Sept. 15—to Little Trout Bay
We departed early, kids still sleeping, to try to beat the SW winds. I made a pot of hot beans at 9:30 to simmer all morning but we ate them all for a mid-morning snack! I think I am getting behind on the food.
Soon we had crossed Thunder Bay and were inside Thompson Island, in a protected channel. By noon we were back out in the open and the wind and waves were definitely SW. And with our 22 hp engine we do not motor into waves. We were losing speed quickly so we turned into Little Trout Bay. It was a very secluded bay with massive cliffs all around. We dinghyed to shore, found a trail, and promptly climbed to the top. What a view!!! Along with Passage Island, it was the best view of the trip, a panorama of jutting land masses, Isle Royale, the Sleeping Giant, Pie Island…Unfortunately our camera battery gave out before we could get another attempt at a family picture.
On the hike down Lamar regaled us with her antics. She is starting to have a way about her…an irresistible, sort of naughty sort of cute, set of tricks. This time she ran ahead then stopped abruptly, turned around and faced us with her arms outstretched, and shouted out that we could not pass unless…we were wearing purple. When it became apparent that we were all stuck, she relented with, “There are other options. You must all sing ‘Hallelujah, the Great Storm is Over’ “(Stan Rogers) Obediently we burst into song, Lamar absolutely glowing with glee and triumph watching us. She then lowered her arm, let us pass, then screamed, “Let me get IN FRONT!!!” pushed through us, and the whole thing began again.
Often it’s her choice of words that is so memorable. Once recently Mark asked her a question and she hollered, unable to keep the rapture out of her voice, “NEGATORY!!!”, then erupting into laugh-til-you-choke until we are all rolling around. Another time we were reading a story from the New Testament. A man asks Jesus, “What do I need to do to go to heaven?” I asked the girls what their answer would be to that. Lamar immediately answered, “I would say, ‘Die!’”
She is also adamant about keeping up with Cedar. She will go to lengths anyone would consider extreme. Now that Cedar is a competent dinghy rower, she takes her turn and lets no one give her the slightest bit of help, physical or verbal. I also believe that many of her dunking-in-ice-cold water swims and mast-climbing extravaganzas are motivated by the determination to Not Be Outdone. Sometimes she simply makes no bones about her priorities: “Does Cedar have a sweatshirt on? Then I want one too.” On the other hand, she is starting to come out with her own strong opinions and talents, even food tastes. She trumpets the fact that Cedar doesn’t like squash, one of her favorite foods.
Before dinner we went dinghying in pairs, just to give each girl unpressured time to go somewhere, spin around, test their muscles. Cedar and I went out first and she darn near rowed out of sight—though she did let me row back. I then made dinner while Lamar took the oars with Mark in tow. It made me wish we’d done more anchoring on this trip. The girls absolutely love the dinghy. Too bad there aren’t a whole lot of anchoring options in this part of the lake. Frittata and potatoes for supper. Our diet has been considerably compromised by mayonnaise and catsup. We eat it often, partly because of the plain fare, partly because I didn’t bring enough salt! Everything is starting to taste bland. Luckily I brought enough salsa for Mark.
Sept. 16—to Grand Portage, MN
After a restless night spent listening with one ear for the SW winds to drop, we left in the pre-dawn to try to beat the SW winds to Grand Portage, where we needed to check into the US before heading down to the Apostles. It was a rough awakening for the girls, because once we turned the corner the SW waves were 2-3 feet. The wind was under ten knots; nevertheless, the waves built as we inched painfully towards Pigeon Point. Both Mark and I dread relying on the engine like that. You know it’s not good that it is bouncing along, and could die at any moment. It has happened to us often enough that motoring is never a stress-free event. When you’re sailing there’s some rhyme and reason behind why things malfunction, and it usually happens a little more gradually. With the engine: boom, no warning, you’re heading for the rocks, and you have no idea why.
