The End of the Season...Already?

While our Minnesota friends have had their hopes for spring dashed time and again. we on Northern Star are working our way south in order to put our boat up on the hard for the next few months, May through at least August 1st.

Dinghy dock on Iles des Saintes

If the boat is north of 10 1/2 N latitude when a named storm hits, she will not be covered by our insurance. That will put us south of Grenada.  South of Grenada lie the islands of Trinidad and Tobago as well as the country of Venezuela.  Trinidad is our destination. We have been looking for another cruising boat to traverse the waters approaching Venezuela with us without success as of this date. Venezuela was once a safe country for cruisers but reports of piracy now come out of that area. We will be avoiding pirates by sailing at night and staying well away from oil rigs and the Venezuelan coast.

Harbor on Beqia

Kite-surfing north of Mayreau

We have just left Bequia (BEK-way), the northernmost of the Grenadine Islands that are part of the country of St Vincent and the Grenadines; SVG for short. What was once a British colony now has its’ own flag and its’ own economy.  If you were to tell me that you had never before heard of the Grenadines, or St. Vincent or Bequia, I would not judge you harshly.  Prior to leaving with the Salty Dawg Rally from Hampton, Virginia last fall, I could not have told you what or where they were.  This I admit only to emphasize that the Caribbean is a very large area with hundreds of islands; the largest of course, being Cuba and then the Dominican Republic (not to be confused with Dominica (dom-in-EE-ka).

 

Bequia. Locals call it "Paradise." Nobody disagrees.

Bequia just may be the jewel of all the Grenadines.  When our friends on S/V Lulu cleared into Customs on Bequia, the Customs agent stamped their passports, looked them squarely in the eyes and said, “Welcome to paradise. You have arrived.” 

View of Bequia harbor from the Tantie (Auntie) Pearl restaurant

Every morning at 8:00, Lafayette, a woman who happens to own the popular restaurant, The Fig Tree on the waterfront, comes over VHF radio Channel 68 to draw us together under the spell of her calm, joyful voice.  She loves the cruisers and she is not afraid to tell us so.  She greets new arrivals warmly and gives a sad but understanding farewell to those who must leave. She inquires about things lost, stolen or found overnight.  She allows time for cruisers to offer their “treasures of the bilge” over the air. She invites other businesses to advertise their cruiser services, such as water, ice, gas, and laundry services.  

One of the double-enders on Bequia

Each morning Lafayette talks a bit about how she loves her very special island, and hopes that we (cruisers) will too.  She encourages us to be thankful for each day in paradise, and to be the best that we can be.  She ends each broadcast with, ‘As my mother always says, “One Love.”’ You might think that this broadcast is cheesy or self-serving (as a restaurant owner) but you would be wrong if you question whether her words are genuine. 

After some lovely snorkeling, we said farewell to our friends in Bequia and then made the short hop to the Tobago Cays (not to be confused with the island of Tobago). If you ARE confused by now, I understand completely.

The island of Canouan, looking north.  At anchor in Tobago Cays.

The Tobago Cays is a national park and an area ringed by reefs on the northeast through the southeast sides.  The reefs contribute to a diminished swell from the ocean, but certainly do not remove it altogether.  Behind the reefs are a few very small islands and lots and lots of turtles. We anchored in what was a rolling wave area between two islands and went to explore the Horseshoe Reef due east by dinghy. The Cays are picturesque beyond my well-oiled imagination.  Beautiful aquamarine water punctuated by darker water indicating turtle grass below. We could see islands nearly all around us, several of them many miles away.  

Just dropped anchor between two islands, Tobago Cays

This morning we snorkeled with the turtles.  In my case, it was only one turtle really, but he was very accommodating and allowed me to shadow him for a long time as he munched, came up for air, and returned to his repast.  Carl actually spent time with several turtles closer to our dinghy and out of the cordoned-off “turtle” area.  I was sad to have strayed so far from the dinghy.

