Last week, I endured one of the worst storms on Lake Superior I ever hope to encounter. Someone on Facebook suggested I write it all out for those that want to know the whole story. Here it is for those that want to read on.
I was out for a solo overnighter or two, anchored in Presque Isle Bay on Stockton Island, Lake Superior. Presque Isle Bay is about 12 miles from the mainland and Bayfield and is open to the south, southwest and west. The wind had been out of the northeast all day, which made for a great sail, and Presque Isle Bay would provide excellent protection from a NE wind. The anchorage was flat calm.
I took the dinghy ashore and came across a Park Ranger campfire discussion about climate change and culture, which was very interesting because I am working on a project that is based upon how climate change affects Lake Superior. The discussion around the campfire boiled down to extreme weather phenomena that are becoming more and more frequent. It was a good discussion that provided me some food for thought. One of the other people at the campfire mentioned something about the weather changing overnight so I went back to the boat to check the weather radio. I also looked at the radar and noted some rain showers brewing far to the west over North Dakota. Nothing on the weather radio made me think I needed to move to a different location.
Before turning in for the night, I did close all of the hatches except for the one over my head in the v-berth. It was a hot night and I needed the fresh air. I fell asleep easily knowing that if it did start to rain, it would wake me up and I’d close it then.
At about 3:45 am I felt a few drops of rain falling through the hatch onto my face. I am normally a pretty heavy sleeper, but the light rain on my face woke me enough to open my eyes to an incredible lightning display outside. The sky was lighting up like a strobe light and I knew I needed to jump to action. I grabbed my phone to see the weather radar while I turned on the weather radio to hear weather warnings of major storms approaching my anchorage and the surrounding area. Winds were predicted to be to be up to 70 mph from the west! The radar images on my phone confirmed this with an intense red line of storms raging toward me. My anchorage is wide open to the west so I knew I was in for a ride.
I threw on my foul weather gear and went to work preparing the boat and myself for this onslaught of weather. I grabbed a handful of sail ties to double lash down the mainsail to prevent it from being ripped to shreds. I also fired up the engine to have it running just in case the anchor line parted or to relieve stress on the line. The last thing I did was to put on my life jacket. It was the last thing because just then, mother nature made her appearance.
The first blast of wind and rain hit with incredible force that threw the boat over 30-40 degrees. The boat sailed over to the end of its arc on the anchor rode and slammed back the other direction and the boat heeled 30-40 degrees the other direction. I looked behind me to see the dinghy overturned in the raging water behind the boat. I remember saying to myself I’ll deal with that later. The wind then revved up another notch and my guess is that it was now blowing 70 mph, as predicted. As I was sailing back and forth on the anchor, I was holding on to the wheel trying to drive the boat into the wind to mitigate the back and forth motion as much as I could but I’m not sure it was helping, but it gave me something to hold on to. I could barely see anything forward but I did notice that part of the windscreen between the dodger and the bimini had ripped and was now flapping loose like a kite. Eventually it ripped off altogether. The flogging of this fabric started to rattle many of the bimini frame connectors loose and the entire frame began to collapse. As I was still trying to hold the wheel and keep the boat straight into the wind, I was also trying to hold the frame together and keep it attached to the boat. At this time, I noticed the dinghy had righted itself and was bucking on the waves that had quickly grown to 5-6 feet. Again, I remember thinking, great, one-less thing to deal with later.
The next few minutes became such a blur because the wind increased in intensity one more time. As I was attempting to hold the bimini frame to the boat (did I mention before that my solar array is mounted to the bimini?) while also holding on to the wheel, I looked back again only to now see lights bearing down on me that weren’t there a minute before. Was I dragging into another boat or was another boat motoring toward me? The lightning was still flashing like a strobe so, occasionally I could see the boat’s bow rise up and crash down the backside of the waves. I could also see the harbor lights still in the same spot as they had been earlier before the storm slammed me so I knew the other boat was motoring toward me. It only took a second or two to realize that the boat didn’t see me; why would he? I couldn’t see anything forward of me either with the wind driven rain blinding me. The only thing I could think to do was to run below and flip the navigation lights on so that the other boat would see my stern light and hopefully navigate around me.
