All of the boats that were anchored last night are gone this morning, leaving this beautiful anchorage just for us. We take turns going for dingy rides and then chop up some peaches to make delicious peach oatmeal for breakfast.
We pull anchor and begin our westward migration. This is the furthest point east we will travel on this trip, leaving the rest of the St. Lawrence for future adventures. We sail through Canadian waters to the Thousand Island bridge, which has a very heavy current beneath it – much faster than anywhere else we’ve seen so far. I take Bella Blue between Huckleberry and Constance Island, looking for a nice anchorage for a lunch stop, but our mast won’t clear under the bridge at this point, so I take her back around to the public docks on Georgina Island, but they are already all taken. So we continue on.
We sail all the way up the Canadian Middle Channel and then I spot a beach to the south on Wellesley Island – back on the US side. I radio Tony and say, “Cabin Fever Cabin Fever, Bella Blue Bella Blue.”
“Cabin Fever here, I’m assuming you’ve spotted that beach,” he replies.
“Oh yes, what do you say to a lunch stop there?”
“That’s an affirmative - I’ve already got my Speedos on. Cabin Fever out.”
“Bella Blue out.”
We get solidly anchored and raft up together and then prepare some lunch. The only problem with this spot is that there are dozens of passing powerboats, all of which kick off a wake, and these combined wakes rock the hell out of our boats, putting them in danger of getting banged up, so Cabin Fever unties and anchors a short distance away.
After lunch, the Olsons hop in the dingy and motor into the beach. There a well-marked swimming area, but beside that is an unmarked section that looks like it’s for dingies. As we are approaching the beach we hear a loud noise coming from the swimming area so we look over and every single person on the beach and in the water has stopped what they are doing and looking at us. Then we notice the lifeguard is holding a megaphone, so I cut the engine and listen.
“You must leave immediately. No motor vehicles allowed,” the lifeguards highly amplified voice rings out. Then a pause of several seconds and, “…sorry.” He must have noticed we were Canadian so slipped the apology in there. I considered just paddling in, with the motor up, but I thought that might be perceived as being a bit obnoxious, so we motor back out to the lake and find a small cove to the east where we are able to motor in, beach the dingy, and go for a walk around the park and beach area, plus take a “free pee” in the park washrooms. Any relieving of oneself outside the boat is considered a free pee, since one must pay for pump-outs of boat waste, so we take advantage of every public washroom opportunity.
We sail north to Canada and encounter what is called the Navy Islands group. On the charts we find an interesting looking anchorage buried between some small islands, so we navigate through a narrow channel between Mulcaster, Ninette and Downie islands and then an even shallower one that leads between Otty and Boucher Islands, finally reaching the anchorage just west of Stave Island. Now usually the Bella Blue is the gypsiest boat on the lake with our laundry pegged to the lifelines with oversized Dollar Store multi-coloured clothes pins, inflatable pool toys shackled to every available piece of rigging, pool noodles and snorkeling gear stacked up on deck, and towels lying everywhere. Well, the sailboat that was already anchored there has us beat; besides all of the above items the two hippie couples aboard also have paddleboards, hammocks strung across the deck, a huge jury-rigged canvas sun shade, multi-coloured wind scoops directing breeze into every hatch, jugs of water and gas strapped to the topsides, paddles and oars, and clothes lying everywhere. In fact, the only part of the actual boat that is visible is the mast. I bet they are having an awesome time.
The kids are thrilled when they check the water temperature and find a balmy 25 degree reading, but are less excited when they look into the water and see large clumps of gelatinous algae blossoms suspended, jellyfish-like, in the water. Magnus announces, “I am not going in there,” and his sentiments are echoed by Stella, but she is eventually convinced to float around in a pool ring while Tony and I have a swim.
