Skip to main content

GLCC couple puts club information to good use

Posted by Glcc Office
November 7, 2024

2024 FOUNDERS AWARD

Al & Beth Mansfield with Commodore Doug Jackson

The Founders Award is an annual GLCC member award for the best cruising log of a cruise on the Great Lakes. Its primary purpose is to recognize members for exemplary skills and artistry in recording their cruises on the Great Lakes. This year’s winning entry comes from members Al and Beth Mansfield, who sail out of Pikes Bay Marina (S192.5) near Bayfield, Wis. Their submission chronicles an extended Lake Superior cruise aboard their Catalina 40 Beans and Nibs. Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

Summer Travels on Lake Superior – 2023

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Although we live in Cleveland Ohio, we keep our Catalina 400 sailboat, Beans and Nibs at Pikes Bay Marina outside of Bayfield, Wis.. Mostly we do day sails or overnight and weekend sails to the Apostle Islands, but every year we take an extended journey to explore a little more of the lake we have come to love. These are the stories of the 2023 trip, written based on our logbook.

Bayfield, Wis., to Houghton, Mich. (8/18/23 80.6nm 1700hr-1300hr, one hour lost to time change)

Heading to Keweenaw Peninsula

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It appeared out of nowhere. A boat plopped down on the chart plotter off to our port side and well astern. It was early evening and we had just lost sight of Madeline Island in the rear distance. We couldn’t see the boat, perhaps due to the haze, and AIS (a transponder that shows other vessels in the area) said it was traveling at 5.5 knots and was 36 feet. 

I welcomed the company as we were sailing overnight from Bayfield to Houghton on Michigan’s Keweenaw Peninsula (96-some nautical miles) and there was no one else out on the calm water as far as we could see. Sailing alone on a dark night can give you the willies if you let it!

We had just turned the motor off as the wind picked up again to 9 knots and we were cruising at 6 knots. Leaving Bayfield, we had motored over to Madeleine Island. When the wind accelerated, we put up the main and genoa. Unfortunately it didn’t last even an hour and we dropped sail and motored. But now we were very happy to see it return. 

We settled in for the evening and a long night ahead as the wind held fairly constant, between 9 and 13 knots, out of the southeast (beam to broad reach all night), ideal cruising conditions. Our buddy boat was still in the distance with speeds varying between 5 and 6.5 knots, indicating to us that it must be a sailboat or perhaps a trawler, but we still did not have visual contact.

As darkness fell and we turned on running lights, the phantom boat disappeared from the screen! Where’d he go? Did he turn off his instruments? Encounter a problem, possibly requiring our assistance? No pan pans, maydays, or DSC notifications so we continued on, though a bit perplexed. About an hour later he popped back up on the screen, only a little closer this time.

The race was on! 

As the moonless night grew dark, the stars came out, so numerous it was like a black veil festooned with glitter so dense it was difficult to spot individual stars. We checked the speed of our phantom boat often. We could now see its running lights in the distance and its course mimicked ours. Sometimes we were faster, but sometimes not.

After dinner, my husband, Al, took watch while I slept, during which time the wind abated and our speed dropped. The phantom was getting ahead. Al didn’t want to wake me so he didn’t turn the motor on and our speed dropped below 5 knots. 

During my watch I checked the phantom boat’s speed often and then checked the trim of our sails. But then he disappeared again from the chartplotter! When I could next see his running lights and AIS data, he was clear ahead and I speculated on the type of race boat it might be to constantly outsail us by 0.1 to 0.5 knots. 

After all, the Trans Superior Race had just happened a few weeks earlier and it was possible this was a competitor returning home. As the darkness gave way near dawn, the wind accelerated and we stopped to put a reef in the main as we were overpowered. 

The distance between us grew while we were distracted by reefing, but when we got back on course we started to gain on him. On and on we went until I could just make out a tall stick in the distance. 

We were sailing 7-8 knots to his 6.5, but alas, it wasn’t enough and he turned into the Keweenaw canal waterway after lowering sails clear ahead and out of sight. Though we had hoped to catch up in the canal waterway, it didn’t happen. It was always just around the bend.

In the distance, I saw it pull over to dock just before the lift bridge, but I still couldn’t make out the type of boat it was and, being curious, we walked over that way later in the day after docking, a nap, and lunch to have a look. 

