Nipigon to Rossport--Sept. 18 to 26

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Sept. 18—Nipigon to Old Man’s Pocket, ON

We left early in the morning, another gorgeous morning with the feeling of fall in the air and the fog rising off the river.  Nipigon was a great town and I’m sure we’ll return there.  We had several chats with the mayor, a super nice guy who told us lots of local lore and history.  One interesting thing he told us was that Nipigon, unlike all surrounding areas, has no history of shipping First Nation kids off to boarding schools.  From the first, white and Native kids were educated together here.  Now, many of the government offices are held by First Nation citizens (of which he is one).  He seemed proud of how people work and live together in Nipigon. 

Mark and I were both struck by the modest size of all the houses in Nipigon.  There were very few that were as big as our house, and most were much smaller.  We hadn’t considered our house huge before, but now we are wondering.  I’ve noted before that Canadians in general seem to have a different standard of how big is big enough (at least with houses—for cars and boats, the standard is similar).  I look at the US and wonder why we all seem to need so much living space?  One thing I enjoy about living on a boat is the fact that we live in a way that is much more normal, globally speaking.  We change our space as the days go by.  We need a place to eat, and sleep, and cook, and hang out—but we don’t need them all at the same time!  When we’re set up to sleep, there’s not room for much else, but when we get up we put away the sleeping set-up and prepare for the day. Eating—same thing.  Waiting for a few seconds to move around is, truly, the most inconvenienced we have been by living in a small space.  Personal space is available here as anywhere; it just takes a little mental effort to get there when the physical distance is impossible.

So anyway, we reached Nipigon Bay and headed east.  After an hour or so we turned off the engine just to see if there was any wind.  Mark didn’t think there was, but to humor me he set up the chute, then the jib, then the main, and then finally set us up wing-and-wing when it appeared that what wind there was was coming from behind us.  Just as we were about to give up it picked up a couple of knots and steadied to the SW, so we sailed gently forward for the rest of the day averaging 2.5 knots until the late afternoon, when it picked up to 10-15 and we flew the last hour.  There was hardly a cloud in the sky the whole day.  The hot days are over, surely, but it was warm when the wind was light.  We went by the north entrance to the Moffat Straits (see blog entry from 2005 to read about our adventure with the reef there) and as we stared—were we dreaming?—a gray tugboat with yellow and red trim appeared to be coming out of there.  Wasn’t that the tug that rescued us???  A few minutes later Mark could wait no longer and radioed the unknown vessel.  Sure enough “Tug of the North” radioed right back.  It was them!  “We were just talking about you—there’s a picture of you right here on the dashboard!” the guy laughed—just as friendly as we remembered. 

 In the late afternoon we reached the end of a row of islands and the big lake was once again in view.  Then we tucked into “old Man’s Pocket,” a tiny cove with a “thumb” where we could anchor for any weather.  It was still and peaceful and getting chilly.  That night even the girls decided not to dip, despite feeling grimy.  But when we hopped outside before going to bed, the stars were…you can imagine.

Breakfast:  oatmeal

Lunch:  ham sandwiches and pea soup

Supper:  southwestern chicken-and-rice/buckwheat, salad, leftover birthday cake

Sept. 19—Old Man’s Pocket

Blue sky, crisp air, bright sunrise.  Mark and I both went fishing for breakfast—no luck.  He has been diligent but the girls have lost interest because no one ever catches anything.  We keep seeing large fish jumping, taunting us.  Mark even bought some new lures, copying the old-timer in Nipigon.

After breakfast, chores, and schooling, we determined to go for a dip in the lake despite the fact that we were all chilled.  Living on a boat can be chilly, but only part of the problem is the temperature.  The other problem is the inactivity.  We danced around on the cabintop and then all JUMPED in together.  It was brief, but exhilarating.  The best antidote to the freezing water is to jump in.  The body suddenly starts warming itself up at a furious pace.  After we were dry and clothed, we were warm for hours.

