On the Unknown and a Wild Ride From Isle Royale

Normally, I'll try not to post this much (I'm probably leaving many of you behind), but I want to let everyone know that I'm feeling much, much better today.

The steroid withdrawal may not be as bad as I had anticipated, and I'm extremely excited about that. Rather, I think the combination of being blasted 4 times in a month, then having a spinal tap, a bone marrow biopsy, and coming off the prednisone all in one day hit me rather hard (as one should probably expect.)

A good friend whose gone through chemo had warned me that the prednisone makes you feel invincible, and the stuff really does. It's a bit of a cruel reality to come off the drug after I've been beat up by treatment, as I wait for test results to see how well treatment is going, and anticipate the next (more intense) stage of treatment.

If I'm completely honest, it broke my spirit and for the first time I had to deal with the fear that going through this brings. Most concerning, I began to distrust my doctor and his optimism, something I know I cannot allow myself to do.

Dealing with this fear made me recollect a recent journey that parallels my leukemic adventure extremely well (this one's for you, Vitse -- the guy loves metaphors).

After graduating this May, I took a 5 day backpacking trip with my friend, Schmidty, to Isle Royale National Park, a 45-mile-long island of remote wilderness in the Northern quadrant of Lake Superior that can only be reached by seaplane or boat. To reach the island, Schmidty and I booked tickets on the Isle Royale Queen Ferry IV, a 100 foot steel vessel that makes the 57 mile journey from Copper Harbor at the tip of the Keweenaw Peninsula in Upper Michigan to Isle Royal every Monday and Friday in May.

After a great 4 days of hiking, I awoke on Friday morning to Schmidty being lectured by a friendly park ranger who would have preferred Schmidty chose to urinate farther than 2 feet away from our lean-to. Finding great humor in this, I rolled out of my sleeping bag to ensure I had a visual as well as audible memory of this moment.

After he had thoroughly outlined the reasons to step away from lean-to or trail to relieve oneself to Schmidty, I began chatting with the ranger. It was overcast, misting, and you could hear the wind whistling through the pines above.

"When are you two heading out?"

"We're on the ferry to Copper Harbor this afternoon. Is this weather going to hold?"

"Supposed to pick up all day, they're calling for 40-50 mile an hour winds from the north, you'll have a rough ride home, big followers."

"Followers?"

"Waves that follow the boat. The good news is it's a little less rough than when their coming at you. The bad news is they look menacing because they follow the boat."

The weather did indeed pick up as we made the four mile hike back to Rock Harbor where the ferry was to pick us up. By the time we reached the ranger station we were cold and being pelted by a wind-driven rain. The flag pole rattled loudly in the strong winds at the station, and the howling of the wind through the pines only increased.

Waiting for the ferry, Schmidty and I sheltered with others in the small visitor center at the ranger station. As we sat trying to warm ourselves, I overheard on a ranger's radio the captain of the Wenonah, a slightly smaller boat than the one we would be traveling back on that departs from the much closer Grand Portage, Minnesota.

"These swells are just too big. I'm afraid its not safe to proceed. I'm turning back and we'll see you tomorrow."

The Wenonah only makes a twenty mile trip from the North end of Lake Superior, which would be calmer than the central and south end of the Lake where we were about to travel. If they had to turn back because of swells, I knew we were in for a ride. Growing ever more nervous, I walked outside and then to the general store to buy some dramamine. On the way back to the visitor center, I noticed a marine forecast pinned to the wall.

"Storm Warning. Gale force winds expected over entire Lake Superior region. Strong storm expected to move over Central Lake Superior with conditions deteriorating in early afternoon. Sustained winds 30-40 MPH with Gusts reaching 55 MPH. Swells 6-9 feet."

I went back into the visitor center and nervously perused their book collection to try to take my mind off what I knew would be quite an ordeal to follow. My plan backfired when I stumbled upon "The Deadliest Passenger Ferry Disasters of Lake Superior." This upbeat book included a handy chart that listed by greatest death toll all of the passenger ferry disasters of Lake Superior and included a very busy map with illustrations of the ferrys where they had gone down. I couldn't help but notice that there were many ferrys directly in line with where we were about to travel, many of them having sunk within the last decade.

About this time, the boat arrived, and ghost white passengers deshipped. Many looked physically ill and in talking with them I soon learned that many were physically ill. It was rough coming across and I knew it was only to get rougher.

I wouldn't have admitted it then, but to say I was apprehensive about making the journey home across the Big Lake would be a huge understatement. I was scared shitless. I did not want to get on that boat. But, alas, I really had no choice. The boat only came on Mondays and Fridays, it was the only ticket off the island back home and I didn't have the rations to make it until Monday. I would have to suck it up, get on the boat and trust that the captain would get me back to Copper Harbor safely.

I boarded the vessel in fear of the journey that lie ahead. I sat with Schmidty in the back right corner of the boat, in a booth, knowing that the stern of the boat always gets tossed about less than the bow and that it would decrease the chances of getting motion sick -- It pays to spend some time on a boat.

