Cruising Log WEEK7

Leaving Little Current behind we traveled West rather than East due to some nagging concerns about the engine, concluding that if it malfunctioned again it would be better to be in the lower 48 rather than in the vast wilderness of Canada. Lucky for us our friends on Sir Tugly Blue were also heading west, so off we went.

The first night we anchored in a stiff NW wind in Amendroz Bay. It was quiet and well protected. Great to be swinging in the breeze again. The next day we transited the narrow McBean Channel above Fox Island, then squeezed through Little Detroit to the Whalesback Channel, skirted around Turtle Rock, turned north pass Godfrey, Prendergast and Drew Island, and snuck under Navy Island to anchor where our adventure started, Long Point Cove. Quite a day!

The next day we motored into a fog bank several miles south of the appropriately named town of Blind River and then made a mid-course correction, which took us to Drummond Island, MI instead of our original destination of Thessalon, Canada. So, Sunday found us painlessly checked back into the U.S. by a young Immigration officer and it only cost us $27.59 — credit cards only, please.

Moving on we left for St. Ignace and the Straits of Mackinac spending the entire day in 3 to 4 to 5, ye gads, 6 foot rollers and even managed to surf down one at greater than 12 knots; quite an accomplishment for our overloaded tug. I respectfully asked Charlotte to stop announcing the next big wave catching us up from behind. I spent the 6 hours it took watching the new autopilot (I spent fifty some hours installing it last summer) doing a stellar job keeping us on course.

Monday we actually vacationed and took our bikes on a ferry to Mackinaw Island. There is a 8 mile bike path around the island, which we surprised ourselves by completing without much difficulty, had a snack on the porch of The Grand Hotel (10 bucks for the privilege), checked out the stately “cottages”, walked the main drag (how much fudge can you sell!) and took the ferry back during a squall; all-in-all enjoyable day.

Now we sit in Petoskey, across from Harbor Springs, The Naples of the North. We had a calm day for our trip west down the Straits of Mackinac and south through Grays Reef Passage. This time we could see the Abandoned, White Shoal, Grays Reef and Ile aux Galets lighthouses. All missed the first time due to dense fog. The Pride of Baltimore tall ship accompanied us through the passage.

Sadly Sir Tugly Blue’s and our paths diverged once through the Passage. They have to get back to the real world and we still have some time in our fantasy one. Better companions we could have not wished for. Now we can wander, ride our bikes, try and find a Petoskey stone, and only travel in calm seas … ahhhhh!

Sunset in Amendroz Island

A sampling of rocks in the Whalesback Channel

Long Point Cove

None the worse for wear

Just spectacular

Grays Reef Light house and the Pride of Baltimore

Fog

Fog requires concentration. Fog requires subduing gut wrenching, heart pounding and nail biting panic. Fog requires not trusting your senses. Fog requires the realization that you can slow down or even stop. Fog requires protocol.

Radar, chart plotters and radios can negate fog if you are mindful. But fog is the “mental” mother of all weather on the water. The wind and waves of storms are a physical challenge; fog is an intellectual one. The blessing is that calm water usually accompanies fog. The wind that creates havoc on the water also carries away the fog, so it is a mixed blessing.

Fog is the nearest I get to a cloud other then when flying through one. In a plane I am cocooned within a quarter inch or so of aluminum. In a boat I am in contact with it. I can open the pilothouse door and touch it, and it is like being rained on without the rain. Sounds like a koan: How can you be in the rain without rain?

I start out sounding the horn every two minute but slowly realize that nobody, if there is anybody, in the vicinity is doing the same. I am not sure why. Some will announce their presence over the VHF radio, “Securite-Securite this is the recreational vehicle Carrie Rose out of Charlevoix northbound to Gray’s Reef Passage.” This may get a response or may not but at least I have made the world aware of my intentions.

Now I set into a routine. One by one I scan the instruments, paying particular attention to the radar and the chart plotter. I adjust the autopilot to keep on my prearranged course and react to blips on the radar. Your microwave is essentially radar but instead of popping popcorn mine allows me to see an unseen world. When dots appear I track them to see if the dot and me are on a collision course.

