Chapter 67

Since nobody could permanently leave the boat, Bea kept the heading at 357 north. The Basilisk was heading just enough west of north to miss the point and the shoals before turning dead north and Frankfort.

“This sucks,” said Mary.

Six agreed, “What if someone needs us?”

“Time it,” I said. “Bea, Junior? We can turn back at Frankfort. Junior, you have your Princessapality to run.”

“You’re no fun,” said Junior. “What if I don’t Want to go back?”

Bea gave it a think, “Yeah.” She gripped the wheel harder.

I suggested a slight turn to port and I’d let her know when to head back north.

“We’re out here ... we might as well learn something,” I said.

Lake Michigan’s prevailing winds are from the west. It’s one of the reasons Michigan beaches are sand. The other reason is ice. Ice grinds the big rocks into little ones. The reverse of that is why so many Wisconsin beaches are rocky. Today, the wind was from Canada. Straight out of the north.

Dead west was heading into the prevailing wind but we could tack and still make our distance, it just takes longer. Tacking presents a lot of sail handling opportunities and Junior did know something about sailing. She lived on an island ... and a small one at that. Plus ... her adventures with David and the Duchess on Lake Erie and the Saint Lawrence did help. Junior also had an ‘inappropriate’ sense of humor ... extremely.

Burt said, “Oh man, this is some sweet boat.” He bumped me off the port genoa line, “Junior ... get the starboard ... the green one.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bea?”

“Yea, Burt?”

“You can commence tacking any time you’re ready.”

The Basilisk short tacked all the way to Frankfort.

Our wake looked like a fast moving rattlesnake.

At Frankfort we pumped blackwater, fresh watered and fueled, stayed over night and headed south in the morning. What was a three day northing was a one day south.

Tied up at my Pentwater dock, we said bye to the Scientists and asked Burt if he wanted to go home,

“Hell no! This is the most fun I’ve had since my high school graduation.”

“You sure? We can drop you at Ludington.”

“No thanks, my sister’s exchange student and her girlfriends are at the cottage and Mom and Dad are in England. All those 16 and 17 year old girls taking up the bedrooms? Insanity.”

“Where would you sleep?” I asked.

“I set up the tipi behind the garage.”

“You have a Native American tipi? How big?”

“Nineteen ... RK Lodges.”