Gorgeous sunset, one hell of a ride

It was, yes, a lovely sunset.

Fremont Island

Utah is famous for lovely sunsets, and when Larry suggested an evening sail to watch one from the Great Salt Lake we said sure, yes.

So Monday afternoon, about 6:30, we set out from the Antelope Island harbor. We sailed north and west in Larry's lovingly tended 22-foot Catalina, dodging high spots in the lake's bottom that can snag the Shrimp Noodle's keel (4-foot deep water is getting rare as the drought continues) and watching as a spectacular display of clouds and sky and water surrounded us.

Photographers know the best clouds are those on the edge of a storm, and that should have been a warning, but the storms seemed to be farther south, it's a big lake, we didn't worry too much. The boat sailed past Fremont and Egg islands, we talked, we enjoyed the clouds' changing colors, from blues an grays to pinks, reds, crimsons and purples streaked with sun and shadow.

Amazing stuff.

A display of light and shadow and cloud

Off to the south, way down near Magna, lightning flashed. "We probably ought to turn back," Larry said, but the storms seemed pretty far south and heading to the east, not toward us, we lingered a few more, then turned.

Ten minutes out of the harbor, getting close to 9:45 p.m., it was getting dark, Larry stood to take down the sails and motor in. As he stood the wind started blowing, the sails came down, Larry struggled to get the main sail tied to the boom, cranked the motor, and the wind started to howl.

Suddenly the boat would not turn into the wind to head toward the harbor. Larry turned it the other way, with waves hitting it sideways, rolling steeply as the boat turned, but he still couldn't get it to head into the harbor. Lightning flashed, wind howled, waves flew, salt spray bit into our eyes.

Carla and Larry

Larry said maybe we'd have to stay and wait it out. Seemed reasonable. Summer storms in Utah rarely last more than half an hour, I thought, but this one howled and blew and the clock ticked by. The weather radio said there was a "slight chance" of thunderstorms, but that was in Salt Lake, not on Great Salt Lake.

Larry sent Carla and I down into the cabin. There was nothing we could do, Larry's boat is a one-man operation, and no sense in all of us getting soaked. I sat inside watching Larry control the boat's motor with one hand, a rope with another as he tried to keep the boom from swaying around, a leg over the tiller to keep it in line.

"It looks like it's getting better" he said every now and then, but then the boat would be lifted and swung sideways, I'd see the background behind him shift 45 degrees or more, and he'd say "Maybe not."

Rising bile, sea sickness. You don't need the gory details.

"There's lots of room out here, we can stay here for a long time," Larry said as the storm drove the boat west and north, still motoring so he had steerage.

The approaching storm

The boat, 22 feet long, bobbed like a cork, or so it felt inside. I didn't have the presence of mind to take a picture of Larry out there, but wish I had -- sitting amid the wind and spray, lightning all around, soaked, struggling with the boat against the water. I knew he'd been in seas like this before, knew the boat couldn't sink, but it was still a time to ponder just how badly things could end.

As the boat headed north he had trouble keeping it far enough west of Fremont Island. Larry was worried -- there's already one boat on Fremont, wrecked, tossed well above the water line -- and he gave the "don life vests" order. It was small consolation to know that, if the boat did wreck, it would be in water shallow enough to wade in if we had to, but who wants to do that?

Around midnight, maybe later, the radio crackled with the voice of Dave Ghizzone, who runs the boat rental concession(click!) on the island. I called him today to thank him, and he said Division of Natural Resources folks had been trying to raise Larry on the radio but hadn't been able to, so he gave it a try.

Amazing sunset

Dave was a Godsend.  Dave could see Larry's masthead light and between the two of them they got a rough idea of our location.  Larry was heading north, hoping to wait out the storm or find a place to shelter, but Dave said the storm seemed to be abating down at Antelope Island and Larry ought to turn around and head back.

So we did. Dave stayed in contact until it looked as if we were going to make it OK.

Around here I lost track of time and events. I was in and out of sleep. I remember Larry yelling "We're in the harbor!" and the boat gave a solid "thunk!" as it bumped into the slip. I looked at my watch -- it was nearly 2 a.m.

Four hours of that. I was a mess, Carla wasn't much better, and if you think this means Larry, who's 10 years older than I am, should have been dead on his feet, you'd be right, but he still seemed reasonably chipper. He is the guy I try to keep up with on my bicycle.

I staggered off, Carla drove home. Larry told me the next day he just buttoned up the boat, climbed into the cabin, and slept for five hours.

Larry, still dry, before the storm

Lessons learned: When there's a storm offing, get off the lake before it can get close. Storms hit fast on the lake, the water is heavy with salt, and the night is dark out there.

And if you do get caught, pray you've got someone like Larry running things.