This post describes sailing across the length of Lake Erie for my first time in a 31-2 Pearson we just purchased. It involved sailing through the night, running out of fuel, engine problems and getting stuck in a tree! We were always safe, but at the time it stretched the limits of my adventurous sprit, so I wanted to write it down and share it with other sail boat owner.... and yes, I would do it all again!
My adventure involved crossing the length of Lake Erie, a 230 mile trip with my 24 year old son, on our new 1989 Pearson 31-2 sloop’s maiden voyage. After my wife and I gave up our 25 foot O'Day 10 years ago, I was thrilled to recently get back into sailing. We found our new boat on the western end of Lake Erie in Catawba Island, Ohio. After researching the brand, a trip to see it, and having a professional survey done, we took possession on a sunny Friday afternoon to sail to her new home port in Buffalo NY. It was a day later then planned, but the delay did give us extra time to meet some great people who eagerly shared their local knowledge which I will sum up as, "look out for the shallow spots" and, "commercial fishing nets" - both of which we found true.
My 24 year old son and I took on this adventure and it is a trip we will always remember! It was a bit odd to get a boat with only 1/3 of a tank of diesel, but as we start the trip, the thought of my first attempt to dock it at a public gas dock far out-weigh that. We come in a bit too fast because as the survey pointed out, the knot meter doesn't work, but not bad for my first try. As we fill up, the 18 gallon tank only takes 2 gallons. There could be a few reasons for this but go with the obvious, the gauge is broken. We have 2 smaller fuel containers stored, so we should be good for fuel. Away we go, motoring out of Catawba at about 3pm on Friday. We stick to the channel as I would hate to get my boat stuck 2 minutes away from the dock. Avoiding the shoals, we finally hit open water, set the sails and shut down the engine. We are on a great tack going 7 knots and avoiding the commercial fishing nets, as I have never seen one in the lake before.
At sunset we prepare for the night, the sails come down, the engine fires up, and we snap the glow sticks tied to our life vests. With the final light vanishing, there is a strong sense of isolation that takes a few minutes to overcome. What wasn’t helping was the thunderstorm many miles to the west of us is lighting up the clouds; an awe-inspiring site in the dark of night, but not nearly as impressive as looking up at your mast against the backdrop of stars in the Milky Way. Neither words nor a picture would do it justice, we are witnessing what sailors have seen for thousands of years. We travel through the night, trading the helm every two hours and breaking out the energy drinks. It feels as though it takes the entire night before the lights of Cleveland fade away but we now have front row seats for a brilliant sunrise as we get closer to Erie, PA. There isn't much wind so we must motor our way toward Dunkirk, NY to keep on pace as we still have a lot of distance to cover. As I sat in the cabin listening to the weather station about a new line of thunderstorms, I look up at my son confidently at the helm of the boat - it is one of those moments that justifies the entire price of the boat.
Despite the lessons learned so far, we're optimistic with the wind and waves building behind us as we near Silver Creek (20 miles from our finish line). Suddenly the engine makes a stuttering gulp and cuts out. Thank goodness we have the extra fuel on board! We hang over the edge with the 5 gallon container as the boat pitches up and down in 3 foot waves. Running out of fuel in a 20 year old boat can complicate things, as I later learn. Sucking water or sludge at the bottom of a 20 year old tank can cause a host of issues. We try to restart the engine but nothing happens; no turning, no sputtering, no sound. A slight panic sets in as I take apart the engine bay to see if I can spot anything. Even after a few phone calls with people that may know what to do, no luck. In the distance we see taller buildings start to crown on the horizon; that must be Buffalo. Not much of a choice but to sail to the Buffalo Harbor. We decide to point in the direction of "Buffalo" while I tinker with the motor.
After about an hour under sail, the engine starts! We gain back a little confidence, check our location, and turns out we're sailing towards Port Colborne, Canada (a 90 degree turn from where we should've been heading). Now we've lost 2 hours of daylight, added another 20 miles, and now the Canadian shore presents a different set of issues. Dusk sets in on our second night and we have a massive lake freighter between us and our destination. We start taking down the sails again, increasing our directional control to stay clear of the freighter. While I drop the main, my wedding band catches on a medal edge and slices into my finger. As it bleeds and immediately starts to swell, I pull the ring off as I feel it cutting off circulation. With the main tied down, we aim for the stern of the freighter. Getting closer we see that it's at anchor, likely waiting for passage into the Welland Canal. We cross with plenty of distance because even at anchor they're intimidating sights.
