Champing At The Boat

Howdy everybody. Well, it's April 2023 and we're going to be bringing the Mary Mary back down the Trent-Severn Waterway to take up residence somewhere further south. (Still in Canada,  though) We haven't actually got a place to stow her yet for the coming winter, but that's in the works. We're thinking somewhere in the Trenton/Belleville area. Any suggestions are welcome. We'll be launching her back into the water at Penetanguishene, probably around the end of May/beginning of June and hitting the Trent a week or so after that. No rush, certainly, so plenty of time for visiting and sight-seeing. 

We did the Trent system northbound in 2013, so we know what to expect, sort of. The lock at Kirkfield is still problematic but Parks Canada assures it will be up and running by the time we get there. (It's one of the first locks, southbound) Another dicey area, navigation-wise, is the channel underneath Hwy. 400. It's narrow and the water rush from the first lock at Port Severn can make it tricky. We've done it coming out, but not going in. In fact we did a little video of it the first time. Here it is.

 

I have included a link to a map of the waterway, so you can see where you might like to hook up with us as we motor along. 

Map of the Trent-Severn Waterway

Still a couple of months away but champing at the bit to get underway. 

Cappie out.

End of the Season Trip - Day 2

Day 2 - Sept. 16, 2019 - The Bustards to The French River

The best laid plans of mice. Well, despite the ridiculously benign conditions of yesterday, things always change, don’t they?

We got up today with the intention of taking a tin-boat ride around the waterways of the Bustards and then taking the oceanic highway over to Odjig Island (formerly the unfortunately named Squaw Island. I only mention it because the name has only recently been changed, and if you’re following us on a map, you might be confused. There we were going to anchor in Frog Bay, now called Frenchman’s Cove. Kidding, there is no Frog Bay.) 

The tin boat that we haul behind us (a fourteen-foot runabout with a 15 hp Johnson on the back. No relation to Brooke) was a good ride as we explored Wicks Channel. It is a long, straight passage leading to the windward side of the islands and we followed along as best as possible checking out the sights. On the way back we were crossed off the bow by a large black bear, swimming on its way to forage. How bears got out here in the first place is a mystery to me as the Bustards are a good four or five miles off the mainland. Could a mating pair have swum this far out?

Brooke at the helm of the tin boat

Then we wayed anchor and headed off from the islands with the intention of motoring across the 25 miles to Odjig, thinking that the low winds would offer easy passage. This was not the case as, once we had passed the head of the barrier islands, we were met with 3 to 4-foot swells that would have made the 2-hour trip very unpleasant. Where these swells could have originated with so little wind, who knows?

So instead, we headed to the French River and made our way to McDougal Bay where we have anchored for the night. Hopefully, the promise of an even calmer day tomorrow will enable us to resume our quest for the North Channel. 

Exploring The French River

It was extremely harrowing and upsetting, Mister Hattie had to get up twice for treats, but a dinner of dry-rub ribs and avocado and tomato salad had us back in high spirits. That and half the rum supply. We also went a bit further up the French in the tin-boat as far as the Dallas Rapids. 

Ship's cat, Mister Hattie, worn out from the traveling

As it turns out, Cappie didn’t fall off the boat.

Next episode: No turning back.

End of the Season Trip - Day 1

Today marks the end of our summer. Not literally, but as it marks the beginning of our season-ending final voyage, it is that. We try to get in one last, longer voyage to some place we haven’t been before. Last year it was north of Killarney and the La Cloche mountain fjords. This year we are trying for the North Channel. Of course, there are several factors affecting the eventual success of that notion, the major one being weather. But other things like work and such are factors. Fortunately, competition is fierce in my line of work. Hopefully, one of those other bastards will beat me out for jobs I have recently auditioned for. Priorities, you know. Anyway, I’m a going to attempt to log this trip and you can travel along with us, on the good ship Mary Mary, as we ply our way north and west. 

