Chicago to South Haven PT2

My Blustery Scamp Adventure on Lake Michigan by Dave McWethy

Conditions looked okay so I headed out of the harbor to go to either Gary or Burns Harbor. There was no wind the whole way so I motored. Outside, the waves went 2-1/2 to 3 feet, subsiding as the day went on.

The sky was a sort of colorless gray, but bright. Smokestacks clustered in the distance at Gary, and then Burns Harbor. Cutting across to Burns Harbor would get me the farthest, so that was the choice. At Burns Harbor, west of the main commercial harbor was a channel for pleasure boats. Using my phone’s satellite view and Aquamaps for depth, I could see a promising anchorage inside another stone breakwater. I should have been figuring out the armoring of harbors by now. Each harbor opening has massive protection from the lake. Grant Crowley, back on the Calumet told me there was a federal program in the 1950s to create harbors for recreation and refuge at least every 30 miles, and to build solid protection from the lake, since it can be a dangerous neighbor. Another man in Chicago, a veteran of sailing on Lake Michigan for 40 years, advised me to keep an eye out for squall lines, which bring bursts of wind that can be deadly.

Side note: My father grew up west of Chicago and spent summers sailing on the west coast of Michigan. His love of boats led him to the U S Naval Academy. He sailed there all his life. Later in life he spent many years on the Bermuda Race Committee. During WWII, as a submarine officer, he was ordered to one of the 20 submarines built by the Manitowoc Shipyard in Wisconsin. The boat, USS Pogy, was commissioned on January 10, 1943 and began sea trials on the lake in winter weather. Pogy was then decommissioned on February 1, 1943, and the crew came ashore while the submarine was put on a barge and hauled south on the rivers to New Orleans, then recommissioned on February 12, to head for its war patrols in the Pacific.

I was able to anchor in shallows out of the channel. A fishing pier was close by, with families were enjoying their Sunday. I could hear their voices but not their words. Today I’m guessing I made 16 miles, after imagining earlier that I’d be able to do 30 miles day after day. Like yesterday I was exhausted after four hours—one day sailing, one day motoring—so I took a nap. After I woke, rain began to fall and continued for more than two hours. I reclined in the well with my head under the veranda, periodically punching the puddles gathering on the fly, to tip them overboard. It’s almost a full-time job, but it does keep the boat a bit dryer. I’ve divided my belongings into Okay-to-get-wet and not-okay-to-get-wet. Bedding and clothes are in the latter category. Those are in forward storage, under the veranda, or in dry bags. So far that has been successful. The fly is not quite waterproof; it just slows the water. A nighttime rain will be a threat to the bedding, and my mood. When the rain stopped, I pulled anchor and paddled to the beach. Nice to have a chance to walk in the sand. At the beach I found one of my favorite edible weeds, lambs quarters. I had no idea they would grow on a beach. I picked them and had fresh vegetables for dinner.

Monday July 18. Burns Harbor

From the log: “Quiet night on the anchorage. No dragging. Lots of fresh air continued to come out of the north. Forecast of wind 11 to 12 now, diminishing to 5 In the afternoon. That should make for a good sail, but probably with lingering roughness from the wind. My objective by evening is Michigan City which, by some logic, is in Indiana. To get there I will pass the length of the Indiana Dunes National Park.”

The wind strengthened after daylight, but the forecast was favorable. With sail up, I motored out into open water. Immediately, the waves were bigger than predicted, back to 3 feet or more, but I settled into a nice steady beam reach. With bright sun sparkling on the waves, I was enjoying the sail.

Jerry Dennis’ delightful book, The Living Great Lakes and subtitled Searching for the Heart of the Inland Seas, summarizes the lake waves: Lake Michigan waves “are not rollers, but steep, short-period waves. Fresh water is less dense than salt water, so lake waves rise quicker and run faster…than the long rollers of saltwater seas.”

After a few miles, passing beyond the enormous Burns Harbor breakwater, the wind died. The industrial skyline abruptly changed to National Park beach. At a distance, I could see bathers on the sandy beach, a few pleasure boats and the first high sand dunes. I continued under motor to Michigan City. 

In the shelter of MC harbor, I first went into the municipal marina to buy gas and ask about tying up for the night. 

