Goooood Morning,

The ride to Bouctouche was pretty smooth, seas less than 1’, wind 7-8 knots.  It was pretty hazy, and one of those “close” days, with high humidity.  2 hours out of port, we started seeing lightning on the shore, a couple of miles away.  Checked the satellite weather (again), and it looked like the worst of it would track past us, and work its’ way down the shoreline.  …….This weather satellite thing that I keep talking about is a pretty awesome tool.  Software is on one of the computers, and the data comes in piggybacked on an XM or Sirius signal.  When projected on our monitor, it provides all kinds of data (radar, satellite view, fronts, surface conditions, marine forecasts, and etc.), overlaid on a map of North America.  All this stuff is manipulated by the mouse in hand, and allows us to make some pretty accurate appraisals of the weather now and for the future.-I frikkin’ love science!  The water’s pretty skinny on the way in (always a little tense for Y.T.), and we’re going in on a falling tide, which means you go aground-you’re not floatin’ again until the next high tide.  Okay, get tied up, and the Admiral says it looks like rain-guess so, the clouds are purple.  Thirty seconds later, the sky busts loose and drops about an inch in half an hour.  Formidable! (oops..Francais).  I can sit and read instead of washing the salt off The Girl.  Kind of a long day, so it’s a 5 to 7 with Lauren and Bill, and we all agree that dinner is overrated, and head off to bed.  By the way, wildlife tally for today is 2 whales (species undetermined), and 8 Harbor Seals.  Today is exploration day in Bouctouche, but first have to call Shediac (the self-proclaimed lobster capital of the world), to book a spot for tomorrow.  Justin (marina guy) takes all the info., tells me there’s plenty of water to get in (BUT STAY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CHANNEL!!).  When we finish up our conversation, he asks where we’re coming from.  “Bouctouche”.  No, where did we come from initially.  “Michigan”.  Says he thought so, as the only English speakers that come here are usually from the Great Lakes, and then only 1 or 2 a year.  (??).  Fun day!  24km. of riding on nicely groomed trails through mixed forest and lowlands took us out to the Eco-Centre and back.  The trails and Centre were built and are maintained by the Irving family.  Originally from Bouctouche, the Irvings built a corporate empire, starting with a sawmill and general store.  We talked to a lady who told us that about half of the folks in New Brunswick cash a paycheck from an Irving company, and besides their properties in Canada, this privately held company is one of the largest landholders in the U.S.A. (I’ll have to Wiki that).  Anyway, they ought to call this village Irvingville instead of Bouctouche.  The family has given back to their community in a BIG way-righteous.  The channel on the way out was a snap-amazing how your perspective changes once that unknown has been banished.  A little rain and some lightning on the way to Shediac, fortunately the electricity stayed onshore.  The Shediac Yacht Club is pretty tiny, The Girl is the biggest boat in here ever. We’re met at the dock by the Harbormaster, Mike and the Commodore of the club, George.  Barely before we’re tied up, they want to know “How did you pick our marina?”, and “We’re so glad you’re here.  Is there anything we can do?  There are bikes to use”, and etc.  Story is, the village owned the marina, and it was falling into a major state of disrepair.  The local boaters got together, formed a non-profit, and bought the property from the village.  The results of their efforts are pretty clear.  The docks are in good shape, good electricity and water, and their clubhouse looks new.  That old preferred future thing again.  It’s fruit, veggie, and lobster shopping-empty the backpacks back at the boats, then out for some essential liquid supplies.  After that, it’s the tourist thing.  Out to see the “big lobster”, a statue at the mouth of the river.  We wait our turn, chase the kids off, and climb up so the nice lady can snap one of the 4 of us.  Then it’s off to the other marina, which is situated out the bay a ways.  The lightnings’ snappin’ all around, so we’re hustling to get to the watering hole there before the rain hits, ‘cause it’s getting really black.  The free rental bike is giving me just what I paid for, the pedal’s coming loose from the crank and it ain’t workin so well.  The trusty Leatherman tool tightens it up (somewhat), but the bolt is stripped and it comes loose about every 200 yards.  One-legged pedaling gets us there just before the sky lets loose.  Dan’s is pretty proud of their beer-$8 for about a 10 oz. pour.  The rain slows down, so we relocate to the Sandbar for our second round.  Mo bettah!  $5 brews, and mussels that you don’t have to get a second mortgage to buy.  Rain stops and we’re on our way to dinner at “The Bayou” (where the locals go).  Surprise, surprise, surprise.  All you can eat fish ‘n chips night, and they’re not makin’ any money on us, Suz and I haven’t eaten since dinner last night.  (This is potato country out here, and The Admiral and I haven’t eaten this many fries in the last year.  The fried stuff kinda’ sticks with us, so we really don’t feel hungry.  It’s a good thing, as we’d both weigh about 300 by now).  One-leg pedaled back home.  Right leg got a workout, but we made it before the rain (and this one’s a real turd-floater).  0720, and on our way to Prince Edward Island.  Supposed to be rainy, but calm today with very little wind.  Well…..we got about a 3 on the Beaufort scale, and a beam sea of 3 footers, with an occasional 4 thrown in-rock and roll, baby.  Fortunately, it starts to pour, making the seas lay down a bit.  The rain is coming down in sheets and looking down the rows of waves racing away from us, the wind-whipped droplets look like fog about 6” above the water.  Rain has stopped, seas 1-2’, and P.E.I. oysters are only 9 miles away..…Later.