With the final light of Saturday fading away, we see the lights of Buffalo under a predicted lightning storm. The lightning bolts make an impressive display as we head towards the northern gap in the break walls to the Buffalo Harbor. The breeze isn't strong but the waves from the weather front that passed through still hit us and we're close enough to hear them strike the break wall. Approaching the entrance, we discuss what to do if the engine runs out of fuel again (7 hours since we refueled). As if on purpose because we have a plan, the engine starts to die 100 yards from the opening. Fearful that we can't restart our now sputtering engine, we quickly veer away to put in the final 2 gallon reserve while it is running. It worked! The engine sounds healthier so we throttle up to shoot into the harbor entrance. With 30 yards before entering through the break wall, the engine totally dies. You don't have to be a sailor to understand that hearing waves crash on a wall of rocks with no power is a very bad thing! I vigorously hit the start button but nothing. Under slight panic from floating way too close to the wall, we unfurl the jib and un bungee our life raft. We catch enough breeze to regain control as I slowly navigate through the gap in the break wall and buoys leading us to the Buffalo Canal.
The feeling of relief passes over us as we clear the break walls and the waves calm. In terms of distance we were swimming distance to shore but now the adventure gets stressful. It starts with the fact we should've known better than to ask young men drinking in a boat at 1am for help.
With no breeze in the canal we can't get to our marina without some assistance. We see a small fishing boat with 3 young men heading out of the harbor. I explain we just sailed for 34 hours from Ohio and our engine died; then asked if they could hook up a line and pull us in. They accept the challenge so we furl the jib and my son throws them a line. They put down their beers, tie my line to their starboard cleat and gun the engine. Many of you know what will happen but just to confirm, their boat spins right which is turning the bow of my boat 90 degrees and straight to the rock wall lining the harbor entrance. Thank goodness their engine stalled! It became evident any further assistance was going to lead to the same result so we thank them and then drop our anchor to stop from drifting into the wall.
Being anchored in the only navigation channel isn't acceptable as freighters come through and I would lose that encounter. Not seeing any other boats to help and with the stern of the boat pointed to the edge of the channel we lift up the anchor to allow the boat to drift. We are drifting towards the inner harbor and finally into a nook which includes: sunken pier supports, overhanging trees, and a collection place for driftwood. We let the anchor out again to give us time to think. My son decides to try rowing our inflatable life raft over to a floating dock around the bend where the harbor opens up to pull the boat himself. An ordeal in its own right, as it involves two water snakes, filthy water and a dead deer carcass, the plan almost works. As my son sprawls out on the floating dock, he pulls the line and the boat starts moving. My glimmer of hope is short-lived as I hear leaves in the tree above rustle. My boat is stuck in a tree. This has to be something very few boat owners would ever even fathom and even less frequently have happen. As I’m starting to feel defeated, my son keeps his wits and rows back over figuring out a way to rig the line to spin the boat out of the tree. We pull again on the line; it works, the boat pivots on its 3 ton keel and we're free! Only 10 feet closer to the dock and the boat stops, again. Now what? My keel is stuck. A few futile attempts to dislodge us but admittedly at this point re-evaluating the entire desire to own a boat, we recognize that we are very tired but safe. We drop the anchor to stabilize our position and hope that getting a few hours of sleep until morning will help.
I wouldn't recommend being stuck or anchoring where we are but the lights of Buffalo Navel Park and the city across the harbor was a beautiful site which we had to ourselves. Three hours of sleep helped take the edge off, and in the morning light I give the start button a few more tries with no luck. I take the engine covering off and turn the fan belt to convince myself the engine is not frozen. Maybe a coincidence but I try the start button again and it fires up! Hoping that we're not wedged in too bad, I put the prop in gear and throttle up. Some muddy water churning at the stern first then we move forward. My son pulls up the anchor and we just throw off the line we tied up to the floating dock.
We baby the motor the last few hundred yards of the trip to the transient dock at the Marina. My son says, “Happy Father's Day, we made it”, as we step on land for the first time in 40 hours (only 34 hours underway). It was indeed Father's Day and my son and I had just completed a 250 mile trip sailing through the night and although encountering many obstacles we did make it, depending only on each other.This truly is an adventure we will remember for many Father's Days to come!
You should submit it to Sail magazine! Congrats on your "new" boat and completion of its maiden voyage. May all your next sails be less eventful and equally memorable!
