Adventure in the Apostle Islands Final

When we awoke the next day the gale had subsided, allowing the Genius to continue on her journey.  We quickly ate breakfast, cleaned and stowed our cook ware, and made preparations to get under way. 

Soon we were sailing north and towards the outer islands.  It was a cloudy day, but the wind was fair and the Genius made good time.  Due to the mast incident, Tim would not put up large Genoa for fear of another catastrophe.  The mid sized Genoa was serving its function.

It was a good sail.  We crossed the channel between Stockton Island and Cat Island and headed northwest towards Rocky Island; our final destination.  Tim, Mike, and I had discussed sailing around Outer Island, but Tim put the kibosh on that plan.  He didn’t trust the Genius and didn’t want us to get to far from a secure harbor or anchorage, just in case.

As we passed Ironwood Island, I made lunch for the crew.  As a matter of fact, I did most of the cooking. Poor guys; I’m no chef.  However, I wasn’t going to subject my self to Tim’s idea of proper meals; that consisting of nothing but grilled brats.  

It took the Genius about five hours of sailing to reach Rocky Island.  Mostly do the direction of sail.  We were on a beat the whole way, and had to tack many times. 

Rocky Island Dock

We located the dock and secured the genius.  At that point we decided we would pay the ten dollar fee, and stay there for the night.  Rocky Island has decent facilities and a Ranger Station.  There was a picnic area with a fire ring right by the dock.  That’s where we cooked our dinner and then enjoyed a nice camp fire. 

While hanging out on the dock, we met a couple groups of sea kayakers who where also touring the Apostle Islands.  One group had paddled from Bayfield that day, which is a pretty long haul.  They said their arms where pretty tired.  I could understand.

That day had been uneventful, but at least we had been able to sail.  That night however, would prove to be anything but. 

Mike and I had decided that we would sleep on the dock.  The cabin was very crampt and stuffy.  Sleeping under the stars seemed a better choice.  So we laid out our sleeping bags and hit the hay.

The first rain drops hit us sometime during the night and woke Mike and I from restful slumber.  Mike and I hastened to pick up out stuff and climb back aboard the Genius.  We also had to contend with the pop-up roof; which is difficult in perfect weather.  With the rain starting to pick up Mike and I fought with the roof but finally managed to get it down.

Now that we had moved into the cabin, we then had to move and jumble all the crap so we could lay on our bunks.  It was about then that we noticed that the Genius is not exactly water tight.  Water started to drip from all the fitting mounts directly onto both Mike and I.  It was going to be a wonderful night.

CRACK BOOM!  A lightning bolt hit somewhere close.  It was the first of many.  The storm that had blown in while we were sleeping was a full out major tempest.  The bright flashes and the booming thunder where all around us.  And we were on a leaky boat with a twenty eight foot high lightning rod. 

“We’re gonna die in here,” Mike said with an air of panic in his voice.  “Let’s get the fuck outta here”

            “It’s just lightning,” I said groggily.

            “Let’s go, come on,” Mike said. 

            “I’m staying,” I replied and rolled over.

            “Fuck this,” Mike said and exited the cabin.  CRACK BOOM!

            Mike would spend a great deal of time in the foyer of the Ranger Station, an area of about nine square feet.  There he would sit out the storm, but at least he was dry.

            I managed to put the storm out of my mind and tried to sleep.  I do enjoy a good electrical storm.  I have had lightning strike within one hundred feet of me over ten times through the years.  And I guess I developed a nonchalant attitude towards it.  Don’t get me wrong, I respect it, but lightning doesn’t scare me.  I love to watch it.

            I think Mike tried to come back aboard at some point during the night, but was driven away again by continued electrical activity.  CRACK BOOM!  Chicken shit.

            The next morning Mike was really Grumpy.  He had though I purposely put him in the wet bunk, although he had chosen it freely.  I explained to him that I too got soaked due to the poor condition of Tim’s boat.

            “That’s ok then, it’s Tim who’s the asshole,” Mike said making light of the situation.  I guess misery loves company.

            “I agree,” I said.

            “What?!” Tim chimed in. 

Apparently, he didn’t even realized there was a storm and had slept right through it.  Also, Tim slept in the bow and was perfectly dry all night.  Asshole.  Oh well, the crew was no worse for ware.

We ate one more breakfast, stowed the cookware and made way.  We headed back to Bayfield, our time had run out.  It would take us five or more hours to get there.  About half way there it started to rain again.

As the Genius sailed by Oak Island we heard thunder.  Tim, who is not a big fan of lightning, did not want to risk open water during an electrical storm.  We found a beach on the south side of the island and anchored the boat.  There, the crew abandoned ship and stood on the beach in the rain.  

I though the whole thing was kind of silly.  It was just a little thunder and it sounded like it was moving off.  It wasn’t like the previous night’s activity.  On that I would heartily agree that being out in open water would not be a good thing. 

