All hauled out

The sky was still dark at 5:30 when my alarm went off.  I awoke to find that I still had my jeans and t-shirt on from the night before.  I hastily crammed down a pop-tart and hopped up into my lifted Jeep Cherokee.  Down at the Marina I met up with Mark shortly after fumbling with he keys in the creaky gate.  It was only 6 hours prior that we had dropped the mast on my Bristol 24.
Dropping the mast was a stressful proposition as raising it had been a nightmare both times.  The mast was old heavy aluminum, and the forces being exerted combined with the leverage placed on all the components worried me.  I rigged up the boom to act as a lever arm, and used the main sheet to do all the work of lowering it.  I also ran a precautionary line from the back stay to the stern rail just to be safe.  We had another couple people helping out, but in the end the mast lowered very slowly and smoothly.  It was as uneventful as I could have hoped for. 

After saying goodbye to everyone and tidying up I took a moment to pause in the companionway hatch to think about my boat.  It had been almost a year ago that I had bought it.  She had come a long way.  There are a lot of cosmetic problems that I fixed, and some that I inflicted over my ownership of her.  I had traveled over a hundred miles aboard her over the course of the summer.  It wasn't quite as grand as I had planned, but there are times when you just need to take a step back and re-evaluate what's going on.  My trip to Manitowoc had been my final sail.  Had I known I may have carried it out with a bit more fanfare, but still it seemed a fitting time to say goodbye to my boat.  It wasn't just the last sail of the season, but the last I would ever have on her.  I'm thankful she sold so quickly, so I wouldn't have time to change my mind.  Still I'd like to get her cleaned up for the next owner.
Mark helped steer while I rowed my 8 foot pram dinghy.  The key to effectively pulling such a heavy boat by such primitive means is to use a very long line to absorb the shock as you row.  We were making probably a knot-an-a-half over toward the boat ramp.  We tied up and I ran errands until the moving company came to pull her out. 
The big semi trailer backed down the boat ramp and easily slid Aequitas up out of the water.  I had forgotten how pretty she looked when you could see all of her.  Admittedly she needed some cleaning.  Algae had grown on the one side exposed to the sun, and I could see the chunk of fiberglass that had been taken out of the bow from that fateful failed voyage with the Bradings. 
After the stands were in place on the old road I went to work cleaning off the slime.  I only had one sponge and no water to use, so it kind of just mixed in with the paint, and has since flaked off into a very unattractive finish.  I intend to patch up the bow, scrub off the flakes, and if I can get around to it, apply some more varnish to the woodwork.  I want the next owners to have as little reason for remorse as possible.  She is after all a strong seaworthy boat, I just can't give her the life she deserves right now.  I daresay I'm leaving her better than I found her though.  She got to get out on the water and ride around happily on the waves.  I'm sure it won't be long before she's back out there, reunited with one of her previous owners.  I am still quite anxious to find if he has any information into her history.

All in the family

Tomorrow I am officially pulling my boat out of the water.  I was woken up this morning by the moving company asking if I was ready to go at 7:00 in the morning Tuesday.  I still have to drop the mast which will be an ordeal in itself.  I told them my predicament, but now I think I will try to get it down tonight with the help of a few friends, and of course I will be enlisting the assistance off Innocent bystanders.  We're all boaters though, so you lend a hand where you can.  I guess I've learned to accept how friendly people are down at the docks.
I have gotten a few emails and offers for my boat.  I have been praying to know if I really should be going off to school, or if I should really be selling my boat.  When I bought her I had nagging doubts that I ignored proving that I can push on through anything, but now that I have put her up for sale a lot of things seem to be clicking into place.  It has been a big drain on my time and energy, but for now I will still cherish the time that I've spent learning and living this summer on my boat.  One of the people who emailed me said that he thinks it used to be his dad's old boat.  He can remember being on it as a 7 year old.  Apparently the color and trim all look the same.  He's trying to get it back in the family.  I would much rather sell to someone like that, than just a random person with no attachment to the boat.  I wonder if he has any old photos of it, or what it's name was before.  It would be awesome to have a scrapbook of previous owners for a boat.  I wasn't sure, but he asked if I still had a particular teakettle on board that was of sentimental significance to his father.  I can only imagine it is the peculiar silver one with the cooking ring mounted below it.  No one that has seen this kettle has ever seen another like it.  I hope we can put this together for him.  I was all set to keep her, but for things to be moving along so quickly, and for a buyer to pop up for me in a week when the boat yard couldn't sell her for years must mean something.

