A Voyage to The Huron Islands

        At this time I would like to break from my droning on the events related to the boat refurbishment and tell the tale of a short voyage I took this last summer.  After all, I didn’t spend all that time fixing the boat just to look at it sitting on a trailer.  I actually sailed the crap out of it.  However, this particular voyage took place on my friend Tim’s boat.  Enjoy.

In early August, 2010, my friend Tim and I decided we would go for a cruise to the Huron Islands.  We invited the wives but had no takers, much to our good fortune.  There wasn’t much planning involved other then picking a weekend to do the trip.  This was no problem for me, but Tim had to work around his schedule.

We had been talking about doing the trip for some time but had not had the opportunity to experience the journey up to that point.  Neither Tim nor I had done the trip before, but both of us thought it would be a fun voyage.

We took Tim’s boat, a McGregor 23 (the big banana), basically because he insisted.  His boat being a tad bit larger then mine and performed better due to design.  However, I must say I had no qualms about taking my boat, which would have made the voyage without any problem. But, Tim’s boat it was. Besides, it was less of a pain in the ass for me, as I didn’t have to break down, transport, and then re-assemble my boat.

Not that it really mattered, I helped Tim do all of the tasks involved for his boat as he would have done for mine.  In all reality, my boat would have been easier to transport and reassemble then Tim’s, due to the fact that my boat didn’t have as much rigging.  I will admit that, Tim’s boat is bigger and does beat better.  Who am I to argue with fate?

We arrived at Big Bay harbor sometime around noon.  Mostly due to the fact that it takes forever to get Tim motivated to do anything before the crack of nine.  We had pulled his boat off the mooring and de-rigged her the night before in preparation for the trip.

Once we arrived at Big Bay harbor we raised the mast and re-secured the rigging, making ready for the voyage.  There was one slight problem; on the drive up some of the hardware had fallen off the rigging.  Specifically, a piece of one turnbuckle needed to secure the forward shroud to the boat. 

We had bought all the supplies that morning before we drove from Marquette to Big Bay.  These consisted of brats, chips, and beer; a lot of beer to be sure.  However, we didn’t anticipate needing a spare turnbuckle.  This would not have been a problem on my boat, as I prepare for such things.

I remember asking Tim, “Do you want to re do the forward shrouds?” I guess I figured we could jury rig it using wire or something.  A shroud, the reader should know, is a vital piece of a sailboat’s rigging.  It is a cable or a rope that secures the mast in an upright position.  Any given small sailboat has at least two on each side and sometimes more.  On Tim’s boat there were three per side including the ‘forward shrouds’.

Tim replied, “No, it will be fine.”

To which I replied, “Ok, it’s your boat,” not questioning his decision. At the time I didn’t think much of it, but that decision would come back to haunt Tim.  The point of this will become clear when I relay the tale of the Apostle Islands.   Anyway, a word of advice, always secure your shrouds. 

With the boat rigged and the supplies stowed we were ready to cast off.  This is where we ran into a minor glitch.  When we were trying to release the boat from the trailer winch, it broke.   The winch that is; the handle assembly let go. Thus, there was no way to let the boat release from the trailer.  I.E. How do we get the boat in the water?  Simple, cut the winch strap.  That’s great; the boat could get launched, but what about recovery?

Tim and I discussed the problem and came to the conclusion that a broken winch wasn’t going to way-lay this trip.  The situation could be dealt with later.  At the moment, we needed to get the boat in the water and get sailing if we were going to make it out to the islands.  We cut the strap and launched the boat.

Recovery of the boat would require a new winch handle or a new winch for that matter.  But that could wait until we got back.  At the moment we had some serious sailing to do.  All other considerations could wait and be dealt with later.  Let’s go!

The boat was launched without further incident.  Tim parked his truck and trailer, paid the launch fee and climbed aboard.  We started the motor and headed out towards the break wall.  As I steered, Tim broke out the sails and began to hoist them.  Within minutes the wind had us and I killed the motor. 

Big Bay Break Wall

This was my first time in Big Bay and I took in the sights.  It was a beautiful area with large cliffs on the west side and a point with a light house on it on the east.  The wind was light and out of the northeast, which would requiremy way out of  the bay.                                                                                                                                                                                  

No sooner then Tim had raised the sails then I heard a familiar request. “Beer,” Tim said from the bow.  I reached into the cooler and grabbed one, then tossed it to him.  At that point I probably got one for myself too.  It would be a case and half journey to the Huron Islands that day.  Good thing we had come prepared.  

The wind in the Bay was inconsistent, so we started the motor and turned towards our objective.  Within a short period of time we cleared the cliffs on the west side and proceeded into the open waters of Lake Superior on a northwest heading to the islands. 

The Huron Islands

We could now see the Huron Islands far off in the distance, tiny indistinguishable bumps on the horizon.  We would follow the coast for the next ten miles before adjusting course out to the Islands.  This would take us past the Huron Mountain Club, a private utopia for the ultra rich.  I had been curious about it since I moved to Marquette and I would now get a chance to see what all the hub bub was about. 

When we were still in Big Bay I had put up my hammock; attaching it to the pulpit and the mast.  It fit perfectly and I soon swayed gently back and forth, beer in hand, enjoying the voyage.  Sometime early in the cruise, Tim had taken over the helm.  Fine with me, I could now lounge and effortlessly take in the sights.  I love sailing.   

Hammock on the Voyage

The hammock worked great as long as the boat stayed on one tack.  However, as soon as a new course was set, it interfered with the Genoa as it switched sides.  We would have to undo the hammock from the pulpit and then reconnect it once the sail had been secured in order to allow it to function properly.  A minor inconvenience, since we soon stayed on one course for the next 3 to 4 hours. 

