Lake Superior Trip September 2008—Part 1
We are reviving the blog! We took off again—just for 16 days this time—and of course I can’t help but write about it. So for all of you who have missed following our days...here we go again! Much of the following is copied from the daily log/journal.
Sept. 5
All week Cedar had been at her first week in school, and Lamar and I had been packing, preparing, shopping. All the food was ready and packed away, most of the bedding and sheets and toys and books and art supplies and...so all that remained was to empty our frig, clean the house, and move aboard. Mark arrived home from work a solid 20 minutes early, amazing! We ate supper in a frenzy of excitement and then filled up the jeep one more time. We arrived to find that “Amicus,” our 34-ft. steel ketch that was our home for 14 months over a year ago, was decorated with a sign: “Bon Voyage!”, decorations and treats! We are constantly reminded that we are not alone but are loved and well-wished by many. Thank you in advance for your thoughts and prayers.
We moved everything on board, put the kids to bed, and unpacked. Once again an unbelievable amount of stuff disappeared into all the lockers. Somehow the kids fell asleep in the midst of all this, euphoric smiles on their faces. There is nothing they love more than going to sleep listening to us shuffling around just feet away, smelling the oil lamp smoke, feeling the gentle rocking and listening to the slaps on the water.
Sept. 6—We’re off!
9:00 we departed Knife River. The girls enthusiastically “fended off” and then screamed at the top of their lungs, “Good-bye, Knife River!!” til we were way out. It was overcast with no wind. With the engine running full blast we made tracks north in a gentle NE swell.
We were LOADED with food. Our CSA crate of vegetables and apples arrived within hours of leaving the house. I kept everything we could possibly consume in a short time and gave the rest to the Schuberts. Then we got MORE fruit from Doug and Lorri. With water and gas tanks full, Amicus listed to starboard. Time to eat some of this food! I made new rules which delighted the girls: everyone must eat at least 2 pieces of fruit before they eat anything else—at least until the tomatoes, pears, and peaches are gone.
“Things are so easy! The change is dramatic. The girls are completely self-entertaining or eager to help. I hardly know what to do with myself all day. Plus, I feel like I’m finally starting to accept the weather for what it is rather than fretting away the day. We are on our trip, whatever the weather. That’s all that matters.”
Cedar pulled out some “homework” her kindergarten teacher gave her for the trip. It looked like the stuff Lamar was doing last winter for fun. Hmmmm....we keep wondering if kindergarten is going to sustain Cedar. So far (3 days into it) she loves it.
In the afternoon we stopped at Silver Bay for diesel. At 7:00 we arrived at Taconite harbor. Nothing there except a breakwall and moorings. It was quiet and peaceful—perfect for our decompressing spirits. Just happy to be together.
Sept. 7
We got underway at 7:30 Partly cloudy, unsettled, calm. By 1:20 we were in Grand Marais. The last 10 miles we sailed wing-and-wing (mainsail and jib on opposite sides) with the whisker pole. Mark has rigged it up ingeniously with a caribeaner so he doesn’t have to flail out on the bow as much. He still has to balance the pole on a wildly pitching bow however. It is a set-up that is difficult to take down, so it makes me a little nervous, but we ran like the wind with it. Good thing too, because we came in during a big rainshower with thunderstorms on the way.
Before coming in we called my sister Lamar (the first and last call made on this trip) to check the radar on her computer to see if the predicted thunderstorms were REALLY big ones or just little bitty ones. While on the phone she told me that Margie Echols had just gone to the other world. Margie is a passionate homeopath who, long ago, took care of my siblings and I when we were little. I knew Margie’s days were numbered as she has struggled mightily with liver cancer for years. Still, this was quite the news for me. I have thought a lot about it on this trip and enjoyed a couple of healing weeps. When Cedar and Lamar were babies I called Margie frequently, including in the middle of the night. She had such an instinct for what the right remedy might be, and an urgency about spreading the amazing benefits of homeopathy. She bought me several books that I had with me, just because she could not bear for me to be without them. It is because of her that I got serious about homeopathy, and it is because of her that Mark became a believer too. And judging from the hundreds of entries on the caringbridge blog that her family set up for her in the last months, we are not alone. She would never take any credit for finding us the right remedy; she always said it was the Lord who was healing us. I called her right up until last winter, when she finally started to let on about how ill she was. During our trip to the Bahamas I felt her presence often as I pored over books and tried remedies. She really gave us the gift of health, and what greater gift is there than that? And how...poignant, touching, that one who has done so much for health, had such a miserable fight inside her own body. Everyone has spoken of relief that her body has finally released her.