The Crew - Day of departure

 Day 1 – Sept. 15, 2019 Wright's Marina, Britt to The Bustard Islands

The first day is always full of work as we get the ship ready for long-term travel. We’re not the Endeavour to be sure, but we do have a cat on board and apart from that there’s just the two of us. Mister Hattie, head mouser, has had no work really as we have no mice. But we had to provision and do other tasks like filling the water tanks, pumping out the waste tanks, fuelling up and making sure we had enough alcohol on board. As you can imagine, the latter task was the most taxing. We had to hire some men for that. Healthy young stevedores that tend to gather on the piers and busk for work. One of them quit when he realized the intensity of the job.

Anyhow, along about 1330 hours we headed off up Byng Inlet, on route to The Bustard Islands. The weather is benign, with no wind to speak of and the often-tempestuous bay at rest and gently rolling us out to deep water. We don’t get out to the bigger bay very often as weather and waves can make it too problematic to attempt. We tend to stick to the Small Craft Channel, a buoyed waterway that uses the numerous islands as a shield from the environment. But today, encouraged by the soft breezes, we chanced it out on Georgian Bay. 

Out on Georgian Bay

 

It was, as I had hoped, a simple two-and-a-half-hour trip, skirting the ever-dangerous and perilous rocks and outcrops that have lured many a pleasure-boater to their doom. (Not really, but you do have to watch out.) Then we ducked into what I am calling the Northeast Channel cove in The Bustards and anchored in about 23 feet of water, tucked behind a small island.

The anchorage - The Bustards

We have been pretty much alone since then except for a brief incursion by an O.P.P. patrol boat that came in the narrow channel, heaving up a huge wake that made us rock and roll. Smiling, the officer asked us how long we were staying. We gave a vague answer and he was on his way. Brooke speculated that the reason the boat was there at all was because of the equally svelte female officer that was seated beside him. I guess they had to hove-to somewhere else.

The evening is grand with a fine sunset peering through a gap in the islands and we had cedar-planked salmon with asparagus for dinner, cooked on the portable BBQ. So far so good. Tomorrow promises more of the same and we may motor on further than usual as it is so hospitable. 

Planked Salmon on the barbie

Next episode: Cappie falls off the boat. Knock on wood.

A Favourite Anchorage

by Brooke     July 23rd, 2016

Man, it was hot.  The thermometer read 32° Celsius.  We filled our tanks with fresh water, hoisted the dinghy to its chocks and hauled The Blue Merganser (my inflatable kayak) onto the aft deck. Left our slip at Wright’s Marina at 11:15 am. I asked Pauline to look after my garden.  She wouldn’t accept a tip, even though as Marina Manager she has plenty of other things to do, especially in the height of summer what with all of the Loopers coming through.  

At Wright's Marina, a transient PDQ is tied across from Mary Mary.

Each dock at the marina now has a garden box generously built by the owners

   

My tomato trellis made of willow and cherry sticks

On our way down river, we passed NHL Hall of Famer Gary Sabourin, somehow unaffected by the heat, stoking his fire barrel on the shore side of his screen-porch. He waved and shouted to us through the smoke, in his cheery crackling voice, to “Have a Good Time!"

Once out of the inlet, with the engines throttled up, the movement of the water-cooled air provided a thrilling release.   

 

While Adrian piloted the channel past the McNab Rocks I finished stowing the fenders, tied our dock lines in gasket coils and hung them on the bridge rail, and then flaked two floating lines in preparation to tie them ashore.

There was a bit of a breeze when we arrived at our anchorage.  It took us three tries to set the anchor, not because of the strength of the breeze, but rather due to its direction.  We had to adjust our position, which meant there was smooth rock bottom beneath us and the anchor couldn’t find a place to dig in.  We’d opted for the chain rode, because we'd heard (erroneously) that there was wind coming and knew that we’d have a short leash in this particular cove. It made for tiring work in the heat, having to haul the anchor up twice—and because a rock shoal was in the lee of us, there was added pressure to work quickly. Our windlass doesn’t have any teeth or notches to grab the chain/cable links, so you have to use strong legs and all of your muscles in teamwork with the winch.