So there we stood, staring at the boat in the rain.  Joy.  I finally had it and said as much.

“What are we going to do, camp here and wait until it passes?” I said.  “It’s moving off, let’s go.” 

Tim, Mike, and I discussed it, but finally decided to make a run for it.  We motored the remaining distance to Bayfield, not wanting to prolong our time in the rain.  The voyage went without incident and we arrived safely.

It took us about thirty minutes to recover and dismantle the boat, making it ready for the road.  The trip had been a real adventure and we all enjoyed it.  Tim, Mike, and I climbed into the truck, turned on the heat, and headed for home.  

Adventure in the Apostle Islands Part 4

The cove, also known as Quarry Bay located on the south side of Stockton Island; was just what the doctor ordered.  The Genius had anchored on the leeward side of the bay and was safe for the time being. 

Mike, Tim, and I now had a real dilemma.  Who would jump into the cold waters of Lake Superior and secure the Genius to shore with a rope.  It’s amazing how one day the lake will be warm and inviting and the next cold enough to make you question your manhood.  I certainly wasn’t eager to volunteer, being perfectly happy to stay on the boat.

Mike rose to the occasion, or should I say shrank.  With a long mooring line in hand he lowered himself into the water out of the cockpit, submerging chest deep into the lake.  Burrrrrr.  He trudged through the water and emerged soaking onto the beach; where the mooring line was secured to a near by tree.  Now that the Genius was positioned as close as possible to shore, the rest of the crew could depart without having to go swimming. 

We had unwittingly parked just off shore from a very nice camping spot.  The camp had open access to the beach and was equipped with a picnic table, a fire pit, and a bear box.  We immediately lay claim to the camp spot and soon were basking in the beauty of the cove while preparing to barbeque our lunch.  We had also accumulated a fair amount of trash and would burn what we could in the fire.

Mike, Tim, and I stayed in Quarry Bay for the remainder of the afternoon before we left to find greener pastures.  Not that it would have been a bad place to anchor, but the gale was still in full force and had shifted making for a potentially uncomfortable night.  We decided to venture to the east side of Stockton Island, hoping to escape from the relentless wind.

The voyage to the east side of the Island took us about thirty minutes, and once again the Genius was subjected to the high winds and enormous waves cause by the adverse weather.  However, as soon as we rounded the point and headed north, Stockton Island sheltered us from the gale and provided calm seas. 

The Fleet

As we entered the unnamed bay we were greeted with an entire fleet of boats taking shelter from the storm.  Many of which we has seen only hours before in Quarry Bay.  It seems that this was the spot and we were about to join the party.

The bay on the east side of Stockton Island is very large and is home to one of the best beaches on Lake Superior.  Its crescent shape and rolling dunes make for a very picturesque location.  I would highly recommend this location to anyone visiting the Apostle Islands.

Again, because of her shallow draft the Genius was maneuvered very close to shore.  In fact, right up to the beach.  We had come equipped with two anchors, one barrowed off of my boat.  One was set about one hundred feet off shore and the other on the beach, ten feet off the bow.  We had arrived.

Genius on the beach

There we would stay for the next two nights due to the persistent gale.  We were stuck, marooned if you were, by forces beyond our control.  I personally had never been stuck on an island before as was determined to make the most out of the situation.  Unfortunately for us, we would not be accompanied by a boat load of marooned sorority girls who needed a helping hand.  We would have to make due with ourselves, three semi drunk guys crammed together on a small boat.

On the bright side, due to her shallow draft, we could come and go as we pleased; not having to worry about a dinghy to get us to shore.  In fact, one time while departing the vessel, Mike was in such a rush that he managed to do a face plant right on the beach.  Tim and I laughed our asses off.  It was pretty funny.  Fortunately, Mike injured nothing more then his pride.

The next morning found us in the same spot as the night before.  Except this time we all got a good night sleep.  The Genius didn’t so much as wobble and we were thankful for it.

While lounging in the cockpit that morning drinking coffee we noticed a peculiar site; a dinghy floating past devoid of a passenger. 

“Check this out, it’s a dinghy……floating by,” I said, bringing the object to everybody’s attention.

“Get it!” Tim said, immediately rushing out of the cabin to see the great spectacle.  I just sat there dumbfounded, holding my coffee.  I was in my sweats and hadn’t considered jumping into the water to grab the wayward dinghy the best option.  We had moved the Genius at least one hundred feet off the beach for the night, and the water had to be at least waist deep.  No, my thought was to chase after it with the boat.

No sooner then the alarm had been sounded, then Tim stripped down to his shorts and was jumping in the lake after the dinghy.   It was breezy, the gale still in full force, so the dinghy was making its way out to open water.  Tim trudged after it.  In a turn of good fortune, the dinghy was blown into some rocks that were about one hundred yards away.

Tim managed to secure the dinghy without having to completely submerge himself, but he did comment that the water was a bit chilly and that he was now fully awake.  He brought the dinghy back to the Genius.  Soon we would find ourselves back on the beach, dinghy in tow. 