While we are goofing around in the water, both Ana and Angela (the responsible administrators of the crew) are calling into customs to report our re-entry into Canada. Now here’s the thing with boating across international lines – every time you call in to report, you get a different story. Literally every agent has a different (sometimes starkly different) interpretation of the rules. When we sailed to Clayton a few days ago, we had re-entered Canada, dropped anchor in a secluded anchorage, called in, and cleared through with no problem. Today, are told by the agent that we can’t just anchor anywhere – we must report to an approved entry point to clear customs, the closest being Ivy Lea which is about 2 miles away. There is, of course, no actual government office there, but they want you to be there just in case they decided to come down in person to dig through your boat for all the booze, lawn pesticides, and scuffed shoes you forgot to report. That last one will only make sense if you are tied into the July 2018 news cycle or the Trump twitter feed.
We return to Ivy lea, call customs again, and are grilled with a series of questions like these:
“Do you bring back any fruits or vegetables from the US?
“No.”
“Are you sure? No fruit?”
“No.”
“How about apples? Did you bring back apples?”
“No. No apples.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Look, even if we had apples, they are exactly the same as the damn apples we buy here in the grocery store. Anyway, Ana plays it like a pro, doesn’t take the bait, and doesn’t get rattled, which is why she is always the one who makes the call and not me.
Since the green algae slime was not such a hit, we find a much better anchorage in the same area, but just east of Mulcaster Island. The water is still 25 degrees, but clear of algae, and the entire crew from both boats jumps in and engages in water Frisbee, diving competitions, cigar smoking, and floating around on pool noodles sipping fancy cocktails. We follow that up with an amazing dinner of grilled steak and pork, herbed potatoes, asparagus, relatively fresh bread, and a bottle of Tony’s Red – some very ordinary wine made extraordinary by our current circumstance and company.
With thunderclouds piling up in the distance, I throw out a safety anchor before going to bed, expecting our first rain of the trip, which puts the wraps on a 15 mile sailing day.
Happy Independence Day! God save the Trump!
Boldt Castle is surely the most impressive piece of architecture in the Thousand Islands. It is a bona fide castle built by wealthy hotelier George Boldt at the turn of the century as a little gift for his wife. Sadly, as it was nearing completion his wife died and he ordered all construction work to stop and everybody to leave the island. The castle was left to rot and, even though it changed hands several times over the next 75 years, it succumbed to the elements and by the end was a near ruin. The Thousand Islands Bridge Authority bought the castle and island in the mid 70’s and since then has been undertaking the needed renovations to bring it back to its original state and turn it into a tourist cash cow.
The island on which the castle sits was also modified with land and buildings to render it heart shaped, and it is indeed named Heart Island. Besides the six storey, 120 room castle, there is also a separate power plant building, outbuildings for guests, manicured gardens, and across the bay, an enormous yacht house that was built to house three large steamers and dozens of smaller boats.
We boat across on Cabin Fever to Heart Island and are the first ones in the building at 10am. We begin with a walk around the island and then enter the basement to see the pool and remnants of a two lane bowling alley, and then ride the elevator up to the top floor. The renovation work began on the lower floors but has not yet reached the upper ones, so the rooms are empty and barren with exposed plaster strapping and 70 year old graffiti everywhere. The scale is huge and the views out to the river, Wellesley Island, and Alexandria Bay are spectacular. The kids and I take advantage of the space and play a rousing game of Marco Polo and I succeed in scaring the bejesus out Stella when I jump out of a closet.
As we descend onto the lower floors, each is more renovated than the floor above it, and by the time we reach the bottom two levels, we are mesmerized by the grandeur and opulence of our surroundings. There are many information boards placed throughout the rooms displaying old photos, stories, artifacts and historical information about the castle and surrounding areas. At the turn of the century, the Thousand Islands were a playground for the rich and famous. Boldt himself owned upwards of 60 boats and spent a considerable amount of time racing them on the river with his rich, competitive friends. Boldt spent much of the remainder of his life in the Thousand Islands, but mainly on Wellesley Island, where he had constructed a large number of houses, barns and other buildings to support the farmland he used to grow meat and vegetables for his New York hotels. They say he never stepped foot on Heart Island again after his wife died.
