Month: September 2019

The sun was shining as we pulled anchor and headed out of Byng Inlet. Turning passed the wind farm beyond Perkins Rock, we made a side trip to enjoy lunch in the Bustard Islands. Anchoring between granite rocks and a little cottage boarded up for the season, we lowered Baby Belle into the crystal blue waters for a refreshing tour around the collection of lush islands. The Bustards are virtually uninhabited except for a few cottages and the bears, of course. The unspoiled land and unparalleled scenic beauty was the perfect opportunity for us to pack our lunch and go gunkholing in the dinghy for a few hours. (New nautical term of the day–gunkholing…means meandering in and out of shallow waters)

 

 

 

 

 

After our playtime on Baby Belle was over, we loaded all the essentials back onto the boat. We motored our way through the Gun Barrel passage and onto Lake Huron on our way to Beaverstone Bay where we dropped anchor and enjoyed another spectacular sunset.

 

It took me a few minutes to catch on, but Duane started belting out his best rendition of Old MacDonald Had a Farm as we hit our 1000 mile milestone. Looking at my navigational charts we had boated by The Chickens just beyond Hen Island, passed McDonald Shoal and around Rooster Reef. How clever! E-I-E-I-O

The weather had begun to turn for the worst as we pulled anchor and drove toward Collin’s Inlet. A rock formation dubbed The Crabby Indian guided our path to a secluded spot behind Key Hole Island. After two and a half hours of the wind whipping at us and a downpour descending on us, we dropped anchor behind Key Hole Island and decided to wait out Mother Nature’s tantrum.

 

 

Our timing could not have been worse as the rain storm came through as we were simultaneously dropping the anchor or anchors I should say. Needless to say, Captain Duane was sufficiently soaked by the time we had two anchors set to hold us tightly in our spot. A lot of pampering was expected to reciprocate for his sacrifice of risking catching pneumonia (some eye rolling was in order). I opened him a beer and went about my business. That night I slept like a baby as the wind barreled down the inlet like a funnel. Duane kept a watchful eye as the wind shifted continuously and we swung toward the island at the mercy of the gusts. The rain had stopped by the time I awoke to a recap of how close we averted a catastrophe while I slept soundly. Nodding, giving him some reassurance, I know a large part of the story was embellished for my benefit. Or to make me feel guilty for sleeping through it all.

Duane had been reviewing all the forecasts and, though the storm had passed, the wind was still gusting mercilessly and the waves had not subsided. I thought I had sufficiently secured the interior and we made a run for it out of the protected area of the inlet. We were headed to Killarney which was a quick hour and a half jaunt. That short trip was the worst I have experienced so far on the trip. The 20 plus knot winds combined with 5 foot seas had me white knuckled as I was on the verge of crying and puking at the same time. To try and calm my nerves, Duane started singing Gilligan’s Island. To say the least, my reaction did not go over as planned and for the first time he picked up the speed to double of what we had being traveling at to get us through this mess.

The bay in Killarney was a sight for sore eyes and a queasy stomach. We picked up a mooring off George Island and went to inspect the damage. The cabin was turned upside down with anything that wasn’t screwed down flung as far away from it’s origin as possible. There was over 6 inches of water in the bilge and the kitchen drawers were flooded. As soon as I started getting feeling back in my fingers, I started with the cleanup.

Our next stop on the Georgian Bay was Parry Sound. To my dismay the weather has been much cooler than I would like, but I guess it is to be expected since we are late in the season and pulling up the rear of all the Loopers.

With the wind whipping in our faces, we followed the channel around the rocky facade of O’Donnell Point and into the tight squeeze of Twelve Mile Harbour. Island after island, each had their own character and stood bold in the September sun. Bella Donna did her best not to disturb the tranquility of the territory we were invading.

Hang Dog Island

Sometimes the names of the land masses and waterways we drive by intrigue me wondering how some of these monikers were derived. Any how, Devil’s Elbow was a magnificent sight of which pictures do not do justice.

On the way around Devil’s Elbow we sadly drove passed Henry’s Fish Camp. Closed for the season we were not going to be able to indulge in the world famous fish and chips everyone raves about. Duane was particularly sullen by the turn of events since his craving still has not been satisfied. He made the faux pas of ordering his fish grilled the last time….big mistake.

Our timing was a little off today as the swing bridge into Parry Sound only opened at the top of each hour upon request. 4 miles out we heard a boater request a 5pm opening so, knowing we had to wait for the next hour, Duane slowed down even more and got the roll of the eyes from me.

