Michigan Challenge 2013: Tip of the Mitt

Michigan Challenge 2013: Tip of the Mitt

The instructions on the Verlen Kruger Memorial website are simple, “Launch from the beach in the town of Oscoda Michigan on Saturday at 8 AM. Paddle/Sail north along the Lake Huron coast. Pass under the Mackinaw Bridge and head south on Lake Michigan to the town of Manistee by 6 PM the following Saturday” 

The Tip of the Mitt course involves several open-water crossings of 7 to 10 miles. A good portion of luck is required to arrive at these crossings when conditions are good. Any extensive weather delay would not leave sufficient time to complete the course. Our boat speed averages about 3 kt, so we need to keep the boat moving 14 to 16 hours per day (43 miles) to finish in seven days. We wanted to make it to Manistee in time for the post-race barbecue on Saturday evening. However, at the start I figured our odds of being able to finish were worse than 50:50.

Our participation in this event was a few years in the making. Lauren and I had paddled, sailed, and camped around the Great Lakes for many years, but always at a more or less relaxed pace. We dreamed of exploring the entire coastline of the Great Lakes, but of course that’s not practical given that we have to work. One seed was planted in our minds when we stopped at the Mackinac Bridge visitor center in 2006. A couple was paddling along the coast of the Straits in a Kruger Cruiser. Here was a canoe that was made for Great Lakes coastal explorations with partial decking, spray cover, and a rudder. That seed lay dormant for a few years until we were at the March 2012 Quiet Water Symposium in Lansing, MI. There was a group presenting their participation in the 2011 Michigan Challenge events in Wayfarers, a Norseboat, and a voyageur canoe. We had heard of the Everglades Challenge, but here was a similar challenge that we had never heard of right in our own back yard! In June, 2012, we went to the finish in Manistee to meet the participants. A kayaker had started the Tip of the Mitt, but had to drop out due to headwinds. A beach catamaran had started in Mackinac, and completed 150 miles to Manistee. One final piece of the puzzle was that Lauren and I were both tired of training for distance running events, and looking for a change of pace. Everything came together; we could train for paddling instead of running, and paddle/sail a major chunk of Great Lakes coast in a one-week vacation! In our minds, we were committed. We ordered a Kruger Cruiser and began training for paddling like we did for long-distance running: paddle two or three times a week, long paddles every other weekend, and ten mile tempo paddles once a week for several weeks leading up to the event. Most of our training was on the Detroit River and Lake Erie.

We arrived in Manistee on Friday, June 21, in time for the captain’s meeting. We did not know how many participants there would be because there is no registration. At the appointed time several people arrived at the Oscoda beach park. We asked the others whether they would be doing the river route or the coastal route. The response was along the lines of, “The rivers! Are you crazy?” This was a little anxiety provoking, considering that these people were all very experienced, muscular-looking long-distance paddlers.  Mark Przedwojewski of Kruger Canoes encouraged us, saying it should be no problem. Mark had built our canoe, and had completed a dozen or so Watertribe Everglades Challenges and two 1200 mile Ultimate Florida Challenges using equipment similar to ours. We were the only boat to start the Tip of the Mitt this year. Three boats started the Shore to Shore river route across the state.

Lakes Michigan and Huron offer a number of hazards to small craft: wind, waves, cold water, and thunderstorms. In early summer, the water temperature is around 50 °F.  Wind is less than 12 knots and waves under two feet about 75% of the time at the NOAA offshore buoys. However, periods of high winds are associated with frontal systems that pass through every two to four days, often bringing thunderstorms and associated squall lines along with them. The highest recorded wind on Lake Huron was 95 kt, and occurred in August 1965 (U.S. Coast Pilot, Vol. 6, p. 300). In short, summer weather is often characterized by calm and fog, punctuated by thunderstorms and high winds when cold fronts sweep across the lakes. We took every reasonable precaution to mitigate the hazards (aside from staying home). We wore drysuits on crossings and whenever it was not intolerably hot. Our boat had a spray cover and plenty of buoyancy strapped in. We practiced capsize recovery with the fully loaded boat. We carried safety and survival equipment required for Watertribe Challenge events. 

