Once again September held forth with lovely daytime temperatures in the 60s, cool nights, virtually no bugs and gentle breezes. Well, maybe not the gentle breezes, and if they were gentle they weren’t always from the right direction. However, our crew of six had a great trip—here are the details as I remember them.
Marlin arrived before we’d even moved aboard, and spent a night fixing our bikes (he’s a professional) before we left Two Harbors. Sept. 21 (Mark’s birthday) we moved aboard and all was looking good because a NW breeze kicked up mid-afternoon. We layered up and it was looking like Cedar and Lamar’s birthday wishes for their dad were going to come true—(“I wish you a gliding birthday” “I wish you a NW wind birthday”)—until Mark started the engine. Or rather, tried to. The engine didn’t want to start. Twice. Down in the cabin, the girls continued on, unmoved. Marlin and I grew quiet. I took off my foulies and sat down. “That’s funny,” was Mark’s comment as he hoisted off the steps and began his inspection of the engine. “That’s never happened before.” Quietly we slowed down the preparations while Mark searched out one thing or another. Once the disappointment softened, I had to admit it was very friendly to be sitting in our home marina with this type of problem, as opposed to some foreign port or, worse yet, out on the lake trying to enter a harbor. Mark determined that we simply had a dirty fuel problem. He was chagrined to have not kept as close an eye on the fuel as he might have. He cleaned out the big tank last winter so theoretically our fuel should be pretty clean. But the fuel filter told otherwise. He had a replacement filter but didn’t want to leave without at least two more replacements so we made a series of phone calls and then sent Marlin off to Duluth for a spare. Marlin, a sailor himself with his own boat in the Apostles, knows the ways of sailing and had already proven himself extremely flexible and understanding when it came to changing plans.
When he returned Mark and I walked out to look at the winds. They were strong and very gusty. It was late in the day and we’d be looking at a night entrance somewhere. We decided to stay put for the night and head out first thing in the morning.
Sept. 22
Mark and Marlin got us going before dawn. A NE swell ensured that our sleep was over. I crawled in by Lamar in the quarter-berth (she is always glad to have me) and thus began what turned into a rousting day of sailing. We motored, we sailed, and then finally we motored again. The wind went all over the place, generally hanging out in the northerly region, which meant we could sail into it but barely, always nervous that N was going to turn NE which is a way to stop everything if you’re headed up the shore. We arrived triumphant and exhausted in Grand Marais in the evening.
Sept. 23
We spent the next day resting up, doing some schoolwork, and walking around town. Marlin started whipping lines and brushing up on his charting skills. Pete arrived just before supper. He was quiet, smiley, and game. Mark showed him around the boat and we ate brick-oven-baked bread from the Folk School’s class. It seems we always manage to take advantage of some class or other while we are there! Winds were predicted to be favorable but light so we prepared for an early departure to Isle Royale.
Sept. 24—27 Windigo Station, Isle Royale
Light winds turned lighter. It was an all-motor day to Isle Royale. At least we weren’t bucking into swells. It was sunny and we arrived by mid-afternoon, right at the peak of the fall colors. Gorgeous!
With NE breezes keeping us from heading up the shore, we stayed for 3 days. With my early morning walks, daily hikes, and late afternoon trail runs (and dips), I was happy. Pete did a lot of hiking and enjoying the island also. We all got to see an entire moose family—bull, doe, and calf—one morning, sleepily crunching away. They looked big and healthy. They walked right by our boat in the wee hours the next morning, noisily rousing Marlin who was trying to sleep in the cockpit.
Best for the girls was Ranger Cindy, a story-teller and naturalist extraordinaire who was on her last week on the island and displayed a bottomless pit of energy for two eager girls. She understood “Deerie” (Lamar’s pet fawn, the 5th member of our family) instantly, which put her right up there as far as trust goes with Lamar. She taught us more than I’ve ever known about Isle Royale, and gave the girls their own personal “junior ranger” course. They were so enchanted with her that they ran up to the Visitor Center first thing each morning. They took an orienteering course and a bat lesson, followed by an hour in the galley making Cindy a pineapple cake which she came and ate with us in the cockpit as the sun set that evening. She was a real treat and promises to be there in June if we come again!
