M A R L I N    B R E E

 

The weather kept changing. I hoped to sail to Canada in a few days, but I quickly learned that I had to be patient because that the lake was in charge of my schedule -- not me. I had sailed up the shore to past Castle Danger when something slithered out of the Sawtooth Mountains. Fog. And out of the fog: high winds. I quickly turned my boat and began a desperate run to the nearest safe harbor, which would be Two Harbors. I would go up on one wave, then skid down its face into the trough, where my bow would submarine. Green water covered the boat up to where the front deck ended and the cabin begin. Some foam made it up to me in the cockpit, wetting my glasses. The first few times that happened, I was nervous and a little frightened. But my beautiful little boat just came up, shook her bow like a dog shaking off wet fur, and off we'd go, repeating the cycle. . Suddenly, a fog bank overtook us, blotting out the shoreline and everything around me. I heard a loud blast from a fog warning horn. Where was it coming from? Onshore! I had that sinking feeling as I turned my helm and headed out to the only safe spot I knew: out to sea. I'd be safe there.