S/V AMICUS

Summer 2005--Part 3

Summer 2005 Personal Log—Circumnavigation of Lake Superior

August 1

Well we’ve been in Wawa, ONT for 2 rejuvenating days.  We are in a groove and it feels good.  Nothing like hitting the bottom to provide the impetus to bounce back.  People ask, "What do Cedar/Lamar do all day?"  Well Cedar had a great day today so I’ll give you a slice.  When we're on the water, she does things like eat and sleep, change her outfit (she seems to prefer long pants/sleeves in extremely hot weather and shorts when it's cold out).  She "writes" in her journal or draws maps, mumbling to herself "There's Eagle Harbor, there's Whitefish Bay..."  She gives/takes away toys from Lammie.  She calls her friend Ann on her cell phone and informs me that "both Ann and Ella are sick today."  She climbs the companionway hatch, takes a thorough look around, and shouts, "We're coming about!"  ("I hope not," says Mark).

But today, she expanded her social horizons.  She seems to jive with 7-8 yr. old boys.  First it was DJ and Paul, then Travis.  They spent hours in the marina playground, playing Hard.  DJ and Paul were awesome, really special boys.  They took care of her (she was always trying to do exactly what they were doing), kept her from falling, held on when she put all her weight on them climbing a ladder.  They did a "train" down a big slide over and over.  They seemed tickled by her awe and when I went to do laundry she told me "The boys will take care of me."  Travis was a little more hyper, a little less trustworthy, and they got into a few spats.  But there too, they spent a happy hour pretending to cut down trees, picking up old logs and putting them into a pile (not sure what that was about) while I washed diapers nearby.  Cedar was so thrilled that she kept diving and rolling into the sand, chortling to herself.  Boys that age really are a treat--they are perfectly agile but still goofy and affectionate.  For once, when we left the playground Cedar was satiated.  Tired and filthy, chit-chatting all the way back to the boat about her new friends.  It's really true about sailing kids making friends fast.  They change every day, but at her age it really doesn't seem to matter.  Someone will be there tomorrow.

In the evening we walked 1/2 mile to these beautiful falls.  Cedar picked raspberries and hiked gamely over a pretty rough trail, proud to be on her own.  On the way home we dubbed her "Cedar never-miss-a-raspberry Gordon," and she chortled all the way home to herself, "I never miss a raspberry!"

August 10--”Pukaskwa Territory”

Writing from the White River, the almost-northeast corner of the lake.  We have been having a great time.  Slowly but surely we are transforming into a sailing family.  Mom and dad are relaxing, days are becoming somewhat predictable, we are managing extras like haircuts, homemade cookies, and fingerpainting.

We left Wawa early Aug. 1st, with Buck the marina owner guiding us out the river so we wouldn't get stuck.  Lamar threw her hat overboard and Buck graciously fished it out for us.  Earlier Cedar lost her bathingsuit overboard and the Toronto bass player retrieved it.  So we are miraculously 2 out of 2 so far.

It was foggy and we motorsailed to a cozy little cove.  On the way in we saw a moose on a rocky shoreline.  We were all alone but fish guts and other remains reminded us that we were not really alone.  The next day we sailed? motored? I can't remember...to another gorgeous cove without trails or civilization of any kind except 2 more sailboats.  We walked up a creekbed to a waterfall and "swam" in the pool. The next day we motored through fog into a downwind SE wind.  The waves were picking up all day and so Mark kept the motor going as our destination had a questionable entrance with any swells running.  We were headed for the famed White River.  Right before we arrived we talked to a guy already anchored inside the rivermouth.  He kindly went and dinghed out to the notorious-in-wind entrance to check for safety.  He radioed us that it looked doable, and Mark steered in without a problem.  We were psyched!  We were almost through the most isolated stretch of the lake.  The two other couples in the White River were really fun.  One couple was from Mpls and had sailed to the Caribbean and back twice with their two daughters long ago! and the other (the one who had helped us), a pair from Nova Scotia (him) and Yorkshire, England (her), now living in Kitchener.  While we were chatting with them from our dinghy a mama moose and her young one swam by across the river, walked along a grassy edge, and then swam across right in front of our boat!  This couple has also seen bears and caribou.  They were full of stories and fun and very helpful too.  A few years ago they sailed the entire length of the lake on one reach, 50 hours. Unbelievable.

  In the evening we swam in the warm river water, despite the whistling wind.  We were cozy without so much as a swell. The girls (and I) were feeling the effect of 3 anchorages without trails, roads, or even beaches.  We danced in the cabin and stomped our feet.  That night we tried a new sleeping routine.  Unfortunately, after weeks of respite, Cedar is getting bug bites again.  There aren't nearly as many as there could be, but they all go for Cedar and all it takes is one or two to provoke several long bouts of waking up-scratching unbearably-crying-thrashing-raging. We try everything, from Aloe to remedies to cold cloths to ignoring to telling stories.  No one gets much sleep.  I think we are going to start to put bug dope on her hands and feet at night, even when we're positive there's not a mosquito in the cabin as we have been the past few nights.

Pukaskwa Territory 2

Alot of sailors here are from the Georgian Bay/North Channel. They are always awed and amazed by Lake Superior--the speed at which winds can grow, the swells grow huge.  Apparently things are mellow in the north channel.  One guy told me, "I'm used to having a cup of coffee and thinking about whether or not to change a sail. Now I have to jump out and do it instantly!"  They also mention the absence of other boaters.

Apparently you have to find your anchorage by noon there or all the spots are taken.  So the ease of sailing there is a mixed blessing.  The most dramatic story came from a solo sailor we met in Beatty Cove.  He was in the most remote section of Pukaskwa territory when his engine died (due to dirty fuel).  He couldn't get help or anyone at all on the radio.  He sailed for 5 days straight (going 120 miles in fluky winds) and was trying to fix it on the fly by pouring some toxic something into his engine...somehow ended up sloshing a bunch of this stuff into his mouth and swallowing it.  He was dizzy and seeing double for days, still couldn’t get any rescue.  (maybe he was just too far gone though, he admitted).  He was headed back to Lake Michigan.  His story was scary but we have not had that experience at all here.  We have gotten at least the weather every day, and seen other people every day, and the coast guard comes on all the time.  (right now there are alerts out because a plane disappeared around here about a week ago.  Now that we're up north, presumably with lots of cruisers, I can't believe I was nervous about going through this past section.

Today we woke up to fog and rain--the first real rain since the Apostles.  Around noon it cleared into a perfect sunny day.  Wayne and Joyce came aboard and trailed their dinghy behind us so that that could help us navigate the river.  There were a couple close spots but we made it up no problem (the river is very low so the current was not a problem).  When we arrived at our perfect little pool below the rapids, it was hard to believe we were still on our Superior trip. Suddenly it felt like we were in the boundary waters.  Canoers portaging, hikers resting, and I'll tell you we and our “pirate” sailboat got some looks!  After lunch and naptime we dinghed over to the rapids/portage and hiked up to the Suspension Bridge--200 feet over the gorge and I am not exaggerating!  It was the most spectacular bridge Mark or I have ever been on.  Hair-raising.  Nothing on our north shore holds a candle to this.  Further up Cedar's dream came true and the river became lined with a sand beach, where we played until dinnertime.  And now we are back and the kids are asleep (I think) and Mark is pouring over the charts.  A strong westerly wind sets in tomorrow but we want to stay and check out more falls and trails tomorrow.  We have been hearing about the White River for weeks and have time to enjoy it. 

Aug. 9

HI all, writing in the Slate Islands.  This group was formed by a crater and you can tell by looking at it.  Check it out on a map.  We are really happy to be done (almost) our "northing" --northwest winds shouldn't strike terror in our hearts anymore.

We came out of the White River after staying there for 4 nights and eating a ton of blueberries and going out onto the suspension bridge alone so we could enjoy it.  We went out into a big westerly swell and marginal winds, and motorsailed up to a cove west of Marathon.  (Hearing that Marathon is smelly and industrial and you have to get a ride into town, convinced us to skip it.  We have enough provisions for at least 4 months still in the bilge.  Unfortunately we now have to figure out how to get our mail which was sent there). 

The next day, yesterday, we sailed here to the Slates on a beam reach.  It was only a 3-hour sail but the wind changed frequently and the southern swells were astonishingly large for the amount of wind.  We have some swell tales to tell our friends on western Lake Superior--they don't know nothin!  But inside the cabin the motion was okay, the girls obligingly slept, and Mark had a terrific time changing sail combinations every ten minutes and figuring out what works best in all the varying situations.  When we arrived his comment was "I feel like a sailor again."  We have had some long talks about the realities of this trip, and our sailing family life.  It has been quite disappointing how little we have sailed for any length of time, and also quite stressful a lot of the time for both of us.  It is amazing how continually "on" we have to be.  It is subtle but it builds up over time. That plus the sleeping, or non-sleeping, has been difficult.  Well no one told us this would be easy.  One of the hardest things for me is that my sailing progress has come to a complete halt since getting pregnant with Cedar.  Mark has taken over the sailing (when we dare go out there) and my job is the kids.  And there is no way to change that right now.  Mark is heroic about being with the girls when he can, but if anything remotely exciting is happening outside, he is the one to deal with it—alone, right when another hand feels almost essential.  Lamar especially is really not happy without me right now. So we are both working hard, isolated from each other, and unable to give much. Acknowledging this together has been really helpful, and also accepting the slow and cautious pace at which we are approaching this circumnavigation.  All this is a long way of saying, we are going slowly, but we are doing it.  Days that we sail, without motor, to our destination are a huge treat.  We are hoping that from here on out it will be easier to sail.  Our mileage will be less and usually we have different options.  And being inside island groups means the swells are often minimal.  But we know better than to assume that the winds will be kind to us now.  June gave us a few gentle days between gusty blows.  July was hot, sultry, and with barely a breeze.  August has been hazy or cloudy, dry, and with huge blows that create monster swells and bring crisp air.

