Day 3 - The Long Night

Tues. July 3, 2012

We decided, after we left Newcastle at 0830 hrs, not to put in at Cobourg (a marina that we have become all too familiar with over the years and although it is nice, we have sort of had enough of it) and instead try to achieve our goal of visiting the Waupoos Island area by taking the outside route around Point Petre. This would be a long haul in one go, so we decide that we will break the trip into two. As the wind is from the east and as the rarity of this direction allows for a relatively protected trip we decide to anchor out at Nicholson Island. This partly owing to the fact that it was off Nicholson that we first hit Canada when we brought the boat up from Tampa and a sort of romantic attachment was formed.

Nicholson has proven problematic in the past when we’ve tried to go there and the conditions have to be just right to stay put, but the prediction is for the easterly winds, shifting to west by noon Wednesday.

We rode along quite nicely, arriving at Nicholson Island in about four hours dropping the anchor 50 feet off the shore in 18’ of water. When we let the anchor go it plummeted to the bottom but instead of stopping after 18 feet of it was in the water, the heavy chain rode (that we had decided upon instead of the alternate rope one) all spent out and in a minute we had a hundred feet of chain in the water. Mister Cookie thought that perhaps we had dropped the anchor into a crevice in the rock. This later turned out not to be true and I think that the weight of the 18 feet of chain pulled the rest in because of the relatively small amount of free-board it had to surmount. Physics, I guess. I have sent a letter to Mister Stephen Hawking in the hope that he might be able to confirm my theory.

So far, no response…

Cappie foot at Nicholson Island

 The wind died and the water became tranquil and we ate in the glow of a beautiful sunset. “Red sky at night…” I thought to myself and felt secure. This, as you might guess, was a mistake and is another reason why old wives are not to be believed nor trusted.

Sunset at Nicholson Island

At around 8:30 and shortly before dark, we realized that the wind was shifting to the west. The wind predicted for noon the next day was over 12 hrs early. Damn. Just as it got dark we realized we were in trouble. A plan to move around to the eastern tip of the island is hastily abandoned as the depths there are problematic, particularly in the dark.

Then the boat begins to buck.

I know we are in for a long night and suggest that we stand two hour watches, spelling each other off, so that we can monitor the anchoring throughout the night. I take the first watch at 2300 hrs with the thought in mind to be relieved at 0100 hrs on Wednesday. But as the time goes by I can’t stand the thought of waking Brooke up, so I let her sleep on. By 0330 I am overcome with sea-sickness and despite not losing it completely, need to lie down for a bit. Mister Brooke comes up and sits watch.

By 0500 hrs the cats are beginning to freak and Mister Huxley vomits spit and hair-balls. If I had hair-balls I would be tossing them too.

At 0530 hrs we can’t take any more and abandon all hope of riding it out until we can head around the point. Instead we are going to head for the reasonably safe harbour of Presqu’lle Bay, about an hour and a half away.

We (I should say, Mister Brooke, weighs the anchor) and we happily discover that it isn’t lodged in a crevice. But it takes a lot of effort on her part to bring in the long chain as I try to keep the boat headed into the wind. Eventually it does come in and we head into 25km/hr headwinds and 3-4 foot waves. We tack towards the mainland, trying to keep her bow into the swell and it is a rough ride but at least we’re doing something and not just sitting there being buffeted. Upon reaching a point about a mile off the mainland, I bring her about so the waves are from the stern and the ride from there to Presqu’lle Bay is tolerable.

We enter the tricky harbour (tricky because of depth issues) and negotiate over to the entrance to the Murray Canal. Tying off at our old free dockage on the cement wall that used to be the main entrance to the canal we eat pancakes, drink bourbon whiskey and, at 0900 hrs, drop into bed.

At rest at the Murray Canal