Far from it being a fancy race boat, it was a well-kitted-out heavy blue water cruiser, a Valiant. There being a park bench nearby, we sat down and contemplated all the accessories it was carrying: two paddleboards, dinghy on the foredeck, staysail, Starlink, solar, wind generator, hard top dodger, and canvas to name a few. Clearly these were cruisers on a different level than casual weekenders.

We were just contemplating leaving when a couple walked up and said, “Hi there! Can we answer any questions about the boat?” Uh, yeah! 

Long conversation later, we learned that they had motored quite a bit of the way, where we only motored a short distance getting around Madeline Island. Aha! They cheated! And they were just as curious about us as we were of them during the night. In this small world on a big lake they keep their boat in the adjoining marina to ours and we have probably walked by it numerous times on our walks.

It’s comforting to have someone else out there in the middle of the dark night when the wind gets frisky, but it’s equally entertaining to race each other over the length of an otherwise tedious passage. And while no trophy was involved, meeting fellow cruisers from a neighboring marina is prize enough. 

It’s one more strand in the web of connections we are making in our journey.

 

Houghton to Copper Harbor, Mich. (8/20/23 36nm 0700hr-1319hr)

Keweenaw Waterway

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Copper Harbor Light

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The lift bridge rose at 7 a.m. and we were off, heading back up the waterway towards the lake while sipping coffee and eating breakfast. 

At that hour on a Sunday, it was blessedly peaceful, as opposed to the day before when it was a raceway for power boats whose wake tossed us all evening as we were docked on the wall in town. 

It’s a two-hour ride to the entrance and the only sign of life for most of it was a lone slalom water skier out for an early morning run before all hell breaks loose on the water.

The wind was brisk at the entrance so we put up our sails and headed north along the coast of copper country in Michigan doing 6-8 knots. 

Once we rounded the top of the peninsula, the wind died and we motored the final hour until we got to the bell buoy announcing the treacherous entrance between the rocks to access the harbor. 

Harbor Reports and Bonnie Dahl’s book give all kinds of guidance on this process: follow the range marker assiduously, watch out for this rock and those shallows. Stay in the center of the channel. When you approach the marina, don’t swing wide. Watch for the rock 25 feet from the dock. Shallows are everywhere! I barely took my eyes off the depth instrument to watch where I was going.

There was a group waiting for us when we got there because the slip we had been assigned was not vacant. There was only one slip available and it was the first one as you rounded the end of the dock, meaning a very tight turn to get in. 

Fortunately, the wind was down and it was only a 3pt turn to dock. We settled in, cleaned up and walked the mile into town to a wonderful white tablecloth restaurant, Harbor Haus, on the water that had a thimbleberry mojito as a special. Sold! 

I never would have expected this type of restaurant to survive in such a small community, but it was Sunday night and there was only one table available without a reservation. With a view of the harbor, we dined on duck breast with lingonberries and planked whitefish wrapped in bacon with a warm apple bread pudding a la mode for dessert. We definitely needed the one mile walk back to the boat!

At the opposite end of the harbor is a state park and the site of Fort Wilkins, a very well-conceived and restored tribute to the army men stationed here in the 1840s to protect the Copper Harbor townspeople from the Chippewa and Anishinaabe natives. (Or was it the other way around?) 

The town was populated with miners attracted to the area for its copper veins. But life was pretty grim, especially if you got sick. The camp doctor would cut you to bleed or soak a cloth in alcohol and put it on your abdomen and light it on fire so you would blister, or feed you poisonous plants to induce severe vomiting among other tortures. I think I would have trusted the natives with their herbal remedies first. 

The penalty for drunkenness on duty was 45 days in the clink with bread and water and hard labor. The cells were windowless, 5 x 9 wooden rooms that were dark and very damp. Winters must have been harsh.

All supplies were brought to Copper Harbor by boat as there were no roads. We wondered at the abilities of those captains to maneuver a large ship through the treacherous reef at the opening under sail and without instrumentation. 

Indeed, at least one, the John Jacob Astor didn’t make it in a storm when her anchor failed to hold. If you were to view the area from the water, it boggles the mind to think of how early Americans even thought to go to this area as the shoreline is totally tree-covered.

We left Copper Harbor intent on returning to rent mountain bikes to explore the many offroad trails here. But we also left with a far greater appreciation for modern medicine and marine electronics. Our ancestors achieved so much in spite of such a harsh existence; I wonder what will future generations say of our generation and its achievements for

society’s good?

