| West Wight Potter Owner's Home Port Cruising on Small Sailboats with Anne Westlund |
FINDING TREASURES
Who ever would have thought a small boat sailor would find treasures? In the Great Lakes things
float around and are subject to laws protecting what’s historical that’s found under the waters.
Meantime, stuff drifts and once in awhile comes ashore. New stuff, old stuff, odd stuff.
One day sliding along on a light to moderate wind I spied what I thought might be a sail up on the
rocks. “Someone lost a jib!” I said aloud. Convinced it was a sail, I scouted for a spot to drop
anchor temporarily. Sailing my WWP Peapod, and solo, I had to do it my way or no way. A jib
would mean two new sails, and more, to be made in the deep of winter and I needed a drifter of
some sort.
Usually I drop a stern anchor and then walk ashore setting a bow hook. This time I knew I couldn’
t do it. Along the rocky shores of Frazer Bay on the way toward Baie Finn in the North Channel, I
was sailing about one-hundred feet from the shore and in over 120 ft. of water. Very close
inshore the watermelon-sized rocks fall off from one foot deep to ninety feet in the length of
Peapod. All the rocks are at least as big as grapefruit and more often exceed watermelons. The
clear water there is a deep Gulf Stream indigo.
I doused the jib on her downhaul and cleated her down. I let the mainsail flog gently. Close into
the cliff and shore the wind seemed to calm. I worried about down blasts as the top is over 600
ft. above the water where I was poking into the shore. All seemed well and stable. The wind was
basically very light. I chanced it. With no way on her, Peapod drifted lightly on the waters. I
started the little Honda kicker and let her idle. The stern anchor was let over the side for a long
time before she finally let me know bottom had been struck. I had about 35 ft. of line left aboard
that I cleated off long. “One of these days”, I thought, “I will have a 200 ft. anchor line!”
Peapod joggled and drifted. Engaging the centrifugal clutch, I nosed her towards the stony
shoreline, took her out of gear and waited. When I judged I could go over the side and maybe
touch bottom, or have a brief swim, I tossed the bit of extra rode over the side and made sure it
was cleated at the stern. Then over the side I went, hanging onto the cockpit rail. I briefly went
under, cooled off, and worked my way toward the bow. The water was noticeably cold! In
sandals, shorts and a sun shirt, hat on my head dripping wet, I clung to the side of the boat as I
floated and walked carefully to shore. Scrambling over the rocks, I didn’t let go of the bow line
that is always fixed ready to use. I held Peapod by the bow pulpit as I stepped along from stone
to stone. The white and blue sail wasn’t. It was clearly not a sail the closer I got. It was a great
big gob of useless fiberglass feed bag. A fish farm food bag had gotten away, somehow lost off
the food boat that services the farms.
Along the shore (here and there) are three fish farms. The huge food bags resemble boat bags.
They are gigantic and fiberglass woven such that from a distance looked like a manufactured
modern sail. The blue handles even looked like a ‘shade’ piece of fabric used for roller furled jibs.
Many of these bags are used on each fish farm barge that tows the food to the farms. The farms
are very large, anchored to shore, and raise rainbow trout and salmon. The farms are very much
protected, patrolled along their buoy-marked edges. Fences, lights and patrol boats keep
“violators at bay.”
The patrols work hard to keep blue herons, eagles, loons, cormorants, sea gulls and osprey
away. A loon or heron will clean out an impoundment in a hurry. The fish farms are really huge
floating baskets concentrating the fish. The birds would really like to get those cages emptied!
No jib. I decided to abandon the bag on shore that would have held most of Peapod and continue
on my way, meandering along. The blue handles would have been good salvage but the precious
little precarious temporary parking wasn’t good. I let Peapod drift off the cliff, handed myself
along the side and let down the stern boarding ladder. Climbing aboard I shortened scope and
tightened up the main sheet to sail out the hook. I hauled in the long, long, long rode as Peapod
continued to drift further off the cliff’s edge…literally since the water continued to deepen. I was
really going off the edge! I raised and sheeted home the jib, shortened the main sheet, shut off
the motor, raised it and left that woebegone treasure on the rocks. Little did I know what further
treasures I would find that summer: toys.