I was elated as the swing bridge opened and a few minutes later we were tied securely to the town dock wall. Thunderstorms were predicted for the next day so, arriving early in the evening, we would have to wait until the next morning to figure out the logistics of where Bella Donna was better situated the following night. There was a small airport for seaplanes at the end of the dock of which the Flight Deck Bar and Grill was attached. Grabbing a quick bite we planned to be back on the boat shortly. However, on the walk down the boardwalk a gentleman stopped us inquiring about our boat and invited us aboard his tug, Cambrian. Bob was the owner and commander of the 75 year old tug which was an auxiliary unit of the Canadian Coast Guard. After giving us some homemade wine, he guided us on a tour of the ship and filled us in on the tug’s lustrous history. Granted he lost me in the engine room discussing the gaskets and whatnot, but his stories were truly fascinating and we were so happy for the chance meeting.

The next morning the skies were dark and rain was predicted most of the morning into early afternoon. George who owned the marina by the town dock was going to aid us in a pump out and then assign us to a slip. As luck would have it, the rain storm sprung up as soon as we started the engines. As we all got drenched, I felt bad for pulling George outside. Not missing a beat as he held onto the pump out hose, he said “no worries, skin keeps your insides dry.” That was Canadian hospitality at its finest.

Once the rain stopped we decided to take a self guided tour to the old Fire Tower overlooking the town. Climbing all ten stories to the top to get a better view, I realized there was a paved road right outside the woods we had trudged through to get there. Thanks Google Maps!! Not!!

As luck would have it, in my favor this time, when the downpour started again, we were a mere block from the Trestle Brewery. What better place to wait out the storm and also be privileged to enjoy “Poutine Tuesday.”

We made a couple of stops along the walk back on the “Fitness Trail” as it was referred to and picked up provisions and some needed “boat parts.” The less I know about the actual necessity of the parts, the better.

A shower recharged our batteries and we had a lovely dinner at a quaint restaurant in town –Wellington’s. We made a point to say farewell to Bob and get some more traveling advice while delivering a bottle of Duane’s homemade wine to repay him. Hopefully he enjoys it as much as we enjoyed the bottle he bestowed upon us.

We had decided to anchor out the next two days and enjoy the mind numbing serenity of Georgian Bay. Plotting our course we set off toward Byng Inlet. Along the way the buoys were scattered haphazardly assuring that we were kept on our toes.

We arrived at the inlet well into the early evening. There was a Fall chill in the air which did not make me happy…Duane interjected that the cooler air was a foreboding to inclement weather to come. Mother Nature, please let him be wrong.

Historians say that the granite bedrock exposed by the glaciers of the last ice age formed the largest chain of fresh water islands in the world known as Georgian Bay. But, if you believe the legend, the 30,000 islands were formed when the god who guarded the whole bay, Kitchikewana, upset by his spurned affections for Wanakita, threw a wad of soil from one end of Beausoleil Island to the other in a fit of anger.

Whichever story you believe, the ensuing formations were a sight to behold and the waters flowing between them breathtaking.

We took a ride around Honey Harbour and decided to anchor just off Beausoleil Island in Chimney Bay through the Big Dog Channel. Along the way we passed homes scattered across the landscape perched on the granite boulders which lined the shores.

After the anchor was secure, we lowered Baby Belle into the water and made our way to Frying Pan Bay to explore and absorb the scenery. We took Little Dog Channel which was a more apropos route for our current method of transportation. We skated passed the rocks and lily pads as we entered the small craft channel we were on earlier that day. The channel was lively as people were boating up and down the bay around us.

We decided to beach Baby Belle and go for a hike on Beausoleil Island and then have a barbecue at one of the campsites at the water’s edge. The hike was mostly enjoyable except these mosquitoes seem to be immune to American bug spray. But, I sucked it up and trudged on…the wine helped of course. It was all in all a perfect day right down to the sunset. However, the clean up was a bit hasty as I noticed the bear warning signs on my way to the garbage and wanted to skedaddle before the smell of beans in the air attracted their attention.

I will never get tired of the yellow hue over the water as the sun sets and closes out the day.

Navigating the Trent Canal and what Canadians call “The Ditch” was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. These were the narrowest passages we have encountered so far. As the First Mate, I am the lookout for any impediments that may arise and are not clearly marked on the charts. As I do not want to be navigating the boat head on into a rock formation, I’m more than happy to man the binoculars and provide snacks.