This situation wasn’t SO bad in that if we’d been unable to move forward, or run into problems, there were hidey-hold anchorages all along the way. But it wasn’t exactly a comfortable ride, even if we weren’t courting instant death. Within minutes we were all cuddled up in the cockpit together with fleece and windgear, no talk of breakfast. I sang every song I could think of and tried to keep the cracking out of my voice when an especially big wave put our bow underwater and we were stopped cold. Mark kept us slightly off the waves until the very last moment, then motored straight into them to get around the point. When we got to the Suzi islands we were protected for a little bit. We seized the moment and dived below, went potty, ate crackers, re-grouped. We had one more big point to go around, so soon we were back out in the cockpit, but feeling a little more collected about it. This point was the worst of all—we inched forward, if at all, with 6 foot waves stopping us more often than not—but short-lived, and soon we were around and the end was in sight. We came into the Grand Portage marina by 10:00, feeling as ragged as if we’d just completed an overnight. We ate eggs, read, and dozed the morning away. Mark called customs and as it turned out, we probably could have called from anywhere and avoided this whole crazy morning. Oh well. We then took showers—first of the trip!—while Mark changed the fuel filters. He said he was glad he didn’t know how dirty they were a few hours ago.
We spent the afternoon at the Grand Portage monument. We caught the last few days that the fort is opened, with all the costumed tour guides. We also visited the new Heritage Center, though in the end the girls most enjoyed the Native American huts and begged to play in them for an hour afterwards. They don’t appreciate relics behind glass cases nearly as much as they love sitting at a plain old fire pit harvesting their crop (grass) a few feet away.
After that we moved our boat to the diesel dock and then went out to dinner! Just to the casino restaurant 100 yards away, but we were all tickled to have a variation on the beans and rice. The girls are getting old enough to have their “best manners,” which made the whole thing very fun even though we got no fancier than hamburgers, fries, and mac and cheese.
We had hoped to head out overnight, but the winds were not shifting as promised. They did go NW, finally, but we had no desire to face the SW swells that were still pounding, especially if the N winds weren’t going to be very strong, which is often the case. So we slept, one ear cocked again.
Sept. 17—to Sand Island, WI
Up at dawn again, streamers all around the cabin because it was Lamar’s 4th birthday! She shot out of bed and ran screaming up and down, making me wonder if we’d already gone over the edge, too much hype for a 4-yr-old. She ate breakfast and then said, “Mama, what do I DO?” Since boredom has never been an issue in her life thus far, I assume she was expecting that every minute of her birthday was going to be special, and she went into full meltdown just trying to uphold that expectation.
Meanwhile, we headed out. What a mind game sailing is! What an opportunity to practice mindfulness! The situation is what it is; yet our feelings swirl and whirl about it just as if it was a human waiting to trick, mock, or beguile us. This morning was an example. First, we wake up. The NW wind has not died, indicating that we might actually have been able to sail last night. Feeling: letdown, regret. As we take off the wind looks perfect. Feeling: excitement, anticipation. We get out there, and within minutes the wind dies. Was it just an onshore wind? Who knows. Feeling: frustration, disappointment. We turn on the motor and start motoring. We get no wind. We check the radio; everywhere there is wind but where we are. Feeling: anger, resignation. Then the wind does pick up, but from the SW. On the nose. Feeling: relief that it isn’t worse, and that we are moving forward at all. SW winds pick up. Feeling: anxiety. This is all in about two hours. Oh, to have the grounded presence to just let the weather do what it will, perpetually in awareness that it is something that we do not control.
Overall, we didn’t get much wind at all, and the swells were quickly reduced to nothing. We decided to go all the way to the Apostles and celebrate Lamar’s birthday en route, knowing we’d never get there before bedtime. We baked a chocolate cake and turned off the motor for the birthday party at lunch. We forgot candles but Mark made birch bark ones which have now become the standard. Cedar was rather overpowering in her attention; we tried to get her to sit on her hands. Nothing worked. Lamar didn’t seem to mind Cedar’s involvement: “Oh here’s your first present. No, open this one first. Here, let me show you how…just do the tape like this, let me do it…oh my, look what that is! Do you know I gave you those sunglasses Lammie? Here, do you want to try them on? Let me quick try them on first….” Lamar has way more patience with me; when I can’t zip my mouth shut Cedar and I end up in a verbal tussle for control while Lamar quietly continues her business. Who gets to orchestrate the Gordon family events, anyway?
The most exciting gift was an African drum, wood and leather. Lamar has been drumming on oatmeal containers all year and we figured it was time she had the real thing. She could tell right off that this was THE present, and much to our gratification kept it by her side all day. During quiet time she lay in the v-berth and drummed/hummed away! Best of all, she knows she now owns something that is coveted by the whole family, and she exercises her right to limit our access. No one is allowed to play it unless she says so, however our fingers are itching. It gives her great power, a delightful thing for the baby of the family.
