Part ll Grand Traverse Bay Rendezvous

[mgoller]

Grand Traverse Bay in a Com-Pac 19 and 16
Part 2
Northport to Elk Rapids into the Wind

After the decision made while eating Dove bars to return to Elk Rapids, we set about to do some fishing off the end of the pier.  The waters off the pier are crystal clear to a sandy bottom.  Not the best hiding spot for trout, salmon or even blue gill.  While Courtney tried her best to wiggle and jiggle the bait and try every sandy spot - Pam, Troy and I debated the pros and cons of heading back to Elk Rapids and abandoning the trip to Suttons Bay.  It wasn't much of a debate.  With the threat of tomorrow's building winds and afternoon thunderstorms, the thought of being hours out on big water and alone in our Com-Pacs wasn't a welcome idea.
By beating windward toward Sutton's we would have gotten there by early afternoon with hours to kill.  Without a car, touring would be hard and that left just the movie theatre.  And then a certain drenching thunderous day on Sunday.
We all agreed to get up early on Saturday and sail to Elk Rapids.  With the winds from the southwest at 15 to 25 knots we should have a quick comfortable sail.
We all showered and got in our sailing PJ's.  The evening was warm and breezy.  A couple of yachts were having their Friday aboard dinners and cocktail parties.  I sat in the cockpit sipping on my hot chocolate postponing sleep to take in the scenery until about 11pm.   The sounds of the evening parties gave way to the sound of rigging swaying and water burbling out of the cooling systems of the various yachts.  Mine was the last light to go out.
This night I would sleep in the comfort of my full size berth by setting up filler cushions across and between the two quarter berths.  I fell right to sleep and awoke at 6:30am.



The morning was clear and slightly breezy, as the temperature hadn't warmed up past 60 degrees.  I put the bed away and made coffee.  Troy came over for a cup and we discussed boats and Com-Pacs and where we sail mostly.  I think we both postponed the serious discussion of weather, course, and tactics of the day until after coffee.
I whipped up scrambled eggs, which I joked had bits of bacon (burned eggs).  I brought Troy a plate of eggs and corned beef hash.  We gobbled it down.  I knew my morning routine was burning into a margin of safety with weather coming in by afternoon.
Now I hurried.  I made up my lunch of salami and cheese sandwiches, three bottles of water and slathered on the sunscreen.
It was 7:30 and not quite ready to go.  I made the boat ready for sailing by taking off the bungee rigging quieters and the sail covers and bungee  holding the jib tight.  I could see Troy and crew were ready so I was hurrying.
Somewhere in this period of time we had forgotten to enjoy the best that Northport has to offer.  The warm cinnamon rolls from the Water Wheel bakery.  Well, we have a great reason to return. 
I felt like I should say goodbye to someone at this wonderful harbor.  This port had been so beautiful and gracious and for all they provided they had received $20.  Just one more transient in an old harbor, which had seen so many before.
Out we motored and the sails went up by 8:00am.  Bellows Island was too distant to the Southeast to make out.  I was surprised.  I thought it was closer.  Our plan was to simply sail the reciprocal of the previous day's sail.  That would put me on a course of about 120.  Even with the error in my compass that was a course I knew would take me back to where I had come from.
The winds picked up to about 15 knots and we were sailing at about 4 – 5 knots on a close reach to the southeast.  The sun broke through the haze and it started heating up.



Bellow's Island came into view to the southeast but it was clear we would pass to the north of it.  We were losing 5 degrees to windward as we sailed.  It was becoming clear we would have to make a few tacks.
By noon we were well to the north of our intended track as the winds had shifted to Southerly.  I adjusted the sheets of my Genoa inside the shrouds and tightened the main in for my best close haul angle to the wind.
Troy worked hard to get his Com-Pac 16 trimmed with its hank on jib.  We radioed back and forth and discussed ideas.  I suggested maybe keeping the main in tight and loosen the foot for a fuller pocket and letting the jib luff if it had to.  I was getting good results this way.  The Genoa wasn't working as hard but it was directing a good airflow over the main.
Troy radioed he couldn't point with my Com-Pac 19 after trying everything.
Staying together was a must out here.  I fell off a little and reduced power to rejoin Troy.  We sailed for a while just enjoying the moment.
That lasted 15 minutes when no land was in sight 360 degrees around.  We were way too far North of our track.
We tacked but this put us on a southwest heading which would not clear us of the Old Mission Point shoals.
An hour later we were headed more toward Traverse City on the west arm than Elk Rapids on the East arm.  We decided to tack again to the southeast and try to get even with Old Mission Point where we would motor sail south, close hauled with main only.



