Interstitial 1 - Supplementary

I found Jimmy's $600 glasses. He had some friend of his come over with an underwater camera but it wasn't working and Jimmy himself had already expended his lung capacity in a fruitless, early morning search. I volunteered to snorkel the sight but couldn't get down deep enough. So I  dove down with just the mask a couple of times and spotted them. I am now Jimmy's best friend and he is insisting on purchasing a bottle of vodka for me. Which I will, of course, accept.

The Prize

The Goal

Interstitial 1 - Aug 21

Well, this isn’t really ‘boating’ per se, however I am on the boat and am trying to get some stuff done. Brooke is still in PEI with Trudeau Stories and I am here in Fenelon Falls with Mister Huxley.

I arrived here on Sunday during a heavy rain storm and the boat was bouncing at its berth at the end of the dock. Some ropes had loosened so she was about 3 feet from the dock and poor Mister Huxley, encased in her travel carrier, had to wait in the rain while I hauled her in. But later, the storm ended and we were treated to a wonderful sunset. 

Wonderful Sunset as mentioned above.

The weather has been decidedly windy since then with the wind from the west every day at about 20 knots. It sort of drives you mad after a while, the constant roar as the wind catches the various canvasses, lines and other boats on the dock. It makes working outside difficult too, so mostly I have been inside patching things up and working on securing the new battery boxes I bought.

This is purely for the technically minded, but we have replaced what used to be two massive 8D batteries that were being used primarily to start the engines, with two smaller, lighter truck batteries. Along with the loss of weight, there is now greater access to the areas of the engines that face the outside of the hull. Said batteries were just hanging freely on their mounts though until I installed two battery boxes with retaining straps to secure them. 

Newly installed and tethered Battery Box

 

Jimmy, the guy who was watching out for our boat while we were away, confessed to me the other day that he drinks way too much and is considering “getting over there to the church basement”. I’m relatively glad I didn’t know this while we were away. Apparently, he fell off the end of his boat last Saturday night during the weekly weekend boater binging and dropped his $600 glasses into the water. He doesn’t have the lung power to dive for them himself so tomorrow, if the wind dies down, I’m going to have a look for them. He has taken his boat for a couple of days over to the Falls lock to “hang out”. Hopefully, I can hook him up with his spectacles over there and have a fine fish and chip dinner at the Captain’s Table at the same time. (A great place for F & C, by the way, if you’re ever up here.)

It’s very quiet here with the other boats (about a dozen) empty for the most part. The lake is quiet but for the wind and boat traffic is at a minimum. Which is great...

The only other thing of note is that yesterday marked the passing of both Phyllis Diller and Tony Scott. I have always been fond of Diller and she has been a part of my comedic life ever since I was a kid and watched her on Ed Sullivan and the like. It was a difficult time for female comedians back then (as in most professions at the time) and with the exception of people like Lucille Ball who was really more a comedic actress and later, Carol Burnett, only a few seemed to be able to rise above being anything more than a female counterpart to Henny Youngman’s brand of performance. Later in life, she was still apt and able even at 95 as witnessed by Jian Ghomeshi in his interviews with her.

Tony Scott is another story. I didn’t realize that he was Ridley Scott’s brother until this incident and when I line up his body of work with Ridley’s it really is a schism. Other than “The Duellists” that I quite liked, I found his projects almost totally out of my like zone. Top Gun, for instance, vs. Alien by Ridley. Still it was sad to hear that he had taken his own life and it was only today that I read that the ‘inoperable brain cancer’ story explaining it was not true. I’m sure the story will out eventually. But to be in that position (a top-ranked LA director) and do that to yourself is difficult to understand. Of course, who knows what was actually going on in his life. 

Anyway, the news of their deaths came on the same day and made me blue for a bit. The wind has died down now but it always does in the early evening. Hopefully, there will be a break from it tomorrow.

Day 23 - Fenelon Falls Lay-over

Monday, July 23

Having spent a restless night at anchor on Cameron Lake, we reluctantly head over to the Fenelon Falls Marina where the boat will remain while we return to Toronto for much of August. Brooke's show, Trudeau Stories, will run in Blyth, Ontario and I, Cappie, will stage manage. (Not too many shows can boast a sea-captain as stage crew, I imagine.) Then Brooke continues on to PEI for a three week run, while I try to get back on schedule with my voice work in Toronto. I have several shows that I work on, all of which need me to make up for the lost time in July.

We motor in slowly to the marina and are greeted by a crowd of helpful boaters who make the small marina their home. Mary Mary glides smoothly into the outer pier and ropes are made fast along with some flattering oohs and ahhs regarding our little ship and our solid approach.

