2026 Sailing Trip - Toronto's Beaches and Aussie Rules Footy

It is past dawn and time to leave. SeaLight slides out of her slip at 5:30 am, does a ninety-degree reverse turn, then motors towards the exit. It is still smoky, the visibility is poor, and the winds will be in our face, but the water has flattened and we hope to make the 55 mile run today to Ashbridges Bay Yacht Club. There will not likely be any sailing today.

The passage time goes quickly. We have to pay more attention on this run as we pass through a very popular fishing area and, sure enough, have to twice dodge small fishing boats on collision courses with us, not paying attention and not yielding our right of way. I graciously alter course and pass behind them but do try to get close enough to snag their lines in my keel.

There is just enough chili left over from two previous meals to craft magnificent chili dogs for lunch. For some inexplicable reason, Ana can’t understand the chili and wiener combination and requests a hot dog without the chili, so I serve her a plain dog and eat the rest of the chili on the side.

We motor into the still smoky Ashbridges Bay and squeeze into slip 101 on White Dock. After securing the boat, we take a walk, very happy to be back in Toronto and less than 10 miles away from National Yacht club – our destination tomorrow and for the weekend with a gaggle of our boating buddies from Newport.

For me, the Beaches neighbourhood in Toronto is always a surprise. It’s a surprise because one would not expect a clean, mile long beach near the downtown of a huge city on a freshwater lake. Ocean city, sure. But a lake city? And because of the insanely diverse ethnicities of the beachgoers, if you were dropped onto the beach from an airplane, blindfolded, you would simply not have a clue where you were. Dubai maybe? Brazil? Sydney? Greece? Oh wait, there’s the CN Tower – must be Toronto.

We walk along the beach boardwalk then turn north and head to busy Queen Street and find a Firkin pub where we have drinks and a plate of nachos. On the television is a sport that initially looks like rugby, then I realize it must be Aussie rules footy after seeing it was being played in front of a crowd of tens of thousands in Geelong stadium. The only reason I would know this is because my Aussie buddy Johnny used to try to teach me how to bounce the oblong ball on the ground while running, which is impossible for non-Australians. It is a game played on a football sized pitch and you seem to be allowed to do pretty much anything with the ball – throw it, kick it along the ground, handball it to a teammate, punt it, or run with it until another player takes your head off. I had to text Johnny to ask him why there would be an Aussie rules footy game playing in an English pub in Toronto. He had the answer. The Poms are refusing to watch soccer anymore after their semi-final loss at the World Cup.

Back at the boat, we take care of a few chores in preparation for the weekend. I wash the exterior and clean out the weeds from the AC water intake, Ana vacuums and cleans the inside, we inventory the food and booze situation, do a load of laundry at the clubhouse, and start looking for indoor things to do with the kids on Saturday, which is expected to be rainy.

After a late dinner of chops, sweet potatoes, and salads, we watch a bit of tv then call it a day.

2026 Sailing Trip - A Bag of Coins, A Smoky Haze, and an Ice Cream in Cobourg

This morning, all becomes clear…and not clear.

What becomes clear is the irritated eyes and sauna-like cedar smell yesterday was because of forest fire smoke blown in by the north winds. What becomes unclear is the air – today there is a thick smoky fog cutting visibility but casting a beautiful orange haze over the landscape. We push off the dock at 7 am and motorsail for two hours to the entrance of the Murray Canal – a 5 mile waterway that cuts through the west end of Prince Edward County and provides access to Presqu’ile Bay and Lake Ontario. We have transited this canal two or three times in the past, and while it is a beautiful and quiet little jaunt, there is a catch;  there are two swing bridges, first the Carrying Place bridge, then the Brighton Road bridge, and at the second one you are required to pay a toll of either $4.90, $5.35, or $6.25, depending which government website you Googled yourself into. How do you pay the toll, you ask? Not by e-transfer. Not by tap. And not by cheque. You pay the toll by dropping cash into a long-handled basket, held precariously over the water by a smiling summer student (previous dog catching experience an asset, but not strictly required). The first challenge is finding the money (try digging into the crevices of all wallets, purses, shopping bags, drawers, baskets, chart tables, cushions, and envelopes on board). The second is actually getting it into the basket as you pass by at four knots (this requires the precision of a teenage gamer or a champion cornholer).

