzling is why it took so long. Mike Shea, who recently added the boat to his three-vessel fleet, has often wondered. He assumes the obstacle is the 17-foot bridge at Whitehall, N.Y. Most excursion boats are too tall to pass beneath it (the Moonlight Lady, at 26 feet, gained an upper deck after it got here). Building a ship nearby is not an option, as no one knows how. Local shipbuilding, Shea said, "is a lost trade."

While Lake Champlain may not seem the most exotic of destinations, exploring its outer reaches from the decks of a slow-moving yacht has its charms. To sample them, two of us booked a one-night cruise. We would depart from Burlington, sail south, then turn up Otter Creek, docking overnight at Vergennes.

For starters, we passed by Rock Dunder, a slab of an island that rises from the water like a jagged tooth. We drifted by Shelburne Farms on our left. It was intriguing to see the rambling 19th-century estate, now a nonprofit inn and working farm, from the water. The mansion's guests sat on Adirondack chairs facing the lake, making us feel like performers on a moving stage.

From the moment we pulled out, cool breezes swept the deck, blowing the heat - and the insects - away. On the right were the Adirondacks, a silhouette of layered blues; on the left, the striated browns of cliffs. Ferries passed soundlessly, their decks laden with cars. The water was flecked with taut sails, catamarans, and every type of leisure boat. A man stashed his kayak and dived into the water as a line of geese winged their way overhead.

The boat has a crew of six, including two captains who invited us to join them in the pilot house. Stan Walker has been on the lake since 1969, he said, "and it still amazes me every day." When storms come in from the south, "it's like a gigantic bathtub," he said. The wind pushes the water north, then reverses, creating a seiche, or oscillating wave.

"It really affects water temperature, too," Walker said. "One day the water's 74 degrees, the next day it's 62 degrees, and you say, oh, the seiche is here."

As he spoke, we spotted what looked like a Trojan horse standing in the middle of the lake. It was Sloop Island, whose shape Captain Bill Lowell likened to a dog sitting on its haunches.

Manning the adjacent kitchen was Jeff Egan, a native of Lowell. Egan left Mount Mansfield's prestigious Cliff House restaurant to command the Moonlight Lady's floating dining room. Visitors sip wine as he chops and chats, pots and pans swinging overhead.

"Cooking on a boat . . .," Egan said, smiling. "You know, there's no kitchen on this planet that has enough room." More than anything, his is geared for interaction.

"This is about as open as it gets," he joked, turning the cutting board invitingly toward a passenger. "If a guest is really interested in food, I say, step up!"

Sloop Island was suddenly off our starboard side, so close that it lost all resemblance to anything canine. The lake was narrowing, pulling both shores close for detailed viewing. At the mouth of Otter Creek, we slowed and turned inland. Whole trees were bent over the water, which switched from grayish blue to olive green. From there we drifted.

The creek runs 32 miles through what is New England's most biologically diverse swamp. Its wetlands teem with everything from moose and bobcats to migratory waterfowl, including nesting osprey and bald eagles. What struck us was the sheer wildness of the place, marsh grasses interspersed with wild flowers and water lilies. This, we thought, is nature as the Abenakis would have seen it centuries ago.

We moored near the base of three pounding waterfalls, a scenic backdrop to dinner on the deck. It was an al fresco affair in multiple courses. Afterward we walked the half-mile to downtown Vergennes, strolling past a park and outdoor cafes and returning in the darkness to the throbbing of crickets.

Our stateroom was comfortable with two single beds arranged at right angles, head to head, with wide windows, a shower, and inside it, a foot-pedal toilet. The mirror concealed an ingeniously-hidden closet, and amenities included Gilchrist & Soames toiletries, fresh flowers, and Lake Champlain chocolates. Though blissfully air-conditioned, it was snug. Passengers taller than 6-foot-2 are accommodated in two aft rooms with more legroom.

The silence was total, and sleep came fast. Humming engines woke me at 6:30 a.m. The sun was rising in a bluish-gray sky as the boat churned its way back to the lake. Upstairs, Egan was frying bacon, peeling cantaloupes, and bantering with early risers. A heron coasted, wings outstretched, over the creek. From the pilot house came warnings of turbulence ahead, though when we arrived, the water seemed calm.

We passed a sailboat nested between two isles and a flurry of fishing vessels. The New York side was dense forest, and in the hazy distance, we saw Sloop Island again, this time the image of a Scottish terrier.

But at Basin Harbor, the boat began to sway. Up top, windows were hastily closed as raindrops splattered. The water calmed as we passed Burlington's breakwater, and we felt the disappointment of a good time cut short. We had just started to connect with fellow passengers, not to mention a long-gone era. Now it was over.

"I really enjoyed it," said Diane Domenic of South Hero, whose husband, Mike, had given her the cruise for her birthday. "It was so relaxing that it feels longer than it is."

A Victorian pleasure, we decided, whose comeback was long overdue.

Contact Diane Foulds at diane foulds@burlingtontelecom.net.