If the internet had existed in 1992, I’d have logged this trip in real time. But I did take some notes and some pics, and so I decided to log it post dated.
I left on August 29th. My boat co owner and I sailed from Mt Clemens to Port Sanilac in a Tartan 34. Here are the log book entries:
8/29/92 - Mt Clemens to Port Sanilac - 61 NM, 12.9 hours (6:15 - 15:10), 4.72 knots avg, motorsailing, wind 21 knots apparent, WNW, waves 4′
8/29 - 8/30/92 - Port Sanilac to Harrisville - 89 NM, 13.8 hours (15:25 - 9:15), 6.4 knots avg motorsailing. Wind fell after midnight, climbed 1:30 to 3:00. Gale force winds from 3:00 to 9:15. 40 knots gusting to more than 55 knots SSW, waves 8′ to 12′ Dropped off company.
The “company” was my co-owner, a very experienced sailor, especially on the great lakes. A single handed passage up the St Clair River is quite difficult, so the idea was that the two of us would get the boat up the coast and I’d have maximum time in the North Channel.
Hurricane Andrew created some excitement. Though the weather was dead calm as I went down below on August 30, I woke up at 4:00 am as I recall. My co-owner was tired and needed a break. I slept soundly through 12 foot waves and winds of 65 to 70 mph! And that wind speed is just what I observed, I didn’t spend much time looking at the anemometer.
Having been awakened, I now became aware of being thrown from side to side in the cabin. And I was cold. Very cold. I put on my foul weather gear and went top sides. By a stroke of luck, only the job was up. My partner loved to run the main even when it was calm to keep the boat from rolling. But the wind had gotten so calm before the storm, he had dropped it. Such is how life and death luck happens sometimes.
We agreed to stay in the cockpit and not go forward. I guide the boat basically along a coarse that the waves allow. I get so cold I leave the autopilot on and stand on the steps of the cabin. BIG mistake. Sixty seconds later I am over the rail. The one and only time in my life I was actually sea sick. I did not feel as bad when I later learned that the waves were worse than the mid 1980s Port Huron to Mackinac race that sank a boat called Tomahawk and dismasted several others.
Suddenly I see in the very very early morning light that the stays of the mast are going slack and flopping about. We had just bought the boat, and the previous owner hadn’t locked all of the adjusters. I clipped in my harness and went forward before we lost the mast. It wasn’t the mast I was worried about at that time so much as the effect it would have if it went overboard. It was likely to float for a time punching holes in the hull along the waterline.
After about 4 hours, the sun began to rise, and around 8:00 am or so we got closer to shore and the waves began to abate. Finally, I went forward to lower the jib. I tried to be very careful, but caught a foot in a line, the boat lurched, and I went face first to the deck unhurt. It was really comical. I’d survived 12 footers, and tripped in perhaps 8 foot seas.
Saginaw Bay is often used by fisherman in small boats. The weather forecast missed the storm, the forecast was for calm all night. These 12 footers were no place for an 18 or 20 foot powerboat. As I recall, five boaters lost their lives that night, most wearing life preservers. The rough water and cold conditions meant survival time was short.
I would never intentionally sail in such weather. But there is a sense of satisfaction at having the seamanship to be able to survive such conditions.
-
the Muse