I decided to visit a place I had sea kayaked to the previous summer. I had fallen in love with the
place. Coming deeply into the sandy bay the colors of the water was Bahamas blues, lighter and
lighter as the white sand shallows were approached. I motored very slowly along. Eventually
Peapod nudged the sand and I shut the motor down, raised it up and parked it. I went over the
side never letting go of the boat. Walking to the bow I carried out the bow hook, set it and
walked back. Climbing back over the hand rail I shoved off and drifted back far enough to drop
the stern hook. I centered the boat in a floating mode and cleated both anchors off. Over the
side I went for a refreshing swim and walk. Although I thought Peapod floated in about 12 inches
of water, the depth was deceptive in the gin clear water. The water was suddenly about four feet
deep! Hard sand spread out to the big rocky islands on both sides of the bay. Granite bulwarks
to port and gentler structures to the starboard framed the bay. The open, southerly end of the
bay was protected by outlying islands. What a spot? You bet. Beautiful, peaceful and I was all
alone. I climbed ashore and went up the granite steps on the s’bd side of the bay, exploring and
revisiting my tent site of the previous year. It may be the best ever but of course that remains to
be seen. I quickly dried off. Wearing sun shirts and shorts, sandals and a sun hat, it is never a
problem getting wet. It’s actually refreshing and since my bikini bod has gone with age, who
cares what one wears in the water!!! And, if you rinse sweaty clothes when they still have wet
sweat, it rinses off. If you let the sweat dry you need soap to remove the body oils that are no
longer soluble. That way you “bathe yourself and the clothes all in one.” It saves a ton of work
hauling buckets of water, soap, dirty clothes and all up into the woods where they get washed
and rinsed letting soapy water go into the soil rather than into the lake. Then there is the line
drying, gathering, folding…you know what I mean.
I sloshed around a bit to rinse off after my mini-hike and in the shallows among the reeds I found
three toys. They looked like elongated neon dumb bells. The shafts had holes in them and the
gizmos floated upright. I picked them up to examine them. At about eight inches long, they were
rather light weight but the bells had some weight to them. I threw one and it sailed really well
though the air. I wondered if they were a swim-and-dive toy or dog toy. Certainly they were
made to sink. They would be fun to play with in the water for dog or child. Treasure found! For
friends of mine, their five girls.
A few weeks went by and my treasure trove grew. I now had a plastic pail, shovel, crenalated
cup, a small ball and a few other things. Toys were piling up. 56 days had gone by since the
start of my voyage that summer. One thing I was looking for was a fender (bumper). I had never
purchased one, only found them. I needed one more and decided to look for it. I said I couldn’t
go home until I found one…look, look, look. I about wore out my binoculars scanning the
shorelines for the signature white fender.
I was making my way east of Little Detroit Passage when I spotted something that didn’t look
like a white rock. I was at least a half-mile from shore so I continued sailing until I was closer.
Yep, it was a fender, maybe. I also spotted a flash of bright blue and white on the rocks. Ah ha!
Maybe not a birch log. Maybe it’s two fenders, blue and white ones. My mind played with the
possibilities as I sailed closer and closer. This game of chance. Treasure! I hoped they weren’t
cut or broken. I decided I would anchor and go ashore to find out what exactly the white fender
was tangled up in. The wind was easterly about eight to twelve knots from the west. I spotted a
boulder near shore and made for it’s lea. Edging in I dropped the bow hook and let Peapod ease
back on the rode. By now the sails were down and stowed. I hadn’t used the engine. The boat
was maybe 100 ft. from shore in rather deep waters, at least over my head in depth. There were
lots of large rocks on shore and in the water. Safety an issue, I decided I’d swim along the
shoreline until I was abreast of the goodies and then walk to them. That would be the shortest
distance on slippery large rocks. And the safest since going ashore there had all the earmarks of
an ankle breaker.
I let the ladder down and jumped overboard. The water was refreshing. I swam along the several
hundred feet of shoreline between me and the things on shore. The closer I got the more I
realized I had truly found treasure. Yes, there was a fender and there also was a great big
donut, one of those things power boaters tow around for kids to play with. I got near these things
and slowly made my way ashore. The fender was intact and inflated. The big blue donut was
also intact and full of air. It was as wide as I am tall. It would make a good “inflatable” for my
swim/ride back to Peapod. The shredded small line holding both items became my tether to hold
onto.
When I got back to Peapod I secured the small line to the stern cleat and climbed aboard. I drew
the donut into the cockpit nearly filling it completely. I detached the perfectly good fender and set
it aside. The donut had a valve to deflate it with and so I did that. Then I stuffed the wadded up
donut into the cabin, hauled the anchor and sailed away.
The donut became the real toy for all the girls since I had enough toys for each of the girls plus
one for all. Their parents have a trawler and could use it to take the kids on a “tow”. They call the
items their “Trawler Toys” and always ask me in the fall if I have found more toys while out
sailing in the summer.