Alternately, Tim and I both had our time in the hammock.  It was good as long as you didn’t have to piss and weren’t interested in conversation.  Eventually, we would both end up in the cockpit carrying on whatever the discussion of the day was.  That particular day the main topic was the development, patenting, manufacture, and marketing of two headed blow-up rubber sheep.  A subject that we still joke about to this day.  Don’t ask.

Huron Mountain Club

After a couple hours we neared the fabled Huron Mountain Club.  Actually, we had been sailing past the property for some time, but we now approached the main concentration of private homes.  They were all located either on the beach or just off of it.  And from my vantage point it looked like there were a lot of them stretching from one end of the cove to the other, and they were big.

We altered course and headed towards the beach and the life styles of the rich and famous.  I was at the helm and kept a close eye on the GPS charts to make sure there weren’t any unexpected surprises.  I also watched the beach and took in the spectacle of opulence appearing before me.

A Nice Cabin

There weren’t just houses; there were mansions, one after the other all the way down the beach.  Some you could tell were quite old and very rustic looking.  These were the log cabins of the rich and famous.  However, there was a few that looked as if they had been recently built.  All of these properties made my house look like a tool shed.  Wow, it must be nice to have money.

We got as close to shore as the draft would allow with the keel down; probably somewhere around 100 to 200 feet from the beach.  Tim and I discussed landing the boat and going ashore, but didn’t want a visit from a private army of guys with guns.  Neither did we want the police to come after us with sirens blaring; to arrest us for annoying the cream of society.   Better to stay clear and wave.  The people of the Huron Mountain Club probably laughed at the sight of Tim’s boat sailing by, saying to themselves, “my dingy is bigger then that dilapidated vessel.”  

Once we had sailed by the many beach properties, I altered course and headed straight towards the Huron Islands.  They were about an hour away at that point, and it would be clear sailing the rest of the way there.

The Huron Islands are an archipelago of eight small islands located approximately three miles off the coast on the south side of Lake Superior.  They are situated roughly halfway between Houghton and Marquette, Michigan, if you are sailing. 

The islands were designated a bird refuge by President Theodore Roosevelt to protect Sea Gulls of all things.  I guess President Roosevelt didn’t think of them as flying rats, like I do.  I clearly am not aware that Sea Gulls needed protection.  I would think that the remote location of the Islands would offer enough security without having to make a decree; they’re in the middle of nowhere so to speak.  Unless you have a boat and a few hours to kill, you will have a hard time getting there. 

As we approached the islands the distinctive attributes became clear.  The Huron Islands were basically big piles of rock sticking out of the water.  The bigger ones had vegetation and a variety of trees.  They didn’t appear to have much usable land, but looked like they would be fun to explore anyway.   But wait, what’s that sign?  Here we are in the middle of nowhere and there are signs posted on the islands, the bigger ones anyway. 

The sign read: Under penalty of death, anyone caught landing on this rock will be sought out and put to a gruesome death not limited to slow torture and or dismemberment.  Ouch!  No, it actually pointed out that the Huron Islands were a bird refuge and it was illegal to set foot on any island except Lighthouse Island.  Not that it would have been easy to do so.  The shore consisted of steep rock outcrops.  As far as we could tell, there was no place to land a boat; you would have to swim to the islands to get onto them.  Tim pointed out that the sign would be great for target practice.

Well, I considered swimming to that particular island, standing by the sign, and having my picture taken.  I would then blow it up and frame it; putting it with my collection asshole memorabilia.  Not that I wanted to disturb the wildlife, even if it only consisted of Sea Gulls.  I might have gotten pooped on.

The Channel at Lighthouse Island

Tim and I sailed by and headed for the big island, the one with the lighthouse on it. We could see there was a channel between the big island and a smaller one right next to it. I looked at the charts as we approach the island; it indicated that the passage was deep enough to navigate.  It looked to be about 20 feet wide at the narrowest section and maybe a couple hundred feet long.  The wind was perfect; gentle and from a good direction.  I had an idea.

I told Tim what I proposed we do with his boat; to sail through the strait. He wasn’t very accommodating at first, not considering my plan to be a sound idea.  “You realize if anything happens, we’re fucked,” he said thinking over the proposal.  I made my argument and showed him the chart.  After some consideration he decided he would give it a try.

The Bottom of the Channel

I took lookout station in the bow and Tim manned the helm, not trusting me to see his boat safely through the passage.  That’s alright, better he sink his boat, then me.  The water was crystal clear turquoise blue and I could see the bottom perfectly.  It didn’t look all that deep, but apparently was deep enough.  On Tim’s boat that’s about six feet. 

As we entered the channel I kept Tim informed of any potential obstacles that might hinder navigation.  I didn’t see any.  The bottom was covered in small rounded rocks.  Like someone had dumped a load of cobble stones that and spread them out.

The boat made its way thought passage and as we neared the other end, the Lighthouse Island dock came into view.  At about that point I spotted a large rock shelf very near the surface on the starboard side.  This was no problem; I pointed it out to Tim and he adjusted the course accordingly.  In no time the Genius (Tim’s boat) had cleared the channel and was heading for the dock.

Lighthouse Island Dock

There were other mariners visiting the island besides us.  Two large motor boats were anchored in the small bay and there was another sailboat at the dock.  A group of sea kayakers were paddling their way towards us as we approached.  We greeted them as they passed exchanging, very quickly, information about one another’s travels.  I thought they were very brave.  Apparently, they had paddled out to the islands from the main land, a distance of at least three miles.

