One of the great, Corinthian traditions is reciprocity among yacht clubs wherein the facilities of the club are made available to visiting yachtsmen in transit.
This has been a godsend to Whisper along our way. We have enjoyed the hospitality of some truly fine yacht clubs, but none better than that afforded us by the Olcott Yacht Club in Olcott, NY.
Upon arrival at sunset Whisper was directed to a secure slip by no fewer than four members who took lines, fended off, made fast and, with a hearty handshake invited the skipper for a drink.
As it turned out, a member at Olcott was a former member of the Racine Yacht Club. We enjoyed a fine evening getting him caught up on the comings and goings in Racine. In turn, he and his colleagues at the bar gave great advice for cruising Lake Ontario and the St. Lawrence Seaway.
Like RYC, Olcott Yacht Club is a hands on kind of place. Without the hard work of the members the club could not exist. With that hard work comes true ownership. The club is not just a place to go, rather it is a place to "be". And in company of Olcott Yacht Club's members I found myself among friends. A pleasant interlude in a solitary cruise.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Canadians
I have observed that Canadians are a generally affable lot, friendly, polite, helpful. They seem to enjoy life.
Or, maybe, after a month at sea (or lake as the case may be) I have become more affable.
One hopes for both.
Or, maybe, after a month at sea (or lake as the case may be) I have become more affable.
One hopes for both.
Welland Canal
Today, August 26, finds me content letting Whisper loaf along at 3 kts on a broad reach up the NY shore of Lake Ontario. Off the starboard beam is the mouth of the Niagara River, the plume of the Falls rising above the distant hills. Ahead and to starboard is a sea of sails, the Shark Class world championships, a far cry from the leisurely sailing I am enjoying.To port and astern is the skyline of Toronto, beckoning me with its cosmopolitan modernity to abandon my days in the wilderness of North America's commercial shipping lanes. But I will not be tempted!
Dammit! Darn! Geez that all looks inviting.
Yesterday we transited that engineering marvel, the Welland Canal, built to convey ships up and down the Niagara Escarpment, a vertical drop of some 275 feet over 23 miles. I had entered the Canal at 0630 on the 24th with visions of Whisper being squished like a bug against some concrete berm by one of the steel leviathans that ply these waters. It felt like leading one of my children to the gates of hell.
Instead we waited! And waited! And waited some
Yesterday we transited that engineering marvel, the Welland Canal, built to convey ships up and down the Niagara Escarpment, a vertical drop of some 275 feet over 23 miles. I had entered the Canal at 0630 on the 24th with visions of Whisper being squished like a bug against some concrete berm by one of the steel leviathans that ply these waters. It felt like leading one of my children to the gates of hell.Instead we waited! And waited! And waited some
more as one ship after another transited upbound and down. We waited while technical difficulties, the result of interfacing 21st century electronic automation with 19th century hydraulic engineering, were sorted out. And we waited for the capricious controllers of the system to decide that these pesky pleasure craft could have a turn.
Finally, at 1430 we were underway. I had had to hire a crew for the
transit, a jovial Canadian, retired GM worker who supplements his income by helping shorthanded sailors like me through the canal. Norm Samuel is a wonder of patience, good humour, advice and, most of all, knowledge of the canal. This became invaluable as day turned into night and the maze of lights became a blur.
Finally, at 1430 we were underway. I had had to hire a crew for the
transit, a jovial Canadian, retired GM worker who supplements his income by helping shorthanded sailors like me through the canal. Norm Samuel is a wonder of patience, good humour, advice and, most of all, knowledge of the canal. This became invaluable as day turned into night and the maze of lights became a blur.
He also turned out to be an expert line handler, ensuring that Whisper held her place as each lock dropped us nearly 40 feet. It is quite a strange thing to see the top of your mast below the level of the lock walls, the walls stretching skyward as a concrete and steel canyon.Finally, after 19 hours of waiting and transit time, Whisper docked against a rough concrete quay. Her skipper perfunctorily checked mooring lines, set fenders, secured the decks and fell into the sleep of the dead.
Under a torrential downpour, Whisper's daybreak
was punctuated by roiling turbulence as two giant Lakers (Great Lakes freight hauling ships) churned the channel mere yards from Whisper's dockage. One upbound, one bound down, their only concern was for avoiding each other and the canal bottom. Not a thought was given to Whisper or her bleary eyed skipper.
So, in the rain I came topside to reposition Whisper, ensure all was well on deck before retiring to a gallon of coffee, a good book and a breakfast of eggs scrambled with onions, peppers and cheese.
So, in the rain I came topside to reposition Whisper, ensure all was well on deck before retiring to a gallon of coffee, a good book and a breakfast of eggs scrambled with onions, peppers and cheese.
By noon it had begun to clear with a light breeze from the NW. Gingerly Whispere poked her bow into Lake Ontario where I, too tired to make full sail, set the genoa, put her on a reach for the NY shore and retired below for more coffee.
Time for another scan of the horizon. Are we on course? Yes. Are we clear of all obstacles? Yes. Good. All is well as Whisper makes her way east.
Evening found us in search of safe harbor, one deep enough for Whisper to tuck into and protected from the easterlies predicted to blow in tonight. A lee shore is no place to lie exposed. So we tucked into Olcott, NY at sunset only to be met by the pleasant and hospitable folks of the Olcott Yacht Club. More on that later.
Time for another scan of the horizon. Are we on course? Yes. Are we clear of all obstacles? Yes. Good. All is well as Whisper makes her way east.
Evening found us in search of safe harbor, one deep enough for Whisper to tuck into and protected from the easterlies predicted to blow in tonight. A lee shore is no place to lie exposed. So we tucked into Olcott, NY at sunset only to be met by the pleasant and hospitable folks of the Olcott Yacht Club. More on that later.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Niagara Wines
After another night of anchor dragging in a too shallow, hole in the wall harbor, I weighed (raised) anchor only to find we had an ample harvest of bottom grasses. These made a nice Neptune's beard for Whisper, but fairly broke my back as I wrestled the anchor aboard.
The day was warm, the wind was light and the seas were down. We reached off across Lake Erie toward Port Colborne, Ontario and the entrance the the Welland Canal.
The Welland Canal was built to take ships up and down the Niagara Escarpment, the major elevation change between Lake Erie and Lake Ontario and the geological formation responsible for the falls of storied romance and tourist kitsch.
Mid-Lake Erie Whisper encountered a pair of landing craft. My first thought was 'the Canadians are invading! Quick, lock up our healthcares system!' Then I realized these strange were American flagged, the Army Corps of Engineers off to divert yet another waterway.
Needing a "lay" day for rest and resupply, I decided to check out the region's wineries. Like many, I had held on to the stigma attached to wines of upstate New York, made a generation ago from Concord grapes. That notion was quicklly dispelled. The Niagara region is justly famous for its world class wines.
Another thing this region is famous for, aside from honeymoon hotels and wedding chapels, is its fruits and vegetables. After the dearth of fresh produce experienced of late, Whisper's skipper fairly gorged himself on heirloom tomatoes and corn and peaches and plums and pears and and and and......... Perhaps U.S. Customs will forgive me for contraband fruit. Or maybe I'll just stay out in the lake eating myself into a happy stupor before embarking stateside.
By week's end Whisper will have transited Lake Ontario and THEN THE BIG DECISION!!! Do we take the northern route out the St. Lawrence Seaway as originally planned? Or do we take the southern route via the Oswego River into the Erie Canal and the Hudson River.
As the season is getting late and personal business needs tending to, I'm favoring the southern route. A fall cruise down the New England coast to Maine sounds far more pleasant than bashing our way across the Gulf of the St. Lawrence in October gales. Is it the cowards way out or merely common sense? Then again, it's an awful lot of river travel with the mast down and underpowered.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Stormy Seas
To all whose e-mails I haven't responded to, please forgive me. The urgency to put miles under Whisper's keel has preempted almost everything else. The normal pleasures of cruising have been subsumed as has good seamanship. To whit:
Yesterday Whisper departed Cleveland mid-morning with a 20 kt SW wind. Perfect for getting "down east". The wind stiffened to 25 kt as the morning wore on, and seas were getting up a bit, but all was well aboard ship.