Moving on at summer's end

Sorry it's been so long since I've written anything.  It is more an indication that there is a lot going on in my life, not that there's nothing to report.   After my week of solid sailing, I had an off week where I did almost no sailing at all.  I need to keep in mind that this blog is about more than just sailing.  So I guess we will find out together that there is more to life.  One Monday I was sitting at work and I realized that I only had three or four weeks before my boat had to be out of the water.  The temperature here has already started to drop at the rate of about 10 degrees per month.  It may not seem like much, but the first few mornings when I awoke to 50 degrees on the thermometer were not fun.  Anyway, as I was sitting contemplating what to do with my remaining time I couldn't help thinking of how much I still wanted to sail to another city, at least once this summer.  After a quick scan of the weather report I called two of my brothers and set up a voyage for that night.  It was to be the last full moon of the sailing season, and the wind looked to be pretty strong.  There are two cities equidistant from Sheboygan, one North and one South.  I intended to go to Port Washington which lies to the south about 25 miles away.
We met up at my Mom's house and made a last minute run to the store to pick up beef jerky and granola bars.  Down at the marina the 20+ MPH winds were making it very difficult to raise the sails.  I made the call to reef the main and not put up the jib just yet.  We shoved off of the dock easily enough, but since the wind was blowing strong directly out of the south I had to tack to get out of the harbor.  Reefing in the main had changed the shape of the sail a bit and made it impossible to point as high into the wind as I needed to to get out.  Spencer had the brilliant idea to drop anchor while we sorted it out.  Yes we did get blown up against the rocks again, and we did in the end have to fend off the massive racing yacht moored innocently to her T-dock, but shhh! don't tell anyone.  There was no damage done to either vessel, unless you count leaving a small footprint sized smudge in the wax coat as damage. 
A nice guy in his tiny aluminum fishing boat came up and offered to help tow.  We had to drop sail while he revved the little engine to its limits.  Spencer hurt his hand trying to hold the rope instead of tying it off.  I was glad that he actually helped us out of the harbor, and not just back to the dock, and I was amazed that his little outboard could pull my 6,000 pound boat against such a fierce wind.
Eventually we were let loose out in the harbor back lit by a brilliant full moon.  We sped past the lighthouse and were half a mile out in the lake before we got the main lashed back onto the boom.  It was far too windy out there to use both sails.  I tried heading up into the wind, but it was impossible using just the jib. We called mom and let her know that we would be heading North to Manitowoc instead of Port Washington, that way at least if we were lost at sea someone would know where to look for us.
The GPS showed us making awesome progress, and it wasn't until 4 in the morning that the wind actually began to shift and die a bit.  I had to wake my crew up to help raise the main, and then they went back to sleep.  I think Spencer slept most of the trip.  The rollers would chase us down and pass under the stern while the dinghy kept trying to surf and slam into the boat.  I let both of my brothers take turns at the helm.  It was much nicer having a crew that was more confident at steering so I could get a better quality catnap.  The wind had blown us pretty far offshore; we had about 7 miles to make up getting back in to Manitowoc.  We were all exhausted and at about 7 in the morning we decided to just drop anchor off of a beach and sleep there rather than trying to make it into the harbor.  I didn't want to have to radio anyone or pay any fees.  We threw out both anchors in about 7 feet of water.  The waves slammed us about a bit, and the wind kept howling through the bare rigging as I tried to rest.  In the end I had to go up on deck, stow the sails better, and bring in the main anchor because the chain was just too loud for me in the foreword cabin.  I slept till around 10:30, bailed out the dinghy, and gave my brothers a rude awakening when I had the jib set and called for them to come bring in the anchor.  It was the first and only time we ever had to use the windlass.  I had let out about 60 feet of line, and the 20 pound anchor had dug itself well into the sand.  Finally we cranked it in and swung around back for home.  We never stepped foot in Manitowoc that day, but we were only a couple hundred yards away from their lighthouse, so it still counts.
As we cruised past a the inlets for a power plant several cormorants took flights and began their daily dive for meals.  The scenery was gorgeous.  We stayed close to the shore so we could see better details of the houses and golf courses that we sailed past.  There were no other boats in sight, and there seemed to be a profound silence on land for the first few hours.  We dispelled this by blasting whatever was loaded onto the iPod on board.  I must say that it was a rather eclectic collection of tunes, but luckily the tiny speakers couldn't reach far enough to bother anyone not on my boat...  Perhaps out off-key singing of Styx: Come Sail Away would have though.
We got home at about 5 in the evening to find my younger brother, Liam, waiting at the dock with his surfboard.  Spencer left after helping to stow the sails; Max and I went to watch Liam surf for a bit.  He did quite well for a rookie on tiny waves.  I was unsteady on my feet for a few hours as I got used to dry land again.  I can't remember much more, other than that I was really hungry when we got home.  It was a great cruise, I learned more.  It was a bit more enjoyable, but sailing is not the quickest way to get anywhere.  I am becoming more and more aware that the boat I have may not be the best one for what I need in my life right now.
I have finally decided to stop putting it off and head to college.  Maybe I needed this summer to see what type of sailing I really do like; what type of boat will I really use, or if I am really up to the lofty goals I have set.  I do fully believe that a Bristol 24 could carry someone across the Atlantic comfortably, I just don't think I have the time or resources right now to pursue that goal, and rather than sink any more money into Aequitas I think I will travel by plane and by foot, by train and by car for a while.  I have put my boat up for sale on the Internet and will hope to recoup some of the costs so that I may fund my education, and perhaps some of my travels.  It is a bittersweet feeling.  They say that the two happiest days in a sailor's life are the day he buys his boat, and the day he finally sells it.  Maybe I just need to get a little trailer-sailor so I can haul it with me wherever I may go and take advantage of both coasts and inland lakes without needing professional transport or a huge truck.
It is sad though knowing that the trip to Manitowoc was my last time sailing her.  I have been sleeping on the couch at my mom's house for a couple weeks now because it's gotten too cold in the marina.  I'll miss her when she's gone, and if she doesn't sell, I won't mind if she sticks around for a few years so at some later date I may revisit my dreams of cruising. 
I will still endeavor to maintain this blog of any other travels I do.  Thanks for reading!

A solid week

This week started out with the fiasco of Sunday sailing, followed by the trepidation of Tuesday which ended up being a perfect day, then on Wednesday I wanted to go sailing with Dani in the morning, but we never got together in time and I had to head off to work.  I text messaged her a few times throughout the day, and was delighted when she called me close to quitting time and informed me that she was in my neighborhood.  At first she said that she was in my Cul-de-sac which I thought was a bit odd.  Then it clicked that she was in the marina.  She had been visiting on the Sea Scout’s Merit 25 and had me come down to say hi.  I couldn’t very well ignore her since I live down there.  As I was nearing the harbor she also invited me to join them on a night sail that they had been “roped in to”.  I’m not so sure it would have taken too much convincing to get her to go sailing.  We turned on the running lights, I fired up the motor, and we had a lovely evening sailing under just jib. The wind was quite fresh and we were heeled nicely.  It was awesome to be able to look up and see the Milky Way over the pitch black waters.

The next day I didn’t sail at all, but Friday I went with my brother, Max, and his girlfriend.  She got sea sick with the 3-4 foot waves.  I felt bad, but we had a great time sailing from 6:30 till sunset.  On Friday I spend $70.00 on an antique outboard motor for the dinghy.  It started right up when I bought it, then I slapped it on the dinghy and didn’t bother with it because I had more guests joining me for the evening.  My brother, sister, and a few friends came along for another breezy sail.  The waves were about the biggest I’ve sailed in, and Aequitas handled it all with ease.

On Sunday after church I went down to try and start the motor.  It was a bit disconcerting when it began to spray gasoline everywhere.  It took a couple tries, but I got her cranked up and was able to motor about 3 meters away from my dock before the engine died.  I had forgotten to bring the oars with me and so I was reduced to hand paddling it back to the dock.  Luckily the wind was in my favor.  My siblings and mom came down for a Sunday afternoon sail.  It was glorious.  The wind was fresh, the seas were exciting.  My mom got a bit seasick, as did my brother, Liam, but after an hour or so all the kids just went below and took turns taking naps.  It was peaceful.  We sailed easily on a broad reach out east and down south, but were hard pressed pinching up into the wind to make it home in a timely manner. 

Tomorrow I should be picking up an old Jeep Cherokee so I can finally have my own car, I can tow my grandma’s little dinghy boat, and I can go off-roading.  Wish me luck.

Conquering

As soon as I got done with my blog post yesterday I thought about how nervous I had been about sailing since I have so many mishaps.  I realized that I was letting my fear of failure keep me in the harbor on a day that could turn out to be a beautiful day.  I didn't want to let my anxiety keep me from doing something I love.  I didn't want to crash into the pier again, but I wasn't gonna sit on land if I could possibly be out on the water.
After I left the library I drove straight to the marina, threw off the mooring lines, flipped my boat around, raised the main, and headed out.  No collisions, no close calls.  I didn't even really have to tack to get out of the harbor.  Getting out is the hard part, and once that was out of the way it was easy.  I called Dani so she could come sailing after all; but since I told her the weather was going to be too bad, she had already made other plans.  I sailed off alone.
The wind was pretty strong, coming out of the south, and it took me a couple minutes to set the jib, but once both sails were up I was cruising along at a pretty good pace just enjoying life.  My brother, Spencer, called to see if he and his friend, Seth, could come sailing too. I could see a few people starting to get out their paddle boards and surf boards.  There were pretty good waves for once, usually the lake doesn't kick up cresting waves close to shore.  I dropped anchor just outside of the heavy impact zone for the waves and began to get the dinghy ready.  Aequitas was still jumping up and down quite a bit on the waves so getting into the little 8 foot boat was somewhat challenging.  I surfed on a couple waves as I got closer to shore, but just as I was about to get out and walk the rest of the way a huge wave broke over the stern and filled the dinghy halfway with water and sand.
Getting in was the easy part.  I almost got swamped with just me in the boat.  Now we were cramming two more people in and trying to fight against the waves.  It was a pretty hairy situation, but very fun.  We had to lean one way to avoid the waves, and then counter balance to keep water from lapping up over the gunwales.  I had to push the boat past the breakers before I could climb up and start rowing.  In the end we had a glorious sail and I'm really glad I went.
A life lived in fear is a life half lived.

Shaken, stirred, and on the rocks.

