11:00 - Munising, Michigan By Matthew Maples

Imagine this: The Europa, with nearly all plain sail aloft, heeling over with the press of a close-hauled wind, gracing the coastline of Upper Peninsula Michigan. A starboard sunset sets the pine-crowned sandstone cliffs on our port afire and our once-white sails become as amber. A wizened, pearlescent moon of unusual size looms over the tree line accompanied by Venus, making her appearance with the stage exit of the ever-overbearing sun. A beautiful scene on its own, but I can only imagine what we looked like set against it.

Often the off-going watch goes below for relaxation soon after being relieved, but yesterday evening was different. Nearly the entire ships company was perched on the windward side, as if in a theatre, watching this twilight spectacle of water, wind and light on these "painted cliffs." Our evening showing of Irving Johnson's "Around Cape Horn" was understandably cancelled, because this was one of those particularly awesome sails - and we all knew it.

Twilight ended and so did our sail. The canvas came in and our docklines went out. We pulled into a dock in Munising, Michigan - a small town, but a friendly one in the midst of a fire-fighters "convention and games" of sorts. They gave us a great and immediate welcome and we returned the favor this morning with an open ship and some tours.

Since we left Sault St. Marie and its locks on the 21st, we have been making our way to Duluth in a leisurely fashion, sailing for the day and putting into an anchorage or dock for the night. The evening of the 22nd saw us drop our anchor at a secluded place; Little Lake Harbor - a pebble strewn driftwood beach with northern woods behind. So what do sailors do as soon as they get off their small boat and onto land? Apparently, they skip rocks and pluck wild blueberries to nibble on.

Here in the lakes, even when offshore, land never seems that far away. Ludwine, our ships doctor, says that she can smell the trees. Colin, a deckhand, mentioned with surprise that he could hear the drone of frogs from the woods while he was aloft - even though the shore was several miles away! Small insects are always a buzzing presence and a ridiculous amount of spiders have found our rigging and open portholes to be a perfectly inviting abode to dwell.

We left early next morning, and our afternoon was occupied by a close-hauled sail and a tack, into the lake and back again to the south shore - a nice sail with decidedly indecisive winds. Our trainees set all our sail for that day, as well as taking it in. A successful, slow tack was the climax of the afternoon's action. The time in-between saw a class on navigation, given by our pilot, as well as another on rigging - our trainees are getting a quality square-rig sailing experience. I can tell by their grins and their excited banter with the locals in our port calls that they think so too.

While the trainees were getting schooled, I was able to take a turn at the helm; A sunny day with a light breeze - nearly my favourite. I was reminded from my perch back aft, with its expansive view of sails and lake, of why I like helming. It is there you get to be at the crux of where our ship and the elements combine, where you can literally feel in your hands how wind and wave affect our ship, and how the fluid (or not so fluid) balance between them both is made with sail and rudder. Standing at such a crossroads you become at once more immersed in the scene, more aware of the elements. Yet, with such a view back aft, and your hands off the lines, you are simultaneously aloof and away with almost an external view of the action on deck.  A strange combination, but one that you need to feel yourself to understand.

As I write this I can see the layered cliffs with their sage-colored crowns pass by through the library porthole. Many of us were looking forward to Lake Superior for its scenery and I believe many of our expectations have been exceeded. What shall the days ahead bring?