Despite the birthday diversion, the afternoon went slowly. The girls got their harnesses on and explored the bowsprit, then climbed the mast. They danced and sang and wrestled and played endless rounds of “baby” and “husband.” When they had used up their internal resources we read, sang, did puzzles, and wrote letters. We also acquired a mascot. A little yellow finch had joined us and seemed unable to fly. It hopped around the cockpit and deck. We dropped it food, but it preferred live flies which it caught with quick moves and courageous leaps. We were very impressed and hoped it wouldn’t jump ship, which it didn’t, though it fluttered around the outside a few times. We dubbed it the flying fairy.
Lamar made her pizza dinner with me, step by step, including the dough and the cleanup once the pizza was in the oven. When it came out we ate up in the bow, away from the engine noise, and finished up the cake. Our flying fairy had no interest in the crumbs, but the flies did.
In the evening we put the kids to bed and continued on. It was a lovely night and a nearly-full moon rose. Without the noise of the engine, it would have been perfect. We began to talk about the trip, and how incredible it has been. It seems that many things are coming together for this particular trip to be so enjoyable. To be sure, the weather has been kind to us. We had zero major engine problems or gear failures. And the kids are growing up. It’s starting to feel like pay-back time, like all those horrendously miserable or fearful moments are actually paying off. Our kids are at home on the boat and love to sail. It was all worth it!
There’s more to it than that, though. There was nowhere on our entire trip last year that felt as beautiful, as pristine, as crisp, as isolated, as…”us” as Lake Superior. Even after all our travels, Lake Superior is our most treasured cruising grounds. We seem to be reaching farther, with less stress and trauma, than we have since before kids. We expected to have fun, of course. But always before there have been those times that you don’t like to think about: bobbing around on the water while Mark stares fruitlessly at a dead engine. Disagreeing endlessly and painfully on what the weather indicates that we should do. The churning stomach that is caused partly by the seasickness and partly out of fear. Being gripped with dread and unable to move to improve the situation. Throwing up helplessly on one another. Where are those moments?
Some of the change is internal, I’m sure of it. I have generally been able to fret less about all the should/could have beens, all that is not happening, and to simply enjoy what IS happening. And Mark seems to be worrying less about all the things that might happen, and just moves ahead as if things are going to be fine—which they always are. And if they aren’t, we deal with them. But at least we didn’t anticipate them, multiplying their power over us.
I dozed off on the settee for the last hour and Mark brought us into Sand Bay, where we set the anchor right outside the harbor. Our flying fairy left us in minutes. It was after 11:00.
Sept. 18—to Port Wing, WI
Everyone was crabby in the morning. We dinghyed to shore full of anticipation, but Lamar’s new ball and bat were abandoned when no one could agree on the best way to play. One thing about our kids: the world is their backyard. Which translates to: no self-consciousness about showing their worst sides to the entire world. It was ugly. We segued into swimming but even that didn’t work its normal magic.
Given the weather predictions for the next few days, we decided to head down to Port Wing in the afternoon and be in good shape to sail across to Knife River over the weekend. We left in the late morning. The wind was directly behind us, but after four miles we would be turning a corner, so Mark neglected to set up the whisker pole—a decision he came to regret as the wind dropped and we moved more and more slowly. Finally, finally we edged around the bend. For about 10 minutes we sailed beautifully on a beam reach. Then the wind started to swing forward of the beam. We tightened everything down. The wind shifted still more and we were stopped almost dead in the water. I fumed (once again, a slave to circumstance). I don’t care what the forecast says: in the southwest corner of this lake, the winds go UP or DOWN. SW or NE. Don’t anyone tell me the winds are going to be SE! We gave up and turned on the motor.
But there were more surprises in store for us. Soon we had to admit that the wind seemed to be coming from the west. Mark had barely turned off the motor and set the sails when I let them out, remarking, “Hard to believe, but the winds seem more NW, even north!” Within another 20 minutes they were NE, and this time Mark got smart and set up the whisker pole. Too bad there was no one out learning to sail; they would have got to practice every single sail combination. The winds had done a full 360.
Ramen and carrots for lunch; falafel, rice, cabbage for dinner. I am missing fresh foods! Cedar claims to even be sick of bread. Lamar slept for 3 hours in the afternoon.