Meanwhile, we are very out of touch.  We have not been to a dock since Wawa 10 days ago.  It's all anchorages.  Cedar pulls in the dinghy like a pro.  A couple of days ago Mark was setting out a stern line in the dinghy, and I, cooking dinner, was vaguely aware of Cedar in the cockpit yelling to Mark, "Should I throw the line?"  "Daddy!  Should I throw the line!" Several times he called out "I think we're okay Cedar--thanks!"  Later that evening I was washing clothes in the cockpit and casually asked Mark, "Where did you attach the stern line, anyway?"  Mark took one look--no stern line!  Cedar had tossed it overboard in her attempt to be taking part!  Mark immediately went to shore again and fished the line out of the water while I tried to explain to Cedar what she had done wrong.  I'm not sure she even remembered doing it.  Her emphatic comment, "Never ever throw the line in the water!"--high on enthusiasm, low on understanding--was not very convincing.

We went out for an evening dinghy ride last night to look for the caribou that the Slates are famous for, and actually saw one!  Quite a rack, too.  Close enough for Cedar to take it in.  We've seen 3 moose as well and are now on the lookout for bear (we missed one in the White River--another boat saw 3), wolves, and beavers, whose signs we see every day.

Lamar is being a champ for the fact that she has 3 teeth coming in all at once!  She is going to look very different when we return.  She is a real waterbug--walks right in (pullng her helper behind her) up to her neck, if she could.  She also loves to peer through the netting and watch birds or other boaters.  She can make her way handily around the cockpit and has definitely taken "her first step" but not much beyond that.  She is so darling and excitable and wakes up with a huge smile on her face, flapping her arms and waving her head around looking for Cedar.  She is a treat, and sleeps almost anywhere and anytime, which is nice--actually, essential because we're usually headed on outings right about when she gets tired.  Today she slept in her daddy's arms while Cedar and I skipped rocks in the water on a stony shore right next to an old mine shaft we had read about.  We couldn't figure out what they were mining.

Most people we meet are from Ontario.  A couple from Kingston who have sold everything and are headed for the South Pacific on a catamaran.  Pretty soon I think we will start seeing more boats from "home."  We are in the wilderness now and after Rossport (where we will send this email) will be out again until Thunder Bay at the end of August.  Then I think we will be closer to civilization and near more phone jacks and cell phone towers.  A lot can happen in three months!  Clothes get worn out, shoes get too small, appetites change. 

Aug. 12

Hailing fro Rossport, ONT, and it is a beautiful quaint little town.  We are Happy to be Here.  We are at a dock for the first time in 10 days.  Our euphoria led to some startling revelations, like the hidden cost of cruising.  The biggest one is not having choice. We danced to the only restaurant in walking distance and walked out, dazed, $72 poorer (for two entrees and a hotdog).  We almost had to pay $50 for a ride to town to get groceries. (Luckily that one fell through and we got a ride for free).  Cub foods is not an option around here and small corner groceries are expensive.  And of course so is diesel.  BUT, we are still feeling within our budget for the summer, due to generous planning.  We decided that going out to eat will not be a tradition when we take off next year.  Maybe going out for ice cream instead.

We sailed here on ANOTHER beam reach!  Such beautiful sailing, I'd forgotten sailing could be so blissful.  There was no motion whatsoever.  We played, cleaned, ate, napped, like normal.  I felt like a true sailing mom.  Of course, in a couple of hours the wind increased and changed direction, and soon we were motoring into a headwind, but we were in the channel so the waves weren't much.  We have high hopes for the next leg of our journey to Thunder Bay.  For one thing we will be amid islands almost the entire sail.  We are leaving that desolate, wind-battered east coast far behind.

People are asking for more Cedar stories.  She is a trip, I'll say that.  Mark and I both get frustrated with her frequently, which seems to lead her on to ever more dramatic lengths of naughtiness, often right at the crucial moment.  We have devised an (as yet unused) reward system for coming successfully and without conflict into an anchorage.  She and I frequently have a rough time, both emerging from seasickness to be ravenous and antsy, me needing to do it just right, Lamar also hungry and ready for the trip to be over.  This last time, Cedar got out the depthfinder for me, angled it perfectly, was an awesome helper--then sat right in front of it so I couldn't see it.  This as we are getting very close and shallow and I'm trying to yell out depths to Mark who is perched on the bow.  She ignored my request that she move, then my command that she go to the v-berth.  I am helpless because I am trying to do the engine (forward, neutral, reverse, give it juice, etc.) while also steering, while also holding or nursing a very squirmy Lamar who is trying to get out of my iron grip so she can explore the cockpit and very likely bonk her head.  Somehow we successfully anchor, then in the peaceful calm after the engine is off I send a petulant Cedar to the v-berth and begrudgingly admit to myself that I probably belong there as well.  Kind of ruins the moment.  Next time I'm going to make sure we've at least all snacked before the crucial moments if at all possible.

I have also become distressingly aware of how inconsistently I paint the social and moral world for Cedar.  What she does may elicit a response from me that is outraged, amused, encouraging, or ignored, depending on my mood and the situation.  And we pretend we're being consistent!  This came home to me when she did something she's always doing--like putting her fingers in Lamar's mouth--and then asked me, "Was that naughty or silly?" and I did not have a good answer. 

More on Cedar--she is a born dresser.  I still can't believe that.  Changing outfits is one of her favorite pastimes, and she's hardly discouraged by the fact that all her clothes are dirty at this point, often to the point of gray.  Occasionally this leads to great sadness, when she can't find the shirt she wants.  She gets her clothes wet hourly and I think it's just an excuse to whip it off, hang it up, and go again.  She has a "special shirt" which I originally called a "church shirt" for some reason.  It has been off limits until last night when she was allowed to wear it to the restaurant. And was she ever excited about this!  Not a word about fresh food, it was all about wearing her "church shirt."  Often when we come into an anchorage she will put on her necklace and "nice" sandles and get all dressed up to celebrate!  I feel badly I don't have anywhere to take her, but she doesn't seem to mind. "I look so pretty!" she tells us.

If only her cheeriness carried over into the wee hours!  All her irritations come out in the middle of the night and she continues to keep the whole family awake at times.  Mark mostly deals with it, heroic despite his own frustration and stress about, say, getting out of a tight anchorage in the morning with a fair wind.  No matter how badly her night goes, she wakes up as if it never happened even though if we bring it up I can tell she remembered.  We just bought some more treats (yes, the way to Cedar's compliance is through her stomach) and if all goes well she gets one first thing.  Between her and Lamar's insistence on nursing at night, sleeping hasn't exactly been the time for rest and restoration.  Basically, we are just a regular family with little kids, trying to work it all out just like everyone else.

You know what Cedar is looking forward to in getting home?  Her carseat and the Jeep (!!!!????) and her dolly Baby Dovey.  She is certainly attached to friends but seems perfectly content to look at pictures and reminisce with me about them.  I think to her, a friend is a friend is a friend, and she can pick up a new one at the nearest playground anytime she wants to.

What about Lamar?  She is a true love and I am just about always madly in love with her.  I keep thinking she's got it made in life--she picks things up so quickly, she doesn't sweat the small stuff, she recovers from upset.  She has her moments of course.  She and Cedar are beginning to be able to have unsupervised play time in the v-berth, quite a treat for mom and dad!  They wrestle, chortle, hold their dollies (Lamar acts like a mom already!), and inevitably Cedar gets rough and the time is over.  The longest they've lasted so far is 15 minutes which may not sound like much but believe me, to us it's a goldmine of time.  Lamar has curly red-blond-brown hair and appears perfect and healthy in every way.  Not even diaper rash these days.  She is currently cutting four teeth which is cramping her style.  All these things seem very normal to me; I doubt she would be much different at home.  In fact both Cedar and Lamar seem exceedingly normal--it's Mark and I that get all bent out of shape.

Aug. 13  “REEF”

We hit a reef.  I don't know of any other way to say it.  We are all fine and incredibly, even the boat is fine.

So yesterday, 16 years and a few hours after my brother Danny left this world, we were motoring through the Moffat Straits at hull speed.  The wind had been on the nose but was now on our beam and dropping to nothing.  Cedar was sleeping in the v-berth and Lamar was in my arms--Thank you God--and Mark was in the cockpit when suddenly, absolutely out of the blue, the boat gave a huge jolt and lurched forward, then down, then lay on its side.  Mark knew instantly what was happening; I was confused.  The motor was ringing--he turned it off.  Mark leapt for the radio and called "mayday mayday, we are on a reef in the Moffat Straits."  I peeked in the v-berth but already knew that Cedar was fine--she was groggily waking up.  Mark read our waypoint to the Thunder Bay Coast Guard and in a minute we heard their broadcast over the whole lake.  "Do you have your lifejackets on?" they asked us and Mark said we were working on that.  His voice was a tad shaky.  I waded through the stuff in the cabin and said to Cedar "Honey you've got to get up and come out here.  We hit a rock..." obediently she came forward, commenting on the mess.  Somewhere in there I stepped on her or scratched her and she began to cry in earnest, which also set Lamar going.  We lifted them out of the hatch and got them and ourselves in lifejackets, still looking in shock at our crippled boat lying almost on its side., water sloshing over the port deck.  I looked in horror at the lake bottom, about 1 foot under the water. 