See those power stanchions? Taken or broken

The Fenelon Falls Marina is in a good location, but hard times seem to have fallen on it and we are regaled with warnings of how the marina may not live up to certain 'standards' as advertised. For instance, we are immediately made aware that the only power stanchions that operate and are not being used are at the shore end of the dock, where depths are too low for us to berth. A friendly sort by the name of Jimmy fills us in on the many shaky aspects of the marina while he lets us plug in temporarily to the 15 amp outlet on his boat.

Among the shortcomings of the marina... The pump-out station is in 3 feet of water, so no pump-out for us. Although the huge sign that can be seen for miles advertises 'GAS' a smaller sign, barely visible by the old pumps, reads 'Sorry, no fuel'.

Wrong

We go and check in with the office and later, when I tell them of the power inadequacy I am told that the service technician they employ will be in on Wednesday next. Returning to the dock I am met with raucous laughter when I tell the other boaters of the promise to fix the power hook-up. "Next Wednesday, right?" one man laughs. I realize now what we're dealing with. Still, there isn't much choice really because we have to get back tomorrow, so we spend the day prepping the boat for an extended lay-over. The boater, Jimmy, has agreed to let us stay plugged into his boat to ensure the bilge pump is powered and I give him my phone number in case anything happens. He says he'll keep an eye on things but we are still nervous. We spend extra time tying the boat down tight as apparently the water can get pretty rough at this end of the lake.

The marina at sunset, every thing looks better then.

We decide to have dinner at the Boathouse Restaurant on the marina property as they advertise authentic Caribbean cuisine. When we arrive into the nearly empty restaurant that looks like its been decorated for tea with the queen, we ask for one of the tables by the window but are told, no, that's a table for four which we obviously are not. We take a less desirable table (but at least one that has a view of the open doors and our boat on the dock.) A few minutes later another couple walks in and sits at the table for four we were chased away from. We await the admonition that will surely be laid upon them when the waitress/hostess returns. Fools to believe they can sit there and leave two chairs empty! But no, she comes in, glances at them and says nothing while bringing them some water. Brooke notices a group at another table who had witnessed our rejection earlier. They just smile and shake their heads. We decide not to make a fuss and are prepared to order the Boathouse Salad (their specialty), the jerk chicken and the roti... The waitress comes over, pen and pad in hand, to take our order but sadly shakes her head. Sorry, we don't have any of those things. But these are the only Caribbean dishes on the menu, I say. Sorry... no more, all gone, we used it all up yesterday. And you didn't make anymore today? No. Sigh... So, we eat BBQ chicken.  Later, we go back to boat, sit on the bridge and are melancholy.

We have left the boat in questionable situations before, marina-wise, and its worked out well. We can only hope that it will be the case this time.

See you later, boaty...

Days 10 thru 22 - Catchup

July 10 - 22

All right, I admit it; I have been remiss in keeping the blog updated. But really, there hasn't been much to tell. The days are mostly sunny, very hot sometimes, and we motor on from lake to lake, lock to lock and the adventure is benign and for the most part comfortable. We are seeing many beautiful views and anchoring in nice coves and spending some times overnight on the lock walls. We visit the towns when we can, usually for supplies, on our bikes and we eat occasionally in a nice restaurant here and there. I shall try to be more disciplined about the blog in the future but, for now, here are some photos to show some of the things we've been experiencing...

Cappie

Canoeists on the Trent

We are joined for the day by Fiona Jones

Cappie on the fore-deck at Buckhorn Lock

A day at the beach

Yes, it was that hot

Holy smoke on the water

A Norman Rockwell moment

The marked channel

Abandoned train bridge at Fenelon Falls

Another Grand Banks passes the other way

Hattie on the deck

Hattie on the leash

A nice night on the wall

Thousands of birds

One bird - an Osprey

Putting up the mosquito netting

A red hot chilli pepper from our fly-bridge garden

The Serengeti - whoops, no, the Trent again

A typical Trent lock entrance

Man walks dog

Day 28 - Bouncing on Cameron Lake

Saturday, July 28

Entry by Brooke

We are at anchor on Cameron Lake, just above the lock at Fenelon Falls. We thought that this little cove would offer us protection from the wake of boats heading along the main Trent channel but there has not been any abatement of speed boats pulling screaming kids on toys. They encircle us as if we weren’t here at all.   Cappie just came up on the bridge after an attempt at a nap. “I’m not really sure I can take this anymore.” 

