Waves of Memories

The Great Lakes are like an ocean. Aside from a beauty under appreciated still today, a big storm with prevailing winds can whip up waves well into the double digits. Plus, there's a chop to the waves, not a rhythm, so for a boater, it can get pretty rough. It's reported that the largest wave ever recorded for Lake Michigan topped 100 feet in 1947. And, of course the Edmund Fitzgerald sunk in 1975 during a November storm over Lake Superior where 35 footers buried her and her crew deep into an icewater mansion.

In November of 1994, I spent 10 days aboard a research vessel on Lake Michigan. An unseasonal storm brought waves into the 20s - although I think the number grows every time I tell this story. For our boat, that was a bit more than she could handle. Our good ship and crew was a bone being chewed (reference Gordon Lightfoot) and we had to seek port or risk a fate worthy of another song.

In a green horn sort of way, I loved the whole experience. Trying to grab some Zs in my bunk was nearly impossible to do being thrashed about so much, but I thought it was cool. I suppose if I had to do it all the time like the rest of the crew, the novelty would quickly wear off. You could say that I had the kind of romanticism that comes with ignorance of the real danger. Well it wasn't long before most of the crew became too sea sick to work, so we had a skeleton crew make a run for safe harbor. I breathed deeply and embraced my sea legs - envisioning myself as some Salty Dog with many years out under the mast.

We still have humorous recounts of these events with my friends. Each telling has us in more dangerous surroundings than the last. Something about how the Captain was too sick and I had to take the Helm; how we nearly ran aground, but I saved her; how she was taking water and listing but I kept her true. None of which happened, but it makes for good storytelling. Pretty soon I'll have to add in some pirates, giant squids or something.

When we finally found refuge in a small harbor town in Michigan called Frankfurt, we went straight to a bar called the Cabbage Shed. It's still there and I still visit it today. It was open mic night and they just happened to have a piano and a variety of other instruments - including a stand up bass made from a washtub, clothesline and a piece of wood. Turns out one of the crew was a Jazz pianist, so we took the stage and played until close. We walked back to the ship thinking we really brought the house down, but it was Jonathan, the pianist who they really loved. On that blustery night, he blew everyone away. While there is a lot of music in this memory, the anchor to it all was and still is Gordon Lightfoot's famous "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald". It's pretty easy to play on the guitar, which I happened to be learning at the time. Today, I'm lucky to have my own Great Lakes memory connected to a song that salutes 29 others who weren't so lucky.

The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
When the gales of November came slashing
When afternoon came it was freezing rain
In the face of a hurricane West Wind

When supper time came the old cook came on deck
Saying fellows it's too rough to feed ya
At 7PM a main hatchway caved in
He said fellas it's been good to know ya.