Pulling the anchor with a windlass

How I imagine I look pulling the anchor

Just as we’d begun the anchoring process, and the 35 pound CQR was lowered for the first attempt, a Zodiac with four passengers cruised into the cove. As they approached, I gestured that they might want to steer clear—kind of a two-handed-please-slide-away gesture. They cheerily waved, and kept coming. Surprisingly, they circled in and around us and toured the tiny cove as we reversed and returned and weighed anchor and hauled it up and turned and dropped and reversed and returned and weighed anchor and hauled it up…. On the third attempt, after I'd dropped the anchor, Adrian once again put the engines in reverse, and the hook caught beautifully. I put my foot on the chain and leaned my weight on it to feel it set in, and when taut, it fairly sprung me up in the air.  I cleated the chain, and went astern to the kayak, and paddled the first of our two stern lines to shore, wrapping the line on the windward side around a sturdy white pine, with a piece of thick hose to protect the bark.  The rest was easy, as the boat was no longer threatened in the wind, and Adrian was comfortable shutting down the engines.

There is a piton of sorts with a steel ring up on the short cliff off our port stern, and I clipped the second line to it and Adrian hauled the line in tight.  But man, it was hot. I was exhausted with it at this point, and everything ached. I returned to get a cold beer, but as soon as I brought Merganser back to the boat and stepped on board, I changed my mind about the beer.  Already drunk with the sweltering work, I swung a leg up and tipped myself over the boat’s teak rail and plunged down the three feet of freeboard, fully clothed, into the gorgeous water.  That kind of blissful reward makes physical effort very pleasurable.

A Foot In Cold Water

And then…icy cold beer from a special compartment in the bridge freezer.

Cappie goes for a swim

With one stroke the kayak was propelled across to the low smooth rock on the west side of the cove, and after pulling it out of the water I released the air from it. The inflation of its inner chamber needed to be adjusted due to the fluctuation in temperature, and the rock beside the fire-pit provided a flat platform to tend to the job. Re-inflating it was my last task, and afterwards I stretched out on the granite and felt the heat penetrate the muscles of my back, then peeled off clothing and slipped into the water again.

Now it’s 8:30pm and the sun is 5 degrees or so above the treetops. The generator is running, with a few dips now and again—likely due to the freezer kicking in, or the fridge. It always feels so good when the systems work as they are meant to. I’d rewired the solar panel earlier this week for maneuverability reasons, but as a bonus, it’s generating more amps then it did before. We’d shut the engines off at 12:45 and the state of charge had only dropped to 94% by 8 pm, despite the fridge and freezer’s draw.

There is a flock of seagulls growing over the south west side of the island. Flock doesn’t seem right, the way their flight crazes madly around. It makes me think of one of those Renaissance dances we studied at the National Theatre School of Canada, but where all of the dancers are, to various degrees, insane. A madhouse Galliard. In this case, a Gulliard.  I thought I saw a pigeon among them.

 

Gull photographed by Adrian when we anchored at Beausoleil Island in 2012

To my mind, this spot is one of the best anchorages we've ever had. We have our own giant swimming pool, each direction is a landscape by AY Jackson, Tom Thomson, or Varley. Every aspect provides a tingling sense that clairvoyance is possible. And we cannot see any other boats. Climb around the island that surrounds us, you can see among the other hundred or so islands, the distant buoys of the small craft channel, see cruisers traveling up or down it, but they can’t see you….

 

Mister Hattie gazes out at her own A.Y. Jackson

Instead of facing the sunset, we have turned our chairs around to watch the effect of it on the rock cliff. It is turning pink, orange, rose. The wind calmed completely and now the water is still, except for the splash of a small fish, or the water-bugs, zipping around like bumper-cars.

Our swim platform is a mere 20 feet from the shore, enough to keep a bear from stepping easily aboard, but close enough for us to admire the wild rose, the lady slipper, the wild iris. The sun just dove under.  Everything is soft.

Mister Cookie, Boatswain, all tuckered out in her inflatable kayak water-bed

It is dark. I am sitting on the bridge still--sitting still, still sitting--perched atop the back of one of the benches.  I can hear the thunking and exhalations and the groaning of muscles as Adrian, down in the stateroom, puts the bed together.

The stars are a full-on slap in the head. I find myself repeating, “This is stupidly gorgeous. It’s ridiculous, how gorgeous this is.”

As I said...