I have the worst luck taking people sailing.  I don't know why it is, but for some reason I can sail the boat perfectly fine on my own; but when I try and bring people along there's some kind of catastrophe. 
My friend, Dani, is home for a couple weeks visiting from Alaska.  The plan was to go sailing after church on Sunday.  It all seemed like a good idea.  There was a fair breeze coming out of the west.  I had learned my lesson last time to just go out using the jib in this type of wind.  Dani brought along her two brothers and two sisters to enjoy the beautiful sunny day out sailing.  So far so good.  My neighbors had left and sailed on down to Racine for the rest of the season, so there was plenty of room to turn my boat around in the slip and head out forward.  It should have been the easiest time ever.  AS we were shoving off, we all hopped on board except for Dani's older brother; he hesitated slightly and with each passing second the boat got further and further from land.  I had the dinghy behind, but he didn't jump into that one either.  He also had some electronics with him, so he couldn't very well jump in and swim.  I'm not one to leave anyone behind, so I sailed down to the end of the dock and tried to spin around.  This was much harder than anticipated, and we only just made it back to a slip at the very end of the dock.  Once again we were close to Chance a Santa Cruz 70...very expensive boat.  I was a bit nervous of shoving off so close to this other boat, but we made it around ok, and just as I turned the boat to head up into the wind more and trim the sails in a bit, my boat started to head for the rocks.  I tried counter steering as much as I could, but in the end had to flip the tiller to avoid the breakwater.  We did a 360 degree turn and tried it again.  the same thing happened this time again.  In hindsight I should have just eased the jib out all the way and let that carry us out of the harbor.  I'm pretty sure I did, and it didn't work, but it was so stressful that the details are a bit blurry right now.  The second time we were headed straight for the rocks again, and even though I spilled the sail completely, we were still drifting sideways towards them.  Once again I flipped the tiller over in hopes that we could swing around and miss the rocks.  No such luck.  I called for people to be on the fore-deck to kick off the rocks if anything were to happen, but I forget that most people don't know how heavy the boat is, how deep the rocks are.  I'm sure if it was my first time on a boat I wouldn't want to run the risk of getting crushed. 
In the end I had to run foreward and try to stop the boat.  I jumped onto the rocks and braced myself against the bow pulpit, but we were already moving too fast.  there was a loud CRUNCH! as the bow slammed into a submerged rock.  I had run aground before, but that was slowly, and against sand.  There was no telling the damage that had just been done.  I pushed the boat back and tried to head out again, but the wind resisted my best efforts at even getting back to the slip.  In the end some concerned citizens in rigid inflatable boats came over and pulled me back to safety.  Reputation: gone.  Confidence: shattered.  Boat: battered.
We tied up at the slip and thanked our rescuers.  The siblings left and Dani stayed behind to make sure I didn't die of shame.  For some reason she blamed herself, but this wouldn't have happened if I had my engine working, or possibly if I had my mainsail up.  It was to blustery for both sails in the harbor.  I wish I had been able to learn what I needed to do and still gone sailing, but after an attempt like that I feel much better just sitting at the dock and not risking it again.  Sailing is a risk, and I guess this is my "practice boat", I just wish I could sail whenever and wherever I want.
I put on my snorkel mask and dove down to assess the damage.  Luckily I did but such a sturdy boat.  I know she can take quite a beating, but that doesn't mean I like inflicting injuries.  There was a small chunk of fiberglass below the waterline.  It looked like a little divot.  There was no hole, and no water coming into the boat, it's just one more thing I'll have to repair when I pull her out in October.  We went for a walk, I was able to clear my mind a bit, but then we sat on the boat chatting for the rest of the day.  I really wanted to go sailing.
Today we were planning on sailing as well, but the weather called for damaging winds, hail, thunderstorms, and possibly tornadoes.  It's probably wise that we didn't go today.

Photoless

I've had a few pretty good days when I've been able to get out and enjoy all of the goodies the Sheboygan has to offer in the summer time.  A friend of mine who I haven't seen in 3 years came back to Wisconsin with her husband for a couple weeks.  It was really good to see her and catch up on all that has changed over the years.  It's so weird to look back at who you were, and see who you've become.
Tuesday I tried going sailing with my brothers and sister.  It was a really gusty west wind.  Getting out of the slip was a test in timing.  Then when we got out the wind was directly behind us and the helm wouldn't answer.  There was too much pressure on one side of the boat.  I had to keep running forward to fend off other boats.  In the end we almost got blown up against the rocks.  Max and I cut our feet jumping off and pushing the boat away.  I think Max has had that experience each time he's been sailing with me.  I would much rather ram my $5000 boat into the rocks than have it even brush up against the $300,000 racing yacht at the end of my dock.  We finally got back to my slip with a little help from a local boater who took a line from us and walked us over.  It was another frustrating day, but we quickly decided to grab the snorkeling gear and dive off the pier.  I practiced holding my breath while walking on the bottom with weight belts.  I think 20 pounds was a bit intense to use for a long time in 12 foot deep water.  My lungs got a good workout though.
The next day I coordinated with a few people to go cliff diving at the local quarry in the morning.  I woke up at 4:45 and we drove over before dawn to dive 20 feet into the lukewarm lake below.  It's a nice rush to wake you up, but because the air was so much colder than the water, we didn't really get out much, we just treaded water for an hour.  At first I wasn't sure if it was legal or not there (that's why we go so early in the morning), but then when we got there we found a sign that asked people not to dump garbage and tables into the quarry.  It said nothing about diving, and there was a knotted rope tied to a tree, making it easier to get back up.... clearly an invitation to dive. 
So after diving and stopping at Big Apple Bagels for breakfast we relaxed in the hot tub for about an hour.  I almost fell asleep cause it was so warm.  The wind was still pretty fresh.  My friend and her husband had never been sailing before, and my other friend who came along had only gone sailing briefly on the 4th of July.  We tried heading out under just main but ran into the same problem of having too much weather helm.  It dawned on me to try heading out under just jib seeing as the wind was coming from behind.  It worked beautifully, and I was able to navigate out of the harbor with no issues. 
One thing we realized after we got out was that the wind was so strong that it would have been stupid to put the main up.  It was the only time I've ever sailed any boat by jib.  I couldn't point as high into the wind, and often I would have to do a huge gybe cause I couldn't get her to go up into the wind and tack.  The waves built up to 4 feet and we had some fun crashing over those.  All of the stuff on my shelves fell down in the cabin.  I think it's funny how much housekeeping I have to do every time I go sailing.  Just think about purposefully putting your house in an earthquake for fun and expecting all the dishes to stay in place.
It was a challenge to tack back into the harbor after a couple hours of sailing, but I think everyone enjoyed the experience.  I learned a lot about sailing in high winds and with less than favorable sail trim.  (I really wish I had self tailing winches, but they are super expensive).
After sailing I worked from 2:00 to 8:00 and then headed back to hang out.  We played a game called fugitive.  Basically it's like tag, hide n' seek, and cross country practice all in one.  You get a group of people starting at one location and they try to get to another area (about 2 miles away) in a specified amount of time while 2 spotters chase everyone down in a car.  If you get spotted by the car then you have to get in the car and try to catch the other runners.  It's good fun, but kind of a work out.  Then we had a bon-fire of an old couch and some Christmas lights.  The copper in the wiring made an electric blue/green flame.  Very cool to see.
On another day they came down at 5:30 so we could go kayaking before work.  It's a good way to start the day.  The lake was peaceful as I glided across the water in a "borrowed" kayak from the Sea Scouts.  (I put it back).  We went over by the beach to practice Eskimo rolls.  I decided to stay above water this time, but someday soon I really want to perfect the art of flipping the kayak right side up without falling out.  We surfed the kayaks on a few small waves for around an hour before putting them away.  I love summer by the beach here in Sheboygan.  I love living on a boat because it's all so much more accessible to me.  Whenever I want to go for an early morning run, or swim, or whatever I can.  The only regret I have is that I have no photographic proof of any of this happening.