Heading out through the breakwater onto Lake Simcoe, we seemed to have a good window to cross relatively smoothly. It was cold and windy but the waves were no match for Bella Donna as they hit straight on the bow and she trudged through without hesitation. We were safe and sound in Port of Orillia Marina in less than two hours. I had reluctantly agreed to stay two days in the town in order for some much needed maintenance work to be done on the engines and to wait out the impending storm.

I had my hopes up since Orillia was touted on a few sites as a rival to Nashville in the music scene. Those hopes were soon dashed as I was told upon check-in at the marina that after Labor Day everything pretty much goes dark.

I spent the afternoon washing and waxing the boat as Duane did his thing in the engine room. After that I preoccupied myself with laundry and took a luxurious shower in the new pods installed for the boaters at the marina.

The next day I set out on my solo tour of the town. There were art galleries, antique shops and museums up and down the blocks in walking distance from the marina. I went to get a much needed pedicure along the way and walked around exploring the town with my toe spreaders on as the salon did not have any nail dryers. Duane slaved away in the engine room all day so he was delighted when I returned with cold beers in hand. But, he was not so delighted that I only returned with one Italian hero which I half-heartedly shared with him. And to further prove what an awesome girlfriend I am and to reward him for all his hard work keeping our little abode running smoothly, we took off to town for a delicious Italian dinner at a local restaurant which was recommended to me on my afternoon walk. My treat!

Thursday arrived and I had come to terms with the fact we needed to spend another day to ensure the boat issues were rectified. We hopped on our bikes—one part pleasure excursion and one part maintenance expedition. When all was said and done and we had an additional 6 miles under our belts, we made a stop at the beach with a backpack full of boat necessities.

Friday morning I jumped out of bed with more pep in my step than I had in days. I had an agenda to stick to before we finally departed— one more pod shower to relish (you never know what kind of facilities are coming your way) and a quick stop by the Mariposa Market to purchase some freshly made cinnamon buns. I felt a cavity brewing just walking through the doors.

A warm bun in hand, we cast off toward Lake Couchiching and the last two locks before the Big Chute.

It was cold and cloudy and we arrived into Big Chute Marina late in the afternoon. After we tied up with the help of a couple docked near us, we walked over to the Chute to get a closer look. The railway car which was going to lift the boat out of the bay and carry her across the land to the body of water on the other side was fierce. I was in total awe, as I have been many times on this trip, witnessing the intricacies of the mechanics put in place so long ago to make this land accessible.

That night a couple we met earlier, Ken and Michelle, stopped by the boat and we had a bonfire up by the marina. We all discussed our travels thus far, and they, being from Canada, gave us some advice on the waters to come. We were excited about the next step of our adventure and settled into bed way after midnight all wound up with the anticipation.

We cast off our lines in the morning and turned out of the dock to wait in the designated spot on the wall at the blue line. Duane uses “boat slang,” as I call it, in some of the most inopportune moments. Case in point…approaching the lift I am concentrating on pulling in the fenders which have been out for the better part of the month through the locks in addition to securing lines in the event they are needed, when he bellows “Port side to.” Now I have the starboard and port references down pat, but normally have to respond with “to what?” fully expecting the sentence to be completed as to what his intentions are at that moment. Well he has ceased to respond thinking I am a mind reader and all I get is the “are you serious” look. As he flipped the boat around, I just pretty much threw my line at any cleat that came close hoping I hook it and then pulled tight.

The lift operator instructed a smaller boat to proceed onto the submerged car and then instructed us to assume our position at center back. I threw off the port line which I had masterfully secured to the cleat on the wall (that was the “to what” I had been waiting for) and Duane carefully maneuvered the boat onto her slings and, just like that, she was lifted out of the water into the cradle. Admiring the railway lift was one thing, but sitting on the bow experiencing the ride across and down into the lower body of water was a whole different ballgame.