This year for some unknown reason I knew how to use all the buttons (16 and 3 dials) on the radar. Don’t ask me how. I have been reading the manual for years and never figured them out until now. The two most useful turned out to be EBL (electronic bearing line) and VRM (variable range marker). With these two markers I can assure myself that I am on a safe course in respect to other traffic or obstacles in the area. Plus it helps to wile away the time between harbors.

This is a concern I did not have on my sailboat. Sailboats are needy. They require constant attention to do their best. On a sailboat I have to respond to every change in the weather, whereas in my little trawler I mostly just plow through it, watching the wind gusts and shifts outside the ten windows of my pilothouse. It is an interesting change in perspective.

In the fog there is no perspective. It is easy to over compensate and end up going in circles. As obvious as it sounds I have learned to slow up or stop if I get confused. Cruising has a momentum that is difficult to override. All kinds of vessels become casualties due to this, from small fishing boats to super tankers. I do not plan on being one of them.

I find that when I am safely in port I have an intense pain, well pain may not be the correct word, maybe awareness of my solar plexus is a better but more obtuse description. I start to do the deep abdominal breathing I learned in yoga decades ago and it eventually subsides. A glass of wine doesn’t hurt either. Later as I lay in bed I relive the experience. During the debriefing I focus on details and look for the lessons imbedded in the undertaking.

That is what makes fog and cruising compelling. It is not all fun but it is on the edge of what awareness is about. Every second, whether painful or not, is precious: one time, one meeting …

Cruising Log WEEK6

Sunday was very hot reaching 87 degrees. We thinks yous sweltering in Chicago have it worse. Again we assisted Roy’s Cruiser’s Net call-in in capturing and transcribing boat names and locations. There have been #125 cruisers traveling around the North Channel islands reporting in. Of course this is not mandatory, so who knows how many boats there are actually out there.

The two lovely owners of Mystic leant us their car (without doing a background check, mind you) for the weekend. This allowed a day trip off the island as far as Espanola. We made a couple detours and one of these lead us to an artist studio tucked into the quartz hills at Loon Lake.

Somehow wherever we are in the world the conversations get around to Chicago and today was no different. I spied two pictures of a young handsome guy: one shaking Ronald Reagan’s hand complete with his signature and the other with the artist, the young man (her son) and Wayne Gretzky. Turns out we were talking to Alan “Rocky” Secord’s mom. As some of you might know (not us) he was an ex-Chicago Blackhawk’s player.

So began WEEK6. After much consternation the mechanic arrived today, Wednesday. Though barely fitting into the engine compartment he replaced 6 injectors, a fuel lift pump, the impellor and the fuel filter. After a few adjustments the engine is running well, and weather permitting we will leave the welcoming town of Little Current Thursday AM with Sir Tugly Blue to head west.

New injector

Old injector

For the cognoscenti

A ray of ....

Song

I wonder if anyone has ever gone crazy listening to the song of the white-throated sparrow. From the first accented note of its soaring whistle follows a singsong that cascades down in pitch for several bars. As I listen I realize how privileged I am to have the time and the ability to anchor in this remote bay where their song predominates.

I begin to pick out individuals. Some songs are higher, some lower; some have more cadences, some less; some are up beat, some down. Listening to them makes me want to whistle, a skill I have never mastered. If I could only see them but I am floating a hundred feet off shore and they are in the dense forest that clings to the granite islands that litter the North Channel. There are a few more sounds: gulls, terns, warblers, crows and the occasional out board, but they are a mere backdrop.

The day before I shared Whitney Bay, MI with a family of loons. Now that is a sound. At first I did not want to believe it. I kept trying to convince myself that it must be something else. It was not. Their song is eerily compelling. I will not begin to describe it. Go to YouTube and listen for yourself. My only advice is, if you are alone leave the lights on.

Then there is the buzz. It began late one night while I was reading with the ceiling light on over my head. I turned to look out the rear window of the pilothouse and there, through the screen, was a mass of needles with wings. They were testing the boats defenses. Alien has nothing on a North Country mosquito. So far I have kept the upper hand, but I am not getting cocky. Even though it is three days away from the Fourth of July it is still early in the North and this year has been a particularly wet and cool. I have been advised that the worst is yet to come.