In the afternoon we determined to put the motor on the dinghy and do some exploring a few miles away.  This took some doing, since the outboard had not been used for a year or more and Mark discovered a leak.  He puttered around, fixed the motor, installed it on the dinghy, and found it wouldn’t start.  Finally, it did and we snapped into action.  We motored out to the big lake and climbed on rocks and picked raspberries.  They were EVERYWHERE and no one else had picked any!  Dinghying with the motor is a whole different experience—enjoyable in a different way.  The sound of the motor and the wind in our ears keeps us silent and in our own little worlds, taking in the world around us.  We spent an entire ½ hour in silence, unheard of for our chatty girls.

Dinner:  tamale pie, salad

Sept. 20—Old Man’s Pocket to Battle Island to Boat Harbor

We left our secluded little spot and motored on Amicus out to the big lake and ducked behind Battle Island.  A lighthouse is perched dramatically on the edge.  We hiked up there, then took a trail down to the beach.  After a quick dip, all attention was diverted when Cedar realized she’d dropped her sunglasses.  They were REAL sunglasses and this was the first time she had pulled them out.  We searched all up and down and miraculously, found them.  We returned to Amicus and Mark confessed that he really wasn’t happy with our anchorage.  The moorings were dropped for the winter and the only anchoring spot was in gravel.  We were protected from all but the E, but strong SE winds were predicted for the night and the group of islands that supposedly protected us were strongly reminiscent of Sinclair Cove where, 4 years ago, we spent a miserable few days bouncing in a big blow.  So, we upped the anchor again and motored a couple of miles across an open channel to Boat Harbor.  I read to the girls in the cockpit and uneasily wished I’d waited to put the rice on the stove.  We bounced through there and somehow the rice stayed connected to the stove.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  Sometimes, you get lucky. 

Once we arrived Mark was MUCH happier and fairly leaped into the water for his daily dip.  The girls joyfully followed, Cedar breaking her own record by jumping in 7 times.

Supper:  rice/bean/chili/cheese goulash.

Sept. 21—Boat Harbor and MARK’S 50^TH BIRTHDAY

The girls woke early, as planned, and in whispers of high excitement managed to get a few balloons and streamers hung over Mark’s head before he obligingly rolled over and woke up.

He had hoped to be the Slate Islands by his birthday, but it was not to be.  The winds were from the SE (just the direction of the Slates) and the southern swell looked prohibitive, judging from the crashing of the waves along the northern shores.  It was drizzly and foggy, though still not particularly cold.  We settled in for the day—chores, schooling.  Cedar now does her chore before breakfast so that she won’t have to think about it.  It was generally a very uninspiring morning, so we put lunch and books and raingear in the dinghy and rowed over to a rocky beach loaded with driftwood.  We ate dahl and cheese sandwiches by a campfire, built a real shelter that semi-protected the girls when it started to rain, and then meandered around to some rocks so Mark could fish and we could dip.  Then I read to the girls, then we all “read” to ourselves (the girls “reading” aloud from memory and imagination, which they do for hours) for a long time.  By the time we returned to Amicus it was time to make a cake and prepare for Mark’s birthday dinner, which was mac and cheese with ground beef.  Not exactly gourmet, but he ate it with gusto and gratitude.  We all told Daddy what we love about him…many good things were mentioned including his delightful way of putting the girls to bed, his excellent sailing skills which keep the boat from tipping over, and the fact that he is not prone to useless chatter (I’m paraphrasing but Cedar came up with that one.).   By the time the festivities were over it was dark and time to get ready for bed.  Pretty soon we’ll be eating supper in the dark.