     Once we were on the high side, lifejackets on, a tug called in.  They were at the other end of the strait, and on their way.  Also a tug from Rossport was coming.  We began to see that we were pretty snugly sitting there, not moving. There was virtually no wind or waves.  We started attaching lines to ourselves, then setting up the dinghy, then realized we just needed to wait.

     Mark, other than letting out a few choice expletives, was calm.  What he didn’t tell me at the time was that he knew we were in 30 feet of water (except this reef) and was afraid we would slide off and sink.  Neither of us could believe that it had happened and were still trying to work out in our brains how this could have happened.  Once it was clear that we were stable and help was on the way, all the Rest starts to sink in.  Was our trip over?  Where could we repair the boat--or was it a total loss? Mark didn't want to go down into the cabin until we were off the boat but he did say, barely daring to hope, that no water was coming in the cabin yet and we might actually not even have a hole.  I was not there yet--I just wanted to be glad we were safe and begin to think about how to get the boat off.  In seconds Cedar said, "Why is Lamar crying?" and I said "Because you're crying or maybe she's scared.  Will you help play with her?" We played with clothespins on the lifelines and gradually Cedar felt safe enough to get off my lap and sit beside us, entertaining Lamar.  I told her we were going to go on a tugboat and that was very exciting.  She seemed to consider the whole thing either amazing or completely normal.  "wow, we get to go on a tugboat!" 

  It arrived in 30 minutes or so, actually they sent their dinghy ahead. I jumped down from the high side and then they lifted the girls in.  Then Mark hopped in and we slowly skirted the boat, couldn't find any holes.  It seemed to be lying on a small section of the side, and was starting to teeter and rock a bit.

   

The girls and I were ferried to the now-arrived tugboat, greeted by two sister with tears in their eyes who hugged and kissed the girls and offered food and nurturing to all.  Cedar got herself all set up with treats and juice which she handily acquired by mentioning, "I'm thirsty!" and we watched what was going on.  Another tug arrived in 30 minutes as well as about 4 motorboats, all eager to be in on the drama.  I couldn't get much of what was going on but the guys seemed very practiced at this--they've all been on reefs around here.  The one sister said, "I'm going to send these pictures to the paper and force them to mark that reef!"  She said just that day they'd motored by and commented, why don't that mark that reef? Once they heard the hull had one inch of steel, they doubted there would even be a hole.  I had a hard time believing this, with the impact I had just felt.

    The short story is, the bigger tug pulled on the stern end.  With barely a nudge, AMICUS righted herself and was good as gold.  We motored back to Rossport in the tugboat beside her and Mark spent the time checking and re-checking the bilge and bringing out stuff to dry.  The vent for the water tanks as well as the sink had filled and poured out water, and there were several gallons down soaking cushions and clothes, as well as water in the bilge.  Other than broken eggs, that was about the extent of the damage.  Unbelievable.

     We came into Rossport by late afternoon.  Coming into port is an exuberant event:  The rescuers have had a blast, the rescued are so grateful that everything is all right, and the people on shore are eager to see the action.  I dove under in my wetsuit and examined the hull and could only find scraped paint. 

     So...what does one do with this?  Call it quits out of fear, or guilt that everything from weather to the smooth reef to the people, were so forgiving?  We are physically unscathed, but we are acutely aware that we easily could have lost everything.  In a fiberglass boat, it may well have been a total loss--in fact the tug guy told us he would have hesitated to pull off a fiberglass boat.  They liked us because we were steel.  Mark, of course, is chagrined beyond measure and considered it an error on his part.  We were following the guidebook but we knew it was dicey and if you look close, this reef was in the chartbook.  Usually we are careful in places like this--we go slow and we have someone on the bow--and it is beyond him why we were not doing that.  Bottom line, he says, is that it happened, and that is inexcusable.  Everyone else is more tolerant--they have all been on reefs around here.  In the end I'm actually glad it was our mistake--otherwise

it would feel too dangerous to continue.

    So we've decided to consider it a gift from the universe and the Lord and carry on.   It may take us awhile to lick our wounds and hold up our heads again but I think it will happen long before we would have guessed yesterday afternoon.  I cannot describe the feeling of motoring away from one's boat, one's home, in shambles, not knowing what is next.  It is not a feeling you forget though.  Today we are blessed with a whole new state.  Gratitude at being together, at the beautiful gentle weather, at all the wonderful people around us.  And of course, Cedar is glad to get another shot at all the raspberries around us.  We are heading out—south—towards home-- as soon as I send this email.

Summer 2005--Part 4

Summer 2005 Personal Log—Circumnavigation of Lake Superior

Aug. 20

Not a whole lot to report here.  We motored through the Moffat Straits soon after sending my last email.  Both girls slept, a squall arrived just as we hit the dicey spot, and we navigated it just fine.  Just another area to watch.  It felt good to do that.  We are snatching every little bit of sailing we can, and sailed 2-3 miles after the strait to our anchorage.  We stayed at Woodbine Harbor, another anchorage, for 3 nights.  The wind blew out of the west both days, with big swells reported by the boats coming in.  The first day we hiked to an inland lake on a very rough trail, and then canoed around looking for beaver (saw one at 10 feet). The next day was harder to fill.  Cedar added cranberries to her list and I went swimming in my wetsuit.  All clothes, diapers, all sheets were cleaned.  Toys reorganized, food reshelved, forgotten stores brought to the front.  It was sunny but chilly. Then today, we sailed ALL DAY in an east wind, waves 1-3 feet, a broad reach.  It was rolly but stable so I could sail and Mark could put in some time with the girls.  In the afternoon they slept for hours and we sat out in the cockpit and delighted in the day.  What a rare treat.  It was overcast with a brownish haze--forest fires.  (We actually had a film of ash on the boat in the morning). We sailed all the way to the entrance of this harbor.  Both girls, harnesses on, played in the bottom of the cockpit while M and I studied the charts and agreed on a course around the rocks.  We anchored without incident and without stress.  Probably the first and last time THAT will ever happen!  Now it is 9:30 and it's definitely dark outside.  A slow rain is falling and it's a chilly damp 60 degrees.  Fall is coming.  Fleece and wool socks emerged from hiding today.  We hear about a gale coming in about three days--hopefully we will be closer to civilization by then.  This guidebook was definitely written for retired couples who love to read in the cockpit all day.  Gorgeous anchorages they are--but we need a list of things to do!  We like beaches, berries, trails, roads, towns, playgrounds.  We are ready for Thunder Bay, which still may be a few days away.

          

Aug. 24

Hailing from Thunder Bay!  We spent a day at Loon Harbor after that last writing, explored a long channel with the dinghy and picked berries on what felt like a completely pristine island, surrounded by cliffs.  Later we heard from another boater that there is a sauna on that island, but you have to know exactly where to look!  The next day we motorsailed through dying swells and dying wind to Silver Islet. (There is a big difference between a slight breeze and a dying wind)  Secretly we had hoped that our sailing luck would be turned with the last few days of great sailing, but in the end we were grateful to get to a place with people and a dock before the next big NW blow.  Silver Islet is just on the outer edge of Thunder Bay (the bay, not the city). They say it was the most lucrative silver mine in the world for a few years, and it appears they were not exaggerating.  Now it is bunch of restored houses RIGHT against the cliffs of the mainland.  No electricity, no phones (Mark hitchhiked to the Provincial park office to send that last email).  Solar panels and wind generators everywhere.  Plus an inland beach--bliss for Cedar although swimming has turned into quick waist-deep dips.  It rarely hits 70 now and that lovely warm water is history, even inland. It's a good thing there was lots to do because we were there for 3 nights while the wind blew up to 30 knots out of the SW then NW.  A couple from Thunder Bay sailed in and Mark immediately offered to let them raft up to us to avoid the bumpy side of the dock.  Of course, bumping together all day, we got to know them well.  They were only there for the weekend but the wind continued to blow through Sunday night so they ended up getting a ride home and leaving their boat with us.

     It has been a great joy to watch Lamar learning to walk!  The floor of the cabin provides the perfect one-step leap, and now she has taken that skill outdoors.  Sometimes she just can't be bothered with learning to walk and instead holds onto our hands and RUNS, arms doubled back behind her she's so eager.

     Cedar has learned the blunt but not the fine art of making conversation.  She gets the general idea, but the sublties alude her.  When we start chatting with someone she will take up her own monologue, speaking loudly and clearly about all subjects in an intertwined fashion..."SO... YEAH, WE LIKE TO EAT RASPBERRIES AND EAGLE HARBOR, HMMMM, YEAH, MAYA IN CALIFORNIA, LAMMIE IS LEARNING TO WALK, CEDAR NEVER MISSES A RASPBERRY, I RIDE MY TRIKE AROUND THE DOCK, THE SCHOOL IS VERY FAR AWAY, YEAH!"  Makes me wonder if our small talk is about as meaningful as that!  The man usually ignores her and talks obliviously to Mark, while the woman, fascinated, tries to glean meaning from it.  "Oh, really!  Oh My!  Are you a big sister?"      

     Monday morning we motored 2 miles to Tee Harbor, right at the foot of the "sleeping giant," the incredible Sibley Peninsula.  We could have stayed there for days--a gorgeous beach and a great trail and a mooring (all the ease of an anchorage without any of the work).  We got "taxied" around by a friendly couple with a motor dinghy with a Lord Nelson sailboat from the Cities.  They too are planning to leave and live aboard--as soon as they finish buying their boat.  We then attempted to climb the Sleeping Giant but soon found it way out of reach with two small children and limited time, since we really wanted to go to Thunder Bay.

