It’s a Small World

It started like most of our adventures start.

Heath: “I’m thinking in the back of my mind that over Labor Day weekend we will take our sailboat over to Lake Superior and visit Isle Royale NP. I’m just really disappointed we didn’t get there when we sailed on Superior in July…”

Me: “No. Flat no. That is totally impossible. Here’s why.”

• That’s only 3 weeks away
• Your parents just so happen to be out for the whole month of August
• Our MacGregor 26X can hardly sail on the Missouri River, never mind big water, what with its water ballast and tiny center board and perfectly horrid rudders
• It’s absolutely nuts at the shop with our main shop manager out for 6 weeks
• My beans and apples and tomatoes and bell peppers and squash and lettuce and cucumbers and pears and weeds are all yelling at me
• What if I want to sew a dress (I didn’t)
• I want to go to Cody’s wedding
• Once in May you made me do something I didn’t want to
• There is a chance I will have a panic attack on the boat
• We’re getting company the weekend after Labor Day
• I need to spray my trees

And then I clutched my head in my hands and maybe moaned a bit and felt ashamed and a-bit hysterical and we decided to give me a week to get used to the idea before talking about it again.

Fast forward to the last week in August and you will see the UPS truck making daily visits to our yard to deliver things like sail track stops and self inflating life vests. I was shopping Jerry cans, boat hook holders and easy, nourishing food. Tubs holding toilet paper, bug spray, sunscreen and barf bags were piling up by the door and I was sweating and scrubbing in the boat, trying to get her fresh and welcoming for the voyage.

Our plan was to head out at noon, Friday the 2nd and drive to Houghton, Mi that night. We’d sleep on the boat and then rise with the sun on Saturday, put up the mast, load our gear and head out.

The first part worked out good and we really did rise with the sun and when the clock showed 7:30 we splashed into the water ready to go. This is where our ignorance of open water came into play. We had faithfully been checking our wind apps to make sure we wouldn’t have too strong (over 19 mph) or too light winds (under 7 mph). The first leg across the lake would be 46.5 nm and would take approximately 10 hours in favorable conditions. What we hadn’t realized was that even tho the wind was perfect, there had been a big gale the day before and the seas were still pretty high. The launching ramp was about a mile down the Keweenaw Waterway and we noticed it was a bit wavy even in the protected waters, but we just assumed that maybe the harbor funneled the water into the channel in a funny fashion.

That’s about when I started to notice the ceaseless spray crashing over the breakwater and looking past the lighthouse, saw what looked like steep little mountains.

Hitting open water was epic. Nothing had prepared us for the sight in front of us. It was sunny, warm and incredibly beautiful, but so very powerful! The waves were called 5 ft waves by NOAA, but they average the highest one third of the waves and use that number. That means that there were easily 8 foot waves happening. If you want to know what that looks like, sit down on your living room floor and imagine that the wall is a wave coming at you. What makes it worse on the Great Lakes is the fact that the waves are much closer together than on the ocean so it seems rougher. Our little craft would roar up them and surf down, sometimes cleanly, sometimes burying her nose while we got soaked. The lighthouse still looked pretty near when our 50hp Honda suddenly bogged down and our boat almost ground to a halt. We looked at each other with large eyes and I gave the short command to “turn around”. But just like that we surged forward and continued beating our way North. It fairly quickly became apparent that what we had learned in our sailing classes was very true. A ship will be able to handle a whole lot more than the crew in heavy seas. Faced with what could easily turn into 16 hours of slow progress with conditions far too rough to eat or use the bathroom, a bed that was soaked from water coming in the hatch fan, a barfing kid and another one who looked the color of guacamole, we made a unanimous crew decision to turn back. This couldn’t happen immediately as we had to wait till a few smaller waves came so we could safely make the turn without getting caught broadside. Heath handled it magnificently and I wiped up barf and in less than 20 minutes we were once more behind the breakwater. It was there we noticed that in the mayhem we had inadvertently dropped our anchor and it and all the rode was forever lost in the depth. We have an anchor winch mounted on the front of the boat and someone had hit the switch. That cleared up the mystery of the faltering engine anyway.

The blessed relief of stepping off the boat onto dry ground was expressed by all and we were still standing there ruminating on our good fortune when what should come bobbing by the dock but another sailboat, headed out to sea. It was much larger than ours and had a proper keel and protected cockpit, but we still couldn’t believe our eyes. We rushed over to watch it hit the open water and gracious it was underwhelming. They just fogged off with their sail flying like it was any normal fall day and I think we all felt a little grumpy at them.

Plan B was load the boat back on the trailer, leave it parked and amuse ourselves for the day till the waves calmed down. The forecast said they’d be half the size by 6pm and would continue diminishing, so we figured we could nap and chill and cross at night. We did some anchor shopping and mounted a different one on. Heath went for a long walk while the rest of us slept and we ate at a Finnish restaurant that served pasties and other strange things.

Never have I admired my boys so much as when they gamely launched the boat and we headed back out of the harbor. If I had felt as sick as them I don’t know if I would have had the courage. Our patience had payed off and the waves were reduced to a manageable size. Still a bit rough to just sail, but we raised the headsail to help steady her and headed North.

Heath and Zach fell asleep shortly, Heath because he could finally relax and Zach because he was thoroughly doped with motion sickness meds. Seth and I watched the sun set in a truly glorious show and saw the first stars come out. I put some food into the 12V warmer so it would be ready at watch change and we settled in to enjoy the journey.

I can never adequately describe the beauty of sailing at night. The stars were brilliant and far behind us you could see the receding flash of light from the lighthouse. Keeping the North Star to the right of our starboard shroud kept us on course and we could chat and stargaze to our hearts content. At 22:30 we woke the others and after handing over the helm and passing around warm food, Seth and I went below to snuggle in our blankets and sleep for a few hours. I noticed as I stepped down the hatch that the northern lights were just starting to spread across the sky and I felt blessed.

Zach’s cheerful voice roused us at 1:30 and we staggered out to a stunning show. The aurora was spread all across the northern sky like a curtain, flickering and waving, now fading, now brilliant. The water reflected the light and it was bright enough that we could see Isle Royale as a low black hump some 20 miles in the distance. I never got tired of it, and could hardly believe when our watch was over.

The next thing I knew it was 5:30 and I could hear Heath and Zach getting prepared to enter little Blueberry Cove where we would anchor for the remainder of the night. I stepped out to have a look and was rewarded with tall black trees, the last streaks of the aurora and the first glow of dawn. The cove was calm and beautiful and we all fell asleep again to the gentle motions of a boat at anchor.