As we got close to the dock, Tim decided he didn’t want to make land and turned out towards the lake again.  I inquired as to what he was doing, as I was not expecting the abrupt change?  I was looking forward to stretching my legs and had even entertained hiking to the light house. 

Tim explained his decision.  He had come to sail, not dock his boat and hang out on this rock.  Also, the water was choppy at the dock; the other sailboat was on the inside and was protected from the turbulent water.  The Genius would be battered once tied up, even with fenders.  Tim didn’t want to expose the boat to the potential damage.

Whatever, I didn’t object to the decision.  The day was still young, the sun was out, it was warm, and there was plenty of time to do whatever we wanted to do.  Tim suggested we circumnavigate the islands.  That would kill another hour or two.  Sounded good to me.

We set course, heading east from the little bay where the dock was located; then turning north to follow the island’s coast.  As we sailed around the western most point of the island the lighthouse came into view.  It was majesticly poised atop a cliff overlooking the vast expanse of Lake Superior.  Neat spot.

The Lighthouse on Top of the Cliff

It was at this point that Tim told me to take the helm.  I did, I was sitting there anyway.  He grabbed a rope, uncoiled it, secured one end to the transom, threw the rest in the water aft of the boat, and then jumped in after it.  “The waters great,” Tim said while holding on to the trailing line.

The summer of 2010 was unusually warm for the Lake Superior area.  Due to that, the lake itself had become tolerable for water activities such as swimming.  One could even say it was very refreshing, without causing you to go into hypothermia after 30 seconds or so.  I am not a big swimmer, but I even found myself hitting the water on a regular basis from about July on.  At least that is, until it cooled off again sometime in September.

After a while I dug in the equipment locker under the cockpit and pulled out the ladder.  It is virtually impossible to get back on board without it.  Tim climbed back on board.  “Go for a swim, Rob,” he said once back aboard.  I did, jumping in off of the side.  The water was great.

Holding onto the Genius

I swam over to the trailing line and grabbed on, not wanting the Genius to sail out of reach.  I held on to the line for a while and then made my way back to the ladder.  I climbed back on board and then promptly jumped back in again. 

Sometime during the journey around the islands the wind died, or significantly slowed.  The Genius was barely moving, a situation quite common on Tim’s boat.  Admiral No Wind had continued his luck.  But at the moment it was not without appreciation.  Tim and I jumped in the lake repeatedly until we both found ourselves in the water at the same time.

As we both held the trailing line, Tim looked at me, laughed, and said, “Who’s steering the boat?” We both looked at the Genius, which was close to one hundred feet away (it was a long line) and decided it probably wasn’t prudent to let the boat do as it will.  If a sudden gust came up, we might have a problem.  The island was within easy swimming distance.  However, the last thing we wanted to do was to have to swim to shore, hike to the other side of the island in our swim trunks, and ask for help.  “Hello, Coast Guard, could you please come out and find our boat.  It was last seen somewhere near the Huron Islands?  Buy the way; could you come out and pick us up, we’re stranded?  Thanks.” After that, one of us always stayed on board while the other swam.

Our swimming off the boat around the Islands continued for some time as we slowly circumnavigated them.  Tim and I soon both began to wear life jackets in case we missed the trailing line and had to swim or tread water while the boat was maneuvered for pick up.  It might take a while, no use taking chances.

The day waned, the sun dropping into the western sky.  We had been messing around for about two hours, but had finally decided to head back to the Lighthouse Island dock.  Low and behold the Genius was heading back to the channel it had originally navigated some two hours earlier.  I again took my station as lookout, positioning myself on the bow.  Tim took the helm; this time with no misgivings.

We entered the straight and proceeded as last time.  The Lighthouse Island dock came into view.  WHAM!  A loud noise emanated from the cabin and the Genius came to an abrupt jerky stop.  I was almost thrown off my feet, but I had been hanging on to the forward shroud.  Also the boat was going very slow, due to the clam winds.  The Genius sat in about 3 feet of water and had lodged itself on the rock shelf fifty or so feet from dry land.  We had hit the rock shelf that we safely maneuvered around the first time.

Tim’s eyes grew as big as saucers, as he exclaimed a well deserved, “WHAT THE FUCK DID WE JUST HIT!?” 

“I DON”T KNOW,” I shoot back, equally surprised.  It’s not like I hadn’t been doing my job; my eyes had been glued to the water and potential hazards.

“Check the boat”, Tim ordered.  I dropped to the deck and put my head over the side to examine the water line.  At that same time, Tim had rushed into the cabin to see if the Genius was taking on water.

“IT’S THE KEEL,” I yelled towards the cockpit.  Looking down directly into the water from the bow I could see our dilemma.  The keel had hit the rock shelf and had been dragged onto a ledge.  The rest of the Genius sat in at least two or three feet of water, but was precariously close to shallower rock.  I reported my finding, yelling back towards the cockpit.

“She’s ok, there’s no water,” Tim reported as he immerged from the cabin.  “Get on the winch,” he ordered as he pulled off his shirt and then lowered himself into the water on the starboard side.  I quickly repositioned myself to operate the keel winch. 

Tim positioned himself roughly in the middle of the boat and was standing knee deep on the rock that had captured the Genius.  “OK, WIND IT UP,” he yelled from the water.  I started cranking the handle.  At first there was slack in the line, but then it tightened and the keel began to rise.  With a parallel effort, Tim pushed on the hull.  As soon as the boat was free of the rock, she started moving again.  Tim pushed as hard as he could to get her back in the channel and away from the rock shelf.  With one last effort he jumped up on the rail hanging on with his arms and pulled himself into the cockpit. 