In preparation for the exchange, I collect all coins on the boat and, miraculously, assemble a total of nearly seven bucks in a combination of quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies cut across three currencies – Canadian, American, and Bahamian. I also found a Cuban peso and a battered Portuguese Escudo which I included as tokens of good will. There is not a single coin left on the boat and I am happy to be handing them over.

The first swing bridge lets us and another sailboat pass through. We continue on and are soon met by a large trimaran, taking up most of the width of the channel so we ease to the right and skim by the rocks on the shoreline, just keeping in the deep water. Shorly after that the sailboat ahead of us begins steering haphazardly and his speed is erratic. He waves at me to pass and as we do he tells us he is having engine issues and needs to turn back. As we approach the second swing bridge I get a call from the bridge operator on VHF channel 14.

“Sailing vessel approaching, what happened to your buddy? Over.”

“You mean that other sailboat? He’s not my buddy, but seems like a nice guy so I suppose we could develop a friendship in the future if I ever see him again. Over.”

“Right. And what did you do with your potential future buddy? Over.”

“Ah yes, he turned around and went back the other way when he realized he had to pay a $6.25 toll and had no cash money. Over.”

“The toll is actually $5.97, which is a 2.23 percent inflationary increase from last year. But you guys are both in luck. Well, maybe just you now, but anyway ever heard of the Canada Strong program? Over.”

“Yes sir, that’s where Mark Carney created a $25 billion dollar fund out of imaginary money created by his old buds at the Bank of Canada. Over.”

“You’ve been keeping on top of the news. Anyway, the fund is paying everybody’s tolls this year. Mark Carney’s henchwomen showed up here in May with a whole Brinks truck full of scrap pennies, nickels, and dimes and dumped them in a big pile over by the septic tank. Every time a boat passes through we grab $5.97 of currency shrapnel, roll it up, and send it back to Mark via a daily high priority courier bag that gets flown back to Ottawa by helicopter. So this is your lucky day my friend. Over.”

“Well that all sounds great, but what am I supposed to do with this plastic baggie of coins that took me 90 minutes to find and count? Over.”

“Program ends in October. Bring it back then and I’ll be happy to take that money bag. Have a pleasant journey. Swing bridge out.”

“SeaLight out.”

We clear through the channel and emerge in Presqu’ile Bay, my least favourite part of Lake Ontario. I don’t like it because it is shallow, tricky to navigate, the charts are wrong in a couple of key spots, it’s weedy, and the goddamn wind is always blowing like stink. Also, I don’t like the name. Too French. And that misplaced apostrophe really gets on my nerves.

Soon (but not soon enough) we are back on Lake Ontario and discover that yesterday’s heavy winds have flipped the lake, and the surface water which was a balmy 25 degrees just two days ago has plummeted to 13 degrees. Ana is crushed to learn this, but happy she at least got a couple of lake baths in. The combination of the cold water and breeze has us wearing sweaters and long pants to keep warm – a drastic climatic u-turn from yesterday’s sizzler.

We arrive in Cobourg at around 2:15 pm, making it a 7-hour sailing day. We slide easily into our slip, check in and pay for dockage at the main office, then walk the short distance to the main street. Cobourg is one of the best stops on Lake Ontario. The marina is excellent and well-maintained and they even allow anchoring in the protected harbour for the cheap assed sailboaters. Within two blocks of the marina is a marine store and an LCBO, the only two things you ever truly need on a boat trip, food being an optional third. King Street is busy and thriving, and this must be where everybody in Ontario comes for a haircut as we count no fewer than five barbershops, all of which specialize in fades, but god help you if you can’t grow a thick, luscious, hipster beard because you will never come out looking like the coiffed dudes in the pictures plastered over the windows. There are also at least half a dozen cafes and small restaurants, plus a classic joke shop called Lolly Gags, which I didn’t need to visit because I already have a electronic fart machine, sneezing power, dog vomit, snapping chewing gum, a rubber chicken, whoopee cushion, joy buzzer, exploding cigarettes, and the lapel flower that shoots water in the smeller’s face. I’m all set.

We find a pub, order a Harp lager for me and a Blue Moon for Ana, then watch the terribly boring first half of the England/Argentina World Cup game which ends up nil nil. We don’t particularly care who wins this one so we leave and walk around until we find an ice cream place then enjoy a cone as we watch the homeless folk socializing in the pretty park across the street, which is far more enjoyable than the soccer game.

We continue our walk along King Street. The smoky air has created a beautiful sepia reality filter, which makes the magnificent downtown Victoria Hall look even more magnificent. The visual effect has turned back time about 80 years and I feel like I should be wearing a top hat, trousers, and granddad skivvies.

