The trip had been in the planning stages for most of 4 years, ever since I got my little 10’ 150 lb O’Day Sprite, roughly the size of a Mirror dinghy. I named it Chicken of the Sea, in honour of my wife Mary Ann who vowed never to set foot in it on land or at sea. I bought if for $300 which was about all I could afford, what with Mary Ann not working and us having two little kids under 2 years of age. My trip was nothing too adventurous, you understand. Just a little offshore jaunt from the south shore of Lake Erie to the nearest island, South Bass Island, 4 miles to its southern tip and 7 to its harbour, Put-in-Bay. I had never sailed that far before and never in open, exposed waters. I’d spent my cowardly time in small inland lakes and when venturing out onto Lake Erie, always did so on a calm day with the shore a stone’s throw away.

I had read a lot, first about big cruising boats crossing major oceans and then later about little centerboarders crossing big chunks of oceans. If these little boats could really complete such trips, well, maybe I could make a 4 mile trip out to a Lake Erie island. So I read about sailing gear and islands, bought charts, compass; reefing lines and grommets were put in the sail, etc. Crudely following Eric Coleman’s design for Roamer, I scaled down the dimensions as best I could and, lacking any experience in working with wood, used Styrofoam and duct tape. Styrofoam in the head of the mainsail, Styrofoam under the tiny gunwales just barely big enough to perch on, old Styrofoam coolers and odd pieces filling 4’ of the originally open bow from the hull clear up higher than the gunwales and Styrofoam ‘castle posts’ on the stern. This didn’t do much for the boat’s looks but it sure made it buoyant — though I wasn’t about to try and capsize it to find out.

My big break came when Mary Ann arranged to spend a weekend with her sisters and their kids. For the first time in 4 years I wasn’t going along and the forecast was for sun, 5-10 knots winds SW and 1-2 foot waves, just my kind of conditions:

6.30: Rise and shine. Chilly. Wool sweater and pants and windbreaker. 7.00: To the bagel store for breakfast. Grey skies. Losing my nerve. 7.15: On my way to the state park at Catawba with the launch ramp. Weather radio forecast says cloudy, winds 10-20 knots NW, waves 2-4 feet, small craft advisory in effect. 7.16: What’s that — small craft advisory? I never sailed in that before — what’s a 4 foot wave look like? That’s not what the weather forecast said yesterday — I’d better listen some more. 8.50: Catawba launch ramp. Things look awful. There’s white caps everywhere. The trees are shaking. Everything looks grim and grey. Weather forecast still the same. 9.00: Bunch of other boaters huddling together looking for comfort from the forecast coming from a powerboat’s radio. There it is again, small craft advisory. No-one else seemed prepared to go out, but this was my only chance — I slowly prepared the boat and nervously took it down the ramp and into the water. 10.30: Well, I’m still sailing. Wind maybe 12 knots. Waves really bouncing me around. Getting pretty far from Catawba too. Feels kind of spooky being this far from land. Wonder when those 20 knots are going to hit. Now I’m a couple of miles out — no-one will ever see me if the boat goes over. Sun’s coming out too. 11.30: The wind’s been dead for a long time — the rolling back and forth is just awful. There’s only me out here without an engine, the oars are only 6’ long and keep being impeded by the size of the waves. That shoreline isn’t getting any closer — maybe the tide has changed or maybe there’s an adverse current. At this rate it will take me forever to get to Put-in-Bay. I’m getting frustrated and hot and exhausted. Tried to have something to eat but bugs are all over it — over the side with it, now I have nothing left to eat or drink.

1.30: My arms are sore and my shoulders stiff — just coming even with the south shore of the island — the waves are gentler now that I’m in the lee of Green Island, but the powerboats are all heading for the harbour and kicking up bigger waves than before. My stomach feels REAL bad. Someone in a wooden powerboat comes to see if I’m OK. It’s only half a mile he says to the bay so I row on — gee, that was nice of him. 2.30: Oh it feels so nice here on the grass — it’s cool and shady and I got some aspirins and a big Coke and my muscles are relaxing. That was terrible, almost five miles of rowing after the wind died. Went to visit the national park site at Perry’s monument and look for a breeze from the top. 3.00: What a view! 352 feet up on a crystal clear day. 3.30: There is still no wind — I will have to row — this is going to be very unpleasant. 5.30: This’s worse than the trip over — longer too. 7 miles as the crow flies, but longer the way the boat’s zigzagging back and forth. There’s a lot of wash from the powerboats — omygosh! look at this one — it’s twice as big as the other. There’s 2 waves and they’re breaking — better head bow into them. Up, up in the air now down — ohhh, the bow ain’t gonna make it up again before the next one hits — ohhh, I’m soaking wet and the boat’s flooded. Better bail it out and get going again. 7.30: Put-in-Bay is disappearing into the distance. Catawba’s getting closer — awful pain in my hands. 8.30: Land-ho, or at least breakwater-ho — it’s dusk. Thank God it’s over — I can hardly move — now just ease on over to the dock, get out and stretch… 10.30: Home sweet home. Mary Ann’s at the door; “How was your trip honey?” All she can talk about was how crowded the amusement park was and how hot… who’s going to care about my day?