First, the gas: I found that after seven-plus hours of running, I’d used only five quarts of gas!

Moorage: At the municipal marina, dock fees were supposed to be a dollar a foot, but somehow it got changed to a minimum of $45. Not gonna work for me. The marina attendant said that on city land a little further “up the river past the tour boat”, I could tie up and no town official would think to check. Yes! Soon I was tied to a float, a mooring actually closer to town. By this time, in the sheltered waters, the day was hot. I walked into town to find an air conditioned place for a restaurant meal. Success again. I was soon well fed on brewpub food. I drank about a gallon of ice water.

My mind was very much on the next stretch of lake. St Joseph/Benton Harbor was going to be a challenge, a distance of 44 miles. In only 10 miles, New Buffalo offered a short day, and then a one-day pause for high winds. Then two days to St Joe, with an overnight test of the plan of rolling the boat up on the beach, and camping. (Anchoring offshore in the waves is not a realistic option.)

Every night so far I have had heavy industrial noise in the background all night. Last night it was a power generating plant about a quarter mile away. I expect things will be quieter as I go further north, and leave behind the industrial south. 

July 19. Michigan City

Log: “Summer in Michigan. Pretty nice. I had a quiet and undisturbed night at the town wharf. Next to the wharf was a magnificent small plaza with circles of garden with trees in the center. I’m sitting in the shade of one now, plugged into an outlet where I can charge my phone and keep an eye on the boat. The gardener came by, and I complimented her on the delightful flowers. I’m also third of a mile from the lake beach. This town has preserved an admirable amount of public space for the benefit of all.”

I walked down to the beach for a much-needed morning bath. A surprising number of people were enjoying the beach already. Today will be hot, so perhaps they are getting in their beach time before full sun. I met a woman with some sort of collecting cup on a stick. She gathers samples for the local water quality lab. She is 48 and has lived here all her life. She says the quality of the lake water has improved dramatically in that time, particularly with the reduced levels of E. coli. Let’s consider that some enormous good news. She also gave me restaurant advice for New Buffalo, my next town. “Go to The Stray Dog.”

At the other end of the wharf small sailboats are being launched. Young people are learning to sail. Perhaps like my father, almost 90 years ago, some will come to dream of going to the Naval Academy.

Every night so far I have had heavy industrial noise in the background. Last night it was a power generating plant about a quarter mile away. I expect things will be quieter as I go further north, and leave the industrial south. 

 From the log: “This is the best sailing day so far. Light winds and lower waves. I’ll start in the next hour.

Later. It was light breeze for most of the 10 miles. One foot waves. Full sun. The view, start to finish, was about the same: sandy beach to the horizon, with cottages and sand dunes. A few power boats passed further out.

I swam in the lake in both towns today.”

July20, St Joseph/Benton Harbor

New Buffalo was the nicest place so far for a boat visit. Very good food was available close at hand, at the recommended Stray Dog Grill. The town beach was an easy quarter mile away. Morning coffee better than my own was close also.

The marina, like the one before, was municipally owned. I have the impression that boating here is summer length, with boats hauled out in the fall. A private marina would have little business in the winter, so the towns invest, with public money and grants. The towns, in turn, contract with a private management company. At the marina in the next slip was a couple with two small boys on a 28-foot sloop. Yesterday they had crossed the lake from Chicago, motoring the whole way. The youngest boy came over to admire my boat. Young children and old men are attracted to it, recognizing it as the kind of boat that the Owl and Pussycat might have voyaged in, as they sailed away for a year and a day. An epic voyage.

Another boat had just come from Chicago, a high-speed catamaran that might’ve crossed in 45 minutes.

My decision for the morning: Do I take off for Benton harbor? Meanwhile, I must buy T-shirt from the Stray Dog Grill, where I’ve eaten. On the back it says “Sit, Stay”. 

Weather. Predictions a couple days out seem to be wild guesses. Apparently, the lake gives clues of what’s coming next, then changes its mind.  I am considering a layover day in New Buffalo to stay out of 16–17 mph winds. Now it appears there will be two days of winds instead of one.  I’m headed down to the beach to see what the real waves look like, and make my own guesses.