Back at the boat we squander time while Ana awaits her 7 pm Newport Board meeting. When the meeting begins, I move out to the cockpit with a glass of wine and a book and remain there for a long, long time. There are many other transient boaters here, providing ample socialization opportunities, but I keep the canvas down and antisocial eyes on my book, relishing the solitude.

Ana emerges like a beautiful monarch from a boring cocoon and calls me back into the cabin where we eat chicken rice soup, watch Deep Water (airplane crash/shark movie – not bad), then retire.

2026 Sailing Trip - A Breezy Passage to Bay of Quinte Yacht Club

At 7:30am we pull anchor and head north on Picton Bay headed to either Belleville, Trenton, or an anchorage if neither of those places have available slips. The wind is from the south-west today and very strong, which gives us the opportunity to deploy the headsail for a couple of hours and feel like a sailing vessel again.

The vessel route through Prince Edward County is a little strange as you need to go north about 10 miles before getting back on a south-westerly track. There are also two bridges to pass under, and no matter how ample the clearance is, it always feels as if the bridge is going to knock our mast off. But they don’t.

We stop for a swim and morning bath at a protected anchorage then continue a few more hours to the town of Belleville and carefully pull into the guest dock of the Bay of Quinte Yacht Club, made difficult by the 27 knot wind blowing broadside. Fortunately there is another transient boater on the dock and he catches our lines. Once docked, we can feel the full strength of the sun as it is a steamy 36 degrees today.

We have never been here before and find a classic Canadian yacht club – dozens of small training sailing boats on buggies, a large grassy area full of geese and squirrels, a clubhouse with a classic bar, pool table, comfy chairs, showers, washrooms, and a laundry. The docks are a little ratty and the boats are nearly all sail and quite small.

Ana finds the number for a taxi company (no Uber here) and after a lengthy wait he arrives and takes us to a commercial plaza to pick up some pharmacy stuff, as well as a couple things from Dollarama. We visited Belleville once before by boat and didn’t find much of interest, neither do we this time. It takes nearly an hour and three taxi companies to finally find a ride back to the marina (is it any wonder Uber puts all these small town taxi companies out of business when they arrive?). The marina is sweltering but fortunately we’ve had the AC running so the interior of the boat is cool. We return just as the France/Spain World Cup game is starting so we go prone for 90 minutes plus stoppage time to enjoy that spectacle.

I make myself a G&T and open the companionway doors to the cockpit. It feels and smells exactly like a sauna, but I’m not sure where that strong cedar smell is coming from. Another strange thing – my eyes have been really irritated all day, even tearing up, and I’m not sure what’s causing it.

In any case, I sit in that sauna, enjoy my drink, rub my eyes, and just look around for a while, enjoying the heat and free time therapy.

Dinner. Show. Bed.

2026 Sailing Trip - Onwards to Picton

I am up at 5am rinsing the furry blanket of bugs off the boat and filling up the water tanks. Our time with the Holmes is sadly at an end, but as usual we leave here happy and exhausted. Good friends are hard to find.

At 6am Andrew waves us off from the dock and we are back on the lake, sailing west under a sunny sky and calm conditions. We pass Kingston and give a wave and a pelvic thrust to all those hard working folks driving into work.

After a few hours the wind kicks up – a strong westerly directly in our face, making sailing again unfeasible unless we want to spend 20 hours getting to Picton zig-zagging all over the channel. We do not, so we motor the entire 6.5 hours to Picton harbour and find a lovely anchorage on the west side of the bay, about a mile and a half from the town. Other than the massive concrete plant and freighter docked in front of it, a couple hundred metres from us, it is natural and pristine.

We anchor SeaLight in 20 feet of water then drop the dinghy and cruise into Picton. Upon arriving, we are shocked to discover they have a built a new municipal marina. It looks to have at least 75 slips and plenty of depth, plus everything is shiny and fresh. We speak with the dockmaster and he lets us tie up our dinghy for free for three hours.