During the course of the day, the crew of the Genius would rescue three wayward dinghies, their owners neglecting to consider that the occasional high wave can wash a small boat right off a beach.  And what about an anchor?  Oh well, all was good, the Genius was ready to assist.  It was Bay Watch, Stockton Island.

For our troubles we received a hardy thanks from the dinghy owners, a spare bottle of propane for our stove, and the use of a satellite phone.  The later used by Tim to assure his wife that everything was alright and the Genius hadn’t sunk.

Inside the Genius

While the owners of the first rescued dinghy were visiting, Tim decided to show off the lavish accommodations enjoyed by the captain and crew, inviting them aboard.  The Genius, a McGregor 23, is not what I would call a spacious vessel.  The husband declined the offer content to drink a beer and continue the conversation.  His wife however, decided to check out the boat.  Tim proudly, escorted her throughout the vessel, while Mike and I got out of the way looking at each other ominously. 

One look on that poor woman’s face said it all.  “How can these men live like this?”  Her face went from a polite and curious smile to a look of pure horror and disgust.  Within seconds, she had seen enough and like a trapped animal, would have chewed off one of her own limbs to get off that boat.  Not soon after, the couple made a hasty retreat back to their own boat. 

During the day spent on Stockton Island the crew enjoyed everything the area had to offer.  We hiked over to the ranger station on the windward side of the island.  That’s where we learned about the severity of the gale.  The station posts current weather conditions on its bulletin board. 

Much time was spent lounging on the beach.  The crew also managed to do a little house keeping on the Genius.  However, there are only so many ways to stow items on a small boat; the end result looking much the same as before we started.

Tim & I

As the day wore on, captain and crew found themselves in the midst of conversation, beer in hand.  At one point Mike even commented that he could sail the outhouse faster than the Genius, and it was probably more seaworthy.  Tim still feels that was an unnecessary comment, but acknowledges the brilliance of the insult.

That evening, with the help of a box of wine, I almost had Tim convinced that he should become a stand-up comedian.  His bit would be to single out audience members and insult them on the spot.  He has a gift.

To be continued……………

Adventure in the Apostle Islands Part 3

The morning came slowly, but after a horrible night of lying awake in close quarters, on a rocky boat, the crew of the Genius was ready to start the day.  We found the dawn troublesome.  The wind had continued to pick up during the night, agitating the water.  Also, the Genius was on the windward side of Oak Island, so we were getting the full brunt of the effect.  The only solace we had was that the boat hadn’t slipped her anchor, so we found ourselves in the same place that morning.

The decision was made to seek calmer waters and then feed ourselves.  Tim started the motor and steered a course towards the south side of Oak Island and back in the direction we had come the day before.  It was the shortest distance to get around the island.

It took about fifteen minutes to maneuver over to the south side of the island.  Once we were on that side we spotted a small cove.  It wasn’t much to look at, but it was a calm spot and was somewhat sheltered from the wind.  That was where we dropped anchor and fed ourselves. 

That first morning the crew of the Genius enjoyed a hardy breakfast of eggs, hash browns, and sausage patties.  With coffee of course; that just wouldn’t be civilized.  The highlight of the morning came as I finished preparing the sausage patties and announced, “I………..t’s Sausage Time!”  This was met with hysterical laughter.

“You homo,” Mike said, laughing.

“What the fuck man,” Tim said looking at me and also laughing.  “We’re on a small boat with three guys, there is no such thing as ‘sausage time’ on this boat.”

“I see your point,” I replied, realizing the gross error of my impromptu announcement.  I too was also laughing.  I would be hounded the rest of the voyage with reminders of my vocal miscarriage.  So it was on the Genius; no one was safe.

After breakfast everything was cleaned and stowed away so the genius could make way.  We had been very aware of the weather.  The wind had continued to build and the waves were increasing in size.  By the end of our meal the Genius had started to rock to and fro, the cove no longer providing much cover from the elements. 

“There’s no way we can sail against this, or even motor,” Tim said, in considering our options.  “The winds too strong, it will just carry us with it.”  Mike and I agreed with his synopsis of the situation.

“We could move over to the east side of the island and anchor there,” Mike suggested.  That was a good idea, because we certainly couldn’t stay where we were for much longer.   Mike had lived on a sailboat in Alaska and knew we had to find a more secure location.

We had pulled out the map of the Apostle Islands and were quickly running out of options.  The only other possibility was Stockton Island five miles due east of us.  The wind would blow us straight to it. 

Tim, Mike, and I deliberated on the matter and finally chose Stockton Island because it had camp sites and a sheltered marina.  The east side of Oak Island didn’t have so much as a pier and or a palace to land.  At least by what we could determine studying the map.