I had switched from the winch and grabbed the tiller, pointing the boat towards the middle of the narrows. As soon as Tim got back on board he took over and told me to get back on the keel winch.  Without the keel we wouldn’t be able to maneuver.  I dropped it about half way upon instructions and stood by.  The Genius quickly sailed out of danger, and I climbed back into the cockpit, where we would intently discuss what had just happened. 

Tim and I quickly came to the conclusion that the boat had grounded because we couldn’t see the rock shelf.  While we had been circumnavigating the islands the sun had shifted position dropping further in the western sky.  This changed the visibility in the water due to the angle of the light reflecting off of its’ surface, effectively obscuring the rocks.  What we saw clearly the fist time had become invisible the second.  Fortunately, the weather conditions had remained calm and the Genius had been moving very slowly.  There was no way we would have attempted it under any other circumstances. 

While we were frantically trying to get the situation back under control, a virtual hornets’ nest had been stirred up on shore.  The sound of Tim’s boat colliding with the rock was loud enough for everyone on the dock to hear.  With the result that a small contingent of would be rescuers were on their way to assist us.  There were two people in sea kayaks paddling feverously towards the rocks, and another was running along the shore line to lend his assistance.

The Genius was free and making towards the dock by the time they reached us.  Tim and I were met with many questions and inquisitive looks.  We assured them that everything was alright, and thanked them for their efforts.  It’s not everyday you get to assist with a ship wreck.  However, they probably thought we were stupid for trying the channel in the first place.  As Forest Gump said, “Stupid is as stupid does,”

I can’t say for sure, but I think the next time Tim and I visit the Huron Islands, we will still attempt the straight if the conditions are right.  I know if it was my boat, I’d give it a try. 

We came to the dock and I again wound up the keel into its housing.  A couple of fenders were hung on the starboard side to cushion the boat against the dock.  As Tim neared the structure, I jumped from the boat to the dock with the bow line in hand.  I quickly secured the line to the large cleats mounted on the dock and waited to see if anything else was needed. 

The dock was a solid structure made up of thick wooden framing with rocks filled in the spaces.  The deck was concrete poured over the base.  It wasn’t going anywhere, and had undoubtedly been there for years.  It provided excellent protection from the turbulent water if you were on the inside of it.  The side facing the Lake was a different story.

The same sailboat we had seen earlier was still secured to the other side of the dock from where we now anchored.  It bobbed peacefully against the dock.  Tim’s boat by comparison was banging against the structure.  Tim didn’t like it, and said we wouldn’t be staying long.  Oh well, so much for a hike up to the lighthouse.   I ran into the woods and relieved myself and then reluctantly climbed back aboard.

Tim had considered our options for somewhere to anchor that night.  The dock was obviously out.  The little bay was a possibility, there was at least one other boat anchored there at the moment.  But Tim didn’t like that spot either, due to the prevailing wind direction.  That’s why it was so choppy at the dock.  Another possibility was on the other side of the island where we had been swimming; at least it would be out of the wind.  Tim decided that it wasn’t a good spot to anchor the Genius either. 

His overall decision was due to a belief that there was no area around the islands that had a sandy bottom.  Tim’s boat was equipped with a Danforth anchor.  They work great in sand and mud, but aren’t very well suited for rocky bottoms; which apparently was the nature of the Huron Islands.  Tim didn’t want to take the chance that the Genius would drag her anchor and end up on the rocks, again.  So with that, we set sail for the main land.

By this time, the dusk was upon us.  As Tim and I sailed south from Lighthouse Island we watched the sun set in the west.  It would take us a good hour or more to reach the main land; hoping we could find a cove to provide a safe haven.  In the worst case, we would sail back to the beach at the Huron Mountain Club and anchor there.  The weather was nice and sailing in the dark wouldn’t be a problem.  However, the days’ events had worn us out and both Tim and I were ready to park it.

Cooking on the Cockpit

As we sailed across the three mile gap between the islands and the mainland we cooked dinner.  Tim’s portable grill was broken out and we proceeded to make brats.  Brats are a staple on the Genius and Tim has been known to cook them in the most adverse conditions; where other sailors (myself) are just trying to survive.

The crossing went without incident.  Thanks to my GPS unit we had made course towards what looked to be a promising anchorage.  It was impossible to tell by looking at the shore line, but on the chart it looked good.  When we arrived it was starting to get dark, but we could tell that there was a nice sandy bottom to anchor in.  There was also just enough of a cove to provide some relief from the waves.  Hell, I was so tired; I would sleep like a rock anyway.

With the boat secured we lounged in the cockpit and continued our BS session. A couple more well deserved beers in hand.  It got dark quick and soon we would call it a night. 

I noticed that it was bright out, like there was a full moon, but there was none to be seen.  Then I noticed a bright band of light stretching across the sky to the north, from one end of the horizon to the other.  It was the Aurora Borealis, the northern lights.  I sat mesmerized.  I pointed it out to Tim, who wasn’t as enamored with the spectacle as I.  He checked it out for a time, but then called it a night.  I however, stayed up for a while, at least a beer’s worth, and stared. 

Finally, I succumbed to the days events and had to call it a night; leaving the Aurora to its own means.  I crawled into my bunk and shut my eyes, I could hear Tim snoring.  It was the last thing I recall before sleep took me.