Our primary mission when exploring a town on boat vacation is to find thrift stores. Perhaps more honestly, it is Ana’s mission, but I tag along and read old National Geographic magazines while she’s rooting through the rubbish. But this presented a problem in the first thrift store we found. And the problem was this: every piece of ratty furniture, from grandma’s fold up basement chairs, to the threadbare gold leaf chesterfields, to the wing back fabric chairs, still off-gassing decades of cigar smoke, each of these has a paper sign taped to it reading, PLEASE DO NOT SIT ON THE FURNITURE. FEEL FREE TO TRY ON THE UNDERWEAR OR TEST THE USED DEODORANT STICKS AND TOOTHBRUSHES, BUT DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE EVEN THINK OF SITTING ON THE FURNITURE. SIT ON THE FLOOR IF YOU LIKE…BUT NOT NEAR THE FURNITURE.

I am initially scared off and go to find a National Geographic. The one I grab has a feature article on Rasputin, Russia’s greatest love machine, that fills in a few gaps left from my previous research on this topic which was limited to the lyrics of the Boney M song. Halfway through the article I get really tired of standing, so I walk slowly towards the furniture section, whistling softly, then ease into a stiff wooden chair, well away from the fancy couches, and somewhat hidden from the staff. I hide there until Ana comes to collect me.

We wander Picton’s main street for a while, pop into a few shops, including the Giant Tiger where we score two amazing salads for 99 cents each, both expiring today, as well as some ingredients for a guacamole. Next, we find a fancy coffee shop, connected to a fancy bookstore. The coffee shop is cute and even has a quiet sitting area dedicated to Gord Downie and his reconciliation efforts. But sadly, the brewed coffee is served from a large self-serve dispenser that has not been refreshed for many hours, and it’s terrible. I opt for a bottled lemonade and the total bill is ten bucks. It confirms Ana’s theory that the reason why Tim Horton’s does so well is their coffee is drinkable and cheap despite the strip mall ambience, while fancy shops do offer a lovely space, but the coffee is always overpriced and rarely good…at least the brewed stuff.

The intense heat of the day is wearing us down so we walk back to the marina and dinghy to SeaLight, who has been waiting patiently for us and still floats alone in the anchorage. We relax in the cockpit for a while, then once the heat has subsided we take the dinghy to explore the shoreline. I shut down the motor and row for a while to get some exercise and see if we can sneak up on some wildlife. Sure enough, we come across a mama duck with eight little ducklings, all lined up perfectly on a log, watching us paddle by.

We finish the day with a large bowl of guacamole, tortilla chips, Mexican salad, a glass of wine then, for entertainment, a show on the laptop.

2026 Sailing Trip - Sunday Funday

It is really fun riding in fast boats. Amazing. Adrenalin pumping.

Andrew and Victoria recently bought a gorgeous 2022 Regal 33 and after a long morning coffee session on the deck followed by a kingly breakfast, we find ourselves screaming down the Bateau Channel at well over 50 kph.

“It’s a lot different riding in a vessel whose speed is measured in miles per hour instead of hours per mile,” I say to Andrew as I’m clutching our gear so it doesn’t fly off the boat. “Oh, and if you were thinking of stopping for gas, just want to let you know I forgot my wallet.”

“I knew you would.”

We arrive in the lee of Simcoe Island – located across the channel from the city of Kingston, and we find a lovely spot to anchor with 9 feet of water below us. There are maybe 15 other boats, here to enjoy Sunday Funday. And what a day it is – hot and clear with unseasonably warm lake water. Adrian and Sarah arrive shortly after us and we get the boats rafted together. Within seconds we are gathered with drinks and snacks and rapid fire conversation ensues. It is great to see them again.

We swim. We jump off the hardtop of Adrian’s boat. We hover in the water on oversized Costco floaties. It’s fricking amazing and I can’t imagine a Sunday Funday being any better…especially for those of us not going to work tomorrow.

Adrian is famous for buying and wearing white sunglasses that cost no more than about five bucks. He says he can’t be trusted with anything expensive. Andrew hands him a box, and in this box is a brand new pair of classy Ray Ban shades.

“Damn man, these are gorgeous,” Adrian says as he tries them on. “But I’m not good with nice sunglasses, you know that.”

“You’ll be fine. They’re yours - enjoy.”

Fifteen minutes later there is some commotion on Adrian and Sarah’s boat. Adrian has his back turned to use and is fiddling with something.

“What happened?” asks Victoria.

“Nothing…” says Adrian as he shifts his position to make sure none of us can see what he’s doing.

“He was making a move on me and he knocked the sunglasses off the table!” admits Sarah.

We could now see Adrian was trying to pop a ejected lens back into the frame.

“I told you I was bad with expensive sunglasses,” Adrian said, then manages to get the lens in, puts the shades on and flashes a prize winning smile. “See, all good!”