Put to the test

All was set for our epic voyage across the 64 mile expanse of water known as Lake Michigan.  After 12 hours of work I quickly darted over to Wal-Mart and spent a surprising amount of money on some last minute safety items and food.  I picked up some water and Mountain Dew (to keep myself awake), a few sandwiches, a flare gun, some heavy rope to use as jack lines, and some flashlights.  Adam and Gavin were waiting for me down at the marina with their duffel bags packed with the gear they anticipated using.  After transferring the stuff to my boat and putting my laundry baskets in the back of my Mom's van we were set to depart.  There was still no sign of Spencer.  I was really hoping he would be on time so we could get out of the harbor as soon as possible.  I couldn't imagine why he would be late since he only lives 2 blocks away from the water.  I called him as we walked down the dock.  "Where are you?" I asked, "Marshfield. Why?" was the reply.  Now my Wisconsin geography is not that good, but I could tell that he wasn't going to be there in the next 15 minutes.  "Don't worry, I'll be there by morning." he said.  Apparently he was not on the same wavelength that all the rest of us were.  At first I got mad cause he flaked out, but then I figured it was just his loss.  I didn't realize at the time how much it would have helped to have another helmsman aboard. 
I wrapped the sparkling grape juice bottle in a plastic bag to catch the debris and smacked it hard against the bow to finally christen Aequitas.  Yeah the bag split and shattered glass went all over.  Oops!
We untied the mooring lines, secured the dinghy to a short painter attached to the stern and headed out silently.  It took quite a few tacks to get out, but I had expected light winds for the first few hours of the trip anyway.  I fired up the GPS which proved indispensable in the pitch black night.  It was a very young moon, and a very cloudy night.  We had a hard time finding the angle of the wind because it was too dark to see my telltales.  I tried to steer by the GPS, but light winds make that difficult.  We slowly made our way East away from civilization.  I could still see the lights from Sheboygan hours after leaving, it was a bit frustrating.  Eventually we left it all behind and the only glow came from the solar powered stern light I had taped to the rail.  Adam and Gavin had no problem heading below and sleeping.  I downed a couple sodas and sat at my station steering from 9:30 till about 3:00 am.  Gavin took over while I tried to catch some sleep in the port quarter berth.  I found it difficult to sleep with all the caffeine in my system, and the rocking of the boat.  Everything sounds much more ominous when you're down below.  The mast reverberating through the hull, the sails slapping as as we pounded over waves.  Just the sound of water passing by the keel made it sound as though water was trickling into the engine compartment.  I got up to check it once with a flashlight only to find it bone dry.  I finally settled down resting my head against the rubber fenders we had stowed below.  I was just drifting off to sleep when we gybed accidentally.  I heard the commotion and tried to sit bolt upright in my bunk only to be reminded painfully of the metal radio bracket hanging down at exactly eye-brow height.  I was glad it wasn't my eye, but it hurt.....a lot.

We got back on course and I tried to sleep a bit more.  I think I dozed for half an hour, but didn't actually feel rested.  I took over at the helm again for quite some time.  According to the GPS we were only averaging 2.9 MPH.  The sky gradually got lighter and lighter.  Adam got up around 4:45 to keep me company.  It was nice to finally be able to see the boat around me, and to have a small point of reference.  There was a small patch in the cloudy sky that was lighter than the rest, so I took it to mean I was at least heading towards the sun.  I had a couple pop-tarts but they didn't agree with my stomache.  I didn't get sea sick at all the whole trip, but it made sleep nearly impossible.  I think it was just the fact that I had stayed up too late.  By now I had been awake for nearly 22 hours.  I went to the forward cabin to see if it was any easier to sleep there.  I noticed that the forward berth was subject to more of the boat's pitching as we crested over waves.  Not too comfy.  Adam took a turn steering along a GPS course through some of the stronger winds as I drifted in and out of consciousness.  I suppose I really should have kept better track of when our watches were.  I was up again by 7:00 to steer again.  We were nearing the center line of the lake.  It felt as though we were crawling west and we would never reach even the halfway point, let alone Michigan itself.  The wind kept dying as well, so we were not making the progress I had hoped.  I was still counting on the 19 MPH winds the forecast had promised me.
It was an interesting feeling to be completely out of sight of land.  We felt completely alone knowing that there was no one around for miles, and no solid point of reference.  I think this was when Gavin's seasickness really started to kick in. 

As we inched closer and closer to the halfway point, and I got more and more exhausted I came to realize we weren't going to make it.  I guess when you're cruising you really shouldn't have a tight schedule.  The reason I was so miserable was because I had pushed my body to stay awake and concentrate longer than I should have just so we could make it there and back in time for work.  The GPS would keep calculating how long it would take based on current speed and heading.  Even 30 miles out it was still allotting us 16-18 hours to reach Pentwater.  I informed my crew that we'd make it at least over the middle line then turn back.  There was no point in seeing how far we could go just to be stubborn.  Thus far I was proud of my little boat, but annoyed at the fickle and weak wind. 
We drifted here and there, tacked to try and find better wind, and eventually passed the center line without even knowing it.  A little over 32 miles out we turned and headed for home with what little wind there was coming across out port quarter.  Adam and Gavin donned wetsuits and life jackets and got dragged back to the Wisconsin side of the lake.  The 900 foot deep water was insanely clear and dark blue.  We dropped a few cans of soda into a bag and lowered it into the freezing depths to act as a refrigerator.  It wasn't until we let out about 30 feet of line that we finally lost sight of it. 

We played around, but my mood steadily deteriorated as I got more and more tired.  I was not having fun on my maiden voyage.  I'm supposed to be the one that loves sailing no matter what no matter when.  There are some things I've learned I don't actually like.  I hate being over tired, I hate not having wind, and I hate the little black horse flies that seemed to have an insatiable appetite for human ankles. 

At 28 miles out the wind and waves kicked up and blew us quickly along.  The speedometer quickly registered that we were regularly going 6.8-7.3 MPH which is pretty dang fast for my boat.  At one point I wasn't sure how much stress my jury rigged back stay could take so I called everyone up from their slumber to help reef in the main.  It was an exercise in futility.  We tried to head into the wind but kept falling off.  I guess I wasn't a pro at heaving to quite yet.

We went back to what we were doing before.  Adam: sleeping below.  Gavin: sleeping in the cockpit trying not to vomit, and me: gripping the tiller tight and keeping a wary eye on my fresh rigging and 40 year old boat.  The GPS recalculated that the return journey would only take 6 or 7 hours vs. the 13 it took us to get out. I was glad that we'd get in before sundown, and maybe still do something fun with the rest of the day.  We blasted along towards Sheboygan until about 10 miles out we got hit by random squalls of rain, and variable winds.  The waves remained, but the wind couldn't make up its mind.  I had never seen the wind go from so fast to completely dead before. 