Tobago Cay turtle

Alas, the anchorage continued to be uncomfortable with choppy waves and since we did not plan to snorkel there again, we made the short 3 mile jump to the island of Mayreau ((MAY-roo) where we again connected up with a familiar group of cruisers. 

Mexican train dominoes

Now in a much calmer anchorage, we discovered that our cruising friends, in our absence, had taken up Mexican Train dominoes on the beach in late afternoon.

We are now only three days from our 24 hour passage to Trinidad.  We check out of the Grenadines on Union Island, then sail on to Carriacou (KARE-EE-a-coo) which is part of the country of Grenada.  We check in and out of Grenada and then sail to our final destination for this season, Trinidad.  

Whether buddy boating or not, we shall be sailing the most dangerous waters during the night as we approach Trinidad.  Pirates coming out from Venezuela tend to have small boats (without navigation aids) and thus are more likely to be out on the ocean during daylight hours. We have every intention of avoiding them altogether. I feel a little like we are going to be starring in a James Bond movie. 

With background music that is somber and building in intensity, the trailer goes something like this…”There she goes, under full sail, the sailing vessel Northern Star quietly slicing through the waters on the high seas, thwarting the region’s piracy by slipping past under cover of darkness while they sleep. 

Captain Carl.....Carl Richards

The boat captain’s name you ask? It’s Bond…NO, no, it’s  Richards…Carl Richards.”

Did you say "Carl?"

I thought I heard his name....Carl.  Carl Richards.

Do You Know the Way to Antigua?

“Go East 400 miles, Turn Right, Go 1000 More and You’re There”

Carl on deck after sunset

That is more or less what we will do in November when we leave with the Salty Dawn Rally from Hampton, VA.  Why go so far out on the ocean to begin with, you ask?  Excellent question. Sailing is all about wind direction and current.  

You may remember learning in school about the old sailing ships from Europe that went south to Africa to load up with human cargo and from there, they rode the Trade Winds west to the West Indies (Caribbean) where they traded slaves for spices.  The ships would then go north, on up to, let’s say, Charleston, SC, with the assistance of the Coriolis effect* and ocean currents where they would unload their remaining live human cargo. 

Replica of French ship, Hermione in Annapolis

Then, again benefitting from the Coriolis effect, the ships headed back to Europe loaded with cotton. King Cotton would appease a world that was sick and tired of wearing wool even in the heat of summer.  So, you see…the Trade Winds and Coriolis effect will help us catch a beneficial point of sail and an optimal current to travel to the far eastern part of the Caribbean.

Depth - 371 ft.  

The voyage to Antigua can be expected to take 9 to 14 days, give or take a few days.  Here are some of the other questions we’ve been asked about ocean travel: 

Our 65# Mantus anchor

Q: Where do you anchor at night?   

A: We do not anchor out on the Ocean. We look for depths of ~10' to 25' for anchoring depending on the tides.

Q: Do you set the boat to steer in the direction you want and then go to bed?  

A:  We do have AutoPilot, which can be programmed so that the boat will follow a course we give it; that is if the wind direction remains constant and the point of sail doesn’t need to be adjusted. Using an autopilot means that someone doesn’t have to be steering all the time.  BUT, someone always needs to be awake and keeping watch 24/7.

Northern Star heading back to U.S. last year after sunset

Nights are beautiful on the ocean.

Q:  How can one of you always be awake?  

A:  For a long crossing like this, we will have two additional crew members with us.  We will use an assigned watch schedule so that someone is always awake on deck, someone is asleep, someone can cook and someone is available for back-up as needed.

Q: What do you eat out on the ocean?   

One of two toasters we use on stove-top

A:  Pretty much the same things we would eat on land.  Except that we’ll run out of fresh produce by Day 7 or so, so will need to rely upon dry or canned foods more from then on. We’ll have enough frozen meats to last four people ~10 days. We’ll have some freeze-dried foods too.

Lunch served on deck

Q: So you actually cook on the boat when you’re sailing? 