Anne Westlund westlund@lighthouse.net
Who ever would have thought a small boat sailor would find treasures? In the Great Lakes things
float around and are subject to laws protecting what’s historical that’s found under the waters.
Meantime, stuff drifts and once in awhile comes ashore. New stuff, old stuff, odd stuff.
One day sliding along on a light to moderate wind I spied what I thought might be a sail up on the
rocks. “Someone lost a jib!” I said aloud. Convinced it was a sail, I scouted for a spot to drop
anchor temporarily. Sailing my WWP Peapod, and solo, I had to do it my way or no way. A jib
would mean two new sails, and more, to be made in the deep of winter and I needed a drifter of
some sort.
Usually I drop a stern anchor and then walk ashore setting a bow hook. This time I knew I couldn’
t do it. Along the rocky shores of Frazer Bay on the way toward Baie Finn in the North Channel, I
was sailing about one-hundred feet from the shore and in over 120 ft. of water. Very close
inshore the watermelon-sized rocks fall off from one foot deep to ninety feet in the length of
Peapod. All the rocks are at least as big as grapefruit and more often exceed watermelons. The
clear water there is a deep Gulf Stream indigo.
I doused the jib on her downhaul and cleated her down. I let the mainsail flog gently. Close into
the cliff and shore the wind seemed to calm. I worried about down blasts as the top is over 600
ft. above the water where I was poking into the shore. All seemed well and stable. The wind was
basically very light. I chanced it. With no way on her, Peapod drifted lightly on the waters. I
started the little Honda kicker and let her idle. The stern anchor was let over the side for a long
time before she finally let me know bottom had been struck. I had about 35 ft. of line left aboard
that I cleated off long. “One of these days”, I thought, “I will have a 200 ft. anchor line!”
Peapod joggled and drifted. Engaging the centrifugal clutch, I nosed her towards the stony
shoreline, took her out of gear and waited. When I judged I could go over the side and maybe
touch bottom, or have a brief swim, I tossed the bit of extra rode over the side and made sure it
was cleated at the stern. Then over the side I went, hanging onto the cockpit rail. I briefly went
under, cooled off, and worked my way toward the bow. The water was noticeably cold! In
sandals, shorts and a sun shirt, hat on my head dripping wet, I clung to the side of the boat as I
floated and walked carefully to shore. Scrambling over the rocks, I didn’t let go of the bow line
that is always fixed ready to use. I held Peapod by the bow pulpit as I stepped along from stone
to stone. The white and blue sail wasn’t. It was clearly not a sail the closer I got. It was a great
big gob of useless fiberglass feed bag. A fish farm food bag had gotten away, somehow lost off
the food boat that services the farms.
Along the shore (here and there) are three fish farms. The huge food bags resemble boat bags.
They are gigantic and fiberglass woven such that from a distance looked like a manufactured
modern sail. The blue handles even looked like a ‘shade’ piece of fabric used for roller furled jibs.
Many of these bags are used on each fish farm barge that tows the food to the farms. The farms
are very large, anchored to shore, and raise rainbow trout and salmon. The farms are very much
protected, patrolled along their buoy-marked edges. Fences, lights and patrol boats keep
“violators at bay.”
The patrols work hard to keep blue herons, eagles, loons, cormorants, sea gulls and osprey
away. A loon or heron will clean out an impoundment in a hurry. The fish farms are really huge
floating baskets concentrating the fish. The birds would really like to get those cages emptied!
No jib. I decided to abandon the bag on shore that would have held most of Peapod and continue
on my way, meandering along. The blue handles would have been good salvage but the precious
little precarious temporary parking wasn’t good. I let Peapod drift off the cliff, handed myself
along the side and let down the stern boarding ladder. Climbing aboard I shortened scope and
tightened up the main sheet to sail out the hook. I hauled in the long, long, long rode as Peapod
continued to drift further off the cliff’s edge…literally since the water continued to deepen. I was
really going off the edge! I raised and sheeted home the jib, shortened the main sheet, shut off
the motor, raised it and left that woebegone treasure on the rocks. Little did I know what further
treasures I would find that summer: toys.