After a bit of waiting and spinning in circles I was able to conjure up enough speed to get us to the harbor, then 2.75 miles out the wind was gone.  Completely gone and not showing any signs of returning.  The waves were still strong and snapped the sails back and forth so violently that I was sure any breath of air there may have been was instantly spilled out.  I think this is when it all became too much for Gavin and he lost his meager lunch over the side.  I got so frustrated at the lack of wind.  I was really kicking myself for not having the engine.  It wouldn't be bad, but we were so close, the weather was just mocking me now.  Thick fog rolled in and a thunderstorm passed over head.  I draped a shroud over the side so that if we did get struck by lightning hopefully we wouldn't all explode in a fireball.  In the end I got so fed up I hopped in the dinghy and began rowing the boat.  I could have radioed the Coast Guard, but then I thought about how much they might charge for their services and decided to just row and row and row.  My arms are a bit chafed from the repetitions sweeping across my life jacket (our mom's would be so happy, we wore them whenever we were out of the cabin).  According to the GPS I was moving us at 1.1 MPH for about a half mile.  A small breeze kicked up and I returned to Aequitas to try and sail in.  A few fishing boats motored past us, though we could hear them more than we could see them.
The sun set behind the fog bank as we gradually made our way in.  At one point I was relying wholly on the GPS just so we wouldn't hit the lighthouse cause I couldn't see through soup like air.  As luck would have it, as soon as we rounded the breakwater the wind picked up again and drove us straight for my dock.  In fact it was almost too strong and it took a lot of effort to slow us down as we put into the slip. 
As soon as we tied off the exhaustion made it hard to fight off apathy.  We got the sails folded properly, and most everything tidied up.  I said goodbye to Adam and Gavin and headed straight for the hot tub.  I was met there by my perpetually drunk German neighbor.  As I tried to relax he kept going on and on about how stupid my boating is.  He said he respected me for trying so hard, but I do it all in a very pigheaded way.  I go out when there's no wind and get bitten by black flies (how he knew about that I'll never know), saying that it's all well and good that I can sail engine less, but that I'm creating more of a headache for myself and a hazard for others boats than I should.  I could see his point and was definitely getting discouraged quickly.  I love sailing, but I had sold myself so much on this idea of long distance cruising being the life for me, but after just 75 miles I was beat.  I think a lot of the distress can be chalked up to the timetable I was under.  Next cruise I'm going to take a week off of work and just get there when I get there. 
On a side note, my phone had started roaming about 12 miles out and so the battery drained within a few hours.  I put on dry clothes and staggered like a zombie the 2 or so miles over to my mom's house to get my phone charger and check my facebook.  I have never been so exhausted in my life, and hope I never am again.  I don't even want to think about how many hours I was actually awake for this whole venture, but next time I'll have people to take over.

Maiden Voyage

OK so this plan has been in the works for a couple of weeks now, and will come to life this evening.  After work tonight I'm going to be meeting up with my brother, Spencer, and my friends, Adam and Gavin.  We're planning to head out at 9:00 PM and sailing over to Michigan.  The closest city I could find was Pentwater, MI which my friend, Bailey, has told me is very nice.  The wind is supposed to be super light tonight, but building into the teens tomorrow.  I'm looking forward to that so I can build enough speed to get home in time for work.  I figure it'll take around 16 hours to get across, then we can sleep or explore for a bit and then turn around and head home.  Both ways we're going to be doing some night sailing.  I'm looking forward to getting out away from all the light pollution, and doing more than a day of straight sailing.  And seeing the sunrise on my boat with nothing on the horizon.  Hopefully we have enough wind to get out of the harbor. 
On another note my $200 compass arrived without any way of calibrating it, so it is constantly 30 degrees off.  I don't see any point in using it if it's going to get me lost.  I guess I'll be relying on the GPS for the 63 mile voyage.  I'm sure there will be 3 nervous mothers tonight, but I'm optimistic that it'll all be ok.  I also got 3 of the 4 swageless terminals for my riggin, so now my turnbuckles are finally rigged right.  As this is my first time using these terminals.  I hope I did it right and that it won't matter if I was a millimeter too long or too short on the shrouds.

I must say it felt a bit odd to take the bolt cutters to my brand new rigging, but it looks a lot better now and should be stronger than the swaged eyes I did have put on there.  I just wish all 4 had shown up at the same time so I could be done with it.  Stupid shipping companies.
Wish me luck!

Perfect

Last night after work I went over to check if anything had come in the mail for me.  Recently I have gotten a spare anchor, a compass, a GPS (Garmin eTrex Venture HC), and now a hammock and a good book called My Old Man and The Sea.  I look forward to stringing up the hammock and just reading if I'm ever anchored off-shore with nothing better to do.  I headed to the boat and called/texted a few friends to see if anyone wanted to go out sailing.  It was beautiful weather.  The breeze was about 10 knots, and it wasn't going to get dark till around 9:00.  I waited to hear back but then decided just to go out on my own.  I prepared this time by getting my boat hook up on deck so I could push off if need be.  Luckily the wind was working for me and I shoved off without the slightest problem.  Getting out of the harbor was a bit tricky though.  I had to tack back and forth quite a bit with just the main, and the direction of the wind made it feel like I was just drifting sideways.  I slowly made my way towards the mouth of the harbor.  I thought of tying off to a nearby dock just to put the jib up and make another go at it.  But one more tack and I got out.  There was a strange current that started to push the bow of my boat towards the breakwater, but in the end it went smoothly.  I headed out on a close reach under main alone and fired up the GPS.  It quickly registered that I was doing 2.5 MPH.  With the wind speed it didn't feel like I was even going that fast. 
I was keenly aware that I was alone out there as I began to set the jib.  A few waves rolled underneath me and made for a bit of a challenge to maintain my footing whilst clipping everything on.  After I popped the jib up I was soon doing 4.5 MPH.  The best I did was 7 MPH which I though was higher than my theoretical hull speed, so maybe I was doing my calculations wrong.  It should be the Square root of the waterline length time 1.32.  Or maybe I had to multiply the waterline length by 1.32 and then do the square root.  Not sure, either way I was glad to have the GPS along. 
The heat wave that has blasted the Midwest over the last few days led to a thick haze over the water.  About a mile out I lost all sight of land.  It was nice to be away from everyone and everything, but often I would hear the drone of a fishing boat's engine.  It was eerie to hear the noise but not see the vessel.  I only hoped that no one would plow into me going 20 or 30 knots.  I took up the habit of whistling really loudly every minute or two as a sound signal to other boats.
I struggled to keep in the wind, and for some reason I didn't feel like I was trimmed just right.  I lashed the tiller in a position that would at least keep us on the same compass course.  The boat would very slowly come a degree or two up into the wind, then it would fall off.  The pressure of the sails kept it rounding one way, and the tiller countered it.  I found that my little boat could almost sail herself better than I could.  We maintained a straight course for about half an hour with no input from me.  This allowed me to go below and fetch some Twizzlers, crank up some Linkin Park on the stereo, and wander around on deck.  I was wearing my life jacket right from the beginning on this trip.  Although it was nice to not have to steer, I knew that if I fell off and missed the dinghy trailing behind I would be left miles out in the lake and Aequitas could end up in Michigan all be herself.  I tried lying down in a quarter-berth just to see what it felt like while underway; I could have drifted off to sleep so easily.  It was quite a comfortable motion, not slapping and pounding over the waves.  The solitude was liberating.
I made it about 3 miles out before turning around and heading back towards the setting sun.  It was so foggy that I could only see the water in a radius around my boat, but there was nothing solid I could use to get my bearings.  If it wasn't for the GPS I would have been lost out there with nothing to guide me back in other than the angle of the wind and waves.  I averaged 3.5 MPH on the way out, and 5 MPH on the way back on a broad reach.  The temperature dropped as the sun sank behind the fog bank and was completely obscured from view.  It was very dark by the time I caught my first sight of land.  There is a bright LED clock on top of a bank on 8th street which showed up long before the lighthouse did.  A rather large group of lights apeared off my starboard quarter and followed me slowly in.  It looked and sounded like a barge but later turned out to be a large fishing boat.  Again I whistled at 1 minute intervals to make my location known. 