We return to our slips for a quick lunch and then the ladies take off for food and booze shopping while the kids hang out in the air-conditioned sailboat while Tony and I rip the panels off Cabin Fever to try and figure out why his red and green navigational lights are not working. It is wildly hot outside, and the ladies arrive with a trolley of food and booze which they somehow manage to pack into the already packed boats, and then they take the kids over to the Riveredge hotel to sneak into the pool for a dip. We finally get the lights working, clean up our mess, and then join the gang at the dockside tiki bar for a round of drinks before hitting the pool for a dip. I’m so used to the 22 degree lake water that the pool simply feels hot, but I’m not complaining as we are there ILLEGALLY, which Stella is really not comfortable with so only begrudgingly swims. She is such a rule-follower, just like me.
The group decides that it’s time to find an anchorage instead of spending another night in the marina. There is a strong wind blowing us off the dock so I put Magnus at the head of the dock with a line to hold the boat in and Ana at the base with another line. I start powering the boat out but the wind is pushing me so I have to throttle up to keep straight, which pushes me out too far and Ana is not able to jump aboard. As I turn the corner I see Magnus is having trouble with the lines and it looks like he’s cleated the line down, so I start yelling at him and then the line tightens and the boat is stopped abruptly and jerked sideways towards another boat in a slip, so I race to the front of the boat to block the collision while Ana is screaming at Magnus and trying to get the line freed. She manages to free it and we are able to sail away without any damage, although we are short two of our crew members. Since we are stopping for gas it’s not a problem so Ana and Magnus jump onboard with Tony and Angela. I find out later that Magnus did not cleat the line, but instead it had become tangled and he was trying to straighten it but pulled his fingers out when he saw it was about to get tight which was a very wise move. He apologized later, but I told him he did exactly what he should do and I was proud of him – boats can be repaired; broken fingers not so easily. It is good when minor problems like this happen because we always learn something from it and are able to do better next time.
After getting gassed up and pumped out (the gas dock guys could simply not believe we were there in a sailboat, so we looked around and ours was the only mast to be seen in town!) we leave A-Bay in our wake and sail three miles east to the Summerland Islands. Our dock neighbour Gerry, who had invited us over for a beer on his boat yesterday, had told us this spot was a popular anchorage for local boaters. We pull in to find at least 10 other boats anchored, including one massive flotilla of six rafted powerboat partiers. We get settled, go for swims in the glorious 24 degree water and then the girls construct a plateful of shish kebob skewers that Tony grills up and we devour every last piece of it, down to the final sizzling mushroom morsels. After dinner we set up on the top deck of Cabin Fever with fresh G&Ts, ready for the spectacular July 4th fireworks, being launched from Heart Island. But what’s more spectacular than the fireworks is the tenacity and volume of skeeters that are attacking our ankles, legs, arms, ears and faces. Ana brings up three big citronella candles and a whole pack of mosquito coils. We light them all up, but it doesn’t make a lick of difference. We decide that we’re not too interested in the fireworks anyway and we retire for the evening to the soothing sounds of exploding independence.
I awake at 6 am to a perfect morning – not a breath of wind, clear water and the sounds of birds singing in the nearby islands. I soak up the moment and stamp it on my memory before going down to check the state of the batteries, because I’m pretty sure it’s not going to be good.
Besides the dead batteries, I discover that the oil pan and bilge are completely full of oil and the engine is dry. There is a small plug lying in the oil pan, but I can’t figure out where it came from. I try to remember the last time I checked the oil level, and it was probably back in Lake Erie so I just hope there hasn’t been any damage to the engine.
Tony comes over and we work on the engine for a long time and finally figure out the likely source of the oil leak – a plugged air filter that was causing pressure, which popped the relief plug out and forced out the oil. We put in a new filter, refill the oil, put the pressure relief plug back in, and it seems to run fine. I also discover that the gear oil reservoir is nearly empty so my engine maintenance program has obviously not been up to snuff.
