Something Special, Navigation Fail, Bonds Stregnthened

Choosing Safety Over Schedule

Not-So-Homeward Bound Day #29

We stayed in Sarnia for an extra day. At this point, we’ve officially declared ourselves fair-weather sailors. We’re learning. We’re paying attention. We watch the winds, the waves, the weather patterns… and when the story they tell us isn’t safe, we don’t push it. We hunker down. We stay put.

That in itself felt like growth.

A Pause-Day Gift

It turned into a lovely pause-day. A slow breath in the middle of the adventure. We cleaned Agra2, rested, wandered, and enjoyed marina life in that quiet, content way only boaters understand. Our marina neighbours were amazing; warm, chatty, and full of helpful tips. They told us to go watch the Shark 24 races, so we found a bench, sat on shore, and watched those little rockets slice over the water like they owned it. I couldn’t tell you who won. Didn’t matter. It was the magic of being there that mattered.

Witnessing Something Special

Then we got a second treat. The winner of the Chicago–to–Mackinac Island race was out doing a practice run from Mackinac to Sarnia. An 80-foot sailboat, crew of 20, absolutely flying. We stood there and actually watched her cross the practice “finish” miles ahead of everyone else. One of those surreal moments where you realize you just casually witnessed a little piece of sailing history… and you’re lucky enough to be part of this world now.

Storm Stories and Heavy Hearts

But underneath all the excitement, something heavier started creeping in.

Between news, weather reports, and whispers on the docks, we learned that the area we were headed toward had just experienced a terrible storm, the same storm we stayed in Sarnia to avoid. A father on a small sailboat,too small for the conditions, had gone missing with his two children. They were feared lost. Search teams were out. People were hoping. Praying. Waiting.

Respecting The Great Lakes

And suddenly Lake Erie didn’t sound like a romantic sailing chapter anymore. It sounded real. It sounded powerful. It sounded like something you respect.

We were leaving Lake Huron and heading toward Erie, where every Great Lake has its own reputation, and Erie is known for quick, aggressive storms that don’t always play fair. And I was scared. I’m not embarrassed to admit that. I think sometimes the bravest thing you can do is say out loud, “I’m scared… but I’m still going because I need to make it home.”

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A Precious Weather Window

Homeward Bound Day #30

We were sitting in the middle of storm systems, yet somehow gifted a beautiful weather window. So we used it. We slipped lines and headed out, determined to get a little bit closer to home.

Comfort in Channels and Bridges That Still Terrify Me

We motored down the St. Clair River and wow… seeing land on BOTH sides felt incredible. Safe. Held. Like the world had tucked us into a calmer channel for a while. But the calm still came with challenges. First we had to go under Blue Water Bridge and later the Windsor–Detroit Bridge. You’d think by now I’d trust our air draught, but every single time my heart pauses. Every. Single. Time.

Navigator Fail… and the Current That Carried Us

This part of the journey didn’t come with my usual neat little plan. This was my navigator planning fail. We had a general outline… but not a tight roadmap anymore. Because we’d been staying in slips more often than expected, we were trying to mix in free docks or anchorages when possible, so we were pivoting to save a buck.

Add to that: this was our first time truly riding current. Our little motor usually pushes us along at about 5–6 knots, but now the water itself wanted to help, or shove, us faster. We didn’t really know how far we’d make it in a day. There were beautiful points where we were motoring at 10+ knots. We were flying!

When the Plan Just… Disappears

And instead of listening to my instinct to secure a slip ahead of time, we tried Tom’s approach: trust the day, trust the water, trust the plan to unfold.

Except… sometimes the universe says, “Oh really?”

We reached the “old marina with free docks” Tom had found only to discover—SURPRISE—there were no docks. They’d been pulled out. Plan B: anchor in a nearby inlet marked on Navionics. Except the anchor wouldn’t hold… and everything inside me was shouting this isn’t safe.

Meanwhile, we were now very close to the area where that father and his children had disappeared.

When Panic Stops Knocking and Just Walks In

This is where panic stopped tapping politely and just… barged in.