To my surprise when we made this tack we were farther east than I thought and we would easily clear the shoals off the point.  The sun above was hot but land to the south was shrouded by haze and overcast with thunderclouds billowing above and farther to the south.
I was more relieved as we motored to see the old Mission light house clearly to my west-southwest.  I put on Beach Boys and against my own rule of not drinking while sailing enjoyed a cool beer.
Even with my 6 HP Johnson Seahorse I wasn't able to keep up with Troy's fully laden Com-Pac 16.  I tried catching a little power from my main by reaching a little under power.  Troy just kept getting farther and farther south.
I broke to the Southeast motor sailing and radioed Troy I was making better progress with the sail.  He turned to port and within a half hour we were both under full sail doing 5 knots in the building south winds.


Now it was hot.  The wind was coming directly from a bearing to Elk Rapids 8 nautical miles South. 
Again Troy was being pushed North with his best efforts to close haul.  I figured he could motor sail so I pushed on as close a reach as possible toward land to the east-southeast.  I was leaving him behind and it concerned me.  But my engine was concerning me too.  It was sounding very rough and like it was pinking with pre-detonation.  It had gotten to the point where it wouldn't move me south into the 15-knot wind.
Eventually, I had to wait for Troy.  The barometer had been steadily falling all day and now was reporting a change.  The thunderclouds hadn't moved any farther north but were billowing higher.
To my west I could see a large sailboat with jib up and tender in tow motoring south.  I assumed it was making a fast run to Elk Rapids.  This was comforting to know that my destination was within someone else's reach.  I scoffed that this old sailor had to motor while I proudly sailed.  Oh how I would wish for an engine later.
Troy, I could see was moving south fast and when he radioed I could hear him motoring.  I told him Elk Rapids was due south 3.5 nautical miles. 
A half hour later he had closed within sight and was abeam about an eighth of a mile.  I was closer into shore as I was interested in the shoreline and looking at the cottage vacation homes up on the hills.  Each had a wooden stairs leading down to the shoreline and had boats far out in the shallow green water.
Up ahead I could see what looked like people playing in the water about 500 yards off shore.  Troy had passed me and was farther off shore and would clear these swimmers by 100 feet.  He radioed me as I saw him tack away fast and to the southwest.  "Marcus, it gets really shallow and there are big rocks."  As I sailed on a new tack to the southwest I could see the swimmers were standing in knee-deep water and directly ahead the water was getting really shallow.  I couldn't believe it.  This far out and there were all of a sudden car size boulders off the bow 20 feet.  I immediately scanned to starboard and not seeing anything turned fast.  I moved west about 500 yards to clear the shallow water and followed in Troy's path.
By now I was checking the charts and could see that my lazy day sailing mentality had been a near tragic oversight.  I studied the charts for any more hazards ahead.  I radioed Troy and told him I was "sorry for not checking the charts better, but that there weren't anymore shallow rocky areas marked all the way to Elk Rapids." 
I fired up my engine to keep up with Troy who was now out of sight to my south.  The engine at full throttle was cutting out and misfiring.  I didn't care.  I figured at this point with about 3 miles to Elk Rapids I would force it.