We’re headed to Isle Royale to explore a cove we missed the last time we were here before heading to Canada for the ultimate anchor test yet!

Copper Harbor to Rock Harbor, Isle Royale National Park  (8/22/23 39nm 0730hr-1630hr)

Isle Royale-Mycologist Collection

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This bustling metropolis on Isle Royale boasts four transient boat slips, diesel and gas (the only place on the island), a gift shop, small sundry store (a lot of MREs), and a lodge. Ferry boats from Houghton and Copper Harbor visit on a regular schedule, bringing backpackers and lodge guests. This is considered remote wilderness: no roads, cell service or WIFI.

It is meant for the hardy (or foolhardy), and boats attuned to the whims of Lake Superior and its weather. So we were a little surprised to pull into the harbor and see, not a seasoned cruising sailboat, but a go-fast J122 racing sailboat, named Blitzkrieg. These tender boats boast no cushy accommodations, no salon dining table, no fridge, no bimini or dodger, and spare bunks. Of course we had to find out more.

From her captain we learned that the crew of three were transporting the boat from Duluth, Minn., to Toledo Ohio,, having just finished the Trans Superior race, where they placed 5th in ORC, 7th in line honors. 

That race was a drifter this year. A few years back it had won the Chicago-to-Mackinac Island race. And although Isle Royale was a bit out of the way (by quite a lot), they decided to take a side trip to see a few of Lake Superior’s major attractions. 

They thought they would sail overnight from Duluth to Windigo, Isle Royale’s southernmost point, but the winds were calm and they motored the entire distance, arriving with what they estimated was a paltry 2 gallons of diesel fuel in the tank. But what they didn’t know was that there is no diesel or gasoline in Windigo, only Rock Harbor. 

They would have to sail the entire distance, about 52 statute miles, regardless of the winds. They reserved what fuel they had to navigate the long channel leading to Windigo Harbor and getting through the straits leading to Rock Harbor. 

Sailing an expensive boat that wasn’t theirs, in an area they did not know well, I can only imagine the stress they felt. Fortunately they made it. Their plan was to sail across to Copper Harbor for one night and then continue on to Marquette, Mich. 

They had no information on Copper Harbor, or Marquette for that matter, especially the details of negotiating all the reefs and shallows of Copper Harbor, so they took pictures of our Bonnie Dahl guidebook with them. The winds were expected to be up to 20, gusting to 35. They left at 4 a.m., hoping to avoid bad weather. The boat normally crews with 11, so they were missing a significant amount of ballast for those winds and waves. I don’t recall the direction the wind was to have been, but I hope it wasn’t on the nose.

There are several good hikes in Rock Harbor, and this time we took the one that goes all the way to the eastern point of the island, the Scoville Trail. This pleasant trail follows the coastline to the point, passing through forests and bog areas.

We snacked on thimbleberries that we found along the way, supplemented by Triscuits and cheddar cheese curds, a northwoods specialty. The views at the end are reminiscent of Maine, complete with howling wind and waves. The lake was showing her temper! 

On the way back, we encountered folks hunting for wild blueberries in the rocky areas and the island’s artist-in-residence, a research mycologist from the Field Museum of Natural History in Chicago, studying and collecting the various species of mushrooms on the island. 

She was the lucky person staying in the cabin we saw on the end of the island for three weeks, without running water, heat, or electricity. She’s hoping to write a book on the mushrooms of Isle Royale. 

When we came upon her, she and her companion had their faces in the low weeds and we assumed they were hunting thimbleberries. But they were actually marveling at a minuscule mushroom on a log, no larger than a small snail. We were privileged to see the fruits of her collecting for the day, which did not include any of the more mundane varieties that I saw.

We had an early dinner of a bland pizza from the grill restaurant and went to bed tied to a dock. I slept peacefully. We were headed next to the closest thing to a fiord on the island – McCargoe Cove. But we almost turned back.

McCargoe Cove, Isle Royale  (8/23/23 16nm 1000hr-1430hr)

McCargoe cove with Rainbow

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A light fog met us as we turned the corner to head up the channel to the tip of the island where we would head north and then west to go through the Amygdaloid Channel towards the entrance to McCargoe Cove. 

