Bernadette Island (Georgian Bay)

[Kyle]Overnight, the wind picked up, blowing from the south. Even though we were planning on motoring, having Begonia's windage act as extra thrust instead of drag really helps, especially when using only one engine. Our first obstacle, however, required both to be running. To save ourselves about a six-mile detour, we were going to try going through the shortcut at Big Dog Channel.

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...

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Anchorage location On google maps

Beausoleil Island (Georgian Bay)

[Kyle]Since most of our next few weeks traveling through Georgian Bay will be in shallow, narrow, winding channels, and since we weren't quite there yet, we decided to start our last day of having reasonable-sized patches of water by lifting the anchor manually and leaving under sail alone. We had to tack a few times, but the wind held out for us until right before we passed the southern tip of Beausoleil Island, within Canada's smallest national park (Georgian Bay Islands National Park).

Here, we started to encounter lots of local boats from the Midland area as well as a whole contingent of mostly powerboats exiting the Trent-Severn Canal system. We proceeded up Beausoliel Bay and anchored with a handful of other boats between the camping areas at Tonch Point and the YMCA camp nearby, Camp Kithchekewana.

It was hard to miss the camp activities ashore, but they were amazingly quiet, we only heard the odd dinner bell and occassional distant chatter

We only had one day where the weather was supposed to be good before a pair of strong cold fronts blew through. We were up early with a plan to make the most of it. Since Beausoleil is within a national park, and since most of the land in Georgian Bay is private, we knew this may be our last chance for a while to go for a good, long, all-day walk. We hit the trail at the Tonch Point dock and then headed to the main section of the island for a circuit of its biggest loop trail. It was the usual, regenerative forest walk through tunnels of varying shades of chlorophyll-fueled green. We didn't see much in the way of wildlife, but the island has more varieties of mushrooms than either of us has ever noticed. This would be a perfect place for a so-inclined biologist to study them more intently. Mostly, it was just nice to get the blood flowing and to have long, meandering talks under the shade of the canopy. Half the loop was even a thinly-used dirt road, where we had the luxury of walking side-by-side.

Tonch point is quite a way from the main visitor center - but offers campsites, and dock space for one boat (we anchored off). For a small fee of $6.25 we could take our kayak ashore and explore the whole island for the day

Our hike ended up totaling about seventeen kilometers. At about the 11k mark, we happened across the tail end of a guided walk being given by a pair of park rangers. There, one of them spotted and then pointed out a tiny little snake, a 15cm Hognose weaving its way through the grass. The Hognose is neither venomous nor dangerous. Its main defense is that its markings mimic that of the island's Mississauga Rattlesnake, which is mildly venomous but very shy. We didn't tease it to check, but the Hognose will strike repeatedly if bothered. It does this, however, with its mouth shut, so it's really more of a head-butting. If this doesn't work and make you flee for fear of being almost bitten by what possibly could be a rattlesnake, it rolls over and plays dead until you lose interest and go off to find another interesting-looking mushroom.

This cute chipmunk didn't seem to mind us hanging around, and this hognose snake (baby) had probably hatched the previous day according to one of the rangers

We made it back to the dinghy almost exactly at the time where we were tired enough that sitting down ran the real risk of being pinned by gravity for much longer than we thought it would going in. Since we were sitting in the dinghy, the only climbing we had left to do for the day was to get up Begonia's stern steps. The first set was actually the hardest. The second followed a lovely, rejuvenating swim.

And yes - there is plenty of fungi to find ashore (I do wish I could recall more of my University lectures)

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Anchorage location On google maps

Beckwith Island (Georgian Bay)

[Kyle]The trip across Georgian Bay from MacGregor Bay to Beckwith Island was a fairly long one. To be sure we made it with plenty of daylight to spare for contingencies, I did my usual routine of getting up in the dark to make sure we were already around the first headland at sunrise.

There wasn't actually much of a sunrise to be seen. We left under a low overcast in the kind of light mist that you have to stand in for fifteen minutes or so to get wet. Begonia had already exceeded the limit, so every outdoor surface was wet and dripping. As I sat at the helm while we curved clockwise out of the anchorage, my wet side migrated and grew until it was basically everything.

We unrolled the jib for the first leg. On the second, we had already turned far enough to switch to spinnaker. The wind was supposed to swing from west to almost north, so we steered a course to the left of a direct line so that we could bend with it and still keep the spinnaker pulling us nice and fast. It worked well and we had a fast reach across the bay.