Thankfully, it worked! The other sailor managed to avoid running over me. He maneuvered around and alongside me to port with maybe 30 feet between us which was not nearly enough as I was violently swinging on my anchor at least that much, if not more. As he past me, I realized it was a pilothouse boat so he had the benefit of steering from inside and behind glassed windows, which I’m sure allowed him a better view of my stern light. The boat managed to get past me but either I swung further toward him, or the wind grabbed his bow and pushed him across my bow so now, he was crossing in front of me! At this point, the wind was now was at its maximum force and all hell was breaking loose.
As the other boat crossed in front of me, my boat lurched to the starboard and decided to follow along with the other boat! I realized pretty quickly that the two boats had entangled themselves somehow and I was now at the mercy of the pilothouse boat. The pilothouse spun 180 degrees and was now heading back toward my stern and I was quickly spinning along with him. Now, with my stern to the wind, I thought for sure my cockpit was going to be swamped with an oncoming wave but I think I pivoted so quickly that the waves had little chance to get in! As I spun though, I do remember the boat heeling over so far that I thought for sure I would end up in the water. After about a ¾ do-si-do with this other boat, I felt my boat snap back onto its original, and dare I say, more comfortable, bucking bronco ride. We somehow managed to separate from one another and I watched the pilothouse make its way out to deeper water.
The wind was still ripping at everything and trying its hardest to tear everything it could from my boat, and once again, I noticed my dinghy overturned behind me, but all I could do was to hang on and take visual bearings off of the harbor lights to make sure my anchor was still holding.
Thankfully, it was.
One last check on the dinghy, still there and back upright.
Finally, the wind felt as if it were letting up enough for me to lock down the wheel so I could get forward to check on the anchor line and the overall condition of the boat. By now, it was just getting light enough for me to barely make out fuzzy shapes but I still needed my headlamp to see anything with clarity. Everything forward of the cockpit looked good. Both kayaks still lashed to the deck, headsail still furled and nothing missing or gone. I got to the pulpit and looked over to make sure the anchor line was still in good shape, but noticed the line going over the bow and straight down into the water. The wind had eased, but it still had to be blowing at gale force or better, but it was much improved over the previous 5?, 10?, 15 minutes? I have no idea of the timeframe; it was such a blur. But as I looked down at the water to where the anchor line penetrated the water, I could just barely make out a shape just below the surface of the water.
What the hell was that?
At first, I thought my anchor line had grabbed a deadhead log and stood it up on end as the anchor line was pulled tight by the wind. I tried pulling up on the line but the wind was still too fierce for me to get any kind of pull. The anchor line was still stretched tight as a guitar string.
Eventually though, the wind eased enough for me to pull upward enough to realize that I was now in possession of the anchor from the pilothouse boat! I managed to get the anchor above the surface of the water, but now what? The claws of his 40# CQR were over my line and, as I was working on my belly on the pointy end of the boat, I had no leverage to get this thing off. Plus, there was 20 feet of chain hanging down to the bottom. It took all my strength to grab the anchor and pull it up and off my line. Once I did, I grabbed a dockline that I keep in my anchor locker and made a loop to lasso the anchor so that I could tie it off to the bow of my boat. Once secure, I grabbed a fender and another line to tie to the anchor so it could be retrieved later. The moment I was able to throw the whole works overboard, my boat swung well away from the offending anchor, and I was able to get back to the cockpit and catch my breath.
The wind was now down below a gale I was able to call the boat that was circling the anchorage. I told them that I had their anchor marked with a fender and we had a good chat about the near catastrophe. They apologized profusely as they worked to set their secondary anchor.
I can’t blame them, they had to move because another boat had dragged into them, so they wanted to get clear and since they had a windlass and a pilothouse, it was, in their minds, they right thing to do. They had no idea how fierce things would get once they broke out their anchor and started to move.
