Howling at Hammond Bay

Hammond Bay is a small marina with only about a dozen slips. The main pier runs straight out from shore to the harbor house and gas dock. There it takes a right angle to the left and runs a short ways for all the boat docks. I picked a dock a few notches off the turning point on the shore side of the pier.

The wind was shooting right down the lake straight through the mouth of the harbor. It is a well protected harbor except from the north, which is the direction of the worst weather on the lakes. If you look at the breakwalls on Lake Huron, most of them have one thing in common, they open from the South…

I was lucky enough to arrive in one piece and just in time to get ice for the cooler and top off the gas tank. I was the last registered guest of the season arriving just as they were closing.

Fully provisioned with fuel and ice for the food and booze, I was ready to kick back and watch Mother Nature do her worst while safely tucked in the harbor for the night. The Coast Guard's severe weather alerts dominated the ship-to-shore radio with dire warnings and long winded instructions to seek shelter from the lake. I was all tied down and ready to see some action!

The harbor master was a good guy. We talked for a while as I gave him a hand finishing his list of chores to shut down the facility for the winter. He suggested, due to the forecasted winds, that I might want to get a room at the hotel in town and that he could swing by in the morning and give me a ride back. I graciously declined the offer looking forward to the oncoming craziness. When he left for home the desolation of the place made it even more exciting.

It was forecasted to be a cold clear night of high winds and big waves. The boats were already surging up and down a foot or two at dock as the winds pushed the water into the mouth of the harbor like a big funnel.

I adjusted the lines again for the quickly changing conditions and then went to work on making dinner. I pulled out the electric fryer again. It has deep sides and a high topped lid so it is very universal. I put in a can of corned beef, a couple of cans of sliced potatoes, some canned corn and another can of whatever vegetables I had. Add some water, seasonings and an onion and this concoction is amazingly good. The corned beef breaks down into almost a gravy.

I call it anchor stew because that is when I usually throw it together out of the nonperishable food stored onboard. It’s always a plan B meal because going to get the things for a plan A meal is too much of a pain in the ass. It always starts with the comment, “let's see what I got that I can throw together” and ends in “damn that was good, I should make this more often”.

With a full stomach and the stew simmering on low for midnight munching I yet again readjusted my lines adding another long line to keep the bow from hitting the dock. I made my way to the showers to clean up. While there I surveyed the cement block building for room in case I needed to bring up a bed roll if the harbor waves got too crazy or the “chance of water spouts” bore fruit.

I listened to the marine weather again on the radio as I made a potent Wild Turkey and water for a dock walk. The Coast Guard was going to great lengths on the radio to warn any and all boaters of the forthcoming mess blowing in from the North.

They were using huge blocks of time and energy broadcasting in technical terms to basically say “get off the fucking lake you idiots!”.

I threw on a sweatshirt, grabbed the video cam, my boat drink and headed out to have some fun. The winds were howling pretty good as the sun set. The boats were bucking like horses in their stalls from the surging waves. The small individual dock fingers between the boats were wet from the now two-foot waves breaking against the hulls of the boats. The bigger waves were spraying up between the dock boards as they lapped at the bottom of the docks.

The harbor house was decorated with large plastic flower pots on each side hanging from the gables. Each of the  hanging pots were standing straight out sideways like a flag in the wind, with the plants flapping out behind like a dog’s tongue while hanging out of the car window. The leaves were one by one tearing off and blowing away.

I adjusted the lines on a couple of the other boats when their bows started to land on top of the dock between waves due to the water level rising. I made several line changes that night on my own boat. I retied and added more lines to keep the boat off of the dock. By morning it looked like a spider web around my boat.

I soaked up the incredible sunset and was floored by the awesome display of stars made possible by the ultra clear wind swept skies. Without any major light source behind me from land and a vast sea in front of me, there was no light pollution to spoil the view. The annual meteor shower was in full swing and you couldn’t look up without seeing a falling star or a satellite streaking across the sky.

I tied the legs of my lounge chair to a cleat with a dock line so that when it blew away I could retrieve it. I sat back enjoying my drink when all at once like someone flipped a switch the sky filled with Northern Lights! The Lights danced and twirled in every color of the rainbow for the rest of the night.

I got up to refresh my drink to find out the water had risen above the small dock fingers between the boats. The fingers were a step down from the main dock and submerged in the dark water. I had to feel my way from dock piling to dock piling across the narrow walkway. The taller waves were almost up to my knees and always well over my ankles. The boats were bucking like crazy at their lines on either side of me as I tried not to fall off the dock between them. I had to time out the waves so I would jump aboard when the boat was on the way up and let it collect me along the way.

I hopped down into the boat where it was toasty warm from the small electric heater. The inside seemed to glow red and feel so safe and cozy from the elements. The bouncing and rocking seemed to go away once inside. I stretched out on the warm dry bed and relaxed for a minute or two nibbling on a bit of hot stew before going back out into the noisy chaos of the dock.

Armed with a fresh glass of bourbon and a blanket, I had the daunting task of getting off the boat jumping blindly into the dark churning water hoping to land on the narrow sunken dock. Within another two drinks or so the main dock succumbed to the rising waters also. The folding lounge chair I had was equipped with a foot rest that hung off the front of the chair and clipped in place allowing me to keep my feet above the cold angrily churning black water.

So there I sat for hours into the early morning in my chair seemingly floating above the water surrounded by a few small boats. With the whole dock submerged it was like I was floating fifty yards off shore. As I laid back listening to the howling wind, rigging clanging, boats bumping and waves splashing past me I got the light show of a lifetime in the skies above me.

I finished that whole bottle of bourbon that night curled up under that blanket in the chair until morning in a constant state of “oh wow” as all my senses were overloaded from all directions.

With the bright red sunrise capping off the whole show I waded down the dock and crawled into the boat for a few hours of much needed sleep before deciding what the plan was for the next day. The winds were predicted to diminish in the morning and the seas would calm down by noon. Next stop would be Rogers City before sailing on to the famous Presque Isle. I had never been to either so it would be fun rolling in for the first time. With Hammond Bay closing for the season already, I was worried I might run into that problem as I sailed further south.

Next Page: Rogers City and the awesome Presque Isle