One of the days we headed out for a daysail. Pete was at the helm nearly the whole time and seemed to really enjoy it. He did come to sail, after all! He also taught the girls a couple of new card games. Card games took over during the evenings since it was dark by suppertime; we had one big Yachtzee tournament and several rounds of solitaire, Garbage, Crazy-Eights, Uno…and of course lots of reading and some guitar playing.
After one big dayhike we all leapt off the dock into the 50s degree water. Marlin thrilled the girls by cowering in the background, professing he was too cold to consider it, then without warning flying into the air with an animal whoop. Cedar jumped in 3 or 4 times, a few feet farther from the ladder each time. Mark was completely satisfied with one brief cleansing bath.
Sept. 28-30— McCargo Cove
By the time we had a break in the NE winds, we had two new problems with going north. One was that the forecast called for southwesterlies all weekend, making it that much harder to get back to Grand Marais in time for Pete to be back at work in the Twin Cities on Monday. The second problem was that we were enveloped in fog. So…we hemmed and hawed all morning, checked our best forecasting websites at the Visitor Center, and finally decided to head out if the fog lifted. Pete allowed as how he’d rather take the chance on not getting back on time than miss seeing the upper part of the island. With some trepidation we headed out into thin fog which appeared to be about to encompass us as soon as we were out on the big water. We kept motoring into it, and it kept looking a little ahead. By the time it turned pea-soup we were too far along to turn back. We motored way offshore and turned on the radar. Coming into McCargo Cove was exciting for awhile, with myself at the GPS, Mark at the radar, and Pete and Marlin at the bow. But as we got close the fog thinned again and it all got easy. The girls were oblivious, until we arrived and they asked for their “anchoring treat.”
The next day we were prepared to meet THE GALE, a heavily forecasted event that had been building for days. In the morning it was drizzly and calm and I went for a trail run. I dipped on the return and thought, “So much for the gale!” Sure didn’t seem like much! Mark was thinking otherwise; soon after I returned he informed me that they’d just re-anchored and he was about to set out the second anchor. He also pulled both kayaks off the water and onto the cabintop. “Sounds great,” I commented cheerfully and went below to have a big breakfast.
Sometime during my breakfast came a low whistling sound. Amicus II heeled slightly over and we all looked up from our books and cards. I went outside, chastised. “Is that second anchor out?” I asked. It was and Mark was back in the cockpit, prepared to wait it out for awhile in his foulies. I went back inside, grateful again for my ever-vigilent husband-captain. For the wind was TORKING. It only took a few minutes for it to reach full speed. “This can’t last,” I thought, but that was before I remembered about gales. It certainly could, and it did. The only surprise was that the wind came straight up the channel from the NE, rather than N or NW as predicted. This made our anchorage rather bumpy. We bounced the day away, peeking out only now and then to look at the treetops flopping around like rag dolls and scurry inside like grateful squirrels. Reminded that our family’s non-sugar diet is not most people’s norms, I baked a truly sugary coffeecake which we ate with tea mid-afternoon. Mark had thoughtfully gotten the girls a movie for just such a time as this, and we popped popcorn and brewed more tea, only to find the computer inexplicably refusing to acknowledge the picture and giving us only the sound. After ½ hour of fiddling, he reluctantly turned it off and we returned to cards, books, and guitars. Thankfully we had Marlin around to remind us how much worse things could be—he sat out a 4-day rain/snow gale by himself in the Apostles last April without so much as a heater or a companion.