We arrived at Port Wing at suppertime. Supper was mostly made. It was bouncy but I could stand there and hold the pan in place because Cedar steered us into the harbor! Mark took down the sails and I peeked out and watched. Cedar’s only failing was that she was so excited to be steering us in that her commentary took her full attention. But only once did I have to push the tiller a little. Within ½ hour after coming in the wind swung from NE to SW. Cedar noticed it within minutes: “It’s a warm wind again.” And there we were, ready to enjoy our last weekend on board with only one short crossing left to go. It was the warmest we’d felt the whole trip. I thought we’d packed shorts and t-shirts in vain, but they got pulled out which was good because we’d all been wearing the same clothes for almost two weeks. We’ll hardly have any laundry to do after this trip.
The only downer was the flies, always catching us here on the south shore.
Sept. 19—Port Wing, WI
We slept poorly once again, this time due to the creaking and rocking of the boat against a very rickety dock in 25+ knots of SW wind. The rigging moaned loudly enough to keep the girls awake; Cedar’s comment in the morning was, “It sure was cranking last night!” It blew all morning but was warm. The flies were everywhere. We played on the beach and I got in a much-enjoyed beach run and dip. Then we dinghyed into the creeks and marshes of Port Wing. We came to a bridge; Mark stood up to try to figure out what road we were rowing under. He couldn’t quite see so before we knew what was happening, he’d grabbed the bridge rails and climbed up out of the dinghy, just as we drifted underneath. “Come back and pick me up, Cedar!” he shouted, which of course she was delighted to do. Leaping into the rowing position, she promptly rowed us into the bushes while Mark climbed up onto the road and then down the other side. He demonstrated great trust by letting himself all the way down, then hanging in mid-air, while Cedar mustered the skills to row upstream right under him. She made it, and he dropped back in.
On the way back the girls convinced us to pull over (actually, they did the pulling over, since Lamar was rowing and Cedar was the self-appointed first-one-out) at a little sand spit. There they immediately disrobed and ran around in and out of the water while Mark chased them forwards and backwards. He did this in order to warm them up after what was surely a bone-chilling dunking. But then they ran back in the water to cover themselves with sand, wasting his efforts. Finally we hopped into the dinghy ourselves and announced our departure. They consented to come with—barely—and climbed all over daddy in order to warm themselves in the dinghy. I had thoughtfully offered to row so that he could keep them warm.
Pea soup had been simmering on the stove all morning for lunch, and it was all gone in about 10 minutes. Mark and Lamar took naps while Cedar and I dinghyed around some more. She practiced everything and even made me stay in the dinghy while she hopped out and pulled us up, several times in a row, at another sand spit. We are in a push-me-pull-you dynamic right now; she loves me but can’t agree with me on anything either—already~! “Here’s the painter, Cedar—“ “That’s not a painter mom.” I could not win so I finally just stopped talking. If only she could have been out on her own. We need a rescue kayak so that we can let them go out by themselves.
After naps we walked to the playground in town. The winds were finally dropping. I came back before the rest to make dinner and even had time for a quick solo dip. We feel the ticking clock with the dips and must do as many as possible! Fish cakes/mashed potatoes/carrots and yams for supper. Then one more trip to the beach to watch the sunset. Once again the girls were compelled to go swimming, no towels or anything. They didn’t care.
Sept. 20—to Knife River
Woke up to NE winds already a solid 15 knots and predicted to go to 25, with a small craft advisory coming. I was reluctant on several levels. We all know what a NE wind can be like if it really decides to get going. And, it was only Saturday morning, too soon to be back. Another beachy day at Port Wing sounded good to me. But there were no real reasons to hesitate; it was exactly the type of sailing we dream of. So we took off. Cedar was grumpy, mean, inflexible…clearly struggling with the letdown of returning. She could hug, silently. But as soon as the embrace ended, her complaints began.
