G 4 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[July 9, 1910. 
A Summer Squall. 
Lake Erie is noted for the violence of its 
summer squalls; so say the guide books. 
Yachtsmen who can speak from experience will 
probably say that Lake Ontario is almost as 
bad; Lake Michigan, if not so squally, has 
some reputation for strong winds and gales; 
and so have Huron and Superior. The fact is 
that the whole basin of the Great Lakes is so 
situated as to get rather more than its share 
of weather. Extending for a third of the way 
across the continent, it is a clearing house 
where hot waves from the south and cold waves 
from the north meet to adjust their differences 
—if they can. And as in other adjustments be¬ 
tween large interests, there is a good deal of 
local disturbance. 
A weather map, showing the average mean 
temperature for January, in isothermal lines, 
at intervals of five degrees, has the zero line 
passing just north of Lake Superior, while Chi¬ 
cago is on the line of 25 degrees. The zero 
line stands for bitter cold weather, which crip¬ 
ples transportation, and absolutely puts a stop 
to all outside industries except lumbering. The 
line of 25 degrees represents what is known as 
an open winter, with frequent thaws, often rain 
and mud rather than heavy snow—the general 
winter conditions of Ohio and New York State. 
The intervening isothermal lines are curiously 
twisted in the Great Lakes territory, and close 
together, a difference of 25 degrees of mean 
temperature being comprehended within some 
five degrees of latitude. Now let us turn to a 
similar map showing the isothermal lines based 
on recorded temperature of June, July and Au¬ 
gust. Within the same zone the difference in 
mean temperature is but 10 degrees, a much 
fairer proportion, due largely to the tempering 
influence of the Great Lakes themselves. 
The question will be asked, why do not the 
Lakes temper the weather in the winter as well 
as in the summer? So they do, but the influ¬ 
ence is slight, because the Lakes, especially 
Lake Superior, are icy cold. It takes them all 
summer to get warmed up to a temperature 
that makes bathing agreeable, even in the 
shoals of the lower lakes. This accumulated 
heat is disbursed in the fall, and is one of the 
factors which make lingering autumn the finest 
of the seasons in the whole Lake territory. 
But by the beginning of December the heat is 
pretty well exhausted. 
The low temperature of Lake Superior, the 
head reservoir of the chain, is not to be ex¬ 
plained by its visible sources, which are quite 
insufficient to balance the steady discharge at 
the Soo. Lake Superior, then, is fed by under¬ 
ground springs, probably of Arctic origin, al¬ 
though some theorists have ventured to trace 
them to the Rocky mountains. Certainly its 
waters are very cold; the luckless sailor who 
falls overboard has little chance of rescue, un¬ 
less a helping hand can be extended to him at 
once. In a few minutes the strongest swimmer 
is benumbed, and sinks to rise no more; Lake 
Superior seldom, if ever, gives up its dead. 
Of the existence of important underground 
streams in the Great Lakes territory there is 
no possible doubt. Yachtsmen who have called 
at Glenora, near Picton, on the Bay of Quinte, 
are acquainted with the curious little lake on 
the hill, which has no visible means of supply, 
and yet maintains a steady discharge. Its level 
is that of Lake Erie, and the existence of some 
underground connection seems obvious. But 
Lake Huron is a better guess; its level is but 
little higher than Lake Erie, and borings for 
salt in the Huron and Bruce district long ago 
disclosed, buried streams of substantial easterly 
flow, which may easily account for the lake at 
Glenora. Of late these have been tapped for 
a domestic water supply, and their identity in 
quality and level with the water of Lake Huron 
has been pretty well established. 
One of these streams is a mile wide and of 
great depth. It is quite possible that the visible 
course of the Great Lakes and the St. Law¬ 
rence is paralleled by an extensive underground 
system, to which the little lake at Glenora bears 
the relation of a water gauge to a large boiler. 
But to resume the subject of squalls: These 
of course are strictly local disturbances, and 
are not in the same class with cyclones, torna¬ 
does and hurricanes. They form no part of 
the weather forecast, except in the most gen¬ 
eral way; the majority of them pass off almost 
unobserved, and few are recorded unless they 
happen to invade the precincts of an observa¬ 
tory, in which case the anemometer may get a 
hot bearing. To the landsman squalls mean 
little—a few shingles blown off the roof, or a 
field of corn blown down and lodged. But as 
a rule destructive squalls fly too high to dam¬ 
age field crops. To the yachtsman, and espe¬ 
cially the boat sailor, they are a serious menace, 
the more so because they defy all forecasts 
until the last minute, and even then he cannot 
tell whether the squall will be destructive or 
harmless. 
The difference is striking when expressed in 
terms of wind velocity and pressure. A mod¬ 
erate breeze means a velocity of 8 to 12 miles 
per hour; a 15-mile wind is strong, and in a 
small gale of 20 to 25 miles per hour few peo¬ 
ple would think of starting out for a sail, or 
if they did would be well reefed. Now in a 
squall, the wind may easily attain a velocity of 
50 or 60 miles an hour, and the pressure varies 
with the square of the velocity. So that in a 
squall travelling at the rate of 60 miles per 
hour, even though it lasts for but a minute or 
two, the destructive force of the wind is four 
times as great as at 30 miles, and sixteen times 
as great as at 15 miles per hour. 
The sails and gear of a yacht are planned 
for moderate breezes, and have no such margin 
of safety as will enable them to stand so rapid 
a multiplication of strains, as these pressures 
indicate. So in a squall something has to give 
way. With a vessel of large stability which 
can be put before the wind, it will be sails and 
gear. In a small boat there will be a quick 
capsize if any attempt is made to carry sail at 
all. The force of even a moderate squall is 
astonishing; it upsets all calculations as to sta¬ 
bility and handling; the skipper finds a gigantic 
force playing with his boat in a careless and 
masterful way; and then something happens. 