Anyway, we arrived in Grand Marais in our full foul-weather gear, feeling like the hardened sailors that we were, even though we’d only sailed the last 10 miles! The weather remained dramatic all afternoon: sunny, breezy, stormy. Unfortunately the anchorage was bouncy and by dinnertime I was in one of those grouchy moods that comes from trying to cook dinner while fighting the wheezy seasick dull-head. We ate outside and I tried to regain perspective. Our plan was to leave in the night as soon as the storms passed through and the wind turned to the NW. Cedar put up a huge stink about sleeping on the settees, as is our overnight policy. The motion isn’t as bad on the settees, and they have the lee cloths to hold them in, plus we can keep an eye on them. But since we hadn’t actually left yet, she felt entitled to sleep in her beloved v-berth and get moved down once we left.
Sept. 8—To Isle Royale
As it turned out, she was wide awake when we left at midnight and we might as well have done it her way. We didn’t even turn on the motor but just let out the jib and pulled up the anchor. Cedar called out, extremely awake and cheerful, “How’re things going out there daddy? Got everything battened down?” We got out and set the sails, only to find that the wind was directly behind us, and not very strong either. If the wind is behind like that, it needs to be stronger to really get us moving. We crept slowly forward. It was very chilly and damp, and still rolly. I hadn’t fully recovered from the bouncy anchorage, or slept. So I had a difficult night. After an hour or so the slight breeze got slighter and Mark turned on the motor. I lay down in the v-berth but could not sleep and could not fully warm up. If I could just sleep on these overnights, things would be so much easier! Preparing mentally for an overnight is the opposite of preparing for sleep, so it’s no wonder. Get yourself all geared up to deal with anything, then relax to the point where you can’t deal with anything. Mark just stayed wide awake and did much better. Sometime around dawn the motor went off and the sails went up; I got up to see what was up. The wind had finally turned to the NW. I was worried about what to do once the kids got up. I was fully occupied trying to take care of myself, not throw up, eat something, warm up, and I was sure Mark would be fried after an entire night up without help. How could we do it?
I needn’t have worried. The kids woke up in fine moods but willing to stay lying down, which was good because the wind and waves were picking up quickly and it was not easy to move around. And Mark was cheerful and good to go. So I got to sit out in the cockpit, monitoring the wind vane and clearing the cobwebs in my head while Mark read stories, fed crackers to the girls, and even made me the one food I knew I could keep down—scrambled eggs. So I watched the sun rise and enjoyed myself until the wind picked up and I started to see that some sail changes were needed. Then Mark and I switched places. We were back in our foulies and our harnesses, which make us feel ready for anything. I got the girls to peek out the hatch when we passed Rock of Ages lighthouse. Cedar enjoyed herself immensely and stayed out until we were in. Lamar declared herself done after a few minutes and was content (thought lonely) lying on her settee, safely held in place with the lee cloth. The wind was now 20+ knots and creeping forward of the beam. Very gusty. The waves were all over the place and big. It was rockus, but Mark and Amicus were feeling good and we came flying into Isle Royale, just 52 hours after leaving Knife River. Wow!
We staggered onto the dock, exhausted and euphoric. It was strikingly gorgeous, crisp and cold. Pretty soon the girls were galloping and skipping and back to their game of “husband.” We ate breakfast (also lunch) and then crashed for naps—all but Cedar, who quietly knitted.
What a breakthrough for me! All my dread was for naught. So far on the trip I’d been the only seasick one. If all I have to do is take care of myself when I’m seasick, my worries are over! What a luxury to be able to say, “I’ve got to go outside.”
Our comfort level has definitely expanded. Seems like we are picking up right where we left off—or even ahead of where we left off a year ago. So far we’ve sailed through rainstorms and 30 knots/5 foot seas, without fear or trauma. Not sure exactly how or when this happened, but we’ll take it. Mark has incredible capacities as a sailor/father. To be up essentially all night, then happily tell stories to his girls in a rocking cabin, then sail through the gale-like conditions to safety. He’s always looking for ways to improve the situation—another rope here, reef, un-reef, reset the mizzen, adjust the wind vane, new sail up, new sail down. This morning I managed to shake out the mizzen reef, reset the mizzen and adjust the wind vane, on my own. Which I’m proud of, but it’s about my maximum. It is humbling to watch all Mark does with such ease. Reefing the main when the corner of the sail is almost underwater is high on the list.
