Family Trip Sept.-Oct. 2010

Sept. 30-Oct. 6, 2010—Fall Family Trip

 At last, a week to ourselves!  After a long summer of working hard—sailing the boat (Mark) and taking care of everything else (me), we were ready for some time alone.  Our September had been filled with sailing trips with our new chartering business (www.amicusadventuresailing.com), family and friends.  We learned that we love taking people sailing--people we already love, and people we don't know yet but are sure to be special people! And, Amicus II can accommodate up to nine of us.  By the end of Sept. we had dragged ourselves inside enough to do an hour or two of book learning, but Cedar and Lamar were perfectly happy to take some time off.  Their biggest worry was leaving their friends for up to two weeks.  We enticed them with a promise of a celebratory night out when we returned. 

 Several factors slowed us down before we got started;  First,  soon after a cold-water dip two weeks before I had acquired a raging double ear infection.  I was in recovery mode-finally-but humbled, worn out, and still mostly deaf.  For another thing, we learned right before leaving that Mark’s brother would undergo open heart surgery the day of our departure.  We delayed so Mark could make the trip to the Cities to visit his brother.  Instead of going straight to Isle Royale as we planned, we would stay within cell phone range at Grand Marais until the surgery was safely past. 

 Mark spent the day in the Cities and returned by evening.  We gave him supper in a container, packed the car, and drove to Knife River.  In an hour we all went to bed in our berths, ready for a dawn departure.

 Oct. 1—Knife River to Grand Marais, MN

 From the start we were blessed with blustery, unusually warm, fall weather.  By midmorning we were rolling along with SW waves and winds behind us.  Suddenly, the winds abruptly (and I mean in less than 5 minutes) went from 10 knots directly behind us to 15-20 knots on the beam.  Of course we had the whisker pole up, which is an ordeal to bring down especially since it always happens because the winds aren’t in the right place anymore.  In seconds, it seemed, the winds were at a solid 20 knots.  Books and crayons in the cockpit was hastily thrown below and we ignored the few sliding, crashing noises we heard which turned out to be pots sliding out of their places. (“Gotta tie those down somehow,” Mark made a mental note to himself for this winter.)  The girls as usual were unperturbed by the fact that suddenly their home was sideways and Lamar couldn’t lie on her bunk even if she wanted to.  They both dived out of the way onto Cedar’s bunk, where they emerged every few minutes to look around, yell, “Tipping Danger!” or “Evacuate!” and dive below again.  Their giggles helped me to slow down my breathing.  The swells from behind were mixed with the chop from the side and the motion was chaotic.  I noted both how worn out I felt by this challenge, and how incredibly sturdy Amicus II took to these strong winds.  She leaned over-gracefully, unperturbedly—water hissing and roiling on either side.  I held a flapping jib sheet until I saw Mark yelling to me from the cabintop where he was busy reefing the main.  “Take the helm!” he roared (not angrily, just loudly) and I finally noticed that the autopilot was BEEPING (I could barely hear it through the roaring in my ears and the echo-like crashing of waves).  Chagrined, I scanned the autopilot to figure out what was wrong, and took over the autopilot.  Unimpressed, it kept beeping.  Mark came back, took a brief look, flipped the wind generator switch off, and was off again to deftly knot, pull, yank, tie, and otherwise save his family from destruction while I sat there and tried to figure out what just happened. (Later he told me that the battery was overcharging and turning off the wind generator took care of the problem). 

 And that was how the day went.  We FLEW along in broiling 2-3 foot waves mixed with a latent swell.  Seems like I never really got my footing.  No sooner did we erect the right sail combination for the wind speed and direction, then everything changed.  Eventually we sailed along on a double –reefed main and the storm jib, which did magnificently in 20 knots including the gusts.  But it sure wasn’t smooth.  After lunch Cedar was seasick and Lamar was droopy.   I read “Britta’s Journey” to the girls--the story of a Swede-Finn girl immigrating to Minnesota in 1904.  Her troubles were far worse than ours and we lost ourselves in her incredible journey across the North Sea and the Atlantic.  I cried when she lost her little sister.  Mark stayed at the helm and thought about sail combinations.