In mid-afternoon a line of thundersqualls blew threw. I shortened sail and we rode it out comfortably.
Later in the afternoon another line of squalls appeared astern. Again I shortened sail and battened down. Suddenly the wind dropped, veered to the west and a train of huge, slab sided waves rolled in from the northwest, confusing the already big SW waves into a froth.
When the wind returned it did so with a vengeance. Whisper, wearing only 30% of her genoa, was stood on her beam ends and stayed down. Waves as big as 12 feet were breaking everywhere.
Then I saw something I had only ever read about. The wind was tearing the tops off these monster waves and hurling them sideways as horizontal water cannons.
Lightning was striking all around and close! Visibility was zero. All I could do was hang on and wait.
Slowly Whisper righted herself. Slowly the storm abated leaving a huge, confused sea in its wake. We arrived in Ashtabula, OH well after dark, shaken but OK.
Early this morning, with a more moderate forecast, Whisper made way. The cruising guide only mentioned one suitable anchorage east of Erie, PA, that being Barcelona, NY.
After a relatively easy sail Whisper had to find her way into a keyhole entrance, with submerged breakwaters on a moonless, dark night. That was a real nail biter. Once inside, the anchorage turned out to be much smaller and shallower than I had expected. Desperately needing sleep, I will take a pillow and blanket on deck tonight in case any trouble occurs.
Early tomorrow Whisper crosses Lake Erie for the second and last time as we make for Port Colborne, Ontario and the Welland Canal.
As for milestones, we have now made good 750 miles on the journey which mean over 1000 miles through the water.
G'night all.
Don
Yesterday Whisper departed Cleveland mid-morning with a 20 kt SW wind. Perfect for getting "down east". The wind stiffened to 25 kt as the morning wore on, and seas were getting up a bit, but all was well aboard ship.
In mid-afternoon a line of thundersqualls blew threw. I shortened sail and we rode it out comfortably.
Later in the afternoon another line of squalls appeared astern. Again I shortened sail and battened down. Suddenly the wind dropped, veered to the west and a train of huge, slab sided waves rolled in from the northwest, confusing the already big SW waves into a froth.
When the wind returned it did so with a vengeance. Whisper, wearing only 30% of her genoa, was stood on her beam ends and stayed down. Waves as big as 12 feet were breaking everywhere.
Then I saw something I had only ever read about. The wind was tearing the tops off these monster waves and hurling them sideways as horizontal water cannons.
Lightning was striking all around and close! Visibility was zero. All I could do was hang on and wait.
Slowly Whisper righted herself. Slowly the storm abated leaving a huge, confused sea in its wake. We arrived in Ashtabula, OH well after dark, shaken but OK.
Early this morning, with a more moderate forecast, Whisper made way. The cruising guide only mentioned one suitable anchorage east of Erie, PA, that being Barcelona, NY.
After a relatively easy sail Whisper had to find her way into a keyhole entrance, with submerged breakwaters on a moonless, dark night. That was a real nail biter. Once inside, the anchorage turned out to be much smaller and shallower than I had expected. Desperately needing sleep, I will take a pillow and blanket on deck tonight in case any trouble occurs.
Early tomorrow Whisper crosses Lake Erie for the second and last time as we make for Port Colborne, Ontario and the Welland Canal.
As for milestones, we have now made good 750 miles on the journey which mean over 1000 miles through the water.
G'night all.
Don
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
A trip or a journey?
Several readers of this blog have, correctly, pointed out that I am taking a trip instead of making this the journey of discovery it was meant to be.
Please don't misunderstand, I am 'discovering' plenty. My physical strength is returning. My confidence in the boat and my ability to sail her is returning. I am seeing the American heartland in ways never imagined.
But am I discovering my 'place' in the universe? How does one know?
No, I am not experiencing the places I'm visiting. And, sadly, I have had to race past some of the finest cruising grounds in the world because the season is pressing on.
I am worried about finding myself rounding the Gaspe' Penninsula and crossing the Gulf of the St. Lawrence too late in the season. I don't have the stomach for fall gales in the North Atlantic......I have no desire to experience the Perfect Storm firsthand.
The southern route, via the Oswego River into the Erie Canal and the Hudson River presents a highly viable alternative. Maybe I will take time to explore the Thousand Islands region, another crusing gem of the Great Lakes and head south.
What I can say is, the trip and the journey are inextricably intertwined, but the journey may last far longer than the trip.
Please don't misunderstand, I am 'discovering' plenty. My physical strength is returning. My confidence in the boat and my ability to sail her is returning. I am seeing the American heartland in ways never imagined.
But am I discovering my 'place' in the universe? How does one know?
No, I am not experiencing the places I'm visiting. And, sadly, I have had to race past some of the finest cruising grounds in the world because the season is pressing on.
I am worried about finding myself rounding the Gaspe' Penninsula and crossing the Gulf of the St. Lawrence too late in the season. I don't have the stomach for fall gales in the North Atlantic......I have no desire to experience the Perfect Storm firsthand.
The southern route, via the Oswego River into the Erie Canal and the Hudson River presents a highly viable alternative. Maybe I will take time to explore the Thousand Islands region, another crusing gem of the Great Lakes and head south.
What I can say is, the trip and the journey are inextricably intertwined, but the journey may last far longer than the trip.
Homeland Security - A Study in Contrasts
Upon exiting the Detroit River into Lake Erie, Whisper found herself battling into a stiff chop (seiches) and making little progress toward the south side of Lake Erie. The best choice was to bear off on a close reach toward the Pelee National Park. Not wanting to bear off that much, needing to make easting, I pointed Whisper towards the inviting Island of Pelee, some 16 miles offshore.
On arrival I called Canadian Customs. The genial agent asked me where I had been, where was I going and, oh yes, did I know about the nice winery on Pelee Island?
That set the stage for a pleasant confluence of cruisers from the U.S. and Canada all piling in a rickety old taxi and making the 8 mile trip across Pelee to sample some pretty respectable wines. Oh Canada!
By contrast, my arrival in the U.S. required hunting down a videophone at Cleveland's 55th Street Marina with which to submit to U.S. Customs and Border Protection inspection. The marina, at 10 p.m., was largely deserted save for a dive bar at one end of the parking lot.
The dive bar was replete with a pit bull guarding the door. At least it was a friendly pit bull. And there, in the corner between the ice machine and a video game was the U.S. CBP videophone.
The Customs agent was at least, for 10 p.m., genial. And, upon presenting proper documentation, he inquired as to my itinerary and how many times the yacht intened to cross back and forth into Canada. Sadly, my answers to the simplest of questions didn't quite satisfy him.
He asked: Where are you going? My reply: East.
How long will it take you? .......I don't know.
When do you expect to arrive?........Arrive where?........Where you're going.........You mean east?........Yes, east.........Well, I'll be east of here tomorrow.........You mean your trip ends tomorrow?.........No, I'll be east of here tomorrow..........But you said you were going east.........Yes, and the day after tomorrow I'll be even more east.
This finally seemed to satisfy him, he realizing that I am not smart enough to represent a threat to homeland security.
His closing comment was "My, aren't we having just the best little tour of the Great Lakes!" upon which he bade me goodnight.
I spent today in a taxicab getting all the paperwork done for the I-68 form which will enable me to call U.S. CBP, much as I did Canadian Customs, and get recommendations on wineries in upstate New York.
On arrival I called Canadian Customs. The genial agent asked me where I had been, where was I going and, oh yes, did I know about the nice winery on Pelee Island?
That set the stage for a pleasant confluence of cruisers from the U.S. and Canada all piling in a rickety old taxi and making the 8 mile trip across Pelee to sample some pretty respectable wines. Oh Canada!