Our destination is the town of Alexandria Bay, ten miles to the east through the main shipping channel. We leave the anchorage and travel around Grindstone Island and then south between Murray and Picton Islands which puts us in the shipping channel, and from there we compete with dozens, if not hundreds, of other boats for a chunk of water to sail through. The current is slightly more pronounced here, but it’s very easy to forget that we are traveling in a river, albeit an unusually large one. The depths in the channel are incredible; from the rocky shoreline it drops directly down to over 250 feet in some places.
Arriving in Alexandria Bay, we pull into Hutchinson Boat works and get docked into our assigned slips. This location is ideal, as we are beside Riveredge (the most expensive resort and marina in A-Bay) and directly across the river from the incredible Boldt Castle, which we plan to visit tomorrow. After docking, we head into the onsite marine store and buy three brand new batteries, with help from the amazing, friendly and helpful staff.
I install the batteries, test them out, and all looks good, so we gather the team and walk into town to have a look around. Alexandria Bay is much like Clayton, but perhaps even more geared to tourists with the many bars, restaurants and shops. The girls and kids keep dipping into kitschy shops so Tony and I find the nearest dive bar, and are happy to see a sign saying they accept Canadian dollars at par, which means 30% off our drinks! It’s an awesome American bar scene – the large wraparound bar is packed with people, and they seem to mostly know each other, as does the skinny, blonde barkeep. On the floor are the crunchy, brown corpses of a hundred sacks of eaten peanuts. There is a black dog with a fashionable white Mohawk and a glowing stinkeye that is laser focused on my face, giving me the creeps. On the walls are beer signs, televisions playing bad daytime tv or sports, two dart boards, and paper signs with curled up corners, tacked into the wood wall trim advertising local events, such as the upcoming boat poker run with $10,000 in fabulous prizes. The beer on tap is awful, except for the Yuengling, so I order up two of those and the barkeep looks at me and says, “ID?”
I laugh and say, “Really?”
“Take off your sunglasses.”
I lift them up and she sees the deep crowsfeet lines and jaded grey hue over my pupils, caused by years of excessive partying, waking up with vomiting babies, struggling through stressful work projects, dealing with drug dealing tenants in our sketchy rental properties, being in non-stop, win/lose negotiations with my shifty 13 year old, overnight sailing runs, overnight driving runs, and doing my best to pack three lifetimes worth of experiences into just one.
“You’re good,” she says. “Who’s the other beer for?”
I point over to Tony. He’s looking at us with a huge smile and double thumbs up sign.
“He’s definitely good.”
The beers are delicious, the peanuts are cruncy, and the conversation is ridiculous, as it usually is with Tony and I. The ladies and kids soon arrive, order up some drinks, and then we have a darts championship that whittles away an hour and gives our skins a needed rest from the brutal sun. As we’re playing darts Stella says to Tony, “Hey Tony, say the words ‘Rise up lights’.”
“OK,” Tony replies, “Rise up lights.”
“Say it again, but faster.”
“Rise up lights.”
“Ha ha!” Stella laughs, “You just said razor blades in an Australian accent!”
We all try it. It’s hilarious, and does sound exactly like razor blades in Australian. I’m going to have to tell all of my Aussie buddies about that one. Rise up lights!
We return to the boats, along the way stopping at a mini mart to stock up on some cheap US suds and mixers. We do have some leftovers, but they don’t naturally combine into much of a dinner meal, so we decide to save them for a magnificent breakfast tomorrow - chicken avocado peach oatmeal cobbler. I simply can’t wait.
The two boat crews once again join culinary forces and put together a carnylicious dinner of foot-long chili dogs. North Americans routinely screw up hot dogs. How, you ask? Well, we use hot dog buns that are longer than the hot dogs – totally wrong. A proper hot dog must have wiener sticking out of both ends of the bun, and the reason for this is because your first and last bites will be bun-less and delicious. The foot-long style of wiener and standard hot dog bun allows us to create chili dogs with at least two mouth-watering, bun-less bites on each end. The only trick is trying to balance all the onions, ketchup, mayo, mustard, and chili on the ends without them breaking off or slopping condiments all over the place. But we manage just fine, and retire to bed to enjoy dreams of happy, free-range Danish piggies, dancing and having fun, and falling in love, and playing musical instruments.