At the other side, we sailed through the gap between Christian and Hope islands to our anchorage at the small, southwest-facing bay at the narrow part of Beckwith Island. The winds that brought us were blowing across the anchorage, making it a bit exposed and swelly. That had apparently kept the throngs from Midland away. Midland is the center of Georgian Bay's marine industry as it is closest to Toronto, Canada's most populous city. There are a LOT of boats in Midland.

We had a forecast that called for the winds to die to nothing and swing to the northeast after dark, so our plan was to ride out the rolly afternoon and wake up on mirror-flat water.

That's pretty much how it worked. Standing on deck in the morning, we could easily see our chain laying on the lakebed as it snaked its way to the anchor. We deployed the kayak, paddled along the shore long enough to feel like we had done at least a little bit of exercise, and then returned to the beach by Begonia.

By then, the boat had arrived with caretakers from adjacent Christian Island. The three-island group of Beckwith, Christian and Hope is First Nation land owned by the Beausoleil First Nation peoples. They were very friendly and welcomed us to their island. We paid the $10 fee each and went into the interior to have a look.

The trails were really short (just a few 10s of meters) but we made an effort to see them all

Despite being large, there isn't a whole lot for humans to see on Beckwith Island, unless you want to bring a machete. The island has never seen any development and the only trails are a short network that crosses the narrows at a pinch point of the island between opposing beaches on either side. We crossed to the beach on the opposite side, which is maybe twice as long, and did our best to make a hike out of going from one end to the other, then we crossed back to do the same on "our" beach. Light winds from the north blew in smoke from fires that direction, which completely obscured views of any of the surrounding area.

The interior trail system turned out to be an expansion from the original single track to a series of sites where the Beausoliel First Nation plans to erect a number of yurts on wooden platforms. They only had the first one at the moment, which we were told had depleted their 2023 yurt budget. I think the caretakers said they were planning four or five more next year. They told us to feel free to have a look.

The yurt was large, but basic, containing a double bed, a couple of tables, and a whole lot of extra floor space. It was easy to see how extended families could fit in one or two of them for a relaxing beach holiday.

Solar panels (not yet wired up) will provide a HUGE amount of power for a handful or Yurts planned for future glamping

One other strange aspect of the project that has already been installed is a very large array of solar panels. We took a closer look and found it to be 10kw worth, although the wires had yet to be connected to anything. 10kw is a LOT of power - about enough to run two air-conditioned American homes (or twenty Begonias). The only electrical item we found in the yurt was a single central light bulb. Even if they are planning on eventually equipping each with a big-screen TV and a freezer, it still seems like way too much power for all that. It was tough, especially on a hot, sunny day, to look at all those unconnected wires and not think of it as wasted power going down the drain.

As I was just writing the last paragraph, I figured out what they could use the power for – bug zappers! Beckwith's interior is expectedly green and lush, but the moment we stepped out of the sunlight on the beach, we were constantly terrorized by ubiquitous aggressive mosquitoes. We were prepared for this, for the most part. We each had trousers, long sleeves and a judicious application of insect repellent. The stuff we use is so pungent that I can hardly stand the smell of it myself. Despite this, we quickly learned we had made a mistake by not applying it to our eyeballs or the insides of our nostrils. Our eyeballs were somewhat protected by the confusing, clear barrier of our glasses, but that quickly became the hangout for all the little monsters who were waiting for their turn at a nostril. As someone who primarily finds my way around by sight, I found this behavior most distressing.

The beach walks were the best of it really - with some beautiful patterns created by the black run off particles among the cream sand.

Thus, it was with a surprising sense of relief that we burst forward from the cool woods to the intense, insect-cooking sun of the beach for the sweaty row back to Begonia. This is when living in a place with a pool in every direction is a real bonus.

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Anchorage location On google maps

MacGregor Harbour (Bruce Peninsula)

[Kyle]The forecasts indicated a brief window of tailwinds for our next leg down the eastern side of the Bruce Peninsula. The problem was that they were supposed to die down to practically nothing by noon, which would be before we could get there in such light winds.