Wind & Waves

We weighed anchor and set out to run the channel down to Stockton Island.  If we missed it, the wind would carry us straight out into the middle of Lake Superior.  As soon as we cleared the cove the wind started to buffer us hard.  Tim was only using his storm jib and no main.  He had suffered a loss of confidence due to the mast incident and didn’t trust his boat.  However, even with just the storm jib, the genius made 8 knots according to my GPS and went as fast as 8.5 knots during the crossing. 

The waves were immense, maybe the biggest I’d seen on the lake; easily pushing ten feet.  Good thing we were going with them.  Tim was right, there was no way we could alter course, fighting these conditions would be futile.

Mike looking on

Tim had insisted on lifejackets as soon as we started out.  That was the first time he had ever given the order since I had been sailing with him.  It was a good decision, we were putting ourselves at the mercy of the elements and the conditions warranted extra caution.

It was a wild ride.  The Genius was being driven hard down the channel and many times surfed down the face of a wave.  It was a dead run, which was good.  If we had been on a reach the Genius would have healed and we would be taking water.  As it was we were getting plenty wet. 

At one point Tim said, “Wave.”  Right as it hit the side of the boat behind Mike and I, drenching us both.

“Thanks for the warning,” I remarked, looking at Tim.

“No problem, what are friends for,” Tim replied.

“You think you might be able to give a little more warning next time?!” I said to him.

“No.”

“Asshole,” I said, just stating the obvious.  We all laughed.

That was the only time before or since that I’ve experienced waves breaking over the sides of the cockpit on the Genius; she rides pretty high, so they were big. 

Tim, Mike, and I were all very aware of our situation.  However, at no time did we feel that the boat was in dire jeopardy, or else we wouldn’t have attempted the crossing in the first place.  We kept seated and stayed in the cockpit not daring to venture onto the deck to adjust anything.  Tim kept a firm grip on the tiller and was exerting himself to maintain control.  This definitely was no pleasure cruise.

About half way down the channel towards Stockton Island the jib sheets were let go due to the stain the sail was putting on the mast; or perhaps they came undone and none of us caught them in time.  Either way, Tim had been concerned that the mast wouldn’t hold after the prior day’s events, so that eased his mind.  The jib was just left to flutter in the wind; no one was going to attempt to wrestle with it, which would have required one of us to venture onto the bow to do so. 

The sheet was acting like a bull whip and was even snapping.  It eventually worked itself into a massive undoable knot which Tim still keeps as a memento of the occasion.  Even without the jib, the Genius was doing 6.5 knots.  We would find out later that the wind had been blowing at 45 to 50 miles an hour with gusts as high as 65 miles an hour.

There were other boats out on the lake that day, but not many.  And those that were, were getting hammered.  We saw another sailboat trying to make for Bayfield but they weren’t making any headway.  Perhaps, they were even loosing ground.  It was too hard to tell from our position and we had our own problems.  The Genius was doing her best to loose the crew.

Stockton Island came up fast and we started looking for a safe haven.  We could see the marina but it was windward side of the island and was taking the brunt of the gale.  It might prove difficult to navigate through the break wall in these winds, so we searched for another option.  Finally, we spotted a cove, and it was oriented in such a direction that it would provide decent cover.

Apparently, other mariners had the same opinion.  As we approached we could see other sailboats taking refuge in the cove.  The Genius motored in and made her bid for a decent anchorage.  The boat was maneuvered to the leeward side of the cove and within thirty feet of the beach.  Fortunately, with her shallow draft, the Genius was able to move much closer to the beach than bigger boats.  So, we were able to secure a good spot that otherwise would have already been claimed.  The anchor was dropped and the crew breathed a sigh of relief.

Tune in next time for high jinx on Stockton Island…………

Adventure in the Apostle Islands Part 2

“Might as well have a beer,” the idea being put forth by the captain.  With beer in hand, Tim, Mike and I contemplated our situation.  How would we be able to fix the mast and continue our voyage?  We discussed many ideas including motoring back to Bayfield, removing the mast and continuing our trip using the motor.  However, we weren’t going to give up without a fight.

The first attempt was to use the halyards and additional ropes to pull the mast straight.  Unfortunately, the mast had other ideas and wouldn’t sir come to our will.  We threw roped over the spreaders and pulled from all different directions.  The only thing we managed to move was the boat itself; as it would either tip towards us as we tugged, or move in our direction along the dock.  The mast however, was no straighter then it had been when we started.

That exercise took an hour or more an only added to our frustration.  It was at about that time that other boats arrived at the dock.  The first, a large sailboat full of boy scouts coming to Oak Island for a weekend camping trip.  The second was a patrol boat with rangers on it.  Neither proved useful. 

The Boy Scout troop found us curious and inconvenient.  Curious, because they apparently had never seen a boat with a bent mast before; inconvenient, because we were taking up a large amount of dock space where we had strewn a huge amounts of crap off of the Genius.  However, at no time did they ever offer to help us or inquire if we needed help.  The only comment the Scout Leader offered was, “you guys have a motor, you’ll be fine.”  Thanks buddy.  That instance still bugs Tim.  He felt that they should have at least offered.  What the hell, where was the good deed of the day?