The morning sun is beating down on Bella Blue as we construct a big breakfast of eggs, fruit, toast and oatmeal. We have showers at the marina and are back out on the water by 11. We motor south to what’s known as the “Lake Fleet” of islands to scope out a potential anchoring spot for lunch. Many of the Thousand Islands have excellent names, for example, this island group includes Dumbfounder, Wyoming, Ramsden, Troughton, Bloodletter, Niagara, Netley, and Camelot. We cruise by Camelot and find an available mooring ball and then call Tony on the radio and ask Cabin Fever to come and tie up to it, being the larger boat, then we can raft to them. Well Tony eases the boat up to the mooring and Angela tries to grab the ring with the boat hook but it’s too short. So she gets down on her knees and tries again – no dice. Finally she lies prone on the deck winds her foot around a rail and reaches down with all her might. She’s stretching so far I think I hear something pop, and then success, she hooks it! There was great rejoicing and clapping of hands on Bella Blue.
It is incredibly hot today so we immediately leap into the deliciously cold water. I gear up with my snorkelling kit and go for a swim. The water is very clear with visibility of nearly 20 feet, so I swim around for a while and see some perch, one bass, and one decent sized pike. You don’t often find good snorkeling in lakes, but this is obviously a special place.
Our planned destination for today is Clayton, New York, but we like the anchorage so much we decide to leave Cabin Fever moored up and take Bella Blue across to the US side for a look. It is a pleasant seven mile sail there and along the way we call into US customs to report our arrival. Clayton is a neat little town and has a real seaside feel. The public library has one of those signs in front with individual letters you can arrange, but the OPEN letters have fallen on the ground, so I do my good deed for the day and replace them, but in a different order, so now it reads NOPE. Stella is not impressed with my act of civil disobedience.
We take a blazing hot walk through town and check out a few shops before finding the public dock with a huge swimming area and a long line of flashy Adirondack chairs. I find an abandoned water Frisbee and the kids and I throw it back and forth on the boardwalk while the others lounge on the chairs and “chillax” as Stella likes to say. Our next stop is a small bar and restaurant that overlooks the water. We order up a round of happy hour drinks for the six of us and chit chat with the locals.
The kids see a park and head over there to fry their skin on the hot slides while the adults (don’t tell Tony I called him that, he prefers “so-called adults”) return to the boat for a hot and sticky happy hour and to compare our impressions of Clayton. For a border town frequented by thousands of Canadians, it was strange that there was not American beer (cheap) and lawn pesticides (banned) more readily available. But like so many American towns, they have put a great deal of money into the infrastructure, providing free public dockage, a great waterfront place for kids to hang out, well-built seawalls, and an amazing museum of antique boats which we sadly did not have time to check out.
The kids return and we fire up the engine and start the return journey to our anchorage, taking care to avoid the congestion in the Clayton harbour, such as the lady doing yoga on her paddle board, the boy kite surfing back and forth, and the dozens of Sea Doos and boats zipping around. Stella takes the helm and navigates nearly the entire seven miles back to the anchorage. Magnus seems to be in charge of the on-board entertainment and takes the replacement toilet plunger Tony purchased and sticks it to his belly while attaching clothespins to his nipples and making a weird face. Then, AC/DC’s Thunderstruck comes up on the setlist, but the chorus is transformed to “Plungerstruck” and we all join in!
Back at the Camelot anchorage (every time I write, say or see that word I cannot help but think of Monty Python’s Holy Grail when King Arthur and his gang come across the castle and say, in turn, “Camelot!”, “Camelot!”, “Camelot!”, and then the porter says, “It’s only a model.” Monty Python – you either love it or hate it and I am firmly in the first camp.)