By suppertime it was dark but still torking like mad out there. Partway through the night things calmed down, and the next day the sun started breaking through at intervals. We were going stir-crazy and embarked on an all-day hike to the Minong Mine and the overlook above it. Coming home, we played a long-forgotten version of Predator/Prey that brought out the animal instinct in us all. Cedar hurt her ankle a couple of times and Marlin dressed like a Ninja, so involved were they in a successful HIDE. Pete put out a decoy pair of shoes but betrayed himself just minutes after. We also found an apple tree and had a huge apple crisp for supper.
Saturday, Oct. 1—back to Grand Marais
The next morning there was a thick frost on the cabintop. Bright and early we headed out, hoping to make it all the way to Grand Marais. There was no wind, just a leftover swell, but by mid-morning a nice breeze showed up from the SE. How perfect! I thought. We were heading due southwest. Mark was somber. There’s always a reason for this, I’ve learned, so I tried to figure it out. Within a couple of hours we were out of the lee of the island and the waves grew. “Great—the wind’s not dying,” I thought. But Mark didn’t look any happier and soon I had to admit that the wind was not SE anymore; it was S and distinctly in front of the beam. Hmmmmm the SW winds were coming in earlier than expected. I didn’t need to hear the rest. They were picking up too. We sailed closer and closer to the wind, edging closer and closer to shore. Amicus II behaved magnificently but there was a limit. We passed the Suzy Islands—our final bailout with 40 miles to go. Should we pull in? No one seemed like they wanted to turn around. Needing decision, I finally chimed in,” I vote to go on. If we have to, we’ll turn back. It’s not going to be any better tomorrow.” No one objected, and on we went. It was not an easy ride and was becoming rather rough. We had all taken seasick pills and life carried on. We got as close to shore as we could and then we tacked. ½ hour later we tacked back. We’d made good about 4 miles in over an hour of hard sailing. Well, it is what it is! “We’ll be okay,” Mark said quietly, calm and even jovial now that the situation was known. “We’ll get there—hopefully before tomorrow.” We all hoped and assumed that the wind would die down in the evening and overnight.
And it did calm down, 4 hours of tacking later, just before sunset. We’d had a big breakfast but nothing but Ramen since. Marlin was suffering and everyone else was silent. I dashed below and perched on a sharply angled galley stove with a pot of boiling water (the stove is gimbaled so the food was fine—it was just a problem of standing there with it). Hurriedly I dumped a stick of butter into the noodles and some cheese sauce, grabbed a bottle of salsa and a brick of cheese, and sent bowls up to the cockpit. With hot fat and pasta inside us, everyone woke up and became cheerful again. It got dark and the waves lost their punch. We pulled down the jib and turned on the motor, making 5 knots/hour towards Grand Marais in 3-foot swells. I dozed off with Lamar. Cedar sat in the cockpit under a sleepingbag, cheerful and awake, proud to be “on watch” with Daddy. By 9:30 Pete was down sleeping and Cedar succumbed. Marlin, Mark and I brought us into Grand Marais at 11:00 p.m. It was chilly but nothing like the chill we’d felt 2 years ago coming in like this in early October, to be greeted by snow the next day. This time we were still in Indian summer, with temps in the 50s on shore.
Oct 2 Grand Marais
The next morning we said good-bye to Pete and Marlin and re-grouped as a family. The cabin quickly became messy and Mark and I took naps. Sailing with others is great—and we couldn’t have asked for a funner crew—and, being just a family again was great too.
Oct. 3-4 Taconite Harbor
We had planned to rest up another day but light NE winds were called for, with westerlies dominating the week. If we wanted to get home we’d have to get going. So we interrupted our school morning, put the books away, and headed out. The girls were sad—they love Grand Marais and they didn’t get to see enough of their friend Olya—and we were still tired. However, it turned out to be just the right thing. The wind was truly gentle and we slid down the waves in a completely relaxing afternoon. Cedar and I pulled out the high-bush cranberries she’d picked on isle Royale and we started drying them on the cabintop. I read more books to the girls and we did school in the cockpit. I was basking in our family energy and the fall colors were indescribably beautiful as we slid by close to shore. We pulled into Taconite Harbor at suppertime and ate in the dark. Out checking the moon in the evening, a neighboring houseboat warned us that the beavers who live here “will eat all your wires.” He described in detail his encounters with wire-eating beavers. I told him we don’t have any wires below the waterline and we said good-night.