Good Morning,

Yes, good morning.  Back to English in New Brunswick, Canada’s only bilingual province.  Still no internet, so no posts.  It’s Monday morning, August 4th, and it’s New Brunswick Day ending a 3 day weekend in these parts.  We’re on a 9 hour passage, so better get caught up on the log. One could call this Hhrbor seal alley. The water is calm and a curious head pops up and watches the boat pass. We are officially out of the St Lawrence River. Pte Rosiers is the official southern boundary of the St Lawrence River. Perce Rock was pretty spectacular.  It was visible from a distance of 15 miles or so and the closer we got, the more out of place it looked.  The sun was out and it provided great light for snappin’.  The scale of this incredible formation can be appreciated by observing the black specs (people) in the lower left of the pic.  Cool.  L’Anse Beaufils provided our harbor for the night.  Formerly the home of a fishing fleet, it is now dependent on tourism for survival.  A renovated fish processing plant now houses a music venue, a bar, and gallery for local artists’ works.  A recent addition has been the Pit Caribou microbrewery, built and owned by a young man with local roots.  We’re closing out the day with a Pit Caribou (or 2), rappin’ with Jacques, who runs the marina, and he gives us a recent history of the harbor.  When the fishing industry collapsed, locals bought up the property, and the local guys refurbished some of the buildings, and obtained provincial $ for harbor work.  From there, property was sold to a non-profit, so the money generated stays in the community.  The music venue, Vielle Usine de Beaufils, brings in 30 acts per year which sell out routinely.  Okay, so there you have it, a small community joining together and working for a preferred future.  (This account may not be 100% accurate, but it’s pretty close as related by a Francais-speaker to an Anglais speaker) 0653 hrs. the next day, and we’re off to Shippagan in New Brunswick.  On the way, we lose an hour, as NB is on Atlantic Daylight Time.  Six hours later, we’re opposite the marina which is too small for The Girl.  Good news is, we’re between fishing seasons, and most of the fish boats are on the hard.  Into the commercial harbor.  We have to climb up a steel ladder on the wall to tie our lines as it is low tide, and this place was built for the bigboys.  The old tires hanging from the walls have provided Bueno casas for the local spiders, and there are some lunkers in there.  We’ll be on a killing spree for the next few days-Oh well.  There’s nobody-and I mean nobody around, buildings are locked up tighter than a drum.  There’s an aquarium a half mile or so down the waterfront that’s gotten good reviews so we’re hoofin’ over.  On the way across this paved area which is about as big as 5 football fields we pass a little building with one pickup in front.  The guy is just getting in, so I ask him if he knows who to ask about the harbor.  Yep, its him-he’s the head of the Port Authority, no problem.  The aquarium is really cool, all about the environment, flora, and fauna of the St. Lawrence Bay.  Very well done, with all signage in French and English.  The Admiral (marine biology chick) is in heaven, but we have to get out as its closing time (we’ve been the only ones here for the last ½ hour).  Next day we have a 10 hour passage to Miramichi to join up with Bill and Lauren aboard Sea Star, so up at 0600.  Exiting Shippagan Gully, the tides racing out against a 15 knot breeze, and the waves are standing at attention as we cross the bar.  Water is swirling around like a blender, and I’ve got the power on to push on over (welcome to the ocean, Lakeboy).  The cruise up the river to Miramichi takes four extra hours, but we’re hearing that it’s worth it.  Pull up to the Ritchie Wharf, and there’s Sea Star.  Tied up, no water, no power, no problem-just happy to be here.  Turns out Bill and Lauren were out on recon, but didn’t make it past The Boulevard (watering hole).  Good news is they got an invite to a private lobster party for special patrons and friends to be held the following day at 1400 (their friends from Michigan too).  Dinner is at Esty’s, the best fish ‘n chips place in the world, about a mile and a half walk outside town.  