We prepare a delicious dinner of barbequed chicken and salads while the kids take their final swim of the day. We lounge our way through dusk and into the nighttime with a nightcap or two on the top deck of Warship. The total distance traveled today is 20 miles, making it our biggest travel day yet.
Happy Canada Day! And I can’t think of a better place in the world to be on our national holiday – in a gorgeous anchorage on the St. Lawrence River with great friends and two amazing boats.
I wake up just after 6 am and find that our batteries are almost completely dead, with insufficient juice to crank the engine. This is odd, since we’ve anchored out many times in the past and never had battery issues. Additionally I had taken my batteries to Canadian Tire to have them analyzed, and they tested out fine. Ana and I boil water on the gas stove and sit in the cockpit to enjoy a morning coffee, the smell of which instantly wakes Tony, so we hook him up with hot water and then discuss our battery situation. We learn that they have been having trouble with their toilet so Ana proposes a “battery for plunger” trade, which is accepted and helps us both out of a poopy situation.
For Canada’s 151st birthday one of the local radio stations is playing the greatest 151 classic rock songs of all time, which is pretty much the standard set list for any rock station. Nevertheless, we enjoy the sounds of Heart, Steve Miller, Led Zeppelin and the Guess Who as we eat breakfast and plan the day’s mission. I impress Tony and Angela with my falsetto “Crazy On You” harmony with Anne and Nancy Wilson, but then my throat starts to hurt so I stop.
Ana and I hop in the dingy and motor over to southeast side of Bostwick Island to visit the famous Half Moon Bay. We turn the corner of the island and look up to see a large chunk of painted plywood cut to a half-moon shape, mounted high above the bay’s entrance. We slowly motor in and find a miniature bay with gently circling waters and a natural, flat granite stage that has been topped with a podium-shaped rock. Since 1887, there has been Sunday church services held here, delivered by various denominations from Gananoque. Travelers and locals arrive in their dingies, canoes, kayaks, stand-up boards, rubber inflatable rings, or anything else that floats, squeeze into the bay alongside dozens of other crafts, and listen to the service. I’ve never seen anything quite like it and I can’t imagine a more beautiful setting for a church service. After we return, Tony and Angela take the dingy over to check it out, and then I take the kids over to see it too.
We are going to stay at the Gananoque municipal marina tonight, but the check-in time is not until noon, so after a round of swims we pull up the anchor and go for a little ride around the area. There seems to be houses on nearly all of the islands – even the tiny ones. There is one cute little house on an island so small that there is barely any land left to walk on, and I have no idea how it could survive a bad storm as the foot of the house is inches above the lake level and one could easily fish right from the front deck. The island names continue to impress – here we find Blackduck, Hemlock, Pitchpine, Forsyth and White Calf islands.
We arrive in Gananoque to a very busy marina and get tied up at the main dock for a round of pump outs and send Magnus out to to figure out where our reserved slips are. We both motor over and get docked, attach the electrical cables, and get that sweet air conditioning pumping, as it’s just past noon and already 31 degrees. Since there’s little wind in the protected marina, it feels a lot hotter here than it did at anchor.
The gang enjoys a round of sandwiches on Bella Blue and then the Olsons walk into town while the Henriques opt to stay back to do a little work on their boat, and perhaps enjoy an afternoon nap. It’s a short, but blazingly hot walk into town. Today is the last day of a local Ribfest and craft market which are being held at a downtown park. In the craft market is, of course, another one of those damn cloned Peruvian flute bands which I just can’t find room in my heart to appreciate. You may want to see the post from our recent trip to Madeira for a full explanation of the worldwide Peruvian flute band phenomenon. I walk by them with my pinky fingers jammed neatly into my ears, but tried to hide it so I wouldn’t hurt their feelings.