Day 1: Oscoda to Misery Bay

44 miles

The forecast on Saturday morning was about as good as we could hope for: 5-10 kt wind from the SSW. There was a chance of thunderstorms every day in the extended forecast, but the large storm that was scheduled to dump and inch of rain the morning of our start surprised the forecasters by dissipating over Lake Michigan. The four challengers doing the river route and Lauren’s parents gathered to see us off. We pushed off the beach into small breaking swells, trimmed the sail for a run, and paddle/sailed north. If we could complete the Thunder Bay crossing on the first day, we would be in a good position.

Photos by Marcia Fry

A funny thing happened around 10 AM. Our warm tailwind off the land suddenly became a stronger headwind off the lake. The temperature instantly dropped by twenty degrees or more, and fog rolled in so that we could no longer see land. We trimmed the sail close-hauled on starboard tack and headed toward land. As we approached the beach Lauren said, “I think it’s a campground”. After several minutes more she said, “I think I see my parents!”. Sure enough, the surprise headwind had brought us to the beach at Harrisville State Park where Lauren’s parents had stopped in to explore the beach. We had a surprise reunion, then paddled north into the fog and headwind around Harrisvile Harbor. 

We arrived at South Point on Thunder Bay around 5 PM. The wind was south at 5-10 kt, and visibility was about ½ mile in the fog. After reviewing the forecast and weather radar on the smartphone, we decided to start the 9-mile crossing. The tailwind died after a few miles, and we paddled three hours in the fog. 

We felt good having passed the only major barrier before the Straits, and called it a night around 8 PM in Misery Bay. We camped on a damp, flat area of packed sand with marshy grasses growing. A fragrant herb that we had not seen before released a pleasing aroma when crushed under foot.

Day 2: Misery Bay to Hammond Bay

63 miles

Excited to keep moving, we gave ourselves four hours of sleep, and set the alarm for 3 AM. It was dark and foggy. Visibility outside the tent was about two feet,

but soon improved to four feet.

It was still dark and foggy, but we did not expect to encounter traffic in the shallow water of Misery Bay. As morning passed into day, we saw Middle Island emerge from the clearing fog, and stopped on a cobble beach to wake ourselves up. Four hours of sleep was not quite enough. I was falling asleep while paddling.  I took a Bonine in case motion sickness was contributing to my drowsiness.

The southeast wind was increasing and seas were building. I put a reef in the sail and pulled on my rain coat over my drysuit to stay warm. We were anxious to get into shelter north of False Presque Isle before conditions deteriorated. 

When we rounded the corner near Stoneport, wind and waves decreased and we had some good help from the sail. Conditions were calm enough to crack open a thermos meal that we packed the night before. 

By the time we rounded Presque Isle, the day was warm and sunny. We paddle/sailed on a straight line to the next point a few miles offshore. The light southeast breeze gave us a little help.

The afternoon was warm and calm. Still sleepy, we tried taking turns napping for 20 minutes curled up in the canoe. Each time I was on the verge of drifting off, I jerked awake, afraid of rolling off the canoe into the water. We stopped on a cobble beach. The stones had been warmed in the sun. I curled up on the stones, pulling out the pokey ones until I had a nice nest, and was soon fast asleep. Lauren said, "come on Mark, we have to go". I pretended not to hear her.

We had been paddling on glassy calm water for several hours, when a surprise east wind picked up around 8 PM and had us running at 4 kts. We had thought about stopping, but could not pass up some free miles, so we began a 5-mile crossing of Hammond Bay. The tailwind had lured us in, but died within a few miles. 

We paddled on into dusk on glassy water. Our first potential campsite was rejected for being too damp. By the time we paddled around a long point of rocky shoals, it was fully dark. We could no longer see to evaluate a good campsite. We waded around in a place by the highway looking for a flat spot, but the rocks were too big and it smelled like sewage. I suggested we just paddle two more miles to Hammond Bay Harbor. After a few minutes, the calm was interrupted by a sudden headwind. Swarms of insects that were congregating over the water blew into our faces. I was in no mood to paddle into a headwind, and I was suddenly reminded that we were paddling on a giant lake at night. We turned for the dark shoreline to try our luck again. This time there was a flat spot in the low, swampy cobble beach next to the highway. We decided on five hours of sleep, and set the alarm. A chorus of frogs sang us to sleep. 

Day 3: Hammond Bay to Mackinac Mill Creek Campground31 miles

Before first light, we cooked and ate a hot meal, and packed another in the thermos for later. The day started with a lively beam reach as we passed Hammond Bay Harbor, but the breeze was short lived. 