We’re thinkin’ it must be good, ‘cause we get our order in, and we’re number 81.  They’re presently on number 53.  You mighta guessed that it’s take out only-right on.  Out to the parking lot to wait our turn as its hot and crowded inside.  The guy coming out says he had number 75, so we should get in there.  Next guy says “were You number 81?-she already called you, and she’ll skip you if you’re not there”.  Back in with my tail between my legs and the 5’2” blond bulldog that some kid probably calls Grandma tells me that “You’re in the shit”.  No kiddin’.  She skipped me and made me wait for 3 more orders to come out.  So, livin’ large sitting with our backs against the cyclone fence, under the basketball goal on the blacktop parking lot eating our F & C out of a see-through (greasy) brown paper bag.  I was a little hesitant to go back in to get a couple of Cokes, but thought I’d brave the storm and tempt fate one more time.  She’s barkin’ numbers, but has to come up for breath so I slip in my request and plunk down my cash (cash only).  No acknowledgement, so the lady behind asks where I’m from.  In the nanosecond that I turn away from the bulldog, my cash is gone, and there are 2 Cokes on the counter.  Her lips are moving, but I haven’t refocused quickly enough-“pardon me?”. “And you don’t listen either!” she barks.  I figure she’s probably a sweetheart-this is just her shtick.  Well, they’re celebrating New Brunswick day this weekend, so there’s live music all day in the town square (which is circular), and an old car show.  We just spend the day bangin’ around this little village which looks like it’s dying a slow death since the mill shut down.  The lobster party is just a buy your own beer, the lobster’s free kind of deal for about 12 or 15 folks.  We all finish our first, and the owner Chris’s dad Colie is there with a second lobster for all of us.  After some tough negotiation, we agree to split one amongst us.  I could go on for hours about all of the gracious folks that we met here, but I won’t.  After the river tour boat captain, Azide (?) offered to take us with him (free) to learn about the area, he proceeded to give us the local history for the next 45 minutes.  It seems that his family, French Acadians, have roots here that dated back to the early 1600’s.  The boat thing is not his “regular gig”; it’s just what he does in the summer when he’s not teaching French and History at the high school.  Ahh…. There I go again.  Guess I am pretty impressed by “those people back East” that other Canadians talk about.  For the past 2 days, everyone’s been buzzin’ about the party at Ile Du Vin, which we passed when coming in from the ocean a few days ago.  “Everybody” goes out on their boat, and rafts up with other boats for a 2 day party on New Brunswick Day weekend.  We have to anchor there anyway as our next port is a long way, so we’ll ride the tide out the next morning.  We’ve seen some big parties, but this one’s BIG.  There are over 100 boats at this deserted island.  There are 15 fishing tugs with their bows run up on shore.  Other boats, ranging from go fasts to pontoon boats, are either grounded, or anchored in 2 feet of water, and everybody’s rockin’.  After anchoring a couple hundred yards away we get the tender in the water and cruise over to check things out.  Lotsa smiles, and lotsa beer (and, as Colie said-lotsa skin).  These folks are professionals.  A man has got to know his limitations, so we opt for a little boat ride across the channel.  Bill and Lauren are feeding us tonight at our place.  They arrive, armed with 2 fondue pots, Elk, Duck, Beef, cheese and raw veggies.  We spend an hour or so doing battle with this pile of food, washing it down with redpop.  We didn’t completely vanquish the enemy, but it’s safe to say it was a complete rout.  At dusk, the raft was breaking up, and by nightfall we were the only 2 boats in this deserted wilderness anchorage.  The beach was swept clean of trash, and after high tide all evidence of the festivities will be gone.  That just about catches us up; we’ll spend the next 2 nights in Bouctouche, as there is an eco-centre there that Lauren wants to see.  Hopefully we’ll get some faster WiFi, and get some pictures up.  ………Later

