Fog

THE fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

Carl Sandburg

It was a beautiful Fall Sunday afternoon. Our crew had been volunteer helpers at Camp Obama most of the day and we were stealing a couple hours from the day, the light. As we left the harbor I could see a bit of haze on the water. Further out, I could see the skyscrapers shooting beyond a bit of ground fog. Something to keep an eye on, I thought.

We sailed straight out into the Lake via a Northerly breeze--steady at 10 knots. It was heaven. We talked of the day until the day was forgotten among the snacks and wine.

I took another look toward shore to see the sun and gauged an hour before it set. The order was given to come about and head toward the sun and harbor. We resumed our chatter. Beth gave the helm to Susan and relaxed. We spoke of boats. Bequia did well in the MAC. Allegro was sailing nearby.

Suddenly, Susan said she couldn't see Allegro anymore. In fact, we could see no more that a few boat lengths. The fog that had enveloped the skyscrapers was enveloping us. Thoughts were shared. Commands were given. The horn was retrieved. The jib was struck to slow us down. All hands were on watch. Chatter had diminished to whispers.

The GPS told us that we were 4 miles out. Then 3 and 2, but there was no sign of land. Our course was adjusted to trust the GPS rather than the sun, which was 30 degrees too far south. The jib furled to half for a bit more speed. Engines could be heard. A bell. The wail of the water crib.

As suddenly as the fog came upon us, it lifted somewhat. We could see a half mile. We could see lights on shore. We could see other boats. We could see the harbor. We were home.

Water

Lake Michigan is a large lake. Most people, including U.S. citizens, don't understand that you can't see across it, that it takes the same time to travel between Chicago and New Buffalo, MI as it does to fly to London (8 hours), and that there is a lunar tide. Other facts:

Lake Michigan is approximately 300 miles long and averages 75 miles across, covering 22,300 square miles -- which is equal to the combined areas of the states of Maryland, Massachusetts and Delaware! It is 335 feet above Lake Ontario and 577 feet above sea level. The deepest point in the lake is 925 feet (282 meters).

While sailing on the Lake, one gets the feeling that it is very big and humans are very small--especially the humans residing in a small boat. Speakeasy is a very sea-worthy craft. Boats like it have sailed single-handed around the world. Still, even though one is comfortable with the way a boat was build and cognizant that it can withstand the rigors of sailing through highly variable wind and water, I can't help but feel that the Lake is so big and Speakeasy is so small.

Speakeasy was surrounded by fresh water, but also held potable water in two tanks--one forward and one aft. Beth and I monitored this water as carefully as we could. Speakeasy has no water gauge. Usually, the first sign that we were low on water was the spurting of water at the galley faucet. We were never in danger of running out of fresh water. We'd simply change water tanks and then fill both of them at our next port. Still, it gave me pause each time a tank went dry. Were we using too much water for dish washing, bathing, hygiene?

We knew most of the tips of water conservation aboard a small boat--to bath less often and use the Lake when possible and to wash dishes in sea water (fresh or salt) and rinse with fresh water. We didn't actually have to follow either of these rules. We usually bathed onshore at one of the harbor facilities and chose the convenience of washing dishes with fresh water from the water heater.

There is another tank aboard that holds refuse from the head--the holding tank. To conserve this resource, we tried to use onshore facilities as much as possible. Most of the contents of the holding tank is sea water, pumped into it when the head is flushed. We tried to do this as infrequently as possible even though we could make use of a pump-out station at every harbor we visited. Our number one head rule was that nothing that didn't go through you could go in the head. This rule leaves toilet paper out of the holding tank and in a small zip-lock bag. This rule is based on the saying that "there are no plumbers at sea."

Paying attention to water on a small boat as we did for a month leaves a lasting impression that affects us onshore. We use less water when washing dishes, turn the water off-and-on several times while showering, and flush less often than before. I remember that great-tasting salmon that Bob caught in the Lake and would not like to see its habitat ruined by my overuse if its natural environment.

Brilliant "Sound and Light" Finale to Speakeasy's Adventure

Jim Haring, good friend and master sailor, drove up to Port Washington Sunday. Mark drove Jim's car back and Jim and I spent two days sailing to Chicago.

Yesterday we started from Racine at 8:30 and decided to sail all the way back to Chicago. First the lake was like glass. No sun. Just muted shades of gray from above the horizon to the boat. Then the lake started undulating. Wide broad ups and downs. Then choppy. One patch with strong wind and white caps. Then calmer. Then waves began to build. By now we have been sailing - sometimes with engine on - for 12 hours. Chicago is visible from miles away. As we get within 6 miles, we see lightning. Jim says, "That's just heat lightning." I haven't heard that term in years. As the city gets closer and the city lights begin to sparkle, the lightning increases. Behind Chicago the sky explodes in bright voluminous bursts. We hear the huge thunder strikes. I do not want to be caught in lightning. Thoughts of Sarah recently having been hit by lightning flash through my brain. I throttle up. Can we beat the storm?

