Posted on July 29, 2016
On Not Stopping
Detroit’s a pretty interesting city. They’re trying so many ways to pull themselves out of a rust-belt identity—we personally know at least one artist who has moved here to take advantage of cheap, soaring spaces—and there’s some fascinating American history. Our family is unlikely to visit here on any future vacation—this is our chance. There’s also a marina right downtown, so we’d have an unusual perspective.
But we didn’t stop.
Even though we’re doing some seriously slow travel, we can’t stop at every place we come across. We’re not married to too many specific dates—we try to keep our schedule loose, to have some flexibility with the weather—but there are a couple of places we need to be coming up, and we’d like to get out of Lake Erie; so we’re pushing through. We only have so much time and so much (or little) money to spend, and I’m afraid Detroit didn’t make the cut. We plan to spend more time and money in New York City and Washington, DC. Also: scenic Buffalo.
Why Buffalo over Detroit? Well…we really need to stop and do some work. Buffalo will be the gateway to the Erie Canal for us, so we need to take down our mast down. We’re also concerned about a leak in the transmission, and think we have a gasket that needs to be replaced. Buffalo will be a good spot to do that kind of thing. We’ve been traveling for a LONG time with a plastic bag over the lower unit of our outboard—the seals let go on that puppy, too, and it’s been surprisingly difficult to find replacement parts. We’ve been doing a lot of rowing, which is fine, but if we’re going to schlep around this big inflatable Avon and outboard motor, we might as well have it work. We’ll have the parts shipped to the marina in Buffalo.
As we push through Lake Erie, we’re all looking forward to taking a break. We’ve had some long travel days, with lots of motoring, and it wears us all down. I’m not sure what it is—we don’t do much, mostly read and eat, but by then end of a 50-mile day, we’re all wiped out. The sun sucks the life out of us; the noise of the wind or the motor grates on our nerves; the bugs hassle us until we’re all grumpy and snapping at each other. Ah, the glamorous yachting life!!
We might end up taking a break before Buffalo—the winds are expected to fill in strong from the East, and after our experience motoring from Club Island to Tobermory against ten-foot waves and gale-force winds, we don’t want to throw ourselves into a battle against nature. Let’s just say…everything was wet. Wet and covered in coffee. The laundry was immense.
We’ve had some requests lately: for interior pictures of the boat, for a detailed map of where we’ve been. Good ideas! And we’re trying to incorporate those things. What we need is a great deal of high-speed internet. Rest assured, we’re working on it.
Updated on July 24, 2016
Night watch. Notes by moonlight.
My watch starts at 2 am.
- Opening move is always to pull out the iPod loaded up by a friend and listen to Sandinista! by the Clash–my favorite album from sophomore year of high school. Despite heading into shipping lanes in the dark, am filled with the unfounded confidence of a teenager
- Cassiopeia overhead; Big Dipper hovering over the north horizon
- Sail adjustments to the song Washington Bullets; still have to come down five degrees
- The lake looks oily, and we’re ghosting along at three knots; we chose this weather window for sleeping weather, not a speedy crossing
- Wind farm on the Michigan shore, and behind me in Ontario; this time, I recognize it for what it is
- Waves keeping time to Junkie Slip
- Send a message to my iPod friend, thanking him for the tunes; lose my night vision
- Two shooting stars in the last hour
- Vaguely see a new wind line ahead; 15 minutes later, take back the five degrees
- Vaguely wonder if the NSA will start tracking the blog if I use the phrase “Washington Bullets”
- Stare at the moon. Lose my night vision
- Switch to Thriller. Am reminded of Sarah Fryburger’s fifth-grade birthday party, where she had the ACTUAL ALBUM and we all thought she was so cool. Spend the next half hour contemplating the transition from childhood to adolescence. Also have silent dance and lip-synch party
- Lose the Saginaw light; figure haze is moving in; wind farm still a beacon
- Crossing treat–half a bag of Skittles–getting damp from the dew
- Consider the number of women in their mid-forties rocking out to “Shake it Off” in the middle of Lake Huron tonight; decide I am the only one.
- No freighters on the AIS all night–hoping to hold out until daylight with no shipping traffic
- More Clash. Decide sailing it totally punk rock and the best way to stick it to the oil companies. Pretend my iPod, clothing and boat are not petroleum-based.