By contrast, my arrival in the U.S. required hunting down a videophone at Cleveland's 55th Street Marina with which to submit to U.S. Customs and Border Protection inspection. The marina, at 10 p.m., was largely deserted save for a dive bar at one end of the parking lot.
The dive bar was replete with a pit bull guarding the door. At least it was a friendly pit bull. And there, in the corner between the ice machine and a video game was the U.S. CBP videophone.
The Customs agent was at least, for 10 p.m., genial. And, upon presenting proper documentation, he inquired as to my itinerary and how many times the yacht intened to cross back and forth into Canada. Sadly, my answers to the simplest of questions didn't quite satisfy him.
He asked: Where are you going? My reply: East.
How long will it take you? .......I don't know.
When do you expect to arrive?........Arrive where?........Where you're going.........You mean east?........Yes, east.........Well, I'll be east of here tomorrow.........You mean your trip ends tomorrow?.........No, I'll be east of here tomorrow..........But you said you were going east.........Yes, and the day after tomorrow I'll be even more east.
This finally seemed to satisfy him, he realizing that I am not smart enough to represent a threat to homeland security.
His closing comment was "My, aren't we having just the best little tour of the Great Lakes!" upon which he bade me goodnight.
I spent today in a taxicab getting all the paperwork done for the I-68 form which will enable me to call U.S. CBP, much as I did Canadian Customs, and get recommendations on wineries in upstate New York.
Sailing, Motoring & Motorsailing
Sailors have long looked down upon powerboaters for many and varied reasons. One of the reasons, perhaps, is that we envy the motor powered vessels ability to go where it wants at great rates of speed. And magazines devoted to powerboating always feature the most glamorous of women lounging about on deck as the captain drives his steed forward, leaving we poor sailors wallowing in his wake.
Such was the case upon exiting Detroit to flow down the Detroit River. Aided by a 2 - 3 kt current Whisper made good time for a slow, old sailboat. Whisper covered nearly 40 miles in 5 hours anchoring in the late afternoon while Sunday afternoon revelers sped about creating chaotic seas and shattering the natural calm. But we must be tolerant, I muttered to Whisper as she creaked and groaned in protest, not feeling very tolerant myself.
Afternoon morphed into evening and with it the Motor City boating public took their loud, expensive toys and went home to prepare for the work week. With smug satisfaction, I claimed the anchorage all to myself.
It was an admittedly nervous anchorage as, drawing 6 feet, Whisper could not drop the hook in spots more protected from wind and current. But we were well out of the channel and away from traffic......or so I thought.
I had set my alarm clock to wake me hourly to ensure the anchor wasn't dragging. We did NOT want a repeat of our earlier going aground. And, because there were fishermen about, I kept Whisper lit up like a Christmas tree. Prudence abounded.
Suddenly, during my fitful 2 a.m. sleep, I became aware of a jet fighter screaming overhead. Banging my head as it exited the forward hatch, I was greeted by the sight of a powerboat, easily doing 50 kts, passing within less than 10 feet. Was her skipper drunk? Did he not see Whisper? My tolerance for powerboaters hit a new low. Profanity and a stiff belt of Glenfiddich (supplied by a sailing friend with a similarly slow, old boat) ensued.
So, on less sleep than I would normally enjoy, Whisper made an early escape from Hole in the Wall. I think to myself: River current, out into the lake, piece of cake. WRONG.
The wind had been blowing out of the SE for two days creating a counter current. When the Lake Erie current met the Detroit River current a square wave pattern known as a seiche (French for square, I think) set up. Whisper, with her tiny little diesel engine, barely clawed her way out the channel. As soon as the water outside the channel was deep enough we bore off on a reach, sail and engine = motorsailing.
Thus we exited U.S. waters for the southernmost port in Canada, Pelee Island, Ontario and my ensuing wrangle with U.S. Customs.
Such was the case upon exiting Detroit to flow down the Detroit River. Aided by a 2 - 3 kt current Whisper made good time for a slow, old sailboat. Whisper covered nearly 40 miles in 5 hours anchoring in the late afternoon while Sunday afternoon revelers sped about creating chaotic seas and shattering the natural calm. But we must be tolerant, I muttered to Whisper as she creaked and groaned in protest, not feeling very tolerant myself.
Afternoon morphed into evening and with it the Motor City boating public took their loud, expensive toys and went home to prepare for the work week. With smug satisfaction, I claimed the anchorage all to myself.
It was an admittedly nervous anchorage as, drawing 6 feet, Whisper could not drop the hook in spots more protected from wind and current. But we were well out of the channel and away from traffic......or so I thought.
I had set my alarm clock to wake me hourly to ensure the anchor wasn't dragging. We did NOT want a repeat of our earlier going aground. And, because there were fishermen about, I kept Whisper lit up like a Christmas tree. Prudence abounded.
Suddenly, during my fitful 2 a.m. sleep, I became aware of a jet fighter screaming overhead. Banging my head as it exited the forward hatch, I was greeted by the sight of a powerboat, easily doing 50 kts, passing within less than 10 feet. Was her skipper drunk? Did he not see Whisper? My tolerance for powerboaters hit a new low. Profanity and a stiff belt of Glenfiddich (supplied by a sailing friend with a similarly slow, old boat) ensued.
So, on less sleep than I would normally enjoy, Whisper made an early escape from Hole in the Wall. I think to myself: River current, out into the lake, piece of cake. WRONG.
The wind had been blowing out of the SE for two days creating a counter current. When the Lake Erie current met the Detroit River current a square wave pattern known as a seiche (French for square, I think) set up. Whisper, with her tiny little diesel engine, barely clawed her way out the channel. As soon as the water outside the channel was deep enough we bore off on a reach, sail and engine = motorsailing.
Thus we exited U.S. waters for the southernmost port in Canada, Pelee Island, Ontario and my ensuing wrangle with U.S. Customs.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Pilotage, Or An Old Argument Anew
Sailors who remember the days before GPS chart plotters, coincident with dinosaurs roaming the earth, worshipped their magnetic compasses. The compass, a delicate precision instrument, was often encased in a finely crafted mahogany box. It was cleaned and polished with every sail. In short, it was the sailors' lifeline home.
The syllabi of the generally excellent safe boating courses offered by the U.S. Coast Guard Auxiliary and the U.S. Power Squadron included long treatises on the care, correction and piloting by the magnetic compass. The Mnemonic universally taught was: Can Dead Men Vote Twice where:
C = Compass bearing
D = Deviation (difference between compass bearing and actual magnetic
bearing
M = Magnetic bearing
V = Variation (difference between magnetic north and true, geographic
north
T = True (geographic) north
I would argue for another form of compass error beyond Deviation and Variation. I will call it, for sake of argument, Argumentation.
Argumentation is the difference between my compass course and the course over ground (COG) reported by my GPS chart plotter. If, after all the careful calibration and correction applied to my compass reading there is still a variance between my calculated course and what the GPS reports, I am prone to argument.
Those who know me will agree that I can argue, loudly and vehemently, on almost any subject. My expertise in said subject is relevant only in that, the less I know the louder I become.
One advantage of being a singlehanded sailor is that I can argue, loudly and vehemently, with my compass, my GPS and all other navigational tools at my disposal and nobody, absolutely nobody, gives a damn.
Which brings me to a story: At my Dad's funeral, one of the attending ministers decided to tell Harold stories. He started off with "With Harold ya pretty much always knew where ya stood!" It went downhill from there.
Apparently, during discussion of a particularly contentious issue within the church, and elderly parishioner had said "I've been talking to God and He is very worried about this." Apparently Dad's reply was something to the effect of "Well, I've been talkin' to God too and He don't give a damn!"
Yep, that sounds like Dad.
Sadly, like father like son.
The syllabi of the generally excellent safe boating courses offered by the U.S. Coast Guard Auxiliary and the U.S. Power Squadron included long treatises on the care, correction and piloting by the magnetic compass. The Mnemonic universally taught was: Can Dead Men Vote Twice where:
C = Compass bearing
D = Deviation (difference between compass bearing and actual magnetic
bearing
M = Magnetic bearing
V = Variation (difference between magnetic north and true, geographic
north
T = True (geographic) north
I would argue for another form of compass error beyond Deviation and Variation. I will call it, for sake of argument, Argumentation.