Around mid-day, we saw Poe Reef Light on the horizon to the north, and entered the Straits region. We began paddling a straight line from Cordwood Point to Lighthouse Point north of Cheboygan, when we encountered an odd phenomenon. The glassy water developed a steep one-foot swell. After another mile, we could see dark-textured water ahead and small whitecaps. We paddled across an invisible line in the atmosphere into a strong headwind that would be with us for the next two days through the Straits. 

In a maneuver we would repeat several times through the Straits, we trimmed the sail close-hauled on starboard tack to sail into the lee of Lighthouse point, then paddled around the point in the lee of the land. At the end of the point, we sailed close-hauled again to cross the bay at Cheboygan.

It was a lively crossing in two-foot whitecaps. Halfway across the bay, a 35 ft sailing yacht motoring into Cheboygan changed course to check us out. We wondered if they were intending to rescue us. When they were close enough, I paused from paddling long enough to give the yacht a full-armed wave. The yacht skipper returned the wave, holding his arm up for a long moment before changing course back toward Cheboygan. People in large boats often think that we are crazy, but I like to think that sailors understand.

We paddled and sailed for the rest of the afternoon, and got our first sight of the Mackinac Bridge as we arrived at the Mackinac Mill Creek Campground around 8 PM. We were stopping a little early, but Lauren’s parents had rented a cabin there, and we could not pass up the opportunity to have ice cream, root beer, and a bed to sleep in.

Photo by Marcia Fry

Day 4: Mackinac Mill Creek to Good Hart

37 miles

We were ready to launch at 5 AM, but that’s when the thunder and lightning started. We could see an intense storm just to our north on the weather radar, so we decided to watch it and eat breakfast. More storms appeared after breakfast. We returned to the cabin, happy to get a few more hours of sleep while wind and rain thrashed outside.

After the storm cleared, we sailed past Mackinac City, close-hauled on a building west wind. After managing to not get run over by the high-speed ferry to Mackinac Island, we sailed on under the bridge and celebrated passing a major landmark on the journey.

Photo by Marcia Fry

The west wind continued to build, and we paddled hard to round McGulpin Point. We were anxious to get south across Cecil Bay and reduce our exposure before conditions worsened. We put in the first reef, then the second reef as we approached the far side of the bay. We worked our way upwind into the next bay. Paddling into a light headwind is faster than sailing. When the headwind is strong, tacking with paddle and sail power is easier than paddling straight into the wind, but progress is slow either way.

At mid-afternoon, we crawled up on a sheltered beach intending to get a nap. We checked the forecast, hoping that the wind would decrease in the evening. Tiny biting gnats, deerflies, and ants prevented us from sleeping, which otherwise would have been easy to do.

After an hour or so, we set the double-reefed sail and continued working our way upwind. Soon conditions improved; the wind shifted to the southwest and we were able to sail almost parallel to the coast. We worked our way west toward Waugoshance Point.

Waugoshance Point lived large in my imagination while planning the trip. I looked at Google Maps many times, not sure if there was enough water to pull through the gap between the point and the first island. For some reason I pictured us pulling through the gap to find Lake Michigan a wind-tossed mess, and having to set up residence on Waugoshance Point.

As we approached the point, sailing close-hauled and double-reefed, it looked as though my pre-race vision would become reality. The wind was even stronger as we pulled up to the gap; grasses and shrubs were whipping in the breeze and there were tiny whitecaps on the shallow pools of water. The water was too shallow to paddle against the headwind, so we pulled through. A current flowed through the gap like a brook flowing over cobbles.

Things were not as bad as we feared on the south side of the point. Rather than taking a break as we had planned, we tentatively paddled out through some breaking swells. To our surprise, the strong southwest wind we felt on the north side of the point had become a light westerly breeze on the south side, only a few hundred yards away. We set sail on a beam reach and paddled south across Sturgeon Bay, excited to have such a turn of luck. These were the largest waves we encountered on the trip, nearly touching the horizon at eye level, but they were rounded swells so they did not cause a problem. 

We continued south past Good Hart, and found a secluded beach right at dusk. We were in for a surprise when we stepped onto what we thought was sand in the low light, but turned out to be slimy, rotting algae the color of sand. We set the alarm for five hours of sleep.

Day 5: Good Hart to Leelenau Peninsula

46 miles

This was the day we would find out if the Little Traverse and Grand Traverse Bay crossings would be passable, or if we would have to wait. The forecast could not be better: calm wind and clear skies. This was our opportunity! All we had to do was paddle 45 miles or so on flat water and hope the forecast was right.