 Finally around dusk the NW wind started to peter out.  It veered north but still we could sail into it.  We ate supper and I put the girls to bed, just as the wind completely died and we turned the motor on.  We had three hours to go before reaching Grand Marais.  It was cold and dark.  I lay down inside and dozed for a few hours, exhausted, while Mark sat in the cockpit in near-freezing temperatures.  “I’m not sure I like sailing in the dark in the fall,” I thought.  It felt like midnight but was only 10:00 when Mark gave me a nudge and I came out in time to help him come into the cozy, lit town of Grand Marais, with the North House Folk School dock awaiting us like an old friend.

 Oct. 1-2

 Originally, the plan was to stay in Grand Marais for one day while Mark’s brother had surgery.  Winds, and maybe some lethargy/contentment delayed our plan, and we spent two days wandering around the Folk School which had no less than 4 classes going on—yarn-dying, brick-oven building, bread-making, and shaker-box making.  Cedar, the crafter, was in heaven and could not be persuaded to leave the premises.  Each class had at least one adult who was happy to take her under their wing, or chat about various methods and colors. Jay in the Shaker-Box class was particularly engaging, and she assisted him in his box-making all day.  By lunch we had a loaf of fresh earthen bread and several new friends.  At suppertime we hopped in with our friend Greg Wright and drove up to have supper with his family (Jeanne and Olya (5)) on their beautiful woodsy property. The next night we were invited to a fabulous “pizza potluck” with all the Folk School students, eating personally decorated pizzas just popped out of the brick ovens.  It was cold but the pizza was hot. 

Oct. 3

 We headed northeast to Isle Royale in the pre-dawn, as planned, I in a stupor in the v-berth, Mark taking care of everything single-handed.  We were motoring and waiting for the wind to start and the girls were just waking up when Mark came down and the two of us had a little heart-to-heart on the settee.  Turns out, he was having some serious misgivings about going to Isle Royale.  His brother’s condition played in, though it seemed he would probably be fine.  As well, a couple little problems with the engine—nothing serious:  one thing that he fixed, and one thing that he had no idea how to fix but shouldn’t be a big problem—had served as an acute reminder to him that, though he has great confidence sailing the boat, the engine is still extremely foreign.  Unlike our simple Yanmar that he had maintained for almost a decade, this was a beast completely unfamiliar, and the owner’s manual had been lost.  He had not been able to track one down all summer, and couldn’t even bleed the fuel lines without the help of a mechanic and a lot of awkward effort.  A few things were starting to look worn, and he had neither the spare parts on board nor the knowledge (yet) of how to acquire them.  In short, while the engine would probably be fine up on Isle Royale, if it wasn’t, there was a good change he wouldn’t be able to do a darn thing about it.  What business did he have going to such a remote location in October when he couldn’t even bleed his fuel lines? he was asking himself.  We both remembered arriving at Isle Royale in early October the year before and finding not a soul on the entire island. 

 Given this new perspective, and still feeling less than full strength, I easily fell into line.  We decided to return to Grand Marais, where the girls (and us) were arguably having a blast, and declare our trip a civilized one instead.  We told the girls the new plan in their bunks.  They took a minute to be surprised—(this was very irregular behavior on the part of their parents!  Hadn’t we just finished telling them how great it would be?)—but then remembered their new friends which they could now see again.  And just like that, our trip changed.  We were back at the dock by mid-morning.  For a little while our wheels spun.  The girls squabbled and parents were edgy.  But soon our sails which were (as it were) flapping in the wind, filled from another direction.  Cedar was tickled to be back helping Jay, who to all appearances was tickled to have her back, (he even gave her one of his shaker-boxes at the end).  By afternoon we were headed back to the Wright’s for a hayride and Olya’s 5-yr-old birthday party.  Once again the weather was picture-perfect and we returned late to the harbor, smelling of horses and crackling fall leaves.

