Chapter 17

December motoring from Holland to Pentwater is pushing ones luck ... idiot is more like it. We shipped the mast and boom by rail but the boat was just too much. US 31 is two lanes, curvy and heavily festooned with power lines, low overhanging trees and lots of traffic. Many of the Lake Bulkers were tying up in Ludington and their crews were heading home ... Holland is shipping and there's not any really good places for a boat the size of the K5 to sit on the hard and undercover.

The Weather Bureau was predicting a decent week before the weather closed in. I'd like to remind everyone that weatherman is the only job that can be wrong 60 percent of the time and still be employed.

Murphy and the Weatherman are first cousins. Even worse ... kissing cousins ... incestious kissing ... and even a bit of fucking cousins.

Keep that in mind.

The Lake was still in a turmoil from the winds of the 29th but it's supposed to be calm ... as in NOT WINDY. Calm doesn't include not bumpy.

Holland to Pentwater is 62 and 1/3 miles. The boat will do 13 knots under sail and probably 15 with the high horsepower diesel she carried ... but arriving in one piece would be good. Maybe 10... 11 in a pinch. We'd have to see. Rounding the pier head I realized this was not a good idea ... oh, sure ... it was clear and nice as far as I could see ... as far as I could see ... about ten miles.

Holland to Port Sheldon is about ten miles and I could see ten miles. There's an anchorage at Port Sheldon. If Murphy's cousin is full of shit I can anchor there.

Port Sheldon to Grand Haven is about ten miles ... and I could see ten miles. Grand Haven has an excellent cove to hide in ... and it's only ten miles. Supposing the asshole that said it was going to be nice on the 29th of November was that wrong today, Grand Haven would shelter us just fine.

Grand Haven to Muskegon is about ten miles, and I could see ten miles. Muskegon is a great place to get out of the nasties ... and it's about ten miles. Muskegon is HUGE ... the lake is ... the town? Not so much. Plenty of places to get out of the weather.

Can you see where I'm heading?

Muskegon to White Lake is about ten miles. I am supposed to have good visibility and calm seas ... the weatherman promised. There is a well sheltered lake at Whitehall. Whitehall is the town on White Lake ... and it's about ten miles.

From White Lake to Pentwater is 25 miles ... there are several wrecks in shallow water ... Little Sable Point sticks out into Lake Michigan about three miles ... but it's a gradual curve to the north and west and the lighthouse is abandoned The Point blocks the view of the rest of the story ... umh ... journey. There isn't any place to hide from Whitehall to Pentwater. No harbors, no rivers, no creeks ... nothing ... just Lake Michigan ... in December.

Holland to Port Sheldon was everything the weatherman promised ... and more. Hineahuone Te Wherowhero was positively sick of clothes ... and, I do admit, it was sunny and almost warm, about 55 degrees. Sheltered out of the wind in the cockpit our Maori nudist was just that ... and Grace had told her to tease ... me.

Somehow ... maybe it's inborn ... maybe it's all part of women's secrets passed from mother to daughter ... girls know how to get the most out of flashing. And guys are easily teased. It's not good for our brains ... oxygen starvation. The blood that carries the thinking carries it to a much smaller brain. Redirect that oxygen carrying blood and we tend to babble. Nerve endings that carry sight to the brain send the signals south; uncharted territory is a discovery every second. I was making a lot of discoveries and I really wanted to plant my flag. My queen had even financed the voyage.

We motored right past Port Sheldon ... it's ok ... visibility is ten miles and it looks good ... the lake looks good. The view in the cockpit is spectacular. The book she was studying was upside down. She might study like that ... Castor and Pollux Stone did ... but somehow I think she was shamming.

Sure enough, my zipper evidently had a mind of its own because I never felt a thing until I was wet and warm, and heavily under pressure and not and is and not and oh fuck oh dear.

Glory be to god and the angels sing hallelujah, Hineahuone swallows. Somewhere along in there, we passed Grand Haven and once my eyes worked again I could see the Muskegon light ... about five miles away ... hmm. But we were still doing ten knots and right on course ... how did I do that? Oh God ... she's doing it again. Muskegon went by to starboard ... on the right for you landlubbers and I never noticed. But it's still ten miles and I can see ... as soon as I can get off my knees ... that one came from the basement ... ten miles. Oh lordy lord lord ... On the way to Little Big Dave that cum blew off the top of my skull ... has any one seen my brain? It was right here and now it's not. White Lake and the harbor is coming ... just like me ... but it's still looking goos and wharm and I'm sure I'll be thimking again sone ... but I'd love a nap.