Sept. 22 Boat Harbor-Slate Islands

Well we left in a state of happy anticipation, strong SW winds in the forecast.  But how often do days like that turn out the way we think they will?  First there was the barest SE breeze and a big southerly swell.  After an hour of bobbing around as Mark attempted to catch any air, I was reduced to sacking out on the cabintop while the girls played in circles around me.  Luckily I was the only one who seemed affected by the motion.   I have finally figured out that food can be a strong antidote to seasickness, and once Mark had tossed me rice cakes and then a whole can of tuna, I felt ready to raise my head and possibly to continue the trip.  We motored for awhile longer, then a southerly wind with a little umph came up and we sailed as close as possible to the wind as the Slates drew near.  The southerly swell picked up also and every 3^rd or 4^th wave stopped us almost cold, so progress was slow.  The girls, oblivious, wrestled and giggled in the cabin, while Mark steered the boat and I kept my eyes on the horizon.  As we got close it became clear that we were not going to make the point, so we motored into the wind to get us around the point, and then sailed again once we were in the islands.  It was drizzly again.  By mid-afternoon we dropped the hook and I was just so grateful to have a family that can take care of itself (and me!) so well when I suddenly become so helpless.  How the heck did I do this with two babies? (I have observed on this trip, as we pass places we went 4 years ago, that I have only the haziest memory of these places.  Clearly, I was taking care of babies, probably inside, while Mark did all the sailing and navigating.)

In the late afternoon we went exploring in the dinghy and searched for caribou.  The signs were everywhere—the woods laden with trails, even the dusky scent of caribou was in the trees.   Just before returning we saw a big old caribou swim across the channel right in front of us!  Close enough to hear it shuffle out and head into the woods.  Mark fished for dinner, to no avail once again.  We are all starting to lose faith.

I was disheartened about dinner before it began, certain that it would be unpopular (not to mention late—it was past 7:00 before we ate) but the girls surprised me once again and RAVED about it (“mom, I remembered that I love chick peas and I love curry!”) Who am I to question?  They downed several plates of the stuff and were in bed ½ hour later, a happy day beginning to end.  Me, I was wiped out.

Sept. 23, 24—Slate Islands

We began our stay at the Slates by considering leaving that afternoon on an overnight to Michipicoten Island—a big and remote island about 80 miles southeast of us.  We had a window of opportunity with unusual northern winds coming up overnight, and had been anticipating this for awhile.  But yesterdays’ bumpy seas had taken its toll and we’d realized/remembered that seas are rarely calm around here, and it would likely be a bumpy ride, one that could easily morph into a motor in light winds and confused swells.  It was my worst day of the month, and I was not feeling on top of my game.  In the end, we decided to stay and enjoy the Slates (which we wanted to do anyway) and see what happened next with the wind.  We had thought this trip could be an opportunity to push the envelope and do some more passage-making.  So far, good opportunities for this had not arisen and when we kissed this one good-bye I felt let down.  Did this mean we were turning around?   But something had told me I wasn’t doing well…within a couple of hours I was laid low for the rest of the day thanking my lucky stars that I wasn’t out on bouncy seas.  Mark took care of the girls all afternoon and seemed in perfectly good humor about watching the rare NW wind blow away while he played Little House in an abandoned cabin with his daughters.  What a guy.

By suppertime I was on my feet again and Mark and Cedar went out to catch some fish.  They had a good time, anyway.  Cedar has started rowing to explore by herself in the dinghy.  Once she returned to tell us, with great satisfaction, about the “pickle” she got herself into and out of in the rushes (“First the dinghy ran aground, so I got out and pushed off, then I realized that the oar was in the water, so I had to get out again, then the dinghy was in the shallows again…”)  Another time she saw an otter.

Both days we were in the Slates were gorgeous—sunny and windy and in the 60s.  We dipped, we cooked, we put the motor on the dinghy and explored the islands.  We saw lots of caribou, usually swimming across a channel.  Once we found a beach and were just settling in when a big caribou came out of the brush to drink.  He decided to go somewhere else. 