Argumentation is the difference between my compass course and the course over ground (COG) reported by my GPS chart plotter. If, after all the careful calibration and correction applied to my compass reading there is still a variance between my calculated course and what the GPS reports, I am prone to argument.
Those who know me will agree that I can argue, loudly and vehemently, on almost any subject. My expertise in said subject is relevant only in that, the less I know the louder I become.
One advantage of being a singlehanded sailor is that I can argue, loudly and vehemently, with my compass, my GPS and all other navigational tools at my disposal and nobody, absolutely nobody, gives a damn.
Which brings me to a story: At my Dad's funeral, one of the attending ministers decided to tell Harold stories. He started off with "With Harold ya pretty much always knew where ya stood!" It went downhill from there.
Apparently, during discussion of a particularly contentious issue within the church, and elderly parishioner had said "I've been talking to God and He is very worried about this." Apparently Dad's reply was something to the effect of "Well, I've been talkin' to God too and He don't give a damn!"
Yep, that sounds like Dad.
Sadly, like father like son.
Boat Shoes
Anyone who has spent time around watermen has experienced the redolent pleasures of boat shoes. The salient characteristics of boat shoes are:
a) People who wear them want to look salty.
b) Real salty people's boat shoes are almost always wet.
c) They are NEVER worn with socks.
Despite ministration of odor eating powders and frequent washing in buckets of disinfectant infused water, boatshoes take on an aroma akin to the a hog farm in high summer.
The only known cure, NEW boat shoes, is too terrible to contemplate.
Thus, the truly salty, associate the scent of boat shoes with the joys of summer sailing much as the salmon finds the stream from which he spawned.
Flushed Into Lake Erie
Today was a short day, motoring 4 hours into a stiff headwind. The wind partially offset Whisper's progress, but with 2+ knots (nautical miles per hour) we average 7 kts for the ride.
Photos will follow showing the state of America's industrial heartland...... depressing and worrisome are words that come to mind.
On the upside, the waters of the Detroit River are far cleaner than I expected them to be. At the opening into Lake Erie people are swimming and taking full advantage of the recreational possibilities.
We are anchored off the main ship channel in a tiny spot called, appropriately, Hole in the Wall. It is literally a hole in the manmade berms flanking the dredged channel. Whisper is being tossed to and fro by current and wind and boat wakes, but the "good" anchor is well set and we are secure.
Check back in a day or two for the Detroit River Photo Gallery.
Photos will follow showing the state of America's industrial heartland...... depressing and worrisome are words that come to mind.
On the upside, the waters of the Detroit River are far cleaner than I expected them to be. At the opening into Lake Erie people are swimming and taking full advantage of the recreational possibilities.
We are anchored off the main ship channel in a tiny spot called, appropriately, Hole in the Wall. It is literally a hole in the manmade berms flanking the dredged channel. Whisper is being tossed to and fro by current and wind and boat wakes, but the "good" anchor is well set and we are secure.
Check back in a day or two for the Detroit River Photo Gallery.
Fresh Produce and Thoughts on America's Digestive System
On my early morning rambles about Port Huron in search of an ATM, a cup of coffee and groceries I realized that, not only has shopping been exported to the suburbs, but banking is no longer a Main Street business. After much searching I located an ATM and, with cash in pocket, headed off to locate the other commodities.
Many Great Lakes bulk carriers have the wheelhouse forward and the engine room aft. This is not a form of segregation between deck and engine personnel, rather it gives pilotage an advantage when transiting locks and other close maneuvering. That said, the coal freighter on the right executed a perfect 180 degree turn in little over its own length, something I cannot do with my little Whisper.
There being no grocery or convenience stores in downtown PH I was heartened to see tents set up a la farmer's market. As it was right across the street from the marine supply store (boat's, like kids ALWAYS need stuff) I resolved to come back at 9 a.m. Upon arrival I learned that the chandlery lacked the boat bits I needed and the farmer's market was a flea/junk market, not a tomato to be seen!
With a deep longing for salad and fruit unfulfilled, I cast Whisper off in the great alimentary canal of America. Immediately upon exiting the harbor what should I see off the starboard bow but a HUGE farmer's market right on the river's bank. ARGGGGH!
I have come to see the series of rivers and lake connecting Lakes Huron and Erie as an American digestive system. Clean, clear waters enter the mouth with Port Huron as lower jaw and Sarnia, Ont. as its upper and, as this photo shows, these sister cities represent a bad case of periodontal disease.
Speeding down the esophagus named the St. Clair river, all you must do is aim between the channel markers and avoid hitting any of the numerous powerboats or being hit by any of the numerous 'big boys'.
Many Great Lakes bulk carriers have the wheelhouse forward and the engine room aft. This is not a form of segregation between deck and engine personnel, rather it gives pilotage an advantage when transiting locks and other close maneuvering. That said, the coal freighter on the right executed a perfect 180 degree turn in little over its own length, something I cannot do with my little Whisper.
Exiting the St. Clair river, one finds oneself in a "stomach" of sorts, the shallow Lake St. Clair. One of the 'boat bits' I had been in search of was an electronic chart for my GPS. It turned out to be totally unnecessary as the channel is so well marked it could be navigated by a blind squirrel swimming underwater at night.
Lake St. Clair empties into the Detroit River which I liken to the intestines, large and small, leading to the colon, just below Detroit. What does that make we who are Lake Erie bound?
Saturday, August 15, 2009
From a Friend
I've been keeping this blog lighthearted and topical on purpose. But I have been truly moved by how many people really get what I'm up to here. The following from a friend in Maine says it all in ways I never could.
Ithaca
When you start on your journey to Ithaca,pray that the road is long,full of adventure, full of knowledge.Do not fear the Lestrygoniansand the Cyclopes and the angry Poseidon.You will never meet such as these on your path,if your thoughts remain lofty, if a fineemotion touches your body and your spirit.You will never meet the Lestrygonians,the Cyclopes and the fierce Poseidon,if you do not carry them within your soul,if your soul does not raise them up before you.
Then pray that the road is long.That the summer mornings are many,that you will enter ports seen for the first timewith such pleasure, with such joy!Stop at Phoenician markets,and purchase fine merchandise,mother-of-pearl and corals, amber and ebony,and pleasurable perfumes of all kinds,buy as many pleasurable perfumes as you can;visit hosts of Egyptian cities,to learn and learn from those who have knowledge.
Always keep Ithaca fixed in your mind.To arrive there is your ultimate goal.But do not hurry the voyage at all.It is better to let it last for long years;and even to anchor at the isle when you are old,rich with all that you have gained on the way,not expecting that Ithaca will offer you riches.
Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage.Without her you would never have taken the road.But she has nothing more to give you.
And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not defrauded you.With the great wisdom you have gained, with so much experience,you must surely have understood by then what Ithacas mean.
-K. P. Kavafis (C. P. Cavafy), translation by Rae Dalven
Ithaca
When you start on your journey to Ithaca,pray that the road is long,full of adventure, full of knowledge.Do not fear the Lestrygoniansand the Cyclopes and the angry Poseidon.You will never meet such as these on your path,if your thoughts remain lofty, if a fineemotion touches your body and your spirit.You will never meet the Lestrygonians,the Cyclopes and the fierce Poseidon,if you do not carry them within your soul,if your soul does not raise them up before you.
Then pray that the road is long.That the summer mornings are many,that you will enter ports seen for the first timewith such pleasure, with such joy!Stop at Phoenician markets,and purchase fine merchandise,mother-of-pearl and corals, amber and ebony,and pleasurable perfumes of all kinds,buy as many pleasurable perfumes as you can;visit hosts of Egyptian cities,to learn and learn from those who have knowledge.