The fog didn’t let up and instead hovered in the air reducing visibility to about 50 feet. I turned on the foghorn app on the hailer and turned on running lights, ‘cause I sure didn’t want to hit anyone coming in the opposite direction, particularly one of the ferry boats that ply these waters. 

It’s tricky in clear air to negotiate these channels; it’s down-right white knuckle driving in fog. My eyes were glued to the chart plotter as it showed our position relative to the little reefs and islands in the channel and my gut did flip flops as it tried to tell me, “Turn back. Turn back. The dock is your friend today.” Some days I listen to my gut; some days I think it needs a therapist. And no, the fog didn’t let up. 

We skipped the Amygdaloid Channel and went out into the open water just past it, sacrificing the shelter from wind and waves it provided, but gaining security in the knowledge that at least we wouldn’t hit something. I couldn’t see it anyways, though it was just off my port side.

Shortly after the Amygdaloid Channel ended on the chart plotter (my only source of knowledge as to its whereabouts), we veered to port very slowly, all the while searching for the entrance to the Cove. My husband, Al, was on the foredeck keeping watch for rocks and markers. “Can you see anything? The plotter says it’s just ahead to port.” 

This was one of those “Keep the green mark to port, watching for shallows and rocks. Then round the red marker to starboard, watching for shallows and rocks.” Really?! In fog?! Am I crazy? Apparently so. 

We crept through the S curve and prayed no one else was coming in the opposite direction. As we entered the deep channel, it was as if we were in a movie as the mist parted, the sun shone, and the shoreline became visible. It was a beautiful long channel that extended well over a mile with a high shoreline lined with trees, providing excellent shelter from the wind. We looked back at the foggy entrance in amazement.

This is one of the most popular coves on Isle Royale, so much so that a small ferry comes down the channel several times a week to pick up and drop off campers. There are shelters and campsites at the end and we wondered whether we would encounter others as we picked our anchorage spot. 

The shoreline is littered with fallen trees in the water, so we went well into the middle to drop the anchor hoping we wouldn’t snag a limb. The wind was expected to pipe up to 20-25 knots overnight with a squall. But against my better judgment, we only put out a 5:1 scope instead of 7-10 to 1, which is the usual overnight recommended scope. It seemed like we were past the middle of the narrow inlet and we didn’t want the ferry boat, or another cruiser, snagging our rode, which was laying crosswise in the channel. I’m counting on that 75 feet of chain to hold us.

We spent the balance of the day hiking, avoiding rain drops, and looking out for moose and other campers and cruisers, but only saw one lone camper, who was enjoying the solitude. Wind whistled through the trees, which always unnerves me, and the sky grew dark. SiriusXM weather showed a cluster of lightning bolts to the northwest that were headed our way. Oh joy.

The rain came. The lightning came. The worst was when the hail came, pelting the canvas and the plastic dodger windows. 

The rode stretched out and I watched the Anchor Alarm diligently (OK, fretfully) waiting for the anchor to drag and the alarm to sound. Why oh why didn’t we drop more rode?? 

I also watched the shoreline, mentally calculating the distance to doom should we drag towards it. Could we let out more rode? No, not really. Huddled in the cabin below, I couldn’t tell how strong the winds were, having last seen 17 knots before retreating below deck. 

All the rags and towels were out sopping up water around the leaking port lights and the mast. (Yet another boat project to do when we return.) The deluge and wind continued for what seemed like hours until the rain stopped and the wind gusts settled down to a modest 12-14 knots. And the Anchor Alarm never peeped through it all!

The next day the winds were forecast in the 20-knot range and we opted to remain in the protection of the cove, where the winds ranged from 5-12 knots and the rain came and went all day. However the following day, in relative calm, we hoisted the anchor and headed out.

Unfortunately, our lovely, shiny new anchor came up with some difficulty. It was totally crusted with a thick coating of mud. It had done its job well. In the light of day and no fog, we set our course for Canada and some new adventures there

Thunder Bay, Ont. (8/27/23 27nm 1415hr-1700hr 1030hr-1630hr)

Dockhands-Prince Arthur Landing, Thunder Bay

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thunder Bay

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This wasn’t supposed to be on our itinerary as we visited Thunder Bay last year. Alas, we weren’t able to ring up Canadian border crossing with no cell service when we got to T Harbor, a bay at the base of the Sleeping Giant National Park, so we headed in, checked in at the gas dock, and took a slip for the night. 

