Big Dog Channel is both very narrow and very shallow. Our Navionics charts are infuriatingly vague on both its depths and its hazards, with only a few widely-spaced soundings at approximately our draft requirement. I checked the government's latest hourly water level report, which was showing the current level at 0.68m above datum. From our anchorage at Beausoleil, we could occasionally see forty-foot trawlers coming out the western end. We decided it would be worth a look.
Things started out okay. We got about two-thirds of the way through before we started seeing depths that were way less than the charts indicated, even with the extra 0.68m buffer. I reduced our speed to less than a knot as Maryanne directed me from the bow. At one point, right over a 1.5m sounding on the chart, our depth sounder indicated 0.8m. That may have been the tops of some weeds or maybe some ooze. We know it wasn't rock because we draw 1.0m and there was no crunch or noticeable deceleration.
At the far, eastern end of Big Dog Channel, we had one last, tight, ninety-degree turn to go before the narrow exit. Maryanne took one look at it and said she didn't like it. The exit was very narrow. If we were very careful and it had been a no-wind day, we might have been able to get through without scraping the sides. The bigger issue was the depth. There might have been enough for a v-hulled powerboat, but neither of us had any confidence that we would have a whole meter for the entire 5.2-meter width between our keels. I stopped and very carefully spun Begonia around, being mindful to keep her keels and rudders, which are basically at the back half of the boat, within the same footprint. Then we went out the way we came through all the same nail-biting shallow spots. Whew! That's enough of THAT!
So, that leaves us to our backup plan: Take the long way around.
It wasn't great. The Small Craft Route has many spots that are only twice as deep or twice as wide as Big Dog. Plus, there was a LOT more traffic. Even though it was a weekday, there was an almost constant stream of powerboats going both ways, throwing such a confused mess of big wakes that we felt for every poor kayaker trying to feel their way along the shallows at the edges. At one narrow point, a big cigarette boat went roaring by us going at least fifty knots. He was weaving his way through the boats like a carjacker fleeing from the cops at rush hour. Ten minutes later, we passed them as they fueled up at a gas dock. Well, no wonder...
I'm not sure if it was because we were getting farther from Toronto/Midland or because the weather was gradually worsening, but traffic thinned out as we made our way north. The scenery was truly impressive as we made our way past hundreds of what are known locally as "cottages," homes on the shore that are only accessible by water. Most of the islets are also inhabited and we even saw one cottage erected on a bald rock that was barely bigger than the house.
By the time we reached our intended anchorage, in a little cove off the eastern end of little Bernadette Island, our day had already been much longer than intended. I slowed Begonia down as Maryanne guided me through a last pair of tight spots. Then we emerged into the large, deep bay behind. We spotted our anchorage at the far end and headed over.
This is where the fun started. As we were approaching the cove, a windsurfer appeared from behind the big rock in the middle and passed ahead of us. What a beautiful place for some windsurfing! When he got to the edge, he tacked. That put him on a collision course with us. The rules are pretty clear about this: He is being propelled by sail, we are being propelled by machinery. We have to give way.
I took the starboard engine out of gear and put the helm hard over to pass behind him. As he passed, Maryanne and I both waved. He nodded in response, as he had both hands on the sail control bar. I resumed our course into the bay.
Half the bay was taken up by a pair of floating docks and a small sailboat on a mooring, presumably associated with the adjacent cottage ashore. The wind was blowing hard from the south and was supposed to shift to hard from the northwest overnight. Because of this, I wanted more than the usual amount of swinging room for the shift, plus extra so we could put out more chain for security. I stopped Begonia in the middle of the remaining space and started measuring things up. I decided this corner of the bay was too small. We were turning to head a little farther out to a wider, less protected spot when the windsurfer passed by again.
"Excuse me!" he yelled as he passed by, "Can you find another place to anchor? You're in MY bay!"
OHHHH, NOOOO HE DIDN'T!!!
I'm sure the house is his and the land is his (more likely, the bank's), but the bay is Canada's. This is a public navigable waterway. It's "his" only in the sense that he's Canadian and has the same right as any other citizen (or, by extension, foreigners with a valid visa) to use it. Maryanne says it's like saying someone can't park on the public street across from your house because you can still see them. Driveways are different. That's your land, but the street...
"My bay"... Those two little words made me instantly despise this entitled, uppity, sniveling, spoiled piece of human garbage. As we were motoring out, he passed by two more times and told us we have to leave. He wasn't pretending to ask politely any more.
We found another spot right at the mouth of the bay where the shoreline would have been had the indentation not existed. Maryanne dropped the anchor and started feeding out chain. We thought there may be a chance that we were outside of their imaginary boundary. That's when two women started yelling at me through cupped hands from their dock (Begonia's stern was the side closest to them), "Hey! HEEEYYYY!! You can't anchor here! You can't anchor here!" Next to them stood a second man with his hands on his hips and a look on his face like he was sucking a lemon.
We were actually doing a pretty competent job, I thought, so I concentrated on the task at hand and ignored their continuously bellowed message, which was shouted in a round, as if it was their personal version of "Row, Row, Row Your Boat". Mostly, I kept my eyes ahead on Maryanne, although I did have to look backwards occasionally to make sure we weren't backing into anything.
