| West Wight Potter Owner's Home Port __________________________________________________________________________________________________ |
Back
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
FREIGHTER ALLEY-PART TWO
Being in touch with the freighters that ply the De Tour Passage in the northern part of Lake Huron helps me
to remember that launching from De Tour Village or Drummond Island, means I can go anywhere the boat
will float.
The Great Lakes connect to the Atlantic Ocean and all oceans of the world. The idea is huge, way too
difficult to comprehend when sailing a 15-foot West Wight Potter. Or, even a larger sailboat.
I well remember going from the northern part of Lake Michigan to the Bahamas in a 33 ft. sailboat back in
1976-77. It was a long trip that actually felt short. It’s one-day sail after another defined by incidents,
scenery, people you meet, challenges and problems along the way. The days of travel melt into one
another like islands grouped on the horizon that are hard to see individually until you get close enough
and when you leave the islands behind each one blends with another one on the horizon again.
So go the days of boat travel. Individual events and some places may be locked into your memory. The
seemingly endless day sails all blend together. So a big voyage or trip is just a series of small ones.
Bouncing, surging, moving rapidly forward, Peapod seems to enjoy the brisk breeze. She neared the
Drummond Island Ferry as it left the dock on the Island. I hove to until there was clearance for the ferry and
when she was off to starboard, inbound for De Tour Village, I tacked out of the spot I was in and made for
the inner channel along the side of the quarry’s wharf where ships dock to take on limestone and dolomite
rock. I skirted along the edges of the deeper water shelves. My target was Whitney Bay around the point
and shoal that juts out toward the mitten of Michigan. In Whitney Bay is a small anchorage for a secure
place for the night. The cove is along State of Michigan lands and that meant I could explore on foot, hike a
bit and not trespass on private property.
As I rounded the point I could see several islands and in the distance some old chimneys from Fort
Drummond. Four flags have flown over this landscape in the past and the stars and stripes have flown the
longest some say. Fort Drummond was the watchdog’s post for the British who were there until 1815. The
French and Spanish held the territory also. Various wars shifted ownership and the Native Americans had
no flag! Of course they were here before Europeans came into contact with the oldest land users. The Fort
was strategically placed with a great view of the Lake Huron/Lake Michigan approaches to the turn, De
Tour.
Canoe traffic had used the turn up to the St. Mary’s River to Lake Superior for ages and ages. Voyageurs
traveled here in the 1500-1600’s. Some historians even theorize that the Phoenicians came this way when
they mined many tons of copper in the Keweenaw Peninsula and on Isle Royale in Lake Superior. The
region is an old place and often feels it. Sometimes I wonder if I hiked the upper old beachheads if I’d find
any artifacts.
On an island in Lake Huron near the Straits of Mackinac I found several old lime kilns that no one
apparently knew about before. Strange what you can find on old beachheads. The land is continuing to
rise from the last glaciations so you have to go up 30-40 feet in elevation to the old beachheads. That
means hiking so I carry good boots and a hiking stick.
When I rounded the bell buoy to avoid the boulders at the point, and the numerous gravel stone shoals, I
felt relaxed and that it had been a windy but quiet day. I got up and moved over to the downwind side,
something I never did. Suddenly the topping lift let go and the boom came down where I had been sitting!
My guardian angel had protected me, or Neptune or something had. Had I still been sitting there the
boom would have bonked me in the head or shoulder, maybe on an arm. I hastened to drop the jib and
main so I could grab the topping lift line. It flew out of reach and Peapod wallowed in the seas. I lowered
the motor and started it. I then began to work my way into the bay. The open fields of Fort Drummond
came into full view. I thought to myself that in the past the soldiers must have cut down all the trees for a
high, full view of the passage and lakes. The approaches would then be visible for 270 degrees. A short
walk to the northwest would open up a view to over 300 degrees.
The boom laid on the seat with the furled sail. The topping lift line was slick, tiny and had slipped out the
knot. After I had anchored, I soon re-tied it until later that day when I reeved a new, heavier line with a
good bowline in it that was seized with marline on the bitter end. I never wanted that to happen again. It
was too scary for more words. The little boom could have killed me! I decided that whatever line was
overhead should be strong enough to swing on! No more puny lines for my boats!
The shoals inside the point were clearly visible in the clear water. I could see stones and boulders through
the water and the color changes where the water was really shallow. The wave action was lumpy. I
wended my way between the small islands in the bay and rounded away from the herring fishermen into
the small cove where I wanted to anchor for the night. The wind had piped up. It seemed that the wind was
building. I was glad to be in the bay and more glad to think about being in the cove.