We mentioned to the marina attendants that we were headed to Thompson Island for their famous sauna but had been told to bring firewood. Did they know where we could purchase a bundle? Like at a grocery store or nearby hardware store? They thought they could find some for us. Great! We went off to get some supplies at the gourmet imported grocery store. 

Shortly after we returned, the two marina attendants rolled up in their Gator utility vehicle with the back end chock full of firewood. Besides being slightly stunned, we didn’t quite know where to put it all. We took a fair amount, but not all of it, cramming it in the anchor locker, 5-gallon bucket, and just stacked at the helm.

Once again, the folks at Prince Arthur Marina went above and beyond in customer service and we left sure we would return again. But for now, we’re headed to Thompson Island, the one place that virtually everyone you talk to says is a MUST in Canada.

Thompson Island, Ont. (8/28/23 18nm 1400hr-1915hr)

Dock at Thompson Island

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thompson Island

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We’re going there?? The first glimpse of the island left a lot to be desired! It looked like a giant craggy rock with crashing waves, not some wondrous island hideaway. What were we getting into? And where was the entrance to this hidden bay? Usually we try to have alternatives if a spot doesn’t pan out, and the wind direction told us that this could be marginal with the wind headed right into the entrance. 

But we carried on, slowly entering the bay and going down the protected tree and rock lined channel until we were met with a U-shaped dock, a building (the sauna), a dock extending down from the sauna into the bay, and a large power boat tied in the middle of the u-shaped dock.

After docking, we took a quick look around before returning to the boat for dinner. That’s when the occupant of the power boat popped his head out to say hello. He claims he slept through our little grounding mishap. Huh. It was epically noisy with the dinghy revved to the max, the bow thruster going and the motor at high rpms trying to nudge 23,000 pounds sideways over a stony bottom. But, whatever. We eventually got out. 

Thompson Island was developed by Thunder Bay Yacht Club volunteers who built the extensive dock (which is secured into the rocks on shore by cables), the sauna, an outhouse, fire pit, cabana with picnic tables, and elaborate trails to a beach and a lookout point. The trail to the lookout point incorporates climbing ropes and ladders, benches at lookout points, and safety ropes at ledges. They have self-funded and maintained the site for many years and it has a decidedly family party vibe.

Their technical skills are impressive and the lengths they have gone to create Shangri-La gives me the impression that they are an interesting and fun group of people.  

Three other boats came in the next day, one of which carried an 8-foot keel. It was all hands on deck to move boats to make room for the newcomers, who race out of Thunder Bay.

Normally they would have rafted off of us, but we were leaving the next morning very early so everyone opted to squeeze in for the night and reshuffle once we were gone. The unstated rule is that rafting is expected (often with 3-4 abreast) and no one is ever turned away. That would be quite a party on a warm summer night.

After a full day of hiking, lounging in the sauna and chit-chatting with our Canadian friends, we turned in. We’ll be up before the sun to make our way to Grand Marais, our last waypoint before heading back to Pikes Bay. Thompson Island was fun but the weather is turning and we’re ready to head back to water, electricity, and WIFI.

 

The Tale of Two Lakes:

Thompson Harbor to Grand Marais, Minn. (8/30/23 49nm 0630-1900)

Grand Marais to Pikes Bay Marina  (8/31/23 51nm 0730hr-1845hr)

Crossing from Grand Marais to Pikes Bay

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The morning started peacefully enough. It was still dark and quite cold when we pulled out of Thompson Bay at 6:30 a.m., with wind out of the west at 4 knots. As we turned southwest to follow the coast, the sun was just a faint glow on the horizon and the water was fairly flat, only 1-2-foot waves. 

The forecast called for light winds, so we anticipated motoring most of the way to Grand Marais, our last stop before returning to the marina at Pikes Bay. 

I watched the sun creep over the horizon while I sipped some hot coffee and contemplated the day. The waves had created an unpleasant surge during the night, slapping the hull in a non-rhythmic pattern, jolting us awake just as we dozed off, but in true cruel fashion, settling down just as the wake-up alarm sounded. And as I stood there watching the sun rise, I wondered, did Lake Superior have as crappy a night as we did?

Soon the wind picked up a notch and we put up the mainsail, goosing our speed ever so slightly. Shortly thereafter, we unfurled the head sail. That’s when Lake Superior started shaking the carpet under us and letting us know she’s in a pissy mood! 