A while later there is some conversation between Andrew and Adrian on the status of his generator, followed by an exchange of insults. Adrian and Sarah too have recently purchased a different boat and some systems have required mending.

“There she goes!” Adrian says triumphantly as the generator fires up.

“It stinks,” says Andrew.

“You won’t be saying that when the hot dogs start sizzing on the electric grill. No, then you’ll be saying can I have a hot dog please,” says Adrian as he twirls his tongs. “Hey, do you guys want to guess what kind of meat is in these hot dogs? I made them myself at home.”

“Cat?” says Victoria.

“Please say pork or beef,” says Andrew.

“Nope, all wrong,” says Adrian. “These are made from manatee.”

“Manatee?” I ask, worried. “Manatee is my spirit animal…so I probably shouldn’t. But why not, I’m up for a manatee dog.”

“It’s real tough finding manatee meat. Unbelievably tough.”

“What’s taking so long on the hot dogs?” asks Andrew.

“I like to slow roast them.”

“That’s a good idea,” I say. “I like to do mine overnight in a flavoured brine solution. It can bring out a real menagerie of flavours.”

“We always sous vide our tube steaks,” says Victoria. “You can use a poorer cut of hot dog and they come out amazing.”

Well, the manatee dogs were delicious and hardly distinguishable from the pork or beef varieties, especially with all the ketchup, mustard, relish, and garlic sauce dumped over them.

Sunday Funday goes way too fast and shortly after 3 pm we untie the boats and are headed back to Holmes Mansion at full speed. Andrew and Victoria have invited the regular gang of neighbourhood friends for dinner, folks we have become good friends with over the years and over many visits.

Victoria and Andrew grill some burgers and assemble salads while I put together a mango/peach crumble from a recipe I found in a sailing memoir. Ana is deep in conversation with the guests, catching up on the many happenings since we’d last seen them. We enjoy an excellent meal together.

By the time the guests leave we have enough collective energy left to watch The Babadook – an Australian horror film from 2014. Over the past 12 years Andrew and I have considered it to be an outstanding horror movie. Ana has not. So we had to give it another showing to make a final determination.

It was excellent.

2026 Sailing Trip - A Morning Swim, Afternoon Cocktails, and Magical Evening at Holmes Mansion

At 2am Ana and I trade places – she cozies into the v-berth and I begin my shift in the cockpit. She has kindly left me a lovely, glass lake with not a breath of wind as SeaLight motors up the middle of Lake Ontario. For the next hours I watch for boats (just one freighter), contemplate life, drink decaffeinated hot beverages, and watch a movie on the laptop. It is the best possible kind of overnight passage – uneventful.

By 6am the north-east wind has picked up, blowing directly at us, and it powers up quickly to sustained levels around 20 knots – much stronger than forecast, but nothing SeaLight can’t handle. The waves build quickly to about a metre, which slows our progress as we crash into the big ones, stalling the boat. Ana joins me in the cockpit as it’s getting too bouncy in the v-berth and she naps a bit while I keep watch. Then she takes watch while I have myself a cockpit nap.

By late morning we have turned north past Prince Edward County and find calmer waters as the winds slacken. I’ve kept myself busy changing out water hoses in two of the heads while Ana’s kept watch, getting sweaty and gross in the process. It’s time for the morning lake bath so we cut the engine and glide to a stop then jump in the water for a very refreshing dip, shaking out the cobwebs and rinsing off the rig. But we don’t linger long as we have dinner plans and still many miles to go.

We reach Portsmouth marina in Kingston mid-afternoon and stop for a diesel fill. The trip across the lake with full motor and no sailing consumed 95 litres of fuel, which is nearly a gallon per hour, quite a bit higher than our usual average of .85 gallons per hour. I will have to keep an eye on that.

SeaLight pulls into the dock of Holmes Mansion at precisely 5pm, clocking a journey time of 26.5 hours from end to end of Lake Ontario. Our friends Andrew and Victoria are there to catch our lines. It is lovely to see them again, and after a quick swim off their dock we set up in loungers for a happy hour drink. We catch them up on our news, they catch us up on theirs, then we just talk about silly things and get so busy we make ourselves late for happy hour on the house deck! We hustle ourselves up to the house, mix up rum and cokes, then settle in on the comfy chairs and look down on the yard, beach, massive boathouse, concrete jetty dock, the expansive estate, and the million dollar view over the pristine Bateau Channel. The conversation turns to finance.