A Small Craft Advisory is posted. Usually I would recognize that my boat qualifies as a small craft and heed the warning, but at the beach the actual waves and wind were no worse than I’d seen for the last few days, so my decision was to sail on.

I cleared the breakwater under power, then sailed north. The waves were big from the start, up to 3 feet, and at the end maybe a bit more. A steady southwest wind moved the double-reefed Scamp at a speed of 5.1 mph! To Saint Joe, the distance is either 23 or 26 miles, depending on whose opinion. My hope was to land on the beach part way, and roll out of the water on my inflatable rollers. What a foolish notion! I went beyond halfway, and prepped for a beach landing at the state park. Apparently most beach is privately owned. State park seemed like a better prospect for stealth camping.

Sail down and engine up, I let the waves push me to the surf line. I hopped out with an inflated rubber roller and tried with no success to get it under the boat. The large waves kept bashing the boat around. It wasn’t working. (Moral: DO try this at home, kids). With the stern pointed outword, waves crashed against the transom and splashed water in the boat, as the hull ground in the sand. A woman from down the beach offered to help. With two of us it still was a thrashing mess. She went back to get two more people while I struggled to stabilize the boat. With four of us, we still couldn’t get a roller underneath. I realize my only option was to go back out, pushing through the breakers. My wonderful, game bunch of helpers held the boat just offshore while I started the engine, and then I easily fled the disaster. Without helpers I’d still be there. Thanks for your great efforts, folks. 

After returning some order to the boat, I sailed again. After a few miles, the wind eased, though the waves stayed high. By the time the Saint Joe harbor opening appeared, I was at the limits of my stamina. The entrance is two long parallel iron sea walls extending into the lake. They effectively funneled the open-water waves, magnifying them, giving the boat a wild ride. Finally the harbor was quieter. Wind turned to breeze.

The iPhone satellite view showed an anchorage in a little cove inside the harbor near where a bulk carrier was tied. These vessels are typically 750 feet long. Beyond the ship, my electronic chart showed water only 2.5 feet deep. The cove shore was undeveloped, perhaps a rough park. This would not be a popular anchorage unless you had a Scamp. And two and a half feet of water, without tides, stays 2 1/2 feet.

Dinner was an apple and some cheese. I eat more grandly when I go ashore. 

It was twilight, so I fumbled about to set up night arrangements. Fly in place. Yoga mat down, tent up, mattress in. Me in my sleeping bag. My phone and auxiliary phone battery are flat, so I am untroubled by internet. Then I remember I should hang an anchor light, as the boat is close to a major channel. After a few backwards steps, I settle for a peaceful night. During the night, wind gusts rattled my halyard and flapped the fly, but I slept soundly. 

The bulk carrier was gone when I awoke.

July 21, St Joseph

This day was another sunny one with strong winds. Like yesterday, I could have sailed, but thought it prudent to take a day in harbor. Strong winds make for a tiring day, and as I have another 23 miles to South Haven. I don’t mind the mid-teen winds, but when they’ve been blowing for a while, they put a serious riffle on the lake.

More from Jerry Dennis: “Size of waves is dependent on the wind’s strength, duration, fetch and the depth of the water. A wind blowing 20 knots for 12 hours over a fetch of 100 miles will generate waves up to 6 feet.”

Just upstream of the first bridge I found a barely adequate landing on the concrete wharf of St Joseph. A green park had children playing and old men fishing. The town itself was on higher ground. The boat was not secure there, but I was ready for some breakfast and a charging plug. I spent a quiet day in the park, with brief town visits.After supper I motored back to my cove and anchored at twilight. 

I fussed with the sail to prepare for the next day, and did leisurely housekeeping tasks. The air was still. Quite suddenly, heavy rain started to fall. I pulled the fly over the boom and held it from underneath, trying to stretch the fly out to the coamings. The wind began to thrash and blow the thin nylon. I thought this had to be a brief cloudburst. And it did pause. But then it returned in full fury, with more feel of real duration. I’m under the fly, arms out, wishing I had four arms to hold the fly which was trying to blow away. Rain came through and around the fly. My main fallback goal (keeping the cockpit covered) was to keep bedding dry in the veranda. Hail began to fall, big enough to sting. Water accumulated in the back of the boat, but I couldn’t pump water out and hold the fly, too. At some point, in full rain, I came out from under to secure two forward corners of the fly. Now my clothes were soaked, but the warmth of the day kept chill away. While I was securing the fly, the wind grabbed the broad-brimmed sun hat off my head, and threw it in the water. The hat quickly floated out of reach, and disappeared. This was too much insult. 