The next morning came early.  It was still dawn and the sun had yet to rise, twilight bathed the world.  I guess I didn’t sleep that well, or an overwhelming urge to urinate caused me to get up.  Working my way to my preferred perch, I stood holding onto a shroud, relieving myself over the side of the boat.  I thought, “Here we go again,” mentally preparing for another day on the Genius.

Soon, Tim was rousting himself from his bunk, ready to start the day.  I had broken out the stove and had the coffee on.  In addition I had put a pot of water on to boil for oatmeal; careful to dip it in the water on the opposite side of the boat from where I had peed earlier. 

Lake Superior is the biggest body of fresh water in the world (by surface area), so dipping a pot in for water to boil is no problem.  I’ve even been told by a guy who works in a water purification plan that; a few miles or so off shore, the water is purer then what they produce at the plant due to diffusion.  Drink up. 

In no time Tim and I had our coffee and a bowl of oatmeal to start our day.  Tim wanted sugar for his coffee, but I had only thought to bring a small bottle of milk to augment my morning beverage.  He looked around and found what he thought was a bag of sugar.  I told him, “I’m pretty sure that’s not sugar Tim, its salt.”  Tim proceeded to pour some of the contents of the bag into his coffee. He took a big sip and made a face to indicate that his coffee had indeed been salted.  He dumped the entire contents into the lake, saying, “I don’t like coffee anyway”. 

We had just finished our breakfast when Tim said, “Let’s go!”  It was barely seven AM. 

“What, are we in a rush?” I asked.

“Yeees,” he said with his annoying English ‘Let’s go now asshole, tone.

“Fine, at least let me do the dishes,” I replied.  It didn’t know why we needed to get underway so fast, but I did know Tim gets bored very easily.  He is not one to sit around at anchor when he could be sailing.  He could be a blood relative of Captain Bligh; his crew sure to mutiny for lack of any liberty ashore.  However, we are good friends, and have a certain banter between the two of us; this case being no exception.

No sooner than I had cleaned the last bowl, then Tim was hoisting the sails and we were again underway.  “Stowe that stuff,” Tim said to me, referring to the stove and various other cooking implements still scattered around the cock pit.

“Fuck off,” I replied, my standard response to his demands.  I was working on it, and wouldn’t be rushed.  Soon everything was cleared from the cockpit, and normal sailing stations were restore, all cooking implement being removed from the area and stowed.  That is, thrown somewhere out of the way.

The Genius headed east back down the coast in the direction we had come from the previous day.  It would be a long day on the water. 

“Beer,” Tim said, requesting the first of the day.  It was almost eight o’ clock in the morning.

“The cooler’s right there,” I replied, indicating the ice box located right next to where he was sitting.

“Well, get me one,” he insisted!

“Get one yourself, you’re right there,”

“I can’t steer, and be expected to furnish my own beer,” Tim replied.

“Wanker,” I responded.

“Just get me a beer…..NOW,” he said, with his usual attitude.  As I’ve said, Tim and I have a banter.  Today would be no exception.  It was going to be a long day.

Banter aside, we settled in for the long haul.  The winds being light, Tim set up his automatic tiller; a device that, more or less, keeps the boat on course as long as the weather doesn’t become too rough.  The operator has only to make a minor adjustment to change course.  The boat basically sails itself, thus freeing the crew to do whatever.  In our case sit around and drink beer. 

We made it back to Big Bay before noon.  At that point we decided to sail all the way back to Marquette.  The decision was merely based on the fact that it was nice out and having to deal with the boat at that time was the lesser of two evils.  Besides, that would give us another four hours of sailing.  Joy. 

I have to admit I’d had my fill and would have gladly opted for the drive back from Big Bay.  But there was nothing I needed to do, so sailing back was fine.  Besides, I’d never done that section before and always liked to cover new ground so to speak. 

We stayed on course heading east and following the coast.  As the Genius neared the east side of Big Bay we could see the marker Buoy indicating shallow water and a navigational hazard.  Tim wanted to change course to sail to the outside of it, but I was curious.  I checked the chart.  It indicated that, although the water was shallow, it maintained a depth of at least ten feet.  The chart indicated that there was a shallow shelf that extended at least a half a mile out into the lake from the point where the Big Bay Lighthouse was located.  Looked interesting.

I again talked Tim into taking his boat into the unknown. We entered the shallows and proceeded to navigate across the shelf, well inside the marker buoy.  The water became very shallow and crystal clear, like when we first went through the channel at the Huron Islands.  You could make out the various geological features of the rock beneath the boat; plainly seeing where the great glaciers had scraped the rock clear.  It was intense and would have been a good spot to go swimming.

After that, it was pretty much a straight run down the coast to Marquette, perhaps another four hours.  The wind was consistent at about five knots and not too much to overwhelm the automatic tiller. 

At some point a couple gusts of picked up and drove us off course.  We zigged and zagged, but eventually the automatic tiller got us back on course.  I am definitely going to have to get one of those things.  On a long voyage it is the only way to go; freeing you from being a slave to the helm. 

The only other incident that warrants mention is our run in with the Thills fishing boat.  We were making our way down the coast, slowly.  At some point both Tim and I took a nap, trusting the navigation to the automatic tiller.  It was approaching ninety degrees and the heat and monotony of the voyage called for a nap.

We became aware of the fishing vessel as it neared our location.  It being a much quicker boat, came up on us fast.  As it approached, it clearly saw us and changed course to avoid the Genius.  It maneuvered around us and proceeded to move ahead of us by about a half a mile and then stopped.  The Genius remained on course.

As we drew near we could see crew members on the fishing boat working their nets; directly in our path.  The Genius continued to close the distance.  Soon, Tim and I could make out long strings of nets pulled up to the surface, and we were heading straight towards them.

