Over the Bounding Main

May 2010: A Groupon offer came to my email in-box for a 2½-hour chartered sail on Lake Michigan before mid-September, half price. Ten-day advance reservations required.

Picture in my head: A breathtaking Saturday morning, light winds, skimming along in the sunshine as we admire the view of the Chicago skyline sipping bloody Marys.

Call to my good friend Pat: Yes, yes, let’s the four of us do that! Purchase completed. In mid-August we finally decided we’d better get our outing on the calendar, and found that luckily, we were able to get reservations just under the wire.

Reality, The Short Story: We sailed in a drenching downpour with poor visibility and mildly pitching waves as I dry heaved first over the boat rail, then below in the marine head, sick as a dog.

Reality, The Long Story:
All week prior to our sail we watched the weather forecast. Saturday didn’t look promising, with cool temperatures and scattered thunderstorms predicted. We’d been told that we’d get a phone call if the weather precluded sailing, but that probably wouldn’t be decided until just before our scheduled departure. Curt and I held out high hopes that the Heine Effect would once again save the day.

Allow me to explain. Our friends Pat and Carl Heine are the quintessential optimists. Not only do they maintain a positive outlook, but good things seem to come to them. We went on a cruise with them once, and apparently legions of whales were jumping out of the water performing a ballet for Pat and Carl, as Curt and I lollygagged in chaise lounges on the other side of the boat. I believe that’s the same trip that they witnessed a spectacular Aurora Borealis display the night Curt and I turned in early. The year Pat and Carl went canoeing in the Boundary Waters, northern Minnesota logged a record warm and sunny fall—and apparently all the mosquitoes had already died. It’s little wonder that Curt and I are delighted to plan outings with them.

Saturday morning dawned cold, cloudy and rainy, just as predicted, but according to the weather tracker app on Carl’s Droid, the front was passing. We dressed in layers, and Pat had brought heavy-duty raincoats. After a stop at Starbucks we got ourselves to the harbor where we crowded under trees in a downpour waiting for our captain.

“Look how beautiful these acorns look dripping with rain,” Pat observed. “My new shoes are so comfortable,” Carl offered. “Aren’t all these boats magnificent?”

Captain Mike appeared, greeted us and reported that after quite some discussion with the charter company’s owner, the sail was still a go. We soddenly trod down the pier and boarded, but found the seats all drenched; undaunted, we went belowdecks to wait it out a bit longer. As Mike went up to towel off the seats, Curt popped the cork on the champagne (no bloody Marys allowed because of the potentially staining tomato juice) and the four of us sat dripping and shivering in our rain gear as we raised our glasses: “Here’s to sailing in the rain!”

Just before disembarking--don't we look as though we had the time of our lives?

Before long it seemed to let up so we hit the deck and set off. Choppy water threw us around a bit before passing through the breakwater, but Captain Mike assured us that was always the worst part. As he raised the sails, the rain started down again in buckets. Out we sailed, no other boats in sight. Soon we even lost sight of the Chicago skyline in the mist. The lake remained choppy and the boat rolled in the waves. I could feel water running down my abdomen, despite my hooded raincoat. We chatted about Mike’s years as a sailor, other trips we’d taken, and life in general as we adjusted and readjusted our hoods. We sat on plastic and covered our legs with more plastic, dumping off the water as it puddled around us.

I started to think I felt a little “off,” because I had only had coffee (and champagne) for breakfast. Before long I was at the rail, dry heaving with seasickness. Curt had had enough of being thoroughly drenched (he wasn’t wearing one of Pat’s raincoats), so he went inside; on wobbly legs I pitched myself down the stairs, too, making for the marine head for some follow-up retching. Pat and Carl stayed above with the captain, and I’m pretty sure I heard them remark about how the wonderful rain moisturizes and replenishes one’s complexion.

Not soon enough for me, Captain Mike pulled in the sails and turned on the motor, and as my life passed before my eyes, every ounce of my being wished the trip to be over. As soon as we pulled up to the dock, my equilibrium returned and like magic, I felt just fine.

And guess what? All things considered, we really did have a great time. I guess the Heine Effect was at work after all, but it’s not that everything is always perfect wherever they go. It’s that it’s always enjoyable to be around positive people. There’s still a ways to go before we can call it the Welsh Effect, but we’re working on it.