Mostly though, it is the lack of sound that is impressionable. At home I live under one of O’Hare’s flight paths. I get concerned if an airliner hasn’t come or gone in a couple of minutes. And when I am moored at Montrose Harbor in Chicago it is rare if an ambulance or fire engine has not raced by in a half hour. Here in the North Channel it is generally quiet but not tonight.

Tonight it is Canada Day and their way of celebrating is the same as the rest of the world since the Chinese invented fireworks. Amidst the plop of the wavelets striking the bow, I can hear the muffled thunder of sparkling lights in the sky. Later in the night the rumble comes from approaching thunderstorms. This gets me thinking: did I anchor far enough away from the rock-strewn shore and is the anchor properly set.

Then there is the song of Rosie the dinghy. Rosie was my early spring project. The kit arrived at my doorstep off the back of a friend’s humongous red pickup truck. Little of the flat elongated package belied her future shape. She is all curves and floats in a few inches of water. I thought this would make her skittish but her designer gave her a long deep keel and a couple of skegs either side. This gives her the odd characteristic of tracking true (straight) and also spinning on a dime.

But let me get back to the song. Rosie is made of exotic marine plywood, and has two hollow chambers, one forward and one aft. This makes her resonant. I’m no musician but she has a clear tone that any percussionist would be proud of. The sound is most evident as she swings from Carrie Rose, the mother ship, in a short chop.

The wavelets hit a flat region about a quarter back from the bow and it is here that she sings her song — a surprisingly sonorous song. So loud at times does she sing that the here-to-for mentioned white-throated sparrows are drowned out.

I experiment with multiple positions to lessen the volume: hanging her far aft, pulling her bow up on a fender resting on the swim platform and banishing her to as close to Carrie Rose’s bow as possible. All my efforts are in vain. Her song still soars. Finally, I reverse steps and pull her out of the water. She hangs limply off the back of the boat, quiet.

So, my own question is answered except in the reverse. I went crazy by not listening to the song of the white-throated sparrow. It made for a couple of interesting days while floating in this archipelago of deep green granite islands and dark clear water.

Cruising Log WEEK5

Little Current…Little Current…Little Current. Nice place to visit but I think we would have preferred a shorter stay, though the folks here have been very hospitable. We are helping Roy with the Cruiser Net Call-in. As we mentioned before, on the VHF radio each morning Roy gives the cruising community the weather, news for the day and sports highlights and then all the boaters traveling in the North Channel call-in with their boat name and location. We are frantically writing all this down because Roy keeps a tally of all this detail. The number of boats has increased each day and on Saturday we reached 140 boat call-ins.

Our other entertainment has been wandering around Little Current. We have seen everything more than once: grocery, gift shops, restaurant, ice cream stall, hair-salon, barber and the hardware store. We have not been to the wine shop or the beer store; maybe we will save this for another time. The diesel mechanic was here on Wednesday and determined we had an injector issue. The parts are on order but are coming from Halifax so, we wait for him to return early this coming week to do the repair. That’s the plan.

Roy gave us a tour after the Cruiser Net call–in on Saturday that included a visit to his home where his wife Margaret maintains a very beautiful perennial garden. Their property overlooks the North Channel with beautiful views as the property slopes down to the water’s edge. Then Roy took us on a driving tour which included some history of the island and a discussion of the troubled past between the First Peoples and the European settlers.

The boat owners of Mystic lent us their car for the weekend so we could get off the island or just check out the goings on in the different towns. Off we went to visit a couple of 90-year-old hardware stores and see more of the island. We also drove across the one-way Little Current swing bridge, the only access by car to the island. It was originally built for the railroad and is still only has one lane. It swings opens every hour to let the boaters traveling between Little Current on the North Channel to the islands of Georgian Bay. Our tug friends (Dale and Kathy) from Albin & Co joined us today.

So ends week5. We hope to be able to leave early this coming week and maybe catch up with our friends before they enter Collins Inlet East of Killarney at the beginning of Georgian Bay.