Always keep Ithaca fixed in your mind.To arrive there is your ultimate goal.But do not hurry the voyage at all.It is better to let it last for long years;and even to anchor at the isle when you are old,rich with all that you have gained on the way,not expecting that Ithaca will offer you riches.
Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage.Without her you would never have taken the road.But she has nothing more to give you.
And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not defrauded you.With the great wisdom you have gained, with so much experience,you must surely have understood by then what Ithacas mean.
-K. P. Kavafis (C. P. Cavafy), translation by Rae Dalven
Friday, August 14, 2009
Scurvy and the Sphincter of Lake Huron
The last grocery store within walking distance of a harbor was over a week ago in Mackinaw City......an IGA with usorious prices, a pitiful selection and 'the only grocery store in a 15 mile radius'.
Since then, the closest thing to fresh produce has been limes from the ubiquitous liquor stores. Ah well, if they were good enough for the British Navy.....
But I consoled myself thinking 'Port Huron is a big city. Surely there will be markets close by.' Wrong!! Again, the closest thing to produce came from yet another liquor store.
I want a salad, dammit!
Arriving in Port Huron was somewhat jarring. After the peace and quiet of these past two weeks' cruising, Whisper was at the confluence of ALL upper Great Lakes ship traffic, Canadian and American pleasure boaters and more jet skiis than I have ever seen in one place, taking advantage of the waves created when lake and river currents and ship wakes and powerboat wakes all collide to achieve startling airborne feats.
My quiet little ship was beset!
Which brings me to a point: All of the upper Great Lakes drain through the St. Clair River, Port Huron being at its nexus. PH is emblematic of the crumbling American manufacturing sector. Downtown is largely boarded up, for sale signs in every direction. The Canadian sister city, Sarnia, presents a wall of oil refineries.
I deem this to be the sphincter of the Upper Great Lakes! I can't wait to get out of here, except that Detroit, that great American city of yesteryear, awaits. This too shall pass.
The Most Scenic Power Plant Ever
I am not sure where the boundary between Upper Lower and Lower Lower Michigan is, but I'm pretty sure than when you sail 'round the thumb' that forms Saginaw Bay you are in Lower Lower Michigan.
After an overnight sail from Presque Isle the only harbor with enough depth of water to get Whisper into was Harbor Beach, a hopefully named town whose main features are a power plant and a Dow Agrosciences plant. But the people of Harbor Beach are very excited that their neighboring town, Bad Axe (I'm not kidding), has a Super Wal Mart.
The marina staff, fully aware that Whisper draws 6 feet, directed me to an inner slip. After 24h of hard sailing I was desperate for a shower and the charms of shore power, ice cubes in my drink and a good cup of coffee. It was not to be.
Making the turn into the slip Whisper plowed her keel firmly into the silt, stopping short of the dock by a good 10 feet. It was only with the mighty heaving and hauling of several dock neighbors that we got her into her slip.
Early the next morning I set off in search of a wi-fi connection, Sprint not having discovered this part of the world. As it turned out, the marina had wi-fi, but the signal didn't reach the docks.
Needing to transact some important business via the web (like updating this blog), I parked myself in the shade on hard concrete next to a bait storage freezer so I could use the only 110v outlet at the marina.
My business required several phone calls while on the internet so, with the bait freezer humming loudly in my ear I dialed.
It also turned out to be the day that all the Harbor Beach fire trucks were getting their hose pumps tested. So bait freezer humming, fire trucks pumping I sighed and tried to do my business. At which time, the maintenance crew decided to mow the lawn.
There I sat, on a concrete sidewalk, laptop on lap, cell phone in ear, bait freezer humming, fire trucks pumping being sprayed with grass clippings at ever pass of the mower.
Somehow I maintained my composure until, when needing to use the restroom, I discovered that my feet had gone to sleep. So, on hands and knees, I crawled off toward the restrooms hoping some semblance of lower leg control would be reestablished before my arrival.
I was only too glad to pull Whisper out of her slip, with much heaving and hauling, stirring up silt all the way, and repair to deeper water where we anchored for a sublime sunset of purples and lavenders and pinks and golds and the most scenic power plant ever.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Being Tied Up
Whenever my kids would get cold, tired, scared while sailing I would do as my father had done: we would sing! Sea chanteys, sailing songs, out of key and loudly. This always had a salutatory effect on both captain and kids.
Among the songs which remain family favorites is a Gordon Bok tune whose refrain goes:
I got an old fat boat
She’s slow but handsome
Hard in the chine
And soft in the transom
I love her well
She must love me
But I think it’s only for me money
Among the songs which remain family favorites is a Gordon Bok tune whose refrain goes:
I got an old fat boat
She’s slow but handsome
Hard in the chine
And soft in the transom
I love her well
She must love me
But I think it’s only for me money
Such is the case with Whisper. I lavish vast sums of money (by my standards) on her, give her love and attention, defend her from all insults and yet.......
Sailing Whisper, often by myself, I am reminded that if I fall overboard she would happily sail away in search of someone more well heeled to lavish his fortune on her. With the advent of self-steering you can damn well bet I’m going to stay firmly aboard and not let that shameless hussy out of my sight.
Hence I have become a devotee of the safety harness and always, when outside the cabin, am clipped in to something Whisper cannot unattach me from. This is particularly prudent given that we frequently sail miles from shore in some of the coldest waters on the planet.
I have too many sins to atone for to meet a premature, watery end.
And I’ll bet some of you thought this post was going to naughty!
Homeland Security
Sailing alone at night involves anxious scans of the horizon, checks of position, course, wind and weather interspersed by catnaps. GPS chart plotters have made the skipper’s job far less stressful. Add to that radar, giving you an ability to see over the horizon, and piloting is a pretty pleasant affair.
For several hours last night (August 11), amongst meteor showers and that carpet of stars, the Milky Way, I observed jet fighters flying recurrent patterns over mid-Lake Huron, mid-lake up a watery Canada – US border. There were a couple of bright red/white light bursts mid-sky in their track. No doubt some homeland security exercise. Gotta protect us from them damned Canadians after all.
With some alarm at 0200 on Wednesday morning I noticed a large object on the radar screen. It was steaming straight towards me. He showed no lights, an unseeable object hurtling towards my happy little ship.
The radar bearing remained constant......A COLLISION COURSE. And the range was closing fast!!! I readied flares and my 6 million candle-power spotlight to alert said boat to my position. If I couldn't see him, he was damned well going to see me!
For several hours last night (August 11), amongst meteor showers and that carpet of stars, the Milky Way, I observed jet fighters flying recurrent patterns over mid-Lake Huron, mid-lake up a watery Canada – US border. There were a couple of bright red/white light bursts mid-sky in their track. No doubt some homeland security exercise. Gotta protect us from them damned Canadians after all.
With some alarm at 0200 on Wednesday morning I noticed a large object on the radar screen. It was steaming straight towards me. He showed no lights, an unseeable object hurtling towards my happy little ship.
The radar bearing remained constant......A COLLISION COURSE. And the range was closing fast!!! I readied flares and my 6 million candle-power spotlight to alert said boat to my position. If I couldn't see him, he was damned well going to see me!
Suddenly he stopped.........and stayed. Changing course, he ran parallel to my course matching my speed (slow). No lights. Still unseen. Spooked the hell out of me!
I was somewhat comforted that these weren’t Somali pirates, and piracy on Lake Huron died out with the French and Indian Wars. Could they be Homeland Security come to make sure I wasn’t some Canadian trying to sneak in for some of that really good American healthcare? (Pardon my cynicism......I have recently migrated from the healthcare ‘haves’ to the healthcare ‘can’t gets’. It changes your outlook just a wee bit.)
Then, as mysteriously as he came, my interceptor turned and steamed away.....off to catch some other pirate of the American healthcare system no doubt!!
Upper Lower Michigan
I know I’m not in Upper Lower Michigan anymore because the pristine spruce-pine-birch forests to the water’s edge have given way to a coal fired power plant. It doesn’t even look like clean coal technology. 