Little Traverse Bay was first. Three hours of paddling on glassy water in the morning and we were across. 

We continued past Charlevoix in the heat of the day without taking a break, anxious to get to Grand Traverse Bay while conditions held. At Fisherman’s Island calm still prevailed, so we pointed our bow toward the Leelenau Peninsula; a dark line on the horizon, nine miles across the bay.

With three miles to go on the crossing, we saw dark-textured water ahead; would it be a friendly breeze or an unfriendly breeze? The breeze filled in and turned out to be a headwind. This was somewhat anxiety-provoking. We were heading for a narrow peninsula surrounded by open water. We could only continue straight ahead or turn back. We set sail close-hauled on starboard tack, which would carry us into shelter on the bay side of the peninsula and close the gap faster than paddling directly into the wind. The headwind continued to build as we approached land. The ama took a dive, and I zipped a reef into the sail. We paddled hard to close the gap as soon as possible.

An hour after the wind picked up, we came into the shelter of the peninsula. We stopped paddling and relaxed, taking a few tacks to work our way around the point. The biggest obstacles were behind us! Now we felt that we could really finish this thing if we just kept paddling. The headwind was soon gone, and we paddled south on glassy water as the sun set.

Day 6: Leelenau Peninsula to Empire

35 miles

The morning was calm again, but the forecast called for storms later in the day. The big bay crossings were behind us, but the shoreline was still deeply inset with bays and points. In the morning calm, we checked the weather radar and began a nine-mile line across Good Harbor Bay to Pyramid Point in the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore. About halfway through the crossing, Lauren checked the weather radar again, and found a line of thunderstorms passing from Wisconsin into Lake Michigan. The south edge of the storms would arrive in about an hour and a half, which was about how long it would take us to finish the crossing to Pyramid Point.

We did not want to turn back, so the race was on! We began paddling hard for one mile intervals. Afterward, we took turns taking a short break to eat and drink while the other paddled. Every muscle above my waist was burning, including those little ones between the ribs. I couldn't believe I was still paddling this hard after so many days of paddling this hard. Lauren called back, “Let’s make the next interval two miles!” What could I do but agree? We were racing a thunderstorm and had to win. The storm was visible to the north as we arrived at the beach on Pyramid Point, but we were far enough south to avoid it. We took a break and filtered water from the lake for a hot afternoon of paddling ahead.

The afternoon was sunny and hot. Lauren jumped in to cool off.

More storms appeared on the radar as we paddled south from Sleeping Bear Point. This time they would not miss us. We figured we had an hour and a half, so we got a few more miles in to Empire Bluff. To make things more interesting, both our parents were watching us through a spotting scope from Platte Bay a few miles south.

We hit the beach as the rain started, set up our tent and jumped in. After half an hour, not much happened other than a sprinkle of rain, so we packed up the tent and shoved off again. Storms often dissipate over the cold water of Lake Michigan, and the southern edge of this large storm seemed to have disappeared. 

A light north breeze picked up, and I began setting the sail. Lauren expressed concern over the ominous dark clouds that were rapidly approaching from the lake. I was preoccupied with the sail, and imagined they were the non-threatening remains of the storm that dissipated over the lake. Now more concerned, Lauren said, “You had better take down the sail”. Women are often more sensible than men, so I accepted her advice and quickly took down the sail. Not a minute later, the squall line hit. Fortunately, we were only a hundred feet from the beach and got there fast. Sand blew down the beach and stung our legs as black clouds with dangling tendrils flew over at the level of the dune tops. Our parents saw the whole incident in their spotting scope and got pictures.

Photos by Marcia Fry

It was exciting to feel the cold wind while standing on solid ground. We were about five miles short of our mileage quota, but we decided to call it a day and catch up on eating and sleeping. The weather radar showed scattered storm cells across Lake Michigan, Wisconsin, and beyond. With about 46 miles to go, we could hope to finish in one more long day of paddling.

Day 7: Empire to Manistee

47 miles

Well fed and rested, we hit the water at 4:40 AM to start what we hoped would be the final push to Manistee. A half moon illuminated the calm lake. The big dipper stood out behind a few scattered clouds. Far to the south, lightning flashed in a thunderstorm that reached high into the sky. This storm was too far away to threaten us, but it encouraged us to paddle hard on the five mile crossing of Platte Bay. 