Once we had the desired amount of chain out, I backed down to set the anchor and straighten it out. I didn't like it. We were too close to a rock ledge on our port side and there was a chance we could swing into it in the night. Maryanne came back to the cockpit so that we could compare notes over the din of the yelling. We both really, really wanted to make it work, but agreed the most prudent thing was to leave. Neither of us liked the idea that the rude cottagers might think we left because they had ordered us away.
The women then added another line to their shouting, "HEYYY! There's a protected bay over there!" indicating a bay on the far side of the main channel about half a mile distant. "You need to leave!!"
I looked at the chartplotter and then at Maryanne. "Actually," I said to her quietly as I leaned over to her ear, "That one does look like it may work for us." Then a sigh, "Go ahead and bring the anchor back up." I raised my arms in defeat and yelled, "Alright, alright!" to the women. I was hoping that may shut them up. It did not.
As Maryanne started retrieving the chain, Windsurfer Guy had finally managed to tack his way to us. He passed by close enough that I was worried he may graze our davit solar panels. "Hey!" he yelled, "This is MY bay! You need to leave RIGHT NOW!"
There it is again. What the hell did he think we were doing, anyway? This is not what making pancakes looks like.
With the chain halfway up, he tacked and returned. "Leave now! YOU'RE IN MY WAY!"
As he approached for a third pass, all while we were very obviously retrieving chain and very obviously moving forward in the direction away from his cottage, he started in on us again.
That's it. I've had it!
"Will you give us a minute‽" I shouted, then "Actually, it's our water in your bay (I admit that was complete hyperbole), and it is you that is in our way, since we are technically still anchored and you are underway, being propelled by sail!" Maryanne may have yelled a few things of her own, all of which must have been brilliant, but I couldn't hear her over the shouting, mostly my own.
"Thanks for the lesson!" He yelled back as he receded.
Oh...well...You're very welcome. See, I knew we could handle this like civilized adults.
We motored over to the new bay. It turned out to also be too small to swing and even more fraught with sub-surface hazards. Getting out unscathed took some delicate maneuvering. Our third (or was it fourth?) option was a slightly shallow shelf about two-thirds of the way back to the cottagers on a direct line. We were pointing right at them again and as we got bigger and bigger, we could see them get more and more agitated, like shore birds do when you approach them too closely.
We found our shelf and finally set the anchor with plenty of room all around to swing through both the current and the next morning's expected blows. We were out of sight of the cottage windows, but not of their dock. I noticed one or more of them regularly coming out with craned necks to check on us, presumably to make sure we weren't sneaking back up on them. They did this until the rain started. From then on, we conducted ourselves on the assumption that some giant, malevolent eye was studying us through some powerful, unseen telescope.
We had left enough space for a Navy battleship to nose in during the night, drop a giant anchor on their moored swim platform (for which I seriously doubt they have a permit), and then begin many noisy exercises as a vivid demonstration of who really owns the bay, but alas, it never came. Neither did any large powerboats playing loud Hip-hop, which seem to be pretty common around here when you're trying to avoid them.
After the poor weather passed, we were treated to a beautiful sunset at anchor
It rained heavily all the next day. The following morning, was clear and glorious, so Maryanne and I set out to explore in the kayak. We took a long, meandering route that was totally not designed to keep us hidden until we mysteriously popped out at the back of the bay with the cottagers. There is lots of beautiful scenery here and the myriad islets and channels offer plenty to explore. We spent hours gliding through reeds and lilies and passing granite shores covered with wildflowers and big, leafy trees.
And more fine kayaking in this beautiful part of the world
Back at the main bay, as we came within sight of Begonia, we had a long, slow, frolic in both directions along the shore. Despite the nearby cottage having wide open doors and windows, with clothes and towels on the line flapping in the breeze, no one came out to tell us to get off their lawn, so to speak. They must've decided in the spirit of détente to give us our space. Perhaps they were all clustered around the telescope waiting for us to come home and didn't notice. If only we had arrived a day later, there might have been no drama at all.
[Maryanne]We genuinely do give both respect and space to other boaters, and to the cottages ashore where feasable. In this case the forecast was for some strong and changing winds, so we had gone to some effort to seek out a location that would keep us safe. Additionally, anchorages get comments from boaters that have passed before us - our first anchorage had a GLOWING recomendation about the cottage owners there, and how kind and welcoming to boaters. We really were not expecting the vitriol on our arrival. We've since 'understood' that the review was most probably written sarcastically and out of spite, presumably after the cottage owners were really nasty to a prior boater, and that boater decided that a glowing review would keep a stream of other boats choosing to anchor here and and continuing to frustrate these specific cottage owners. They really don't own any navigable waterway, and how sad that despite getting to spend time in such a beautiful location, they seem to dedicate their efforts to yelling at others seeking a similar experience. We ended up anchoring in the channel (which was thankfully very wide, but not the best protection from the wind) AND had a great time exploring via kayak. I really wanted to speak with them human-to-human and hopefully smooth things out - but despite kayaking by a few days later, we never got the chance. Oh well...
Anchorage location On google maps
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