After the radio call, I was able to figure out exactly what had happened. As the pilothouse raised their anchor, they got it up and free of the bottom, but it wasn’t raised all the way so when they passed in front of me, their anchor snagged my anchor line, which was stretched tight. Once he snagged me, it pulled me along with him until his chain ran out, all 170 feet of chain. In doing so, the bowsprit on the other boat snapped off like a toothpick.
This was, by far, the scariest storm I have ever been in. The sailor in the pilothouse said his anemometer hit 71 knots. That’s over 81 mph! The ranger station onshore hit 85 mph and a ship entering the harbor in Duluth, MN, 75 miles to the west of me but in the same storm clocked 90 knots or 103 mph!
Once it got light enough to see, the damage onshore showed just how severe this storm was. The shoreline of this anchorage is filled with campsites and they were full of campers. There were so many downed trees that most of the trails were impassable. One tree fell onto a tent, but thankfully, no one was hurt. One woman camping alone took shelter in a bear bin (a steel container used to store food and cooking equipment to deter bears from ravaging the campsites). Two campers were killed in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness 150 miles to the northwest of where I was.
There are a few things I should have done differently, but all in all, I came through pretty unscathed. I lost most of the contents of the dinghy. The oars were lashed in so they remained, but I lost both seats, the fuel tank and fuel line ripped out of the boat and I lost the dinghy anchor and my tackle box and net but thankfully, the engine stayed attached and with a bit of disassembly and care, back up and running.
I also had the GPS antenna rip from the radar mast. The bimini frame came loose, but nothing was lost there and I was quickly able to get it reassembled. There was just a small tear in the bimini fabric that will be easy to patch. The windscreen that connects the dodger to the bimini ripped clean from the zippers. A bad sewing job on my part was probably a good thing for me because it reduced the windage on my boat and probably saved the bimini and my solar panels from further damage, but again, an easy repair.
I have so many things to be thankful for. My anchor, a 35# Manson Supreme held like a champ. The storm spun me 180 degrees from the direction of my original set. Several years ago, I bought this anchor to replace my Fortress.
I’ll be replacing the rode (anchor line) because it was pretty badly abraded by the pilothouse’s anchor that scraped 40 – 50 feet up my line. I figure in all, my losses are about $500 to $600.
It could have been a lot worse.
I was out for a solo overnighter or two, anchored in Presque Isle Bay on Stockton Island, Lake Superior. Presque Isle Bay is about 12 miles from the mainland and Bayfield and is open to the south, southwest and west. The wind had been out of the northeast all day, which made for a great sail, and Presque Isle Bay would provide excellent protection from a NE wind. The anchorage was flat calm.
I took the dinghy ashore and came across a Park Ranger campfire discussion about climate change and culture, which was very interesting because I am working on a project that is based upon how climate change affects Lake Superior. The discussion around the campfire boiled down to extreme weather phenomena that are becoming more and more frequent. It was a good discussion that provided me some food for thought. One of the other people at the campfire mentioned something about the weather changing overnight so I went back to the boat to check the weather radio. I also looked at the radar and noted some rain showers brewing far to the west over North Dakota. Nothing on the weather radio made me think I needed to move to a different location.
Before turning in for the night, I did close all of the hatches except for the one over my head in the v-berth. It was a hot night and I needed the fresh air. I fell asleep easily knowing that if it did start to rain, it would wake me up and I’d close it then.
At about 3:45 am I felt a few drops of rain falling through the hatch onto my face. I am normally a pretty heavy sleeper, but the light rain on my face woke me enough to open my eyes to an incredible lightning display outside. The sky was lighting up like a strobe light and I knew I needed to jump to action. I grabbed my phone to see the weather radar while I turned on the weather radio to hear weather warnings of major storms approaching my anchorage and the surrounding area. Winds were predicted to be to be up to 70 mph from the west! The radar images on my phone confirmed this with an intense red line of storms raging toward me. My anchorage is wide open to the west so I knew I was in for a ride.
I threw on my foul weather gear and went to work preparing the boat and myself for this onslaught of weather. I grabbed a handful of sail ties to double lash down the mainsail to prevent it from being ripped to shreds. I also fired up the engine to have it running just in case the anchor line parted or to relieve stress on the line. The last thing I did was to put on my life jacket. It was the last thing because just then, mother nature made her appearance.