It was now about 3:30 and the beautiful sunny day had given way to overcast haze.  The winds were picking up to about the 25 knots that had been forecast.  I continued tacking tighter in about 1000 yard intervals trying to make as good of progress as possible.  Then the engine quit with a sputter.
As if mother nature was laughing at my man made power she began throwing 30 knot winds at me directly from the marina 2.5 miles to the south.  The teal green waters starting turning to a pastel wind swept foam.
An hour later with 1.5 miles to go my hands were getting tired and my arms and shoulders were tight.  My tacks had to be fast and tight or I would be turned hard to leeward and have that much more distance to make up.
Troy radioed they were into the marina and asked if I was all right.  "Yeah, my motor died and I am going to just sail in" I replied, "can you wait for me?" I asked knowing I may need help if this didn't go well.  Troy said, "Sure we'll wait, how far out are you?"  I told him I thought "maybe a mile".  It was nice to know they were in and safe.  I saw this as a bonus.  Instead of getting in early I would have some quality sailing time by myself without worrying about others or being too far from a harbor.
More time passed and I had made little progress.  I furled the Genoa and tried for a while to resurrect the dead engine. I had to abandon any hopes of the engine running and return to good old-fashioned sailing.  I tried for a while to sail main alone in the heavy wind to keep the pressure off the rigging, but I couldn't tack without the jib.  Every time I tried tacking with the main alone I would come up and then be blown backwards and then with the violence of an impact be spun leeward and I would have to release the main.  I tried sailing main alone and jibing but this too was a fairly violent maneuver even with careful handling of the timing of the letting in and out of the main. In all this effort I had made very little progress southward.  Even with the strength of the winds I had no choice but to sail main and jib.  This wasn't going to work with a de-powered rig.
The winds were now gusting and strengthening more.  I was using about two thirds of the Genoa and a flat mainsail.  I could see the clubhouse roof of the marina through the haze to the south.  Knowing right where I had to go was a comfort.
Several tacks later my hand was bleeding from working the sheets.  I thought of the Old Man and the Sea and then laughed to myself.  This wasn't really even close to what most sailors have endured on the best of days.
Troy radioed again, and asked how I was doing.  I radioed back that the winds were straight off the marina and I was having to tack in but I could see the channel markers.  I told him my engine wasn't going to carry me in and I was going to try to sail in.  Troy reassured me, "you can do it, it will be a beam reach all the way in and we have a slip for you."  "Thanks Troy, I'll do my best."  From my vantage point this didn't look easy at all.  I didn't want to let on that I was completely unsure of how I would do this.  And for some reason I wasn't ready to call for a tow.  Something in me said, 'this is doable'.
The channel markers to my south were set about 75 yards apart and paralleled the wind direction.  On either side of the channel were hundreds of 10 foot jagged boulders stacked to form the breakwater harbor walls.
I made three attempts at angling for the channel entrance but each time I was blown to leeward by the 35 knot winds that were shaking my rigging violently.  With the partially furled Genoa the forestay was rattling hard.  I wasn't going to be able to just leisurely tack into the harbor.  Every time I would miss the entrance by a hundred yards and be faced with a quick tack to avoid the swallowing waters to port.
About every three minutes a motor sailor or a big cruiser was coming in to the harbor.  I had to give way to one big 40-foot sailboat to avoid collision, which cost me distance to windward.
To do this right would take a more determined approach.  There wouldn't be any more tries.  I was getting tired and having been within sight of the harbor for an hour I was growing weary. 



I sailed well past the harbor to the southwest on a fast reach.  This was a top speed spray over the bow 12-degree heel kind of reach with the boat shaking and heaving over the oncoming waves.  I sailed well past where I needed as if to spite Mother Nature.  At a certain moment my mind said "now", and I eased the main, put the tiller over in a flash and let the jib sheet loose with one hand and with the other put two wraps around the Barlow winch.   Holding the jib sheet for just a second the jib back winded with a 'thump'.  I held it for a split second more and the bow swung over the oncoming swell and came down with a smash.  With that hand I tightened the main sail in hard and it filled with another 'thump'.  The jib didn't have time to flap as I brought it in tight.  It was a quick single-handed tack that put me on a reach well upwind of the marina.  It was a good rehearsal for what I would need to do once inside the marina walls. 
I was racing for the marina channel at about 90 degrees to the intended approach with about 500 yards to go.  I was tired and I didn't want to try this again.  I let the wind push me northward as I angled for the channel figuring I would just clear the wall and then point up as best I could into the channel.
I scanned around the boat to think about what I was about to try.  I didn't want a jammed sheet, tangled line, or jib stuck on the shroud.  Everything looked good.  I radioed Troy quickly to say, "hear I come, I don't know if this is going to work, but I'll try."  Troy radioed back, "you can do it on a beam reach, just come into the marina and to the gas dock."  I didn't respond.
Doing 5 knots right toward a rock wall I could see the flag over the marina laughing at me as it beat with its whipping clatter directly at me.
The radio crackled, it was Troy, "you're not going to make it, you're too high and you may not make it around that wall."
I'm sure it looked wrong from his vantage point, but I wanted as much room to windward as possible.  With my bow 15 feet away from the wall guarding the west entrance I all of a sudden prayed no one was coming out of the marina just then.
I slid leeward past the edge of the wall by 5 feet.  It looked deep there.
Now inside the channel I pointed as best I could racing toward the east wall of giant boulders about 40 yards away.
I had decided in my mind subconsciously to not try to finesse this.  I could see many people on the docks to my south watching and starting to scurry.  In my mind I joked 'well guys, you're about to see something really awesome or something really stupid as a guy sinks his boat in the marina.'
Closing on the jagged sea wall with the wind now blasting through the wind tunnel of the channel I readied myself to execute another quick tack.  I wasn't focused on what would follow.   
I pre-wound the sheet on the winch and had it within arm's reach.  10 feet, 8 feet...hold, hold, hold, now!
Five feet from the rocks, I swung the tiller, released the jib slightly and the bow sprang across the shrieking wind, 'boom' the jib back winded and with a flip of a one wind of sheet off the winch it released over as I tightened the other sheet in as hard and as fast as I could.  Back on tack racing for the rock wall on the other side now.
Same thing again, 20 feet, wind the jib sheet, ease the main, 10 feet – over my left shoulder I could see a small crowd of people waiting at the dock.  8 feet, hold, hold, hold, now!
I swung the tiller crisp and released the jib.  'Boom, boom' both jib and main slammed across.  I left the jib eased somewhat to get on a beam reach as I was upwind more than I thought I would be.
Even though I was in a better position than I thought I would be, there was no way I would make it to the fuel dock, and this became apparent to Troy, onlookers and the dock-hands.  I could see them running to get to a different dock.
Now I just had to keep enough speed to windward to make the dock without coming in too fast.  I eased out the main and judging I could make it I furled in the jib.  Now de-powered I was still speeding toward the dock.  Twenty feet ahead was Troy ready to grab any part of my Com-Pac I chose to throw at him.  I could see him kneeling and reaching out as my bow pulpit raced towards him.  Before he could reach it, I released the main to flap and pushed the tiller over to avoid a collision. 
As the weight of the Com-Pac 19 and the intensity of my adrenaline glided past the safety of my friend's outreached hands, I threw a line up.  They caught it and with all their strength and a wrap around the piling brought my craft to a halt.
They pulled me over and we secured the boat properly with warps, instead of the jib sheet I had thrown.
I hopped off onto the dock as soon as I could and as best I could and wobbled.
Pam said, "You are so calm."  I told her I didn't have much choice but to be calm.



