May 19-21 Detroit to St. Mary’s River, MI

Three days, two nights, 250 miles. We left Detroit early in the morning and in minutes were stopped by the Coast Guard for a routine check. I was lying in the v-berth listening. Cedar reported that they must have figured out right away that we weren’t “storing firearms,” as she said, but they used the check as a training session for a new guy. It wasn’t hard to imagine why they are so careful along this long stretch of river that borders the US and Canada and in which there is a definite inner city on either side—Detroit, MI and Windsor, ON. We arrived at Lake St. Clair just as a brief but strong NE wind created a stiff chop. We plowed through, hoping it would soon improve, which it did. Cedar was not excited about this. Every time she is promised a smooth ride, something happens like this. I don’t blame her for never believing us! But soon she was ready to eat tuna and rice crackers (our current seasick-prevention food) and in another hour it was all over; the wind moderated and we were in the NE corner of the lake anyway. I pulled out the guitar and we sang in the cockpit for awhile. Both Cedar and Lamar were absolutely taken with “There’s a Hole in the Bucket Dear Liza” and after awhile the rest of us abandoned the notion of singing anything else. After we refused to participate any more they sang to each other, back and forth, for much of the day. They also planned a play to perform when they returned, with their friends Cedar and Coulter Holden, based on this captivating conversation between a clueless husband and a patient wife. By the time they had the props, the costumes, the improve parts, and the set planned, we were back in the river.

The day passed easily and at suppertime we crossed under the bridge at Port Huron into beautiful blue Lake Huron. The current was wicked right under the gate and Tom at the helm had to look sharp or we’d swing right into a ship or a shoal. Once on the lake, we ate dinner and watched the sun set on glassy seas. Our reverie was interrupted by another official-looking boat; this time it was Homeland Security. They idled by us for a long time checking all our papers.

Mark took the first watch. It was dead calm until midnight and we motored away. Loud but calm. The boys (Ethan and Tom) took over soon after, and Mark had just put up a jib to catch the slight breeze. But that soon turned into nothing. I forget all the details of the night, since I actually slept! Especially towards morning, when Mark was on watch again, the sun was rising, the engine was off, and the gentle slap of the waves and the heeling of the boat were the only sign of movement. I woke up again, much later, and we were still heeled over, but silent. Amazing! We were gliding through the water, the waves just ripples but the breeze fresh. The sun was up and it was a beautiful day. All morning was like that. We did schoolwork in the cockpit despite the sliding crayons. No one was remotely seasick because there was no motion, just a steady heel. Later in the day, the wind started to back, and soon it was behind the beam and not enough to keep us moving. Back to motoring. This was how the day went. A breeze might last 20 minutes, or 2 hours, or sometimes 5 hours, before dying. By evening we were over halfway up the lake and hardly even tired. We sponge-bathed in the cockpit, basking in the warmest temperatures we’d had by far.

I wanted to do a watch this time. I missed being out with the stars, and I didn’t feel tired. Mark and I sat out together from 11-12 while we had a nice breeze. Then it died and we turned on the engine and Mark went down to rest. I read until 2:00 when the breeze started up again. I pulled out the jib and woke the boys. “Maybe you’ll have wind for 20 minutes,” I joked. I went into the v-berth and lay there until the boys cut the engine. Hmmm we must be really sailing this time! A little while later, after a couple of false starts, they jybed the jib, which is a very loud, flappy event to watch through the hatch from the v-berth. We were starting to roll around. I moved back and lay down in the quarter-berth next to Cedar. Then I joined Lamar. By dawn (4:30 a.m.) we were moving fast downwind. Mark got up. There was lots of clinking of harnesses and shuffling raincoats moving past me. I heard a “Whoa!” from Tom at the chart table. He’d plotted our position and discovered that we were heading too far west and not enough north. We might have to beat our way back to the inlet, or risk sailing all the way to the Straits of Mackinac! Suddenly it wasn’t nearly as relaxed. Mark tensely and carefully checked and re-checked the position, and our new bearing and had us turning as close to the wind as we could. Suddenly it was much more uncomfortable. We tossed, crashed, and rolled in our bunks. I gave up and got up, praying the girls would weather the motion.

After awhile it became apparent that we could fall off, and the ride became nicer again. In fact, the wind started to die and we decided to put up the main. Tom had gone down to nap, and I was at the wheel. Mark went forward to hoist the main, and I turned into the wind. We bobbed around as he struggled to raise the main between the lazy jack lines that enclosed the sail. It’s hard to explain, but those lack jacks kept getting in the way, and he kept needing me to turn more or less into the wind. Finally I tried to come about, and stalled in the water. By now I’d enlisted Ethan who had been napping in the cockpit. With no idea what was going on, he jumped from one directive to another. “Pull in that jib sheet—no—hold on—let it out—grab the other one—“ Tom poked his head out to see what was going on, woken by the shouting and the crashing around in the waves. Apparently we must have looked like we needed help, for he got dressed and came out just as Mark finally got the thing raised. We were sailing back to Detroit, but, at least we were moving. We quickly came about. Both Mark and I were thoroughly disgusted and he vowed to get rid of the lazy jacks ASAP. It’s hard for us to imagine how to raise the main, especially in a wind, without getting tangled up. Ethan still had no idea what had just happened, but at least he wasn’t seasick and nobody’s life seemed threatened.

One plus was that no one had thrown up during the fiasco, and now the motion was much improved, so we came away unscathed. Soon we were sailing into the St. Mary’s river. The motion smoothed into nothing and I sat with the girls in the cabin to do a little coloring. We were all yawning, breakfast was long over, and it was only 8:00 a.m.! By lunchtime we were 10 miles from Saulte Ste. Marie and we pulled over to anchor for the day. 250 miles—the length of Lake Huron and then some. Much of it motored, and it was disappointing that the SE winds hadn’t kicked in until the end, but it was still a great accomplishment for Mark and I. Best of all, the land had changed. Now the flora, fauna, even the smell, was “north.” The mosquitos had arrived; the wildflowers were out; woods were everywhere. Not a condo in sight. We were getting closer to home.

Everyone slept all afternoon except Lamar and I—she caught me dozing once and climbed on me, not wanting to be alone and awake. Apparently she sleeps fine through anything and was not tired.

By evening we were back to our normal selves, or close to it. Cedar and Tom, who both seem to adore arguing, had figured out a truce of some kind. Tom is learning to walk away, even if it means conceding a point, and Cedar is learning to read the cues when he’s had enough. What a relief for everyone!

May 22 Saulte Ste. Marie, MI

We treated ourselves to eggs with canned ham and black beans for breakfast, then headed up the river to Saulte Ste. Marie. Ethan’s family had driven out the day before to bring him home so that he could, remarkably, show up at his summer job at Soltreks on time. We arrived by lunchtime and spent the afternoon biking around the town, thanks to the friendly marina and its courtesy bikes. I filled the backpack with groceries and Mark got some needed supplies. This is a great town, much more accessible than what we found across the river in the Canadian side several years ago. The Schuberts came for dinner and we had a one-pot meal for 11. Everyone fit into the cockpit! It was really fun to see them and hear news of Two Harbors (88 degrees one day!) which is starting to feel within striking distance. After a riotous dinner of recounting seasick stories, we said good-bye to Ethan and his family. Tomorrow we head into the infamous Whitefish Bay; our SE wind forecast, miraculously, continues.
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