Our new home


Roy's beautiful view


One heck of a hardware store


The only way onto or off of Manitoulin Island


If you have to get stuck somewhere Little Current is not a bad place

Disappointed

The storm passes with a sudden lull, and then a new wind trickles in. Off in the distance there is a rich amber sunset with the coastal pine forest silhouetted by the remnants of wispy clouds. And the temperature has moderated. I hear all sorts of weird birds calling across the channel now that the wind is hush.

A perfect night for a walk but there is a small problem, mosquitoes. They have but a few weeks in the North (N 45˚59.16/W 81˚55.71) to suck blood, and they are not about to lose any time. I may be anthropomorphizing but come on you know I am right.

They are looking for warm mammals and I fit the bill. In fact I am the perfect thin-skinned dupe. That is unless I am covered with DEET. If there was ever a trade off between some perceived threat and immediate gratification this is it. Who would not give a year of life in return for not being eaten alive?

So I am disappointed that I cannot be outside on this perfect night. I am disappointed that after years of planning three misfiring injectors derail our cruise. And I am disappointed that the parts are in Halifax and not in the back of the mechanics truck. That’s life you say but I feel like grieving.

I think some grief might come in handy. Maybe then I can stop grinding my teeth. There are worse things than being stranded in your yacht. It is not hard to think of them. In fact that is what I am doing right at this moment. I will let you come up with your own examples.

I thought writing this would make me feel better. It has not. The fact that I am wallowing is probably making things worse. So I will change the topic, to what I am not sure. I like feeling miserable about this turn of events. It seems to be the correct response. And I have not even started to think about the cash outlay. That will further tug on the emotions.

There is one cause for joy: the barometer is rising. Quite a bit actually and this portends multiple days of fine weather; multiple days that I will not be able to take advantage of. See, more reasons for misery. I need a good cry but I am not schooled in the technique. It has happened in the past but only during life altering events. This is hardly that. I think it may help. I will try to tear again in the morning before I have my cup of coffee, maybe that will trigger it.

Now I can see the moon through the rigging of a nearby sailboat. During the windstorm that same sailboat’s halyard was banging against its mast. I will never understand why certain sailors do not tie their lines off. It is simple enough. I wanted to silence it, but it is not my boat. A passing neighbor asks if the noise is bothering me. When I respond in the affirmative she says, “Go tie it off, no one will care.” And so I do and am back in my chair in thirty seconds.

This is the one definitive thing I do all day, other than planning my escape west out of these islands. That is if the parts arrive from Halifax and the mechanic drives up the entire east coast of Georgian Bay to install them. He seems a nice enough guy. I have the manual, so I am confident if he sent me them I could save him the trip. But I will keep this to my miserable self, after all it is the least I deserve.

Before, During and After

Looking out the entrance of Long Point Cove


Sir Tugly Blue in the morning haze at Long Point Cove


A nice bit of rock in Long Point Cove


A narrow spot in the road called Little Detroit


Dolly beautifully lying at Hotham Island


Rescued from the Benjamin Islands by ...


... Pat in Beachcomber from Boyle Marine.


Our present location.


We're trying, we're trying!!!

Injectors

Good news: not major engine damage. It appears to be injectors.

Bad news: they have to come from Halifax, so we are here until at least Tuesday.

Two weeks in Little Current ... who would have thought.

The picture is of the crews of Jenny Jo, O B Quiet, Sir Tugly Blue, Dolly and Carrie Rose.

The gentleman in the pink shirt is Roy who host the Little Current Cruiser Net that helps all of us keep in touch. Charlotte and I (more Charlotte) has been helping him in the AM pick up the boats that call in via channel 71 on VHF radio from all over the North Channel. It is much more challenging then either of us thought ...

2/3

Odds are I will make it to ninety. My father died at eighty of an oddball disease that I am betting I will not contract and my mother made to 94 in good health except for three years of senility. So, this leads me to believe that I am in the mist of a 2/3rd life crisis. My mid-life crisis came a little early but this one is right on schedule.

This is when folks my age start dreaming about RV’s. In our late teens most of us had wanderlust and it appears to have only been in remission for 40 years. Of course most of us do not want to relive sleeping in tents and getting eaten by mosquitoes. After years of work we deserve some creature comforts. This leads a few to purchase opulent vehicles for their return to nature but that is not I.