Still riding on a high from the railway lift, the last lock in Port Severn seemed like a formality and barely registered in my mind. When reality set in, we realized we had arrived in Georgian Bay! Georgian Bay has been one of the most anticipated destinations of the trip. With that, we took off through the crystal blue waters toward the 30,000 islands…

We untied the lines from the lock wall and were on our way early in the morning. It was the Friday of Labor Day weekend and we were warned to get to our destination, Bobcaygeon, by 2pm to hopefully secure a spot. As Saturday was the Captain’s birthday, we have some celebrating to do. The sun glistened off the water as we turned around each corner entering the Kawartha Lakes on this leg of our journey. Clear Lake was the first of over 250 lakes and rivers in the Kawartha region we were going to be navigating. Granted, we weren’t going to travel on each and every passage, but the maze of water trails was mind-blowing. The lake would widen in certain areas and we could pick up a little speed, but we were basically going 7 mph the whole way. I was actually tempted to unstrap my bike from the bow and ride to the next town and wait at the lock for the boat to pass through. But, I’ve learned to bite my tongue with such sarcasm as to not receive the lecture yet again on how much gas we burn if the boat is up to a certain RPM and not on a plane. Duane tries to rationalize that the boat burns a gallon of fuel quicker than I can drink a glass of wine in hopes I will stop trying to grab the throttle when he’s not looking.

After the ten mile stretch on Clear Lake, we came face to face with Hell’s Gate and straight onto Stoney Lake. We were warned not to take these areas lightly and stuck to the channel as rocks were awash in every direction. As breathtakingly beautiful as the trip was, it possessed a hold your breath factor around every corner.

There were intriguing sights to see along the way as the small islands seemed to be inhabited by only one residence. Everyone seemed to have their own private oasis and there was even a church right off the channel which could only be attended by arriving by boat or some sort of water craft.

Once we passed Pigeon Lake, Lock 32, the oldest lock on the Trent-Severn which was the home of Bobcaygeon, was in our sights. It was just before the 2pm witching hour and we skated right into a perfect spot. At this point we have traveled for 21 days straight and were excited to have some extra downtime. Once the boat was secure and power hooked up, we took off into town which was buzzing with activity. It was a relatively small town which, in essence, they all have been, and we did some window shopping at the local stores. No matter how many locks we have gone through, Duane is still enthralled by the mechanics of the whole process and could watch the boats rise and fall and the gates open and close for hours. This being the Houseboat Capital of Ontario provided more entertainment than most on the locks as the renters of the floating homes were not all that skilled in maneuvering through the water. You bet Bella Donna had extra fenders out to ward off any wayward aluminum “mobile” residences. That night we had a pre-birthday drink at a local bar, 72 Bistro. I had made it to the Dollarama in the previous town and was able to put up some birthday decorations to surprise the Captain the next morning.

After opening his gifts…I think the bungee cords were the highlight…we dropped by a neighborhood store, Kicking Cowgirl, and bought the Captain these sought after shoes our Harbor Host had been wearing the prior day. Pam and Gary were gracious hosts who provided us with a welcome packet of coupons and maps for the area and their daughter just happened to own the store. As per many recommendations, we had lunch at Just for the Halibut. Very deceiving by the worn down facade, the inside opened up into a tastefully decorated establishment with dining space around each corner. Next on the birthday tour was Kawartha Dairy for some ice cream. In business for over 80 years, all the products are fresh and made from milk and produce obtained exclusively from the outlying Ontario farms. Cones in hand we walked around the neighborhood and admired the homes with their front porch swings and manicured lawns. The Water’s Edge restaurant had a beautiful view of the lake so we sat on the back porch for an appetizer and some drinks.

After a long day, we went back to the boat and opened a bottle of champagne. All rested in the morning, we took off for the next town, Fenelon Falls, where we were staying the night. Much like Bobcaygeon, Fenelon was a small town swarming with tourists and locals alike trying to get the last licks out of summer. We grabbed a freshly made pizza from Slices and Scoops on the boardwalk which literally closed for the season two hours later. While the pizza was being made, we dropped by to visit with Pam and Gary at their store, Water Street Clothesline, and I purchased a Loop T-shirt. Day 3 of the birthday celebration was now in full swing so we purchased some pastries at My Little Pie Shack and indulged our sweet tooth by the lake. All showered and cleaned up, the Fenelon Brewery was a short walk from dinner, so we decided to partake in some beverages. Not realizing they had just opened for business a few weeks prior, due to certain licenses, we were only able to purchase beer to go. Oh well…we sat by the pier and cracked open a cold one. Compliments of Duane’s mom, Jean, and his sister, Lisa, I made reservations at Orchid Thai Bistro for dinner. The meal was phenomenal and, to boot, we had plenty of leftovers for a nice engine lunch on our travels the next day.