The same day that we decided not to head out overnight, we heard a forecast for our first fall gale.  In a few days we might have winds up to 40 knots.   We also heard about a high in the 40s coming up—and it hasn’t even gotten below 50 most nights!  We may change our tune pretty quickly if things start changing fast.  So far it’s felt like an almost miraculous reprieve from the oncoming cold season.

Fresh food is not so fresh anymore and most of what we eat now is cooked.  No one is complaining—well, at least, Mark isn’t complaining.  Cedar made banana muffins which made everyone happy.  We eat oatmeal for breakfast (except now the girls eat pinto beans which they’ve decided is preferable), some kind of bean soup and bread for lunch.  We still eat soft apples and the inevitable cole slaw with carrots and cabbage.

Suppers:  bean/rice/cauliflower frittata and fried potatoes

    Black bean/sweet potato/cabbage hash, Mexican rice

For dessert, Lamar broke open her birthday apple butter (thanks Jen!) which we greatly enjoyed on fresh bread and butter. 

Sept. 25—Slate Islands to Boat Harbor

It was our first loud night—winds moaning in the rigging, and the hull occasionally swinging into a deadfall, sending vibrations up and down.  But we knew the anchor was dug in well and slept pretty soundly.  Halfway through the night the wind dropped.

We woke to cloudy skies and a Strong Wind Warning over eastern Lake Superior.  We were undaunted; going downwind in 20 knots of wind is a joyride and we knew the winds had been NE all night.  We were in the NE corner of the lake, how bad could the waves be?  We were on a new mission to head west to Woodbine Cove, where some friends had struggled mightily with a chain wrapped around a deadfall.  Finally in desperation they had cut off half their chain and left it there.  Mark intended to retrieve that chain.  It was supposedly under 18 feet of water so I had my doubts.  But it would be fun to try.

Just before heading out we had some visitors, the first ones since leaving Nipigon.  They were canoers who had a pickup scheduled for that afternoon.  They were wondering if it was going to come.  We told them what we knew about the weather and tried to radio their charter boat.  They were appreciative, and a tad apprehensive about the state of affairs they’d found themselves in.  Lake Superior is nothing like the Quetico, their stomping grounds.

Leaving the Slate Islands, the sky was ominous and it was drizzly.  We got ready for weather, including the girls who were inspired from above to layer up, including their full raingear and their harnesses.  They’d never done this before voluntarily.  When we first got out there it looked like there wasn’t much wind, but the swells built quickly.  After a frustrating hour of setting various sails in a virtual downwind situation, the wind picked up enough that the jib alone kept us moving along nicely, which was fast becoming crucial as the swells would have tossed us silly otherwise.

Meanwhile, the girls were rapidly getting seasick.  Because they were so well dressed, they could stay in the cockpit, harnessed in.  Soon they were both horizontal.  I could tell it was bad when they didn’t even care about ginger cookies.  I kept my eyes firmly on the horizon and was fine.  But we were ROLLING, and after awhile we Mark and I eyed each other—just how big were these waves going to get? 

BIG.  We began to speak in low voices of where we could pull in.  Woodbine Cove, right up to the entrance, was wide open to the SE where these swells seemed to come clear up from Whitefish Bay, with nothing blocking them.  Mark did a quick check and determined that Boat Harbor, where we’d just been, would be an easy entrance since the swells would be essentially blocked before we had to turn in.  So Boat Harbor it was, about three hours away.

