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I didn't get a picture of Annie and Phillip, so swiped this off her blog. Thanks, Annie!
We first met Annie and her husband, Philip, anchored in their sailboat, Plaintiffs Rest (yes, they are attorneys) at Fort McRee during the Blue Angel's Homecoming Show. We were thrilled to meet her in person and she was every bit as personable and funny as in her videos. Annie wrote in one of her blogs she would like to hear the story of the day we found ourselves in 12-14 foot waves on Lake Superior. So here you are Annie (hope you are reading this, haha).
Eighteen years ago I got a call at work from my husband with this message, 'Honey we just bought a sailboat!' A sailboat??? Really??? I grew up on an inland lake (not one of the great lakes) west of Minneapolis, power boating with my family. If I saw waves they were definitely of the friendly size. As for sailboats all I had ever seen up to this time were the little sunfish sailboats on Lake Minnetonka. After getting over the shock, I decided it might be interesting and that was where the learning curve started.
So one beautiful day in August, 2000 we began the journey of sailing the Sea Hawk home to Duluth from Milwaukee, WI on Lake Michigan. For the sake of brevity I will skip the first part of our journey which for the most part was extremely pleasant and enjoyable. As we made our way through the Soo Locks into Whitefish Bay, the first part of Lake Superior I was excited to see the Lake from a different perspective. My euphoria soon turned to anxiety as I realized these were not the friendly waves I was familiar with they were big and getting bigger as we made our way across White Fish Bay. We continued to have what I perceived as a series of misfortunate events as the day unfolded. Night began to fall and the waves continued to increase to the steady 6 foot stage so Bruce decided rather than continue through the night we would anchor in the lee side of Isle Parisienne in the middle of the infamous White Fish Bay (remember the Edmund Fitzgerald?). As we drew close to the relative safety of the island the engine decided to conk out and I found myself wondering what the heck I was doing at the helm with the head sail up in the worse seas I had ever experienced while Bruce tinkered with the engine (this was prerestoration days). Well I did survive and the engine started and we continued on our way. I did mention the head sail, right? Next Bruce informed me he was going up to the bow to take the head sail down and I was to keep the bow in the wind. Easier said than done for the novice sailor that I was, plus I was kind of hoping we could do that later (my excuse, I was new to this). So there I was with tears streaming down my face, Bruce on a bucking bow taking a huge sail down and I just knew I was about to become a widow because I couldn’t keep the d** bow in the wind. Of course everything worked out fine and we came into an exquisitely beautiful anchorage with the moon’s shining reflection looking up at us in the now quiet sea and all was right with my world again.
That was the day before the ‘day to remember'.
The next day began innocently enough. The sun was shining but I don’t remember the full weather forecast, I do remember the part about 2-4 foot waves. After checking the marine forecast we decided we were good to go. We were planning a 24 hour crossing. I remember it was breezy and still sunny but pretty soon alarm bells began going off in my head and then the bells were screaming! Talk about building waves, I pretty much gritted my teeth through the first part of the day. Then I started doing this thing I am sure we have all done at one time or another, I began looking at Bruce to check his facial expression. He was looking pretty calm so I figured it couldn't be that bad. Then I got beyond checking his expression and was just plain terrified but tried my best not to show it. Then came the time when there was no use denying what was happening, the waves were so high all I saw was a wall of water when I looked out the cabin ports as we came into the the trough of a wave and another wall of water that reached way over Bruce's head when I looked out toward the cockpit. About this time I figured this was not a normal day of sailing and I pretty much shut down my emotions and just took it minute by minute. I was in the cabin and we put 2-3 washboards up and I passed energy bars to Bruce. It was all I could manage to do in the cabin between being slammed from one side to the other. In fact the next day, I was almost a solid black and blue from my hips to my knees. My husband was the only person capable of taking the helm and the hours were taking their toll on him so we finally decided we needed to seek shelter. I had studied a little navigation and knew how to dead reckon so I plotted a course to Grand Island which would get us off the lake and give us protection from the wind and waves. I noticed a submerged rock on the chart and rather than alert Bruce made an executive decision (wrong!) to not inform him as he had enough to worry about. I gave what I thought was plenty of room without taking us too close to the tip of the island. Fortunately that part turned out alright, but my heart about stopped when I heard Bruce say there was a rock just off to port. Well to bring this saga to a close, Bruce turned the boat on the crest of a wave making about a 45 degree turn timed just perfectly and headed towards land. There is nothing like the high of coming into a remote anchorage with the sun shining and all of a sudden everything just shuts down, no more wind, no more waves, just the serenity of coming into paradise.
The next day we came into the marina for gas and they couldn't believe we were out in those seas, confirming what we suspected, in 12-14 waves.
Sorry I have no pictures for you, but pretty sure I was not taking pictures that day!
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