The Patrol Boat crew didn’t offer to help either.  They were too busy collecting fees from drop boxes and left as soon as they had gotten what they came for. 

Not that we really needed help, we had come up with a plan and were waiting for the dock to clear so that we could implement it.  In the mean time we took the opportunity to go swimming and cool down.  I even did a cannon ball off the dock as the Patrol Boat pulled away and managed to splash water on their windshield.  Take that you rangers.  Good thing there’s no ordinance for obnoxious swimming behavior.

As soon as we had the dock to ourselves we got to work.  We undid all the rigging and carefully removed the mast from the Genius.  After we got it onto the dock we examined it to make sure it wasn’t damaged beyond repair. 

Luck was with us.  The mast was only bent; there were no cracks or other structural defects.  One of the spreaders was pretty badly mangled, but other then that we were in good shape.

Bear Butt (Dark Spot in the MIddle)

Sometime during the period that we were working on the mast, a bear ventured onto the dock seemingly curious as to what we were doing.  It was a black bear and we had been told earlier that they inhabit many of the islands.  I guess I didn’t expect to see one come out onto the dock.  So, like any naive tourist, what do I do?  Grab my camera of course, and go running down the pier towards the bear.  Smart!  In retrospect, it wasn’t one of my brightest moments.  Fortunately for me, I scared off the bear, but did manage to get a great shot of its ass end as it ran into the woods.  I returned to my friends with a smile on my face.  They just looked at me like I was nuts.

Tim, Mike, and I carried the mast off the dock and towards the woods looking for two stout trees located close to one another.  Instead, we decided to use the drop box, a short cylindrical tube with a slot in it near the top, and the notification bill board in and attempt to straighten the bent mast.  Our first attempt only managed to dislodge the drop box from its hole.  Oops.

"The Sign"

We moved to a different spot, our next attempt, putting the drop box back in place, more or less, as we did so.  On the second try we used the “Oak Island” sign.  A relatively large sign with 4x4 posts securing it to the ground.  The forest had been forgotten; it would have been too hard to walk the extra fifty feet to a couple of useable trees.

Our second attempt worked and the mast was coaxed back into the correct alignment.  The crew then returned to the dock, mast in hand.  We laid it out and arranged all the rigging, to prevent a jumbled mess as we reattached it to the Genius. 

There was still the spreader to deal with.  Without it, the mast would simply bend again once there was any strain on it.  I examined it more closely.  The connection point was a mangled piece of metal that use to attach to the mast.  Tim was convinced that it was hopeless, and we would be forced to go back to Bayfield.  

“I can fix it Tim,” I said, examining the spreader.

“How, it’s completely wanked?”  Tim exclaimed.  “Without it we can’t sail.”

“I know……trust me, I can jury rig it,” I said with confidence.  “I need wire and duct tape.”  The requested items were quickly made available to me, as well as a pair of pliers and most likely, a beer to help me think.

It was actually pretty simple.  I bent the metal back into its former shape and reattached it to the holding bracket on the mast.  I then secured it with wire and covered the whole mess with duct tape.  It wasn’t going anywhere, and was probably stronger then the original attachment.  It looked hideous, like the spreader had a big black tumor on it by the mast.  We were now true trailer sailor trash, and proud of it.

“There you go buddy,” I said to Tim once I had completed the job.  He inspected it and found the repair to be more then adequate.  Our journey could now continue.  That is once we got the mast back on the boat and re-rigged.  I firmly believe every boat should carry wire and duct tape as an essential part of any repair kit.

Within an hour Tim, Mike, and I had the Genius ready to resume her voyage exploring the Apostle Islands.  However, by that time it was getting late and dusk was upon up.  We cooked dinner on the dock, ignoring the posted rules to the contrary.  After all, we were tired from the day’s activities and were in no mood to find a proper picnic area. 

There was only one thing left to do.  Leave the dock and find a place to anchor.  We should have just stayed tied to the dock, but instead moved a couple hundred feet away and anchored the boat.  It would be a rough night.  The wind picked up and the water became very choppy, rocking the boat for the duration.  Tim, who was worried that the Genius would slip her anchor, was up every thirty minutes checking the boat’s position.  None of us got much sleep.

To be continued………….

Adventure in the Apostle Islands

Sorry for the long delay, I've been real busy.

            It was suppose to be a carefree trip, sailing in and around the Apostle Islands on Lake Superior.  The plan was to spend five days cruising around the islands and see the sights the area had to offer.  Maybe even do some hiking on a few of them.

            My friend Tim and I had been discussing the idea for some time and thought it would be a no hassle trip.  The Apostle Islands were close and the cost would be minor, just food and gas.  The only major requirement was a short drive from Marquette Michigan to Bayfield Wisconsin; where we would launch the boat(s).  That being a four hour drive.  We would have sailed there, but that was a four day trip and we had a limited window of time in which to make the cruise happen.

