Intro
The world’s largest freshwater yacht race is the Chicago Yacht Club race to Mackinac Island. It is an invitation-only sailing race from Chicago’s Navy Pier to Mackinac Island, Michigan. It covers 289.4 nautical miles over an “inland sea” with weather conditions noted for their changeability and challenge. From dead calm to gale force winds, Lake Michigan has humbled the best sailors in the world and earned their respect as a force to be reckoned with. In honor of the 111th CYC Race to Mackinac being held on July 13, 2019, here is my story which begins post-race 2005, but offers the same challenge, to cross Lake Michigan, only this time without racing constraints.
My Week At Camp
“Do you like to camp?” Those five words hung in the air as I contemplated an offer to crew a J/130 back from Mackinac Island, Michigan, to her homeport in Chicago, Illinois. Known to insiders of the sport as “Mac Backing”, I realized this would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to sail a high-performance racing sailboat across Lake Michigan.
My notably weak sailing resume consisted of day sails on Lake Michigan in the family’s 37’ Hunter. My knowledge of how to crew a boat was limited…knots were something you untied from your kid’s sneakers, and a foredeck was how many cards you needed for a good Canasta game. Fortunately, the skipper (my brother-in-law) and helmsman (my father-in-law) had a much better sailing resume than I. Skipper Mikey was a 3-time Mac racer and 5-time Mac backer. The helmsman (affectionately known as “Papa”) was a 30-year veteran of the sport and 6-time Mac backer. This gave me the confidence that I was in good hands, as I knew Lake Michigan could behave like a wretched woman.
Scheduled to be a two-day drive and a four-day sail, the plan was to bring boat and crew home in one piece, with family bonds still intact. My first challenge was packing for the trip. I could bring anything I desired, as long as I could carry it. Proudly I produced one duffle (nicknamed “the body bag”) and a backpack. I managed to convince myself it really is possible to last one week with only two pair of shoes.
Salsa – A J/130 Racing Machine
Mackinac Island allows no motorized traffic. After a long drive to Mackinaw City, Papa and I ferried over to the island and met up with Skipper Mikey, and “Salsa”, our home for the next few days. There she was rafted three-deep, a 43’ J/130 racing boat, whose mascot is a wild-haired, sunglass-wearing chili pepper. Instantly, my first impression was this is going to be fun.
Boarding Salsa required shimmying 10 feet down from the dock onto a tri-hull, moored along the wall. I moved carefully to avoid the embarrassment of landing on the trampoline or in the water. A kind and inventive sailor had jury-rigged a ladder of sorts to assist in our descent. Not having a gymnastics background hurt me somewhat in this maneuver, but somehow, I landed safely, body bag and all. We worked our way to Salsa by crossing the boats rafted beside us. With our gear in hand, we greeting crew and politely requested permission to walk across their decks. It was a festive post-race atmosphere and we were welcomed and offered a beverage, in case of thirst along the way.
Salsa was a classic racing machine with spartan accommodations to fit a 10-member race crew. It was equipped to handle the big sailing races across Lake Michigan with several jibs, spinnakers, and more electronics than I knew what to do with. If you were an adrenaline junkie and love to sail, racing this beautiful boat in the Mac would fulfill your every dream.
I was told to find an empty bunk, an easy task post-race since most of the crew migrated to land upon arrival. The next stop was the famous Mackinac Yacht Club lawn party. The annual post-race celebration features an awards ceremony and lots of interesting sailing stories to be shared by the international racing community. This is where I met our gracious hosts, Pete and Susan, owners of Salsa.
Post Race Events
As I looked around, I was duly impressed with the long history of the Mac race and the people who took on the challenge year after year. “Old Goats” as they are called are veterans of 25 or more Mac race finishes.
After dinner, we said our goodbyes and departed for a quiet night’s sleep, or so I thought. Celebratory racing crews rafted all around us. At 5:30 AM just as it became eerily quiet, I start to fall asleep, and my watch alarm goes off. As we depart, the Mackinac experience was made even more memorable sailing under the gatekeeper to the island, the Mackinac Bridge, with its impressive 5-mile span.