One of the fishing boat crew members yelled, “We have nets here,” as Tim’s boat closed to within a few hundred feet.  We could see them.  They were right under the boat.  It seemed that they expected us to alter course to avoid their nets.  At that point it was an impossible task.  The Genius was barely making three knots; we were basically drifting through the fishing zone.

The fishing boats crew was busy hauling in their catch.  We were close enough to see theme pull a few fish out of the catch basin that they had extracted from the lake.  The nets were stretched tight.  The Genius was right in the middle of them, keel down and making way.

Becoming caught in the nets was becoming a real possibility at this point.  Tim’s boat was slowly moving over the zone, and we could see nets everywhere.  If the net would have become snagged on the keel it would have stopped us dead in our tracks, stranding us there until it could be untangled. 

Tim pointed out that what they were doing was illegal.  They were creating a hazard to navigation, which was against maritime law.  We had been clearly seen by the Thills boat prior to them raising the nets and they chose to proceed, knowing that the Genius was there.  Any altercation would have been their fault.  All I knew was, I didn’t want to get stuck in a net, which actually happened to me later that summer.

Tim threatened to get in the water and cut the net if his boat got stuck.  Looking back on the incident, he said that if it occurred again he would call the Coast Guard.  Those guys on the fishing boat obviously thought they owned the water.  Tim’s boat was encroaching on their territory and had no right to be there.  Due to this incident, I’ve come to think of fishing boat operators as the truckers of the water, thinking they own the road.

The Genius made it through the fishing grounds without getting snagged.  The rest of the voyage was without incident.  It took about three hours to make Marquette from where we had the run in with the Thills fishing boat.  The scenery way great and weather couldn’t have been better, but it was a damn long trip.

Once we got back and Tim’s’ boat was on its’ mooring.  I grabbed my car and took Tim up to Big Bay to get his truck and trailer.  We had successfully completed the journey; doing some sixty miles on the water.  Tim would have to do some repairs, but in no time his trailer would be ready to use again.  The boat had come through with no major problems, and Tim and I hadn’t killed each other.  What more can you ask?  Soon, we would be ready for the next trip….The Apostle Islands.

Me and My Boat: Wiring????

Wednesday January 20^th.  Last night I went out to the garage yet once again to, you got it, work on the boat.  I am in the process of getting the electrical system up and running.  I can then paint the interior. 

Of course I had to make a pit stop at Menards before I could do anything.  Heaven forbid I do anything to that boat without going to the hardware store first.  Last night’s acquisitions included tie straps, electrical tape, and a nightlight.  The tie straps I need to secure all the loose wiring.  The electrical tape; well, in this case it will, I’m hoping, secure the wiring to the bulkhead, but I’ll get into that later.  Finally, the nightlight; which I purchased for an entirely different purpose then what it was designed to do.

Cannibalism: the eating of human flesh by another human being.  Or in this case, cannibalism: the removal of parts, equipment, assets, or employees from one product, item, or business in order to use them in another.  I am a cannibal.  Hey, give me a piece of Bruce will you?

That’s what the night light is for, or more specifically the clear plastic cover on it.  You see, I have a dilemma; the old electrical system is in such bad shape as to be completely useless.  Not surprisingly, similar to most of the original components of the boat, the electrical system must be completely rebuilt.  The only parts I managed to salvage are the covers that held the port and starboard lights.  However, the fixtures that actually made the whole mess work (the lights) are shot.  That’s where a little ingenuity comes in.

Now, wiring and switches are pretty generic, are easily found and installed.  However, navigation lights are not something your local hardware store is likely to carry, at least not mine.  You can find them at a marine supplier or on the internet pretty easily, but like all specialty items they are expensive.  I am attempting to refurbish my boat in the most cost effective way possible and am a master at ‘Jury Rigging’, if I do say so myself.  The whole boat has basically been a huge jury rigging project.  If not, it would be costing me two or more times what I’ve put into it.  The navigation lighting is no exception.  

The lights will consist of cheap fixtures, 3 bucks I think per unit, of which I only require the piece that actually holds the light bulb.  Again, cannibalism at it’s finest.  This piece, I will somehow mount on the bulkhead in the spot designated of the navigation lights (a hole in the wall), and then waterproof it all; simultaneously enhancing the background reflectivity of each unit. 

What is required: a cheap light fixture, tin foil, a red or green light bulb, a clear plastic cover, and some clear silicon.  These items will be manipulated in such a fashion as to produce a working navigation light.  It works in theory, and the best part is that the whole navigation light is 100 or more dollars cheaper then an actual one made for the purpose.  Because I am not a purist, a boat purist, or refurbishing purist, I don’t give a shit.  That is, I am not stuck on having authentic boat fittings.  Sorry, guy at the boat works.  I just want it to work as required.  The hard part will be figuring out how to stick it all together so that it works properly and is securely mounted. 

As I said, wiring and switches are easy to deal with.  I got both installed last night.  Well, hooked up anyway, I still have to get the wiring mounted to the bulkheads.  After I hooked it all together it was time to test the electrical system.  I spliced in one of my cheap fixtures, hooked up a battery, and hit the switch.  And then there was light, and it was good.

My youngest son was less then impressed at my accomplishment, being more focused on shooting things with the piece of leftover wood he had found in the cabin.  He wanted my screw driver, my electric screw driver which can bend, but I was using it.  I did manage to get some assistance out of him.  My son would hold the wires as I put tie straps around the bundles.  He did a few himself, but finally returned to his adventure, shooting imaginary bad guys with the stick.