We readied the boat thoroughly, that tiny pit churning in my stomach. Mark reefed the main and the mizzen while safely tied to shore. There were already whitecaps out there. Getting out of the harbor meant bouncing straight into the waves, and I got both girls out in the cockpit with me. We sat and cuddled and slowly made our way to the end of the pier, the bow dipping under water in the big ones. Once we were out Mark immediately set the sails and I steered us away from the wind. We found that if we headed for Two Harbors, 7 miles north of Knife River, we were doing as close a reach as we could. Just in case the wind decided to veer north, we headed straight for Two Harbors. We could always fall off later if the wind continued. We were flying, and it was rousting! Within minutes we were in 4-6 foot swells, and the farther from shore we got the bigger they became. We sat, gripping each other and the mast and anything else to stay in place as Amicus dipped gracefully to the side and let in LOTS of green water on the low deck as each wave thundered under us. Mark reefed the main again, then pulled in most of the jib. He never even raised the mizzen. Lamar, firmly wedged between me and the mizzen, was chatty. Cedar, clinging to me and sliding around, was silent. We were all pretty somber; between the intense conditions and the fact of returning home, it would not have taken much for us all to start crying together. This would never do! So I sang for awhile.
After about ½ hour it felt like we had effectively held off seasickness and could safely go below. It was a little too crazy to all be out there. We dove into the cabin and immediately lay on the settees. Lamar dozed almost instantly; Cedar cried and fussed and screamed. She wanted to come back out into the cockpit. I kept my eyes peeled on the horizon out the porthole, flexed my cramped muscles, held on tightly in the galley, and looked at Mark helplessly. It reminded us of the old days, when Cedar would cry and cry and no one knew why, and we all had to sit there and listen. The waves were up to 8 feet but now, with the proper amount of sail out, we were bringing in green water only on the occasional wave. As usual Amicus was unperturbed. Finally Mark said “If she puts her harness on she can come sit by me.” We managed to get her harness on in about 20 seconds, but Cedar never made it past the top step of the hatch. Once her head was outside and she could see the horizon, she stopped fussing. We crouched together, gripped to each other and the boat, until her good humor returned. Occasionally Lamar cried out and I went and lay down with her.
When we got within 10 miles of Knife River Mark changed course. We sped along on a broad reach, a much more comfortable tack. Lamar woke up and we started singing and eating crackers, interrupted only once when Mark, mid-song, yelled “Look out!” as a huge wave splashed him from behind. Luckily he had changed out of his wet clothes and into full non-cotton clothing and foulies, so he was warm. We kept the hatch partly shut and ducked the spray. Eventually both girls clung to the hatch cover and I came out to steer us into Knife River. Mark took down the main and we sailed all the way in, motoring only to turn into our slip.
PAUSE
And there we were. I was a little shakey from the excitement and relieved to have made it in safely. Mark was thrilled to have come in on such a great sail. The girls were…about the same as always.
In the end it was really good to be back with some time to spare. It gave us a full day to mentally transition. To decompress into the land life, where you don’t have to be “on” all the time. Knife River is home, but yet not home. We went straight to the beach after lunch, everyone getting wet in the breakers except Mark. I think he used to fancy himself as a relatively brave dipper—not many even put a toe into Lake Superior, after all—until he found himself with three females who absolutely crave cold water immersion. He takes our teasing with good humor and concludes that it’s all relative. This last time, the cold wind was moderated by the “warm” water (almost 60 degrees, being the topwater that rolls in with the NE winds) and the sparkling breakers were spectacular for running in and out. By suppertime the girls were worn out—what a day! We had mac and cheese for supper—the emergency meal that was never needed.
Sept. 21—Back to Two Harbors
Moving day. Also Mark’s birthday! His needs are simple: family and food. The first he provided for himself by going on a quick grocery shop the night before and getting us sausage and OJ to eat with our pancakes. After a merry breakfast we packed it all in. Miraculously, though it had taken 4 car loads to get all our stuff aboard, it took only one car load (including a rather dubious-looking pile on top) to get home. Mark did the carloading while the girls and I spent an hour at the Knife River playground, one of their favorites. We were back at our house by noon.
Again, it was good to have transition time. I made a roasted chicken dinner (happy chicken) (well I guess it wasn’t happy any more) for Mark’s birthday dinner, and he and Lamar picked out ice cream to go with the chocolate cake, since she didn’t get ice cream for her birthday. In the evening we went on a walk—can you guess where? To the harbor, of course. Walking around on the rocks, watching the wind and the waves from shore—a totally different experience. It was nice. It was great to be home. Even Mark, who looked longingly north when we turned around, agrees that Two Harbors is a great place for us. How fortunate we are to have two homes, both so beloved, and that we don’t have to choose between them.
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