Whitney Bay has several small islands and numerous places to anchor. There are some cottages but also a
lot of uninhabited land. I came into Whitney Bay on my first Peapod visit. I had intended to make for
Mackinac Island by way of Cedarville but the wind had gone westerly so I had opted for Whitney Bay. I
knew the marina down in one of the bay fingers but hadn’t sailed there in over 30 years.
My target was a cove well hidden to the east. I explored slowly, marking in my mind the various rocky
reefs and looking at the cottages along the shores. Suddenly the opening to the cove materialized out of
the Cedar and fir trees along the shores. I went in and circled, exploring the sandy-bottomed cove. On the
east is the State land and it looked to be a good shore. It was a place to anchor, swim and sleep. A thirty-
foot sailboat was anchored in the center of the cove. It had green slime on the rope at the water line so I
knew it was a more permanent anchorage for that boat. There was also a Seaward Fox anchored in nearer
the shore drifting around its mooring ball in the freshening breeze. It looked forlorn.
I selected my anchoring spot, slowed, dropped the stern hook and let Peapod glide into the very shallow,
sandy shoreline. When she was where I wanted her, I snubbed off the stern hook and stepped out, picked
up the bow anchor and walked it ashore. Once it was set, I adjusted the anchor lines so Peapod was afloat
and the anchors were at 180 degrees. That way she would stay more or less in the same place regardless
of wind. No wave action came into the tiny cove that was well protected by two points of land and a small
island. Any raccoons or other critters couldn’t get on the boat very easily.
Bees buzzed over the wildflowers and a loon called in the distance. I fell into the water, dunking myself to
rid me and my clothes of the salty sweat brought on by the falling boom and the long day. The water was
delightful. I felt at home. It was another wonderful day sail, one of many in the past and hopefully one of
many like it in the future. I shed my sun shirt and hung it to dry on the boom. The salty sweat was rinsed
out. I was rinsed off and went for a short shoreline hike. On the way back to Peapod I swam again and
drifted in the little wavelets brought on by the now strong wind. The cove was snug and friendly. I was
home for the night.
Three days later I was able to sail back to De Tour Village. The wind had become a major blow. It got so
strong that the next day I had motored into the finger of bay past Fort Drummond Marina up into a
shallower cove where there was even more protection. The swimming wasn’t as nice but the wind couldn’t
dig at me or make any waves. I had the privacy I desired and spent quite a bit of time watching loons,
eagles and blue herons. I had several good books to peruse so I was content. Those northerners can sure
bust up a week of sailing!
Anne Westlund
westlund@lighthouse.net
Being in touch with the freighters that ply the De Tour Passage in the northern part of Lake Huron helps me
to remember that launching from De Tour Village or Drummond Island, means I can go anywhere the boat
will float.
The Great Lakes connect to the Atlantic Ocean and all oceans of the world. The idea is huge, way too
difficult to comprehend when sailing a 15-foot West Wight Potter. Or, even a larger sailboat.
I well remember going from the northern part of Lake Michigan to the Bahamas in a 33 ft. sailboat back in
1976-77. It was a long trip that actually felt short. It’s one-day sail after another defined by incidents,
scenery, people you meet, challenges and problems along the way. The days of travel melt into one
another like islands grouped on the horizon that are hard to see individually until you get close enough
and when you leave the islands behind each one blends with another one on the horizon again.
So go the days of boat travel. Individual events and some places may be locked into your memory. The
seemingly endless day sails all blend together. So a big voyage or trip is just a series of small ones.
Bouncing, surging, moving rapidly forward, Peapod seems to enjoy the brisk breeze. She neared the
Drummond Island Ferry as it left the dock on the Island. I hove to until there was clearance for the ferry and
when she was off to starboard, inbound for De Tour Village, I tacked out of the spot I was in and made for
the inner channel along the side of the quarry’s wharf where ships dock to take on limestone and dolomite
rock. I skirted along the edges of the deeper water shelves. My target was Whitney Bay around the point
and shoal that juts out toward the mitten of Michigan. In Whitney Bay is a small anchorage for a secure
place for the night. The cove is along State of Michigan lands and that meant I could explore on foot, hike a
bit and not trespass on private property.
As I rounded the point I could see several islands and in the distance some old chimneys from Fort
Drummond. Four flags have flown over this landscape in the past and the stars and stripes have flown the
longest some say. Fort Drummond was the watchdog’s post for the British who were there until 1815. The
French and Spanish held the territory also. Various wars shifted ownership and the Native Americans had
no flag! Of course they were here before Europeans came into contact with the oldest land users. The Fort
was strategically placed with a great view of the Lake Huron/Lake Michigan approaches to the turn, De
Tour.
