It was Myfanwi and I on Old Alt, while David, assisted by Steve, sailed his lovely Alberg 30 Full Measure. The Alberg 30, as one might suspect, was designed by Karl Alberg- also the author of most of the Cape Dory designs- so our two boats were more or less cousins. This was the day to have an Alberg-designed boat, as the wind was blowing twenty five knots and more, and six-foot waves were crashing over the break-wall.

"You're absolutely crazy!" says Roseanne. Dave and Roseanne hardly ever take their boat out, but when they do, they sail to the Bahamas and are gone for six months. You'd have thought six foot waves would be nothing to her. "Wear your life preservers!"

"Where're you going?" says Dave. "Vermilion and back?" He gauges the shockingly forceful gusts. "Huh. See you in an hour".

So! Out past the breakwater, with the breakers crashing and exploding into spray all around us, until the reefed main and staysail caught the wind, and we heeled over and began to seriously MOVE. I'm not much of a lad for rolley-coasters, but I if I were I bet they'd be something like this. We caromed off the short Lake Erie chop, and packets of water flew aft scrubbing all the birdshit off the deck, and cannoned off the bows like fireworks. We gained a knot surfing down the back of each wave, only to lose a knot as we crashed into the next one.

Old Alt had chosen a different course than Full Measure, making a little more north out of the harbour- the wind was dead west- and pointed a little higher, so we could fetch Vermilion without tacking. David, pointing a little lower, was moving faster through the water, but he was making far too much south- clearly he would have to tack- and we would eat him for lunch. In fact although he was pulling away from us, he wasn't making any more west than we were- only more south. Clearly, we had him!

By and by though, around Beaver Park, the wind started to shift... we were forced south... we would have to end up tacking too! This was horrible! What's more, the wind was diminishing, and we were underpowered trying to bash through the leftover waves... Out came the reef! Let fly the genny! It was no good- we were only managing two or three knots, and that to the southwest. To our horror, we saw Full Measure (well far to the south of us by now) turn and slant up across the wind towards Vermilion! Evidently the wind had shifted enough that David could slide straight to the finish line, and judging by his speed the wind must not yet have faded over by land. This was sickening. He was going to beat us by at least an hour.

With all sails flying we made our tack and stood northwards, dejectedly, making a good five knots, but five knots in a direction ninety degrees from our destination. It was delightful sailing- the lake had already lain down quite a bit- but it was all as ashes to us. By the time we had sailed a few miles north we couldn't even see David. He had already turned up the Vermilion River.

After two or three more tacks, and at least an hour and a half or two after David, we finally reached the river. Bar the odd french fry, David and Steve were about finished with lunch.

I glumly waited for the inevitable reproaches and mockery, so richly deserved after our dismal performance. I mean, it wasn't a formal "race", but to be so shockingly out-sailed....

Steve: "So, you sailed the whole way?"

Us: "Yeah..."

Steve: "Ah. Well, we weren't getting anywhere by the time we got to Beaver Park, so we fired up the engine and motor-sailed in."