The winds pick up. We furl the jib and head in through the outer breakwater wall called the 'Gap' with the Chicago Light to our right. Red right return. I remember that we sailed through here at the start of the trip one month ago. My eye catches the instrument panel above the wheel for one split second. Gust of 50 miles per hour. I do not allow myself to think about the speed but try to keep a course. We manage to take down the main sail but the Dutchman system intended to neatly fold the sail up along the boom doesn't work in such high winds. The sail flies out almost over the side of the boat. Jim gets two sail ties wrapped around. I have enormous difficulty finding the next opening. I know I'm looking for a red light atop a tower--some 30 feet or more above the lake. However all the city lights flashing red and white make it almost impossible for me to find. In addition there's a blinking red light on some building behind the red light that I'm trying to keep my eye on. Usually when you come through these breakwater walls, the sea gets calmer. Not tonight. I turn over the helm to Jim who steers us to Speakeasy's mooring ball North Juliet 23 as if he's been going there on a regular basis. We're almost at the mooring ball. The skies open. The rain comes down so hard it hurts. Precariously poised on the bow, I reach as far as I can to grab the mast buoy that is attached to the mooring bridle. I pull up the lines and hold on for dear life. Finally I'm able to attach the two ends through the bow cleats. We are safe and sound and I am soaking wet.

Jim and I huddle below in the cabin until the lightning subsides. A Monroe Harbor tender boat comes to fetch us. We get to the Columbia dock. Mark meets us with Bob Bradley's car. He drives Jim home. He drives us home. I don't even go to my apartment. Right to 1001. Mark draws us a hot bath. He pours two glasses of wine. I stumble out of the bath, dry off and fall into bed. So happy and relieved to be back in Mark's arms.

I sleep. What a grandious finale to Speakeasy's Adventure. Yes, I'm capitalizing Adventure--from Harbor to Harbor.

Home

It seems strange not to be on Speakeasy, not sleeping, eating, and sailing on her. I'm not testing lines or swabbing the deck. I'm not checking her oil or raising her "Don't Give Up The Ship" flag. I'm not on water and I don't see a different lighthouse every day. I'm home, although Speakeasy seems more like home than my historic condo building in Chicago.

Recovery

Beth's iPhone and laptop got soaked along with the nav station contents due to a hatch being partially open (deceptively unclosed). The phone may be unrecoverable, but the laptop came back to life after the keyboard dried.

A day later, the laptop 'O' key went bad, but the iPhone came back to life. The iPhone didn't last long. It began overheating. After cooling it in the icebox, it took a charge and came back to almost normal, but not normal enough to be useful. Half of the screen no longer responds to presses so only half of the programs can be accessed, half of the keyboard, half of the voice mail messages, etc.

Harbor

A harbor is a place of safe haven or refuge. This morning while on our way to White Lake from Ludington we chose to enter a closer harbor rather than suffer 7 more hours of head wind and 4-foot waves. A thunderstorm was in the forecast and we didn't want to run into it. Pentwater beckoned and we aimed Speakeasy for its light. 

Pentwater is a very special place on the Friday following the Race to Mackinac (The Mac). Many of the participants raft their boats at the Yacht Club and throw themselves a big party. We are docked at Snug harbor, just past the Yacht Club and have a grand view of the festivities. 

We were happy to get a slip because of all of the activity. Beth called on the VHF radio and was welcomed to slip 6. Something was not usual about the radio message if I heard correctly. I thought I heard "stern-first." Speakeasy has never gone into a slip stern first. We approach slip 6 and immediately see why we must dock stern first--there is already a boat in the slip, which is bow first. I hastily review in my mind and with Beth the Maryland way to dock stern first--approach the slip from the channel (preferably into the wind), turn the bow away from the slip entrance, apply reverse to draw the stern into the slip, apply lines as necessary. Okay. Got it. BUT, there was a 10--15 knot cross wind and I had never actually done this!

The first attempt was pretty good, but Speakeasy came up short and we tried again. The next attempt was even worse--too close to neighboring boats. Nonetheless, dock hands had our lines and after some fending we were docked. Safe harbor! 

Wind

Wind is the reason to sail and the reason a sail turns into a foil to propel a boat. Wind can also turn on you. We've avoid high winds on our trip, but be didn't avoid a day with no wind at all.

Up with the sun, we motored out of Frankfort. The glassy Lake was just as flat as the harbor we had just left. Knowing that the weather report called for no wind, we didn't even take the sail cover off. A course was set for Big Sable Point and the autohelm did the rest. While the boat sailed itself, Speakeasy's passengers read and told stories. We even lit the stove for a warm lunch.