            Mike, another friend of mine, had also elected to join the expedition, or more appropriately, the booze cruise.  Since there were only three people making the trip we concluded that only one boat would be needed.  Had any more crew members signed on we would have brought both boats.  Tim and I argued the point, but in the end decided to take his boat (The Genius) because it was slightly bigger then mine.  Tim’s being a McGregor 23 and mine a Clipper Marine 21 respectively.

            Tim, Mike, and I made the drive to Bayfield on August 14th, 2010.  Along the way, we stopped in Ashland Wisconsin for supplies, arriving shortly there after at our destination; boat and crew in tact, and ready for duty.

            The first thing we did upon arrival in Bayfield was to go to the park headquarters to get information and see about any required permits.  The Apostle Islands National Lakeshore is under the jurisdiction of the National Park Service.  The archipelago consists of twenty six individual islands that extend roughly thirty miles out into Lake Superior, off of Wisconsin.  The islands range in size from a few hundred yards in length and diameter to five miles or more, and are densely forested.   Each island is separated from its brethren by a mile or more; making the area a boaters paradise. 

            I was happy to discover that there were no entrance or user fees in the Apostle Islands.  This surprised me because every other National Park I’d visited required them.  The only exception was a camping or docking fee, which was $10 per night.  However, this could be circumvented if one simply anchored out and slept on the boat; which is exactly what we would do.

            All jacking around completed, the Genius and her crew headed for the boat ramp.  There, we would spend the next hour putting up the rigging and making ready to sail.

            “Tim,” I inquired, “Are you going to attach the forward shrouds?”  I had noticed that they had not been rigged yet.

            “No, we don’t need them,” Tim answered nonchalantly. 

            “Okay, It’s your boat,” I replied, shrugging.

            “Damn right it’s my boat,” Tim said in mocking admonishment, “I’ll tell you when we need the fucking shrouds rigged asshole.”

            “Fuck off,” I retorted; my standard response.  Mike just shook his head, not use to Tim’s and my incessant banter.

            At the time, I didn’t think much about the forward shrouds not being rigged.  A week or so prior we had sailed to the Huron Islands and had not rigged them then either.  However, that was due to some of the hardware being lost in transit not because Tim had been too complacent to rig forward shrouds. 

I’m sure in Tim’s mind, with recent sailing experiences under his belt; he felt the additional rigging on the mast wasn’t required.  He would soon regret that decision, and I would, and still give him endless amounts of crap because of it.  Hey, what are friends for?

Forgive me; just a quick tangent so that you, the reader, will have a better understanding of the complexities regarding the Genius and her rigging.  A couple years ago, and the first time I ever sailed with Tim, we were in a yacht race in high winds.  During that event, Tim’s mast almost broke in two due to the ridiculously large Genoa Tim was using that day.  To alleviate that problem, Tim modified the Genius by adding forward shrouds to his rigging.  The addition of the forward shrouds would prevent the mast from bending due to the high stresses caused by, shall I say, Tim’s style of sailing.  Thus, allowing him to continue using his ridiculously large Genoa in high winds.  There you have it.

Keeping Watch on the Bow

With the boat rigged and the supplies stowed we launched the Genius at the public boat ramp in Bayfield.  Tim then found a suitable parking spot to leave his truck and trailer for the next five days.  As soon as he returned, Tim cast us off and took control of the helm.

The Genius motored her way out of the harbor, past a fleet of different boats of all shapes and sizes, and then out into the open water.  While that was going on the ridiculously large Genoa was made ready for use.  Once we cleared the harbor entrance we headed towards Madeline Island and as we did so hoisted the Genoa.  The Genius was now under full sail and the engine had been shut off.

“Beer,” Tim ordered.  He was just getting settled in for an afternoon of cruising, as was the rest of the crew.  The command was quickly carried out and before you knew it Mike, Tim, and myself were all enjoying the first drink of the day.  None to soon either, I think the crew was on the verge of a mutiny if memory serves.

“Where we going?” someone asked. 

“Anywhere we want,” I said, “or wherever the wind takes us.”  With that, I pulled out the Apostle Islands map I had picked up at the park headquarters.  I spread it out for all to see and captain and crew discussed the options.  With some deliberation and mostly due to a favorable wind direction we changed course and headed north towards Oak Island.  It was all good.

A Happy Crew

The day was warm, the wind was decent, the beer was cold, and the company excellent.  Mike, Tim, and I sat back and watched the many boaters out for an afternoon cruise.  There were sailboats of all descriptions as well as motor boats going to and fro; their destination known only to them.  We also saw commercial vessels such as, small tankers, fishing trawlers, and the ferry to Madeline Island.  It seemed that the Apostle Islands was a very popular place.