The Ribfest is a hot mess. There’s a bunch of food trucks selling sad, greasy meals, and a line of smokehouses with their giant facades proudly boasting accomplishments like “St Louis 1997 - Best Ribs!”, “Port Dover 2009 – Best Sauce!”, “Toronto 2014 – Customer’s Choice Award!”, “Rochester 2012 – Brisket Champion!”. The stalls have been oriented to provide the least amount of shade for the ribbers, and we see one of them being cooked himself by the fierce solar rays, wearing a black t-shirt and black scarf over his mouth and nose, while hunched over a blazing hot, wood powered grill, scorching full racks of ribs slathered in sauce, with the sweat flying off his brow into the grill and, no doubt, onto the ribs, giving them an extra bit of salty character. We decide to find somewhere else for dinner tonight.
We walk down Main Street, lurching from shadow to shadow and find a nicely air conditioned Dollar Store which provides refuge from the sun for a few comfortable minutes, and as an added bonus we get to enhale fumes from some of China’s finest plastic creations. We stop for a drink at a small café and pay $13 for four small, crappy lemonades and decide it’s time to return to the boat for better refreshments, cooler temperatures, and perhaps a short nap.
At around 7pm we return with Tony and Angela downtown and go for dinner at an English pub. The food is just okay, but the beer selection is fantastic and we sample several. One of the local craft beers is called “Juicy Ass” which opens up a wide range of naughty word games one could play with the server, but Tony and I restrain ourselves and just giggle silently at the end of the table, like schoolboys.
After leaving the restaurant I spot a black Ford Ranger with a license plate that reads “Gym Me”. Oddly appropriate when one considers the boater lifestyle, where cocktails begin at noon, snacks are served all day, and exercise is limited to cannonballing into the lake, or repairing boat disasters when they inevitably occur.
As dusk approaches, we join up with the Henriques on Cabin Fever to enjoy the Canada Day fireworks show. The scene from the top deck is cool – a giant barge in the middle of the harbour is surrounded by little white, red and green lights from the boats, some of which are anchored and some of which were still buzzing around, trying to find the perfect spot to watch the show. In the public park to the east of the marina is a live band, playing loud classic rock cover songs, with a huge audience of people.
The fireworks are okay, but definitely overshadowed by the tenacity of the bloodsucking mosquitos that drive the ladies and kids into the protected space of the main cabin while Tony light up cigars to try and repel the mozzies. The fireworks finish with a grand finale and we walk back to our boat, along the way discussing how lucky we are to live in such a fine country as Canada.
I open my eyes and look up through the v-berth hatch to see grey, overcast skies and hear the sound of rumbling thunder. What the hell, I think, it’s supposed to be clear and sunny today. The boat is rocking and bouncing around from the chop stirred up by the wind, but by mid-morning the clouds have disappeared and the full sun is out, heating up the day, and slowly cooking this strange looking fish that has somehow found its way onto the dock.
I get our 2.5 HP outboard engine mounted on the dingy and try to start it, but it simply will not fire. Not even a sputter. Andrew even calls in his mechanic neighbour who helps us out but we’re still unable to get a flicker of life out of it, so we head out to Ward’s Marine and buy a brand new Mercury 2.5 HP engine as we need something reliable for this trip.
We get the engine mounted on the dingy and tested and then meet up in Andrew’s living room to watch the Portugal – Uruguay world cup match. The view from Andrew’s house is stunning – he is situated right on the shore of the St. Lawrence River and looks across the Bateau Channel to see Howe Island. He’s been consumed by a multi-year renovation, or perhaps more appropriately “reconstruction” project, but everything is finally taking shape and it’s getting close to completion. As part of the project he built a huge extension to his dock to accommodate multiple boats and constructed a second level which will be the ultimate summer party lounge complete with built in bar, fridge, sink and icemaker!