Despite my anchor dragging incident, I would have loved to spend more time in upper lower Michigan. The water is so clear you can see the bottom at 30+ feet. That’s how I KNOW my anchor was set before it dragged.
The flora and fauna are as in Maine save for a very entertaining species of red headed diving ducks that scuttle along the water like bumper , all the while quacking ferociously until they all, in unison, dive. Trying to guess when and where each will pop up is like playing Whack-o-Mole. Periodically one will rise up from the water, wings spread, a single quack and then settle back in. They circled Whisper for about half an hour at sunset. WAAAY better’n TV.
One characteristic of people from UL Michigan is their friendliness. The harbormaster at Hammond Bay Harbor met me dockside with hearty smile and good wishes on the day. He carted my trash, showed me how to work the ingenious shower system, printed out the weather report and shared his views on life in general. He was typical of harbor and dock staff through upper lower Michigan.
There seem to be two types of people in UL Michigan: those who choose to be there and those who can’t think of anywhere better to go. They are cheerful, resilient, people you would want to have as friends and neighbors.
They made this wayward sailor feel welcomed.
Sadly, the season is pressing on. I had to forego the incredible beauty of the Northern Channel and Georgian Bay in favor of working Whisper east. A marathon 24 hour sail brought us to Lower Michigan.....the one with the power plants.
But it was a beautiful sail. Attached are book matched images of fiery sunset and fiery sunrise. Can you tell which is which?
Despite my anchor dragging incident, I would have loved to spend more time in upper lower Michigan. The water is so clear you can see the bottom at 30+ feet. That’s how I KNOW my anchor was set before it dragged.
The flora and fauna are as in Maine save for a very entertaining species of red headed diving ducks that scuttle along the water like bumper , all the while quacking ferociously until they all, in unison, dive. Trying to guess when and where each will pop up is like playing Whack-o-Mole. Periodically one will rise up from the water, wings spread, a single quack and then settle back in. They circled Whisper for about half an hour at sunset. WAAAY better’n TV.
One characteristic of people from UL Michigan is their friendliness. The harbormaster at Hammond Bay Harbor met me dockside with hearty smile and good wishes on the day. He carted my trash, showed me how to work the ingenious shower system, printed out the weather report and shared his views on life in general. He was typical of harbor and dock staff through upper lower Michigan.
There seem to be two types of people in UL Michigan: those who choose to be there and those who can’t think of anywhere better to go. They are cheerful, resilient, people you would want to have as friends and neighbors.
They made this wayward sailor feel welcomed.
Sadly, the season is pressing on. I had to forego the incredible beauty of the Northern Channel and Georgian Bay in favor of working Whisper east. A marathon 24 hour sail brought us to Lower Michigan.....the one with the power plants.
But it was a beautiful sail. Attached are book matched images of fiery sunset and fiery sunrise. Can you tell which is which?
These were interspersed with a meteor shower and a burnt orange moon come to say hello.
Sailing all night with just the reaching spinnaker on a broad reach,
the windvane
steering 
and the captain keeping Whisper between shore and a constant stream of north and south bound Lakes freighters......the big boys whose way you want to stay well clear of.
and the captain keeping Whisper between shore and a constant stream of north and south bound Lakes freighters......the big boys whose way you want to stay well clear of.Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Catching Up - A potpourri
The last few days have featured no cell phone signal or internet access.....Here's a few writings. More photos to follow.
Trivia Question
What state has the most lighthouses?
Hint: It borders 4 of the Great Lakes.
Weather Windows
The old axiom of never passing up a sailing breeze has proven itself true yet again! Laying up in Mackinaw City for rest and repairs while the breeze blue sweet from the NW, I am now holed up in Hammond Harbor, MI with no wind and rain.........So much for making mileage. This is putting me behind schedule!!!!
So GO you say. And in my heart I know I should. The diesel tank is full, the weather is settled. GO, DAMMIT!!
That said, Hammond Harbor is a beautiful spot in a North Woods kind of way. The harbormaster is a genial sort, a sailor and story teller. The fishermen are friendly. And they showers are among the cleanest and hottest anywhere.
There’s no cell phone signal or internet connectivity so nobody knows where I am. Does the world miss me? I’m afraid to know what the answer might be.
Time for another mug up! Whisper’s crew does enjoy good coffee!
Tanker Tag in the Straits of Mackinac
The straits of Mackinac are truly a crossroads of short sea shipping. Every ship passing from Superior to the western ports of Lake Michigan or the lake ports south and east passes through here. This is a place for small, underpowered sailboats to be very careful.
Motoring straight to weather between Mackinac and Round Islands, the main ship channel I found myself sandwiched between west and northbound bulk freighters. Check your angles, have an escape route, have an anchor at the ready.......STAY THE HELL OUT THEIR WAY!!!!
The Land O’ Fudge
Tourists in the Mackinaw region are known as “fudgies”. They must consume large quantities given the ubiquity of fudge shops both in the ‘city’ and on the island. Rumor has it that the Mackinaw City council is considering requiring a pound of fudge per person per vehicle as an exit tax, sort of their own, special stimulus package.
In talking to the harbormaster I learned that while Mac City boasts a year round population of 850, only about 400 stay the winter. This explains that the only grocery store is the size of a gas station with commensurate pricing. Any fresh produce residents eat is home grown. According to said harbormaster, at 6 p.m. on Labor Day you could shoot a cannon down the main street and not hit a thing.
Anchoring
I have always been a “nervous” anchorer, picking spots carefully, up during the night to check for dragging or changes in weather. I am nervous to such an extent that I invested in a heavy “spade” type anchor and 300 feet of chain as a back-up to my lightweight, aluminum Danforth type anchor. Even the light tackle has 30’ of chain (so much for lightweight) and a ¾” rode.
After a nervous night tail to the Mackinac Island breakwater and a nervous day anchored on a lee shore in a 30kt breeze I was ready for a good night’s sleep. Hammond Harbor, MI promised just such......a cozy nook behind two seawalls with a sand bottom and 10 ft. depth.
The weather forecast called for possible severe thunderstorms so I took extra care setting the lightweight gear, put out extra scope and settled in for a curry and rice. Besides, the heavy tackle was ready to go if I needed it.
Sleep soon overtook me and, although there was still daylight, I gratefully crawled into my bunk.
POW!!! With a knock of my forehead on the deck I came wide awake. Something was terribly wrong. The weather was still fine, but Whisper’s motion had brought me too all standing. As my head popper through the hatch my eyes beheld the State Pier not 20 feet away and closing fast. Whisper was dragging anchor!!!
So, in underwear, at the mercy of Upper Lower Michigan’s voracious mosquitoes I undertook to remedy the crisis. Upon hauling anchor I discovered the problem: when the wind direction changed from north to east Whisper had overriden her anchor and it had failed to reset. The highly scientific anchor test results had predicted just such a problem. Worse, the anchor’s flukes bore enough bottom weed to feed a herd of cattle, effectively preventing any change of resetting.
Out went the heavy spade with at least 7:1 scope + 20% of chain and a nylon snubber. After backing down on that hard for several minutes I was satisfied that Whisper was attached to terra firma.
Morning brought an ascerbic comment from the harbormaster: “Kind of an odd spot to anchor, don’t you think?” My reply was simply that I was grateful to be anchored at all.
Anchoring Part II: Near Disaster
That’s it: The Fortress anchor is getting stowed and the 45lb brute Manson Supreme takes over as primary anchor, although I will change it over to the nylon rode w/ chain. Here’s the story:
I’ve anchored in many places under many conditions and rarely had a problem. But to drag anchor two nights in a row? And under benign conditions? You’ve got to be kidding!
To be fair, both cases involved 180 degree wind shifts. The anchor would have flipped and should have reset. Weeds in the anchor flukes preventedthe anchor resetting allowing it to skip along the bottom.......That may be a characteristic of the Fortress design as pointed out in the Sail Magazine anchore tests. I have come to see this as downright dangerous.