Bon Jour,

July 26, and the day is kinda’ gloomy for our run to Rimouski, but the wind has died to 11 kn, and the seas are pretty calm.  On the way, we see a Harbor Porpoise (the smallest whale in these parts), and a seal.  The commercial and public harbors are side by side in this port, so we follow an Oceans (company name) tug in the channel.  These guys seem to have a stranglehold on the market from Quebec City out, as they are the only tugs that we’ve seen.  Their boats are immaculate, and look like they really mean business.  The Admiral has a bad case of tuglust.  Every time she sees one, she mentions how much she’d like one.  You know-the boaters’ disease-you’re always looking for your next boat.  Anyhow…we’re tied up at Rimouski by 1100, and it’s time to explore.  At the dock across from us is the sailboat that went missing the night before.  It’s all buttoned up tight-my theory is they’re sleeping below after dragging anchor during the blow.  Our buddy, Nick, (the dock dude, confirms that they got in before he got here) prints us a Google map, and I.D.’s the poissonnerie (fish market), the mall, grocery store, and a pizza joint.  The highway runs right along the ocean, and there is a 2 lane bike path separated by a divider from it-makes for easy walking.  Fish market is our kinda’ place.  Lobster is $8.95 Canadian francs/pound.  I donwanna even tell you how cheap Crevettes (shrimp), Moure (cod), and Turbot is.  The lady at the market speaks English (un peu), so we get her favorite lunch place located on the Googlemap.  Gotta pass the marina to get to town, so the fruits de mer go into the fridge.  An hour of hoofing later, we’re thinking damnitsalongway, but the Target sign is visible in the distance.  Yours Truly has grabbed an empty Sodastream CO2 bottle off the boat, and Target exchanges for new ones (so I thought).  Nope they sell new ones, but no exchange.  NOOOBODY speaks Anglais here, but after much gesticulating, and begging for the manager to s-p-e-a-k s-l-o-w-l-y, we find out that there’s a kitchen store in the mall that recycles.  Cool-done.  If you don’t have one of these, you might need one, especially if you’re interested in diminishing your contribution of plastic to landfills, or if you’re CHEAP.  Their product is good, and more and more retailers are carrying their stuff.  We’ve had ours about 5 years.  Next stops, check out both grocery stores for fruit and veggies.  We always get weird looks when we do these recon missions and have backpacks, then walk out without buying anything.  The recommended bistro is still a ways down the line, so we’ll get the foodstuffs on the way back.  Dang! 1600 and we’re just getting lunch.  We guess we’ll just make it a two fer, and skip dinner tonight.  Early morning tomorrow for the long haul to St. Anne Des Monts.  Up at O’Dark-thirty, off the dock at 0525.  It’s 10 degrees C., and cloudy, but the wind is down, so we’re cookin’ along at 8 knots.  WHAT IS THAT NOISE? BAMBAMBAMBAM nonstop.  Throttle down, frequency drops, but still loud.  Sounds like it’s under the guest stateroom sole (floor).  Pull up the hatches, sure enough, there it is, outside the hull, knock knock knockin’.  Okay, throw over into reverse and rev ‘er up.  Off the starboard bow, a half a tree floats up.  Back on our way, the sound is much diminished, but it’s clear we still have a hanger-on.  Repeat-no joy.  An hour or two later, the twigs(?) are gone.  A few whales (ho hum) and seals along the way, but nothing up close.  The Gannets are becoming more numerous.  They’re white, fishing seabirds with beige heads, and black-tipped wings (span around 2-3’).  They fly either in formation when going somewhere, or in ones or twos when fishing.  At altitude (around 20-30’), they fold their wings against their bodies, and do a “suicide dive” into the drink, usually coming up with a fish.  I’m absolutely fascinated by them, and could watch for hours.  They remind me of the Boobies that we see in the Carribean.  Although not on the Endangered Species list, they’re one step away, mostly due to environmental pollution.    1524 puts us on the dock at St. Anne Des Monts.  Ain’t nobody here Parlez’s Anglais, but luckily the folks from Atlanta that we met in Baie Eternite are docked, and guide us in.  