Begonia was only the second boat there when we arrived, the other being a local monohull, but they advised us the place had been full the previous night. The bay is not large and it took us a few tries to find a spot where we could get the anchor to hold and still have plenty of swinging room. Almost as soon as we were done, lots of other local boats arrived and packed into the intervening spaces. Most weren't too concerning as they were clearly day-trippers who would be on, or at least near, their boats the whole time, playing on various floaty toys. The worrying ones were actually the big monohulls who let out short scope, then the occupants jumped into their dinghies and disappeared. Luckily, the wind was light (for now).
Departing Tobermory took us by the Lighthouse in Big Tub Harbour
After staying aboard long enough to assure ourselves that none of them were going to swing into us, we deployed the kayak for a long paddle around the whole extended area. It was a bit choppy in the open bay, but the western side of all the little islets have lots of really interesting little protected inlets, which are great for poking around. The kayak seats are not bum friends for long trips. We were getting pretty sore by the end, but we still couldn't help carrying on to see what's around the next corner and then the next instead of turning for home. Since we are not allowed to set foot ashore in the park, we had been sitting in the kayak for hours straight by the time we finally returned to Begonia. We practically had to peel each other out of the seats. It was some nice scenery, though. So much so that we went out the next day to repeat the highlights, predictably returning with the same result.
A Cedar Waxwing (bird) and more stunning scenery... sigh...
And more birds: Great Blue Heron, Solitary Sandpiper, Merlin (Hawk), and Ring-billed Gulls
Our third day in Laronde's was forecast to be an all-day rainstorm. Most of the anchored boats headed home the night before, leaving just us and two local monohulls. The one nearest us had arrived when we were out kayaking and had squeezed between Begonia and the other boat that had squeezed in between Begonia and our nearest neighbor, who at the time I thought was a bit close. A casual observer could have been forgiven for thinking we were buddy boats that were planning on rafting up. When I was on deck stowing the kayak, I gave the owner a wave and he returned a salute. Okay...
The other boat was beyond, about three times farther away. At one point, as I was washing up after dinner, I heard an engine roaring and saw them moving backwards very quickly, with their anchor rode stretched out in front. Well, that was weird. I thought that channel had finished programming for the day.
After coming to a stop, they did the same thing going forward. Then I saw a guy go on deck and start pulling at the rode hand-over-hand. I went out on deck and called to him to ask if he was stuck. He said he wasn't sure yet. I dove on our anchor to check it the day before and my snorkel stuff was right there at my feet. I donned it and swam over to have a look.
When I arrived, he was straining to hold the rode and said he didn't have a windlass and was running out of strength to pull any more. The chain was straight down, with the anchor at the bottom, about three meters below the surface. It looked like it had just broken free and the whole lot was covered in a column of mud falling off the chain.
I told the guy he had it, but he said he couldn't pull it up. Could he be that tired already? I dove down a little and saw that the column of mud I thought I had seen falling through the murk was actually a giant straight log the girth and about half the length of a telephone pole. Well, no wonder!
I told him to let out some slack and I would go down and have a look. It turned out the log was exactly the right size to fit in the claw of their anchor like it was a baseball bat being gripped by a hand. There was no way that anchor was coming up. I don't even think a trip line would have worked. What they needed was someone to swim down and...Damn! I said I would need some slack, maybe a meter or so. When he let the chain go, I could see he was reluctant to give up his hard-won gain.
The bottom of the bay was too soft for me to get any purchase to lift the anchor. Okay, Plan B: I dug a hole in the silt under the anchor, then used its weight to pull it off the pole. Then I was able to twist it around so the claw was facing away from the pole. I surfaced and told him to keep the rode tight, then told the woman at the helm to go forward slowly in a tight right turn. I thought there was about a 50% chance the anchor would grab the pole again on the first try, but it came free. The guy on the bow was so used to straining so hard that he had the whole thing aboard in two pulls like he was planning to fling the anchor over his head into the cockpit. Gotta stick the landing.
The irony was that they weren't even leaving. They were just trying to move to where they had more swinging room for the storm. With that big log in tow, they would have been the most secure of all of us and wouldn't have gone anywhere. Now, in their new spot, now with a newly-added trip line, they're just like the rest of us. At least they won't have to deal with it when they finally are trying to leave.
I was almost back at Begonia from Far Boat when I had the thought that since I was wet already and out there checking anchors, I might as well go check on Near Boat.
They had the opposite problem. Their anchor was lying on its side on the surface of a soft bed of weed, as if it were trying to curl up to take a nap. No part of it was holding onto anything. They had very little scope out and it appeared the only thing holding what I guess was a thirty-ton boat in place, other than the actual weight of the anchor, was the friction of the ooze acting on about two meters of chain. I hailed him and reported what I had seen (he had watched me swimming at Far Boat). He seemed unconcerned, saying he didn't think we would get much wind in the bay anyway and if we did, he was sure his anchor would set itself again. I suggested he at least back down to align it with the pull and see if it digs in, but he replied that it would be fine. Okay, well I had at least given him the information. The direction of the storm winds was supposed to be such that we would all be to the side of each other, so at least they wouldn't drag into anybody.
Before I climbed out of the water, I went over to recheck our anchor. I couldn't actually see it, but I did get my arm up to my shoulder in the ooze while I was still feeling chain with my fingertips. I suspect it's lying at least five feet below the surface of the mud. I need a bath.
One nice thing about freshwater is I don't have to worry about what might be lurking in there to sting me to death.
A few minutes after getting out of the water, possibly after consulting the other guy aboard about whether it would be more fun to do now, or in the middle of the night in the rain, Near Boat pulled up their anchor and reset it. I was hoping they would move a little farther away while they were at it, but they decided to stay in the same spot. When they set their anchor, they dropped it, plus a bunch of chain on top. Then the guy at the helm gunned the engine until they were going backwards at about five knots. When their anchor stopped them hard, I thought their windlass was going to rip right out of the deck. Yikes! Well, now at least I know their anchor is dug in.
By the next morning, it had been raining half the night and the wind was starting to build. We had all made it through okay. When the wind started to shift, Near Boat started to swing even closer to us. My dreams of a nice, lazy, rain day were disintegrating. Not only did Begonia only have about two boat lengths of deep water behind her, now I had to keep my eye on this guy all day, too.
Our wind instruments recorded a peak wind of thirty knots. Just before it got there, Near Boat apparently decided they had had enough and went home to Tobermory. I can't say we weren't a little relieved. Now it was just us and Far Boat. The whole day not even one day tripper showed up, not even one tour boat trying its best to convince its guests that this is the best weather to see a wild place like this. It wasn't bad. The trees swayed so much that there were times when our mast was probably the most stable perch around. I'm surprised we didn't get any birds. Also...no mosquitos!
The calm before the storm
{Maryanne: Five Fathom National Marine park and the Bruce Peninusla is home to the BEST fresh water wreck diving in the world. We weren't planning on doing any of the dives, but it is one more draw that attacts the many visitors to this area. Pretty cool.}
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