We had analyzed the trip into Thunder Bay from every angle of northern wind, which had been blowing for days and was predicted to continue at a moderated rate.  Then, wouldn't you know it, we reached the entrance to the bay and found the wind extremely light from the SW!  Both girls were sleeping, the waves were nil, and I brought hat and sunglasses into the cockpit, psyched for the perfect sail.  Within 10 minutes the wind had died to nothing.  We sat silently for a minute--"Foiled again!"  I commented.  Mark growled.  But it was a gorgeous August day and we were feeling optimistic.  Sure enough, within half an hour a light SW breeze appeared sailable.  It never got more than about 5 knots but Mark put up the spinnaker and all the sails and we went along at 2-3 knots and enjoyed the day.  The girls woke up and played with water in the cockpit and then we ate supper and by 8:00 were coming into the city.  About 6 sailboats were out "racing" (when they could find enough wind to move) and it was an incredible sunset and we didn't drop the sails until we were almost in the marina.  Glorious!  We were picture-happy and even got one of Cedar, grinning wildly and a bit tensely, out on the bowsprit (attached tightly by Mark, of course).  By the time we were settled in a slip it was nearly dark and all the racers came in.  Thunder Bay IS extremely friendly; the rumors are true.  Almost immediately we felt surrounded by friends, including two old men doing yoga (actually "she-yung") in the marina office and our friends from Silver Islet who also successfully sailed in after work today.  We have a car if we need it and have been urged to stay til tomorrow night when they have a fantastic air show right over the marina.  The only drawback is that it's expensive--but we're paying for accessibility to the biggest city we will see on this trip.  I think we'll stay.

     Funny, the more M and I have been talking about the difficulties of this trip, and everything it has not been, the easier and more fun it has become.  It seems that we are just on the cusp of coming into our stride.

Aug. 27

Hailing from Cloud Bay.  It is our first anchorage in a week, but the shoreline is lined with houses--a sure sign that things are changing.  We left Thunder Bay after only two nights, because of a favorable forecast and the high cost of living in a marina.  After being basically becalmed for a little while we motored into headwinds, then sailed slowly towards Thompson Island.  We actually sailed through a very narrow slot between two islands without incident or stress.  Thompson Island is a set-up by the TB Yacht club.  There is a sauna, a long dock, deck and barbecue, trails, swings, beaches.  Very well used and very communal.  We were one of four boats there, including a sailboat with a man, his teenage son, and 9 teenage friends!   I decided I prefer the company of toddlers; still you have to hand it to the father.  They could be doing worse things than taking a sauna on a summer night.  Happily they left at dusk.  Mark and I both took a sauna after dark--what a treat!

     Today we tacked about 8 times into a headwind to make 17 miles of southwesting.  It was all behind islands so there were no swells, which was terrific.  It was one of those days without drama, but once again felt like a nondescript step forward.  Cedar found herself a pillow, a blanket, and her dolly and laid down on the settee and took a nap.  She is becoming very self-sufficient.  One telling moment, noteworthy only in retrospect, was right when the wind piped up from nowhere.  Cedar was eating lunch and Lamar was playing with dad, both in the cockpit, while mom was making lunch.  Suddenly, whoa!--over we go in a gust. Panic? Bedlam?  Why, no!  In 10 seconds or less Cedar was inside on the settee with her lunch, Lamar was in my arms, all food was either gone or stable, and Mark was alone outside, free to adjust the sails.  And we carried on without a word.

     When we are anchored, we have this little after-dinner ritual that has become a great game for the girls.  Mark does the dishes while we go on the cabintop.  We sit on the boom and "ride-em cowboy," then we play a combination of hide-and-seek, and jump-on-the-hatch-door.  The girls adore it and their laughter can be heard for miles, I'm sure.  It's hard to explain what Lamar does when she's tickled pink these days, but it's worth experiencing.  It's a combination of flapping, chortling, laughing, and tugging a helping hand as she runs/spins in circles.  You have to see it to get it but trust me, it's really cute.  She has also spoken her first word—“duck.”

      Cedar also is doing really well.  Her fussiness has gone way down and is nonexistent some days.  I'm not sure why but I think an attitude adjustment on the parents' part was involved.  Also she is a competent CD-changer (her CD’s only), forecast station turner, and depthfinder arranger. She is very happy and helpful and thrills in each new skill/word/joke that comes along.  Her nighttime difficulties appear to be over for now, too.  Fruit rollups have solved the anchoring problems.  She is a thorough "my-by-selfer"--like when we are about to go on a walk in Thunder Bay.  She wants to bring her backpack, which hangs uncomfortably around her waist.  Now anybody who knows Mark knows that he really likes things to be adjusted and comfortable, particularly for people he loves.  And we all know that gear is his forte in life!  If there's anyone in the world who can make someone feel comfortable with a backpack, he can.  But if he attempts to tug a single strap with Cedar's backpack, she screams "no no!" and runs away from him.  So he tries to verbally explain to her what to do and why her pack is so loose.  She doesn't want to hear it-she thinks her pack is just fine.  So we continue on.  Now, she wants to push the trailor.  There is no bar for a little girl, so she has to reach up on tiptoe and attempt to push that way.  Immediately she runs into the grass.  Mark sneaks in a little push/turn so the trailor is straightened out--"No!" she yells again and turns the trailor back into the grass so that she can learn to turn it herself.  And turn it she does--eventually.  Luckily, there are not many times in this family where time is truly of the essence.  She continues to live up to her reputation of "never missing a raspberry"--she has disappeared into the brush right after I've told her with complete certainty that there are no berries around here--and come back with a raspberry.  When there are no "people-berries" she picks "bird-berries" and puts them in piles, or feeds the ducks. 

     Hopefully there aren't too many of you out there who don't know and love Cedar and Lamar!  I'm writing all this for posterity's sake but also for the fans of our girls out there.

Aug. 31

Well we made it to Grand Marais, Minnesota.  It is a beautiful day with a gentle southwest breeze.  Of course we did wait 3 days for the perfect forecast of NE 10-15 so we could sail down here.  At least we have a sense of humor about this now!  As we motored down here in on a glassy sea, we continued to listen to the forecast, just to hear these (apparently separate) sources continue to predict that today there would be solid winds out of the NE, even as they were recording light SW winds or no winds, which is exactly what we were experiencing. 

     Once here, we took Grand Marais by storm, particularly the library which is the first we've been to on our trip.  (We can borrow books now since it is all part of the same NE Minnesotan system).  I was surprised at how much it felt like culture shock. We are rough around the edges, like coming back from a camping trip.  Cedar blew in there, thrilled beyond measure (she gave up reading daddy our books a few weeks ago, and has been listening to made-up off-the-cuff stories ever since) and could not stop exclaiming in a distinctly non-library voice, "Mom!  Dad!  Look at all the BOOKS!  Look at all the TOYS!" Three girls were placidly coloring at a table and she sat right down and assumed intimate conversational engagement, which was received with shock and silence.  Eventually one of the girls gave her a crayon.  She blasted through a drawing, handed it to me, and was back racing around the play area.  Windblown, worn and stained clothes, mismatched everything, she was quite the contrast to the neatly put together children that I'm beginning to notice are the norm!  Luckily the adults in the vicinity were amused rather than annoyed.  We also had to confess a 28-day overdue book and ask to use our email machine--altogether a rather unusual spectacle for the library to witness.

     We are now waiting for a good forecast (don't ask me why) to do a big crossing south to the Apostle Islands.  Our trip essentially ends with a grand finale wedding in Washburn, WI, on Sept. 10 so we have lots of time to contemplate the mysteries of the lake and the meaning behind this summer's many many moments of intensity, beauty, glory, misery.  Sailing is humbling in every way.  It's amazing how much of our time we have felt either like we're getting either pasted or, like today, outsmarted or even laughed at.  Clearly we still have a long way to go in our zen and the art of sailing, though to our credit I'd say we've come a long way too.

Sept. 5

Hello all, we are back in the Apostles.  Summer has returned!  It is warm and humid.  The theme of light winds, then gales, continues.  We spent 3 fun days at Grand Marais waiting for a good chance to cross.  Two other couples in sailboats waited with us.  One day we had gale winds from the southwest.  We were protected in the bay but even so the chop was so strong that one day we couldn't leave in the dinghy until after dinner.  We were moored right by the dock at the southwest end of the bay--a dock that definitely should not be used in a southwest wind--and were witness to two different dramas there.  The first: a sailboat blew in at midday, much to our surprise, and after turning in circles in the bay evidently decided to try to use the dock. We tried to radio them to let them know of the city moorings, but they were clearly too occupied and we didn't know the name of their boat.  They came flying into the dock right as our friends in the other boats, who had dinghed ashore early, came running over to help them land and advise them to get off.  Lots of yelling and jumping and in seconds they pushed off again, losing a bumper and probably some paint and narrowly missing both running aground and sliding back into the dock. (They stayed put at their mooring, not leaving their boat and then the next day, with more big winds and waves, left in the morning. Tight schedule--or totally gnarly sailors?  Maybe both)

   Later in the day a huge powerboat, bigger than our cottage at Grand Bend it seemed, came into the bay and with much backing and forwarding and bow-thrusting, attempted to glide smoothly into the dock.  The man, at the helm, appeared very calm up in the bridgedeck while his wife hopped around, until his boat started to slam against the dock.  Then he suddenly hopped to, started yelling orders, and got away from the dock with some rub rail left as a gift to Grand Marais.  They went and anchored over at the other end of the bay.