It was cold, rainy and windy the next morning. Entering Balsam Lake, we were headed for our second lift lock in the town of Kirkfield. Kirkfield is the second highest hydraulic lift lock in the world at 49 feet. This time, though, we will be going down. At 840.5 feet above sea level, the top of the lock was the highest point on the Trent-Severn. Descending in the lock provided a much different experience than going up. Seeming to go much faster on the drop, I definitely had butterflies in my stomach. All downhill from here, we had to make a mental note that the red and green buoys will reverse sides from here on out.

The Trent Canal was the narrowest water we have passed through thus far. The next five locks were spread out over less than four miles so I just sat on the bow between each one and enjoyed the scenery and watched for rocks. About a mile and a half after Lock 41, we passed through the Lakeshore Road Swing Bridge arriving at the entrance of Lake Simcoe. The crossing is about 15 miles and, since the buoys are placed so far apart, our GPS charts would navigate us safely across. After speaking to the bridge operator, we decided to tie up on the wall right at the breakwater and cross the lake in the morning when the prevailing winds were to be in our favor. The operator was a sweet woman who instructed us where to tie up as to avoid the submerged logs and her prized turtles. As the sun set, Duane pulled out the multi-purpose boat hook and went apple picking. Another great and eventful day on the water.

Watching out for the turtlesApple picking

Fortunate for us, our days are not starting as early as they did on the Erie Canal…Canadians seem to like to sleep in. The locks on the Trent-Severn open at 9am until Labor Day— opposed to 7am while we were in the US. This means that Duane is able to have his breakfast before we cast off and I can brush my teeth without banging off the bathroom walls.

I am also able to pack our cooler with the essentials for the day as to not have to exert myself and walk down the 8 steps from the fly bridge while underway. I have to say, even though they block my sunshine at certain times during the day, the solar panels running the refrigerator have been a welcome addition to our travel ensemble contributing greatly to my sanity and need for a cold drink as soon as we stop for the day.

The waters are now so clear and not too deep along the canals. It makes for a gorgeous path working our way through the red and green buoys, but also reminds us to stick to the channel as rocks and boulders abound a few feet outside the safe zone. As long as we take it slow and steady and heed the warnings of other boaters, hopefully we will not have any cause for worry and the rocks will stick to their side.

Our destination today was the Peterborough marina. We, for one, wanted to bike to the lift lock and see what this monstrosity was all about. I was told it was like riding up 65 feet in a bathtub, but needed to see for myself. Second, I was told they had a restaurant which served one hundred different kinds of poutine. Fries with cheese and gravy are definitely my weakness so that was a going to be a must stop. On the way, Duane requested to check out the Canadian Canoe Museum which has the largest canoe and kayak collection in the world. I quickly obliged since I had a few other detours to spring on him and this good gesture would give me leverage.

The lift lock was even more impressive up close. Completed in 1904, it was constructed of two “pans” which balanced each other out when filled to capacity with water. In order to raise one pan and lower the other to allow a boat to lock through, one foot of extra water was added to the upper pan to push it down. The whole concept still boggles the mind…I was just praying the door did not open on our trip to the top.

Needing to calm my nerves, we biked to Black’s Distillery (my first detour) where we had a cocktail and sampled their signature vodka, cassis and rye. Totally impressed by the taste and distilling process, we purchased some bottles, strapped them to Duane’s back and rode on. Next on the bike tour, was the Whistle Stop for poutine, but not before a quick side trip (detour) to Publican Brewery which caught my eye (wink wink) as we pedaled by.

The lift lock definitely lived up to the hype. Entering the tub, as we called it, and ascending 65 feet straight up was unlike anything I ever imagined doing. When we arrived at the top and the gate lowered and we drove out onto the river, I felt slightly discombobulated knowing the other end of the waterway is flowing six stories below. The rest of the day was full of going in and out of less exciting locks on the river until we reached Lock 27 in Young’s Point and decided to grab a mooring spot on the wall outside the Lockside Trading Company. At first glance it looked like an old farmhouse, but upon entering from the porch, we realized it was a unique place which rivaled any home goods and furniture store and served ice cream to boot. I almost purchased a hand carved wooden table but Duane pretty much dragged me out of the store by my ponytail.

The long weekend was coming up in addition to Captain D’s birthday so I had to make some preparations before we took off tomorrow. I settled in with a glass of wine to enjoy the sunset and put my thinking cap on.