Troy told me I had made that "bit of sailing look easy."  Again, I told him as I was shaking a little, I didn't have much choice as "I had just one shot or he would have seen a guy wreck a boat."  Pam asked if I wanted a cold drink, wow, that root beer tasted so good.
Now 6pm at Elk Rapids, where everything was delightfully calm, the day was young, and the wind now didn't seem so bad.  Troy had loaded up and was ready to leave.  We said our goodbyes.  I decided to stay the night.


10 hours of single-handing had worn me out.  I took a nap and then went in search of fresh fruit with a bicycle that the marina lends out.  No luck! 

I'm not sure if this was a remarkable bit of sailing or just a young sailors view of the routine.  

I would definitely do it again - in a Com-Pac.

[dusty]

breathtaking!

i want to say, man, let me fly up and crew for you some time, but it sounds like crew would just be in your way.

you should write a novel... i can envision you authoring a best-seller.

[dusty]

On docking and launching...
A successful docking is one that you can sail away from.
The ease and success of launching and docking is inversely proportional to the number of witnesses...
When sailing, the number of dockings should equal the number of launches.
The motor, if it starts, always runs while the boat is tied to the dock. If it doesn't start, there's people watching.
If anything is dropped on the dock, only the most expensive or irreplaceable items will fall into the water (like your keys!).
How do you instantly draw a large, impatient crowd of motor boaters at a launching ramp? Bring a sailboat.
Docking under power in a motorboat is normal. Docking under sail is an adventure.
The frequency in changes in the wind is inversely proportional to the proximity to the dock.
If there are any children or PWCs in the area, they will all congregate at the dock as you approach.
Respectfully submitted by Lee Högman of the Mac 21 Cool Change

from Latitude 38 Wisdom

[TroyVB]

Well written Marcus.

What a an exciting ending to a great cruise.  I never did get to ask you how the takedown went the next day.  Did you get wet and was help available? 

You inspired me to go sailing.  I am headed to Spirit Lake for a daysail.

[dusty]

Markus,

i had an incident over the weekend where i was out on the lake and a storm blew in, 25 knot winds with +5 gusts i believe the yacht club log said.

after landing my five year old and x-wife safely, i felt lucky at this rocky lake to be able to have found a sandy place to as gently as possible, run aground. no reefing points or rolling furlers or outboard motor on my vessel. it's the first life & limb situation i've had to navigate.

i immediately recalled this article, but with a new found appreciation of your skill, captain. ~ dusty