    Meanwhile, we beaded, baked, laundered, and became acclimatized to the chop, while the bustling town sat only 30 feet away. 

    We left at 5:00 a.m. and Mark motored into the dawn on dying swells and dying wind.  Once again our dreams were thwarted and we motored into the Apostles where we managed to sail, slowly, for a couple of hours before we arrived at Presque Isle--the only good anchorage in the Apostles in an east wind.  We were there by mid-afternoon, luckily, and managed to edge ourselves some room.  By dusk there were 50+ boats lined along the 2-mile beach, 3 to four layers deep.  Return to civilization! To think that only last year we felt pretty excited to have brought little Cedar all the way to the Apostles!  Several sailors we'd met on our journey were there and they came aboard to visit.  Apparently they realized that they would have to make the move if they were to penetrate the glassy-eyed couple with the bouncing toddlers.  It made me acutely aware once again of how different are our situations.  They are all semi-retired couples, dreaming of the Caribbean and talking about their children in college, discussing their electronics and the last big blow they weathered.  We are trying to keep Lamar from chowing on all the special goat cheese, arguing with Cedar about what liquid she gets in her plastic wine glass, and bemoaning the fact that neither girl slept all afternoon.  Even so, it was great to have company. 

    That night, all anchor lights out, it looked like Christmas out on the lake.  It would have been challenging to find our boat in the dark from a dinghy, like finding a car in a mall parking lot.

       The next morning (Sunday, Labor Day weekend) we watched everyone wake up and tootle around in their dinghies from our cockpit.  We amused ourselves by picking out the charter sailors--big groups in slick new boats looking a tad awkward at things like, starting the engine or dropping the anchor.  Motoring around in a perfect wind was a dead giveaway.  We dinghed to shore and Cedar and Lamar immediately rushed into the water, Lamar dragging Mark behind her; it was the sunniest beach and the warmest water we'd seen in a long time.  There were lots of kids around, but alas it seems that Cedar has become a different breed.  She needs other sailing kids to play with.  These kids stared at her antics and ignored her entreaties to play.

     After lunch we sailed out of the anchorage (most of the boats had left by then) and as both girls slept, enjoyed a lovely short sail on a broad reach, heading to Schooner Bay.  Everything was perfect until we arrived at the marina, a tricky entrance which we manuevered perfectly. Just as we were entering our slip a man rushed over and told us we were in the wrong slip, we had to go 3 over.  I wondered, as Lammie began to cry and I contemplated trying a complicated reversal in a tight marina, did he have any idea?  Lamar screamed in rage and then pain as she bonked her head.  I gripped her and threw the engine and tiller back and forth, blindly following Mark's calm directives from the bow.  I had not anticipated having to turn the tiller as far as I needed to, so I also had to get Cedar, all set up with her desk and toys, to up and move out of the way in an instant.  She has become highly motivated during these times however (treats being imminent at that point) and moved willingly.  And soon it was all over and we'd arrived.

     The best diesel mechanic in this part of the lake runs this marina, and Mark is, (as I write this) talking to him about overhauling our engine this winter.  If he agrees to do this, we will be hauling the boat here for the winter and living here for a month in the spring as we get ready to go.  We still have a week to sail around, and a wedding to attend, so our trip is not over, but the fact that the traveling may be over is a bit shocking!  If it all works out, we will stay here long enough for Mark to get the boat ready to haul, then drive home for good.  Logistics are starting to weigh on us again, life is getting complicated quickly.

    We have our first malaise of the trip (other than seasickness of course)--Cedar seems to have a urinary tract infection.  All the signs and this morning she has a slight fever.  She is lying down and being very sweet.  We will be staying put instead of heading to Raspberry Bay as planned.

Sept. 7

Hi all, well we're essentially done our travel.  We motored to Bayfield from Schooner Bay yesterday to be closer to a doctor should Cedar's fever not let up.  She had no fever or symptoms by the time we got here and we wondered about taking off for a couple more days (Bayfield is notoriously expensive) but then her fever came back.  Mark's friend Ted knows everybody around here and provided us with a car, a doctor friend, and a good deal for a slip in a marina. This morning I drove Cedar to Red Cliff and confirmed that she does, indeed, have a UTI. She seems pretty normal (no fever for over 12 hours now) and we're a bit reluctant to interfere with her strong immune system, but this is something that could get complicated and that I believe she has had off-and-on for months.  So we are going to knock it once and for all, hopefully, with antibiotics.

     Meanwhile, we find we have changed gears almost without noticing.  We are in rest-and-recupe mode and it is unlikely we will be moving before Friday, at which time we will go back to Schooner Bay to get the boat ready to haul.  Saturday we will be having fun with Thistledew people at a wedding nearby.   Not sure yet when exactly we will head home.  We have lots of stuff to deal with--canned food, sails, carseats, passports.  And high gas prices!!!

   We are still somewhat occupied in the moment, and feeling glad that Cedar is not sicker than she is.  Still, the inevitable post-trip questions are starting to sift their way into our brains.  How Was the trip?  What does our future look like?  What did we learn?  We have had a lot of great talks this last month and are learning to merge our dreams with our capabilities with our realities.   This trip has been an amazing and rewarding challenge for both our family and our marriage. I've learned that I really like the idea of going out--and coming back.  Mark and I have a new pact:  He can always be planning the next trip; I can always be planning how and where to return.  Every single thing that has happened, right down to this last medical situation, has been something to chalk up to experience; we are sponges constantly getting soaked.  Mark will have to speak for himself about what he's learned but here are some things that stand out to me:

1. We do not control many more things than we do control.

2. Sometimes, even despite our best efforts, we will fail.

3. That is okay; there is always help.

4. It's not over til it's over (including right now).

The biggest thing of all, perhaps, is that it's been ALL about the kids.  Whenever we look enviously at the gnarly foul-weather-geared sailors taking off into big seas and sailing wherever they please, we revisit our own situation and remember that our girls are the reason we are doing this trip the way we are.  We have tested the edge and gone over it a few times and confirmed that it is there. 

     At the same time as the kids are a challenge, they have also provided the most meaning to our trip.  It's hard to imagine sailing without them--what would we do all day? What would be the point anyway?  This trip was so different than we thought in so many ways; one thing we know for sure is that the next trip will also be unpredictable and different once again.  In some ways it feels like we've been slowing down ever since I got pregnant with Cedar, and now we are churning forward a little faster, picking up the pace again.  That is an exciting feeling.

Sept. 30

Hello to all those who might be interested in an epilogue of our trip!

We've been back for 3 weeks, I guess--seems like longer.  It took about 2 seconds for Cedar to throw all her toys everywhere and make a complete mess of the immaculate house we returned to.  It took Lamar a little longer--she was quite insecure for almost a day, not sure what to make of all this space, not to mention family members that kept disappearing into other rooms.  She was also scared of the bath. Mom and dad were in a daze for a day, then we spent a quiet week (Mark didn't go back to work for another week) grocery shopping, getting our affairs in order, catching up on communications, and renovating our house.  The rugs/walls in the girls' bedroom and bathroom struck us as so unbelievably gross that we immediately pulled them up and put in new rugs and linoleum down.

September has been beautiful, and life seems really easy and fulfilling.  Both Lamar and Cedar have made developmental leaps and bounds since returning.  Stunted growth during the trip? or accelerated growth because of the trip? We'll never know, but Lamar is walking, running, saying a few words ("duck" "daddy" "shhhhh"), and acting for all the world like a veteran toddler. Cedar's sleep transformed almost overnight. All her nighttime problems have disappeared.  She went to her first "pre-preschool" on Friday--a big event that has also expanded her horizons.  She woke up frenzied with excitement, got herself dressed and her backpack packed (we took out all the security items like stickers, harmonica...), and announced for the first time in her life that she was going to skip breakfast.  Nerves?  Desire to have an empty stomach for the cookies and juice that were sure to come her way?  In any case, when denied orange juice she promptly fell upon her oats as usual.  Then I heard her chortling in the bathroom.  She was laughing, "Mama!  I put on two pairs of underwear!"  Sure enough, she'd forgotten to take a pair off in the excitement.  She adored school and did well I guess--the "report" in the folder afterwards said "Cedar played with dollies."

Mark and I have pretty painlessly found our land-based strides.  Everything seems remarkably the same, except that we both noticed we drive the speed limit and are not in a hurry to save five minutes. We greatly enjoy doing the things that we couldn't do on board, like watching movies at night and having down time after meals. We are riding high with a sense of accomplishment, very in love with each other and our children.  We can see how much easier life on land is, and many have asked, "So...are you still going to take off next year?" We have answered an unhesitating "yes" every time. There are people who need no explanation for this, but for those of you who do, here's an attempt:

For one thing, life is not about avoiding pain or misery.  For every memory of misery or difficulty we have a memory that we cherish.  For another thing, we are reaching the end of the road here in Chisholm anyway; it's time to move on.  Finally, we are not thrill-seekers but we do crave meaning and are willing to put up with a lot of misery, stress, or boredom, to really really experience life and the meaning that it offers.  People think that "outdoorsy people" just love fun or thrills--what a misunderstanding!  For us, being "outdoorsy" means being able to trust that we don't need to find the meaning in each day or each minute--many of which would feel unbearably miserable, stressful, or boring to many people--to trust that we will, later, see what this was all about.  As a family we have had a very profound experience together that we would not have missed for the world.  When I watched the sun rise with early-rising Lamar in Schooner Bay on our last morning on our boat, and thought about all that had gone down in the past few months, I knew that we will always be looking for the next adventure.  We want our kids to have roots, family, community--and, we want them to have travel, excitement, adventure.  We believe we can have both.