Mister Huxley expresses her resentment of speeding boaters

I feel for the quiet cottagers in the cove; the ones who have no speed boats, no seadoos. It seems to be the same four groups that are with us: two guys on PWC's (personal water craft)  circling endlessly, and two families with a boatful of kids who each want a turn on the bouncing disk thing.

"Faster, faster, funner, funner! We want more fastness and more funness!! " We haven’t seen a canoe since the Peterborough lock.

Sea-dooer practicing being annoying

We head back to Toronto on Monday, and then to Blyth for tech run-through of Trudeau Stories prior to opening on Thursday. My first show in 17 months. My body is not ready for performance; it has been used to haul anchors and hang on to lock lines. It has not had room for expansive leaps and extended gestures.

Our anchorage once it is too dark for water-skiing

The hair on my arms is white against my browned skin, and there are some patches of skin that remind me of my grandmother's hands and arms when she was spending her 70 year-old winters in Arizona; a splotch that is really dark... but wait! A bit of spit and it rubs off... phew. (I do have a skin issue though, a basal cell carcinoma on the side of the bridge of my nose and I have an appointment for Mohs micro-graphic surgery on the 4th of September.)

A couple of friendly boaters just cruised by at maybe 15 knots, as close as they could possibly get, and the woman waved as the wake approached. I spread my arms in a helpless gesture as if to say what the fuck? I hear the motor cut down and look back to see the man, well after the offense, give a “sorry!” gesture. We bounce up and down as the wake hits us.

A dragonfly taking refuge from PWC's

Day 25 - A Fouled Day

Thursday, July 25

Entry by Brooke

We found a bay just above Curve Island and below an unnamed island south of Fox Island. It is just off of the channel at the southwest end of Buckhorn, and will provide us with a bit of shelter from the NW gusts.  Pretty weedy though. And after a few hours there we were bouncing a lot and discovered that we’d dragged a fair distance—not into any danger, just into a more exposed area of the bay. I weighed anchor and upon surfacing, found it was a monstrous ball of weeds and mud, the circumference of which was about 7 to 8 feet.  

Weed ball (smaller than the one mentioned above)

We cleared it  by dropping it back into the water and reversing engines, then lifting it and splashing it down again with more reversing.  After the anchor was more or less clear we moved gently forward to the North edge of the bay, as close as Cappie dared, then dropped anchor again into about 9 feet of water.  I went for a swim and forgetting about my plugged ear, put the mask on and dived under to clear the props of weeds.

It was an easy night, not much in the way of wind nor waves, a few small boats with anglers nearer the shore. The next morning the refrigerator wasn’t spewing much water in the manner it should, so after checking the strainer baskets and removing the intake hose from the thru-hull, Cappie figured the exterior basket must be clogged.  He went into the water with a life-line off the port stern and inspected first the port prop shaft, then I moved the life line over to the starboard stern where he checked that propeller shaft. It was one of our dock-lines—not the thickest, but still about an inch thick, and long enough for him to hold on to while he swam that side of the stern ; I pulled a scrubber out of the lazarette and dropped a second line mid-ships back on the port side so he could try to scrub the intake basket. Cappie swam over and held onto the line.  It’s pretty tiring work as the only thing to hold on to for support is not steady and without dive equipment there is nothing to control your movement underwater.  He could only dive down so far without losing light, so I lifted up the floor hatch in the salon so that the location of the intake could be described as precisely as possible.  He tried to scrub with the extended handle of the brush, but we had no idea whether the effort was successful. Maybe just by getting under way the basket might clear.

I was expecting another ball of weeds when I hauled up the anchor, so got a pole and hook and knife ready to make the job easier.  I pulled up the amidships rope and laid it in one line straight down the deck to dry, and after checking in the galley to make sure everything was secure from the engine vibrations, got my anchor shoes and gloves on and switched on the windlass.  Sure enough, the anchor was caked. Cappie suggested we try the same technique of lowering it into the water and putting the engines into reverse, but the starboard engine quit and the solenoid alarm was whining. He called to me to start the engine again, which I did, and then again it quit.  Cappie put the engine forward and eased us out of the weeds. I used my hook to pull off the weeds--mud was splashing and spraying up everywhere.  

A dock line similar to that which fouled the anchor

There’s more worry to tell, but it’s after 6 and things are quieting down here, so I’ll just cut to the finale—we didn’t go far, just up Pigeon Lake and around Big Island to a recommended anchorage in the Back Channel. After dropping anchor I found to our  horror, that I had forgotten the first life line I had put in the water. It was like a steel rod and was secured straight into the water from the hawse-hole down under the hull, obviously wrapped tightly around the poor starboard propeller shaft. More to follow...