After hitting the snooze button a couple of times, we finally arise and
shove off from the dock at 6am. That
pesky west wind, though not quite as strong as yesterday, is still blowing hard
so we set partial sails and head north.
We pass Flowerpot Island and cruise right by the two rock formations
that make this place famous. I have no
idea why they call them “Flowerpots”. To
me they look more like giant, poorly rolled, upside down reefers. You can sucker tourists into paying $40 to
see pretty much anything, as long as it sounds cool.
I set a north-east course to the eastern entrance of Collins Inlet and
we move at a fine pace with the strong wind and gently humming motor. We all pile into the cockpit and load up with
sweaters, jackets, blankets, and I even grab a toque as it is windy and cold,
but sunny. Once we get into the far
distant shadow of Manitoulin Island the waves subside somewhat and make for a
gentler ride.
After 43 miles we reach the entrance and it is bordered with treacherous
looking jagged rocks but the deep channel is clearly marked with buoys that show
the way. We cruise easily through the
channel and are into a large bay full of islands. With all the rocks and trees it now feels
like we’re truly in northern Canada. The
only thing missing is a beaver crossing our path and a loon surfing our wake.
We find a decent looking spot to anchor for lunch, but can’t seem to get
the anchor to stick, and the shifting wind is blowing us around so instead we
continue on and Ana makes up some tuna fish sandwiches for us to eat as we sail. The bay becomes more and more narrow then
ends in a channel with marker buoys that are as little as fifteen feet apart so
it is a relatively tight squeeze. The
channel then turns and opens into the Collins Inlet, which looks like a drag strip
for boats, as it runs completely straight and has towering rock walls on both
sides. Stella checks the instruments and
finds that the water is a balmy 25 degrees, which ignites great enthusiasm for
a swim. We follow the channel for a few
miles then find a decent anchorage and stop for a dingy ride and plunge. Ana and I sit in the sunny cockpit and enjoy
a drink while we consider staying here for the night, but soon the bugs swarm
in so we decide to continue a bit further to see if we can find something less
buggy. We travel to nearly the end and
find some nice anchorages but there are already a number of boats there, so
instead of trying to muscle in for space, we decide to continue to Killarney,
which is a small town only a few miles away with plenty of boat slips. The Collins Inlet ends in a terrifying, shoal
ridden channel which is made worse by the three foot waves crashing in and 25
knot gusts, resulting in a miserable, but thankfully short passage.
We reach Killarney and travel slowly up the channel investigating what
lies on the shoreline. And what lies on
the shoreline are marinas, small shops, a famous fish and chips restaurant and
lots and lots of boats in slips. I check
the clock and it’s not quite 7pm, which gives us time to pass right through
Killarney and go to an anchorage called Covered Portage, which we have heard is
a must-do for any first time North Channelers.
I become so enwrapped in reviewing the chart to Covered Portage that I
forget I’m the guy steering the boat and look up just in time to see the bow
heading straight for the rocks beneath the big “Killarney” sign. With ten feet to spare I swing the wheel
back to port and just miss crashing into the rocks. Lesson learned – don’t review charts when you
are navigating through an unfamiliar channel.
Anyway, I apologize to the crew and continue north-west through pounding
waves and lashing winds and beat a path towards our target. As we arrive I see at least ten boats already
anchored in the outer bay, so I glide by them and ease into the inner bay,
which is a beautiful, circular cove surrounded by towering rock walls and
forest, and perfectly sheltered from the punishing winds. In fact, there is not even a ripple across
the water. There are at least fifteen or
twenty boats anchored so we squeak our way through these and find a nice spot
to throw out the hook. Ana notices that
a few of the other boats have put one or even two anchors out the bow and tied
the stern of their boat to a tree onshore, probably to keep themselves
completely stationary. So we decide to
do this. It takes three attempts to get
our anchor set properly, and remember that each failed anchor attempt causes a
small dent in one’s marriage. The reason
for this is because one spouse is driving the boat from the stern while the
other is putting the anchor up or down at the bow and this causes what Led
Zeppelin once called a “Communication Breakdown”. It’s always the same. Anchoring causes breakdown after breakdown
and they drive each other insane. If
your marriage can survive anchoring, then it can survive anything. Instructions are screamed back and
forth. Failings in technique are pointed
out readily. There is indignation,
belittling, scornful looks, evil eyes, exasperation, but eventually the damn
anchor finally sticks and then there is a thirty minute cool down period,
normally lubricated with gin and tonics.
Then everything goes back to normal.
But this time we also had to tie the boat to a tree. I have quite a few ropes, but none are very
long, so I tie three of them together which looks like it should be
sufficient. I toss the rope in the dingy
and command the children to take their posts.
Magnus is assigned the port oarsman post and Stella will feed out the
rope as we move away from the boat and approach the land. I will be in charge of yelling orders and
working the starboard oar. Well we paddle
like hell but the boat has swung away from the shore and the rope is too short
by half. So we double up on paddling in
an attempt to drag the stern of the boat closer to shore but it just isn’t
working so I have Ana fire up the boat and put her in reverse to swing the
stern around. We paddle like mad and are
now able to reach the shore so Magnus and I jump out, nearly breaking our
ankles, and wind the rope around a poor pine tree, getting all gummed up with
sap in the process. As I tighten the
rope the boat gets closer and closer to shore but we are being devoured by
mosquitoes so we leap in the dingy and paddle back to the boat, where Ana has
supper waiting. As we eat, we notice
that the boat is now so close to shore that we can practically step off the
stern right into the enchanted forest, so the anchor must have let loose. We have a crew meeting and decide that the
tree idea just isn’t going to work tonight so we load ourselves back in the
dingy, retrieve the rope, give the boat a shove and drive back into the bay for
another try. This time we set out two
anchors and they stick on the very first try.
Yay!
Darkness falls and the anchorage goes silent except for one sound – the
sound of a sailor playing a beautiful and haunting song on a flute. I don’t know which boat it was coming from,
but it was a magical end to a 70 mile journey and 14 hours on the water.
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