Troughs and Crests

Though we have left the days of Houghton in our wake, and pulling up the memory of those days is a fog, as currently I am surrounded by a whole new world  including very loud BB King tunes and lamb chops coming our way), you can see that my recollection attempts might be somewhat distracted.

Regardless, our long days in Houghton brought some further productivity paralleling with some irony.  You see for the day that Corey and I decided to do such things as scrubbing the hull and the tedious labors of hand-washing all of our clothes in the canal river water:

 

Just so happens, that this day also happened to be the first time in years that the city manholes from the streets were overfilled with the recent heavy rains, causing their overflow to be poured out to a place in the canal that just-so-happened to be just meters from our boat.  Not that the water looked quite like this during our chores, but steadily increased to this beautiful-not-so-beautiful-in-thought array of oils and gasses as the day passed on!  I had just been preparing to jump in for my daily bath and wash the dishes, when I noticed the smell accompanying a dramatic cloud of colors surrounding, just the area around our boat.  And nowhere else. Such is boat life..

We were blessed by friendship and bikes from Mike, one of Corey's close friends in Houghton from his past-hockey days. Delightful it was, finding our way around the city, breezing down hills and happening upon wilderness trails.  You'd be surprised to find how fast a set of wheels beneath your body feels when you've been tugging across the water with limited speeds. 

And finally, the weather broke from mean dark clouds that (like the men-flexing-muscles in speedboats) also have the tendency to flex their muscles, just daring us to risk an outing on the Superior waters.  

This day, turned out to be a hair-pulling, self-screaming sort of insanity trip.  For reasons that cannot be well made understood to the readers I'm sure, but enough to turn two relatively-sane into the relatively-insane.  

So I suppose it began with the kicking-ourselves for not leaving Friday, a day that seemed perfect in the oh-so-intangible world of retrospect.  So Saturday we set out to what seemed like a perfect day for sailing (ha), after days of being tied to a concrete wall feeling antsy to leave.  Then another kicking of the self, for we had not brought our spinnaker. With the wind directly at our back combined with the sloshing, inconsistent, multitude of waves of Superior at our stern, were just enough to provide a less than 2.5 knot (speed) experience, and decreasing.  Meaning, that for the long Houghton->Ontonogan stretch, we had wimpy, flapping, loud and unresponsive sails.   Providing much impatience on our behalf.  

Not to mention, that the septic was full, and probably over full, causing a terrible smell on a sloshing boat with not enough wind to blow the smells away.  (Also, the kicking of ourselves for not taking the 10 minutes, to empty in Houghton before departure.)  Something about it being a hot-sun-filled day was also causing Corey a terrible headache (not caused by dehydration, trust me, I'm on that water-pushing remedy too) so he was desperate for shade as our deck provides none.  So guess the best place for his shade and resting, was in the bow/v-berth quarters, which also happened to be right above the holding tank.  Well long emotion-filled-story short, I had been taking the helm for many hours while he rested, and my own bladder needed a break and I didn't want to disrupt the sleeping man who was now taking about his stomach pains.  So let's just say I had a melt down from my impatience with his resting, combined with the terrible status of the sails (as I was still head-strong determined to sail this leg of the trip), that ended in me screaming at a broken bucket causing us to tack about 6 times in attempt to get it out of the water (where I had thrown it in my mini-rage) causing the jib to get wrapped around the head-stay about 4 times and a terrible ruckus.  Finally we turned the motor on, got the bucket, and I broke down in tears as I unwrapped the jib.  For I had allowed a couple of sails and a bucket to get the best of me. 

Soon to follow was Corey running up from the cabin to hurl his guts out several times over the stern. Again, tears returned to my eyes, and I felt a surge of a mother-like-concern and feeling of helplessness to his condition.  

We brought the helpless sails down and turned on the motor, I made shade for him to lay outside in the cockpit, then listened to some music and meditated on some scripture, thus our states of sanity returned. 

Pulling into Ontonagon we had a less-dramatic concern that the entryway to the harbor was only 2 feet deep.  Turns out, the river is filled with clay, and a perfect pathway of clay dust fills the area.   

We were met at the harbor docks with helpful sailors reaching out with boat hooks to pull us in gently and grab our dock-lines.  Learning the harbormaster would be back in an hour, we chatted with the 5 sailors/boaters having a cheery dock party, LeeAnn and Chris, Jackie and Tom, and Dale and the gentle-friendly dog Gonzo.  They immediately welcomed us with a generous and perfectly tender steak, along with cheese/crackers, wine, strawberries, chocolate-peanutbutter cookies and beyond the needed nourishment to our bones, was the more-needed nourishment to our souls.  Oh, what friendship, light-hearted conversation and like-mindedness of understanding in the boating community can bring to two weary souls. 

Soon we were immersed in conversation, the boat was seen to, and all the kinds of nourishment needed were filled and over-filled.  Revived with our first hot showers since home. The troubles of the day were soon forgotten, and as I sang some of my Psalms (msroadrunner.bandcamp.com) for well-receiving friends, my soul was absolutely restored.   

Not to also forget to mention, the harbormaster noted that as frugal looking travelers, he recommended we save the $30 on docking and anchor right out in the river where there would be no boat traffic and had perfect conditions/holding.  That doesn't happen, ever.  Naturally, we took the offer and further joy was added to our nourishment.  

Oh, and to add to all of this, our new friends sent us off with two blocks of cheese and two boxes of crackers.  Commodities we had not indulged ourselves upon in a long time.  We were overjoyed. 

A quiet contented stroll followed through the night-time scene/streets in Ontonagan, a town depressed by the closing of their main source of employment, just 3 years earlier with the closure of a papermill that employed about 350 people.  We noted how our arrival to this place by water rather than road completely changed our perception of this place.  Ontonogan will always hold a sweet and delightful memory for us, much like Baraga from two summers before.  These small towns most people probably wouldn't "waste a shrug at" have become some of the highlights of our memories of sailing.

And that is why we sail.  The extremes are always more intense, the lows can get lower and anger can get accelerated quickly by even the smallest incidents (you see, I have this terrible habit of banging my head at least 15 times of day, without exaggeration, and it's no funny thing) but when you surface from these troughs, never does the sky look brighter or the air feel sweeter, then when you've lived in a hell, and experience heaven.  

Sincerely,

M