The next day was beautiful and windless. Our dream was to hike Carlton Peak, which we’d just passed the day before. We’d attempted this the year before but couldn’t get a ride up there from the highway. Dare we attempt it again? Everyone was game so we packed a goodly amount of food, made a sign to aid our cause, and hoofed it up to the highway. We lined up like we meant business and stuck out our thumbs. At first, each car looked hopeful. “They’re slowing down!”--until I pointed out how few cars would have room for 4 anyway. After 20 minutes the girls started to take it personally, as indeed I was inclined to. Why would nobody pick us up? Mark’s story about hitchhiking in northern Canada lifted our spirits a little, since he waited for 12 hours and saw only two cars. (Finally he lay in the middle of the road and went to sleep. The next truck picked him up.) But then, a friendly guy going the opposite direction turned around and pulled over. He lived just a mile down the road. He told us to give him 15 minutes and he would drive us there. And he did! He took us farther than required and deposited us halfway up the mountain, ensuring that we would actually reach the top with our limited time.
We reached the peak for lunch and the girls ran (“chugged” they called it) all the way back. The colors were gorgeous. Mark and I had to hustle to keep up with the chuggers and had a few minutes to debrief the trip with just ourselves. Every now and then it’s strikingly obvious how quickly the girls are growing up and this was one of those times. Was it the soccer they played this fall? The avocados or malt balls that were giving them extra energy? Whatever the cause, two tall lithe young girls leaping and bounding ahead of us on the trail were two little girls no longer. They carry backpacks and plan overnights. They do many of the daily chores and have ideas of who they’d like to meet in the next life. We are definitely entering a new era of familyhood.
When we got to the highway, there were a dozen cars parked at the trailhead. Confident of a ride, we put off returning for another hour and crossed the road to find our wedding site which we had not visited for 10+ years! It was delightful to show our lovely daughters the restroom I dressed in, the steps we walked down, the panorama of bedrock that made up our seating arrangement. The girls were hungry and blistery and dragging their heels, but they bore with us and appreciated it all. They even took a picture of us smooching in the exact spot we’d said our vows—and only cut off one of our heads.
Returning to the parking lot, the first woman I asked was happy to give us a ride five miles down the road. A lone photographer on vacation, she was interested in us and took a little tour of Amicus II. Cedar rowed her back to shore afterwards. Maybe we’ll see her again.
Oct 3—to Knife River
The one downside of having such a peak experience on Carlton Peak was that my psyche thought the trip was over. That night, as we heard wind whistling through the rigging, I felt myself dreading the morning. NE winds 10-15 were predicted, which would be perfect. But what was all this wind at night? It was surely easterly, and it was surely building. With a sense of foreboding we woke the girls and fed them Dramamine and took it ourselves. Mark never believed in NE 10-15 anyway, and the minute we were out of the harbor in the pre-dawn we knew that this was going to be a different story. There wasn’t that much wind but the swells were massive—many four feet. We wallowed violently side-to-side and in 5 minutes I said “I’ve got to go get the girls before something terrible happens.” I went below and sure enough, things were not looking good. Silently but urgently the girls climbed into the cockpit in their pjs. We grabbed a sleepingbag and stuck it around them and jammed hats on their heads. Disaster averted. We watched the rising sun and were grateful for the warm temps. I mean, it was cold, but it wasn’t COLD.