I had to steer by GPS for a bit to avoid the pier, and after I was past that point the fog lifted and I sailed straight back to my slip.  The wind maintained direction allowing me to go downwind to the dock.  I pulled in just perfectly, stepped onto the dock and tied off.  I had already come to a smooth stop and I didn't need to rush around for anything.  A nice man stood on the dock to assist, but soon realized there was nothing to do. 
After putting the dinghy to bed and taking the jib down I accepted help flaking it on the dock.  Folding bigger sails by yourself is no easy task.  We stood there chatting for a bit.  It is by now common knowledge that I have no engine in my boat.  "So do you have an engine in there?"   "Nope."  "Man you know how to sail if you can get in and out of this harbor without one!"  We talked for a bit about how kids aren't learning to truly sail anymore, everyone has gotten so used to being able to flip on an engine and head home.  He spoke about how sturdy my boat looked, and how impressed he was with how far it's come....And he hasn't even seen the "before" pictures.  I was quite proud of myself.  It was just the confidence boost I needed.  Now I know that I can in fact solo-sail some, and I look forward to the first week in August when we sail to Michigan.

No wind = frustration

Yesterday it was light air again for the second Tuesday in a row. Getting out of the harbor was pretty hairy.  In fact this whole ordeal with low wind speeds has taken quite the toll on my confidence as an engine less sailor.  I pushed the boat out and by the time I hopped on she had flipped backwards and was trying to drift in between two docked boats.  I got her turned sideways, but then she kept drifting.  A guy came over to help push off.  No damage done I don't think, but I'd be mad if someone had bumped into my boat.  I'm starting to think that if there isn't a lot of wind, or at least a discernible direction of wind that I just won't go out.  After I got out of the harbor I was moving along at a slow walking pace.  It was a fun day still.  I had my brother, Liam, out on the boat.  We went snorkeling, and practiced diving through the transparent water down to the anchor.  I can hold my breath for about 2 minutes in a hot tub, but only about 20 seconds in the lake.  I don't know what they temperature difference does to me, but it's annoying. 
We entertained two families from church and had a grand ole' time just ghosting about.  I'm planning on heading across Lake Michigan in two weeks with whatever crew I can scare up.  I should be getting my new compass, GPS, anchor, sail cover, and hammock this week.  If only I could get my electrical system working, or a wind vane autopilot.  It would be nice to have one, but they're super expensive.  If you want to get me one for Christmas I won't complain!

What I've done

I had the chance to chat with some really cool people at work yesterday.  There was a group of four who were biking from California to Maine.  It was so fun to speak with others who have similar dreams to go out and face the odds and travel long distances on their own. One of the girls even had her own blog which was really well done.  It really inspired me to keep on working towards my goals.  I'd love to do a biking trip, but the boat trip is at the forefront of my mind right now.  I've had my doubts over the months, but when I think about how far I've come I can't help but keep going.
I guess this is as good a time as any to sum up what I've done in the process here.  So following will be a list of chores I've done and rough costs put into this venture.

• Find and purchase my Bristol 24                          $1,800 plus tax.
• Transport it to Sheboygan
• Paint transom                                                      $20
• Remove rotten floor in the cabin               
• Purchase random saws, drills, and other tools      $150
• Clean out ice box
• Clean out marine head (toilet)
• Replace floor with makeshift bunk boards
• "Install" carpeting                                                $10
• Sand all of the woodwork to bare wood             $16
• Varnish all the wood with 3 coats (sanding between coats) $25
• Paint cockpit
• Re-Seat stanchion bases                                    $15
• Buy anchor and chain                                         $55
• Paint bottom with anti-fouling paint                     $150
• Buy sails                                                            $1,200
• Pay for slip at the marina                                    $1,200
• Install propeller shaft seal
• Launch boat                                                      $262
• Raise mast with improper rigging
• Buy new turnbuckle                                          $80
• Get new shrouds made                                      $475
• Raise mast again with new shrouds
• Buy stay adjusters cause shrouds are too long   $107
• Jury rig the mast                                               $15
• Put name on the stern                                       $77
• Buy dinghy, oars, and dolly                               $310
• VHF radio                                                       $90
• GPS                                                                $95
• New compass                                                 $215
• Portable running lights                                      $20
• Repaint waterline
• New dorade vents                                           $90
• Stove and propane                                          $30
• Fenders                                                           $90
• New halyards, sheets, and blocks                     $260

So all in all I've spent around $7,000 on my little home that I plan to travel in.  I guess it really is true what they say: "A boat is a hole in the water you pour money into."

A few things of note

It's been a pretty fun week.  There have been triumphs and frustrations; realizations and determinations.  I guess I should backtrack a bit to explain things that are going on in order.  Summer is a pretty good time to have adventures, I just wish I had more time to be out there having them.  I had my friends, Charlotte and Kim, come down to go sailing with me on Saturday the 9th.  As we were walking down the dock to the boat I noticed a new couple struggling with a fishing net in the dinghy by their boat.  they seemed to be trying to scoop something off the bottom.  I had passed by them once, but when I realized that they were still at it half an hour later I knew they needed help.  I offered my assistance.  They had accidentally dropped a sliding cleat over the side of their boat. It was an essential piece of their boat and it was in a size that they don't make anymore.  They had mentioned calling the police to send a diver down, but either they didn't do it, or they realized it was a futile attempt.  I told them I had snorkeling gear and I'd be glad to dive for their lost cleat.  It was a bit awkward changing into a wetsuit on my boat while my friends were just on the other side of the thin cabin door, and I'm sure I looked a bit strange wearing a shorty wetsuit and dive goggles.

 I strapped a 20 pound weight around my foot and hopped in the water.  It took a little bit to get used to the chill, but after a minute I didn't notice the cold.  I took a deep breath and slipped below the surface of the murky harbor.  It was completely brown with all the silt that had been stirred up by their fishing net.  I couldn't see my hand in front of my face, but I was still glad to have the mask on.  I was probably about 9 feet deep when my feet sunk into the soft mud.  I immediately began digging around, sweeping the floor with my hands.  I didn't want to push my breath holding capacity, so I kicked back up to the surface.  It was surprisingly easy to get the weight back up with me.  I was directed as to exactly where the cleat fell overboard.  I was sure it would have shifted with all the commotion that had been made.

 I dove again and again about 4 times.  Once I found a little stick that was about the right size and shape, but it wasn't what I was going for.  I decided I was going to flatten myself on the bottom and sweep the whole area and stay down as long as I possibly could.  I took an extra deep breath and plunged down again.  Wouldn't you know it, my foot landed right on it.  It was a couple inches underneath the silt.  They were overjoyed when I returned their missing merchandise.  I didn't let them pay me, but it did get me thinking about how much I like diving for things.  I feel like I should find a shipwreck around here pretty soon just for fun.

After that adventure we did get out sailing and had a glorious time.  We heeled over pretty nicely and just chatted as we cruised about aimlessly.

On Tuesday the wind was nice and fresh in the morning, but by the time Spencer and his lady friend got there the wind had died.  We waited for half an hour before I got bored and decided to go out in whatever breeze there was.  We ghosted out of the harbor under main and jib, and then the wind picked up and we were able to actually move around the lake pretty well.  It was warm and clear with no waves and no clouds.  I tied a string to the tiller so the boat could steer itself for a little bit and then jumped into the dinghy to take pictures.  I love the way Aequitas looks when she's under sail.  I can't wait to get away from land. 