I decided to visit a place I had sea kayaked to the previous summer. I had fallen in love with the
place. Coming deeply into the sandy bay the colors of the water was Bahamas blues, lighter and
lighter as the white sand shallows were approached. I motored very slowly along. Eventually
Peapod nudged the sand and I shut the motor down, raised it up and parked it. I went over the
side never letting go of the boat. Walking to the bow I carried out the bow hook, set it and
walked back. Climbing back over the hand rail I shoved off and drifted back far enough to drop
the stern hook. I centered the boat in a floating mode and cleated both anchors off. Over the
side I went for a refreshing swim and walk. Although I thought Peapod floated in about 12 inches
of water, the depth was deceptive in the gin clear water. The water was suddenly about four feet
deep! Hard sand spread out to the big rocky islands on both sides of the bay. Granite bulwarks
to port and gentler structures to the starboard framed the bay. The open, southerly end of the
bay was protected by outlying islands. What a spot? You bet. Beautiful, peaceful and I was all
alone. I climbed ashore and went up the granite steps on the s’bd side of the bay, exploring and
revisiting my tent site of the previous year. It may be the best ever but of course that remains to
be seen. I quickly dried off. Wearing sun shirts and shorts, sandals and a sun hat, it is never a
problem getting wet. It’s actually refreshing and since my bikini bod has gone with age, who
cares what one wears in the water!!! And, if you rinse sweaty clothes when they still have wet
sweat, it rinses off. If you let the sweat dry you need soap to remove the body oils that are no
longer soluble. That way you “bathe yourself and the clothes all in one.” It saves a ton of work
hauling buckets of water, soap, dirty clothes and all up into the woods where they get washed
and rinsed letting soapy water go into the soil rather than into the lake. Then there is the line
drying, gathering, folding…you know what I mean.
I sloshed around a bit to rinse off after my mini-hike and in the shallows among the reeds I found
three toys. They looked like elongated neon dumb bells. The shafts had holes in them and the
gizmos floated upright. I picked them up to examine them. At about eight inches long, they were
rather light weight but the bells had some weight to them. I threw one and it sailed really well
though the air. I wondered if they were a swim-and-dive toy or dog toy. Certainly they were
made to sink. They would be fun to play with in the water for dog or child. Treasure found! For
friends of mine, their five girls.
A few weeks went by and my treasure trove grew. I now had a plastic pail, shovel, crenalated
cup, a small ball and a few other things. Toys were piling up. 56 days had gone by since the
start of my voyage that summer. One thing I was looking for was a fender (bumper). I had never
purchased one, only found them. I needed one more and decided to look for it. I said I couldn’t
go home until I found one…look, look, look. I about wore out my binoculars scanning the
shorelines for the signature white fender.
I was making my way east of Little Detroit Passage when I spotted something that didn’t look
like a white rock. I was at least a half-mile from shore so I continued sailing until I was closer.
Yep, it was a fender, maybe. I also spotted a flash of bright blue and white on the rocks. Ah ha!
Maybe not a birch log. Maybe it’s two fenders, blue and white ones. My mind played with the
possibilities as I sailed closer and closer. This game of chance. Treasure! I hoped they weren’t
cut or broken. I decided I would anchor and go ashore to find out what exactly the white fender
was tangled up in. The wind was easterly about eight to twelve knots from the west. I spotted a
boulder near shore and made for it’s lea. Edging in I dropped the bow hook and let Peapod ease
back on the rode. By now the sails were down and stowed. I hadn’t used the engine. The boat
was maybe 100 ft. from shore in rather deep waters, at least over my head in depth. There were
lots of large rocks on shore and in the water. Safety an issue, I decided I’d swim along the
shoreline until I was abreast of the goodies and then walk to them. That would be the shortest
distance on slippery large rocks. And the safest since going ashore there had all the earmarks of
an ankle breaker.
I let the ladder down and jumped overboard. The water was refreshing. I swam along the several
hundred feet of shoreline between me and the things on shore. The closer I got the more I
realized I had truly found treasure. Yes, there was a fender and there also was a great big
donut, one of those things power boaters tow around for kids to play with. I got near these things
and slowly made my way ashore. The fender was intact and inflated. The big blue donut was
also intact and full of air. It was as wide as I am tall. It would make a good “inflatable” for my
swim/ride back to Peapod. The shredded small line holding both items became my tether to hold
onto.
When I got back to Peapod I secured the small line to the stern cleat and climbed aboard. I drew
the donut into the cockpit nearly filling it completely. I detached the perfectly good fender and set
it aside. The donut had a valve to deflate it with and so I did that. Then I stuffed the wadded up
donut into the cabin, hauled the anchor and sailed away.
The donut became the real toy for all the girls since I had enough toys for each of the girls plus
one for all. Their parents have a trawler and could use it to take the kids on a “tow”. They call the
items their “Trawler Toys” and always ask me in the fall if I have found more toys while out
sailing in the summer.
Anne Westlund westlund@lighthouse.net
FINDING TREASURES
BY
Anne Westlund
BY
Anne Westlund