Once I get all the bundles of wire organized; I will then mount them on the bulkheads.  The electrical tape will, I hope, hold the wiring in place long enough for the glue to set.  I didn’t have any luck finding something for the purpose at Menards.  Oh well, again I think it will work in theory.

Me and My Boat: Increase The Value of Your Boat, by Burning it.

“I’m going to increase the value of your boat, by burning it,” Tim replied to whatever snide remark I had said to him.  It stopped me in my tracks.  Wow, that was a monumental insult of epic proportions.  I looked at Tim with what must have been an expression of shock and awe on my face.  Looking somewhat surprised with himself he said, “I don’t know where that came from, it just came out.” I told him that I was quite impressed at the nature and magnitude of the comment.  We both started laughing.

I guess the profound effect of the comment was due to the vast effort that has gone into the boat thus far, or Tim was thinking in terms of an insurance policy.  That would increase the value of the boat by burning it.  I could then go out and buy a new boat and hopefully skip the refurbishment aspect. This episode occurred last Saturday, January 16^th, 2010.  It was uttered in the midst of the regular banter that takes place as we work on the boat.

The Bow Locker

I had been cussing up a blue streak earlier as I crawled into the extremely tight area of the bow to secure the bowsprit to the boat.  There just wasn’t any space to maneuver and manipulate the bolt assembly.  I had to work blind because I couldn’t turn to look at what I was doing.  The cussing seemed to help.  At any rate the bowsprit is now affixed to the boat. 

The bowsprit was the major project for the weekend.  Well, that and the electrical.  I managed to wire the boat or at least place the wiring in the general location where it will be mounted. 

I had just applied glue to the wooden mounting board and was about to screw it into place when Tim called me.  He said he was going to Menards and asked if I needed anything.  Funny you should ask.

I had cut a piece of plywood to fit just inside the cabin on the bulkhead.  I would mount it, and to it I would mount all of the electrical gadgets; these being the three way switch and wiring terminal.  All nice and neat.  Once everything was connected and mounted, the boat’s electrical system would be ready for the high seas. 

The only obstacle at this point is putting the wires in place.  My thought is to use some of the industrial glue and carefully stick the wiring to the bulkheads.  This could prove to be messy, but may be my only option.  Everything I saw in Menards was geared towards having wiring mounted to wooden framing. That works great for a house but not so well on a fiberglass boat; especially in the thinner sections of the hull.  I was also trying to avoid having to drill hundreds of tiny holes to mount screws in, I.E. brackets held in place by screws, and nails are out of the question.  I guess I’ll have to make another run to Menards and see what I can come up with. 

Due to my zealous attempt to install the electrical system I had to put the interior painting on hold.  I also held back because of the bowsprit, not wanting to mess up a new paint job while I’m struggling to secure a long plank to the front of my boat.  However, I did get started; a good portion of the cabin is now painted; some of the overhead and most of the bulkheads.  Once the wiring is secured I will paint over it.  I suppose I could now do the decking, but I will have to sit on it in order to mount the wiring.  I’m screwed.

The real work was cleaning out the interior to make it ready to be painted.  My boat accumulated a lot of dirt and other debris between when the interior was built this last weekend.  It took me a good couple few hours to sweep, vacuum, wipe, vacuum, sweep, vacuum, and wipe down the inside of the boat. 

The best part is that my youngest son came out to help me and wore his dirty snow boots into the cabin, tracking mud all over the decking.  After I convinced him to remove his footwear prior to hanging out on the boat; he then helped me paint.  That was neat; at least one of my kids is into working on the boat.

Today is Monday and I have opted to take a night off, hang out with my family, and just relax in front of the TV.  After all, as I pointed out to Tim this last weekend as he hounded me to go back to the hardware store and buy a chain for the bowsprit; its only mid-January, there’s no rush.  I have at least three months before I can even get the boat in the water.

Me and My Boat: Yes, Trim Can Make Your Boat Look Bad

Today is January 15^th, 2010.  Last night I did some detail painting on the trim.  The deck and cockpit are white, the hull is Regal Red but the trim is still crappy looking.  Tim had said, “Paint it black”.  I wasn’t sure how that would look?

When I got off of work I went over to Tim’s house to BS and have a couple beers.  We went out into his garage where Tim showed me what he had done to his mast.  It was bent, and he straightened it, for the most part.

Anyway, I looked at his boat which has roughly the same color scheme as mine and noticed that it has black trim.  It actually looked pretty good and provided a good contrast between the two sections of the boat (upper and lower).  Having seen an example, I decided it would look okay on my boat.  So, I stopped by Menards on my way home to buy a pint of black paint and a couple brushes.  While I was there I also purchased a small can of bright yellow paint, thinking the boat might look better if there was a little more color.  Yellow and black make…..

On one side I painted the aluminum trim first and then the rubber part.  On the other side of the boat I painted the rubber fist and then the aluminum.  The difference?  Well, with the aluminum painted first, I was able to paint the rubber black without accidently brushing the aluminum.  Thus, it was a cleaner job, and came out looking okay with just a few spots that needed some touch-up.  It’s the way the aluminum and rubber piece are connected that facilitated ease of painting in that sequence.  When I painted the rubber part first and then the aluminum I got yellow paint all over the rubber section of the trim, with the effect of making the entire thing look really messy.  It will require a lot of touch-up.  Again, it is the way the aluminum and rubber are joined that contributed to the end result.  No, actually I’m just really bad at detail painting.