At one point we even saw a Coast Guard boat towing a small motor boat back towards Bayfield; the owner of the boat sitting behind a useless wheel, while the passenger looked on.  At least they weren’t sinking. 

It took the Genius a little over an hour to pass Basswood Island and Red Cliff Bay.  We were doing about five knots and had decided to keep on this heading and make for Bear Island about  two or three hours away.

We rounded Red Cliff Point steering outside of the navigation buoy and neared Oak Island.  The wind started to pick up causing the Genius to heal as she increased speed.  That’s when it happened.  Remember the fore shrouds?

WHAM!  A loud sound reverberated through the cockpit.  Mike, Tim, and I were all startled by abrupt noise and looked at each other in puzzlement.

“What in the hell was that?” I said.

“Did we hit something?” Mike added

“I don’t know?” Tim replied. “Check the boat.”  We all began feverishly looking for the cause of our distress.

“It’s the mast,” I said as I looked up at sagging sails.  The mast was bent at an acute angle and was dangerously close to snapping.  This was especially true with the wind still filling the sails, continuing to stress the long metal tube.  It looked like a giant bow being pulled to loose an enormous arrow.

“We have to get those sails down,” I said to no one in particular.  I then sprung into action, heading forward to lower the Genoa.  Apparently, Tim was in agreement with me.  He had Mike take over the helm and was working on the main sail.

Within a couple minutes the sails were down and the stress on the mast was eliminated.  Now what?  We all sat in the cockpit and looked up at the piece of modern art that use to be the mast, and contemplated the question at hand.  We didn’t know what the situation would bring or how we would fix it, but we did come to the conclusion that we couldn’t address the problem while out on the water. 

I checked the map and found a dock located on Oak Island fairly close to our position.  It was the closest dock to us, so we decided to use it in lue of turning back to Bayfield or Redcliff, to see what if anything could be done about the mast.  The motor was started and the Genius made her way towards Oak Island.

Within ten or fifteen minutes we were tied up to the Oak Island dock.  We all got off the Genius and inspected the mast.  Yep, we’re screwed.  It actually looked worse from our perspective standing on the dock.

Docked on Oak Island

 

To be continued……..

Me and My Boat: The Final Entry

The boards we purchased would be the starting point.  Using the old rudder from Tim’s boat we traced its’ pattern from both pieces onto the wood.  Then we expended the dimensions, especially the length of the blade.  This was not done blindly; we had measured the transom on each boat to insure a proper fit of the top piece.  The blades really didn’t matter as long as the hinge section fit into the other piece and the taper of the two pieces matched.  It wasn’t rocket science.  You could pretty much eye it to get it were you wanted. 

The boards were not wide enough to accommodate either rudder, at least the blades.  There was no issue with the top pieces; they would taper from the narrow portion that connected to the tiller to become wider where they attached to the hinge plate and the blade.  The blades would require some modification in order to achieve the desired shape.  This would be done by adding wood to either side of the blade, making it wider as it got deeper in the water; increasing the control surface.

Now, I had looked up the rudder design for my boat and there was even an article about constructing a one.  The people who wrote it, did a fine job.  However, again, this was a bargain basement type of project.  I wasn’t going to spend huge amounts of money on materials to fabricate my steering components, neither was Tim.  In the article the rudder was constructed of layered marine plywood all glued together and then coated.  I’m sure their rudder works great but it also probably cost four times as much as mine. 

Once the dimensions of the blade were to our satisfaction, we then started the arduous process of shaping it, or them. Using a plane we scraped wood off the leading and following edge effectively rounding them to eliminate drag.  As before, that extra .0001 knots would make all the difference.  Scraping then sanding then checking and repeating the process over and over the blades eventually took shape.  This process was somewhat similar for the top pieces, but not as intense; because they wouldn’t be in the water, so didn’t require the same degree of labor.

With both pieces of the rudders shaped, Tim and I then set about the process of applying fiberglass to them.  The fiberglass would serve two purposes.  First, it would protect the wood from prolonged exposure to the water.  Second, unlike varnish that would simply seal the wood, fiberglass would add strength and make the rudders more ridged.

Appling the fiberglass was easier with the rudder components then doing the interior repair work.  Mainly because we could stand up and had the use of work benches.  But no matter how you slice it, things got sticky.  In my opinion, there is no way to work with fiberglass and not make a serious mess.  There is no amount of preparation that will eliminate the ‘sticky factor’; as soon as you touch anything that has the resin on it, it is contaminated and will stick to whatever it comes in contact with.  This makes working with fiberglass a real challenge.  You get better at it as you go, but I don’t know of any Zen Master Fiberglassers.

