Harrisville the Hard Way via Alpena

I finally got a break in the weather and worked my way out of Presque Isle’s harbor and headed south. I was heading to Harrisville with a full 6 gallon tank of fuel and a case of beer on ice.

The wind was out of the Southeast and blowing hard. The forecast was for the wind to swing around out of the East in the late morning. An East wind coming from offshore would shoot me down the coast like a rocket…well in that boat like a really motivated turtle.

The old Kells 22 did not sail well into the wind due to the swing keel so I knew I would have to run the motor for a bit until the wind shifted. I had plotted my course the night before and figured Harrisville Harbor to be about six hours down the coastline.

At a gallon an hour my 6 gallon tank would be more than enough to push me to my destination with some help from the wind. I would be passing across what is now the Thunder Bay National Marine Sanctuary.

The bay is home to hundreds of shipwrecks and is a world famous diving sanctuary. I would be rounding the bay’s point coming from the North and then hitting a course directly for Harrisville bypassing Alpena. Alpena lays at the very back of the huge bay and when rounding the point ends up being the same distance to sail as sliding South to Harrisville. I would have loved to see Alpena but running straight for Harrisville cuts a day off the run and I was trying to buy time to make up for any weather days I knew were in my future. A hurricane was chewing up the East coast of Florida and the fallout usually hits us a few days later.

It was a beautiful day with bright sunshine and the wind was sharp and unpredictable. I slowly chewed my way south waiting for the wind to shift. The Southerly wind was pushing the waves up the lake and making for sharp three footers that slowed me down as they broke over my bow.

The wind slowly shifted right on time…But in the wrong direction. It swung from SW to dead on South! With the change came even larger waves right off the bow. The waves would knock me to a crawl with every blow. This brought my average speed down from five mph to a whooping one and two mph. This not only was going to make for a long day but it would play hell with my gas mileage.

I slowly struggled down the lake drinking a beer and weighing my options. I could play the odds and continue on to Harrisville or try for plan B and duck into Thunder Bay and head for Alpena. I was hoping the wind would finally round itself over to the East but it never happened.

I rechecked the GPS and the chart to recalculate my fuel range with the new conditions. I knew I would never make Harrisville on the six gallon tank no matter how hard the old ten horse was pushing. My leisurely sail was now turning into a 12 plus hour nightmare.

I was looking at the reality that I would run out of fuel right around the top of Thunder Bay. I was seeing first hand how there came to be so many sunken ships in the Bay’s waters. I was doing the math in my head of how far my fuel would last. I figured the distance to the bay and the time it would take versus the fuel per hour ratio.

This is where sailors play loose with their math. Every time I figured in a fresh variable I always came up short on fuel and time. After many recalculations I got a mix of miles and time to come out with just enough fuel to get to the Bay. The plan was to get to the bay where I would swing West towards Alpena allowing me to break out the sails and use the Southerly winds for the last couple of hours saving any fuel I might have left. I also had hopes that the water would settle down in the protection of Thunder Bay.

The waves kept building and I was hugging the shoreline as close as I dared to stay out of the worst of it. After what seemed like forever I saw a spot on the horizon that caught my eye. I broke out the binoculars and checked it out. It was as I thought, the large Gernab freighter Nordmeer long since wrecked on a shoal with the decks still above water. I checked the chart and sure enough it was on it. That let me know exactly where I was and the bay was close.

I knew to pass on the outside of that freighter using the large buoy as a turning point due to shallow water. Every summer as I pass the now much smaller section of ship sticking out of the water I think of how far inland I was on that first run in the old boat and shake my head in disbelief. I look at the charts now and don’t know how I did it and came out in one piece.

I was getting close to the turning point finally. I just knew the motor would cough to a stop at any minute and leave me to the mercy of the rocky shoreline. I was doing the math using solid numbers of how long I had been on the motor and realized I would be a little short figuring the normal gallon an hour formula.

As I wiggled around a couple of scraggly islands and the wrong side of a lighthouse I had a bad feeling. The sun was setting quickly and the rocks under me were getting nasty. I didn’t think there would be time to get a sail up and moving before the four footers would feed me to the famously hungry rocks.

The sun was setting as I broke out into the open water again putting the islands behind me. I shut down the motor and threw up the sails as fast as I could and headed West. I gave the gas tank a shack and it was empty. Not even enough fuel left to splash around in the bottom.

I soon got to see Alpena ahead. With the sun setting behind her it looked like the Emerald City from The Wizard of Oz. The sun reflected off of the buildings in a prism of colors. After a long day of impending doom it was a wonderful sight. Once I got rolling along I hit the autopilot and dug out my harbor guides to learn what lay ahead. I was planning to bypass Alpena so I didn’t study the info much while plotting the day’s course.

With the review of my two harbor guides came my next quandary. Both had great aerial photos of the marina. One showed the entrance on the North side and one showed the entrance on the South side….

I didn’t have enough gas fumes left in the tank to make the wrong decision. I checked the copyright dates in the books and they were the same! I studied the pics hard with my flashlight as the high stone break wall was drawing closer. To add to the stress a thousand foot freighter was gaining fast on my heels looking like a bright city in itself.

