River Runs Black and Sky Follows

As if in the wake of our nourishment in Ontonagon, we were met with tail winds as we glided gently out of the harbor's entrance (after enjoying our first "drip-coffee" in months with our new friends on the dock).  At first our spirits sank with the light winds at our tail.  The sorry combination of waves and light winds never make for a good downwind sail.

Something about the green rolling hills of the Porcupine Mountains ahead and the bright sun above propelled us forward regardless, pulling sails down motoring.  Perhaps moments passed, I immersed in worship and praise, however long it was, the winds soon began to blow.  Our bodies reacted in ease, our hands knowing the slight movements and actions required to get the wind-catching-beauties up above our heads once more.

Before we knew it, we were gliding along at a comfortable easy pace.  And it never stopped, the winds only increased, bringing larger wave sizes and more billowing to our sails.  To our delight, the day only got faster, more comfortable, and more beautiful.

Before we knew what was even happening, we were surfing down crest after crest.  Our sails happy and full of perfect and consistent winds.  We were flying, with top speeds of 5.9 knots.  Majestic and triumphant, every splash of the wave was as a cymbal's crash in an orchestra of synchronized beauty, with the sparkling sun like delightful bar chimes and the streaming water on the hull like low undertones.  Everything was overwhelmingly joyful. It's not every day you get to surf in Superior's waves at top speeds with a strong sail that doesn't make you feel that danger is headed your direction. The towering mountains beside us, untouched and uncivilized only added to the esteem of two journeyers. 

Pulling into Black River's harbor, the sun was still high in the sky, even after a meandering morning, leaving us plenty of time to continue with our meandering sort of day.  This place, on the outskirts of the Porcupine Mountains is an end-of-the-road sort of place.  As we walked up to the park, we carried the look of weathered sailors, our faces with the freshness of a wind's blow and brightness of a sun's rays, we encountered a place where the river is truly black, the parks are full of playing children, the suspension bridge creaks with pleasant walkers...and soon to follow was a beaming Corey with a pizza in hand for the sake of our continued happiness splurging, in the way we splurge that is.

Trails lead from the harbor along this "beer like" river, more meandering through forests rich with glowing green mosses and gigantic trees some untouched by logging industries of the past.  There was a certain kind of lightness in our step, and we continued where our feet led.

Angel Falls was the end of the path.  Twas truly angelic as most waterfalls have the tendency to be.  The freedom in which the water cascades down the rocks, with complete abandonment and lack of fear.  A picture of individual vessels unified by a singular cause.  I know now why the crystal river flows from the "throne room" spoken of in Revelation 22.   We gazed upon the greatness of such a thing, and continued our path.

The following peak we happened upon, was none other, than a clearing looking West.  West, our long awaited destination of the Apostle Islands.  There they were, silhouettes in the gleaming sun, beckoning us to head their way.  We were within sight, of a place we had spoken and attempted to reach for 3 years.  And at last, we were upon their periphery.  

The night brought continued "splurging" as we were on our first dock of the journey (as the "wall" in Houghton was a free commodity of the city's giving without anything besides a secure place to wrap our dock lines...which is all we ever really need anyhow).  Not that docks are very useful to our vessel as we take no electricity or water, however, the outlet provided charging for our laptop, meaning one thing.  Movie time.  We felt like children in a 'candy store' as we feasted on curry/olive-oil/salty popcorn and huddled under our only blanket to watch the last hour of the classic James Bond: You Only Live Twice that happened to be saved on Corey's computer.  This was unbelievably civilized and delightfully comfortable, to allow ourselves to be entertained mindlessly.

The next morning, storms were predicted.  We waited a while for dark clouds to pass, and decided to head out, reefed the main, and prepared for battle.  So departure after another meandering morning, we were met with familiarly terrifying dark skies and mean winds.  The immediate scars of our Huron Islands experience back in 2011 resurfaced in our souls.  We tried our main for a moment, reefed to the smallest triangle possible, and were immediately knocked down.  Releasing it quickly, we brought the main back down, and the gusts only increased.  We were healing intensely without any sail up, just by the beam of our boat and height of our mast.

There would be no going in this Northwester gusting above 25 knots.  We pulled back into the Black River, followed by black skies.  We restlessly waited around.  Hanging our hammocks (a process to find the "perfect spot" as usual) and finally when tucked in with books and pillows, to only be quickly followed by rains.  The park was quickly becoming deserted.  We bathed ourselves in the coldest ice water we've ever felt (all those North lake waters blowing our way).  Did the sorts of things we could think of doing...and finally, weather started to feel like it was calming.

So heading out again, the winds were seemingly light. Taking the reefs out of main and wrestling the large jib back on, we were sailing.  Only to find extreme gusts to follow soon after.  Changing the jib for a third time, storm jib was back on and running, however combined with the full main, it was still too much sail.  Thinking of messing with the reefing system on our main again, we decided not to.  You see, this is jiffy-rigged and complicated to set up, add that to rough rolling seas. I was taking on the usual duties of deck hand, and quickly becoming fed-up with getting beat up by whipping sails in my face and booms in the gut and such things.  The winds were only increasing.  But we couldn't go back, we had done enough sitting around waiting for weather windows in Houghton, so we decided to take this thing head on.

We geared up with dry suits and lifejackets (more for sake of warmth, less for sake of safety, but together it's a great feeling of security).  And proceeded to get washed with gallon after gallon after gallon of refreshing waters and winds.  The waves increased, and gusts came with them.  Motoring into the current and into the waves wasn't the most practical or fuel-efficient decision, but with Madeline Island in sight, we were head-strong determined to arrive at our long-awaited destination. Leaving well after 5, probably wasn't right either, but we're young and not afraid of the dark I suppose.

It got progressively "chillier" and the sun was now directly the direction we were going.  However, focusing on the glittering golden path while navigating every dip, dive and turn the waves required, had a sort of enjoyment to it in itself.  Thankful once more for the greatness of our drysuits and Corey's polarized glasses.

When we were within a tangible distance of Madeline Island, some of the outer islands blocked the intensity of the waves, and the intense beauty of the sun took on its own splendor.  We were now shivering at this point, but delighted as we crawled over each mile to our destination.

So with the dusk's light leading us into the safe refuge of "Big Bay" on the island, the last pieces of light started to dissipate with the oncoming darkness. However, it just so happened that the full moon rose behind us, sending us a silvery moonlit path to light our way into the unfamiliar territory.

The wind and waves were then lost on the other side of the island and could no longer whip our faces and rock our bodies.  We anchored with ease, and after shutting off the motor around 10pm, realized how loud we must have been coming into the silent anchorage (yelling out depths and such things.)  So beautiful and peaceful.

A sailor does not find sleep more inviting than after day that challenges the "stabilizing muscles" of one's body, or after a day that truly weather's and season's the soul.   

But here we were, toasting over a mug of steaming coco, officially in the grand Apostle Islands, THE sailing capital of Lake Superior.  At last, we have arrived.

Stay tuned, more dark skies ahead,

M