Canoe traffic had used the turn up to the St. Mary’s River to Lake Superior for ages and ages. Voyageurs
traveled here in the 1500-1600’s. Some historians even theorize that the Phoenicians came this way when
they mined many tons of copper in the Keweenaw Peninsula and on Isle Royale in Lake Superior. The
region is an old place and often feels it. Sometimes I wonder if I hiked the upper old beachheads if I’d find
any artifacts.
On an island in Lake Huron near the Straits of Mackinac I found several old lime kilns that no one
apparently knew about before. Strange what you can find on old beachheads. The land is continuing to
rise from the last glaciations so you have to go up 30-40 feet in elevation to the old beachheads. That
means hiking so I carry good boots and a hiking stick.
When I rounded the bell buoy to avoid the boulders at the point, and the numerous gravel stone shoals, I
felt relaxed and that it had been a windy but quiet day. I got up and moved over to the downwind side,
something I never did. Suddenly the topping lift let go and the boom came down where I had been sitting!
My guardian angel had protected me, or Neptune or something had. Had I still been sitting there the
boom would have bonked me in the head or shoulder, maybe on an arm. I hastened to drop the jib and
main so I could grab the topping lift line. It flew out of reach and Peapod wallowed in the seas. I lowered
the motor and started it. I then began to work my way into the bay. The open fields of Fort Drummond
came into full view. I thought to myself that in the past the soldiers must have cut down all the trees for a
high, full view of the passage and lakes. The approaches would then be visible for 270 degrees. A short
walk to the northwest would open up a view to over 300 degrees.
The boom laid on the seat with the furled sail. The topping lift line was slick, tiny and had slipped out the
knot. After I had anchored, I soon re-tied it until later that day when I reeved a new, heavier line with a
good bowline in it that was seized with marline on the bitter end. I never wanted that to happen again. It
was too scary for more words. The little boom could have killed me! I decided that whatever line was
overhead should be strong enough to swing on! No more puny lines for my boats!
The shoals inside the point were clearly visible in the clear water. I could see stones and boulders through
the water and the color changes where the water was really shallow. The wave action was lumpy. I
wended my way between the small islands in the bay and rounded away from the herring fishermen into
the small cove where I wanted to anchor for the night. The wind had piped up. It seemed that the wind was
building. I was glad to be in the bay and more glad to think about being in the cove.
Whitney Bay has several small islands and numerous places to anchor. There are some cottages but also a
lot of uninhabited land. I came into Whitney Bay on my first Peapod visit. I had intended to make for
Mackinac Island by way of Cedarville but the wind had gone westerly so I had opted for Whitney Bay. I
knew the marina down in one of the bay fingers but hadn’t sailed there in over 30 years.
My target was a cove well hidden to the east. I explored slowly, marking in my mind the various rocky
reefs and looking at the cottages along the shores. Suddenly the opening to the cove materialized out of
the Cedar and fir trees along the shores. I went in and circled, exploring the sandy-bottomed cove. On the
east is the State land and it looked to be a good shore. It was a place to anchor, swim and sleep. A thirty-
foot sailboat was anchored in the center of the cove. It had green slime on the rope at the water line so I
knew it was a more permanent anchorage for that boat. There was also a Seaward Fox anchored in nearer
the shore drifting around its mooring ball in the freshening breeze. It looked forlorn.
I selected my anchoring spot, slowed, dropped the stern hook and let Peapod glide into the very shallow,
sandy shoreline. When she was where I wanted her, I snubbed off the stern hook and stepped out, picked
up the bow anchor and walked it ashore. Once it was set, I adjusted the anchor lines so Peapod was afloat
and the anchors were at 180 degrees. That way she would stay more or less in the same place regardless
of wind. No wave action came into the tiny cove that was well protected by two points of land and a small
island. Any raccoons or other critters couldn’t get on the boat very easily.
Bees buzzed over the wildflowers and a loon called in the distance. I fell into the water, dunking myself to
rid me and my clothes of the salty sweat brought on by the falling boom and the long day. The water was
delightful. I felt at home. It was another wonderful day sail, one of many in the past and hopefully one of
many like it in the future. I shed my sun shirt and hung it to dry on the boom. The salty sweat was rinsed
out. I was rinsed off and went for a short shoreline hike. On the way back to Peapod I swam again and
drifted in the little wavelets brought on by the now strong wind. The cove was snug and friendly. I was
home for the night.
Three days later I was able to sail back to De Tour Village. The wind had become a major blow. It got so
strong that the next day I had motored into the finger of bay past Fort Drummond Marina up into a
shallower cove where there was even more protection. The swimming wasn’t as nice but the wind couldn’t
dig at me or make any waves. I had the privacy I desired and spent quite a bit of time watching loons,
eagles and blue herons. I had several good books to peruse so I was content. Those northerners can sure
bust up a week of sailing!
Anne Westlund
westlund@lighthouse.net