Sail - Saturday - Sept 19th

Tim located and has rented a 30' Catalina in Duluth. He took it out once last year, and also one or two times this year. He reserved it today for he and I and Tom and his friend Fred to spend the day on Lake Superior.

Here are some memories ...

I have been in Duluth exactly four times. Once at age 4 when my father held me up on the concrete wall and held me close to the edge as a huge iron ore freighter past under the famous Duluth Lift Bridge. I, was really afraid of that choppy water.

Then, Marcia and I drove up with our Gold Wing and again in our 911.

And today.

Our collective journey was a total of 23.8 miles at a top speed of 7.8 mph and and overall average of 5.2 mph.

If, a day starts at 11:15, and ends at roughly 5:00 or so, ...

we sailed "all day".

All of us, contained in a tired 30 yr old vessel, entrusting our care and safety -entirely- to it. Lake Superior is deep and it is cold. Even now, in the setting sun of summer, the warmth endowed all this time, is largely wasted on this body of water. Its surface area is larger than the area of South Carolina. Its depths are also the lowest point in the US of A.

In the Ojibwe language, the lake is called Gitchigumi, meaning "big water". It is also written "Gitche Gumee" as recorded by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in The Song of Hiawatha.

Infrared photography photographs heat, not visible light. White is quite warm, black is quite cold. As this infrared image clearly shows, the body of water is quite cold and, known as the "Lake, which does not give up her dead". It is so cold, bacteria can not feed on the body producing methane which then floats a body to the surface. Crew were found in the expedition to the Edmund Fitzgerald, now so long ago.

So, off we went on a day of adventure and hope the wind would not crap out. Well, it kinda did. IN the map below, I failed to start the Gps right off and our journey began near the circled "61". Then southerly, northeasterly, southwesterly and the little clip of going backwards, is when we started the engine and went into what wind there was, to drop the mainsail. Also known as the mains'l, pronounced mane' sull.

We had dinner at a hamburger palace and tired, Tim took us home.

 

Here we are. No footprints, no tracks, no trail carved. But, we stole a day's worth of memories, individually and collectively.

 

Fred asked "How long to sail to the Apostle Islands (and Bayfield). Well, do the math and then add at least 50% to your time for Minnesota' totally unpredictable and (crappy) weather.

 

This, this puts our day in a different perspective. As we watched large commercial vessels plow their way thru the waters, vanishing over the horizon, fleeing the setting sun into their darkness, one might wonder of their journey and also their destination and whether they arrive safely there, as, others have not.

It, is a big lake indeed. The worlds largest by surface area, the worlds third, by volume, of fresh water.

 

Now you know why in this world, I want to flee Minnesota. This, is cold. Mighty consarn'ed cold.

 

The thirty foot Catalina was first produced in 1974 and had a production run of 6600 which ran to 2006. It was preceded by the Catalina 27 which had a run of 6700 hulls from 1970 through 1991.

It is a roomy vessel and 30 years ago, I lusted for one, but budget dictated the 27 instead.

Fred and Tom ... Childhood friends yet today as they continue being kids.

 

Tim, cleaning the deck.

 

Me, huddled behind the companion way. My new home for the day.

 

A photo of record so I can locate blocks similar to these and do this with my traveler.

 

The interior.

 

Tom, all worn out.

 

Fred, trying to keep his dome from getting sunburned and as all of tried, he too tried to keep warm.

 

Our captain and benefactor, Tim.

In all, a long, yet very pleasant day on the water.

+++

Me, as always, now as it was thirty years ago, when I see a body of water before me, and I gaze at the end of Lake Pepin where it returns to being the Mississippi River, or the Chesapeake Bay, as the far end vanishes beyond the horizon or now on Lake Superior as I look east and see nothing but an horizon, I hear nothing, but I feel beckoned. I feel beckoned to go beyond that horizon to what lies there. To reply to the Siren Song of whatever adventure awaits.

The end of a Lake, or the mouth of The Bay, maybe to the Gulf, or maybe Jamaica or Bermuda, the Keys or the Caribbean and all its islands. Beyond that, the Canal and the Galapagos followed by Tahiti and Bora Bora, Fiji and the Yasawas, or maybe a brief stop at Pitcairn and the descendants of Fletcher Christian of Bounty fame. Or maybe Samoa, Tonga, Palau, Marshalls, or maybe even Australia.

But even if all we see is the mouth of The Bay, which is not at all small, but 10-30 miles wide and 210 miles long, we will have done more, far more than I dreamed of long ago, or we dreamed of just last year.

Later ...