Meanwhile the wind was whipping up rough seas in my placid harbor. The boat yanked and rolled on the anchor line. Fortunately the anchor was well set. 

Eventually, the storm passed, and night returned to stillness. Big clouds left a strong signature. As I restored order, preparing my bedding, I heard a quiet voice next to the boat. Looking closely well below my gunwales, I could see a kayaker on a surf ski (long racing kayak). He asked if I was okay. At this point, feeling I was in, if not the depths of despair, at least the shallows—here was a voice of kindness and compassion. I was astonished and instantly restored. I told him of losing the hat, and he said he had some at home and would bring me one. He told me that his great uncle, Patrick Ullam, had crossed the Atlantic in a small boat in the mid 1950’s. (I ordered the book. The boat was Sopranino.). He left, then returned an hour later with a hat and neck scarf. He had been delayed because a tree had fallen down in his yard. 

Later, from online news: A microburst is described as "a small-scale wind event, and damage from the storm is usually confined to a small area of less than three miles, but can still generate high wind gusts,” according to ABC meteorologist, Tom Coomes, who reported the storm had caused widespread power outages, with dozens of reports of downed trees and powerlines throughout Southwestern Michigan.

July 23, St Joe

I returned to town for breakfast. In the bakery I sat next to a group of old men…coffee regulars. They reported that 4000 had lost power in the storm and acknowledged that by their standards, it was a big one. I decided to take it personally. For me the storm was better than fireworks, giving me memories to mark an overnight in their town.

Back on the boat, I followed a 40-foot powerboat out through the narrow entrance into the lake, another channel between long sea walls. The big boat rose and fell, thrashing and bucking in the chop. I thought my brave little boat rode the waves more competently.

A strong wind on the port beam took us north at 4 mph, a good speed for the boat. As the day before, the wind softened after a couple of hours. In my eagerness to arrive at Palisades Park, where I would visit with family relatives, I switched to the engine, which makes a speed of 5. As I approached from the south, I could see the buildings of the nuclear plant. Yes, there was a nuke built on the northern boundary of the park. When I was last here, 50 years earlier, construction had just started. They tore down a favorite dune to build the monster. The plant now had come to the end of its life, beginning a full 19 years of decommissioning. If it has any value at all in the present, it is high visibility, serving as an aid to navigation. My destination was the beach in front of the cottage built by my grandfather, which has been in my family since 1923, almost 100 years.

It was emotional for me to arrive there after so long away, to a place I had played as a small child in the company of loving relatives. I remember the cottage with its interior wooden walls. In the bedroom the inner wall was in fact the outer wall. No insulation. Back then, only recently had the old icebox been replaced, the one that required ice to be put into it.

My cousins were on the beach to welcome me in. I anchored the boat outside the surf, and swam and walked to join them. The boat bobbed jauntily in the waves while we visited in the shallows. We made a plan to join up for dinner in South Haven, I reboarded the boat and motored six miles to the town. By this point it was clear that my trip would end with Palisades and South Haven. I was startled to realize I had only been on the boat for seven days. As intensity goes, it felt like a month’s worth of a week. Going further up the Michigan shore had its attraction, but I chose to make this my destination. 

July 25

For two days after arrival, the wind continued to blow strong, and there were spells of rain and lightning both days, and at night. Today is the first day I could have traveled, with waves only 1-2 feet and wind building to 11.

Ashore, I finished reading a book that Grant Crowley gave me just before leaving Chicago. The book recounts the voyages of tiny boats across oceans. The story of Sopranino is included. Part of what I noticed was the difference between venturers in their preparations. Some were prepared with extreme thoroughness. Others took off perhaps relying too much on luck. For my own voyage, I was somewhat in the middle. Thinking about it, I realized that if I had waited a year, with experience of local voyages, I likely would have decided against my own plan. I’m really glad that didn’t happen, knowing now that a measure of bold optimism will get you over the first few waves, and you’re usually okay after that. •SCA•