I am comfortable within 32’ of fiberglass in most places except out on the lake in poor conditions. There is heat, a functional kitchen, a nice bathroom and even a tolerable shower if need be. My venue is wood lined and has a folksy charm about it. I even have another equally as charming boat hanging off the back. In boating parlance I do not have 2-footitist.

Mid life was about achieving. At that stage I wondered where I was going with my life. Would my goals/dreams ever materialize? In my case I did not see it happening, so I (with the support of my wife) changed course. It lead me on a decade long voyage that turned out to be one of the great adventures of my life; one that I am still trying to unravel. I suppose psychotherapy might help quicken the process but I have never been one for doctors.

I knew something was up when I started to let my magazine subscriptions lapse. I have always loved magazines. They are the perfect venue for planning a dream. In most cases they are practical, at least the ones I get. One day I noticed that I had read the articles before. Not the exact ones but close enough. I had come full circle and probably knew as much as the writer. The difference between them and me was that they had figured out how to do “it”.

It could be anything. In my case it is going on an extended cruise in my 32-footer. For some it is running a marathon or driving to Alaska or writing a novel or, or, or. Two thirds (if your lucky) of your life is gone. Your skin is getting spots. You need glasses and a light to read a menu. A podiatrist is needed to carve growths off your feet and let’s not even talk about the urologist. It has become painfully obvious that you do not have forever anymore. Your biological time on earth is coming to a close.

But I will lighten up. If you are healthy and not in a drug or alcohol stupor it is a wonderful time to meet fellow 2/3rders. Nobody is out to prove anything. If schedules do not work out, well then we will see you next year. Past professions matter less than present ability and resourcefulness. Tolerance and flexibility are coveted traits. Though there are cliques, they are not malicious. They are based on destinations or on your ride.

What I mean to say is that most of the things we concern ourselves with in the work-a-day world, 2/3rders just don’t give a hoot about. I hope the wanderlust never fades until I reach 3/3rd and at that point who cares!

Picturama

Before it warmed up in Thessalon. First stop in Canada!


Took a sharp right into our first anchorage, Long Point Cove.


Circumnavigating Beardrop Harbour with the crews from Dolly and Sir Tugley Blue


Charlotte at Beardrop Harbour


Berrypicker Rock in Whalesback Channel


Fun while awaiting the mechanic ...


Ya think they would know better!

Broken

Well, can't seem to catch a break. Major engine problem. We are safe and in Little Current, ON.

May need to truck her back if cannot find mechanic.

Here for the duration ... more later.


Okay it is later. The mechanic is coming but not for a week, so we are settling in.

Little Current is quite a nice town.

Tomorrow I will inflate the bike's tires and we will go exploring.

To celebrate our predicament we both got hair cuts today.

Next boat will have two Honda outboards!

Crossing

I am sure there is a gospel song called “Crossing to the Other Side” but that is not what I am about here. I am about crossing Lake Michigan from west to east. It is always a judgment call when to leave and I usually get a case of irritable bowel syndrome before setting off. It shows I take the venture serious.

The best times in the past have been the morning after one of our hell raising storms. The world, or at least the atmosphere, calms down for about three days; its energy spent. Then the cycle begins over again.

At times like this the lake is flat and oily. Not much good for sailors but just right for Carrie Rose to glide along soaking up the miles at 8 knots. And there are a lot of miles to soak up on Lake Michigan. The shortest crossing is about 45 miles, the longest 100 plus. I wonder how many Chicagoans have crossed the lake in small boats. It must be thousands. We should have a club like the circumnavigators do, but this is a topic for another day.

Once I get there, mid lake is an interesting place, or maybe phenomenon is a better word. It has a crystalline quality as if the air has had all contaminates scrubbed out. It is sweet and it glows.

As with most things there are rituals involved with casting off. If I am not coming back for a while I take the bridle off my mooring. Otherwise, by the time I get back it will be covered with green slime, ugh! I make a note of the time and the engine’s hours. The GPS’s are warmed up with the appropriate waypoints entered. Carrie Rose passes her neighboring sailboats and heads out between the green and red towers at the harbor mouth. Once clear I increase the RPM’s to 1700 and off I go, trailing Chicago’s skyline.

