Another classic Georgian Bay passage - with distinctive lighthouses and some local cottage humor to entertain
Again, we poked our way very carefully and slowly into the poorly charted bay. Luckily there was no one else there, so after doing a circuit to check the depths, we dropped anchor right in the middle. The small bay is gorgeous. I think it's the prettiest one we have seen this season. The whole area is ringed with bare granite shores, topped with mosses and spruce trees. Just inside the entrance is a cliff that, in addition to adding some nice elevation to the view, also looks like a perfect place to high-jump into the water, although not before making sure the water is plenty deep below.
Since the wind was due to reverse direction in the middle of the night, we backed down on the anchor the wrong way, into the wind, and then let it blow us to the opposite side for the time being. Since the bay is small, my initial plan was to back down to set the anchor and then pull in some chain to reduce our swinging circle. Once we were done, it looked like we had enough room, so we left the original scope for security.
The south wind was forecast to die to nothing for a couple of hours before the building north wind came in to replace it. Then we would blow back to where we were when we had set the anchor.
That's not how it happened. Instead, the wind kept blowing hard as it gradually veered clockwise from south to north. Instead of going roughly in a straight line from the north end of our singing circle to the south end, we swung an arc along the perimeter.
Remember all that scope I mentioned? Well, it turned out to be too much. I first became aware of that when Maryanne woke me out of a very deep sleep by exclaiming in the breathy voice of alarm, "That's a rock!"
By the time she finished her short sentence, she already had one foot out of bed. I turned to listen to her, but she was already gone. I could tell by her tone that something was wrong so I fell in behind her up the stairs to the cabin. Then I felt a bang and knew what was happening. We were grounding on granite!
She flung the cockpit door open and headed for the fuel valves to open them while I started the engines. The night was cloudy and the moon wasn't up yet, making it almost completely dark. There are no cottages ashore, so the only lights we could see for orientation were the red aviation markers on a wind turbine farm to the north. Begonia was pointed roughly that direction. I could feel us bumping into rocks, but couldn't even tell which side they were on. I put both engines in forward. The engines kept running, so neither propeller was being blocked, but I quickly put them back in neutral when I realized I didn't know if it was better to be in forward or reverse.
This all happened in the space of about two seconds. Then Maryanne showed up with a spotlight to try to figure out what was going on. She did a lap of the deck and concluded that the shallowest rocks were by our starboard rudder. The rocky shore was about three meters behind us. "Try forward," she said.
We moved about an inch and then stopped. Reverse did the same thing, but we liked that a lot less because that moved us an inch closer to the shore. We tried various combinations of forward and reverse in opposition to pivot the boat, but she just wouldn't move.
Maryanne wondered aloud what exactly we were going to do in the event that we did get free. This whole area is a minefield of hidden boulders, we had to find our way into the anchorage visually in the first place and daylight wasn't starting for another eight hours.
"Uh, we'll have to deal with that when it happens."
The next thing on our list to try was kedging off with the anchor. Maryanne wasn't sure it was holding well – after all, that may be why we are in this predicament in the first place. If trying to pull it in makes it completely break free, then propeller thrust may be all we have to keep us off the rocks. Since our next step would probably be for me to go into the cold, cold water to see exactly what is going on down there, I suggested we give it a try anyway.
As she wound in the chain, the bow pulled away from the shore. There was a few seconds of unpleasant scraping noises, then we slid silently toward the middle of the bay.
It turned out we hadn't dragged. The anchor was well-buried and holding like a champ. Our problem had been just a little too much scope. We shouldn't have left the extra bit out after all. Maryanne pulled in ten meters, reattached the bridle, and then I backed down hard with the engines to make sure we were holding. We were still closer to the offending shore than we would like to see from the cockpit, but we knew the chain wasn't long enough anymore to allow us to get there. We stayed up another hour or so until the veering wind started to slowly swing us into deeper water and then we went back to bed for a surprisingly restful sleep.
In the morning, even though it was cold, rainy and windy, I braced myself and then dove in to survey the damage. It wasn't bad. We had some deep scratches in both keels, particularly the starboard one, plus the starboard rudder. None of the damage went through the gelcoat, so the only repair necessary will be to sand, coat with epoxy and then reapply antifouling. We haven't had any fouling problems since being in fresh water anyway, so I doubt it will affect our performance.
I also had a look at the anchor. It was deeply buried in thick clay. Then I found the offending rock. The paint marks gave it away. It was just the perfect size to fit between the keel and rudder. It was all by itself. Had it not been there, we might not have touched at all, although we would have had a frightening shock had we poked our heads outside right at the closest pass.
Well, since we can't do anything else about it now, we might as well try to put it out of our minds and go back to enjoying such a beautiful anchorage. We went out in the kayak the next morning for a good look around. Since most of the land in the area is public, we were able to extend our kayaking range with periodic walks ashore to break things up.
More natural beauties
This area, like most of the others in the region, is just achingly beautiful. The slight differences in size, shape, and arrangement of the various hillocks and rocky outcrops made it feel like we were experiencing the whole landscape anew every time the next vista emerged. It's hard to convey how mesmerizing it all is. Each bend of a tree trunk or curve in the striations of the rock become even more interesting the closer you look. Then you zoom out to be reminded that you are surrounded on all sides by more examples than you can count, all arrayed in an aesthetic of perfect tranquility, as if we were in the world's biggest Zen Garden.
More Georgian Bay scenery
After getting back to the boat that afternoon, feeling flush with great views and fresh air, we were winding down while dinner simmered on the stove. I was sitting there thinking about how lucky we were to have such a lovely garden when I spotted a dark shape on the hillside behind us.
Those of you who know Maryanne will not be surprised to learn that she has a list – actually, many lists, some written down formally, some living only in the capacious filing cabinet in her head. From my many interactions with her, I've pieced together her "Things I Want to See in Georgian Bay" list:
- Interesting rocks
- Interesting plants
- Examples of every bird species in the area, preferably doing something adorable
- The entire contents of every museum in every town in which we stop
- The Aurora Borealis
- Cute animals, all the way from tiny frogs to the solitary and elusive…
- {Maryanne:Kyle forgot to add any church that I can go inside of - I love the architechture and general beauty and peace.}
"Bear! Bear!" I shouted in a whisper.
When Maryanne went to the doorway to look where I was pointing, the bear looked up at the noise, even though we were over a hundred meters away, and started heading for cover behind some nearby trees. Maryanne swiped the camera off the cabin table and managed to get a couple wide-angle shots of it before it was gone. She hadn't had time to zoom in, but she still had a big smile on her face because she had seen the one thing we both thought we were least likely to see. For the next day or so, as she was doing something else, she would occasionally stop mid-task, her eyes would light up, and she would exclaim in an excited schoolgirl voice, "We saw a bear!"
We finally spot a bear (black bear) - very briefly
Anchorage location On google maps
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