A: Yes, the stove is gimbaled.  It swings on two bars so that it can tip to remain upright regardless of the angle of the boat's heel. Therefore, pots and pans remain more or less level whether on stovetop or in the oven.  We have pot guards that attach to the stove top to hold the pots securely too.   

Gimbaled stove is level.

The cook can also wear a hip belt that clips to the safety bar to prevent the cook from falling backward while cooking. It also protects the cook from falling onto the stove.  But, if the weather and waters are particularly rough, we may opt not to cook a hot meal at that time. We’ll bring some cold emergency back-up foods that can just be opened up and eaten for those circumstances.

Q:  What if there’s no wind?  

A:  It’s possible that the wind could die down significantly.  We could opt to motor for a little while until the wind picks up again, but we can’t motor all the way to Antigua. We carry 110 gals of diesel which could take us approximately 700-800 miles.  Primarily, we will sail.  There may be slow days, and there may be days that we cover many miles under sail.

Q: What if you run out of fresh water?  

A:  We have a Spectra water maker on Northern Star; an R/O or Reverse Osmosis water maker. When the water maker is running, it can make 10 gallons of drinkable water/hour using the ocean’s salt water. It can make water while sailing, motoring or at anchor.

Storm coming, in the Bahamas last year

Q:  What if you run into a big storm while you’re out on the ocean?  

A: We will do our best to choose the best weather window that we can, although a reliable weather forecast becomes less possible the farther into the future one looks.  Forecasters can tell us pretty accurately what weather we will encounter for the first five days out.  But beyond that, it is possible we could run into weather that we would prefer to avoid. 

Northern Star navigation station

We will have Single Side Band (SSB) radio contact with our weather router (Chris Parker) every day.  If he sees that we will be running into a weather system ahead, he can advise us in advance to change course in an attempt to avoid the worst weather. 

Our light-weight rain gear.  Pre-dawn.

Q:  But what if you do get caught out there in really bad weather?  

A:  A sailboat is exceptionally stable. Our boat weighs 29,000 pounds, and a lot of that weight is in the lead keel.  That helps to keep us right-side up.  Just think about a fishing bobber.  It is NOT going to tip over.  

Calm waters and consistent wind make for pleasant sailing

We can reef (make smaller) sails or take sails down altogether and “park” the boat on the water. It’s a technique called “being hove to.”  It’s a method of turning the boat into the wind and just letting it ride.  We also have a drogue which drags in the water behind us when we want to slow the boat down.  The boat can handle a lot.  Therefore, we can just hunker down and wait it out.

I've actually READ the first aid book.

Q: What if you get sick out there?  

A: Seasick? We have a variety of strategies to address seasickness.  There are various medicines, an electric wrist band, ginger ale, ginger candy, ginger gum.  The best thing is to stay on deck and watch the horizon.  Oddly enough, I personally, have never been seasick.  Cast-iron inner ears, I guess.

My MacBook

Q:  Will you be able to communicate with people while out on the ocean. 

A: Yes. Not by telephone,  but by VHF radio to anyone within ~40 miles, by SSB radio to other boat and land-based radios within ~1500 miles, and by our satellite-linked InReach device that allows us to send and receive text messages from anywhere.   We will notify our families when we arrive in Antigua.

 

Sailing toward sunrise

Q: How will you know where you are on the ocean?  

A:  GPS and compass. We will know where we are at all times.  In fact, you can know where we are at all times too, by use of the same InReach system.  (Check future post for how to follow us by InReach.)

We love the dolphin escorts on the ocean

Q:  Aren’t you afraid to be so far from land?  A:  Personally, nope. No more than I would be afraid to drive from here to New York City.  

More later.  