Spencer climbed the mast once because he had to free a halyard, and once just because he wanted to.  No matter how short the mast may seem from the deck, it feels so much taller when you're up on the spreaders.  He took some pictures and some video, but seemed happy to be back down.  You have to consider that any tipping or heeling motion that you would feel on deck is multiplied by how far up the mast you are.  If the boat is heeled over 15 degrees that doesn't feel like much from the boat, but up on the mast you'd be out over the water, not the boat.

As we sailed over the Niagara Escarpment (a giant chunk of the same rock that the Niagara Falls are carved from) we could see clearly through the surface and some times I was sure we would hit a submerged rock.  Amber, (Spencer's friend) was just laying on the foredeck soaking up the rays when all of a sudden her phone committed suicide.  For no reason at all it hopped, skipped, and plopped over the side of the boat without so much as a goodbye.  It was so odd, but oddly funny at the same time. 
We headed in to shore and dropped anchor.  I had friends from church out on the boat after that, but sadly the wind died again... ALL THE WAY!  I couldn't conjure up enough speed to even steer the boat.  It was a disappointing introduction to sailing for a few people.  We had fun swimming though.  Once while I was changing into a swimsuit I heard a grinding noise.  We had run aground again on a sand bar.  I hopped of and tried doing what I had always done, but she just got more and more stuck.  I tried having everyone sit on one side of the boat, and the little sister of the group hang off the boom to tilt it enough, but to no avail.  In the end I had to push the boat closer to shore into a channel between the sandbars, and then find a gap to get out.  After hours of no wind they decided to all head home in the dinghy.  It was quite a sight to see the little boat so loaded down, but it's a sturdy craft equal to the task. 

My brother, Max and his two friends came out after that.  I was able to get us moving slowly towards the lighthouse until the shift in air temperature from day to evening created a little breeze.  I got us all the way around into the harbor, but then when I tried tacking up against the non-existent wind we almost drifted up against the rocks.  Twice.  I jumped in to save my hull once, and max went in the second time while I tried to row the boat out of harms way with the dinghy and about 200 feet of line.  Luckily a man in a rigid-inflatable motorboat came and towed me to my slip.  It was embarrassing being so stranded just days after I had boasted in my engine less skills.  I still don't want to rely solely on the engine, but I should probably put it in.  It has kind of shattered a lot of my enthusiasm, but I can't let one bad learning day get me down.  I guess I need to get back up on the proverbial horse.

Snooty people and stormy seas

The new shrouds I bought are like brand new guitar strings in that they stretch a little bit over the first few uses and it must constantly be tuned until the stretch is gone.  After my solo sail I noticed that the shrouds were getting a bit loose.  They're still not loose enough for the stay extenders to reach, but I'm still hoping I'll be able to get them to work.  Yesterday I had four of my brothers out sailing with me.  There was a good stiff breeze, and we were heeled over significantly the whole time.  I had Spencer steer for a little bit so I could walk around and see what it's like to be aboard while crashing through the seas.  I got very disoriented in the cabin because we were tilted over so far and my mind wanted me to stand straight up inside like I was used to.  It was like standing in your bedroom and then all of a sudden having the gravity shift and start pulling you over to one wall.  Very odd.

The only other boat out there was Evolution, a big racing boat (Sant Cruz 70 I think).  She's pretty boat, and they were sailing just under jib for a bit.  The forecast calls for thunderstorms all week, so I guess that's where the wind was coming from.  We got a few miles offshore but then the fog rolled in and we decided to turn around.  Even though I couldn't see the lighthouse until we were almost on top of it, I was happy with how well I had located the harbor just based on my feeling of where we were on the lake.  I should invest in a GPS though for longer cruises.
We headed in under sail and got to the dock just fine.  Common courtesy is to help anyone you see coming in to dock.  My problem is that I don't like accepting help from people, especially when I don't need it and they are getting in the way.  I had plenty of brothers to moor safely, but still there were 3 people lined up on the dock.  Spencer and I jumped off and had to shove past the people to tie off normally.  Initially I had thrown a line to a guy but he didn't wrap it around the cleat and wasn't slowing the boat down at all, so I had to take over.  I appreciate their neighborly feelings, but when I've got it covered I really don't like help.  I have one neighbor who seems to judge me for everything I do.  He doesn't appreciate that I'm just starting up, I don't have much money, but I'm still making it work.  He must be one of the types that believes sailing should be reserved for those that can afford the best.  I don't know how he could be because his boat isn't all that fresh and new.  It's just the tone of voice people take when they disapprove of you, when they think their way is the only way.  He brought up the fact that I don't have an engine on board.  He seemed to think it was a huge liability.  He couldn't understand why I would do it that way.  I like having the extra storage where the engine would be, (and I'm cheap), and I like knowing that I have the skill to get in and out of a situation without relying on a crutch.  I'm not saying engines are bad, but I bought a sailboat to sail it.  I can't really go into all the details, but the few exchanges I've had with this individual have led to an intense disliking.  Oh well, he can think he's better than me all he wants, I have plenty of people supporting me, and I hope to improve my skills bit by bit as I go.  Despite appearances, I do in fact know what I'm doing.

This morning I awoke to some loud pinging noise as my halyards were slapping up against the mast.  I usually keep them tidy enough that that doesn't happen.  I ignored it for a while, then became aware of the sound of rain tapping on the deck.  I sat up groggily and opened the foreward hatch to see a storm swiftly kicking up.  The wind howled through my rigging, the 5am sky was lit up with lightning every few seconds.  There was no thunder so I knew the storm was a little ways off.  I checked my main hatch and determined that no rain was coming in so I could leave the top board out.  All of a sudden a massive gale blew through.  My boat, (though it was tied firmly to the dock) heeled over almost as if I was sailing again.  The light rain became a torrential downpour, and the lightning was striking very close by.  It sounded as though cannons were being shot across the marina.  I hoped that my 35 foot tall aluminum mast wouldn't attract too much electricity.  I wasn't sure if there was one vital part of boat ownership that I had overlooked.  I have a grounding plat on the bottom of my boat, but the mast isn't attached to it, and I'm pretty sure it's just for the radio, I have no clue how it would hold up in a thunderstorm.  What happens to a boat if it get struck by lightning?  What happens to the people inside?  Luckily my boat is not even close to being the tallest in the harbor, but I couldn't help feeling very vulnerable in my little floating home.  My mom texted me to make sure I was still alive, she tried to get me to come home, but I figured I'd be fine.  In about half an hour the storm blew over and I was left just with the rain.  There was a slight drip onto my sleeping bag that kept me up for a little bit, but nothing too bad.  In the morning it was all calm, but apparently lightning had struck the marina and knocked out the VHF radio for a bit.  I'm glad it wasn't me.  I guess the storm woke up a lot of people on land as well, so it's not just me being melodramatic, but I probably hed the worst of it.  I wouldn't be surprised if there had been a water spout during this blow.  Next time I'll be sure to keep my camera with me though.
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Sailing solo

I had the miracle of having two days off in a row due to the holiday.  I did go in to work in the morning however to fulfill an appointment with a customer, then as soon as I was done I headed down to the lake.  The plan was to hang out on the beach with some friends, but when that didn't work out I decided not to waste the perfect weather.  The wind was coming slightly south of west at about 7-12 kts.  I love being able to tell what the conditions are going to be like just based on the direction of the wind.  North winds will bring down cold air from Canada and are usually pretty steady.  South winds will bring warm moist air up from the Gulf of Mexico, and they change speed a lot throughout the day.  East winds kick up lots of waves on this side of the lake, but they don't happen too often.  West winds are fun; they flatten out the lake, but are very gusty and unpredictable.  The direction the wind is coming from can change up to 30 degrees in a matter of seconds.  One minute it'll be calm, and the next almost too blustery to be enjoyable.  It was the perfect day to test the integrity of my rig.