- Stare at the sunrise. Ruin my night vision. That’s ok–it’s morning.
Posted on July 22, 2016
North Channel
The North Channel of Lake Huron was AMAZING. It was exactly what we had in mind when we threw all our resources at this trip. Quiet anchorages, hiking, wild blueberries, great sailing…we could have stayed for a month.
After two nights at East Grant Island, we headed to Blind River for a night at a marina. It was after Blind River that we got to see what cruising up here is really about, as we pulled into a tight spot at Turnbull Island. Wedged between two small islands, the kids could swim to shore on their own to explore the rocks and hunt for berries. F took the kayak and paddled out a bit farther on her own, still in sight of the boat, but exploring without the rest of the family. We didn’t see a single other boat. We recommend coming in from the south—apparently the northern anchorage fills up in the summer, but where we were was quiet.
From Turnbull, we headed down the Whalesback passage to Moiles Bay. The wind was behind us, and we flew down some very narrow channels, avoiding rocks and constantly on the lookout for markers. Our electronic charts proved invaluable; the more time we spent up here, the better we felt about trusting what the charts were saying. Of course, we still spent lots of time confirming our location with actual landmarks, and moved slowly when entering harbors; we also avoided any spots where we thought there might be shoaling, regardless of what the charts said. The water was clear enough to keep a lookout for stray rocks from the bow, as well. We heard lots of stories of people hitting uncharted rocks in the North Channel, but we only saw one we were lucky to miss—right in the middle of the Benjamin Islands.
Moiles Bay had quite a few boats, but it was large and we never felt crowded. The kids and I went ashore for some hiking, and found enough blueberries for pancakes the next morning and muffins the day after that. The large powerboat just above us managed to snag a log with their anchor—we found out later it was the second time for them in two days. It made us a bit nervous about our own anchoring, but we managed to make it through without any drama on the part of the Mantus.
The day after Moiles saw us squeezing through the Detroit Passage. There are a couple of choke points up here, where the land crowds up and all the water tears though a small gap between islands; Detroit was so narrow, two boats would have been unable to pass each other. Instead, people call a “security” warning over the VHF radio to let everyone in the area know they’re coming through, and from which direction. The passage was plenty deep for our boat, but it’s very stressful maneuvering so close to the rocky shore!
We anchored up in Shoepack Bay, which we shared with two other boats and a very vocal loon. Shoepack was roomy but deep; in order to get close enough to shore that we didn’t have to lay out a ton of rode, we set a second anchor off our starboard stern. Lots of boats who cruise up here have reels of line on the stern of their boats, and tie off to trees to avoid swinging into shore; we never found ourselves in that tight of a spot.
We tried to go from Shoepack to the Benjamin Islands…and for the first time, decided to abandon a spot after setting the anchor. The Benjamins are beautiful, and everyone knows it; arriving on a Saturday, even by noon, was not a good plan. The wide anchorage already held about 20 boats when we pulled in, and five more arrived while we were deliberating; we weren’t happy with our spot, we didn’t like how busy the anchorage was, and we overall had an ookey feeling about being there. Decision made, we pulled up the hook and headed across the channel to Croker Island.
Excellent choice!! We found a much better spot to put down our anchor, and met up with our friends Chuck and Care, whom we’d first seen way back at Manistee. The kids scouted out a fire pit on an island while the grown ups relaxed with gin and tonics; after dinner, we all headed ashore for a fire. No flies! No mosquitoes! Heaven.
We decided to stay an additional night, and the next day climbed the headland by the south entrance to the bay. We knew high winds and possible storms were forecast for that night, but we felt like we were in a pretty secure spot.
After a loud and pretty sleepless—but safe—night, we started making our way toward our easternmost point in the North Channel, Killarney. But first we had to pass the bridge at Little Current. This railroad bridge opens only at the top of the hour, and is supposed to stay open for fifteen minutes to allow boats through. Well, don’t believe it. The bridge is the only connection to Manitolin Island by land, and I guess the operator values the car traffic more than the boat traffic; when we were within sight, we radioed ahead that we expected to be at the bridge by 12:12, but it was already closing.