Dunks Bay is wide, with no hazards at the exit. What if we left an hour before daylight? That looked better. An hour before that was better still. Eventually, I had to back our departure up to one a.m. to get an answer that would allow us to sail the whole way there. One a.m. is not too bad, I guess. The bad part is that I would have to get up before that in order to be ready to leave then. That made it fifty-fifty whether it was even worth trying to go to bed at all the night before.

When my alarm went off, it was a relief. I was getting sick of trying to pretend I was asleep. Maryanne stayed tucked in bed until the last possible second, which was when I needed her to join me briefly for the anchor retrieval process. I could have done that one myself, but Near Boat was so near that I didn't want to risk drifting into him while I was away from the helm with my head in the anchor locker.

On deck, during the last of my preparations, I was a little worried when I noticed that there seemed to be no breeze whatsoever, instead of the eighteen knot northwesterlies that had been predicted. We upped anchor anyway, since we were ready to go and at least one of us was too hopped up on coffee to entertain going back to sleep. It worked out fine. It turns out Dunks Bay is better protected from wind from that direction than I thought. Once we were less than a mile from Near Boat, a nice tailwind filled in that quickly made it pointless to be running an engine.

Maryanne went back to bed so she could be rested for the inevitable moment when I start flagging and need her to take over. An hour or so later, the wind had backed sufficiently for me to switch to the spinnaker. I was able to keep it flying until just outside our planned anchorage at MacGregor Harbour. Even more amazingly, I had managed to stay awake the whole way, with just enough sail tweaking and star gazing to keep me alert. When I started the engine under her bunk, Maryanne emerged after almost a full night of sleep.

Now we had a problem. Once the anchor was set, Maryanne was rested up and raring to go explore, while I was fading fast. Worse still was that the predicted flat calm in the afternoon was promising to be some glorious weather – much better than the next day. We came up with the compromise that I would take a short nap while she stares sadly at the wall for a few hours.

The sun was out on our arrival - and is that a beaver lodge we see near shore?

The afternoon was indeed gorgeous. We boarded the kayak and immediately paddled a couple of miles to Pine Tree Point, out in the greater Mellville Sound. There, we joined the last remnants of a quad road and headed back toward Begonia's anchorage on foot. Maryanne's ankle was still playing up, so we had no intention of going all the way there, but we did get as far as the extensive prairieland in the interior of the Cape Croker peninsula.

The area is First Nations land (Neyaashiinigmiing: Home of the Chippewas of Nawash) that has never been ceded to Canada or anyone else. We figured in such an undisturbed envionment we might have an above-average chance of finding a bear cub to play with, or maybe a beaver to splash. (We did make sure we were allowed ashore. The only provisions were that we don't do anything disrespectful and to always let the animals win during horseplay. Also, please don't touch or try to engage in horseplay with any actual horses, they belong to people.) The animals were all laying low for the afternoon, so we never saw anything too unusual other than a small wasp nest, but the biology of the prairie flora was interesting.

The Niagara Escparment cliffs poke up from time to time

It's always nice to step ashore and find a trail we can explore

Bird (Great Crested Flycatcher), fossils (??), and flowers (Jewelweed) were just a few of the finds

I don't recall ever seeing a Paper Wasp nest before - this was quite beautiful and about the size of a cantelope melon

We returned to Begonia respectably worn out. As I was going for a brief, rejuvenating swim in the bay, I heard a call from a truck on shore.

"Hey, Home Slice!"

Uh oh. Am I in trouble?

"The chipmunk started it!"

"What‽"

"Nothing!"

"Did you get smoked‽"

"No, he was just a little guy!"

"What‽"

"Nothing!"

"Do...you...have...any...smokes‽"

That makes more sense. "No, sorry!"

"Okay. Have a good one!" Then he drove off before I could tell him about the alcohol and the expired prescription pain meds.

That night and the next day, we had some thunderstorms move through. These were real doozies that dumped so much rain sometimes that we couldn't even see the shore. Gusts into the thirties blew from several different directions, with lots of close lightning. Sometimes, we could feel the thunder with our feet through the hulls. I offered to let Maryanne get the kayak ready, but she said she didn't feel like going out since we had seen so much yesterday.

A lovely sunset on our last night at MacGregor Bay

{Note if you do visit the area, the harbour just to the South-West (Sydney Bay) - is much more active, with the Cape Croker camp site, and on weekends the Interprative center has various cultural experiences and tours avaialble.}