Tim and I used one large piece of fiberglass material per rudder section.  We cut them to fit, eliminating excess fabric, and carefully put them aside.  We then completely coated a rudder section in fiberglass resin using a paint brush.  With rubber gloves on, the precut piece was gingerly placed on and wrapped around the rudder section.  At that point, we attempted to smooth out the surface and removed air pockets.  This is the point of the process were everything gets sticky.  Additional pieces of fiberglass material are then added to the rudder section as needed, namely at the top and bottom.  At this point things are getting really sticky.  I would carefully grab an additional piece of material, place it on the rudder, pull my hand back with the fabric stuck to my fingers; thus the gloves.  Using a paint brush to coax the fabric from my hand to the rudder; I was then freed of its grip.  Only to find that it was now stuck to the paint brush. The rudder seemed to be immune. 

Once we completed a section we moved on to the next and so on until we had all the sections done.  At that point we left the fumes and the stickiness behind and worked on something else.  The Fumes weren’t so back outside the confines of the boat and we cracked the windows for additional ventilation.

The next day when we inspected the rudder sections, once everything had set, Tim was a bit annoyed.

“What the hell, it’s fucked,” Tim said as he looked at his rudder and then carried on for some time about the process.  There were big globules and streaks of hardened fiberglass all over the rudder.  Wanker.

“Its not fucked Tim, it just requires more work,” I said. “Did you think it was going to be perfect right off the bat?”  I then explained what we would have to do.  Over a three day period we sanded the rough spots, fixed or removed air bubbles, reapplied fiberglass, and repeated the process.  Tim, who has no patients, had a hard time.  Mr. Now would not be able to bend his will towards the rudders.

Finally, the rudders were ready to be painted.  We applied the paint and let it dry.  That is, I did.  Tim decided to apply all the coats at once, only waiting long enough for the paint to become tacky before adding another layer.  Again, Mr. Now had to attempt to speed up the process.  He applied several coats all at once.

When the rudders were examined mine looked great and the paint had dried evenly.  There was only a little touch up work required.  Tim’s was another story.  It looked like a Picasso.  There were long streaks of semi dry paint all over it where the paint had ran.  There were also bumps covering his rudder; these were also due to the hasty paint job.  It looked like it was made of wax and it was melting.  Nice job buddy.

Upon seeing the product of his efforts, Tim was less then enthused.  He cussed up a storm.  I just laughed.

“You wank fac-ed it,” I told Tim, using another of our unique verbal witticisms to describe the end result of his paint job.  Instead of having a finished rudder ready for assembly, he had created more work for himself.  Both pieces would need to be sanded and repainted.  

Mr. Now attempted to sand his rudder right then and there.  Problem, semi dry paint doesn’t sand, it smears; which lent the Picasso a little more believability.  “SHIT,” Tim exclaimed.  I laughed.  “Fix it,” he begged.  Not that I could do anything till the paint dried; and that might take a month because of how thickly it had been applied.  I said I would in the next day or two if the paint would allow it.  Tim had to work and didn’t have time to nurture his rudder. 

The Flying Fish & her Rudder

Eventually Tim’s rudder was finished.  We could then assemble them using the hinge plates and assorted hardware that were purchased for the purpose.  That would prove to be the easiest part of the process.  It just required drilling a few holes in both sections, adding the bushings, and bolting the whole thing together.  The assorted fittings were added, which consisted of a cleat and a couple eyebolts to run rope.  And of course, the pentals.  

Both rudders turned out great and provided the desired service.  We had designed them to be disassembled by the use of the hinge bolt.  With the hinge bolt removed the blade would slide out from between the hinge plates.  This proved convenient when transporting the boat on its’ trailer and didn’t require the removal of the entire rudder.  The blade could be taken off and stored in the boat. 

I designed mine to serve a duel purpose.  The top section which remained attached to the boat also served as the base for my mast support cradle, which I also built.  The mast support cradle secures the mast when not rigged and is used when I trailer the boat. It is a 2 x 4 with a “C” shaped piece of wood attached to one end.  There are two bolts which fit, by design, into the tiller and hinge bolt bushings; securing the mast support cradle in place.  I leave it in the back of my truck when not in use.

Tim already owned a mast support cradle which was made out of metal.  Because of that, he decided that he didn’t want a removable blade and permanently mounted it to the other section.  Due to this decision; Tim’s rudder is a big pain in the ass to mount on, or remove from his boat.  It weighs a ton and is difficult to carry because of its bulk.  In the water it is buoyant, so is very unruly and tends to float away from you when you try to mount it on transom.  All of which wouldn’t happen if Tim would simply take it apart as originally designed.  But no, he can’t be bothered.  Wanker.

During the same time we were working on the rudder assembly, Tim and I also made the tillers for each rudder.  This process was pretty much the same as what was done for the rudders.  We used the old tiller as a template and cut two new ones for wood we had purchased from Menards

And there you have it folks: how to refurbish an old sailboat.  It was a fun project and at times exasperating, but the end result was well worth it.  As I write this last little bit, I am waiting for the weather to change, so I can launch the Flying Fish for the 2011 season.  If you are considering a boat project, do it; the rewards far out way the difficulties.  Good luck and happy sailing.

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.