 Oct. 4

 Our final day in Grand Marais.  We were getting antsy.  We actually accomplished some school-like activities in the morning; Cedar determined that her entire school experience while sailing should be “nautically inclined.”  She and Mark measured, marked, labeled, and she practiced the bowline knot.  Lamar went wild with math problems which apparently she has been dying to start and could now barely be stopped.  Jeanne and Olya came for lunch.  By afternoon things were deteriorating.  Let’s just say there was hair-pulling involved and some screaming that was hopefully muted by the thick steel hull.  We grabbed a backpack and climbed “Sweethearts Bluff” above town.  This gorgeous bluff must have worked its magic; the hair-pulling was forgotten and the girls became lovebirds.  They whispered sweet nothings in each other ears, spoke in only the most loving tones, and promised eternal marriage. They came very close to hurting each other in their loving attempts to “help” each other down steep bedrock trails.  By the end Mark and I were back in good humor and even followed our daughters’ lead with that long-forgotten lovers’ ritual, holding hands.

 Oct. 5—to Taconite Harbor

 It was a modest goal, and we motored there in flat calm by lunchtime.  In the afternoon—another warm perfect fall day—we kayaked to shore and tried to hitchhike along Hwy 61 to the Superior Hiking Trail to climb Carleton Peak, but no one would pick us up.  “What do we look like, ROBBERS?” asked Lamar.  “You can search our knapsacks for guns!” chortled Cedar.  It was too curvy and lonely a stretch of highway, I guess.  We walked the two miles into the town of Schroeder, then played at a river and checked out a free local museum.  Thankfully, it was much easier to pick up a ride going out of town, and a nice couple drove us back to our boat in the late afternoon.   After supper Cedar and I kayaked around the harbor and watched a beaver swim around.  Mark’s friend Jim showed up on “Egret,” following us from Grand Marais.  Between his work in Schooner Bay before our Bahamas trip, his captaining the Hjortis at the Folk School, and his thousands of hours in the Knife River marina, he seems to know almost every skipper that sails the western half of lake Superior. 

 Oct. 6—to Knife River

 Somehow, the perfect winds found us again—northwest, a beam reach.  In the morning we had to decide whether to go home to Knife River, or to fall off the wind and sail to the Wisconsin side and cross over the next morning.  Mark and I were eager to extend our trip by a half day in such glorious conditions.  Lamar was inclined the same way also, but her loyalty to Cedar kept her in the middle.  Cedar was dead set on reaching home without delay to play with her best friend Mahalia, whose mere memory brought tears of separation to her eyes.  We persuaded, cajoled, and painted the perfect picture of Bark Bay, WI.  After awhile we remembered that Cedar is not one to be forced, though she is unpredictable once she is truly in charge.  So we agreed to go home.  Half an hour later she said she really wouldn’t mind either way, and she just wanted daddy to be happy.  “Thank you Cedar,” he said, and meant it.  We headed for Bark Bay.

 Then the winds turned north and Bark Bay ceased to be an option.  Why is it that whenever we act like we can guarantee something, we are reminded that we cannot?  We started talking about Port Wing.  The forecast stopped talking 10-15 knots and started talking about 20-25 knots, with uncertain sailing conditions to sail from Port Wing the next morning.  Cedar and Lamar were both seasick; Mark and I scrambled with sails.  We reefed, headed in a general southerly direction, and waited to see if the wind would make our decision for us. 

 In a few hours things calmed down somewhat, but the girls were still uncomfortable.  We talked about our options and it just didn’t feel right to try to get Cedar excited about a less-than-perfect forecast for tomorrow after a rough day today.  I know from experience that it is absolutely impossible to want to prolong sailing when one is feeling seasick.  So in the end we turned again towards Knife River.

The afternoon was pristine.  The winds were gusty but we were so close to shore there were absolutely no waves.  I spent most of the afternoon at the helm for the pure pleasure of it.  The girls listened to books on tape and wanted nothing to do with us.  So Mark and I sat out in the cockpit.  It’s one thing when they don’t need you anymore, but don’t even want you?  The rejection has begun!  We pulled into Knife River just before supper and managed to have our celebratory dinner down the road before returning to the boat for one more night.  Cedar, of all things, was inconsolable;  she was upset about the concept of pulling Amicus II out for the season.  I tried (unsuccessfully) to refrain from reminding her that she could have prolonged the pleasure—for pleasure is what this trip really has been.  Low stress and high fun.  I’d like to say it’s because we are such skilled sailors and contented, centered species of human, but really I think as usual it was all about the weather.

Stay tuned for pictures of us on Amicus II--