The Day Lake Ontario Decided to Test Us

Not-So-Homeward Bound Day #38

We slipped lines in St. Catharines under sunshine and bright blue skies. The kind of morning that tricks you into thinking the lake plans to behave all day. Forecasts looked great. The sail to Hamilton was supposed to be an easy five-hour hop, and the wind was perfection. The kind of sailing day you hope for.

We were even extra excited, because today meant family. We were headed to see Tom’s sister, someone we love dearly and just don’t get enough time with. Spirits were high. Sails were full. Life was good.

Four hours in, we could literally see Hamilton ahead of us when Tom noticed the sky over the city turning… not nice. Spectacularly not nice. Dark. Heavy. Angry-looking. But the clouds appeared to be drifting north, so we kept going, hopeful we’d slide past it. Highnsight, we should have adjusted course here.

And then the radio crackled:

Squall warning. Eastern Lake Erie.

Lake Erie may have been behind us… but squalls don’t care about postal codes.

Instant adrenaline. Instant sailor-to-battle-mode.

Tom fired up the engine and doused the sails fast. Canvas enclosure zipped up. Life jackets on.

We braced. Land was so close we could almost taste it.

We had 15 minutes

Fifteen minutes between “there might be a squall” and WHAM… there was a squall.

Our sweet 15-knot sailing breeze exploded into 50 knots out of nowhere.

Fifty. Five-zero.

Agra2 heeled harder than she ever has with us; sails reaching for the lake like they wanted to go swimming. My heart was in my throat. Ryleigh was tucked right behind me. Everything inside my brain was screaming nope nope nope.

And then… our girl did what good sailboats do. She held. She righted herself. She fought.

But the wind didn’t give us a break. It kept hammering. Rain started slicing sideways. Waves stacked fast. That “safe little canvas cocoon” suddenly became a giant wind catcher, so down it came so air could move through the cockpit.

I was soaked. Freezing. Teeth chattering. Absolutely terrified.

And somehow through all of that, Ryleigh stayed unbelievably calm beside me while Tom kept the helm like he’d trained for this exact day his whole life.

I scrambled on Navionics and found Stoney Creek , closer than Hamilton and a safer heading. Tom called in a PAN-PAN to the Coast Guard. We weren’t in danger yet, but we wanted them to know exactly where we were and where we were going. We checked in every ten minutes like clockwork.

Our tablets were our lifeline, so to keep them dry, Tom threw a blanket over Ryleigh and me, turning me into a human navigation cave. I called the course. He manned the helm. Teamwork doesn’t even begin to describe it.

Navionics said Stoney Creek was 20 minutes away. I swear it felt like a year.

But eventually — blessedly — we made it.

Soaked. Frozen. Shaking. But safely tied to a dock with no damage to us or Agra2.

We barely had time to change into dry clothes before sprinting back out to help another sailboat battling in behind us. Sailors look out for sailors. Always.

Once the storm passed, the marina tucked us into a slip for the night. We called Tom’s sister to tell her we were close… just not “quite” Hamilton close. And because good families do good family things, they came to us. We spent the evening wrapped in warmth, laughter, and love! Which honestly felt like the perfect antidote to the chaos. ⚓💙

🌩️ Reflection

Mother Nature threw her worst at us (or at least it felt that way)… and we handled it. Not perfectly. Not gracefully. But bravely ... at least Tom did. Together. This was the day I learned that we aren’t just people who go sailing. We are sailors. And we’ve got the bragging rights, and the humility to prove it.

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July 24, 2024

St Catherines ➜ Stoney Creek

Newport Yacht Club

25.6 Nautical Miles

1,210.5  Total NM