September 5, 2002
Beausoleil Island, Ontario
The summer crowds have all gone home, and we got to enjoy Beausoleil Island by ourselves. It is an Ontario park accessible only by boat. We took the Fire Tower trail to the top and were rewarded with a fabulous view of rolling hills overlooking an azure bay. We met a park maintenance man who sold us firewood, and that night we roasted hot dogs over a roaring campfire.
The Canadian Geese also enjoy the pleasures of Beausoleil Island, and our dogs made a meal of goose poop (these are the same dogs that kiss us in the face.) I had to cut the bonfire fun short to throw Brandy and Molly into the tub. They had rolled in the mess.
Beausoleil Island will always be Goose Poop Island to us.
September 8, 2002
Killarney, Ontario
Since we have begun our journey, we have heard Taylorlaintive cries, 󠅶ery time I make a friend, we have to leave him behind.e pulls on my heartstrings, but I explain, would not have had the opportunity to meet him if we were not on this cruise and traveling to his home.fter today, my own words ring shallow. We met an Ontario family that we all hated to leave behind.
We were visiting Killarney, a town positioned between the Georgian Bay and the North Channel. We had had a particularly hard day crossing Georgian Bay in 3-foot swells and decided that a cushy marina stay was in order. I met 8-year old Tippy while doing laundry at the marina--8 year old boys are in short supply when cruising the Great Loop--and I eagerly introduced myself to his folks and invited the family to the boat to meet Taylor and Ray. We all hit it off, and Dewy, their daughter, Taylor, and Tippy spent the afternoon swimming around the boat. We strolled over to Mister Perch at Killarneyublic docks for their famous fish and chips and had a grand time.
The next day, we invited the Arnold family to join us for the afternoon at Covered Portage, an idealic anchorage a mile from town. There couldnave been a more perfect settingte rocky hills, crystal waters, blue skies, and good company. I donnow who enjoyed the afternoon more, kids or adults.
Jeff and Donna are from Orville, Ontario, a rural area on the Georgian Bay. They have two businesses in the family: Jeff is in construction and works on concrete basements, and Donna has an ice company. Jefftories about life in the Georgian Bay were wonderful. The area is very rugged and remote, and there were no phones. He told us that there used to be a plane that would fly over the homes in his area on Wednesdays. If anyone were having an emergency, they would lay out a red blanket on the ground in front of the house. The plane would land on the river and take them to the doctor or hospital. The trick was to break a leg on Tuesday rather than Thursday.
The schools in Orville are small, and Dewy rattled off the names of the kids who had not returned to her class this year. There is one class per grade. Such good friends they must be after spending their entire school life with the same group!
I was a little teary-eyed when we said goodbye. There was such potential to be good friends rather than simply passing acquaintances along the way. I understand much better now how Taylor feels to leave a new friend behind.
September 11, 2002
Mary Anne Cove, Baie Fine, Ontario
We anchored in Mary Anne Cove, a quiet, protected area in Baie Fine. Baie Fine is a fjord that is known for it beautiful granite cliffs that plunge into 80 feet of crystal water. Ituite easy to tell if the anchor is set here can see it digging in the sandy bottom from the bow12 feet of water. We were a little saddened to find that the clear water is not entirely natural. Zebra mussels have arrived in Ontario. They filter impurities from the water but consume so much oxygen that the fish become endangered. This is currently not a problem here, though, because we were able to see four fat trout swimming at Raynees in four feet water.
Our guidebooks said that we should be able to find blueberries and to expect blueberry pancakes and muffins for the next few days. So we set off in the dinghy to explore the cliffs in Mary Anne Cove. The hiking was pretty rugged, and I had no idea what a wild blueberry bush looked like. I sampled a blueberry-like berry and promptly spit it outt certainly wasnt. We clamored over more and more moss-covered boulders (surely there had to be hidden rattlesnakes poised to strike at our ankles) when Taylor found a few tiny blueberries on bushes that were perhaps a foot tall. Ray and Taylor continued the exploration, and I lagged behind to gather berries. I quickly came to the conclusion that if we were to have pancakes, I would be gathering berries for a week. We were on the tail-end of the blueberry season.