Sadly, our boys are not able to squeak through and are eliminated so after about 3 seconds of melancholy we realize we’re on day one of our Thousand Islands sailing trip and are immediately happy again. We say our goodbyes to Andrew and Victoria, throw off the dock lines, and set sail east down the Bateau Channel. The wind is coming from directly behind us, so we set the sails in a wing and wing configuration, which is when the main goes out to one side and the headsail is pulled out to the other, allowing you to capture the maximum amount of wind. We pass by dozens of boats and many beautiful houses, both on the mainland and on Howe Island.
We clear the Bateau Channel, turn south towards the Admiralty Islands, and get our first taste of what these cruising grounds are all about. There are islands everywhere you look, with pre-Cambrian jagged rock faces, tall pine trees, mossy ground, with dangerous reefs and shallows lurking between many of them, requiring the helmsman to keep a close eye on the charts. Some of the islands in the region have docks and mooring balls which are maintained by the Canadian government, but we’ve read that to get a space you need to arrive quite early in the day as they are very popular. We pass by one such island called Mermaid Island, but the docks are full so we continue down Wanderer’s Channel and settle on an anchorage west of Lindsay Island, where there are several other boats anchored. Our initial anchoring attempt fails, but we do succeed in winding up two hundred pounds of weeds on our anchor. Tony and Angela then drop anchor and it sticks easily so we raft our boat off theirs and are set for the night.
The water is 22 degrees Celsius and provides a bit of cold water shock as the kids, Tony and I plunge in. We get the shampoo and soap out for an evening bath and before long the water feels just fine. Magnus and I then take the dingy out to do some fishing and we bob in and out of the bays, throwing casts, but are not able to latch onto anything. Many of the islands here are private and have cabins built on them, most of which have elaborate boat houses for the boats required to get to the mainland and back.
Angela gets some snacks together and invites us to their flybridge for a sundowner. Their boat is a 36’ Mainship named Cabin Fever, which is a two-level boat with the steering wheel at the top, giving the helmsman an excellent view over the water. I call it the “Warship” as it has a menacing and dominant look - at least compared to our sailboat. Over drinks we discuss the day’s events, plan for tomorrow, and even come up with an idea for an on-water movie theater where we would pull our main sail out and project a movie onto it from the top deck of Warship. The only thing missing from the plan is a projector, so I make a mental note to try and find one along the way somewhere.
With that, we retire for the evening in this beautiful anchorage, after sailing a modest total of eight miles for the day.
Two weeks have passed and they have been busy ones. After having successfully delivered Bella Blue to Kingston, the boys split up and went their own ways. We drove back to Toronto with Curt, had lunch downtown and watched most of the England game, and then left him to find his way to the airport for his evening flight while we suffered through a punishing three hour drive through dense traffic to finally arrive back home far later than expected. Sailboats may be slow, but the one thing you rarely have to contend with is traffic.
Ana had her largest fundraiser of the year - The Taste of Glenhyrst - on Thursday that first week and it was a smashing success. Magnus had his grade 8 graduation on Friday and gave a rousing valedictory address – we were very proud of him. I left for Toronto early Saturday morning to take a two day sailing course which culminated in a final exam with a written and an on-water portion, both of which I passed to earn the ICC International Certificate of Competency) designation which allows me to charter boats in European countries. Next up, catamaran charter in Croatia!
The following week sped by, as it was the kids’ final week of school so there was not much in the way of in-class educational activities, but plenty of day trips and fun stuff to wear down those final days. Ana and I both had busy work weeks, trying to get everything done before busting out for our two week holiday.
Friday finally arrives, and by 6pm we are on the road. We use the 407 toll highway to avoid the congested mess of Toronto traffic and make it to Kingston in just over four hours. We walk into Andrew’s house and there’s a stranger sitting the couch, by himself, drinking beer and eating pistachios. Adrian introduces himself and we sit and chat for a while, then Andrew, Victoria, Tony and Angela arrive after enjoying a meal in downtown Kingston. We have a lot of laughs, a couple of drinks, and then we retire to the boats for a furious round of bed making, refrigerator packing and gear sorting before finally getting to sleep sometime after midnight. This is going to be a great trip!
