I got the opportunity to take the new boat out sailing a few times with family members, but it was only a couple of little day sailing outings. What I really wanted to do was put some miles under her keel and travel. I knew I'd have to wait a while, but as I've said before, I'm impatient.
The Glander Cay was out on a mooring in the South Shore Yacht Club in Milwaukee. A mooring is nice because it means I'm less likely to hit another boat in my marina maneuvers. It's not quite as convenient as a dock because I can't just walk out to the boat, I have to row out. In one of my less intelligent decisions, I sold my 8' rowing dinghy (since I had no immediate use for it) and so now I had to resort to a small inflatable raft to paddle out to my new boat. It's not so much the physical effort I dislike, but it's the fact that I know I look like a landlubber fool cranking his $15 Walmart blow up boat out to his craigslist find sailboat. Appearances aside, I was glad I wasn't swimming. Lake Michigan is never warm, but as you get later and later in the year, hypothermia becomes more and more of a commonplace term.
One day of no particular significance I decided to go sailing after work. Work for me gets over at 8:00 at night. I worked about 45 minutes away from the yacht club. Combining the travel time and the time it took to blow up the raft, and paddle out to the Glander, and get her ready meant that I wasn't really pulling away from land too much before 10:30 at night. The spartan trimmings of my new boat meant that she was not equipped with adequate navigational lights to venture out past sunset. I had to resort to the portable lights that I had clipped onto my Bristol; it is a crude way of getting by, but a way nonetheless. Not having enough time to stop back at home, or the foresight to bring a spare change of clothes left me sailing solo out of Milwaukee under full cover of night in dress shoes, slacks, and a polo shirt with my name one it. Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't reconsider some of my life decisions.
Getting the sails set all by my lonesome was somewhat more difficult than it had been on my Bristol. The Glander had two headsails vs. the one I was accustomed to , and they were both attached at the mid and end point of a six foot long bowsprit. There is no netting to catch me if I slip off the bowsprit, no hand rail to steady myself against, and no one to notice if I fell in. Luckily I have always fancied myself to be a bit of a waterman and I'm not afraid to trust my cozy dry clothes to all the balance that I can muster out of my butt cheeks. I sat balanced precariously over the black water as I clipped each of the old bronze hasps to the forestay, and double checked that I had run the halyards properly. Once the Jib (front sail) was set, I moved back to the deck and set about attaching the staysail (sail behind the jib, but in front of the mast). Once both headsails were good to go I turned on the outboard motor, dropped the mooring lines and eased out of the harbor in relative silence.
This is what she looks like in daylight
Milwaukee has an amazing skyline from the water; its glow can be seen for many miles away. I had been sailing for about three hours when I realized that the wind was really not helping me progress northwards at all. I was trying to get home by the next morning so I could show my family the new boat, and as much as I tried with tacking, it didn't seem that I'd get there any time soon unless I cheated. Around 2:00 in the morning I decided to motor sail. Cranking up the motor and relying on the sails, I was able to make about 6 knots heading in the right direction. On the one hand, I felt bad using the motor, on the other hand, it was nice to know I wasn't going to get stranded and miss a few days of work.
As the hours wore on, I played with the trim of the motor and the tiller to try and get her to track straight on her own, but with the outboard being off center, and the wind blowing, this task proved impossible. I tried taking some pictures with my phone, but was unable until the sun came up. Late into the night I kept myself awake by singing my own karaoke songs as loud as I could, and by reenacting the entire first Pirates of the Caribbean movie. I'm not ashamed that I know all the lines by heart, or that my Elizabeth Swann sounds pretty dang convincing.
As the first light of day started to creep over the horizon, the sky turned a brilliant contrast of burnt orange and teal. There wasn't a cloud in sight but for the first time in hours I could make out the coastline. I had sailed much further offshore than I had originally anticipated, and I knew it would take another two hours of just east to west travelling to make it into the port at Sheboygan. No sooner did I start heading for shore than I came within three feet of an ominous buoy protruding from the surface of the water. Based on my knowledge of the area, I think it was a marker for a shipwreck. I would love to dive on a wreck sometime, but I have no interest in creating one of my own. I stayed offshore a bit in case it was marking a reef. Even though the Glander only draws 3' of water, I'd rather not take any risks.
After 13 hours of motoring I made it from Milwaukee to Sheboygan. I found that the city maintains a small courtesy dock in the river for transient boaters such as myself who only need to tie up for a few hours. Seeing as most of the boats were out of the water for the season, I thought it unlikely that I would be taking anyone's spot. My cell phone had died, and since my family had no idea of when or where to expect me, I had to walk home. The two or three miles seemed an eternity. My legs were set in sea mode. I had stood most of the journey to keep from falling asleep, and that combined with the fact that I had been awake for 30 hours meant that I was a cross between a zombie and a drunk ad I trudged home. Standing in the shower on dry land proved to be more difficult than urinating off the side of the boat out on the waves. Land sickness is a funny thing. Help me get across the pond.