The breeze clocked forward, rattling the headsail, causing Al to trim it in, causing the boat to heel, causing the coffee to spill all over the countertops below as I was trying to prep breakfast. The wind continued its march forward, ultimately landing squarely on the nose, making the headsail ineffective, so it was rolled up. She really had a bug in her rug! 

The winds steadily increased to 14-17 knots sustained right on the nose, with gusts over 20 knots. Clouds overhead threatened a storm all day and kept the air quite chilly. But she wasn’t done with us yet. No, Superior was just getting started. 

She shook the carpet again and sent waves, 2 feet, then 3 feet, then 4 feet, with periodic 6-7-foot walls in sets of two very close together, thus ensuring that you bury the bow in the oncoming wave if you weren’t paying acute attention and bear off. 

Maintaining a thumb-line course was impossible as we were only realizing about 3 knots forward momentum and enduring a real pounding going through the waves which stopped any forward progress. 

Our only course of action was to fall off 10-20 degrees and tack our way to Grand Marais. That way, we could achieve about 4-5 knots boat speed, though it cost us by being a zigzag route.

The salon looked like a tornado had been through with cushions sliding onto the floor as the boat heeled with the wind. 

The 5-gallon jug of fresh water in the v-berth crashed to the floor, spilling its contents. The heavy tool bag, already on the floor, skidded across the aisle, making an obstacle course along with the cushions as I made my way to the head (boat bathroom), all the while holding onto railings so I wouldn’t crash into something myself. I reached the door to the head, turned the handle, went in, and slammed the door behind me just as we went through a large wave and crashed at the bottom of it, sending my shoulder hard against the towel rack at a not natural position. Well, that was going to hurt for a while I thought.

Sensing impending need, I seated myself upon the throne just as we crested another monster wave and came crashing down. I was briefly airborne on that one. The thought crossed my mind that that would be an unfortunate place to be should for some reason the boat decide to break up just then. 

Needless to say, I quickly got out of there and vowed to drink less water for the rest of the day. It was a stressful afternoon of white-knuckle steering and deep-knee bends as I turned the wheel to finesse each wave, leaning into each quarter turn of the wheel, sensing the rudder going through the water and becoming one with the sea. This was not a day for the autohelm.

Old Lady Superior may be ruffling her skirts, but she wasn’t going to get the best of

us. Besides, even if we wanted to, there was no safe harbor between Thompson Island and Grand Marais to duck into. Thirteen and a half hours (we gained an hour) and 49 nautical miles  later, we attached to a mooring ball at Grand Marais at 1900hr, totally exhausted and physically spent.

Running the engine so hard had used up a lot of coolant, which we discovered later was due to a hose leak. So we didn’t head out again the next morning until we picked up some extra coolant and a few donuts from the World’s Best Donut Shop. 

At 7:30 a.m.,, when we finally left the harbor, the sun was shining, the clouds were puffy white, the water flat, and the breeze warm and inviting. We put up the main around 10:30 when the wind crested 5 knots and boosted our speed by falling off a few degrees. 

It was effortless cruising with the autohelm so we pulled out books and cushions and relaxed in the cockpit. Around 1 p.m.,  Lady Superior woke up and puffed out a constant 8-10 knots, allowing us to put out the head sail and turn off the motor. 

She kept it up the rest of the afternoon, even providing copious amounts of sunshine, and we arrived at the dock 11.5 hrs and 51 nautical miles later having had one of the best, most relaxing sails of the summer.

It was the perfect way to end our cruising adventure, more so for having endured the previous day. Old Lady Superior may have been peeved, may have been warning us of her ultimate power the day before, but today she was quite the charming lady, laying out her best behavior, teasing us as she often does to keep us coming back again and again to explore, to play, to drink in the intoxicating and addicting atmosphere of her glory and that of the islands and ports within her boundaries. 

But make no mistake, she is a power not to be challenged, but respected. And the more we sail in her the more we are charmed by her, temper tantrums notwithstanding.

We headed out for one last fling on Stockton Island before taking down the sails and beginning the painful process of decommissioning. We camped on the boat in the parking lot while finishing the waxing and painting we did to prepare for spring. 

Once all the dirty laundry, sundry dry goods, safety equipment and supplies were crammed into the car, we said good night to Beans and Nibs , drove away, and closed out another season of adventure on Lake Superior.