No squall comes without some warning; but 
between the promise and the performance there 
is no fixed proportion. A fearful looking sky 
may give no more than a small sputtering, of 
wind, or the squall may not come within miles 
of the observer. Conversely a really bad squall 
may break with so little warning that the care¬ 
less observer will have disregarded it alto¬ 
gether. The general rule is that squalls are to 
be expected when the weather is unsettled, 
particularly when the temperature is high, with 
light and variable winds; when the weather is 
hot and oppressive, look out for squalls. 
Squalls commonly accompany thunderstorms, 
and these make their way against the prevailing 
wind, so that a bad sky to leeward needs 
watching. In such cases the warning is ample; 
the steady advance of black clouds from the 
horizon to the zenith cannot possibly be over¬ 
looked; and when these are fringed with curl¬ 
ing masses of white vapor, and the sun, if 
not already obscured, is shining through a 
sickly yellow haze, the effect is awe-inspiring, 
and the acute sense of personal danger is not 
to be shaken off. 
By this time the yachsman will have stripped 
to lower sails, and will have cleared his hal¬ 
liards to let them go by the run. Indeed, some 
experienced lake sailors advise that any vicious 
looking squall be met under bare poles. In 
,a majority of cases this may not be necessary; 
but in one case out of ten, perhaps, it will save 
the yachtsman the unpleasant experience of 
seeing his spars and sails swept overboard, 
and lying in a tangled mess alongside. To 
carry away a mast is one of the most costly 
and vexatious accidents that may happen to a 
yacht, and when help is not available, it may be 
very dangerous. 
For the skipper of an open boat there is but 
one safe rule—never take chances with a squall. 
The indications of an approaching thunder¬ 
storm should never be disregarded, nor. should 
the skipper presume too much upon his judg¬ 
ment in the matter of time. Squalls coming 
from seaward are usually heralded by flying 
spindrift, and when this is seen it is time to 
act very quickly indeed. Squalls off the land 
are more dangerous, especially when the land 
is close aboard, for then the effect on the water 
may not be discernible; the squall may fly 
high, and strike the sails of a yacht like a shot 
out of a gun. 
It is by no means to be supposed that all the 
common appearances of the sky which betoken 
a squall, are to be seen as a matter of course. 
Given hot and unsettled weather, and a squall 
off the land will come clattering along with 
scarce any warning at all. Here is a case in 
point: 
A man and his wife, both proficient in boat 
handling, were running before a light easterly 
wind, their position being well off Humber 
Bay, to the west of Toronto. The day was hot 
and fine, the weather fairly settled, and no in¬ 
dications of a change in sight, except a general 
haziness, which filtered the sunlight to a yel¬ 
lowish tint. Their boat was a half-decked 
knockabout, 15 feet waterline, by 5 feet beam, 
carried 300 pounds of ballast, and was yawl 
rigged; altogether a safe and seaworthy type 
of boat, fit to cruise around the lake in ordi¬ 
nary weather. The venture of the movement 
was a run from Toronto to Oakville. I give 
the story as it was related to me: 
“We were going along nicely,” said the nar¬ 
rator, “and I hoped that the wind, although 
light, would last the afternoon. About 4 
o’clock, when off Humber Bay, it simply pe¬ 
tered out, and left us drifting. I concluded 
that no more was to be expected from the 
same quarter, and took in the spinaker; this 
occupied, perhaps, two or three minutes. 
“Some yachts further west seemed to be get¬ 
ting a draft off shore. This was quite the 
usual order of events, and agreed with the gen¬ 
eral weather conditions. The shore breeze is 
always puffy, when close under the land, and 
I knew, that if it came along even moderately 
fresh, that a reef in the mainsail would be com¬ 
fortable, with only our two selves on board. 
T he mainsail was a battened lug, easy enough 
to reef, and with a feeling that I was taking 
needless trouble, I overhauled the reef pen¬ 
nants, and saw all clear. 
“So far, there was nothing to indicate more 
than an ordinary shift of wind. Another look 
to the westward showed the yachts heeling 
rankly, and then a mist blotted them out. 
“At the same time I noticed the general 
haziness increasing; the sickly, yellowish glare 
of the sun became oppressive; a few light puffs 
came from the shore, but died away; and in¬ 
stinct, rather than any higher sense, told rue 
we were in for a squall, i dropped the main¬ 
sail, thinking it would save trouble to keep the 
boat under mizzen and jib; even then I looked 
for no more than a few wild gusts, followed by 
the regular off-shore breeze. 
“Intending to row up the creek at Oakville, 
I was towing a light skiff, almost as long as 
the sail boat, but not much heavier than a 
canoe. As we lay rolling on the light swell, 
it threatened to punch holes in the transom, 
so I drew it alongside, and • made fast the 
painter to the end of the bowsprit. We had 
just time to don our oilskins, when the squall 
struck us with a vicious, whirling gust that 
picked up the skiff and capsized it. The jib 
flapped like a mad thing until I lowered and 
stowed it away; then the boat came head to 
wind, answering the small mizzen. which, was 
still set, and riding from the capsized skiff as 
from a sea anchor. 
“In five minutes there was a short, steep 
sea that tossed our boat about like a cork. An 
ordinary squall would have blown itself out in 
that time, but this was only just beginning. 
Of the force of the wind I cannot speak with 
precision — 25 or 30 miles an hour at least, and 
twice as much in the puffs. 
“The blow lasted half an hour, and although 
the sea eventually became longer and steadier, 
it was very dangerous for an open boat like 
ours. In spite of the impromptu sea anchor, 
and the steady work of the mizzen, the greatest 
care was necessary to, keep the yacht out of 