Either that, or we are gluttons for punishment.

So, we will spend the year putting $$$ back in the bank and making ready our house for sale. And doing the millions of things that will need to be done.  By summer 2006 we will be heading through the Great Lakes to the Erie Canal, down the eastern seaboard, and reaching the Caribbean after the hurricane season.  After that, we'll let you know.

love Katya, Mark, Cedar, Lamar

Summer 2005--Part 2

Summer 2005 Personal Log—Circumnavigation of Lake Superior

July 12

We sailed a LONG day to Munising, MI, reaching Murray Bay at 9:30.  There were enough rough moments the last four hours to remind me that long days are really not our cup o tea right now. Cedar spent a lot of the day lying around and crying for her Daddy.  Lamar was off too.  But we came in right at sunset and it was beautiful again and Mark ate his supper while we watched and things were peaceful again. The next morning was crisper and blowing pretty hard from the NE, right where we were going.  It didn't take long to decide to stay put for a day.  What a great decision that was!  The island is a National Forest.  Blueberries everywhere, pristine beaches, warm water, trails.  And best of all, a brisk wind with no bugs!  Bugs have been our biggest discomfort thus far.  It's just an annoyance except for Cedar, who gets at least a dozen bites for anyone else's single one and each bite is a huge welt which she then scratches until it bleeds.  It looks right now like she just had a bad case of chickenpox.

We capped off our day by inviting to dinner a "character" named Neely, who lives in a boat that looks like half a sailboat with a telephone booth attached.  He is a Native American guy who is hanging out in this area as his "ancestral home" but who has been down the Mississippi River 4 times and back up along the east coast.  He has one leg missing below the knee and lots of stories to tell.  He gave us an (expensive!) chart book for Lake Erie, saying he's decided never to return there.

The next morning we motor-sailed the beautiful coastline to Grand Marais--incredible cliffs, waterfalls, caves, great sand dunes.  And here we are.  Tomorrow we're going to try to get all the way to Whitefish Bay before the weather supposedly is going to turn, after two weeks of sun.

July 21

We motored into slight headwinds 57 miles to Whitefish point.  There are no ports in between so we had to have either perfect winds (if they exist) or no wind, in order to get there.  We hope that was our last long stretch without options. Whitefish Point has a Bay of Refuge that is in the middle of nowhere except the famed lighthouse (as we were to learn) which is now home to the Shipwreck Memorial Museum.  We visited it twice--it is humbling.  Over 300 ships have gone down in the area, what with fog and a narrow channel and the dreaded "norwester" with waves that hurtle through from the other end of the lake.  Even an ore ship went down in 1975; Mark remembers it well.  This was all very hard to take in at the time, since we were there in hot, saltry weather with mere ripples of wind.  There were enough references made to the skeletons lining the beaches to make us grateful we had progressed thus far without big winds.

The most exciting thing that happened during those three days at the Point (I don't count picking endless blueberries or watching the local police force stage a diving rescue to train their staff) was that Cedar learned to swim!  Or rather, learned to float and kick like a maddog with a lifejacket on.  Being mobile on her own, over her head, is incredible to her, it makes her breathless and wild with delight.  The best part about the insanely hot weather is the unusual warmth of the water.  We swam at least twice daily.               

The third night the wind started to blow hard out of the northwest, bringing thunderstorms and cool, crisp air.  Ahhhh....by midday, with careful attention to both US and Canadian weather forecasting and wave heights, etc., we determined that we could scoot down the 20+ miles to the St. Mary's River before the wind turned south again that evening.  We left at noon.  The wind was coming off the shore so there were no waves to speak of where we were at, but Mark had taken binoculars and confirmed that it was going to be a bumpy ride.  The weather channel said waves were 2-4 feet and the wind was 10-15 knots, which sounded great.  We battened down the hatches--Mark on the outside, me on the inside--with that twinge of butterflies that occur when you know you're in for a ride.  Before long we were tight as a drum and ready to go. 

We were both really nervous, I guess knowing that we had had very easy rides thus far the whole trip, and had not really tested the waters with two children yet.  Plus that museum had its impact I'm sure.  But we got out easily enough and in minutes the girls and I went below.  I called out "how is it?" and Mark confirmed that it was just great sailing--a broad reach and the waves weren't bad at all.  Yet.  We knew they would build as we got out there.  He tentatively had the staysail and the mizzen up (our two smallest sails) and we were rocking along at about 4 knots.

As the waves built the boat started to roll, side to side.  I had books and a few toys out on the settee and we read until Cedar decided she was ready to lie down.  I was starting to feel it a bit so I went outside with Lamar who promptly nursed and fell asleep.  Cedar lay on the settee singing to herself, calling out rules (once I said "What?" and she yelled "Never mind!" so I figured she was okay) until she too fell asleep.  That was really good, because both girls were asleep as we watched the waves build.  The wind was definitely blowing, but not out of control or anything.  It was just long rolls, side to side, and it was hard to tell how much it was going to continue to grow.  Mark said afterwards that he had no concerns about the wind or the boat but I'll tell you his face was tense as he decided to jibe.  I myself was privately peeing in my pants but trying to relax and remember that it's always a matter of getting used to the waves, and the motion, and everything was just fine.  I do think the Lord created oceans to humble us--there is absolutely no way to be in the middle of big wind and waves and not feel awed in some way.  I couldn't help at all, since I was holding Lammie, so Mark let the autopilot take the helm (which holds a looser course, so we would roll more before it would correct itself) and, both hands occupied, managed to jibe without incident.  The way the mizzen flipped over in an instant, even pulled in tight, reminded me how stiffly the wind was blowing.  Unfortunately neither of us are the type to lighten things up; we needed a joke or a crack of some kind--maybe we'll have to work on that!

Soon after it started to feel like I shouldn't have Lammie out there. She woke up and wanted to move around, for one thing.  So I chose my moment and we dived below, praying I wouldn't be instantly overtaken with seasickness.  Emotionally, it was MUCH better below.  I didn't want to tell Mark what the waves looked like behind him as I stepped backwards down the hatch.  But inside, I could feel the motion of the boat as something beautiful, and harmonious--which is the truth, not an illusion.  The boat was never even remotely stressed out.  We weren't going really fast; it was just going to take awhile.  Soon I called out to Mark and he sounded great.  He put out the main jib and the motion improved a bit, plus we picked up another knot of speed.  I lay down with Lamar, who was obligingly ready to lie down and nurse some more, and sang, and felt the motion as a beautiful thing.

Cedar woke up and was very cheerful, though she could hardly raise her head.  We played word games and I held onto Lammie's harness, since she did a lot of crawling around.  Lamar did throw up once, but seemed unfazed.  I established my favorite spot--hips jammed against the port galley.  I can feel the fresh air, see the horizon, and Mark, and deal with food needs, and chat with Cedar on the settee.  I don’t think that Lamar left my grip for the entire 9 hours--if she insisted on crawling around I just held onto her harness.  Slowly, the butterflies left and I could take the big rolls in stride--2 or 3 and it would go back to normal.  The worst was when Mark came in to fix our position, as the autopilot usually let us roll more and psychologically having no one at the helm...Sometimes you just don't know how to respond.  After one big set, water coming in the decks on both sides, I said "Shit, man!"  Mark said those were at least 6 feet, which was gratifying.  The wind wasn't dropping at all like it was predicted to do, which was actually good--we REALLY would have been rolling then.

At some point I felt my body start to become exhausted.  I took more homeopathy, ate crackers...and recovered somewhat.  By late afternoon we were in a much smaller bay and the waves were abating, but we were running out of energy too.  It became a battle of endurance.  We scooted along just outside the shipping lanes and watched one ore ship after another go roaring by, headed for or away from the great gateway.  Great fun for Cedar, who stood at the top of the steps, HUNG ON, and watched it all.

Then we turned a corner and the waves calmed down considerably.  We began the recovery--cleaning up the crumbs and toys everywhere, bringing out the wet cushions (Cedar had peed during her "nap") hydrating and snacking.  It was getting late, but Mark really wanted to go all the way so that we could relax.   We motorsailed down the St. Mary's river until the confusion that is both Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, and Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan, lay before us, with factories, bridges, locks, ships, buoys, everywhere.  Somehow Mark found the one Canadian lock we were looking for.  I cooked mac and cheese so the girls could eat before 10:00 at night (they weren't interested anyway) and we were just coming into the waiting dock when we felt the current!  Thankfully two guys in a car watching us called out "Want help?" We gratefully accepted and got ourselves attached to a messy dock on the port side.  They were VERY helpful and very Canadian and what a friendly introduction to a new country!  Soon we got word over the radio that the lock was opening so we motored into it.  Cedar was all chattiness.  Everything merited discussion, and we had little energy for it.  "What's that building over there?"  "What's a lock?" "Look at the airplane!"  We registered and motored in without incident.  It was a first for all of us and it was pretty darn amazing, to watch the water drop 20 feet with us inside. 

We motored out of the lock and found ourselves in a swirling current, a lovely sunset, and an unknown small city.   As our guidebook suggested, we went past the marina entrance and then motored hard back into it, against the current, at an angle--ferrying, for those canoeing readers out there.  As we were anxiously approaching the entrance (for we would have to speed in there with little maneuvering room once we were inside) Cedar asked her hundredth question in that minute,  "Is that a real moose or a pretend moose mommy?" (which I knew she knew perfectly well) I'm amazed and ashamed to say I hollered, "Shut up Cedar!  I mean be quiet please!"  It had been a long day.