When the wind is up, all kinds of water gets pushed into the channel at Little Current; the current itself varies—there is no river, it’s all wind-driven. The day we transited, the wind was howling around 20 knots, and the current was up around four; instead of spinning circles in the narrow channel, we begged a spot on the wall in town to wait for the bridge. In retrospect, it would probably have been good to spend the night; the town is lovely, and the wind and waves were up so much that we were pretty tired, but we decided to push on to Heywood Island for one more night at anchor.
The next day we motored over to Killarney for their famous fish and chips, and some much-needed showers. It’s a lovely town, and apparently everyone stops there—the small channel was packed with boats, and if it had been the weekend, we probably wouldn’t have gotten a spot. After so many quiet anchorages, it was nice to meet up with some other folks; unlike Lake Michigan, everyone we’ve met is eager to compare notes on anchorages. Our tribe! We were sad to be leaving the beauty of the North Channel, but we’re feeling the need to push east; we have family to find in the Erie Canal and beyond, and the clock’s ticking.
Updated on July 12, 2016
O Canada!
We’ve crossed the border. We keep trying to impress on our kids that this is an entirely different country, and the first time they’ve left the US, but they don’t really see it. Everything looks more or less the same to them.
Who can blame them with no new stamps in their passports? To check into Canada from our boat, all you have to do is make a phone call from a pay phone at the marina. Some nice agent asks a few questions about whether or not you have any apples, and how long you plan to stick around, and gives you an official number to put in your window. That’s it!
I did make a run to the bank to get cash for the laundry, and felt like a kind of idiot asking for “Loonies.” Seriously? That’s really what you call your money? Yup.
Currently I’m writing from Blind River; after this, we head to some very remote spots. No phone service, so no Facebook posts or responses to comments for a bit, but we’ll be sure to take lots of pictures.
Updated on July 12, 2016
Report Card: One Month Out
We have just spent the entire day with all the settee cushions free of junk, nothing on the berth in the V but the blankets, and a cleared-off chart table. I think we’re getting organized, y’all.
While the boat is still not where we’d like her to be, the projects are slowing down; they’re fewer, and they’re less urgent. We’re able to move on to a few beautification items, and can claim for many things a permanent home. We understand how we use the boat better, and can change our storage needs around to better suit how we actually live. It is no small thing to know where to hang a hook for your hat where it won’t be in the way, but will be actually convenient to use.
We’re still not on the hyper-efficient spectrum when it comes to spending money, but it’s been weeks since we’ve felt the need for a desperation dinner out; we’ve actually got enough food in the house, in a combination that makes sense, and making a meal doesn’t seem like an impossible task. And hey–look at that. I said “house” instead of “boat”. Guess I just mean “home”.
Nothing fell over when we took the boat out today. That’s pretty amazing.
We’re moving though space a bit slower than expected. We thought we’d be deep into the North Channel by now, so we’ll have to decide if we’ll arrive later to the Erie Canal or spend less time up north. It’s not easy to think about the long arch of planning for months, but we’re feeling more confident about our ability to look at the weather, and where we want to go, and deciding what will be safe and comfortable; generally, that seems to mean slowing down. Fortunately, we have time.
The two things we seem to be struggling with most: internet addiction and finding kid boats. While we’re running into more folks out cruising for weeks at a stretch, we haven’t really found any cruising kids. We met a family in Mackinaw City who were visiting cruising grandparents for a week, and F practically accosted them; despite being about 6 years older than the daughter, she buttered up that kid and was doing her hair after 15 minutes. So: if you know of any cruising kids in our area, send them our way!
As for the internet, well—part of our issue is the blog. We’ve got a lot of friends and family following along, and have started using Facebook for the first time in our lives; now we get stressed out when we can’t post something, knowing that others want to know what’s going on. The kids are missing graphics-intensive video games—marina wifi can’t keep up—and everyone’s been frustrated by slow download times. We ran into a real issue trying to download Canadian charts this week; we have paper charts, but navigating the North Cannel is tricky, and we wanted to have the info right on our iPad—but we it took us three days to get the charts to download correctly. Michu ended up camping out right next to the marina router.
Overall, though, things are getting better. When I look around our boat, I no longer see a complete disaster area—i just see our home. A solid B, I think—not all solar showers and catching fish, but a relaxing glass of wine in the cockpit most nights.