I called up Spencer to see if he could crew for me.  He was out of town.  Alright, I guess it was time to see if I'm as much of a hotshot sailor as I think I am.  I untied one of the bow mooring lines, tied the dinghy to the stern, and raised the main.  I made sure to place my VHF radio, camera, cell phone, and winch handle all where I could easily access them without leaving the cockpit.  The wind wasn't cooperating with me and it kept blowing Aequitas against the dock, once she even tried going forward into the main dock.  To say I had some trepidation about this venture would be an understatement.  Luckily I was able to hold her back with one line until the wind died down a little bit.  My neighbors had left shortly before I made ready.  They were headed off to Manitowoc.  I could still hear them motoring out of the harbor as I made my second attempt at shoving my boat out of her slip.  I gained speed as I walked her back, and gave one last shove on the bow pulpit before jumping on myself and running back to the tiller.  I sheeted in the main and hoped that I would gain enough speed to steer out of the way of my fellow boaters.  Once again she meandered dangerously close to a MacGregor 26 a few slips over.  I put the tiller over and ran ahead to kick my bow away from the dock and immediately ran back to my post at the helm.  We soon gained speed over the rudder thus giving me steerage way and I was able to cruise (albeit slowly) out of the harbor without incident.  So far so good.  I sailed out with the wind mostly behind me while others were still motoring and spinning in place to set the sails into the wind.  One thing I did notice is that sailing with just the main makes it much harder to come about; she'll point up into the wind and then stall.  I realized that I need both sails to move her about properly.  Even in the inner harbor when a light gust of wind would come along the Bristol heeled over quite easily.  I was worried that the height of the sail on the mast might be too much for my shallow draft boat.  I had read that Bristol 24's are initially tender (tippy) but stiffen up as the 3,000 pounds of lead in the keel can take effect countering the force of the wind.  Seeing as this was my first time single handing a keel boat, and only the second time ever sailing my boat, and the jury rig was still in place from the day before, I was hesitant to raise both sails.
Just as I was about to pass the lighthouse and leave the outer harbor I got stalled again by the wind.  I wasn't moving forward or backward.  It was very frustrating as fishing boats passed me; I must have looked like I didn't know what I was doing.  A few minutes passed and finally the wind shifted just enough for me to gain some control again and leave the harbor. 
I love leaving the harbor and the muddy brown water that flows down from the Sheboygan river out into the clean deep blue lake beyond.  There was a gorgeous boat that had just began to set their sails that I caught up with.  I figured I was a safe enough distance from either pier that I could raise the jib and head out on my own.  After making sure that the boat was in irons (stalled), I headed below and got the jib out of its sail bag and proceeded to the foredeck.  The leading edge of the jib has multiple metal hasps which clip over the fore stay, and after those are all on I had to clip the tack (front bottom corner) to the deck, and attach the head of the sail to the jib halyard (line that raises the sail).  After the sail was attached I headed back to the cabin to retrieve the jib sheets (lines used to control the jib depending on which side of the boa the wind is on).  I tied each jib sheet to the clew (rear bottom corner) and ran them through the appropriate blocks and around the winches.  {Mind you I am still doing all of this out on my own in the lake with the boat bobbing up and down with the waves.}  Returning to the base of the mast I cranked on the old stiff jib halyard and pulled it all in until the leading edge of the jib was taught, then I cleated it in and headed back to the tiller.  I trimmed in both the main and the jib and headed out deeper into the lake.
It was apparent right away how much more pressure was on the boat by more than doubling the sail area.  Aequitas moved along quite well, and just as I had read, heeled over to about 27 degrees and then stayed stable.  I kept a wary eye on the turnbuckles for a bit just waiting for one to snap and go flying overboard.  I felt an acute sense of accomplishment for getting out there not only without the help of any other person, but without an engine either.  I also felt very vulnerable being all alone, a mile off shore in frigid waters.  It was then that I decided it would be a good idea to put on my life jacket.  The adrenaline dried my mouth out considerably, and it was then that I realized the one item I had not put at arms reach was a bottle of water; it would just have to wait.  The wind was strong, but the boat handled like a dream.  I took some videos, but sadly no pictures to put on here.  The few items I hadn't stowed properly flew across the cabin down below.  My towel was dangling diagonally across the doorway because I was heeled over so far. The little dinghy was planing along behind me and skipping across the few waves I came against.  I tacked a few times, and cruised further offshore than I had gone the previous day with a full crew of friends.
The sky began to darken and I decided it would be a good time to head in.  I turned towards the mouth of the harbor and the wind died.  Maybe it shifted, or I just couldn't see it, but the boat was not moving.  I got to about the same spot near the lighthouse and could go no further.  I waited, nothing.  I went below to polish off the remaining fizzy water my mom left behind.  I scanned the water for any sign of wind; still nothing.  Some acquaintances from the yacht club passed me in their racing sloop as the motored in.  "Get a motor in that thing!" one shouted playfully.  "Cheaters" I thought to myself, "People got by for hundreds of years without an Evinrude outboard, I think I'll be just fine."  I waited another 5 minutes.  Perhaps I should use the dinghy to tow Aequitas in.  No, not while I'm out here on my own.  I decided to just use one of the oars to propel me that little bit into the fresh air inside the harbor. 
I pulled the dinghy in alongside and grabbed an oar.  There wasn't really a good place to put it where I could get leverage and where the blade would still reach the water.  I gave it my best and after about three strokes an almighty gust of wind came out of nowhere and snapped the sails out of my reach.  I pulled in hard on both the main and the jib sheets which had not been cleated in.  The tail end of the jib thrashed about wildly as I tried to rein it in.  I threw the oar down in the cabin, steered with my knees, and did my best to cleat the main sheet and wrap the jib sheet around a winch.  It took all my might, but soon it was all under control and we were moving towards home at a fine pace.  I think my boat has a little bit of a personality about her.  She cut her anchor rode yesterday because after she was not made to be left at anchor, she was made to sail.  And then I dare insult her by attempting to use a dinghy paddle to move her.  The indignation of it all!  I don't know how she did it, but somehow she summoned the wind and made sure I never forgot she was meant to be SAILED!

As I got nearer to the mouth of the inner harbor I went up to the bow and dropped the jib.  It was somewhat of a chore to fold the sail on the deck in a way that would prevent it from blowing off or being dragged through the water.  After that I tacked slowly towards my slip.  As the wind became suddenly light and was going directly against me I had to tack several times as I crept at an agonizingly slow pace.  Thunder crackled in the background as storm clouds passed overhead, a man was slowly raised up his mast to reset a delicate instrument, and I tacked back ad forth, back and forth, inching towards my destination.
In order to go against the wind in a sail boat you have to zig-zag.  The idea is that there will be wind enough off the side to move you forward, and that your keel sticking down in the water will stop you from just sliding sideways.  Mine isn't the most nimble boat out there, but we made it in just fine.  Both ways, all unassisted by either man or motor.  I was very happy with myself and my Bristol 24.