After loading the cargo and getting everyone settled, the captain came back to have a word with the 30 or 40 of us on the boat (a number that I now knew would make for a rather insignificant passenger ferry disaster in relation to others on Lake Superior thanks to my light reading at the ranger station).

"There's a storm brewing over the lake and it was a pretty rough ride over. It's only suppose to get worse this afternoon and we might be in for quite a ride. The wind is out of the North and the waves will grow as we get farther south, closer to Copper Harbor. They're followers, so they'll look dark and nasty, but we won't get tossed around as much as if we were heading into it. You guys are going to get to see some waves bigger than most people ever get to see in they're lives so lets sit back, have some fun and enjoy the ride."

Having concluded his attempt to alter our perspective on the situation -- a sign things were going to be even rougher than I thought -- He fired up the twin diesel engines and we began heading out of the safety of the harbor and toward the treacherous open sea.

As we passed the breakwater of Rock Harbor, the captain came over the loudspeaker:

"Like I said earlier I think things will stay pretty calm for an hour or so here before we... Holy, check out the wave on the starboard side of the boat... that's a good six footer or so... Allright, let's have some fun."

Sitting in the back of the boat I looked up at a wave I was quite confident could flip the boat. As the wave reached the back corner where I sat, I felt the captain deftly steer into it and the boat trudged up the wave then back down the other side. The boat was being tossed back and forth violently and I knew it was only going to get worse.

Focusing on not getting ill and trying to take my mind off of the thought that an author of "The Deadliest Passenger Ferry Disasters of Lake Superior," might happily be able to update his book at my expense, I layed back in the booth and tried to go to sleep. Miraculously, I was successful in my attempt.

I awoke when a wave jarred the boat so hard that it almost threw me from the booth. I instinctively grabbed ahold the shiny chrome post that affixed the table of the booth to the floor of the vessel. As my eyes opened and began to focus it was to a booth across the boat where a woman was vomiting into a clear ziplock bag.

As I sat up, the boat rocking and rolling, I was surprised that my friend Schmidty was nowhere to be seen. I looked over and saw a small trail of vomit leading to the open stern of the boat, and Schmidty sitting outside. He too had vomited in a ziplock bag, only his had a small hole in its corner.

Fresh air often helps with motion sickness, and Schmidty would spend the next three hours on the open stern of the boat, in 35 degree weather, gale force winds, and spray from waves in order to keep his stomach at bay.

At this point, the storm was in full force. From my corner of the boat I would look up at the waves as the approached and see nothing but a wall of water coming at me. As we zig-zagged across the Lake, the waves grew, and with them my confidence that we were all destined to end up on the bottom of Lake Superior -- the Lake known for never giving up her dead.

Trying to escape this thought, I laid back down and began reading Hemingway's "The Sun Also Rises." While the book occupied the foreground, I couldn't help but notice that in the background I would see a gigantic wall of water for a number of seconds, brace myself as it hit with my non-reading arm, then see nothing but sky for a number of seconds as the boat was tossed to the side.

Getting a touch motion sick from reading I sat up to eat a granola bar (eating often helps me with motion sickness, oddly enough.) A gentleman sitting in a booth two rows up from me stood up and began heading for the stern door. He took three steps, turned ghost white, braced himself on a pole next to my booth, looked at me and said cursorily "Is is all right if I sit down."

"Of course," I replied, trying to hide my fear that I was about to be vomited upon.

He was a software engineer from Green Bay, ghost white, close to losing his lunch, and clearly had the fear of God in him. He needed a distraction, and I could use one as well to get my mind off of the fear the waves were bringing. I struck up a conversation:

"Spend much time on a boat?"

"Once on the Mississippi"

"Sitting towards the back helps with the motion sickness"

"I saw you reading earlier and eating a granola bar, I don't know how you can possibly do that."

"I'm feeling a little queasy, not too bad, did you take dramamine?"

"Two of 'em."

That was about all he could say. He then got very quiet, focusing all of his energy on not getting sick. I had done my best to help him out and like to think it did something to distract him.

The waves were big and menacing that day, but in the end we made it in safety to Copper Harbor and were greeted by the friendly staff at the Harbor House in traditional Bavarian attire welcoming us back with a dance on the patio outside the restaurant. The calm water of the harbor was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

So, why do I tell you this absurdly long story? One, because I think its a damn good story, and I like storytelling. Two, because I realized that this adventure parallels the one I'm on right now.

You see, Leukemia is like an island and the only ticket home is boat ride through a storm. I might be terrified at times, but like that day in May, I need to get on that boat and trust that the captain (my doctor) will get me to harbor safely. I'm just getting past the breakwater now and know that this is going to get a hell of a lot worse before it gets better.

Along the journey, I'll continue to meet people who are far more sick or terrified than I, and I'll do my best to help them get through as well.

So, in short, I'm getting see some waves bigger than most people ever get to see in they're lives so its time to sit back, have some fun and enjoy the ride.

-Sam