We started off with brisk headwinds, as we tacked southward through the fog to the Northumberland Strait. It then pushed us along briefly on a fast beam reach before slowly dying to nothing. This had been predicted, so we fired up an engine to get us through the two-hour lull before the southerlies arrived to carry us onward. Even though the wind was only about two knots, I put a reef in the mainsail to save Maryanne from having to run up and do it later in a building wind.
When Maryanne woke me at midnight, I was surprised to hear the motor still running. She explained that the wind had never materialized and that two knots from way back when was the most she had seen all night. I downloaded another set of weather files and found that the system was a little behind schedule. The wind should be here in a couple hours or so. At least the flat water made for a beautiful, sparkly night with the sea reflecting the stars above.
Finally, about eight miles from the Canso Lock, the wind started arriving in earnest. The timing was terrible. Rather than the two hours I thought I would have to wait, it ended up being five-and-a-half. Maryanne’s off-watch was due to end in half an hour and now I would have to risk waking her by hoisting and setting the sails and shutting down the engine. I tried to be as quiet as I could with it all, but Maryanne is a light sleeper and I knew the curiosity about all of the noises going on would get her brain moving. When I went down to retrieve her, I was surprised when she woke up with a start, thinking I was having some sort of emergency that required all hands on deck. Nope. The only emergency was that her coffee might get cold if she stayed in bed too long.
Maryanne had just finished shaking all of the cobwebs out when we approached the Canso Lock. The Strait of Canso used to separate the Nova Scotian mainland from Cape Breton Island, but it was a difficult passage for shipping due to the high currents caused by the vast tidal differences between the Gulf of St. Lawrence and the Atlantic. To solve this, as well as deal with increasing demand for vehicle access, it was dammed off with the building of the Canso Causeway, the world’s deepest, starting in 1953, which then opened in 1955. To deal with heavy shipping, a lock was built at the eastern end that is large enough for the biggest vessels that can go up the St. Lawrence Seaway.
When we arrived, we just happened to be right at the time the tides on either side were pretty much at the same height. Without the drama of a huge lift, or a huge drop, our transit was so sedate we didn’t even have to stop or tie up. By the time we had idled the lock’s length, the lock keeper had already dropped us five centimeters and opened the Atlantic doors.
Canso Canal (and lock), and the picuresque village beyond
We had originally planned to stop in Port Hawksbury for a day or two to wait for the next weather window, but after taking one look at it, which is more utilitarian than scenic, we decided to push on a bit further. We were finally feeling the building wind on our faces, so we decided to keep sailing all of the way across Chedabucto Bay to the town of Canso at its eastern point.
Canso looks beautiful , but two days of heavy rain was just starting as we arrived, so we elected to pass it by slightly and anchor in isolated Glasgow Bay, just to the south. There, we could watch the seals and birds from our cozy cabin, while occasionally taking trips outside to verify that it is, indeed, much nicer inside.
Anchored at Glasgow Bay was peaceful - despite the rain in the day, we had clear starry night skies and a lovely sunset
Anchorage location >> On google maps
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