* Coriolis effect - The Coriolis Effect can be seen in action in the general circulation of the atmosphere. The winds at all latitudes to the north of 0° deflect to the right of their intended path in the Northern Hemisphere. The Coriolis Effect does not impact the wind speed, only the wind direction. The Coriolis Effect impacts objects on a large scale and does not generally have a big influence on small scale objects at the earth’s surface. Though hurricanes are small scale compared to the overall globe, hurricanes need the Coriolis Effect to help develop the circular motion of their circulations. Tornadoes are not impacted by the Coriolis Effect because they are so small in scale and short in duration. North Carolina State University

Doing the Numbers: What's Next?

Northern Star on the ocean

April 11, 2017 marked the end of our second full year living aboard S/V Northern Star.  Seven hundred and thirty days with water below.  Does it feel like it was that long, you ask? My answer is, "well, the last few months did seem to have more days in them than usual." Lightning, followed by 59 days in a marina plugged into shore power kinda alters the time/space continuum as it is perceived in my head.  Lying flat on my back in pain for the better part of 4 weeks didn't help much either.

Jax loves to travel by car

When we moved aboard, we planned to keep a running tally of how many nights we were 1- at anchor,  2- attached to a mooring, 3- in a marina slip,  4- underway (overnight passage making) and how many we nights we spent 5-away from the boat visiting family and friends. Like a few other great ideas we had about boat life, we didn't follow through with it.  If I were to hazard a guess however, it would be that that we were at anchor ~ 380 nights, on a mooring ~60 nights, in a marina slip ~ 270 nights, underway (overnight passages) ~8 nights, and away from the boat ~ 42 nights.  (When we leave the boat to travel on land, the boat is left in a marina, for safety precautions). If I dug around for a bit using my calendar, my notes in Active Captain on my iPhone, receipts from marinas and the Ship's Log, I could probably come up with exact figures but somehow I no longer care enough about those numbers to do that. I will say that we attempt to spend the bulk of our time at anchor because:  1- it's free, 2- it's quieter, 3-the boat naturally points into the wind so the boat is cooler. and 4- we enjoy the cameraderie of the cruising community while at anchor.  There's nothing like it.  Alas, I do know that we have spent many more nights in a marina than we wanted to because of mechanical or electronic issues.

Another thing we had planned to do was to document (using a spreadsheet and diagram) where every single thing we brought onboard was located. (Imagine labeling every nook and cranny where you store things in your house on land!) Initially, we thought this was a fanTAStic idea! I got as far as counting all the separate hiding places on the boat. There are 84 places to put things away on Northern Star.  84!! But labeling each of them with an identifying name and/or number to write on the diagram was where I got bogged down.  I could designate each cubby or spot by labeling it with a P or an S (Port or Starboard) but from there on things got all muddled in my head. Should I use a simple numbering system? ie. P1 through P4_? Were we actually going to refer to a diagram that was going to be incredibly crammed with information in teeny tiny little print? We abandoned the idea as being mentally exhausting.  Suffice it to say, we have an unbelievable number of things stored in those 84 hiding places.

Storage is behind and beneath cushions, under the bed, etc.

Usually I remember where the item lives. I will not even hazard a guess at how many hours have been wasted in fruitless searches for items that we know are somewhere on the boat?  I could throw some guesstimates out there, but that would only serve to irritate me and it's such a pretty day today.

There are two rules of thumb I have learned about finding things onboard. First off, if the item is not found within the first five minutes of the hunt, it's very unlikely to be found in the next twenty. It is more productive to forget about the search altogether and distract myself with a little cleaning. Cleaning often turns up whatever we are looking for. 

Secondly, whenever a new thing comes onboard and is assigned a place to belong, I best not, under any circumstances make the mistake of moving it to a "better" place later on. There is no better place than the first place because that's the only place I'll remember later.  

Chart plotter

How many electronic devices needed to be replaced due to the lightning strike? LOTS and lots of them.  Essentially, every piece of electronics that uses a circuit board was toast after the lightning encounter on January 23rd.  The inverter, chart plotter, autopilot, GPS, compass, electric winch, VHF radio, tank monitors, water pump, navigation lights, two cameras, lots of gauges, and so on and so on....all needed to be replaced in part or whole.
 