A storm came thundering through North Channel last night, and we were safe and snug in Mary Anne Cove. Ray stayed up past midnight until the winds died down to be sure the anchors were holding, but I headed to bed knowing Ray was looking out for our safety. A big cigarette-hull powerboat pulled into Mary Anne Cove yesterday and med-moored (They set an anchor from the stern and tied a line to a tree on shore.) This morning they were noticeably closer to our boat. The line to shore was released and they had been dragging anchor in the wind.
TV reception is gone, our dish has not been working for a couple of weeks, and weout of touch with real world.t occurred to Ray yesterday that we still have radio, and we been enjoyed Ontario music and news. This morning wereentered the world with the newscasts of the anniversary of September 11 terrorist attacks.
The winds are still strong this morning, but we are anxious to get going. Quiet anchorages lose their charm after a couple of days, and we really want to finish North Channel and get back to The States. We haveneen able to get cell phone signal for a week or so, and grandson Raymondirthday is Friday. Ieally like to be able to call. Enough of this primitive gloryet back to civilization!
September 14, 2002
Mackinaw Island, Michigan
We passed through customs at Detour Village, and after spending the night there, we headed to Mackinaw Island. It was a pretty miserable ride, and we prepared to dock in a drizzly rain. I gratefully prepared to pass the lines to a young man and his mothert a minutetimitri and his mom Stacey from Sawdust! We werenxpecting to see them until our arrival in Chicago.
Sawdust had left us behind in Frankford, Ontario, speeding ahead to meet a deadline to pick up Staceyother for a visit. Their boat is much faster than ours, but along the way they had decided to slow down to enjoy the once-in-a-lifetime splendor of Georgian Bay and North Channel. Mom would have to join them later. Momoss was our gainwere delighted to see them again, and Taylor was thrilled.
Dimitri spent the night with us on We 3, and George and Stacey extended their visit a day. The stormy skies had cleared, and we had a glorious sunny day to enjoy the Island. George remarked that he had heard from a crusty old salt that there were only two things on Mackinaw Islandge and horse shit. Indeed, the fragrance of manure was pretty pungent. It seemed pretty strange that we received instructions to take our dogs to relive themselves in a 10n when the streets were covered with poop.
Donet me wrong, Mackinaw Island is charming with Victorian houses gracing manicured lawns. Motor vehicles are banned from the island, and horses are used to cart tourists, luggage, and even store goods. Bicycles are parked everywhere. Main Street is neatly painted and picturesque and could have been imported from Disney World. It really was strange, though, that every other store was a fudge shop. Just how much fudge can a tourist eat?
We lunched with the elite at Grand Hotel at the top of the hill. There was an extensive buffet that was graced with carved chocolate parrots and angels and more beautifully prepared dishes than we could possibly sample. Golden Corral this was not! With no prompting, Taylor was on his best behavior. Even he was dazzled by the graceful setting. Like all other visitors, we paused to enjoy the glorious view of the harbor from rocking chairs on The Granderanda.
After lunch, we waddled down the hill and, at Taylorequest, headed for the Butterfly Museum. It was a big greenhouse where butterflies from all over the world fluttered on every tree branch. Taylor was thrilled when a big blue butterfly finally lit on his shoe. Eventually six more landed on him, and he finally granted us permission to leave the museum and continue our tour.
It was killing me to leave all the end-of-season bargains unbought, but webeen overspending the budget pretty badly. Happily, after the big Grand Hotel lunch buffet, I had absolutely no desire to sample chocolate fudge.
September 15, 2002
Beaver Island, Michigan
It seemed like it should have been a good cruising day. The weather channel on our VHF marine radio forecasted 5-15 knot winds on northern Lake Michigan, so we left Mackinaw Islandouristy glitz and cast off for Beaver Island. Mackinaw Islanduspension bridge sparkled overhead against an azure skyt a glorious feel-good day! The inlet was a little choppy, but not too bad, and we motored on toward Beaver Island. Hmmmse waves were getting a little rough, and we still had islands sheltering us from the southwest winds.