We didn’t know the area. It would soon be dark. Every marina I frantically called was either closed, too shallow, too small for us, or already full. There was nowhere to turn back to. Nowhere familiar ahead. The only option left was to keep moving… straight toward Lake Erie.

So we did.

Raw Fear, Real Marriage, and Unexpected Grace

And that night, Tom saw my anxiety. Not the neatly masked, well-managed version I usually let the world see. The real version. The raw, shaking, leaking, overwhelmed version. The version that cracks and feels “too much” and just needs someone to keep the boat steady when she can’t keep herself steady.

I had learned to mask my emotions because Tom can’t always handle them with his PTSD. But this evening, he was understanding. He showed compassion. He helped me make it through.

Becoming Night Sailors

Once we hit Lake Erie, we became night sailors whether I wanted to or not. Running lights on. Electronic lights dimmed. Tom’s steady hands on the helm while I watched the dark press against the horizon.

He navigated unknown waters, avoided fishing nets, watched for obstructions, and read a thousand invisible cues I was too anxious to process. The moon showed up like a friend and gave us enough light to move safely. And if I hadn’t been such a wreck, I think I might have found it beautiful.

Chasing Safe Harbour

But I also knew: another storm was coming. We had a weather window. We needed a safe haven.

Colchester was two hours away. Technically not suited for boats our size. But fear beats etiquette—so rule-breaker I became.

Tom slipped Agra2 into the first empty slip like an absolute pro. The docks were too short for us, but he tied us off securely, safely, solidly.

Finally Breathing

And only then did I breathe again. Not gracefully. Not slowly. But gratefully.

That night, I wasn’t just closer to home……I was finally safe enough to feel human again.

Reflections From a Night I Won’t Forget

That night didn’t just carry us across water, it carried us across something much bigger in our marriage. Somewhere between the uncertainty, the darkness, the unknown waters, and my panic that felt like a full-blown squall… something shifted.

This was one of those “make us or break us” moments crews talk about. And somehow, instead of snapping, we tightened the lines. Instead of drifting apart, we held course together.

For the first time, I let Tom see the full storm inside me. No masking. No pretending to be the calm, steady first mate. No bracing smile. Just me; an anxious, overwhelmed, human sailor who was terrified and needed help keeping emotional rudder control. And instead of being overwhelmed by my emotions, instead of shutting down, he stepped up. He stayed steady at the helm, kept his bearings, and kept us safe both physically and emotionally.

That changed something.

I learned I could trust him with the vulnerable parts of me. I could reef the sails on my heart a little and still be okay. He learned that sometimes strength isn’t saying “you’re fine,” but quietly, patiently making sure we stay afloat together.

And on the flip side, I learned something about me, too.

That night cemented, beyond a doubt, that my instincts matter. My planning matters. My inner navigator? She knows what she’s doing. From now on, I’m not ignoring gut feelings in favour of “let’s just go see what happens.” I’m the one filing float plans, checking depths,using Navionics like it’s a second brain, and making sure our metaphorical and literal boat hooks are ready before we need them.

Tom can absolutely be Captain Chaos sometimes. And I? I am Proud Admiral of The Spreadsheet Fleet.

We each have our role on board Agra2… and neither works without the other.

Looking back, I wouldn’t choose to relive that night. But I am grateful for what it gave us.

It gave us trust. It gave us teamwork. It gave us language for fear and compassion. It gave us a deeper respect for the Great Lakes, the weather, our boat, and each other.

And maybe most importantly… it reminded me that sailing isn’t just about perfect wind angles, smooth passages, or dreamy sunsets. Sometimes it’s about holding on when the world feels dark, adjusting course when plans fall apart, laughing again after you cried, and realizing your relationship has more strength than you ever gave it credit for.

We didn’t just make landfall in Colchester that night. We made landfall into a stronger version of “us.” ⚓💙

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July 15 2024

Sarnia

Sarnia Yacht Club

848 Total NM

July 16, 2024

Sarnia  ➜ Colchester

Colchester Harbour

87 Nautical Miles

935  Total NM