The first blast of wind and rain hit with incredible force that threw the boat over 30-40 degrees. The boat sailed over to the end of its arc on the anchor rode and slammed back the other direction and the boat heeled 30-40 degrees the other direction. I looked behind me to see the dinghy overturned in the raging water behind the boat. I remember saying to myself I’ll deal with that later. The wind then revved up another notch and my guess is that it was now blowing 70 mph, as predicted. As I was sailing back and forth on the anchor, I was holding on to the wheel trying to drive the boat into the wind to mitigate the back and forth motion as much as I could but I’m not sure it was helping, but it gave me something to hold on to. I could barely see anything forward but I did notice that part of the windscreen between the dodger and the bimini had ripped and was now flapping loose like a kite. Eventually it ripped off altogether. The flogging of this fabric started to rattle many of the bimini frame connectors loose and the entire frame began to collapse. As I was still trying to hold the wheel and keep the boat straight into the wind, I was also trying to hold the frame together and keep it attached to the boat. At this time, I noticed the dinghy had righted itself and was bucking on the waves that had quickly grown to 5-6 feet. Again, I remember thinking, great, one-less thing to deal with later.
The next few minutes became such a blur because the wind increased in intensity one more time. As I was attempting to hold the bimini frame to the boat (did I mention before that my solar array is mounted to the bimini?) while also holding on to the wheel, I looked back again only to now see lights bearing down on me that weren’t there a minute before. Was I dragging into another boat or was another boat motoring toward me? The lightning was still flashing like a strobe so, occasionally I could see the boat’s bow rise up and crash down the backside of the waves. I could also see the harbor lights still in the same spot as they had been earlier before the storm slammed me so I knew the other boat was motoring toward me. It only took a second or two to realize that the boat didn’t see me; why would he? I couldn’t see anything forward of me either with the wind driven rain blinding me. The only thing I could think to do was to run below and flip the navigation lights on so that the other boat would see my stern light and hopefully navigate around me.
Thankfully, it worked! The other sailor managed to avoid running over me. He maneuvered around and alongside me to port with maybe 30 feet between us which was not nearly enough as I was violently swinging on my anchor at least that much, if not more. As he past me, I realized it was a pilothouse boat so he had the benefit of steering from inside and behind glassed windows, which I’m sure allowed him a better view of my stern light. The boat managed to get past me but either I swung further toward him, or the wind grabbed his bow and pushed him across my bow so now, he was crossing in front of me! At this point, the wind was now was at its maximum force and all hell was breaking loose.
As the other boat crossed in front of me, my boat lurched to the starboard and decided to follow along with the other boat! I realized pretty quickly that the two boats had entangled themselves somehow and I was now at the mercy of the pilothouse boat. The pilothouse spun 180 degrees and was now heading back toward my stern and I was quickly spinning along with him. Now, with my stern to the wind, I thought for sure my cockpit was going to be swamped with an oncoming wave but I think I pivoted so quickly that the waves had little chance to get in! As I spun though, I do remember the boat heeling over so far that I thought for sure I would end up in the water. After about a ¾ do-si-do with this other boat, I felt my boat snap back onto its original, and dare I say, more comfortable, bucking bronco ride. We somehow managed to separate from one another and I watched the pilothouse make its way out to deeper water.
The wind was still ripping at everything and trying its hardest to tear everything it could from my boat, and once again, I noticed my dinghy overturned behind me, but all I could do was to hang on and take visual bearings off of the harbor lights to make sure my anchor was still holding.
Thankfully, it was.
One last check on the dinghy, still there and back upright.
Finally, the wind felt as if it were letting up enough for me to lock down the wheel so I could get forward to check on the anchor line and the overall condition of the boat. By now, it was just getting light enough for me to barely make out fuzzy shapes but I still needed my headlamp to see anything with clarity. Everything forward of the cockpit looked good. Both kayaks still lashed to the deck, headsail still furled and nothing missing or gone. I got to the pulpit and looked over to make sure the anchor line was still in good shape, but noticed the line going over the bow and straight down into the water. The wind had eased, but it still had to be blowing at gale force or better, but it was much improved over the previous 5?, 10?, 15 minutes? I have no idea of the timeframe; it was such a blur. But as I looked down at the water to where the anchor line penetrated the water, I could just barely make out a shape just below the surface of the water.