Sunrise on the Little Bahama Bank, Abacos, Bahamas

Our most recent grand plan, developed before we headed to the Bahamas last winter, and before we experienced the lightning episode was this--we would return to the States in the spring to a boatyard that would allow us to work on our own boat. Our mast and boom have some corrosion and we planned to have them painted. We would also replace our standing rigging (the steel cables that attach to the deck and to the mast) as it is 15 years old and we figured it was time to replace all of that, especially while the mast is down anyway. 

Northern Star in Oriental, NC

We planned on spending no less than 30 days doing this work. It's tedious and time-consuming to remove every piece of hardware and to prep the mast and boom for painting.  By itself, the painting would require some 10 to 12 steps to complete. Consequently, this was our plan for the summer of 2017.  No time for the long cruise up to Maine as we did last summer. Just get this big project done, doing as much of the work ourselves as possible.  

Jax never asks "Are we there yet?"

I wanted to be able to report the number of miles traveled in the first two years of living aboard, but that is extremely difficult to do with any accuracy.  The ICW (Intra Coastal Waterway) does not go in a straight line, and when out on the open water, sailboats are notorious for tacking in order to take advantage of the wind direction.  But, wildly estimating, from Annapolis, Maryland to the Abacos in the Bahamas, back to the U.S. and up to Maine, then back down the coast to the Abacos, I'm going to say we sailed (or at least traveled) no less than 6000 miles at blistering speeds of 3 to 7 1/2 knots, or 3 1/2 to 8 1/2 mph.  If this seems like we were only plodding along, remember that "it's the journey, not the destination."  A wise sailor/philosopher said that and I heartily agree with her.

This is how NOT-to bend over.

Oddly enough, but fortuitously, the rigger that we hired to go up the mast to evaluate the condition of the mast and standing rigging returned to us with an evaluation that was most positive.  On a grading scale from A to F, the rigger gave our standing rigging a grade of A!  Further, he judged the corrosion on the mast to be essentially cosmetic.  Wow! So, our plan to spend 30 days or more working on our mast this summer was erased. Again I say--WOW!  But that was our plan!  Our only plan for the summer. We had not considered the possibility that we would need a back-up plan for summer!  Nor the possibility that I would need time to recuperate following back surgery.

White-tailed deer.  Photo taken yesterday from the car.

So, here we are--in Minnesota--visiting my family and our friends--and without a plan for what comes next when we return to the boat! What an odd circumstance. What's our new plan? When will I be ready to resume the active role of First Mate on a sailing vessel? Soon, surely very soon.

Sailing to Thunder Bay? Bring a Chainsaw

Considering I have lived 15 years of my life within 3 hours of the Canadian border, I have only BEEN to Canada a handful of times, and two of those times were by sailboat.  My first trip into Canada was to Thunder Bay, Ontario, by car in 1999.  Thunder Bay

The 'Sleeping Giant' seen from Thunder Bay. Note the silhouette of head and arms crossed over chest, feet at far right.

is the closest Canadian city to Duluth, MN.  I was already 42 years old at the time.  Lest you think I had been opposed to leaving the country, I certainly was not.  I had been to Colombia, South America where I accompanied my uncle on horseback high into the Andes Mountains to visit his missionary posts.  I had spent time in the Soviet Union..… Leningrad, the “Venice of the North” where everyone walked arm in arm through the streets and over its' canals; Riga, where I sang American folk songs with Russian students riding the night train, witnessed a Latvian wedding on the shore of the Baltic Sea, as well as a man swimming in between ice floes; Moscow, where I was twice offered 50 American dollars for the homemade denim jumper on my back, where I met a young English speaking Russian woman on the street, and was invited to her home.  Because the family feared that their home was bugged by the KGB, they kept a faucet running to distort vocal sounds as we talked.  I had visited windswept areas of Ireland, explored castles in Wales and England, too.  But Canada?  I guess my attitude about travel to Canada had frankly heretofore been "Eh--why?" 