In seconds we were in the marina safe and sound, and our biggest day yet successfully completed!  A tad shellshocked but also very proud, we have been debriefing the day ever since. We are proud that we have reached the Soo--the hub of the great lakes, gateway to the North Channel, Lake Huron, Lake Michigan.  We are on the Canadian side, which is great fun--everyone speaks "Canadian," it's clean and city buses go everywhere, it feels to me like Toronto and I keep thinking I should call my Canadian relatives!  It's very tempting to keep going--now that we are most definitely getting somewhere different.  But the north shore is also a glorious place to go and there's always next year.  We have been here one full day and will be here tomorrow as well.  The next day the wind is supposed to go approximately where we want it to and we will start heading north and west.

July 21

Nothing like a day of being a mall rat to transition back to humdrum life.  Tonight we are heading back out into the big lake with fresh food and some rest behind us, hoping to anchor nearby and sail with a favorable wind tomorrow.  Contact may be sporadic from now on. 

July 30

Well, just after sending that last email, we had an inauspicious start north.  A 2-hour motor up the river to a lovely anchorage turned into a 4-hour nightmare, water spraying in the portholes, both girls crying, the key not fitting into the starter right as we were headed for a 2-foot shoal...the worst part for me was just being completely unprepared.  I was too pissed off to be seasick.  Where were these waves and wind coming from? We heard nothing of the sort on the radio.  We couldn't even sail through them because they were almost on the nose--of course--and because of all the shoals around.  It was ridiculous.  I was sick of the whole thing--instant stress, instant seasickness, why do we torture our children and ourselves?  Let's get off the water and have a normal life! 

We did get in just before sunset and the girls were instantly happy.  They have short memories.  The wind blew, but we were protected and had a great supper coming our way (read:  meat.  We all crave meat).  If I learned that it was time to move ashore, Mark learned that Whitefish Bay will always be more than the reports say it is and that we should take the proper precautions.

Which meant staying put yet another day, as the winds still blew out of the Northwest the entire next day.  And if you look at a map, the waves we were seeing over our little protected spit were coming almost all the way from Isle Royale.  No wonder they were so huge.  Despite our impatience, the girls had a great day--Cedar learned the joys of jumping off dunes and Lamar is braving the water more and more.  It's cold enough to be shocking to little feet but her big sister and mentor-in-all-things (scary, I know) seems to be enjoying it so much!

The next day we finally headed north and got the heck out of Whitefish Bay.  The winds were supposed to be south but of course were still north.  But almost calm, and it became completely calm.  We reached our destination by late lunch.  Immediately it was apparent that things were going to be different on the north shore.  No more long beaches, big towns, tourists, playgrounds, marinas.  We parked (after a slight fiasco during which I nearly ran us aground and then Mark cut his foot in a hole on the dock) on an old dock in the middle of a Native "reserve" (as they call them in Canada).  A teenage couple was "fishing" through holes in the dock (actually they were lying on top of each other face-down, we had to figure out what they were doing) and paid not the slightest attention to us.  Throughout the afternoon we got a great slice of the community, the dock being the hub on a hot summer day.  After the teenage couple left a couple of young adults and little toddlers arrived to fish and swim.  Then some 7-10 year olds came and played with a waterlog, jumped off a tugboat, dived off the dock, and generally had a great unsupervised time in the water.  (Cedar learned a few choice phrases from them).  Then in late afternoon more parents and their children cooling off after work, and finally in the evening, four young teens swimming, smoking, flirting, and a reappearance of the kids in a paddle boat.  Also several men came in and out in fishing boats.  Throughout it all we watched, swam, picked raspberries.  Cedar was absolutely mesmerized by the jumping off the tugboat and announced after dinner that she was going to jump into the water with her lifejacket on.  If I hadn't hopped to quickly she would have jumped off a 2-foot dock into 1 foot of water! 

Cedar had a new friend by nightfall, a 10-yr-old girl who was camping on the beach with her dad.  We invited them for raspberry pancakes in the morning.

We woke up (Sunday) to the only south wind we have seen at this writing.  It was also stormy so we didn't leave until late morning.  And then, just as we were rounding the buoy and heading north, the wind died.  So we motored, just happy to not be fighting northern winds and swells.  We arrived at an old fishing dock before long.  Mark hopped onto a moving barge-like thing and went to see if there was room for us amid fishing boats.  Right away it felt so...northern.  We had crossed into a new climate.  Small boreal forest trees, granite rock shores, steep Canadian shield shoreline, salty fishermen.  And to cap it off, the fog moved in right after us and we felt like we were up in the Hudson Bay.  It wasn't much, but there was a house (read:  phone jack) and a long dock for Cedar to ride her trike (and pull Lammie in the back).  In the evening we went down to the slippery rock shore and wondered if we would see another beach. 

The next day was crisp and favorable winds were predicted (which never showed) so we took off early.  Immediately we realized we would be motorsailing into 3 or more foot swells--presumably from some northern winds far away.  We decided to go for it.  We were headed for a beautiful cove where we hoped to wait out some storms the next day.  Cedar slept the whole way like a seasoned sailor girl.  Lamar woke near the end and was ready to play.  We arrived and dramatically came around a cliff, smooth rock islands all around us.  It was just as beautiful as we'd heard.  Felt like a green-water lagoon in the Caribbean.  Only thing was, it was bouncy with the swells we'd been feeling all day curling around the corner.  We anchored anyway and figured we could spend the day on shore if the motion got bad.   We felt pretty attuned to motion anyway, and it was not a big deal that afternoon.   

The next day we watched a growing northwest wind turn our lagoon into a wind channel.  Mark had two anchors out which we knew were buried because the night before another sailboat had arrived which turned out to be a family of five!--the father, soon snorkeling around, checked our anchors for us.  He is a bass player in the Toronto symphony; his wife is a violin player in the Toronto Ballet.  We chatted that evening with them; unfortunately they were headed back the next morning.

That day we also hiked to "the best pictographs on Lake Superior."  There was a line of tourists there but the pix were great, and the rock formations spectacular.  We also climbed a bluff and took some great pictures of our boat from above.  Cedar REALLY wants to run and climb and gets nowhere because she absolutely cannot resist picking blueberries, even as she is falling down she's picking.  Unfortunately all the blue berries are dried out this year but she is undeterred by the poor quality.  To get anywhere Mark puts her on his shoulders and we have Lamar in the backpack.

A local had told us that northwest winds always last three days.  So far that had been true but southerly winds were predicted so we hoped for the best.  Almost every day we heard of a minor fiasco of some sort, usually with kayakers.  This day a couple returned that had been unable to get back to their tent.  They spent the night with a couple on a sailboat.  Kayakers inevitably return from even the most tame jaunts awed and humbled by Lake Superior.  We are always very sympathetic.  That evening as the northern winds blew and blew and our mostly-protected cove got bumpier and bumpier Cedar and I ended up eating out in the cockpit, despite the wind.  Mark got our beds ready for us (Cedar slept out on the settee where the motion is better) and we came down and fell into bed.  It was a rockus night.

Our third day there Mark scooted out in the dinghy to look a the unprotected lake and came back saying "no way."  So we hiked another trail and picked more blueberries.  There is a trail running through there like our own Superior Hiking trail only it's even more rugged, more pristine (no mining), and even more beautiful.  It's absolutely amazing.  1 mile/hr. is the normal hiking pace.

The next night was calmer--still not Calm though, and we were getting tired of being tossed about.  It was stormy, with W or SW winds.  We got out there the next morning only to find big waves and 10-20 knot winds from shifting directions.  Our goal was a mere 10 miles away but after we were halfway there Mark turned back.  The winds had turned to the north again and the swells were huge.  Down below, we were having a rough time.  I always know, in my heart of hearts, that everything is all right.  But still, I get scared and then seasick on top of that.  It was uneven motion, gusty winds, and huge waves.  We got up but were soon reduced to lying down.  Food was attempted then aborted, though only Lamar threw up.  I was constantly bracing myself against something (my sore neck for days afterwards to prove it), gripping an increasingly unhappy Lammie, and trying to soothe Cedar who was crying and crying, seemingly having terrible tooth pain (?), hating the waves, hating sailing, wanting mommy all to herself...it's very loud, what with everything in the cabin banging around, the waves sloshing around outside, (Mark said one actually came over the cabin top--that's a first) He came in and shut the portholes because I couldn't move, all I could do was lie there with my girls.  I've heard of the depths of seasickness, where “you are afraid you're going to die one minute then wish you would the next"--that is what it's like, for sure.

Anyway.  Enough said about THAT miserable morning.  We got back in another 1 1/2 hours, Mark revving the engine so high that I was terrified that we were about to hit some reefs (he was just trying to come into the cove quickly because of the huge waves skidding us in).  We blew in, set an anchor, didn't set, set it again, it set.  As soon as it was set I dived into the cabin again to hold Lammie and console Cedar, who had fallen asleep the instant the motion dropped.  And we rocked in our anchorage and began to recover, which for Mark means figuring out how to not get into THAT situation again, and for me means crying, shaking, and telling my babies how sorry I am (though they have already forgotten), then eating, drinking, and sleeping.

Later that day, as often happens when we get kicked in the pants, we had one of our best discussions--as sailing partners, parents, and spouses.  It really brings us down to what we are all about, why, where we are going, how to get there, and what we both really really want.  I mean, this sailing/parenting thing is HARD--emotionally, feels like the hardest thing either one of us has ever tried.

We may not be old salts yet but we are not beginners anymore either.

