Brain glitch

I was doing my normal last check of the boat before crawling into the berth for the night. I was careful walking around the deck as it was just short of being absolutely dark. Moon and starlight barely managed to lighten the cloud cover just enough to distinguish it from the surrounding terrain. Once upon a time such a scene would have suited me just fine. But all I could think was, if the Billy Thorpe song unfolded and everyone on the earth had been whisked away except Deb and I? What I was seeing would look exactly the same. Other than First Light's anchor light, there was zero evidence that humankind had ever walked the earth. (If you catch the song reference you are giving away your age.) I shrugged it off as still being a bit rough around the edges after the last couple of days, crawled into the berth, and fell into a fitful sleep.

This morning, I woke up to nearly clear skies and just about zero wind. The rain that had been expected overnight never showed. What I saw in the sky and on the current weather and short range forecast suggested it would be a near perfect day to move some miles. The ugly would not start until tonight and going into tomorrow and Monday. Sure we could sit where we were without issue, which was the plan all along and certainly the most conservative and safe choice. But then my brain glitched.

As pretty and as quiet as Cameron Bight was, all I wanted to do was get moving. For the next hour or so Deb and I had an intense discussion. If we did move, where would we go? Contrary to what we had been told, good anchorages are not that easy to find in these parts. The information about them, garnered from an assortment of different guides and chart notes, often conflicts in unsettling ways. Easy access vs be-careful-of-rocks entries. Good holding vs questionable holding vs anchors lost to rocks holding. Protected vs not so well protected. Deep enough vs might not be deep enough vs way too deep. This trip has already been a circus of near disaster touted as an "adventure". We have listened on the VHF as boats have been on rocks, one holed and nearly sunk. Props have been shattered. Charts are unreliable. And we nearly lost First Light and luckily escaped injury in the railroad lift. The thing we cannot do is damage the boat. Poking into an unknown and questionable anchorage with weather closing in? Not the best idea I've ever had.

With the weather's main attraction being 20 knot winds blowing in on Sunday into Monday, bringing scattered thunderstorms with them, a good place to anchor was a must have. Much discussion  ensued but no good answer was found. But my brain was still glitched. I did not want to spend two or three more nights where we were. So Deb went into full-on make-it-happen mode and suggested Blind River Marine Park as a possible destination. It had a review that suggested it was kind of shallow for First Light. Deb gave them a call, was assured that we would be fine and yes, they had room.

Winds were not an issue for today but rain? That was another issue. The forecast suggested showers, some kind of heavy, to arrive right at the end of our four-hour trip time. My look at the sky, and what I saw of the radar forecast, suggested that was somewhat pessimistic. Deb allowed that docking in the rain wouldn't be an issue as long as it didn't come with a bunch of wind. We have been wet before. And if a storm did pop up out of nowhere? We would button up, go below, and just jog it out in open water bow into the wind. Something we did several times in Kintala. Deb made the reservation and, even though I think she was having a bit more misgivings about changing the plan on such short notice than she would admit, we pulled up the anchor and headed out.

When it comes to weather guessing, sometimes I get it right. First Light's radar was painting a band of light showers that never approached closer than eight miles. The ride was smooth, the navigation easy, and we pulled onto the dock without a drop being dropped on us. The marina isn't that expensive. The docks are new.  The folks here are helpful and friendly. We are tucked in behind a breakwater that is about two boat lengths behind us. Our bow is pointing almost due North, the direction from which the worst of the winds are forecasted to blow. Thanks to Deb coming up with a good alternate and agreeing to give it a try we are one travel day ahead of where we were.

 And my brain is un-glitched.

Decisions, Decisions, Decisions...

We bought a second night on the dock so we could gather up all the stores we needed, including ice cream and rum. We got some veggies, fruit, and other healthy stuff as well. The decision was when to leave given the questionable weather forecasts we had been watching since tying off. Rain was mentioned as (for the second time on this trip) the remnants of a Florida hurricane looks to be doing some far inland traveling. But the real question was the possibility of 25 knot winds. There are big open spaces of water on the Georgian Bay. That much wind could make for some very uncomfortable trawler travel. The forecast has the rain starting this afternoon, with the winds hanging around until Monday. So we needed to be in a pretty well protected anchorage before this afternoon or commit to another four nights on the dock. It is a pretty nice marina (though the showers could use a little attention). There are Looper boats all around, several of which we have crossed wakes with before. One tied to literally two feet off First Light's starboard side when they pulled in. (The finger docks in this marina are as skinny as I have ever seen.) They let us know that they were planning on staying put for the weekend's wind.

The tentative decision was to head out this morning and give the wallet a break. But the final decision wouldn't happen until a last morning weather check. Even this far inland and playing with just the carcass of a hurricane, being as well informed as possible is the only smart way to go.

We woke up early. If anything, the weather forecasts were a bit more pessimistic. No one else was up and prepping to move. We talked about it a bit more, each aware that either one of us could pull the plug on leaving with no argument from the other.

At 0700 Deb pulled in the bow lines. I let the wind drift us back out of the slip, bumped the trannies, tweaked a little rpm here and there, and crept out into Perry Sound. An hour or so later we were in the open waters of Georgian Bay. So open are the waters that we passed a full sized cruise ship going the other way. The wind picked up enough off the starboard stern quarter as to make for a little roll. It was't a bad ride but it was just enough to keep the autopilot working harder than I like, so I relieved it of it helming duties. A while later, I turned turned the bow into the Shawanaga Inlet. And no, I have not the slightest clue how pronounce that name.

Three hours and forty five minutes after dropping the dock lines, we coasted as deep as we could into the NW corner of Hopewell Bay, a bay on the east side of Shawanaga Island. We stopped with fifteen feet of water under the keel and the shallows about 300 feet away. There we splashed the hook, dug it in as hard as we could, put a bit more than 100' feet of chain into the water, and added the snubber. The plan is to be well protected from the W and WNW winds as possible. There is virtually zero fetch in the direction of the forecast winds. It is a pretty place, just like the rest of Georgian Bay that we have seen. It is really quiet and, the guess is, come night fall it will be really, really, dark. 

At the moment, there are only three other boats in the anchorage with us. All sailboats. Though this is one of those “popular weekender” hangouts, my guess is the winds will keep most of the Georgian Bay natives at their home docks this weekend.

While we were on the dock, we watched a float plane giving rides take off over the boat several times. I remember wondering how long was the flight. We are 20NM as the float plane flies from the dock we were on. The plane keeps flying past us, still out over the Georgian Bay heading more or less NW, then flying past us heading back to base. Occasionally he goes by pretty low. We hear it more than see it so some pretty low sight seeing must come with the ticket. It feels a bit odd knowing I used do things like that. It seems a long time ago now.

So the next few days will be dedicated to doing...whatever we feel like doing at the moment depending on how hard the wind is blowing. As to when and where we will be heading next? Decisions, decisions, decisions.