Surviving the Storm

            It was a fine sunny day and the weather forecast indicated only a twenty percent chance of showers in the afternoon.  They were good enough odds for any gambler.   Who wouldn’t place a bet with an eighty percent chance of success?  Besides, I wasn’t planning on being out for very long anyway. 

            It was Thursday April 15^th, 2010.  My friend Tim and I had left Marquette at 10:30 that morning intending to sail for a few hours.  Tim suggested we do Shot Point.  He had this epiphany after we had cleared the break wall and found the winds to be favorable for that direction. 

It was a warm south wind at a consistent 10 MPH.  It was partly cloudy and the lake was calm.  In fact it was perfect for sailing.  Living on the south shore of Lake Superior; the sailing is always better when the wind is out of the south.  Why?  Because when there is a south wind there are virtually no waves and you can really get your boat moving. 

I hadn’t planned on sailing to Shot Point but I didn’t argue with the suggestion, it sounded good to me.  It would be my second voyage out there and I had nothing pressing to attend to.

It was a good sail and we made Shot Point doing a consistent six knots.  We even tried out the trapeze rig I mounted to the mast.  When hooked to the harness a crew member could counter balance the healing effect of the wind to try an increase the boat’s speed.  My goal being to plane her and break 10 knots or faster; I’m still working on it.

Three hours out and almost half way back to Marquette we watched an ominous sight.  A very dark thunder head was descending over Marquette and heading in our direction.  Tim and I had been paying attention to the weather via the radio and it had indicated the same information as before, “a twenty percent chance of showers.”  At least that is what it had said an hour ago the last time we checked it.

We were at least five miles from Marquette and two to three miles out from shore when the weather and the lake decided to challenge our sailing ability.  The storm descending on Marquette was dark and we could see the storm wall heading towards us, quickly closing on our position.

Tim and I watched as the storm obscured Marquette from view in a blanket of darkness.  It was at about that time we knew that we were going to at least get wet if not worse.  The wind had changed direction and started to pick up. 

“Get that Genoa down,” I told Tim.

“I think you’re right,” Tim said, not arguing.  He then went about the task making his way to the bow to fight with the sail. 

“We’re going to get wet Tim,” I yelled at him from the cockpit.  I was watching the storm front as it cleared the break wall, Marquette now a distant memory.

“Man, its coming isn’t it,” Tim commented offhand as he returned to the cockpit and tossed the Genoa inside the cabin.  At that point we both knew that whatever happened, we would be smack in the middle of it.

From the time Tim lowered the Genoa to the time he returned to the safety of the cockpit the wind had increased a good 10 MPH and was building.  The lake was starting to become more and more choppy, the waves building in intensity.

“Break out the storm gear, NOW,” I said to Tim. “We’ve got maybe a few minuets till it hits us.”  Tim immediately went into the cabin to retrieve the foul weather gear.  While he was doing that, I grabbed a couple of life jackets from the storage locker located in the cockpit near where I was sitting.  Never losing grip on the tiller.  I handed one to Tim as he emerged from the cabin.

It wasn’t a pretty sight.  By the time Tim and I had broken out the storm gear and the life jackets, the squall had closed the distance and was almost on us.  All we could see was a dark wall, left to right, extending up into the sky, and moving unheeded in our direction.  It was moving fast and we were right in the middle of its path.  

We hastened to don the apparel and made ready for the inevitable; not knowing what to expect, but expecting the worst.  The wind had continued increasing and along with it, the waves. 

“WE’VE GOT TO GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE MAN, WE’RE SCREWED,” I shouted at Tim, over the ever increasing wind. “I’M STEERING STRAIGHT FOR SHORE.”  With that, I started the motor, adjusted our course dead south, and started our run for survival.  It was a day late and a dollar short, but hey, better late then never.

The boat was healing badly due to the high winds from the west and the gusts that would hit.  I had asked Tim if we should drop the main sail?  He said no, because if the motor died it would be the only control we had over the boat.  If we lost them both we would be at the complete mercy of the storm.  Unfortunately, we had missed the opportunity to reef the main sail, which would have helped considerably considering the pounding we were taking.  The time for any sail adjustment had past; all we could do at that moment was fight our way to shore.

It was about then that the storm wall hit us in its full force.  HOLY SHIT!  I kid you not!  It was the most terrifying experience I’ve ever had on my boat.  The rain was driving painfully sideways.  Tim and I sat on the starboard side (windward) with our backs against the squall. 

The waves on Lake Superior which had been a comforting zero to one foot, for most of our voyage; were now building to eight to ten feet in height.  It was disconcerting to see the bow of my little boat dive into a wave troth and have the bulk of the wave wash across the deck and into the cockpit.  The water drenching both Tim and I as it did so, while the Flying Fish fought her was back to the surface.  Then the boat would immediately breach on the next wave, slamming hard into the water, only to repeat the process.  It was a nightmare!

Our visibility was zero.  It was dark; all I could see was the immediate area around the boat and of course the waves that were washing over her.  My only reference was the compass showing that we were indeed heading south and towards the shore. 

I had one hand on the tiller and the other on the throttle of the motor.  Because we were breaching and diving in the waves, the motor would cavitate as the boat fell into the next troth and then almost get swamped as the transom submerged.  I had to keep a study hand on the throttle to keep the motor from dying.

As I was struggling with the tiller and throttle, Tim was manning the main sheet.  He was constantly adjusting the tension on the main sail as we headed for shore.  Mostly loosing wind from the sail.  Together we fought to get off the lake and survive our predicament.

At some point I looked at Tim, who was sitting right next to me and yelled, “WHAT’S THE WORST STORM YOU’VE EVER BEEN IN?” He just looked at me, and without saying a word; pointed down.  Holy crap, if my mentor and sailing teacher was freaked out; we must be in some serious trouble.

A Major Storm on Lake Superior.  Not the one we were in (I was too busy holding on to use a camera)

I was at that moment, happy to be sharing the experience with another human being.  Had I been alone I think I would have most likely perished.  Hard to say, but it took two of us to maintain any semblance of control.  Also, my mental state was focused, not panicked; which I’m sure was a direct result of having Tim aboard.  To panic in that situation would have been fatal.

All Tim and I could do is preserver; at that point it was a fight for survival, a fight to get back to shore.  It seemed like forever, the endless waves, the water washing over the deck, the driving rain, and the relentless wind.  This was no place for a small twenty one foot boat; yet here we were and there was nothing for it, but to ride it out.

We were one step away from getting on the radio and broadcasting an S.O.S; it was that bad!  As bad as it was, the Flying Fish was holding her own, hull intact, and making way.  We weren’t yet in dyer peril, close perhaps, but still afloat and moving towards shore. 

By Tim’s and my estimates we endured that hell for at least twenty to thirty minutes, and that was plenty!  In my younger days I was in the Navy and had experienced major storms at sea, but nothing like this.  Perhaps it was the size of the boat; being much more intimate with the elements than a large ship.  In either case, I have never been so aware of the power of nature.

As we neared shore as best as we could determine, the storm subsided.  Within five minutes the lake went from a major tempest back to the casual weather we had started out in.  The storm had passed.  The wind and the waves subsided giving way to sun shine and a gentle breeze.  Both Tim and I were soaked to the bone, and we made towards the mooring area, about thirty minutes away.

We would later find out that there had been a small boat advisory for the Marquette area, indicating sustained winds of 45 MPH with gusts up to 60 MPH.  No Shit!  We had been caught right in the middle of it.

Now, some people would have been turned off to sailing after an experience like that, and I don’t blame them.  However, I have no fear of that lake (Lake Superior).  That should not be confused for a very healthy respect for it.