Within an hour there was enough wind to turn off the motor. “Why don’t you put up the main?” I asked Mark, eager to lessen the motion. But before another hour had passed I understood why he stuck to the jib alone—there was too much wind. We were flying along at 6 knots, and the waves which had started at 4 feet could only get bigger, we knew. It took 3 more hours for them to announce a small-craft advisory and to predict the winds that were actually happening.
Within a couple of hours Silver Bay was within range and Mark asked if we should pull in. I think he felt badly about rousing the girls into such an uncomfortable situation after we had promised (when will we learn not to do this?) a calm day at the start at least. But our vote was unanimous; we wanted to go all the way. After taking the time to adjust to all the motion, we wanted to get home. Lamar, who had been missing home the entire trip, was adamant despite her discomfort. She was uncharacteristically crabby until we all realized that, now that we were running with the waves rather than hitting them on the side, the motion was not that bad and no one was particularly seasick. Then I started feeding the girls. Lamar ate 5 (!) bowls of yogurt and apples. My Goodness I was starving that girl! Then she fell asleep for several hours and woke up, a new girl. Cedar was in much better shape and realized by late morning that she could actually read below.
Meanwhile we were having the Sail of the Trip. We averaged 7 knots and all the landmarks slid by with incredible speed. Silver Bay, Split Rock, Gooseberry, Encampment Island, the tunnels, and then Two Harbors. We considered going into Two Harbors because the waves were so huge Mark was concerned about the hairpin turn at the Knife River marina entrance, which is dangerous in a gale. We flew into Two Harbors but right before we committed to coming in (the harbor is huge and easy to enter) he decided that near the shore, the waves weren’t so bad at all. We pressed on. Mark kept us off the shore without jibing on a fully reefed jib and I went inside to get the girls lunch. Inside it was quiet and safe, hard to believe the ruckus going on outside. I could easily imagine getting used to these conditions on an ocean, I thought. This would be fun. As long as the waves didn’t pick up anymore than this….when I went outside again Mark was looking intense and I couldn’t help but think that the waves HAD picked up again. What if all hell broke loose between now and Knife River? With 7 miles to go we roared along. The girls adjusted fully and got rambunctious inside, with sliding contests and giggle fits. I sat outside with Mark and willed him to keep us on this side of Knife Island without jibing. We slid right through a set of fishing buoys before seeing them!—but after a breathless moment, knew that nothing had snagged. Disaster averted. We slid right by Knife Island, close enough to hear the waves crashing ashore. I pulled in the jib, inch by inch. The plan was to pull in the last inch just as we churned into the entrance and do the hairpin turn on motor alone. Mark turned on the motor and I kept pulling in the jib. A few seconds before we reached the breakwall the roller furling wrapped wrong and caught—“It’s caught!” Mark called but I already knew it and threw my whole body into unwrapping it, then re-wrapping it. I pulled so hard that I fell backwards in the cockpit—but the jib was safely wrapped. I grabbed the docklines and jumped out onto the cabintop, for we only had a minute before we would be blowing into the lagoon where we fit narrowly between two other boats. But Randy—good ole Randy, whom Mark had called to check on harbor conditions an hour before—was there waiting to catch the docklines and made it all easy to come in.
So we’d arrived, much earlier than expected, and still pumped full of adrenaline. The girls immediately started packing their clothes and toys; Mark and I just sat and starred out at the water for awhile. Already I could feel a massive exhaustion coming over my body—the relief of a safe return combined with the letdown of another season essentially ended. We did so well we get kicked off the boat! That was my feeling. We’d graduated and now we had to leave. I prepared Mark and I a little food and we ate it silently. Over the afternoon we managed to collect our stuff, pack the cars, and move back to Two Harbors, which was also awash in reds, oranges, and yellows. The weather continues to be lovely and Mark has some daysails scheduled for the weekend. Overall it was one of our most successful and certainly most beautiful Fall trips to Isle Royale.
Pix coming in a few days--stay tuned!