What the hell was that?
At first, I thought my anchor line had grabbed a deadhead log and stood it up on end as the anchor line was pulled tight by the wind. I tried pulling up on the line but the wind was still too fierce for me to get any kind of pull. The anchor line was still stretched tight as a guitar string.
Eventually though, the wind eased enough for me to pull upward enough to realize that I was now in possession of the anchor from the pilothouse boat! I managed to get the anchor above the surface of the water, but now what? The claws of his 40# CQR were over my line and, as I was working on my belly on the pointy end of the boat, I had no leverage to get this thing off. Plus, there was 20 feet of chain hanging down to the bottom. It took all my strength to grab the anchor and pull it up and off my line. Once I did, I grabbed a dockline that I keep in my anchor locker and made a loop to lasso the anchor so that I could tie it off to the bow of my boat. Once secure, I grabbed a fender and another line to tie to the anchor so it could be retrieved later. The moment I was able to throw the whole works overboard, my boat swung well away from the offending anchor, and I was able to get back to the cockpit and catch my breath.
The wind was now down below a gale I was able to call the boat that was circling the anchorage. I told them that I had their anchor marked with a fender and we had a good chat about the near catastrophe. They apologized profusely as they worked to set their secondary anchor.
I can’t blame them, they had to move because another boat had dragged into them, so they wanted to get clear and since they had a windlass and a pilothouse, it was, in their minds, they right thing to do. They had no idea how fierce things would get once they broke out their anchor and started to move.
After the radio call, I was able to figure out exactly what had happened. As the pilothouse raised their anchor, they got it up and free of the bottom, but it wasn’t raised all the way so when they passed in front of me, their anchor snagged my anchor line, which was stretched tight. Once he snagged me, it pulled me along with him until his chain ran out, all 170 feet of chain. In doing so, the bowsprit on the other boat snapped off like a toothpick.
This was, by far, the scariest storm I have ever been in. The sailor in the pilothouse said his anemometer hit 71 knots. That’s over 81 mph! The ranger station onshore hit 85 mph and a ship entering the harbor in Duluth, MN, 75 miles to the west of me but in the same storm clocked 90 knots or 103 mph!
Once it got light enough to see, the damage onshore showed just how severe this storm was. The shoreline of this anchorage is filled with campsites and they were full of campers. There were so many downed trees that most of the trails were impassable. One tree fell onto a tent, but thankfully, no one was hurt. One woman camping alone took shelter in a bear bin (a steel container used to store food and cooking equipment to deter bears from ravaging the campsites). Two campers were killed in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness 150 miles to the northwest of where I was.
There are a few things I should have done differently, but all in all, I came through pretty unscathed. I lost most of the contents of the dinghy. The oars were lashed in so they remained, but I lost both seats, the fuel tank and fuel line ripped out of the boat and I lost the dinghy anchor and my tackle box and net but thankfully, the engine stayed attached and with a bit of disassembly and care, back up and running.
I also had the GPS antenna rip from the radar mast. The bimini frame came loose, but nothing was lost there and I was quickly able to get it reassembled. There was just a small tear in the bimini fabric that will be easy to patch. The windscreen that connects the dodger to the bimini ripped clean from the zippers. A bad sewing job on my part was probably a good thing for me because it reduced the windage on my boat and probably saved the bimini and my solar panels from further damage, but again, an easy repair.
I have so many things to be thankful for. My anchor, a 35# Manson Supreme held like a champ. The storm spun me 180 degrees from the direction of my original set. Several years ago, I bought this anchor to replace my Fortress.
I’ll be replacing the rode (anchor line) because it was pretty badly abraded by the pilothouse’s anchor that scraped 40 – 50 feet up my line. I figure in all, my losses are about $500 to $600.
It could have been a lot worse.
