Port Sanilac

Wednesday, May 27

“When at sea, sit to pee.” The old sailor’s adage (and not just for old sailors). So, the run around the thumb was a bit rough – 3-5 foot waves on our nose the whole time. The channel out from Bay City is very narrow to the NE. We tried to use the Genoa, but even sheeted in as tightly as possible it was luffing. So, back to motoring. The wind shifted conveniently as we turned to the SE in the evening. Kept right on our nose all the way down the lake.

Now, Pleiades is a stout little boat, but the ride was something else. As best as I can describe it, imagine a Tilt-a-Whirl mounted on top of a roller coaster. Now do that for 20 hours straight. Ah, you get used to it – we took turns sleeping in the cockpit until it got too cold. I have a great appreciation for Pleiades’ dodger (the canvas that goes over the cockpit with windows to keep the spray out).

OK, the coffee runs through and must be taken care of. Just making my way through the cabin to the head in the bow is a challenge. Then I have to “sit to pee”. With the toilet making nine-foot vertical excursions every time we go through a wave. Seriously, that’s my best estimate from the cockpit – the bow goes up and down three times the height of the lifelines (about nine feet) in five-foot waves. Now, normally, this is not an issue for guys; keep feet firmly planted, brace a shoulder, spray all over the place. Life is good. But you don’t do that in heavy weather. So turn, drop ‘em, bend knees, and up comes the seat to meet you real nice and friendly like. At about 60 miles an hour. With your precious jewels hanging down, hopefully hitting the hole. And riding the waves, rising off the seat every so often (doesn’t this violate some law of physics)? Ah, now you’re done – you begin to straighten your knees to rise up and promptly launch yourself into the air, having timed the next wave trough perfectly. And there you hang, poised for either takeoff or crash landing, with your pants between your ankles and your eyes bugged out like Marty Feldman in Young Frankenstein. Briefly you think “This would make a great picture”; then you remember the internet and change your mind.

So back to the cockpit, where I imagine myself as Cap’n Kirk with more primitive instruments. The speedo, wind, and depth are all in red for night vision and mounted directly above the companionway. The chartplotter, autopilot and radar are arrayed in front of me. I have this big-ass wheel to turn, except the autopilot won’t let me. I hunch down in my foulies, keeping a watchful eye for Khan, or at least Romulans.

“Scotty, we need warp speed”

“Captain, I’m giving you all I can - she won’t take much more.”

Blast, time to sacrifice another crew member…

Of course, Kirk had the inky black of space to look out into – I have this ugly water. Oh, did I forget to mention the lightning storm? That we had to go right through? You’ve read descriptions of the sea surface during foul weather (Joseph Conrad, etc.) and how it’s a mottled gray-black oily appearance? Yeah, that’s exactly what it looks like. So, between the radar image of the storm and the liquid death rushing by the rail, I’m almost forgetting that I can see my breath. Actually, I was pretty warm. I was certainly dry. Ziggy was freezing. He had a blanket wrapped around him during his watch. I don’t know how much it helped.

So I have a great appreciation for: 1) dry foulies, 2) those poly base-layer shirts I had to convince myself to buy; I may live in them from now on, 3) fleece (thanks, Goodwill), 4) hot coffee (despite the high probability that I will spray boiling water all over before I get the cup full (and then spill half the cup just getting back to the cockpit), 5) short hair; the Bruce Willis look is looking more and more attractive.

We finally rolled into harbor at Port Sanilac at 4 am. Very little wind, easy docking. Went to bed and woke up to pea soup fog about 10 am. Good thing we made harbor last night.

Met Dave the Harbormaster, and had breakfast at a nice little home-style place. Back to the marina for a shower. Dropped the soap and came face to face with a maxipad hiding under the dressing seat. Stay classy, ladies… (Memo to self – inspect shower thoroughly before undressing completely.) Met a couple of guys and talked about the fog. Mentioned Bermuda. Got the whole story from one of the guys how he had gone through the canal to the Hudson. He had a 46 foot something or another and his buddy had a 48 foot trawler. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Sir, you have established that your dick is bigger than mine. Nothing to see here…move on…

Edit: It's now almost 8 pm. I had Dave the HM let me into the club house so that I can link to the wifi to post this. Fog is worse, if anything. Boy, am I glad we got in when we did.