Ray got a call on the radio from our friends George and Stacy on Sawdust. They were probably going to head back to Mackinaw. We were an hour out and decided to press on. A little later, Sawdust called again. They had decided to continue to Beaver Island, and their boat was now a couple of miles ahead of us.
The seas were getting rougher and rougher. Taylor had finished half of his home school assignments when he complained of seasickness. ll get it later,said, and Taylor and I hunkered down on the cabin sofa with the two dogs to ride it out.
The waves got higher and higher, and Molly threw up. Sawdust called again. They were perhaps five miles ahead. bad newsdoesnet any better. The waves are SQUARE out here,orge reported. My mouth was dry, but we were bouncing around so much I didnare venture into the galley for a glass of water. The waves were crashing over the bow of the boat, and the sheeting of water over the windows made us feel like we were going through a high-pressure car wash. Taylor went below to throw up.
I could feel myself sink into the cushions of the sofa as we climbed the crest of each wave, then our boat would crash into the trough. I gingerly peered out the side window, but the height of the waves was frightening. I hid my eyes. A wave hit our beam, and the sofa we were sitting on was flung across the floor. There was a crash from the galley. The cupboard door had flung open, and our Correlle dishes had been thrown to the floor. Broken glass was everywhere. It was too rough to try to clean up the mess, but I had to get down there to close the cupboard door to prevent further damage. Damn, the shards were blocking the cupboard door, and I couldnet it closed. I timed the waves and gathered up the largest shards as we climbed each crest and managed to get the door closed without any bloodshed.
Ray called me up to the flying bridge. e the wheel, said, le I secure the dinghy.he strap used to steady the dinghy had come loose, and it was swinging crazily on the davits. I looked at the careening waves rolling angrily in every direction around the boat and pleaded, please donake me steer this boat without you. I cano it. Iget the dinghy. ran to the sundeck and leaned out to survey the damage. The steadying rope had broken, but the bow rope remnants were in easy reach, and I tied them to a rail. An oar was banging against We 3adder, and its paddle had shredded from the impacts. I could not get a line to the stern of the dinghy but looped one around its hang-on rope. It might not hold without ripping the dinghy apart, but it would have to do.
The sofa was back in the middle of the floor again and joined by our heavy wicker and iron chest. I heaved them back against the wall and sat down heavily against the sofa cushions. I dug my toes against the floor to keep the sofa in place, but the wicker chest kept inching forward, scratching the teak floor with each crawl. I grabbed Taylorubber-soled sandals and pried them under the front legs of the chest. It tilted the chest backward slightly to buffet the portside slaps.
Taylor was enjoying the ride. Knees up on the sofa, he laughed heartily each time the waves crashed against the window. It was an exciting roller coaster ride. Ah, the fearlessness of youth!
There was another crash from the galley, and I was dismayed to see two canisters on the floor. That canister set had been one last splurge before we left Norfolk, and they were proudly wedged above the galley sink cushioned with layers of non-skid. Miraculously, one survived, but the other was in pieces. The ceramic seashell that had graced its lid was now bouncing under the galley table. The third and largest remained bravely on the shelf.
It was perhaps 4:30PM, and I heard Ray talking to George on the radio again. Sawdust was three miles from shore and was still being assaulted by heavy seas. It felt good to know that someone knew we were out there. Ray reported he had slowed to 4 knots, and we were 16 miles from shore. I did the math. My God, we were not going to make the safety of Beaver Island before dark! My uneasiness grew to terror. Secluded on the flying bridge, Ray came to the same conclusion. He revved the engines up another 100 rpm The wavesests were breaking into white spray all around us, but the boat was still manageable in the surf. He tried another 100 rpm So far, so good. He gradually brought the speed up to 7 knots and inched the vessel closer to Beaver Island.
The angry seas finally calmed down only a mile from shore, and George, Stacey, and Dimitri waited on the dock to help us with the lines. There were four other surprised skippers that had taken refuge at Beaver Island, and we all exchanged war stories. It turned out that those forecasted 5-15 knot winds had been 28 knots continuous (who knows what the gusts were?), and the waves had been 8-10 feet.
If we have another day like that, Ray may have to hire a first mate to finish Lake Michigan, and Icatch a bus and meet him in a sheltered Chicago harbor.
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