Nevertheless, to Canada we went that April and we visited the neighborhood of Thunder Bay where Finnish is still heard spoken on the streets.  At the Hoito, we had lunch and could have ordered the clabbered milk but did not.  I heard a story, though, about where clabbered milk came from and it went kinda like this.  Clabbered milk was accidentally "discovered" by a gangly (<--my own embellishment to the story) youth who had been told by his mother to put a little jug of fresh milk in their cold place (whatever that might have been) but who became distracted by those twin neighbor girls wearing new dresses (<--again, my embellishment) and did NOT do as he was told.  The jug of milk was discovered sometime later, just where he had left it by the door, where he had been when he noticed the two young ladies lift their skirts to walk down the muddy path in front of his home.  By then, the milk had taken on a "different" appearance.   In spite of its' appearance, the milk was included with the evening meal, perhaps to teach the boy a lesson about doing as he was told, or respecting his elders, some such thing (<---I'm pretty sure sure about that detail of the story.)  When the milk was found to be palatable in an "interesting" sort of way, his mother decided to try leaving some milk on the floor herself, one evening.  It was then that she noticed that the twin neighbor girls seemed to parade back and forth in front of their home a little more frequently than seemed warranted.  Hmmm...

There were other observations that I mentally tucked away about Canada, too.  One of the apparently necessary businesses of the Thunder Bay Finnish neighborhood was the family sauna.  Of course, I had already discovered while living and working in Duluth that there were many rural Finnish homes with little

This is the sauna we found tucked away on an island

outbuildings that contained a sauna just for that family's own use.  I had learned that sauna should be pronounced "SOW-nah".  AND, as a medical social worker in a rehab unit at that time in my life, I had learned that some Finlanders would never dream of putting a toe in bath water.  One of my patients, an elderly bachelor (whom some folks might describe as crotchety) vented his disgust at the thought of sitting down in "filthy bathtub water" after his nurse had innocently asked him whether he was ready for his bath.  I, as the rehab social worker, of course responded only with a slight nod of my head and a certain knowing and conspiratorial look.   He then proceeded to bemoan the "loss" of his brother to a woman who had "tricked him" into the institution of matrimony and therefore away from the home he and the brother had shared well into their middle age years.  "That woman" then swayed his brother into a bathtub and he had heard all about that after the deed was done.  He shook his head in utter disdain of his brother's fall from appropriate hygiene practices.  But I digress.

In the U.S. the standard neighborhood stores would probably include your grocery, barber, hardware store, pharmacy and restaurant.  In Thunder Bay, the family sauna seems to belong to that standard group of neighborhood businesses.  It was unclear to me though (and still is) whether 'family sauna' means that the entire neighborhood's families all use the sauna together?  Do they separate themselves by male and female?  By certain times of the day for different ages?  Are they all nude?  And if so, does this include the pastor of the congregation and his family?  Or do they all wear towels?   What would be appropriate etiquette for those awkward moments when your towel has fallen to the floor quite unexpectedly?  Are the Finnish people inherently less modest than, say, Norwegian Lutherans?  Are they afraid of showers?  Do any of them really WANT to jump into a cold lake after the sauna, or was that a tradition that accidentally began after a Finlander of some importance burned his touche by bumping against the hot rocks of the sauna?  These are questions I have but have never found just the right person to ask.

My most vivid memory of crossing over the border into Canada in 1999 is what I did NOT see......no Canadian Mounties.  Not a one.  I scoured the evergreen forests and hills between Grand Portage, MN and Thunder Bay—not a single handsome, red-jacketed law enforcement person on horseback.  But I do remember that as we approached the outskirts of Thunder Bay, I was pleased to announce to my husband, “Look, Canadian children!”  I guess I was expecting something more, though.   I’m sure they were very nice children, but they were just so.......well, so........ordinary.  I wouldn't have been able to pick out a group of Canadian children from their U.S. counterparts for anything.   In spite of that shortcoming, I found Thunder Bay to be historically interesting and a pleasant place to visit.