It takes a long time to lose sight of its cliff face of buildings but after a cursory look, I look forward. Depending on the time of day I negotiate through a gaggle of sailboats and then pass the defunct Wilson Ave. water intake crib with its contingent of cormorants patrolling the surface of the lake for tasty morsels.

In deeper water, some 5 to 10 miles out I catch up (pardon the pun) with the fishing fleet. When I first started cruising I would try to avoid them. Altering my course while still distant but somehow I always ended up right in their path or in the path of their multiple propeller seizing fishing lines trailing off the stern. Now I know better. I keep steaming along, knowing that most times their cryptic trolling pattern will move them out of my way by the time I reach their first noted position.

Then it is wind/water/sky in differing doses depending on the day. As you can imagine it is never the same twice. I settle in and monitor the horizon, the radar, and engine temperature and oil pressure gauges. I listen to every tappet’s clicking, monitoring for any change in tone that may portend disaster.

I have neglected to mention a device that I have invested countless hours and treasure in, the autopilot. It is a Simrad AP24. I only say this so those interested can look it up and marvel. Once free and clear of most obstructions I turn it on and sit back. The autopilot keeps me on course with a minimum of effort; this is an illusion. I know this because steering a boat on a single heading requires much anticipation, skill and in challenging weather a tremendous amount of concentration.

On this day the winds were diminished but still from the north, as they have been for weeks. So, of course I knew it would be a rollicking ride across a beam sea and I was not disappointed. Carrie Rose is a wonderful boat but has a wicked roll. There is nothing gentle about it. She gets up on one side and quickly snapped to the other. At times like this I wish for a seat belt. The ride just got worse from mid lake until I entered the St. Joseph-Benton Harbor breakwater.

It is disconcerting to be wallowing in the open lake and then abruptly change to the flat water of the harbor channel: to go from open water navigation to close quarters maneuvering. To complicate things further — though less now that I have experience to draw upon — I am often somewhere new. I change from tensing every muscle to stay in my seat, to tensing every sense to get into my assigned slip.

Sound like fun? Well, not always but more often than not, and in the depths of February these are great memories to relive. Maybe I will write that song and get Kris Kristofferson to sing it!

Cruising Log Week 3

Anchored in our first quiet cove, Government Bay, after traveling in a shallow channel following the red and green buoys. We were in the “Snow’s” Islands. Whose ever heard of these places? The bay was very quiet but not so on our next expedition from there to Whitney Bay. We plowed straight into 4-foot rollers for three hour with water pouring through the front window of the pilothouse. It is now secured (I hope) with Gorilla Duct tape. The riotous trip was worth it we realized as we tucked into a tiny peaceful cove.
Then cocktails with our traveling companions to relax, share stories and plan the next day’s cruise. Tuesday’s forecast was for rain and thunderstorms, so we got up early and crossed the North Channel to Thessalon, Ontario before it hit the fan. Thessalon was where we placed the dreaded phone call to Canadian Customs to let them know we will be staying for 6 weeks. No big deal it turned out. We did the laundry, shopped for groceries, visited the hardware store, and sat in front of the library and fed on their wi-fi.
Wednesday was a 50 mile trip from Thessalon to Long Point Cove with a following sea that built all day despite the forecast. We surfed into a mass of rocks and islands; made a hard right through an opening I had not even seen and dropped the hook. We spent two days nestled in amongst granite cliffs. Next was BearDrop Harbor where we followed the leader Bill and circumnavigated the island in our dinghies and climbed a hill for a view of the Whaleback Channel.
Saturday’s forecast was for strong west winds, so we moved to Hotham Island’s West harbor where we are comfortably sitting at present. The trip over to here was hazy and calm. We passed through Little Detroit, which is about a wide as an alley. Even less with the obligatory fishing boat trolling in the narrowest passage in the North Channel! Hotham Island marked Charlotte’s first dropping of the anchor. Just another thing to celebrate on Week 3.