Sunday, July 4th, the Lake Erie Islands:
Edie and I got an early start, having loaded up the sailing canoe the night before. With a huge cooler full of cold and frozen bottles of water & pop, we drove to Catawba and parked near where the ferry docks. Unloading the boat we were accosted by several friendly and curious folks from the nearby trailer park who wanted to know more about our unusual craft. One of them cautioned us about the brisk winds and helped us push off from the beach under sail.
Once out beyond Mouse Island we encountered gentle winds that gradually pushed us north towards our destination - North Bass Island. I'd been there 3 years in a row, but Edie had never seen it. There were lots of motorboats, mostly distant, but their wakes eventually reached us and gave us the most rugged 'seas' of the trip. The boat just rode up over all of them, head on, beam on, it made no difference. Gradually the wind faded away. Then died.
Out with the canoe paddles at a brisk pace, just like we've seen the racers do. With the rudder we don't have to switch sides quite so often, nor do we have to call 'Hut' when we do. Edie keeps a regular count of 20 strokes to the side and then calls 'switch'. Eventually, tiring of that, I just asked her to just count & switch and I'd follow suit from the stern. This only partly worked as I have a tendency to day dream and watch the clouds go by.
We watched the islands go by. First South Bass, then Rattlesnake, then..oops, we were supposed to be heading further east to Middle Bass, instead of Rattlesnake. Rattlesnake is a private island and we could see the glint off the sweat on on the property owner's trigger fingers as they pointed their gun barrels in our direction and we pointed our bows towards them. Okay, slight course correction east to the northwest end of Middle Bass and the Sugar Island passage. It was a delight to feel the temperature drop a good 10 - 15 degrees as we got out in the Lake. It would be a very hot day on the mainland.
After a few hours drinking from our water bottles we both needed a break. We came ashore on Sugar Island but kept the boat in the water and mostly kept ourselves in knee deep water, both to observe the private ownership of the island and to cool ourselves down.
We paddled to the old grape loading dock on the south shore of North Bass, landing at a zebra mussel beach.
An old picnic table was put into use for lunch and I pointed out a small daysailer left on a rusting trailer. It turns out to have been the same kind of boat Edie's parents sailed for many years at their vacation lake in Pennsylvania. Edie remembers curling up in the bow as a little kid and pretending that the boat was not heeling over so much.
North Bass is now publicly owned without any public supervision - an interesting situation. You can camp anywhere that is not specifically a vineyard. We walked down quiet roads past a school, a graveyard and a church eventually winding up at the north side, where a nice homeowner let us walk out on his dock and view the small Canadian islands a few miles away.
We could see the red buoys marking the international border. North Bass has some decent homes and some dilapidated ones that must have been for people involved in a bigger grape harvest than exists now.
It's all quiet, rural-scenic and from a time past.
This was our furthest point north. We got in a bit more sailing heading first east and then south around the eastern side of Middle Bass, hoping the easterly winds would hold and give us a fine run back to Catawba. It was not to be. The wind kept swinging further and further south until it would have been a long, long set of tacks, zig-zagging across the eye of the wind for 9 or 10 miles. We came ashore at Middle Bass, dropped the sails and rigging and paddled the rest of the way.
After a while the paddling became routine and we just got into a nice repetitive zone where we forgot about distances and just enjoyed the small waves, the Put In Bay monument and the homes along the shore. We crossed paths with Starve Island reef and then, as the sun began to set, saw first one, and then several official looking boats criss crossing our path, their lights flashing. Overhead a helicopter passed back and forth on what appeared to be a search pattern. A puzzle.
Edie put on her headlamp with its bright front light and back and front red blinkings. We paddled as the Catawba shore grew distinct. More police boats and helicopter passes. Finally one boat drew near us and asked if we were headed to shore soon. We pointed out Mouse Island about a half hour away. 'You need navigation lights' the fellow remarked. 'There's no place for that kind of light on a canoe' I replied, 'our headlamps are what we use'. He seemed satisfied with that and the proximity of Mouse Island. I asked them what they were searching for, expecting to hear about a missing jet-skier or fisherman that fell overboard. 'A body' came the reply. I wonder how they knew it was a body? We didn't ask any more. But if any of you come across a news story about this, do post it. As a post-script, on hand-powered boats, you do need a light after dark, but it need not be conventional navigation lights like bigger boats use. A good headlamp, glowstick, etc. will do fine as long as it can be seen from all directions.
We arrived back at Catawba to what appeared to be a big welcoming crowd. People lined the shore, not to welcome us back but to watch the imminent fireworks across the water at Lakeside on the north shore of Marblehead. We packed up in the gathering darkness and headed for home.
A small footnote: Monday was equally hot so with the boat still on the car we headed from Wendy Park to Edie's favorite old brick beach under the cliffs in Lakewood. She collects these bricks from the shore to use as a footpath in our front yard.
We've been there many times, but this time a fellow called from the bluffs above, pointing out that we were trespassing and that all the land on the scrap of gravel beach below was private to the water's edge. I was taken aback. There was no possible way of reaching that beach from above short of a rappelling rope. The cliffs were a good 50 - 75 feet high and even to see us from above required that this fellow lean out over a railing.
Technically he was correct, but in terms of common sense he was ridiculous. I told him we'd leave as soon as we gathered our bricks, which we did. Later I thought of all kinds of clever comments to have made, including asking him to pose for a photograph from Edie's fancy camera and telling him to smile as he'd shortly be on Facebook. 'Say, can you spell your name for the record?' We'll undoubtedly be back to our favorite brick beach in the future. Although I can imaging the fellow on his bluff, valiantly standing guard, face to the wind, night and day, summer and winter to repel any further canoe invasions.
And then a nice, modest paddle back to Wendy Park. Sail up, but again, no wind.
Marty Cooperman