“You know, I’m doing pretty good, making decent money,” says Andrew as he spoons some beluga caviar on his bellini, then passes out some premium Dominican robusto cigars and snifters of French brandy. “But like, where the hell does it all go? I can’t figure it out.”

I look at Ana. She looks at me. We both look at Andrew. I then attempt a sage-like response.

“Mister Holmes. See that high class deck lounger you are sitting in? I want you to do a slow 360 degree rotation and have a good look around. Therein, you will find your answer.”

“Hmmmm, yes, I see what you mean. Anyway, more caviar?”

Out of nowhere (ahh...that's where Victoria has been.) comes a gourmet dinner of rib eye steak, salmon, asparagus, salads, and focaccia bread and we enjoy it slowly, very slowly as we continue our conversations, never finding cause to pause. We learn we have been invited for Sunday Funday tomorrow with their friends Adrian and Sarah, whom we also know, and most recently met up with them for dinner in Charleston, South Carolina during our trip last year. Then again with just Adrian a couple nights later for a real blinder, which took several days to recover from.

After dinner we make a bold move back out to the deck, but with the propane fireplace now activated, providing a mesmerizing show of insect incineration as the seductive flame draws them in and vaporizes them instantly. From his phone Andrew actives the forest lighting, boathouse lighting, and dock lighting and it is a scene of the utmost beauty, but is soon interrupted by the explosions of a US bombing campaign over Kingston. Upon further investigation we realize it is just neighbourhood folks setting off fireworks, but we’re so enclosed by trees and the Holmes Mansion that we can’t see any of the light explosions.

As the evening proceeds, whatever stamina we had left drains away and we call it a night. We walk back to SeaLight, happy to be here with our friends, happy to have the first and longest leg of the trip completed, and looking forward to a lengthy and restful sleep.

2026 Sailing Trip - A Trip Across the Lake

We reverse out of our slip at Newport Yacht Club at precisely 2:30pm on Friday, July 10, 2026. I motor SeaLight down the channel backwards until I reach the green marker buoy then turn sharply to swing the bow through 150 degrees of rotation and get us pointed towards the harbour exit.

Then, we are on Lake Ontario.

The thoughts that routinely circulate in a clockwise direction in my mind – work problems, things to fix in the house and yard, maintenance tasks on the vehicles, dinner planning, exercise planning, banking reconciliations, and that damn Extreme song that plays on infinite repeat in my brain like a busted jukebox - dissolve like instant coffee in boiling water, and I am left with contemplating only the present. The soothing hum of the diesel engine. The slight chop on the water. The warm breeze on my face. My smiling wife.

It is a nice day to be on the lake. It is a nice day to be alive.

Nearly five months have passed since I wrote for pleasure, a long gap for me. My morning writing ritual has been completely replaced by a new hobby – learning Portuguese. Ana and I will be returning to the Azores in October and I’ve decided it’s long past time to muscle in on that language and draw strings between the hundreds of words I have learned over the many years of being part of a Portuguese family. I want to be able to hold up a conversation with Ana’s crazy cousins, aunts, and uncles, as well as the few non-crazy ones. No, we won’t be talking politics or religion or medical procedures, but I do hope to be able to ask somebody to pass me another cupcake or direct me towards the nearest water closet.

We pass a few sailboats and powerboats near the coastline, and see a freighter or two in the distance, but the lake is quiet as we cut through the waters, heading at 85 degrees towards the far end of the lake. Ana puts on a bathing suit and takes a cockpit cushion and pillow and a book out to the front deck of the boat. I join her and we relax and read as the autopilot assumes steering duties.

“I don’t think we ever did this, even once, the entire time we sailed to the Bahamas,” Ana says as she leans over and kisses my cheek.”

“We did sit on the deck, but never with the cushions, and rarely so relaxed.”

“Why?”

“Too salty for cushions,” I reply. “And little time to relax when navigating new waters every day.”

“Well, this is lovely,” Ana says, then rolls onto her back to continue reading her steamy Heated Rivalry novel.

It is a nice day to be on the lake. It is a nice day to be alive.

By the time we’ve had dinner and cleaned up it is already 9:30pm and we’ve been tricked into thinking it much earlier because of the lengthy days. We are now into US waters and there are no longer any boats within sight. We watch half a show on the laptop in the cockpit then I head down for some sleep as Ana takes the first watch of the evening.

Our planned destination is Kingston, Ontario, still nearly 20 hours to the east.