Beaver Islands Archipelago Exploration

THE DEPARTURE

We packed down the jet skis, in a Charlevoix boat lunch parking lot, in nearly 95* temperatures. As we looked at the bulk of gear that we had set out for the next week, I could not believe how much could fit onto these machines. We were about to go on an adventure.

It was Monday afternoon, July 15th, and we had gotten a little bit of a late start in Detroit, arriving at the Charlevoix Municipal Boat Ramp around 3pm. Luckily, we had skirted the storms that were passing through the area on the drive up, our major concern for the day. Our destination, the Beaver Island Archipelago, lay some 30+ miles off the coast. Slight winds out of the South West, were only but encouraging that we were in for a good time - after all, it was what we came for. The next few days were looking ripe windy, with SW 20-25kt days in the forcast. We packed nearly every kite we owned, an 8m, two 12m's, a 15m foil for the light days, and my 7m Wainman Gypsy, in case things got spicy. 

Jontan had built a "cargo rack" on the back of his Sea Doo, by mounting an ATV carrier, and welding posts to mount the kiteboards. It was a breeze. After we had begun loading some of the bulk items onto the vessels, two fellas in a white truck stopped by to inquire what we were up to. Maybe this was not a normal sighting? We told them that we were on a kiteboarding trip,  off to explore the potential of the Beaver Island Archipelago.  Apparently, we were some kind of attraction to them, with all of our mess lying about, soon to head out somewhere out of the common realm.

Packed up and ready to put in at the Charlevoix Municipal Boat Ramp. 

We parked the Jeep and trailer in the empty boat ramp parking lot, and headed on our way towards Round Lake, a small crossing taking in the sights of Charlevoix, before progressing through the drawbridge and into the channel towards the entrance to Lake Michigan.  

The afternoon had already undertaken us a few hours, but we were now moving, ever so slowly (3-5kts) through the No Wake zone. We had the two-way helmet communication system (BBtalkin) equipped, and could hear each other clearly. Jontan had been utilizing this system for the better part of a year now, and was a secondary safety measure, aside from sight and visual commands, in such a lake crossing. 

bbtalkin' in Round Lake on the route towards the drawbridge - Jontan puttering in the background. This is a no-wake zone. 

Last views of the entrance into Charlevoix, before we make our way into the Big Lake

With the storms that we had seen on the radar, it was difficult to be certain what we would encounter once we got to the open lake. Fog was a very real possibility, meaning that operating by sight alone was not going to be our first resort. Although the SeaDoo's did not come with a built in GPS system per-se, they did have a digital compass that we had calculated to be set to ~310* (NW) of our current point, the mouth of the channel in Charlevoix, towards the "mainland" of Beaver Island, and more specifically, the harbor of St. James.

Neither of us had been before, but this trip was a fantasy in the making for both of us, individually and collectively, since our early days of meeting each other, more than a decade prior. Kiteboarding, our mutual passion was what brought us together, and over the years, it served as the stimulus to exploration. We have circumnavigated the State on land, via overpacked sedan, Van and motorcycle in search of wind, and the unique spots that make the Great Lakes our sought-after Home. There were a few other spots on the list that we had still not checked off - along the Superior coast of Northern Ontario, and outer-lying islands, but by late-spring, we were drawn back to our native Emerald Isle and its freshwater sandy archipelago. This trip would not disappoint.

As luck would have it, even if we were to head due west, we would likely still encounter the fringes of this Lake Michigan oasis. We had both respectively fallen in love with two islands south of the Archipelago, in the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore - The Manitou Islands - in our younger years. These islands, South and North Manitou, boast miles of sandy shorelines, desert-like plateaus, expansive forests, and massive 300ft perched dunes, characteristic of their mainland namesake.

With Beaver, and the surrounding islands, we did not know what to expect. We had studied Google maps satellite views for years, sending each other snapshots of what looked to be stray sandbars or sand-spits extending like underwater tendrils from wispy points along these smaller islands. [Insert some STATS about Beaver Island's size and the other islands around here] There ~13 smaller islands that comprise the Beaver Island Archipelago, stretching from the moderately sized South Fox Island to the far south (though arguably a separate archipelago) and the closer islands with names like Garden, Hog, High, Trout, Squaw, Whiskey, Hat and Shoe - some not in existence during high-water years, as we would come to find out.

Despite our passive worries that we would not make landfall with one of these sandy beasts, we were prepared and ready for the crossing, fog, rain, or as luck would have it, nearly dead still and sunny weather the whole way. As soon as we gunned it from the red beacon lighthouse guarding the harbor mouth, it was evident what these machines could do. Even with gear loaded down, we were at ~60miles/hr within seconds. The fun was contagious, and we raced away from the shore giddy, like we robbed the proverbial bank - and here we were, figuratively swimming in our loot. The jetski, dug in through the carves as we mixed between planing out speed runs and playful carves in the tepid summer butter that lay below us - perhaps a few hundred feet of it in parts. Although the shoals that lie between mainland Charlevoix, and the Islands are relatively shallower, we were still traversing in 150-300ft water. Some sections further south in the open water can reach closer to 900ft. It was hard to know exactly how deep of water we were in - but is there any difference between 150' or 300' when you are surrounded by this vastness. I had to find out.

After our play-time and exhilaration of embarking far enough from shore, we decided to pause our vessels, perhaps share in a beverage or two, and of course, I could not help going in for a dive. There is only so far you can reach on human power - a deep breath, a powerful lunge, and a few kicks might add a few feet, but of what significance when you cannot fathom any difference between the blue of 150 or 300 feet? Coming up, is the funnest part - in waters like these and on days like this, turning upwards, is like ascending to Heaven.

The water scatters the Sun's light, as if through a translucent turquoise jelly, in which you are temporarily suspended - giving that proverbial "light-at-the-end-of-tunnel" effect, as you begin to ascend back upwards, towards the surface of this freshwater aether. Unless, of course, you choose to take those few extra kicks, or a shorter breath on the down-stroke, in which case, it might actually be the former. It would be difficult to consult a physician in the middle of the Lake, but it's safe to say I did not risk it on this attempt, and the 150 -300ft window, remained open - with the view up much the same.

From there, we sipped the bottoms off our beers and poured the rest of the drips into the Lake, collecting some water from the rinse to take a sip - something that would normally remain unadvised, in any body of water, and especially midsummer, but how could I abstain after taking in such delights of its depths. 

The surface remained clear, much in the way an undulating mirror would bend in a lucid Dali designed landscape; a floating desert of water - mirage of blue, as far as the senses could see. How could I not indulge them all equally. It was silent, as we waded in the footwells of the vessels for our remaining belonging to be anchored back down. A series of ratchet straps and bungies held in place the hodgepodge of gear we attached to these strange ships - I wish we had brought more - maybe a wheeled vehicle like a longboard, to skate around, once we got into the harbor of St. James. Every well-stocked vessel needs a pair of wheeled vehicles, for the mainland - whether they be in-line, side-by-side, or in this case, the long-deck format. But alas, we had no clue what to expect from the geographical anomalies of this island mainland we were tasked to encounter - and so we brought all we thought we should.

THE ARRIVAL

We overshot the entrance to the harbor, perhaps intentionally?