With NW winds of 15kt in a clay sand bottom we dragged over 100 yards culminating in a ‘BUMP’ on a sand bottom. My inner radar set me to immediate action........geesh! Kedging off before coffee!
So with a favorable wind I am sitting dockside nursing my confidence, trying to repair a bruised ego and giving thanks for being able to get off a lee shore with no physical damage.
Insectivora
The Great Lakes are host to an incredible array of insects. Don’s taxonomy classifies them into three families: Annoying, Mightily Annoying and Messy.
In the Annoying Family is a type of swarming gnat that swarms. While not biting like Maine’s black flies, they do coat, cover, crawl and invade. They seem particularly drawn to Whisper’s yellow decks and taupe canvas.
Eating the Annoying insects are the Messy Family.......consisting of at least 600 species of spiders from minute to megascopic. You have to admire the industry of these critters. No sooner have you cleaned your boat of cobwebs filled with Annoying insects than the cobwebs have been rebuilt. If you conquer the decks, they move into the rigging. If you squish the spiders they leave permanent green stains on sails and canvas.
Among the Mightily Annoying are several species of biting flies The bite inflicted is not as flesh tearing as deer flies, but what they lack in ferocity they make up for in numbers and aggressiveness. Further, they show no respect for insecticides or repellants and are particularly fond of exposed legs in cockpits, making the helmsman do an athletic jig reminiscent of the old-time sailors’ hornpipes.
Seasoned Lake sailors accept these as part of the charm. although members of the Racine Yacht Club involved in SC Johnson’s entomology program have taken up the challenge to make Lake sailing more bearable.
Trivia Question
What state has the most lighthouses?
Hint: It borders 4 of the Great Lakes.
Weather Windows
The old axiom of never passing up a sailing breeze has proven itself true yet again! Laying up in Mackinaw City for rest and repairs while the breeze blue sweet from the NW, I am now holed up in Hammond Harbor, MI with no wind and rain.........So much for making mileage. This is putting me behind schedule!!!!
So GO you say. And in my heart I know I should. The diesel tank is full, the weather is settled. GO, DAMMIT!!
That said, Hammond Harbor is a beautiful spot in a North Woods kind of way. The harbormaster is a genial sort, a sailor and story teller. The fishermen are friendly. And they showers are among the cleanest and hottest anywhere.
There’s no cell phone signal or internet connectivity so nobody knows where I am. Does the world miss me? I’m afraid to know what the answer might be.
Time for another mug up! Whisper’s crew does enjoy good coffee!
Tanker Tag in the Straits of Mackinac
The straits of Mackinac are truly a crossroads of short sea shipping. Every ship passing from Superior to the western ports of Lake Michigan or the lake ports south and east passes through here. This is a place for small, underpowered sailboats to be very careful.
Motoring straight to weather between Mackinac and Round Islands, the main ship channel I found myself sandwiched between west and northbound bulk freighters. Check your angles, have an escape route, have an anchor at the ready.......STAY THE HELL OUT THEIR WAY!!!!
The Land O’ Fudge
Tourists in the Mackinaw region are known as “fudgies”. They must consume large quantities given the ubiquity of fudge shops both in the ‘city’ and on the island. Rumor has it that the Mackinaw City council is considering requiring a pound of fudge per person per vehicle as an exit tax, sort of their own, special stimulus package.
In talking to the harbormaster I learned that while Mac City boasts a year round population of 850, only about 400 stay the winter. This explains that the only grocery store is the size of a gas station with commensurate pricing. Any fresh produce residents eat is home grown. According to said harbormaster, at 6 p.m. on Labor Day you could shoot a cannon down the main street and not hit a thing.
Anchoring
I have always been a “nervous” anchorer, picking spots carefully, up during the night to check for dragging or changes in weather. I am nervous to such an extent that I invested in a heavy “spade” type anchor and 300 feet of chain as a back-up to my lightweight, aluminum Danforth type anchor. Even the light tackle has 30’ of chain (so much for lightweight) and a ¾” rode.
After a nervous night tail to the Mackinac Island breakwater and a nervous day anchored on a lee shore in a 30kt breeze I was ready for a good night’s sleep. Hammond Harbor, MI promised just such......a cozy nook behind two seawalls with a sand bottom and 10 ft. depth.
The weather forecast called for possible severe thunderstorms so I took extra care setting the lightweight gear, put out extra scope and settled in for a curry and rice. Besides, the heavy tackle was ready to go if I needed it.
Sleep soon overtook me and, although there was still daylight, I gratefully crawled into my bunk.
POW!!! With a knock of my forehead on the deck I came wide awake. Something was terribly wrong. The weather was still fine, but Whisper’s motion had brought me too all standing. As my head popper through the hatch my eyes beheld the State Pier not 20 feet away and closing fast. Whisper was dragging anchor!!!
So, in underwear, at the mercy of Upper Lower Michigan’s voracious mosquitoes I undertook to remedy the crisis. Upon hauling anchor I discovered the problem: when the wind direction changed from north to east Whisper had overriden her anchor and it had failed to reset. The highly scientific anchor test results had predicted just such a problem. Worse, the anchor’s flukes bore enough bottom weed to feed a herd of cattle, effectively preventing any change of resetting.
Out went the heavy spade with at least 7:1 scope + 20% of chain and a nylon snubber. After backing down on that hard for several minutes I was satisfied that Whisper was attached to terra firma.
Morning brought an ascerbic comment from the harbormaster: “Kind of an odd spot to anchor, don’t you think?” My reply was simply that I was grateful to be anchored at all.
Anchoring Part II: Near Disaster
That’s it: The Fortress anchor is getting stowed and the 45lb brute Manson Supreme takes over as primary anchor, although I will change it over to the nylon rode w/ chain. Here’s the story:
I’ve anchored in many places under many conditions and rarely had a problem. But to drag anchor two nights in a row? And under benign conditions? You’ve got to be kidding!
To be fair, both cases involved 180 degree wind shifts. The anchor would have flipped and should have reset. Weeds in the anchor flukes preventedthe anchor resetting allowing it to skip along the bottom.......That may be a characteristic of the Fortress design as pointed out in the Sail Magazine anchore tests. I have come to see this as downright dangerous.
With NW winds of 15kt in a clay sand bottom we dragged over 100 yards culminating in a ‘BUMP’ on a sand bottom. My inner radar set me to immediate action........geesh! Kedging off before coffee!
So with a favorable wind I am sitting dockside nursing my confidence, trying to repair a bruised ego and giving thanks for being able to get off a lee shore with no physical damage.
Insectivora
The Great Lakes are host to an incredible array of insects. Don’s taxonomy classifies them into three families: Annoying, Mightily Annoying and Messy.
In the Annoying Family is a type of swarming gnat that swarms. While not biting like Maine’s black flies, they do coat, cover, crawl and invade. They seem particularly drawn to Whisper’s yellow decks and taupe canvas.
Eating the Annoying insects are the Messy Family.......consisting of at least 600 species of spiders from minute to megascopic. You have to admire the industry of these critters. No sooner have you cleaned your boat of cobwebs filled with Annoying insects than the cobwebs have been rebuilt. If you conquer the decks, they move into the rigging. If you squish the spiders they leave permanent green stains on sails and canvas.
Among the Mightily Annoying are several species of biting flies The bite inflicted is not as flesh tearing as deer flies, but what they lack in ferocity they make up for in numbers and aggressiveness. Further, they show no respect for insecticides or repellants and are particularly fond of exposed legs in cockpits, making the helmsman do an athletic jig reminiscent of the old-time sailors’ hornpipes.
Seasoned Lake sailors accept these as part of the charm. although members of the Racine Yacht Club involved in SC Johnson’s entomology program have taken up the challenge to make Lake sailing more bearable.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Inner Ear Equilibrium
My great grandfather, the schooner captain, had a prescription for seasickness: hard tack biscuits and raspberry jam.......They taste the same coming up as they did going down.
I am peculiarly blessed of a cast iron stomach. Seasickness rarely visits me and usually only the result of too much alcohol and/or fried foods. There's a metaphor in there somewhere, but I'm too tired to look for it.