After this last crossing, we could hug the shoreline for the last 40 miles. More thunderstorms were in the forecast, and a north wind was predicted to build overnight. Coming in after dark on a building north wind would have been more excitement than we wanted at this point, so again we were motivated to keep it moving.

The lighthouse at Point Betsie glowed in the warm light of the morning. The grassy dunes looked like a manicured golf course. A woman came out of her cottage to raise the American flag, which caused us to belt out a rousing version of the Star Spangled Banner.

The miles were taking their toll, and we had a hard time maintaining a 3 kt cruising pace. We would do a mile of focused paddling, then each of us could take turns doing one short thing (eat something, adjust clothing) while we kept the boat moving, then another mile. It was another hot day, and Lauren jumped in to cool off.

At Arcadia, the forecast westerly breeze appeared. It was too weak to offer any assistance, but did blow in the fog from the lake, which cooled us off.

With about five miles to go, we saw wind on the water ahead. A following breeze filled in from the north. It was the north wind that was forecast to build overnight. We set the sail, and were soon running at 4 kt in a building sea. Soon we could see the upright structures on the Manistee breakwater on the horizon. I felt like I was trying to make a field goal, steering for the gap in the breakwater in the following wind and sea. Lauren was still paddling hard out of excitement. We were doing 5 kt and surfing down waves at nearly 6. I told Lauren that we were going fast enough and didn't really need to paddle, but she was taken up by the excitement of the finish and couldn't help herself.

I could not see from behind the sail, but Lauren said there were people waving at us from the breakwater. I was concerned about the sea state in the breakwaters. Sometimes the current from the river can cause the seas to break, or waves can reflect off the seawalls. The last thing I wanted was to wipe out in the harbor entrance. 

Photos by Marcia Fry

Finally, we were in the entrance. To my relief, the seas were flatter. We turned and I gybed the sail. We saw Lauren’s parents, Mark Predwojewski, and two paddlers who had completed the Shore to Shore route, Sandy Krueger and Jack Murgittroyd, all cheering for us from the breakwater. 

Photos by Marcia Fry

We were so excited that we forgot how tired we were and paddled hard up the river, sailing fast on a beam reach. When the wind died, we took down the sail and kept paddling hard up the river. Mark yelled at us as we passed under a bridge in Manistee. There was a stiff headwind crossing Lake Manistee, but we didn’t care because we were so close. We took down the mast and passed under the railroad trestle to the finish.

Photos by Mark Predwojewski

In retrospect, the trip went far better than I expected.  We were blessed with good weather.  I was glad we finished when we did. The wind continued to build overnight as forecast...

Stats from the GPS

269 nm (309 statute miles)

92.5 hrs moving (6 days, 12 hours overall)

10.5 hrs stopped (excluding camping)

2.9 kt moving average

5.9 kt max

Epilogue: Life in a Sailing Canoe

We were in the canoe for about 100 hours; 14 to 16 hours a day.  We tried to keep it moving as much as possible by taking turns with breaks while the other paddled and steered with the rudder. Foot pedals to control the rudder were in both the bow and the stern, which was the key to this strategy.

Pockets were important to keep things out of the bilgewater. I had a pocket on the spray cover for the sheet and halyard to control the sail, and I had a pocket on the thwart in front of me to hold my snack bag.

Each of us started the day with a big bag of ready-to-eat snacks. The challenge was to eat it all before the end of the day; harder than it sounds.

I printed a set of charts on 11x17 waterproof paper that fit well in the chart case. The GPS chartplotter and compass kept us on track in fog.

There is nothing like a hot meal to reinvigorate a person. We cooked once a day, usually when breaking camp. We ate a freeze-dried backpacker meal, packed a thermos meal for later, and filled the beverage thermos with an instant coffee- hot chocolate mix.

We were halfway through the trip before I found a good place to hang the mouth tube on my camelback so that it would not end up in the bilge water.

After a few days, the backs of our hands were getting burned in spite of sunblock.  I was pretty proud of this innovation at the time.

There were always a lot of six-legged stowaways on board, and quite a few with eight legs as well. Maybe they got tired of flying over the water. They liked to hang out.

A pocket on the spraycover kept the sheet and halyard tidy and close at hand. We paddled nearly the entire time, so the sheet was always in the cleat. The sail rarely moved us faster than 3 kt ( our goal pace) on its own, but it did help often. More sails and more lines would have made the living space much more messy. For sporty sailing, more sail area would be better, but for cruising I think it was a good amount of sail.