He looks the part too. Once recently a couple of guys were on the dock trying to help us come in. They watched this wet boat bounce towards shore with two little girls peeking out the hatch, and the crusty salty dad with a wool cap and a day’s worth of stubble leans out over the bowsprit and tosses them a line. They fumbled the line, but right before it drops into the water, the end of it curls around the cleat on its own. They laughed and commented to each other, “he planned it that way,” almost as if they believed it. Looking at Mark, I could almost believe it too. Sometimes when he needs me to do a basic thing, like tie a clove hitch at the bow, and I simply can’t remember how, he takes the extra seconds to lean over, whip the ropes into position, and hand it back to me all ready to slide onto the proper knob. All without a hint of impatience or incredulity that he married someone who can’t do a clove hitch. What a guy.
We spent the morning at the dock. Mark and I wanted to hike but the girls were adamant about having their “wedding” which took most of the morning. So I went for a lone hike—bliss!—and cleared the cobwebs out of my head. After lunch we hiked 1 ½ miles to a lovely overlook with a great view of the interior. We picked enough late raspberries and blueberries to make a pie! Valerie, the ranger at the dock, said they’ve had three days of summer this year: Sept 1, 2, and 3. So the berries are just coming in now.
At dusk Valerie showed up again with her partner Steve, whom we’d invited for pie. Very fun. They are friends and colleagues with our good friend Ann, who was a backcountry ranger here 10 years ago, before moving on to other duties within the park. We slept like rocks—12 hours or more.
Sept. 10—to McCargo Cove
We departed Windigo by 8:45. It was a calm and crisp morning. The winds were 15 knots and gusty out of the SSW, which means coming right off the shore. No waves! We slowly motored over the shipwreck “America” and then put up the sails. Cedar spent all morning writing her letters in the cockpit with dad. Both were content. Lamar was uncharacteristically fussy until the two of us ate about two bowls of beans and rice, and felt much better. I think we were both hungry. We sailed on a broad reach and reached McCargo cove by early afternoon. It was, as Mark termed it, a “sparkling sail.” Coming into the dock was tricky with the strong winds, but Mark hopped out on the corner and handily swung us around.
One thing we’re learning about Isle Royale is that it’s actually quite a social place. All the campsites are in groups, and the campers all like to chat with one another. Obviously, to come here at all you’ve got to love the remote and the solitary, but that only goes so far. At McCargo cove we chatted with lots of different hikers who came down to get water or see our boat.
In the afternoon we went for a hike, looking for an inland lake to dip in. The lake turned out to be two miles away and surrounded by swamp. The girls hiked the whole way, buoyed forward by a game of predator/prey, with lots of dashing, hiding, surprising, and roaring. They are tooooo tirrrrred to walk, but dashing and jumping, now that’s easy!
When we returned to Amicus the wind had totally died and it was overcast. We had tamale pie for dinner (15 minutes prep) (When preparing for this trip I could not remember what we ate on the boat. I’m trying to get better about recording it for future reference.) Then Mark did the dishes in the woods (National Park regulations) while Lamar and Cedar “fished” off the dock with sticks and some rope. One guy near us actually caught a 14-inch pike—and tossed it away! If I’d known, I would have told him we would eat it. We are out of fresh meat. We did manage to eat all the pears and peaches before they got soft. We are down to the sturdier vegetables and fruits; mostly carrots, cabbage, celery, potatoes, onions, and apples. When we first arrived at Isle Royale the supply store was closing for the season so we got a big bag of ice for free. That has kept our soymilk, cheese, and leftovers cold for a few extra days. But even that is almost done.
We went into the woods and Mark poured a bucket of water over my head so I could wash my hair. The girls were in bed by 7:30, and bread was in the oven. It was a warm night—mosquitos were out for the first time.
Sept. 11
We learned on CBC radio today that 75,000 Iraqis have died in the Iraq war.
We woke up to drizzle, completely closed in. It stopped raining for a time after breakfast and the girls “fished” some more while I scrubbed the cockpit with a brush and a bucket and Mark did the dishes in the woods. Then we hiked up to the Minong Mine. Pretty cool cave and a strange illusion in the shaft. It looked deep until Mark threw a rock down and we realized it was full of water; we were seeing the reflection.