Let The Sailing Begin
Our course charted, I watched father and son hustle around the deck grabbing lines and raising sails. Operating on instinct, this well-run team performed without a sound to be heard. For most of the day it was a beautiful sail. Winds were SSW at 12 knots, then things start to become choppy. NOAA reports indicated a squall in our path and the water in the distance is darkened with white caps. Our crew dons foul weather gear just as it starts to rain. The sails were lowered and we bounce along for hours.
Skipper Mikey notices winds have calmed down to 20 mph and decides to hoist “the blade” in an attempt to stabilize the boat and give us more speed. Like a madman, he lets loose an evil laugh and grabs the sail while heading for the bow. It is blowing and we are rocking while this guy is on all fours rigging the boat and having the time of his life. This explains his career choice, firefighter, and I am convinced that they make the best sailors. Much like firefighting, today’s sail seemed to be a whole lot of sitting around interspersed with more excitement than necessary.
Approaching Charlevoix, a bit beaten and weary, we are hopeful the worst of the weather is behind us. Passing through the harbor’s open bridge, we spot a sea of Mac back boats. A kind sailor offers us a spot to raft off, and we head to town for dinner. Sailing stories are shared, and I realize we were one of the few sailboats to actually sail (as opposed to motor) through the squall that day.
Learning to Feed the Bear
By sunrise, the population of Mac back boats had doubled. You could walk across the harbor hopping boat to boat. The congestion became even more apparent as deeply rafted boats would inevitably be the first to depart. This meant every boat’s crew had to get up and assist in this game of musical boats all morning long.
We followed the parade of Mac backers out of Charlevoix into a dense fog. As we entered the Straits of Manitou, the pea soup fog lifted and the winds picked up enough to justify a main sail. Watching gauges, our true wind angle fell to 5 degrees and the true wind speed hovered around 20 knots. With the wind at our nose, we powered the diesel engine. It groaned for hours. Breaking monotony, Skipper Mikey began to throw cookies into the water.
“What are you doing?”.
“I’m feeding the bear”, was his reply.
Evidently, folklore has it that there was a mother bear and cub stranded on the island of Manitou. Sailors believe it is good luck to “feed the bear”. Well, I’m all for good luck, so I join in to feed the bear.
Back from the Mac Event
By 7pm we arrived at our destination, Frankfort, Michigan. In the morning, we were the first to leave. Being the closest boat on the raft to the wall, required neighbors once again to join in the game of musical boats. Our final day sail destination was Pentwater, Michigan, home of the Pentwater Yacht Club and hosts of their famous “Back from the Mac” party. This was the Mac backers’ version of the Mackinac Yacht Club’s lawn party. Skipper Mikey reviewed weather forecasts and sailors discussed strategies for circumventing the foul weather predicted the following day.
A Lake Michigan Squall
It was 115 miles across the lake on this final leg. We estimated 20 hours to arrival. Surprisingly, the winds were very favorable and we had a #3 jib sail up the entire way. Skipper’s orders were to have two crew on deck at all times. We were instructed to watch for ferry traffic, and the approaching squall. Once we lost sight of land, uneasiness drifted over me. I felt isolated and vulnerable.
As the squall approached from the northwest, things started to happen. Our external instrumentation failed. The only reading we had was boat speed. Wind angles and depth were unknown. Then, 30 miles from any land, a bat flies at us and lands on the boom. It crawls its way to the mast and rotates 180 degrees, tucks in its wings and hangs on. Watching the bat hanging there upside down, I began to wonder if this was a good or bad omen. Maybe I should have fed the bear an extra cookie. Fortune was kind, and we only caught a small corner of the storm. Within an hour and a half, we were in calm waters again. As the storm cleared, I noticed in the far horizon a white line with a red flashing light above it.
Home Sweet Home, Chicago
“The John Hancock tower”, I shouted.
The rest of the crew confirmed the sighting. Relief swept over me, as I realized we only had three more hours to go. Everyone seemed to relax as darkness fell over us and the Chicago skyline came into view. Just as we approached Monroe harbor, Skipper Mikey offered me the helm. It was the most exhilarating feeling to enter homeport after 50 hours of sail duty.
The boat was moored safely and our friend, the bat, flew off to land. It was my last night on board Salsa. It had been a week from the start of this journey and I experienced a year’s worth of excitement and boredom. It was liberating. Even today, the memories still have not faded. I can close my eyes and still see the midnight skyline of Chicago, as we sail into port. Someday, I hope I get to go to camp again.