My inner ear equilibrium, or the disequilibrium caused by bashing about in confused seas, does manifest itself in one peculiar way: the shower stall will just NOT hold still while I wash away the gaminess that accrues to a man abandoning personal hygiene in his descent into the cruising life.
I am peculiarly blessed of a cast iron stomach. Seasickness rarely visits me and usually only the result of too much alcohol and/or fried foods. There's a metaphor in there somewhere, but I'm too tired to look for it.
My inner ear equilibrium, or the disequilibrium caused by bashing about in confused seas, does manifest itself in one peculiar way: the shower stall will just NOT hold still while I wash away the gaminess that accrues to a man abandoning personal hygiene in his descent into the cruising life.
Turning Corners
Anyone familiar with the Maine humorist Marshall Dodge and his "Bert and I" recordings will remember the lobstermen whose chart had blown overboard. Not knowing where they were the response was "Hurry up and get us onto the next page!" Such was the case as the Lake Michigan chart book gave way to the Lake Huron chart book.
Finding no room at the Mackinac Island dock Whisper spent a nervous night at anchor with her tail to a seawall. Winds building to 25 - 30 kt in the morning dictated a motor upwind to Mackinaw City where shower, groceries, laundry and a good night's sleep awaited.
Being an impecunious cruising sailor I object to paying dockage fees. But as Whisper's crew desperately needs a lay day to fix what's not working right, rest and recover, so be it.
Turning the corner has been as much a mental exercise as physical. What has been a pretty happy home for the past 3 years is now a lake and a landmass away.
So will somebody please explain to me why it's so damned hard to live with a decision once it's made?
Finding no room at the Mackinac Island dock Whisper spent a nervous night at anchor with her tail to a seawall. Winds building to 25 - 30 kt in the morning dictated a motor upwind to Mackinaw City where shower, groceries, laundry and a good night's sleep awaited.
Being an impecunious cruising sailor I object to paying dockage fees. But as Whisper's crew desperately needs a lay day to fix what's not working right, rest and recover, so be it.
Turning the corner has been as much a mental exercise as physical. What has been a pretty happy home for the past 3 years is now a lake and a landmass away.
So will somebody please explain to me why it's so damned hard to live with a decision once it's made?
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Crossings & Space Encounters
It appears the decision to wait before crossing Lake Michigan was wise as Whisper's exit from Kewaunee was meet with 4 foot, slab sided seas but a diminishing wind backing from SE to SW. As the day and my head cleared we set sail on a starboard tack broad reach which carried us all day and all night, average speed 5.5 kts.
As the night wore on I alternately reefeed sails (reduced sail area) and shook out reefs. Safety harness was de rigeur for staying aboard. But the windvane steered flawlessly through it all, enabling a few catnaps. For hours on end, the only sign of human activity was a sighting of the International Space Station. (I presume it was the Space Station as it was large, rectangular, consisting of two brightly lit modules and travelling at enormous speed). With a nearly full moon as her only companion Whisper rolled through the night. All in, a spectacular night to sail.
Whipser passed through the Manitou Channel, between the Manitou Islands and the Michigan shore well before dawn, the only evidence of the islands being a solitary, constant white light emanating from an abandoned lighthouse on S. Manitou Island (if the chart is to be believed, as I almost always do).
Landfall was made exactly 24h post departure, a distance of 129 miles which isn't bad for a heavy, old boat.
I've had to remind myself several times that I'm not sailing a Star, that sail trim is for comfort and longevity of gear and the needs of the windvane for keeping proper course. It's a little like raising kids: You make a series of compromises between unobtainable optima trying to find the happy medium.
Today Whisper turns the corner to Mackinac and northern Lake Huron beyond.
I have solved the technical issues with posting photos but now lack the AC connection required for the camera's docking station. SOON I promise.
As the night wore on I alternately reefeed sails (reduced sail area) and shook out reefs. Safety harness was de rigeur for staying aboard. But the windvane steered flawlessly through it all, enabling a few catnaps. For hours on end, the only sign of human activity was a sighting of the International Space Station. (I presume it was the Space Station as it was large, rectangular, consisting of two brightly lit modules and travelling at enormous speed). With a nearly full moon as her only companion Whisper rolled through the night. All in, a spectacular night to sail.
Whipser passed through the Manitou Channel, between the Manitou Islands and the Michigan shore well before dawn, the only evidence of the islands being a solitary, constant white light emanating from an abandoned lighthouse on S. Manitou Island (if the chart is to be believed, as I almost always do).
Landfall was made exactly 24h post departure, a distance of 129 miles which isn't bad for a heavy, old boat.
I've had to remind myself several times that I'm not sailing a Star, that sail trim is for comfort and longevity of gear and the needs of the windvane for keeping proper course. It's a little like raising kids: You make a series of compromises between unobtainable optima trying to find the happy medium.
Today Whisper turns the corner to Mackinac and northern Lake Huron beyond.
I have solved the technical issues with posting photos but now lack the AC connection required for the camera's docking station. SOON I promise.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Coasting
For now the better part of valor has dictated daysails up the Wisconsin coast, the last stop being Kewaunee, a port town that has lost its reason for being. The crumbling waterfront has been given over to marinas catering to fishermen and restaurants whose version of seafood is fried. The quaint downtown features a mix of small business hanging on my the merest of threads and a few hopeful art galleries. Artists seem to find niches of existence in the midst of decay.
Lacking appropriate dockage, Whisper spent a night rolling in the outer harbor, the mouth open to a swell making in from the SE. Lightning, big winds and torrential rain made for a restless night. But the forecast is for a strong SW wind, 4 -6 ft seas subsiding late......The time has come to put Wisconsin in our wake. All of the good-byes, farewells, best wishes have been said. Sadness will give way to exhilartion when Whisper takes the bone in her teeth.
With Iron Mike (the windvane) steering I will happily scatter tools about the cabin as I tick off projects from the list, making Whisper ready for sea (or lake, as the case may be). Day by day the dust and detritus, mental and physical, of a landlocked existence give way to the cleansing breath of possibilities.
Lacking appropriate dockage, Whisper spent a night rolling in the outer harbor, the mouth open to a swell making in from the SE. Lightning, big winds and torrential rain made for a restless night. But the forecast is for a strong SW wind, 4 -6 ft seas subsiding late......The time has come to put Wisconsin in our wake. All of the good-byes, farewells, best wishes have been said. Sadness will give way to exhilartion when Whisper takes the bone in her teeth.
With Iron Mike (the windvane) steering I will happily scatter tools about the cabin as I tick off projects from the list, making Whisper ready for sea (or lake, as the case may be). Day by day the dust and detritus, mental and physical, of a landlocked existence give way to the cleansing breath of possibilities.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Chicken of the Sea
Day 2 was a glorious sail in 15 - 25 kt breezes........a great shakedown, destination Sheboygan to wait for a weather window across the lake. I am mildly disturbed by a forecast of 30 kt winds with waves building to 5 - 8 ft.
Let me explain: Lake Michigan waves are not these lovely big ocean waves. Instead of rolling nicely they rear up like walls of water, more of a square waveform. And this is a CRUISE after all, not a race. That said, I am also concerned about being in the Gulf of the St. Lawrence in September so time is of the essence.
Whisper is still shaking off the cobwebs and so is her skipper.......literally and figuratively.
So the journey continues up the west shore of Lake Michigan, in the lee of the land, until the weather moderates for the dash across. Call me chicken.......See if I care!
Let me explain: Lake Michigan waves are not these lovely big ocean waves. Instead of rolling nicely they rear up like walls of water, more of a square waveform. And this is a CRUISE after all, not a race. That said, I am also concerned about being in the Gulf of the St. Lawrence in September so time is of the essence.
Whisper is still shaking off the cobwebs and so is her skipper.......literally and figuratively.
So the journey continues up the west shore of Lake Michigan, in the lee of the land, until the weather moderates for the dash across. Call me chicken.......See if I care!
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