Summer 2005--Part 1

Summer 2005 Personal Log—Circumnavigation of Lake Superior

June 14

It is a beautiful afternoon--not much wind--and Mark is working hard to get everything completed enough to set sail.  It's supposed to be pretty mellow for the next few days which is good because we have to get to the Apostles by Sunday.  We are thinking, "hmmm we are sailing with two children.  How is that going to work?" I'm guessing that washing diapers while sailing just isn't going to happen.  We will have a bucket of dirty diapers and find laundromats.  Lamar is at an awkward age--REALLY wanting to move more, but it's really hard on the boat.  I keep remembering that we made it through this with Cedar...who, by the way, continues to have a ball.  She is very involved in everything, LOVES to help, to observe, to chat with strangers.  When we move aboard we automatically become a. poor (relative to what we see around us) and b. celebrities. Everyone suddenly wants to talk to us!  As usual we don't want to say much since we still haven't left the marina.  We are not salts yet!  Our boat looks unusual, I must admit—our low freeboard, our dark color, plus we are really loaded down this time.  Wind vane, radar, solar panels, not to mention liferaft, tricycle hanging off the back, and the inevitable clothes and diapers hanging out to dry.  You'd think we've been gone months!

June 20

Well just a quick update.  It has been glorious out here.  Twice so far we’ve sailed in gentle breezes for at least half the day.  Once was a downwind slide with the spinnaker up, gliding through the water, absolutely no waves.   The kids have had their ups and downs and are settling in.  I think as time goes by and M and I relax, so do the kids.  Plus the sleeping is starting to settle into a routine.  Lamar wants to nurse about every hour but other than that is showing definite signs of enjoying herself.  Cedar, I cannot tell a lie, has her moments!  The most infuriating part of her life right now is that mom and dad are always playing with marvelous new toys (radio, depth finder, computer, GPS, cd player) but if she even touches them we jump all over her.    She is DRIVEN to do what we do, no matter the risk to her body or our boat.

On a funnier note, we were crossing a very shallow section in the lake yesterday, Mark at the bow with eyes peeled in the water, me steering with Lam struggling in my arms, and Cedar announces she needs to go poop.  With our high-up composting toilet, this is never a solo event.   Luckily M had the presence of mind to know that we had at least 2 minutes to kill before it would get REALLY shallow.  So he hopped to and the deed was done. Now we are in Sand Bay, another old haunt, with friends coming to spend the day and night nearby.  We are really having fun.

July 5,

One thing I'm learning about this lifestyle is that I'm very wrapped up in the moment, at almost every moment.  One result of this is that emailing has been regulated from an hourly obsession to its proper place--something we check and write on every few days, if we remember.

The day after we returned to the boat after our family reunion in Wyoming, there were strong winds out of the southwest-a perfect downwind  blow of 10 miles to Stockton Island on the outer edge of the Apostles.  It was really gusty and coming off the land, so we couldn't really tell how hard it was blowing.  Too hard?  Mark edged us slowly out of the slip with intricately interacting rope-on-cleat combinations, keeping the boat from blowing the wrong way.  (our motor is not strong enough to do much in reverse, definitely not turn us, so we maneuver very carefully in marinas, a "bull in a china shop" as it were, and get very nervous when it's windy and we don't have momentum to steer.)  We were halfway out and both girls, in the cockpit with me, were starting to have problems.  Cedar wanted to leave the cockpit but didn't have her tether on, Lamar was fussing and wanting to nurse.  "Hey, hang on a minute.  I need to nurse."  Mark nodded and gazed at the trees.  In the two minutes it took me to nurse, he had made his decision. "Nope..."  I nodded, and we took a deep breath and moved back into the slip.

As most of you know, this was a new thing for us.  How cautious is too cautious?  We need to not have too many butterflies in our stomachs, we decided.  Some may say "You can't be too cautious," but if that was true we would never leave our home port.   Anyway, we felt both defeated and relieved, and as the day went on and we relaxed into a rest day mode, it felt better and better.  Very few boats were on the water, there was a small craft advisory, and in the mid-afternoon we watched a Coast Guard boat, a fishing boat, and a National Park boat drop off a group of boy kayakers who had left Red Cliff that morning and gotten into big trouble a few miles away and needed rescue. 

The next morning we left early, in less wind.  We sailed 20 miles and hit the big swells from the day before once we were away from the Apostles.  The wind died and we motored on, reaching Ontonagan, MI at 8:00 pm EST.  Much of it had been motoring, but we’d gone over 60 miles, in rough waves, and we were fine!  All but M had some degree of seasickness, but we slept a lot, ate crackers and tea, took homeopathy and stayed outside as much as possible.   

We are definitely On Our Way.

July 4

July 4th was a very eventful day.  We woke to a beautiful hot cloudless morning in the Keewenaw Peninsula.  We jumped in the water and washed our hair with buckets on the grass.  At noon we drove a borrowed car to a 10 k Trail Run that turned out to be a big community day.  After the run were door prizes (Mark won one), a potluck, a live band, a pond and swimming, and general family fun.  It was just the type of thing we dreamed of when we started on this trip.  Afterwards the Mayo-Kiely family joined us on the boat for Cedar's birthday party.  Despite the glassy eyes of Cedar and Ella (both napless), it went over pretty well, due to Ann's provisions of cupcakes, birthday hats, and party favors. 

Just minutes after Ann and Dave left, Cedar had her worst fall EVER--standing on the hatch cover, she lost her balance and fell all the way to the cabin floor--about 8 feet.  "Whoa!" yelled Mark, who saw it all.  Thankfully, I didn't.  Against all odds, Cedar was basically unscathed.  She has a guardian angel or two looking over her.  We have started to call her "Cedar Tumble Gordon"--whether by land or by sea, she is driven to leap, jump, run, and stumble.  This one did humble her a bit--only a bit though.  I just hope Lamar is a tad less ambitious with the large motor skills.

Soon after, we motored down the canal to Houghton.  When we got out and started to play in the grass, an older couple eating a pizza nearby started chatting with us.  They convinced us to order our own pizza (July 4th special) and drove Mark up the hill to get it.  The next morning Ray took Mark all over town to do errands and took a digital picture of us. He could not have been more helpful or friendly. 

Meanwhile, at 6:00 am the next morning my cousin Jessica arrived on the Greyhound and started wandering the waterway looking for us.  After a cell phone call connection, she found us.  It was the first chilly, gray morning in a long time.  We spent the day downtown doing laundry and more errands, then went to a playground with a 75-foot slide!  Jessica was remarkably alert for having just gotten off of a 21-hour bus ride.  In the evening we motored back to the edge of the peninsula and spent some more time with Ann and Ella.

Since then we've had two uneventful but excellent days--sunny, chilly on the lake, light winds and decent upwind sailing (we do LONG tacks).  Today Mark tried out the wind vane for the first time and I baked bread (both learning experiences to be improved on next time).  We are at this writing at Copper Harbor, the tip of the peninsula.  Tomorrow we head around the corner and go south.

July 15

I am writing on a beautiful beach in Grand Marais, Michigan.  The sun has just disappeared but there is still lots of action--boaters, kayakers, swimmers.  Yet another idyllic day.  It's not that I'm trying to make it all sound so great--there's just not much to report!  This area is starting to show signs of drought, so we know the constant sun is, in fact, unusual.  The water in bays like these is even warm enough to swim in, which is unheard of at this time of year.

It's hard to tell who is getting comfortable faster.  I thought Mark and I were, but an hour ago I hear "Mom!  Look at this!" and Cedar is out on the bowsprit waving to me.  We hadn't even thought about making the bowsprit off limits yet!

With Jessica still in tow, we spent a hot day with Ann and Ella again on a glorious warm beach on the east side of the peninsula, in hopes of getting a good wind sail across the Keewenaw Bay to Big Bay in the Huron Mtns.  In the end we motored at least half the way anyway.

In Big Bay we met up with Pix and Murray Dodge (aunt/uncle), cousin Andy and his family Meggan and Murrie.  SO much fun to connect with them after several years without visits.  We spent the day with them in their beautiful Huron Mtn. vacation house, did laundry, and ate without shame.  Pixie took us to the grocery store where we supplemented our meager food supply.  The last evening we went out to dinner and then took Pix and Murray for a very gentle evening sail.  Pix and Cedar cuddled and played--fast friends--while Murray sat, mesmerized, watching the waves and the sunset.  He used to be a great sailor and racer and has really missed that in recent years.  He confided to me afterwards that he wouldn't have minded a bit of wave over the side of the boat, a bit of "rousting" weather.  He and Mark talked a lot about sailing and I was reminded that we have a huge fan from that corner.

It was hard for me to say good-bye to the dear Dodges, but it was time to move on.  Our goal is to be heading north in Canada by July 20.   We motored in a dead calm all day, reaching Marquette MI in the midst of a Northern Michigan University orientation barbecue on the lake.  The band was 20 feet from our boat. As usual, we had no problem enlisting help and Mark took off in the evening to grocery shop a few miles away.  Jessica left at 10:30 pm to take a taxi to the Greyhound station.  Sigh...she is such a pleasure to be with.  As Mark told her, she always has a home on our boat.

Our trip around the Keewenaw Peninsula was worth the effort.  We sailed most of the way in light breezes.  Jessica was with us, from first to last an ever-present cheerful helper and adventure enthusiast.  In the beginning her help felt like a luxury (where's the excitement in coming into port if I don't have to worry about kids?) but by the end I wondered how we would ever do without her.  Of course, we have readjusted to our original family dynamic.  But we still miss her.

Thus marks the end of Phase 1. For the first time we had no people to visit along the way and no crew on board with us.  We were on our own.