For the reader who has never piloted a small vessel from one point to another I thought you might want to spend the day with Charlotte and I as we make a passage from Governor Bay, MI to Harbor Island, MI on northern Lake Huron. Come along with us on Carrie Rose, our 32-foot Nordic Tug and two other tugs. I will say nothing of the years it took to obtain and prepare the boat (and crew) for this trip but only of the process itself. My first thought was to simply sketch the transit, but I am convinced that the fun is in the details, so here goes.
The process starts the day before the voyage. Once we are tucked away for the night—anchor set or tied to a dock—we begin to consider options for the next day’s cruise. Many factors influence this: weather, distance, safety, stores, fuel, our fellow boaters and location, location, location. Charts (paper and electronic), cruising guides, past log notes, recollections and scuttlebutt (a sailor’s word for gossip) are reviewed.
The first consideration is should we even go. If we are in a beautiful spot, why leave. If the weather is iffy, why leave. If we are tired, why leave. The prejudice is to keep moving. It is hard to ignore and on the Great Lakes it is often justified. We motored day after day, twenty-two in all, on our way to Lake Huron from Chicago. At first because the weather cooperated and then because we needed to stay ahead of ill weather that was to bring high winds and waves. In more hospitable climes we might have lingered a little longer in each port but this was not to be. When there is a window of opportunity dive, or rather drive, through it.
Government Bay, MI is a lovely anchorage in the Les Cheneaux Islands or as they are locally known, the Snows. Carrie Rose was anchored in the northwest corner of the bay to cushion herself from blustery NNW winds. Her big Bruce anchor was securely set into mud eighteen feet below the keel and with 70 feet of chain attached to the bow she wasn’t going anywhere.
Since the weather was fair we decided to head east towards De Tour Passage in the morning. The wind was forecast to be light and build to 10 to 15 knots from the west as the day progressed. This meant we would be traveling in a following sea. With the wind behind us we glide. It is definitely preferable to pounding into heavy seas as we did last year. So as far as the weather was concerned it was a go.
The first destination considered was a small cove in Whitney Bay on Drummond Island, MI. To get there we have to avoid several reefs, points of land and one very large lighthouse. As we were not traveling alone the consensus was to skip Whitney Bay in favor of Harbor Island, MI. This lengthened the trip by about 8 miles (for the purpose of our discussion distances stated are nautical miles). To reach Harbor Island we need to round the before mentioned lighthouse and travel north through De Tour Passage. But I get ahead of myself.
I have a night-before-cruising-ritual. I study the charts, and on the chart plotter and/or the MacBook Air’s navigational program create a route for the next day’s journey. It is how I familiarize myself with the path ahead. The route, while not automatic, keeps me engaged and though not cast in stone often takes me precisely where I am going. To do this I need to create waypoints. Waypoints are specific locations defined by their latitude and longitude. I follow them across the seascape. They are identified on the charts and represent turns, hazards, navigational aids, harbors, etc., etc. I have navigated this way since GPS became available. It has its good and bad points but overall I doubt many cruisers would go back to the not so distant pre-GPS times, so let’s keep those satellites flying!
In the morning I wake a little edgy. It is hard to enjoy breakfast. I have some tea or coffee, the usual toast with peanut butter and jelly but I am more focused on the day ahead. The first task, that is after I rid the boat of the overnight spider carnage, is to go into the engine room. This is a familiar space. It is not big but it is efficiently laid out. I look in the bilge to make sure no new fluids have appeared overnight. I scan the engine’s coolant level; check the oil and the fuel filter. Then I chill out and just look at the valves, hoses, pumps, and all the components that make us a viable boat. Once I am satisfied that the engine room is in order I move to the pilothouse.
Departure is usually 8 or 9 AM. Today we have 28 nautical miles to travel, so 9 o’clock is a reasonable time to leave. The boat is made ready. This means securing every object that might fly through the air or slide across the floor. Even on calm days experience has taught us that we never know what awaits us on the water. The fewer surprises the better.
Now in the pilothouse I take the covers off the instruments. The Furuno radar and the EchoPilot forward-sounding depth sounder occupy the space to my upper left. Directly in front of the wheel are the engine instruments, another depth sounder, the rudder angle indicator and various switches for windshield wipers, heat, anchor and running lights, and the bilge pump. To the right is the single handle topped with a maroon knob that controls the throttle along with forward and reverse. The next level forward has a portable VHF radio, two ancient Garmin GPS’s, a fan, and a small chawan (tea bowl) in which I store pens, pencils, a knife and the family band radio along with whatever insects that have manage to crawl in and die.
In front of this is an empty space where the computer resides and beyond that the regal Ritchie compass reigns over all the electronics. Directly above and a little to the right are two VHF radios and a defunct Loran-C. Despite the above there is still space for charts to the right and the left. There is more below. The bow thruster control, the generator’s gauges and start switch, DC and AC electrical panels, and an inverter to keep the computer charged. It is a lot of equipment to deal with and we have a simple boat compared to most.
But this must be getting boring. Let’s see if we can get Carrie Rose moving. To leave the anchor has to be raised. I go to the back of the boat and fetch the hose that attaches to the wash down pump. I use this to wash the mud and debris that collects on the chain and the anchor. They live down the little hole into the bowels of the boat. It is best to clean them to keep the boat from reeking. As 9 o’clock approaches I remember that I am not travelling alone and the other two boats are following a similar process. It is time to start the engine and energize the bow thruster. The gauges are scanned for any abnormalities and once the oil pressure alarm turns off we are ready to go.
Maybe I should stop here and explain what a bow thruster is. Whoever the person was to think it a good idea to drill a hole sideways through the front of the boat is on par with the person who realized that airports could be made into shopping malls. A bow thruster does just what it says; thrust the bow to the port or starboard. For a barely maneuverable boat like mine it was a revelation. It is used at idle to control the boat while docking or turning in tight channels. It also helps when in reverse. Without it the boat goes where it wants but with it I can put it where I want it, within reason that is. I do not want to sound too cocky should the marine deities or gremlins hear me and choose to put me in my place.
So, now it is finally time to raise the anchor. It should be firmly dug into the bottom after spending the night holding us in place. It should not want to come out. I take the supplemental line off. This line stretches and acts as a shock absorber to take the strain off the chain’s attachment to the bow. Then I make sure I am clear of the chain and the windlass, and start to shorten the chain. It is done in spurts. A little chain and the boat moves forward, a little more and a little more until the anchor is out of the water and stored on deck. Now the boat is free of its earthly attachment. I tidy up and we are on our way.
To be continued next month . . .
