Spring came a little late this year.  April 19th, to be exact, at least by my measurement.  In my neck of the woods, this was the first day that reached the high forties in the afternoon, with a 7-day weather outlook with “normal” temperatures to follow.  That’s when I make the call.  It was a long time coming.

In what has seemed an eternity, the past 2-3 weeks have been a second coming of winter.  After some “cheater” days with temperatures in the mid-fifties in late March, we quickly returned  to overnight lows in the twenties.  Snow, ice, sleet, and daytime temperatures only reaching the mid-thirties, again became the norm.  Good thing I kept the ice scraper in the truck.

Such a turn of the weather reminded me of a saying of my Pop’s.  He always said, “All things, good and bad, don’t last forever.”   Quite a bit of wisdom there, I think.  With all of the current talk of climate change, longer winters, hotter summers, and intense weather shifts, its easy to forget that all things do, and must, change.  Until the turn of the Earth ceases to make its annual course around the sun, the worst times, and the best, will be temporary.

Being an outdoorsman at heart, and at practice when I can, the weather and its changes has always interested me.  If I’m out on my fishing boat (which I hope to be in a day or so), I’m always looking at the sky and the clouds to determine the best place to drop a line and to watch out for a change in weather.  Watching for when the sun is at “three fingers” on the horizon is also a timeless old habit, again taught to me by Pop, as it let’s me know when there’s an hour and a half of daylight or so left.

On my 25th wedding anniversary, my wife and I took a little trip to Washington Island in Door County, Wisconsin.  As we had brought the O’Day sailboat along (alas, not the fishing boat), we decided to take it out for a nice little mini-cruise to one of the many inlets.  We decided to sail around the south and west side of the island to a small little bay with crystal clear water that one of the other folks on the island had mentioned.  It had an old shipwreck on the lake floor at about 30 feet, and we were told one could see it through the clear water as easily as if looking through a window.  We were not disappointed.

There was a light breeze that day, and it was easy sailing. When we arrived at the mouth of the bay, we could see all the way to the lake bed, just as advertised.  The shipwreck appeared as though you could reach down and touch the old wooden bow.  It was stunning.  After viewing the now timeless old wooden wreck for a bit, we gently drifted our little boat onto the rocky shore, hiked our way to a small stand of evergreens, and unwrapped our home-packed lunch while nestled in-between the tree trunks, enjoying the aroma of pine needles and fresh air for our efforts.  The view, the simple meal, and the pure clean air were fantastic.

After relaxing a bit, watching the birds come and go and enjoying the mid-day sunshine, we began our journey back.  In late afternoon, when the sun was about “four fingers”, we coasted our little sailboat back onto the water, and started our trek back north around the island, hugging the island’s rugged coastline.  If the first leg of the journey down to the little harbor was to be our guide, we figured we would be back at the dock in a little over an hour.  This was not to be.

A fresh breeze kicked up from, you guessed it, the north, almost immediately after reaching open water.  Our time estimate quickly went out the window.  If you know anything about sailing, heading directly into the wind is simply not possible.  Even the best boats, with expert sailors (a club of which I am certainly not a member), consider pointing at 35-40 degrees off the wind as exceptional.  While you can “pinch” the wind at a closer angle, especially in a strong breeze, you risk putting the boat in “irons”, where it stalls and forward progress stops.  Sailing off the wind to avoid “irons” requires that you tack back and forth across the wind direction, making a little forward progress each time.  That was to be our fate, based on the inclement circumstances now facing our little boat.  My “four fingers” quickly changed to three, without making much true northerly progress towards the harbor where our warm little cottage was waiting for us.

To compound our difficulties, the “fresh breeze” quickly turned into a stronger wind, necessitating that we lower the small jib (the little sail in the front). Lowering the jib kept us from excessively heeling in the growing breeze, and helped us avoid getting periodically doused with the brisk and ice cold lake water, but it had the unfortunate but necessary effect of forcing us farther off the wind as well.  This greatly increased our time estimate to get back and it was getting to be dicey.  Sailing at night in high-traffic areas is not favored, at least by me.  A little ship on big water with even bigger boats is not my idea of relaxed sailing.  We began to look at the charts to see if there was another inlet we could make, or at least some shallow water where we could drop anchor to ride out the weather overnight.  I always packed food and water (though certainly not gourmet fare), and we had a small cook stove and blanket if needed to ride it out until morning.  I was more in favor of this plan than my lovely wife, as you might imagine.  “It’s like camping on the water!”, I said, with obvious glee and excitement.  She was not amused.  Apparently her attachment to returning safely to land would not allow her to contemplate an alternative track.

However, as luck would have it (possibly assisted by my wife’s incessant prayers…) the weather shifted.  The winds, while still strong, began to wrap around and blow from the southwest, providing a nice broad reach north.  In a little more than an hour, we made the entrance to our little bay where our warm little temporary home awaited us.  And while we arrived a little later than we had anticipated, there was enough daylight left to dock and secure the boat and head into the cottage and its warm fireplace.  We celebrated with a nice nightcap (bourbon for me, chardonnay for her) and a nice dinner of flame-seared steak and salad.  My wife was much relieved not to have to eat the sparse and bland boat-food that I had stored for who-knows-how-long on the boat, to which she had earlier reluctantly resigned herself.  All was now well with the world.

When I think about this spring, and its oft-changing weather, I also find myself thinking about that trip with my wife.  While the steak and salad were delicious, they felt a little more exquisite and tasty than usual that day, after the mini-ordeal and adventure we endured earlier.   Similarly, while I relish the fact that true spring has finally arrived, and I am thankful, I know that I am just a little more thankful than in past years, because of the recent brush with a second winter blast.   In the coming months, when I head out on the water to fish or sail, or start hiking the hills and oak groves for the start of squirrel season later this summer, I know that I will be just a little more grateful and mindful of the sights, sounds, and beautiful scenery that one can only find outdoors.

All things, good and bad, don’t last forever.