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Pulling into the harbor at Mackinac Island was an incredible experience. I HAVE BEEN HERE BEFORE! I didn’t realize how stressful it was going into a new place every night until for the first time in a year I entered a familiar harbor. I knew exactly where to go, and there were no surprises. It was amazing.

I had just barely escaped some nasty weather, and hung out for a few days while a storm blew itself out. The island is a favorite place for Emily and I, and it was nice to take some time and celebrate and enjoy. The best part was walking on flat surfaces. All the walking I had done in the last few weeks was hilly and climbing over boulders and rocks and trying not to break an ankle. I walked for ever and ever, and it felt so good to really stretch out my legs. I met up with a friend from Crescent, Ed, who was on a delivery and it was great to catch up. I also met up with Dave Rowe, whom Emily and I met in the very beginning when we were first on the island. He helped us out with a mooring, and it was very cool to share all the adventures from the last time I saw him.

The Great Lakes had truly entered fall mode, and I was now on a time limit. The number of nice travel days was quickly diminishing, and I wanted to get off Lake Huron while I still had the chance. Fall can develop storms as strong as hurricanes, and I wanted Elpis back on Lake St. Clair before it was too late. My first day out of Mackinac headed south was dead calm, and I was bound for Presque Isle. The distance was at the very far end of my mileage range for the amount of daylight, so I took off pre-dawn. It was a long day of motoring, but I was on target for arrival right at sunset and it was going to be fine. But nothing every works out that nicely, does it? I was about a half hour away, it was absolutely dead calm, and the notorious black flies coated the boat and any of my exposed skin. It was disgusting and wearing on my already frayed nerves. On the distant horizon, dark clouds started to assemble and ghostly lightning played tricks on my eyes. The storm would miss me and stay south, but it kicked up a lumpy chop that bounced the boat just enough to make sure everything not secured would find a new home. And then I thought I imagined the telltale sounds of trouble- the RPMs started to dip and rise. It wasn't my imagination and it became distinctly noticeable. I hoped it was the engine passing a chunk of sludge and that it would be fine, but then the engine just shut off. I froze. I panicked. I sat for 5 seconds comprehending the situation, and then I moved so fast I didn’t think. I had run out of fuel, but luckily I had diesel in jerry cans on deck. My hands moved through the process: untie the cans, open the caps, pour diesel in, accidentally squish 1,000 latent flies, run down below, tear apart the engine compartment, fill the primary filter, bleed the fuel lines, try to start the engine. Engine doesn’t start. The button has a temperamental connection and occasionally doesn’t work. Ok. Use the jump wire, start the engine. VROOM. Our dear Chartreuse chugged to life and then I started breathing again. Apparently when I did my fuel calculations, I didn’t separate how much fuel was in cans from the fuel in the tank. Face palm.

I made it into the anchorage in the last shreds of light with lightning flashing in the distance. I spent the next two hours trying to kill the hundreds of flies that made it into the boat during the whole debacle, and spent the next day trying to remove all the dead flies on deck that I squished in my panic. I was stuck for another two days waiting for foul weather to pass. This became the norm for the whole trip south; run as far as I could one nice day, figure out how to dock by myself, hide and try to stay warm for two days, and repeat. It was cold and lonely out on the lake, and I was now fully ready to be home.

It was strange to be thinking in terms of an end. Throughout the trip, every time we got fuel, groceries, or water, we filled everything up because we would use it eventually. But now I was thinking in terms of an end date. I don’t need to fill water because in two weeks I won’t need it. Don’t fill the jerry cans with diesel because it will just sit around and not get used. Stop buying so much canned soup! And I returned to many harbors that Emily and I visited on our way north when we first set out. Each time I was flooded with memories of our previous visit, of how much we didn’t know, how excited and nervous we were, how we were figuring it out one day at a time.

I arrived in Port Huron in a misty fog, thankfully avoiding all the freighters. I made if off Lake Huron! After a visit with the Port Huron YC, it was really my last day of travel. I was thankful to be going downriver, much easier than our uphill climb the first day that we left. I passed the town of St. Clair and laughed, remembering how we had to call someone for help to figure out how to get the bridge master to open the bridge. I got to Algonac and the Russel Island light, recalling every DRYA North Channel race and struggling to get past this buoy that I was now flying past. I was truly in familiar waters, and shortly I was back on Lake St. Clair. The Ren Cen grew out of the horizon. 9 mile tower and the St. Clair light guided me out of the channel, and soon the tower on GPYC grew large enough to see the windows. I could see cars on Lake Shore, and Crescent was just right there. It was a perfect October Michigan summer afternoon, boats were everywhere, the sun was out, it was warm, and I was home.

Departure date: September 11, 2017

Finish date: October 3, 2018

Total trip miles: ~6,600nm

Friends and people to thank: countless

Finally back to Mackinac Island!