By then it was raining in earnest. The trek home was a wet slippery ride. Lamar was on my shoulders but Cedar hiked slowly back with Mark, chatting the whole time. Lunch: tomato soup and tuna melts.
Quiet time after lunch began normally enough but deteriorated quickly as Lamar didn’t sleep but came bounding out of the v-berth. Mark and I slipped into our on/off routine, an unspoken agreement whereby one parent takes over the supervision and the other is free to disappear, mentally or physically. First I got in a cozy nap in the v-berth while everyone did puzzles. I was woken by a loud argument about who gets to be the librarian and who has to be the helper. I took over and Mark napped in the v-berth until he was woken by the exact same argument, with the added touch of my quickly eroding patience in the mix. We managed to re-energize with a lengthy art project, then a quick trip outside to say hello to the ranger, then back inside to knit/chat/read (Cedar) and cook (Lamar and I). We made skillet upside-down-cake, black bean soup, and fried rice. We eat much more fancy when it’s raining. I even got a quick solo hike in the rain in the late afternoon.
Before supper, things deteriorated again. The howls of protest over dinner put me in a touchy mood. We ineffectually threatened to take away the cake for dessert...then wasted no time getting the girls into bed, early though it was. As I sang them to sleep Mark chose this moment to pull out the drill to put together the spatula that had fallen apart at supper. Lamar fell asleep almost instantly, though the singing could hardly be heard over the drill. Mark commented that not many boats are so self-sufficient that we can fix our own spatula on board! He added that we’d better hope nothing else goes wrong, seeing as he’d used up the drill battery. Comic relief, and we needed it. We made it through the day! Tomorrow it’s supposed to clear.
Sept. 12—to Passage Island
After a quick dip in the lake, we departed at 10:15 a.m. and sailed in WSW winds 10 knots, wing-and-wing once again. We even went inside the Amygdaloid channel, gliding along silently with the wind behind us. Enchanting. Back out on the lake, the waves picked up to 2-3 feet and we kept going. Passage Island, the tiny piece of land off the farthest tip of Isle Royale, has always beckoned us, but always felt out of reach. We could hardly believe it when gentle winds propelled us all the way there. By midafternoon we went past the lighthouse and Mark took down the whisker pole. We sailed close to shore and came into the tiny channel that leads to a virtual lagoon inside the island. Because it was off-season we stayed right at the dock. We could hardly believe we were there!—and completely alone. The afternoon hike to the lighthouse turned out to be a spectacular climb up 200 feet to a breathtaking view in all directions. A mystifying natural bowl/chute thing leading down to the water intrigued us. We lay on our stomachs and watched the sparkling waves roll up the chute, occasionally sending us, screaming, up to dry ground. The only hitch in the afternoon was that the breathtaking view inspired family photo attempts which quickly soured as Cedar’s camera stopped working. When Cedar is horribly disappointed, no one walks away unscathed. Pretty soon we were all grouchy and moved on.
The hike back was better; Cedar managed to not stop TOO often for blueberries, and Mark and I managed to check our impatience when she did, and Lamar went mostly on my shoulders. The steep slippery cliffy part she insisted on walking herself, hands in pockets. My advice about having hands ready to catch oneself fell on deaf ears; she wasn’t going to let me be right about that one. So I had to look away and shut my mouth.
Tuna wiggle for supper to cap it all off. No food complaints. Our new system is that any pre,during, or post eating food complaints means no dessert. Even if the dessert is only fruit, or a dried apricot, it works wonders.
We wandered around a little after dinner and Cedar got that look in her eye. “I think I want to go for a dip,” she surmised. Soon she and Lammie were both buck naked and gigglingly sliding into water so cold it made us shiver in our full-body fleece. Mark found a long stick they could hold onto when they went under so that they could come out before fainting from the shock. Cedar said the water was “almost like bath water.” Mark snorted.
Mark and I both feel pretty peak-experience-ish today, like a longterm goal has been met with grace and confidence. Now that we’ve done Passage Island, what next? Tomorrow we start heading back west. Sigh....