So we were set, and other than peeing, we didn’t budge the next few hours.  It was a reality check after all the gentle sailing we’d done!  The Lake wasn’t messing around today.  If the girls hadn’t been so seasick I think we would have felt a lot more mobile.  Why now, of all times?  They’d played in the cabin while we rolled about before.  Mark wonders if, being allowed in the cockpit for the first time, they were intimidated or afraid.  Usually they just pop their heads out the hatch, comment “Wow, what big waves!” and return below.  I don’t know—they sure didn’t seem nervous, just miserable.  I sang til I was hoarse, and Mark thoroughly enjoyed himself sailing.  He took a few pictures and even made a little movie blip on the digital camera.  As usual, Amicus rolled on the waves like she was made for this (which she was), taking in water every few waves and then letting it all run through.  Our decks and cockpit were soon as clean as they’d been all season.  I felt grateful that Mark is always so thorough, and ties everything down so tightly.  We rarely need to be battened down, but when we do…anything not tied down would have been gone.  By the fourth hour the swells weren’t getting any bigger, except a few “mountains” which we watched with terror, fascination, and awe. They were cresting, broiling, breaking right under us, and big enough that when we were in the trough, land disappeared and sometimes the sails emptied, then filled with a smack when we came up again.  8 feet?  Who knows.  The radio called them 2 meters.  Reminded me of ocean sailing for sure, the way they moved.  Our experience of Eastern Lake Superior has consistently been that the waves have more space to build, and build more quickly and monstrously than in our western end.

When we finally reached our protective island, things got a little worse before they got better.  The water wasn’t as deep, and the waves felt shorter and steeper as we headed into the channel. But then the channel cut the waves short and they lost their punch.  By the time we turned into the anchorage, it was clear sailing.  We carefully jybed and turned and suddenly were in flat water.  The girls started asking what their treats would be, and I knew the worst was over.

I was tired and headachey in the afternoon until I went for a dip.  Talk about a wake-up call.  It’s like a cross between a cup of coffee, a sprint, and a deep breath of the freshest air.

Supper:  black beans with the last of the potatoes, fried eggs, cole slaw

September 26—to Rossport

We woke thinking we would be heading to Woodbine harbor in the afternoon when the swell had a chance to drop.  However it became apparent that the winds weren’t going to drop much and that now might be the best chance we got.  So, reluctantly, we switched modes.  Stomachs were turning, and not just ours.  For the first time the girls dreaded getting out there.  They knew that we wouldn’t go out if conditions were as bad, but when they asked for reassurance that it would be much better, there was a long silence.  Finally I said that we were doing our best, that we needed a good safe spot for the gale coming, and that they would just have to trust us!  Cedar stopped complaining after that.  Lamar was silent and thumb-sucking—her way of dealing with her nerves.  I felt for them; I know what it’s like to head right back into the craziness after reaching a safe harbor.  Our plan was to head east in the semi-protected islands and then decide if we could get to Woodbine.  If not, there was another good hurricane hole to slide into.

We motored out there.  The girls lay down immediately, preparing for the worst.  Cedar had her tape player at her ear and was listening furiously to “Wind in the Willows.”  The swells had lost their mountainous character, but the winds were at least 15 knots forward of the beam, and the waves were confused.  Then a couple of swells came in that would most definitely have made entering Woodbine treacherous.  We decided to stay.  Then it suddenly occurred to us that Rossport was only a few miles away.  If we could get groceries before the gale, we’d be much happier!  So we turned around and sailed downwind all the way to Rossport.  The girls sat up and realized that their worst nightmare had not happened.

By lunchtime we were at Rossport, changing gears yet again.  People?  Civilization?  Immediately a little family arrived to see our boat and say hello.  6-year-old Samantha was in the v-berth within seconds.  Us adults took at least five more minutes to get acquainted.  They were from Thunder Bay and, being the outdoorsy types that we both were, we made several small-world connections.  Darryl drove Mark to the grocery store while Kim and Samantha came onboard for lunch, then a tea party.  By the time they left mid-afternoon we had all contact information and had made some new friends.

Within another hour another friendly guy invited us to his house to use his wireless connection, so here I sit finishing up the blog.  We plan to leave tomorrow morning for Woodbine or the nearest hurricane hole, where we will sit for at least two days since 40 knot winds are predicted for both Monday and Tuesday!

Thanks for all the commentary—it’s great to know that people are thinking of us out here!