The only difference I could find between the two pics was that the North entrance pic had a few more stones on the break walls lining the river that flows out of Alpena. Figuring the odds of anyone removing stone while shifting the marina’s entrance was slim, I was banking on a Northern entrance.

The large freighter dock was just North of the city and the quarry stone lining the break walls were huge. I dropped my sails and crossed my fingers that the motor would fire up on the fumes. As I edged up to the wall I could see the boat masts on the other side but couldn’t see an entrance. The wall wrapped around back to the freighter dock with no entrance. Not even for the river that was on the charts.

As I idled just off the rocks cold, tired and hungry I decided to radio the local Coast Guard station and find out for sure which end I was headed to before I got in too close, ran out of fuel and had the waves smash me into the break wall. It doesn’t take long to realize that the Coast Guard sucks when dealing with them. I lost all respect for the anal retentive bastards before I was done that night.

I was close to running out of fuel and having my boat ripped to shreds on the rocks. I had to leave the helm and go below to use the radio leaving the boat drifting blindly in the waves. All I wanted was the answer to a simple question. Was the entrance to the marina on the North end or South end? A simple one word answer when seconds count….But not with the Coast Bastards.

First I had to answer a long list of questions, was I wearing a life vest, how many people were on board, size of the vessel, my registration numbers from the hull, did I have the proper flares on board, did the boat have an inboard or an outboard engine, my name and home address and my point of origin and destination blah blah blah..

After five minutes of serious grilling I was finally asked my position. I was sternly told that directly off the marina’s break wall was not good enough and they would require an exact GPS coordinate before they could answer my question. I once again stressed the point that I was running out of fuel and asked why my GPS position had any bearing on which end of the marina the entrance was on. I was then threatened with arrest for interfering with the duties of an officer!

I gave them my GPS coordinates and was told to wait for their response. My motor was starting to sputter and miss due to air in the short gas line. I waited for what seemed like forever as the big ass rocks got closer and closer.

Several minutes later the Coast Guard asshole came back on the radio calling me. He told me that their radar was down so they had no way to confirm that the GPS coordinates I gave them were my true position and as such Coast Guard policy won’t allow them to tell me which end of the marina the entrance is on. I again expressed my feeling that my exact position has nothing to do with answering the initial question of whether the marina entrance was on the North side or not. I was told their transmission was ending and they could not help me. The bastards knowingly left me in the dark at the mercy of the rocks running out of fuel in three foot waves. The idiots spent ten critical minutes fucking with me before telling me to fuck off. Should I ever come across a Coast Guard member in need of help I will treat them likewise. These dickheads are out of control in the Great Lakes harassing every boater they can for their own amusement. The day of the friendly Coast Guard or Marine Sheriff has gone the way of the friendly neighborhood cop. It doesn’t exist anymore. We now are overrun with a bunch of overzealous Nazi storm troopers with attitude problems, a chip on their shoulder and something to prove.

I called on the radio for assistance from anyone else that could answer my question. It was late so I didn’t expect an answer. But I was lucky enough to get an old guy to answer me back! His answer was simple and to the point. He said “go to the green light……” and then seemed to stop mid sentence. I told him he was cut off and he responded with the same half sentence. This is when the freighter illuminated the wall with his spotlight. The whole area was lit up brighter than day and the green marker light was off to my right. I looked at the marker light on the wall and saw nothing but rock. The motor coughed some more telling me to do something fast or all was lost. I figured the only clue I had was the light so I dropped the outboard into gear and started chugging towards it with my fingers crossed.

As I motored down the wall to the green light it seemed hopeless. Nothing but a big break wall and a light that makes no sense.

Then like something out of an Indiana Jones movie as I passed the light the wall opened up to reveal the river and the marina entrance. The entrance light was in a second wall that extended out into the bay enough to hide the river from view from where I had drifted to while being fucked over by the Coast Guard. I didn’t realize it till then but the freighter was pointing the way and probably the person that answered my plea for directions.

I rounded the light and sputtered up the river and swung into the marina. I coughed and missed my way down the row of docks looking for the fuel dock. My thinking was to dock for the night right at the gas dock because I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get the engine started in the morning to back out of a dock and go get gas. I wanted to find the gas dock while I had momentum. About half way down the row of docks the motor spit its last cough of life and went dead. I had enough speed up to keep gliding down the channel. Sure enough as I was slowing to a crawl the fuel dock came into sight! I made a smooth wide turn to keep my slow glide moving and eased up to the dock stopping just short of my destination. Running out onto the bow I was able to catch a dock pole with my boat hook and pull the boat in to safety.

I tied her up and broke out an emergency bottle of Jack Daniels while slapping together some canned goods for dinner in the electric fry pan. I was starving since I was unable to eat the whole day due to the weather forcing me to man the tiller nonstop. I quickly collapsed for the night happy to be in one piece and still smiling from the adrenaline of pulling off a caper that close to the edge.

I was sure that after that the rest of the trip would be a breeze. I obviously had no idea what evils laid ahead of me the next day…

 

Harrisville by the way of Hell

The next leg of the journey will be up this week