Wednesday morning found us all rested up. We were all in a zombie like funk Tuesday after the all-nighter sailing across the big waters of Lake Superior. I’m not sure if the rum helped or hurt our condition but we all slept like rocks.

The plan was to head back out of the fjord and round Washington Island again to the bottom of the main island. We would then run East staying a few miles off the coast to our next destination of Hay Bay.

The trip out of the fjord was interesting as the fog was light allowing us to see the terrain we blindly traversed during our instruments only landing on the way in. Following the track left on the GPS I back tracked our route. It was fun and sometimes frightening to see the rocky outcroppings above and below the water that we slid past through the fog the day before.

We had hoped to check out the sunken ferry boat in the cut from the north. We were told it is visible from deck and pretty cool. I ended up canceling that excursion due to a sharp cold wind and a nasty chop funneling into the cut from the open water. Even though it would’ve made a great sight of interest on the TV show I opted to play it safe since I was not on my boat and had responsibility of the crew’s safety on my shoulders. Although I didn’t detect any remorse in anyone’s eyes at my decision as the water churned and toiled through the narrow cut.

The fog held off all the way around the West end of the island to the open water. There it rolled through in thick banks making the day interesting. We had a fickle wind coming over the island from the North that never got enough authority to warrant more than a jib sail for most of the day while we again motored up the coast.

It felt good to be out playing on the water again. Shortly after lunch we got enough of a breeze to throw up the main and cut the engine for a stretch. The silence of shutting off the engine was great.

As we ran along Houghton Ridge all was looking great while the sun warmed us up in the absence of the fog. I was going over the charts studying the reefs of Houghton Point and beyond while Darren was filming from the bow. All was good until I heard Darren mutter “what the hell is that” while looking through the camera ahead of us.

In front of us was a massive wall of fog. It was about 100 feet high and as flat as a brick wall. On the Great Lakes these fog walls can be deceiving. They sometimes hide ugly wind storms churning just inside. The tell tale sign of all hell breaking loose is any lightning from inside the cell. I fired up the motor and we stowed anything that could blow away and dropped the sails just in case even though we didn’t see any lightning. The wall was so dense that the bow disappeared as it pierced into the curtain of fog.

Everyone sat quietly in anticipation. The only sound other than the chug of the diesel was the noise of Darren’s video camera chirping. We crossed into a world of fog so thick it turned the bright sunshine into a dim grey glow. Like a scene from a bad pirate movie Dale and I seemed to effortlessly glide our ships through into another world.

The fog was coming out of Siskiwit Bay where we had to go. This was not good because the entrance to the big bay is guarded by a long ugly reef with only one opening. The small crack in the armor is a mile or two off the point and marked by a few small buoys.

I was back to instruments only sailing blindly chugging through the fog with Dale close behind. Giving the reef a large berth we squared off the course and crept through the fog to within a few hundred yards of the 6 feet deep and 20 foot wide crooked path through the submerged rocks. Dale and I dropped into neutral and came to rest while we discussed our options over the ship to shore radio. With less than a boat length visibility at best and zero visibility at worst it would be very easy to miss a buoy and rip the boat open on the rocks.

Dale and I both had the positions of the buoys on the GPSs as they are marked on the charts. That info is subject to error if the buoy positions have been changed since the last update of the charts. If the passage way was all rock then the chances of a change is slim, but if it is a dredged channel it could morph over a few decades and not be where the chart says it is. Just an error of a boat length feet could be disastrous. Dale had the ace up his sleeve though. He had the buoys hitting his radar! Ahhh, life was good. After a replay of the earlier discussion of his leading the way through the fog the day before I pointed out it was “paper, scissors, rock”, my depth finder was out again and he has the radar, he goes in first.

Dale put a point man on the bow and lookouts on deck and slowly disappeared into the fog as we watched. The plan was he would find the buoys and verify their position and radio back. I didn’t want to have both boats wandering around blind in close quarters.

A few minutes after Dale and crew fearlessly entered the fog bank o' death he radioed back that they think they see the buoys looming up in the fog. At this point I heard a voice from out of the fog call out “I think I see it straight ahead!”. We all looked in amazement as the shadowy outline of Dale’s bow complete with the point man calling out “it looks like a boat ahead” came out of the fog right at us! Luckily he was idling along slow enough everything was fine and after we stopped laughing we regrouped. Dale said the fog is so thick he couldn’t keep his bearings. We were next up.

I spread the crew out in the now well practiced battle stations. One last good look at the paper chart and we were off with the GPS screen zoomed in and all we had. I crept along towards the dot on the screen until the bow person called out a sighting right on schedule. I called back asking if he could tell yet if it was a red or a green buoy so I would know which side of the buoy I needed to pass on.

We got closer and the answer I got was it was both colors…It turned out to be a central marker to line us up with the short channel’s entrance. From that point we crawled through the fog with Dale in tow till my man called out the next buoy. This continued for several more buoys until the charts said we were getting back to the deep water on the other side, woohoo!!

The fog opened up shortly after entering Siskiwit Bay and we bee lined for the entrance to Hay Bay. The fog bank waited for us along shore again as we pulled up to the reefs that guard this island so well.

One chart showed 6 foot depth right off the jagged point of land shooting us right into the channel of the fjord into our anchorage. The other chart showed the same path to be three feet deep and not passable but showed another break in the rocks farther out near a different set of reefs. All the guys studied the charts and discussed our options. Dave wanted to take the short route in, I opted to go do the longer route past Scare Crow or Dead Man’s reef or some ominous name like that that escapes me right now. Darren was liking a different path but was open to whatever. We put it to a vote.

For those that have never sailed with me I have a voting system that has served me well when in charge of the boat. Everyone on the boat gets a vote, my vote counts double and I reserve full veto rights. This way everyone gets a say when making critical eny-meny-miny-moes and its harder for someone to complain about the consequences of the actions when they where involved in the decision process. Ultimately I have the final say but it opens the table to other options.

In a repeat of our buoy hunt we manned the battle stations and idled into the fog bank. This time there are no markers or buoys, just luck to help us through. We tiptoed around the shallows on the GPS screen and finally hit the straight shot up the fjord to the basin in the end of the small bay.

The end of the bay was paradise! It was just deep enough for our keels to slip along the bottom. Dale hit bottom once while seeing if he could get up close to the small dock on shore. Dave dropped the anchor on cue and it bit on the first try. Dale swung around and did the same.

Sunset was approaching and we broke out the beers and started on making dinner. One of the reasons we picked that anchorage was the abundance of moose said to be living here. I scanned the shoreline regularly with the binoculars to no avail.

The sunset was unbelievable as we settled in for a great dinner courtesy of Lisa. As the darkness engulfed us the fog rolled back in thick and heavy making the whole experience even more cosmic.

Once we were fed and happy it was time for the Pussers Painkiller party! That and the next days exploration of the island is the next episode

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Where is that Confounded Moose?