By the summer of 2011, we had been sailing the west end o Lake Superior for 9 years and were now on our second sailboat, SweetWater.  We were eager to sail to Canada for our two week vacation.  We knew from previous sailing trips that sailing as far as

Lake Superior depth just south of Isle Royale

Isle Royale (which belongs to Michigan, but is much closer to Minnesota) took us approximately 23 hours.  Since Thunder Bay was hours beyond that it was simply too far for a long weekend or even a week's vacation.  Our two week summer vacation would be the perfect window of time for such a trip. We wanted to sail someplace new and explore.  Another sailing couple who had become good friends were also planning a trip that summer, to the actual North Shore of Lake Superior in their boat, Ranger. We decided we would sail with them, or at the very least meet up with them and spend some of our time in Canadian waters together.  

We thought that sailing the North Shore of Lake Superior would likely be the closest to wilderness sailing that we would ever embark upon.  We would be beyond cell phone reception much of the time.   There are very few opportunities to buy groceries or

One of many lighthouses on the western shore of Lake Superior

diesel between Duluth and Thunder Bay, and those opportunities would become nonexistent somewhere beyond Thunder Bay. We provisioned accordingly and also prepared a rather extensive First Aid kit since we could be days from medical care as well.   We stocked up on limes for Gin and Tonics, my summertime treat.  We shared stories between the four of us about sailing the North Shore. Some of the stories sounded to me somewhat like old legends that could not possibly be true.  One story was that Canadians bring chainsaws with them when they sail.  Really?  A chainsaw on a sailboat?   Preposterous.  There were some places that we obviously had to visit, such as the Witching Tree, Thompson Island outside the bay that was called by the same name as the city, Thunder Bay.  We wanted to go as far as Rossport, Ontario if our two weeks was enough time for that.  We had heard too about some private little places that only sailors would know about--places tucked between some islands.   In one place we'd heard there was a sauna built by Canadian sailors in a very remote location. We wanted to find it.  

We chose the last week of July and the first week of August for our adventure, as those weeks had proven themselves to be the most reliable for finding good weather on cold Lake Superior.  We were right.  The weather was wonderful for the entire time.  We sailed

Approaching the breakwater, Grand Marais, MN

SweetWater straight through to Grand Marais, MN in one long overnight passage and then rested up there for a full day before heading on further up the shore.  We found the Witching Tree on the shore on the Grand Portage reservation

Voyageur/native canoe near the Witching Tree

land and saw a native style canoe traversing the area.  We continued on north to a protected anchorage enroute to Thunder Bay.  There we joined our friends and found that two other boats also selected that spot for their night's anchorage as well.   This anchorage was behind a small horseshoe island some distance from the mainland.  To our east there was nothing by water.  We had seen no sign of human habitation since we left Grand Marais, several hours earlier.  It was beautiful!  Enroute we hauled up buckets of water from the lake which was our drinking water and I would argue, the best tasting water that can be found anywhere in the world.  

We anchored in about 20' feet of water using our Bruce anchor and put out 50 feet of chain and another 70 feet of rope.  As would

Amy Brooks and Dale Hedtke, friends who sail on Ranger

become our pattern, we enjoyed the evening's happy hour on our friend's boat or maybe they dinghied over to our cockpit-- I don't remember exactly.  Dinner would come later in the evening--maybe we shared our dinner--maybe not. Regardless, the entire evening was spent in pleasant conversation and drinking in the beauty of the wilderness as darkness fell.  That evening marked the first evening that was truly spent relaxing on our summer vacation.  Ah, glorious!  The next morning, still basking in the sense of being on a wilderness sailing vacation, we were the last boat to pull up anchor to leave the anchorage.  Two of the boats must have left quite early in the morning.  My husband and I enjoyed our typical "boat breakfast"

SweetWater "boat breakfast"

which consists of coffee, of course and slow cooked oatmeal with various other grains and to which I add raisins and dates at the end of the cooking.  At the table in the cockpit, we add a little butter, some brown sugar and pecans. My mouth waters describing it.  It's not a breakfast that should be rushed.  Our friends departed while we waved to them over our hot cereal.  We were all alone.  It felt absolutely glorious!  We reveled in the feeling.  Why rush away from that experience?  We chose not to.

