I separated from my job and embarked on a lifelong dream . . .

In 2000, I separated from my 30 year job and was able to embark on a 4 month journey, sailing around Lake Superior, the largest freshwater sea in the world. The only twist was that I would take a rotating crew of 8 other artists along for the ride with the generous support of two grants from the Michigan Arts Council and Pharmecia Foundation and the services of a public relations firm, Lambert, Edwards and Associates from Grand Rapids, Michigan.

. . . the vessel rode like a truck over the choppy seas . . . its long keel steering us unassisted . . .

The boat is as heavy and deliberate as an ox weighting nearly 10,000 pounds of wood, lead and epoxy. This makes the vessel ride like a truck over choppy seas. The long keel balances the vessel so perfectly that it'll steer unassisted at varying points into the wind. While the short mast and the conservative amount of sail gives it stability in rough seas, it is slow going in light winds. That prompted me into installing a midsize Universal diesel to motor us through the frequent summer doldrums of the Great Lakes.

We rarely relied on any single means of navigation . . . yet we truly tested our limits of navigation . . .

For navigation, we used a Garmin 162 GPS, a depth sounder, hard charts (maps with depths of the lake), pilot books (navigation directions for specific areas), speed indicator, compass and a clock. Frequently the crew would spot for me as well. We rarely relied on any single means of navigation in case of an emergency or malfunction. We have sailed through very foggy conditions and dark nights that have truly tested our limits of our navigation. While we're traveling up the Pukaskwa coast in eastern Lake Superior, we never saw a person, boat or plane for over a week. There too, any mistake we made could have had severe consequences and left us marooned for sometime. We realize how important it was to always know where we were traveling offshore.

What was most endearing . . . was the routine of simple events . . .

What was most endearing about cruising life was the routine of simple events, like traveling quietly together as we the day unfolds, cooking, eating, socializing, drawing, reading and having a good night's sleep with a quiet rocking motion of the boat. Our mornings usually began early with sketching and photography. Eventually, the crew would gather to prepare breakfast while I did routine maintenance. By late morning, we would weight anchor and traveled for several hours. During the day, we would occasionally stop and explore abandoned fish camps, islands or lighthouses. By early evening, we would dip into a bay after covering 20 to 30 miles, allowing ourselves a few more hours to fish, swim and sketch before dinner. I would sometimes mess around with the boat while the daylight generously lasted midsummer until 11 PM. We would then have a late dinner and drift off to write journals, read and wash dishes that would past midnight. Sunrise would only be just a few hours away. Sleep came quickly after such a long day. Every so often, we would stay anchored all day either for the beauty of the area or unfavorable weather conditions.

Sailing with options and equipment fatigue . . . Two seasons not at sea, I yearn for another long voyage . . .

I must admit I do get wary from constantly anticipating weather, place, boat and welfare of all aboard. Rarely do we face all those forces in our contemporaray life. However while crusing, much of my efforts are devising options - "of what ifs" depending on the weather, crew and boat and navigation. Over the years, I've used this strategy whether sailing with crew or by myself and I have significantly reduced problems at sea. I also attribute our luck to the style of cruising - moving leisurely in short hops rather than by a tight schedule across great distances. Fact is, the longer you are out at sea, the more likely you'll bump into bad weather, fatigue and breakdowns. During the last few years, we have experienced only a few sitations.. These were air in the diesel fuel lines, a broken chock, sun deterioration on an awnings and lines, a ruptured freshwater tank that made for a few exciting minutes "looking for the leak" and a dead propane regulator loosing all the gas harmlessly offboard. The majority of the problems were equipment fatigue. Now more than a couple seasons off the Lakes, I'm listening more to the wind . . . gazing at the sky, watching, listening and anticipating. My senses yearn and wish for another long journey across new waters. Where will it be?

. . . life inside resembled a space capsule . . . carrying all essentials . . . with all of our pocessions stored beneath the berths we slept, worked and ate from.

The flush deck and beamy hull allowed plenty of room both inside and out. This made life tolerable for crews up to four people at a time. We became very adept in timing our moves by each other as well as creating "mental walls" when someone needed to undress or be alone (we often had both sexes). Everyone had his or her own berth for storage, a place to sit, study and draw as well as sleep. In a way, we nearly resembled a space capsule since we, like the astronauts, have to carry everything in such a cramp vehicle. In better weather, the cockpit (we fondly called it our back porch) would be a place to eat, relax and to sleep. While we had a toilet and a large holding tank, our bathroom facilities, like the kayakers and campers, meant mostly going ashore.

Building the boat coming from a desire for freedom on the high seas . . .

I long desired the freedom of anchoring in bays and coves to explore the backwaters and estuaries. I love the independence and simplicity of relying on wind, solar, a small diesel using one's wits and intuition to live a life of adventure while documenting remote areas of the North. However before all this could happen, my family and I spent four years constructing Alwihta in our driveway with the kids living knee-deep in shavings and giant pieces of boat scattered about. The construction soon resembled the skeleton of a giant whale parked in our driveway. The thing beckoned me to embellish it with carvings of creatures that we hoped to eventually see. As a woodcarver, it gave me a perfect excuse to create the boat as an object d'art as well as a chapel of life. After a lot of contemplation and research, my partner and I came up with a name of the boat 'Alwihta' which aptly means "all creatures" in Gaelic.

Many fine meals . . . cooked under simple conditions . . . We filled water several miles offshore . . .

There is a fully functional galley with a two-burner stove, cabinets, icebox, counter and sink. Many fine meals have been cooked under these simple conditions. On some occasions, we have successfully baked food in the pressure cooker on the two-burner stove. In Lake Superior, where ports were far and few between, we filled our water tanks several miles offshore away mining operations, paper plants and cities. Since we sail long extended seasons, there is a diesel furnace that can keep the cabin a cozy 65 degrees while it's freezing outside.

Alwihta . . . designed by a famous nautical architect . . . able withstand the North Sea, yet a shoal draft classical boat . . .

Alwihta is a 27-foot cutter and home for me, my family and an occasional rotating crew of artists that sailed on Lakes Michigan, Huron and Superior for the last 25 years. Speaking of cutters - they have two foresails of varying sizes and a mainsail, which gives a variety of sailing configurations. The boat was designed by a British naval architect, Maurice Griffiths, former editor of Yachting World magazine in the United Kingdom. He has written and illustrated a number of books about his cruising life along the East Coast of England. I first came across his designs when I read, Eric and Susan Hiscock's 'Cruising Under Sail' who had circumnavigated the world several times during the late 40s, 50s and 60s. Alwihta's lines are similar to the traditional boats that fished along the coasts of England during the later part of the 19th century. These vessels were capable of hauling large cargoes in and out of the shallow tidal bays, yet able to survive the treacherous storms on the North Sea. Indeed, Maurice felt passionate that shoal draft designs were equally capable of weathering storms as the deep keel boats. His philosophy about boats immediately appealed to me, with little regard to what I was getting myself into; I fired off a letter to Yachting World and waited. After many months in anticipation, an apologetic letter came with a packet of several of his designs. I was instantly taken by the 'Kylix' class of cutter meaning 'shallow vessel' in Greek and bought the plans.