The North Channel

Marguerite was my last boat visitor for the trip. Now it was just me and Elpis, and it was time to go. Time to move forward towards home, time to make progress, and time to really test myself alone on the boat. I returned to the Benjamins, and settled fully into cruising mode. Napping, reading, exploring, and thinking about moving but not because it was too much work.

That night, I was on deck enjoying the stars coating the sky and the calm water. I heard voices coming from the direction of a bonfire, and feeling spontaneous I decided to go say hello. I didn’t want to freak them out or drive the outboard into a rock, so I rowed over and snuck up on them in the darkness. I now realize that this was a very surprising thing to happen in the middle of the night; I’m glad they didn’t start throwing rocks! Turns out these guys Eric, Jim, and Dave were sailing a Wayfarer and camping up in the North Channel for a week- super cool! Even more crazy, they were from Traverse City and we all had mutual friends from sailing. What are the odds! We had a great night around the bonfire, and they came and toured Elpis the next morning. They were kind enough to share some homemade amazing peanut porridge, and we chatted about our future adventures while enjoying the morning from the deck.

After two days of getting used to being on the boat alone, it was time to move on. Every time I left the anchor, I had to plan ahead for every maneuver so that I could do it myself, and it felt like I was constantly forgetting something (like another person). When I left for Fox Island, it took me ages to leave as I mentally ran through every single move I was going to do. I did my best to get sails ready, place lines where I could easily grab them, and make sure everything was just right before I left. For a trip that took less than an hour, I probably took an extra hour just to get ready. When I finally got to the island, I noted there was a submerged dangerous rock on the way into the harbor, and I ran back and forth 20 times to be my own bow watch to avoid hitting the rock. Thinking I was clear, I stayed at the helm and then noticed that the telltale rusty gold of shallow granite was on either side of the boat. I panicked and it was too late to move, but I luckily must have been inches above the monolith. Feeling shaky, I inched my way into the harbor and took longer than normal getting the anchor set. Rocks are scary!

I was the only boat there for the two days that I stayed. I did some exploring, but mainly did a lot of reading and getting used to the quiet. It was so still at one point that I could hear the sound of a cloud of gnats buzzing around, and it was loud to me. Later on my way through the Whalesback Channel and to Beardrop Harbor, I anchored and realized that I hadn’t listened to a single thing all day. No music, no podcasts, I didn’t even read a book. It was just the sound of the boat through the water and the motor, and the constant stream of my thoughts. It had taken almost five days for me to realize that my mind is never truly quiet, and now that I had removed all the sources of other noises I was finally able to hear it. I could now pay attention to a constant dialogue of my mind thinking about everything, and I was able to try to calm it down. I could think about one thing at a time, settle it, and turn it off. Pay attention to the next thing that popped into my brain, listen to it, settle it, and turn it off. I kept going through this process to get rid of all the little things that got in the way of figuring out more important questions. I was able to start focusing on thinking about the bigger picture of this whole journey, what did Emily and I learn, what will we take away, how will we move forward after this experience. You know, all the fun stuff. I definitely did not have answers to all these questions and a year and a half later I still don’t, but I learned how to listen to what was going on in the background and give it attention and try to find clarity. I am so grateful that I was able to get to that point. Not everyone has the opportunity to go hide in the wilderness with no phone and no other people to talk to and find a similar place of quiet.

My last stop in the North Channel was Long Point Cove. I dinghied out and climbed to the top of one of the massive hills overlooking a great expanse of water and islands. I could see for miles and miles, and there was not another living being in sight. Even the birds were few and far between. At this point I realized I was ok with my solitude and I could mentally handle being alone, but I wanted to be around people again. I got to explore all kinds of cool places but it was a lot less fun without someone to share it with. It was a lesson that Emily and I learned again and again: the people make the place. It was time to go. I took extra care climbing back down the rocks, and had my last night of solitude.

My only source of outside contact with the world was the VHF radio, and the weather broadcast was predicting a full on gale. I was in a very protected spot, but I was ready for human contact again. With the one remaining day of good weather, I made a sunrise to sunset run for Harbor Island, just inside the US border. I had phone service again, cleared customs, and got ready to wait out a two day blow.

I was still alone, but I could talk and text while I waited out the storm. Wind was blowing spray off the tops of waves blowing into the anchorage as the wind clocked around, and Elpis healed and jerked violently in the gusts, even protected as it was. I waited anxiously, trying to focus on reading, adding up trip miles, and according to my journal, “did everything I could to avoid writing blog posts.” When the storm finally passed, I woke up to a blessed calm flat quiet morning. Now crisp and cold, I headed out for Les Cheneaux Islands for my last official night of the Loop.

I took a long dinghy ride into town, and had some very surprising culture shock. This was the first time I had seen people in almost two weeks, and it was the first time I was back in the US in six weeks. I was astounded by the amount of American food products in the grocery store, and was surprised that nothing had French writing on it. I had to remind my vocal chords how to work to choke out a thank you at check out. I walked around in a daze, trying to fit the American flags and houses and streets and cars into a reality that for so long had existed of just trees, rocks, and water.

I had a lovely dinner of cheese and hummus, and talked to Emily reminiscing our wonderful boat memories. I wish she was there with me, but a phone call was good too. The sunset turned the cedar trees around me to a brilliant green gold, the smell of pine infused the air, and my mind wandered through all the beautiful memories from the trip. Tomorrow I was headed to Mackinac Island, the official start and finish of the Loop. No more new anchorages or harbors. No more forward progress. It was now all about going back to where we came from and getting home. It was almost the end of a great adventure.

A final misty morning in Little Current

Wayfaring Traverse City friends!

Not a soul in sight

Riding out the gale

The calm after the storm