Sept. 13—to Canada
We woke to calm seas, but a forecast predicting SW winds by afternoon and a gale tomorrow. We considered our options while the girls got hungry for breakfast. Cedar was fixated on getting to Canada (mostly due to all my pep talk) and kept interrupting to make helpful comments like, “Just tie up to a dock! We HAVE to get to Canada.” We eventually decided to head out immediately, as planned, and see if we could get to Silver Islet before the SW winds hit us on the nose. We left with breakfast uneaten and Lamar sobbing because her pencil-knitting-needles were all knotted together. Deaf to her cries, I took care getting around the shoals at the entrance while Mark peered out from the bowsprit. As soon as we were out in the open we sped as quickly as we could away from Passage Island. And we regained our family composure. Needs were attended to and stomachs were filled with oats. (Oats and farina is pretty much the breakfast fare around here, since Mark doesn’t like corn grits and we save the eggs for weekends and emergencies).
For awhile Cedar and I sat in the cockpit, knitting, “reading” and singing, while Mark and Lamar played “boat” in the cabin. It is Lamar’s favorite game, and usually Mark is the only one with the patience to play. They stick the fly swatter between the cushions, creating a virtual tiller. Then Mark goes to sleep while Lamar stays “on watch.” She awakens him with a shout, usually: “A WHALE!” or “A WAVE!” He leaps out of a deep sleep, reaches around groggily in complete panic, they douse the main, steer away, reef, flail about...you get the idea. Soon it calms down and then they start again.
What do the girls do all day? People ask. They do what all kids do. They play together, fight, make up, play some more, take some time on their own. They knit, “read” (turn pages, recite memorized lines or embellish known stories. Often Lamar is just one sentence behind Cedar, verbatim. I’m not sure how she does this since they are speaking at the same time at an ever-increasing volume), draw, listen to music. Oh yeah, and they beg for stories, and eat.
Soon the fog rolled in and Mark turned on the radar. Still no wind. We reached Silver Islet by noon, and within a couple of minutes who should show up but friends from Two Harbors! Tracy, Claire, and Keith, who were spending a weekend up at the Sleeping Giant, had known we might be in the vicinity. By happy coincidence they found us. Claire (5) immediately joined in the fun of racing through the cabin and hatches, while we four grown-ups had tea in the cockpit. Unfortunately it was a short visit because we were anxious to get on to Tee Harbor to see if we could get a mooring there to weather the gale. By mid-afternoon we were motoring over there, despite the disconcerting fact that the winds were NE not NW and the waves were rolling right into the anchorage. We were further discouraged by the fact that the moorings had been dropped for the winter already. They were there, but five feet underwater, held in place by white jugs. We putted slowly around until we found one, then the circus began. I steered as close and slow as I could, given the wind and waves, and Mark did near somersaults reaching down with a boathook to grab the white jug below. The girls held on to his legs. Miraculously, he did manage to hook the jug several times, but each time it would fall off, usually because Amicus was rolling over it or away from it. Finally he got a climbing rope ready and then whipped the ropes together, but could not get the chain all the way out of the water. Without the chain, the mooring was worthless. Finally we gave up and discussed again. Mark could see the writing on the wall but the girls and I, always reluctant to turn around, hemmed and hawed. We could anchor, but it was not the best holding, the wind would change direction in the middle of the night, and until it did change we were in for a rolly ride. We headed back to Silver Islet.
Silver Islet was no picnic either; the NE wind brought a gentle, almost invisible swell into the old dock that had Amicus bouncing and creaking up a storm. We’d been there three years before in similar conditions so there was some de ja vu going on.
Sept. 14—Silver Islet
We stayed put there for two nights while the wind blew itself out of the NE. Good thing we moved, because it didn’t go NW for over 24 hours. In the morning we were all grumpy again and it was hard to get the girls to leave the cabin. We watched scuba divers take off beside us, baked, and finally got up the energy to put on all our wind gear and brave the elements. As soon as we walked inland a bit, conditions improved. The town of Silver Islet is kind of fun—it was the richest silver mine in the world for about 10 years. That is all the distant past now, but the whole town is off the grid and the houses line up against the cliff looking like they’re going to topple any moment. There is one general store with a little pie/soup restaurant. We walked back to the Community Center where they had a generator going and were showing a kid movie. After the movie we hiked a mile to the “Sea Lion,” a hole-in-the-wall rock formation. The skies were starting to clear and the wind was lessening its grip. By suppertime we were back and things were looking up again. Nut burgers and rice with carrots/cabbage for supper. I went for a walk in the evening to watch the full moon rise and collect myself. It wasn’t the easiest day for anyone. All night we bounced, rocked, jerked, and creaked along the dock. At least, the girls slept fine.
And it is here that I will end Part 1. Once you start seriously heading back, the energy changes. Stay tuned for Part 2.
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