Eventually, we were motivated to pull anchor and head out toward the next destination which was Thompson Island.  As much as we enjoyed this anchorage, we anticipated another kind of special experience at Thompson Island.  We had been told that Thompson

Island had been "developed" by various Canadian sailors over the years.  It was a naturally occurring well protected inlet with deep water.  We had heard that the Canadians, without any government support or organizational backing, had built structures there, including a boardwalk sort of dock somehow clinging to a sheer cliff face which would be where we would tie up.  There was supposedly a sauna there, built only with whatever materials persistent sailors had carried with them on their sailboats to the site.  And even a steep set of steps one could climb with the aid of ropes attached to trees.  The climb would reward one with seating at the edge of the cliff and an overlook of the entire site.  Armed with this information, we anticipated another wonderful evening with our friends and other sailors that we would encounter there.  

When we pull up anchor, my husband goes to the bow while I handle the helm.  He gives me hand signals to direct me to slowly move the boat over the anchor, break it free and then he manually pulls it up.   An electric windlass would have made the process much easier, but this routine was certainly effective.  When SweetWater was directly over the anchor, my husband gave his full attention to hoisting the anchor.  The anchor did not want to come up.  "It's heavier than it should be.  It's not wedged in rock or anything--I can feel it move, but it just doesn't want to come."  He put every bit of energy into raising the anchor and yelled to me, "Ardys, come up here."  "Oh no....."  Instead of our anchor, we saw what

would be called 'slash' by Lake Superiorites.   One end of an extremely long log was visible at the waterline--the other end apparently still resting on the bottom of the lake at a 45 degree angle, some 30-40 feet away from the boat.  The log was quite securely lodged within the crook of the anchor.  SweetWater was effectively attached to the floor of the lake.

"What do we do now?"  We knew immediately that the simplest solution would be quite costly--cutting the rode where the chain attached to the rope.  We would lose not only a 35# anchor but 50' of chain rode.  Our remaining anchor was more of a lunch hook and had never been used as a primary anchor.  Without this anchor that had now become one with the log, we may be forced to abandon the remainder of our sailing vacation.  The Captain - "We could call to Ranger, but even if they are close enough to hear our transmission, what are they going to do about this?"  More ruminating between us.  He - "We are on our own here."  She - "Eventually someone else will come here to anchor."  (Ya, maybe today, maybe next week).  He - "And when they do--again, what are they going to do about it?"  Together - "If only we had a chainsaw."  A chainsaw!

"Maybe a Canadian with a chainsaw will come here to anchor," I said.  "Do you think they really all carry chainsaws," he questioned.  I thought back to one of anchorage mates from the night before.  A person can hope, right?  This is

where my wiseness in marrying my husband becomes evident.  He lassoed the end of the log and put that line on a winch.  He then raised the log, which theoretically would leave the anchor free to come loose.  Theoretically, is the key word in that sentence.  The anchor was firmly dug into that log.  We cast about to find something on the boat that was heavy enough that we could use as a sledge hammer to break the anchor away from the log.  Nothing.  Nada.  Zilch.  Sad to say, besides NOT bringing a chainsaw, neither did we carry a sledge hammer onboard. What kind of sailors were we anyhow....sailing into the wilderness without power tools or major destructive equipment?  After some casting about, my husband settled upon the boat pole and used it to push at the log and anchor until ultimately the anchor was jogged free so that it could be pulled aboard.  Now to get rid of the wooden "anchor" that was holding the boat in place.   We DID have heavy duty knives for cutting away rigging onboard.  And with that we were loose.    Note to self:  Chainsaw--bring a chainsaw when we sail the Canadian shore.