Black Trim

Now, one side is yellow and black.  Yellow on the aluminum, with the rubber part painted black.  On the other side, the trim is orange (kind of) on the aluminum with the rubber painted black.  I will have to go out and look at it and see if I like the color scheme or not.  One thing I do know is that Regal Red and Bright Yellow do not make orange.  Instead, they produce a dark orange tinted pigment that looks odd.  When a small amount of white is added it brings the concoction close to a salmon color.  That is what I went with.  However, like I said, I will have to go look at it and see if I like it or not.  Fortunately, a small can of paint is pretty cheap.

Inevitably, I will be going to Menards again for more stuff.  My next run will be primarily for interior paint.  That is, I will be purchasing exterior house paint for the interior of the boat.  That seems logical doesn’t it? 

On the interior I am going to go with blue and white, the same color scheme that I originally was going to use on the hull.  There are two really good reasons why I chose those colors.  White, because it is already the color of the interior bulkheads and looks as if it was the original color of the entire cabin from deck to overhead.  Like how I’m starting to use the appropriate maritime lingo?  So, if I decide I don’t want to go spelunking into the dark recesses of the boat, at least the paint will match.  The blue will be painted on the woodwork I.E. the bunks and shelves.  Blue also happens to match the padding that I am going to put into the boat.

I have a big box of floor padding that I ended up with from a Rotary function.  It’s the stuff you find on the floor at inside playgrounds for little kids.  In fact, that is exactly where I go it from.  Once the padding is cut to fit the interior bunks it will add some cushioning, possibly insulation, and in a worst case scenario, flotation. If it floats, one can only assume?  The padding is all around good stuff for the purpose, even if it doesn’t float.  Two out of three isn’t bad.

Me and My Boat: Getting Your Wood On

New Wood Work

With Tim’s help I mounted the woodwork and main hatch back on the boat.  Wow, what a difference.  We then bought the supplies and made the bow sprit and main hatch cover.  Both of which are made of red oak, have been stained and varnished, and are awaiting their place on board.  We also mounted the pulpit back in the boat.  This was necessary in order to make the bow sprit, which had to be fitted in order to work properly.  It’s going to look sweet and will, as Tim says, allow for a “ridiculously” large Genoa to be used.  That is because the bowsprit will increase the overall length of the boat by some two and one half feet.  Thus, allowing a bigger sail to be used. 

Inevitably, I will be working on the boat again this weekend and the next and the next and so on, until there is nothing left to do except go sailing.  I hope to make more headway on the interior this weekend, possibly even painting it.  We’ll see.  I’m sure Tim will show up and we’ll drink a few beers while working on whatever.  There is still much to do, and I will chronicle those activities as soon as there is something to report. 

I have been keeping various people informed as to the progress of my endeavor and am receiving positive support from them.  I think they are all curious to see the boat and look forward to a voyage on her.  Yesterday, I told my friend John about what Tim’s son said while in the garage last weekend. 

He asked, “Where’s your other boat?”

I pointed at my canoe, hanging over his head, and said, “Its hanging right there, it’s the only other boat I own”.

He said, “No, your other boat, the Beast, the one you had last summer?”

I then pointed at the sailboat and said, “You’re looking at it”

Tim’s son’s eyes widened in a look of surprise as he made the realization that ‘The Beast’ and the boat in front of him were one and the same, yet were two completely different sailboats.  As a friend said to me at work, “Boat projects are good for the soul”.

It is obvious from all the work I’ve done on the boat that the original manufacturing process produced the two halves (upper & lower) in separate molds.  One mold was for the main hull and the other for the cockpit and deck.  Also, there were at least three other molds to produce the hatches.  The two main parts, once produced were then riveted together producing the finished product, a Clipper Marine 21 sailboat.  One of which, I am now the proud owner of.

Rivets

I only point this out because I had to replace a good many missing rivets on the boat.  This was done during the painting process and I forgot to mention it.  I noticed that there were issues with the two main sections of the boat when I was doing the interior work and I could pull rivets out with my fingers.  They almost literally fell out of their holes.  You can’t see them on the outside because they are concealed by the trim; a thin aluminum band that encircles the boat at the hull / deck connection line.  Positioned inside this aluminum band is a rubber piece that also encircles the boat and covers the rivets.  The rubber piece is white and is very difficult to remove from the aluminum, but even harder to replace.

Once I had realized that rivets would need to be replaced, I went about the task.  Using a screwdriver I wedged it in between the rubber and the aluminum and managed to pry out a small section of the rubber trim.  Repeating the process over and over, I was able to expose the rivets.  It was then a simple matter of applying rivets to the missing holes.  However, in many cases I had to drill out the old partial rivet before a new one could be added. 

I did this on both sides, port and starboard, and must have replaced or added some 40 rivets to the hull.  I then went about replacing the rubber piece.  That took considerably more effort, as the rubber did not easily go back to its original position inside the aluminum band. 

I thought I was done.  However, I was running my hand over a section of the hull on the starboard aft of the boat, when I literally was able to feel the hull push in a significant amount with out having applied much pressure.  Not good.  I had visions of being healed over and water pouring into the interior of the boat. The area of the hull was adjacent to the cockpit and from the interior would have been hard to see; probably why I had missed it.  I once again had to remove the rubber trim, replace rivets, and then put the rubber back in place. 

After that revelation, I very carefully inspected the rest of the rivet line.  I tested the entire boat, walking around and pushing on the hull with my hand to see if any section needed attention.  Fortunately, the rest of the hull was sound.  In order to make sure that the boat is as water proof as possible I will apply silicon to both the interior and exterior rivet line.  That should keep the majority of incidental small leaks from swamping the boat, as they are probably directly related to the rivet line.