It’s raining pretty hard, so we don’t feel like setting up the grill.  We need a walk, anyway, so we head out, foraging for food.  We spot a little Resto-Bar with a bunch of pickups parked outside, and figure this is the joint-it was!  Good seafood creations and cold beer-all good.  I’m a happy guy and doin’ the “food dance”  (you know what I’m talkin’ about).  Back at The Girl, where we have interweb amazingly enough, we check the GRIBS and the satellite, and it looks like after tomorrow afternoon, we have a couple of days of dogmeat (crappy weather).  Don’t want to be stuck here for a couple days at this industrial floating dock which is rockin and rollin’ and creaking with each swell (and there are plenty), with no power or water, and nothing to do on shore…….so it’s early out tomorrow.  Depart at 0425 (it’s light by then), wind is S.E @ 8kn, and the seas are 1-2’, just as we thought.  We figure the fun to begin around 1200.  After breakfast, we get everything locked down.  Chairs, cabinets, computer monitor, kitchen appliances put in the sink.  Lunch is made ahead of time, just in case.  At 1000, we are at the highest latitude that Alizann’s been-49.2 degrees North.  We had hoped to go up to Newfoundland, but our late start this Spring, and all the good stuff along the way has changed our plans-that’s boating.  1200 comes and goes, still 1-2’ waves (sometimes it’s nice to be wrong).  Oh hello, by 1313 the wind has picked up, and we’re getting steep 2-4 footers with an odd 5 mixed in.  By 1400 it’s a steady diet of close, steep 6 footers with an 8 once in awhile.  The tops are now blowing off.  Our little ship is getting a chance to stretch her legs with a white one coming over the bow pulpit (8’ above the water) every 5 minutes or so.  Oh, forgot something.  Our anchor snubber is attached to the pulpit with a small piece of line, and is working its    way loose.  Damn.  I don’t want to be trailing a line off the bow eye if it lets go from the stanchion.  Decision time.  PFD on, I shoot for a lull in the waves.  When I try to open the door, it resists mightily due to the wind on our bow.  Out front, I get the snubber fixed properly when one comes over the bow and I’m up to my calves in water.  Fortunately, 2 hands on the rail, and this got nothin’ on riding the horn, rafting through the Grand Canyon.  The wave did knock the anchor chain out of the gypsy though.  Cool, I was right there to replace it.  The breakwall was a welcome sight, and the Admiral got on the VHF to make arrangements for our stay.  Our French boat neighbors in Quebec City helped her make a cheat sheet with all the necessary terms and phrases.  Port or Starboard, what is the depth, my length, beam, and draft is and etc.  MDO took French in high school, and then again in college, so she does pretty well on her own, but our buddies, Guy and Lise, really refined her rap.  She’s been doing it so well, that she sounds like a native speaker.  Only problem is, when they go off script, there’s a lot of dead air on our side.  I, on the other hand, am hopeless.  I can ask for a beer, the restroom, and extra anchovies-what else do I need? Tied up at Rivierre au Renard at 0530.  The docks are brand new on the pleasure boat side of this heavily commercial fishing port.  You wouldn’t want to fall into the water, though.  Lotsa’ fish guts, with a rainbow sheen of diesel fuel to complete the soup.  The harbor was super picturesque, though, with all of the brightly colored fishing trawlers stacked a couple deep in places along the wall, anticipating the gale which will blow the rest of the day today into tomorrow.  The Girl is happy with all her big brothers and sisters around her.  She wants to grow up to be just like them some day.  What a great call to come here.  A working fishing port (the largest in Gaspesie), a fish processing plant, and a great staff at the public dock.  Suzanne and I do the usual recon over to the commercial dock, where a boat is unloading tons of Turbot, layering them into containers with shovels full of ice.  They’re then loaded onto a semi with a forklift, bound for who-knows-where.  There’s a chandlery (marine hardware store) for the commercial fleet here.  Darn, sign says ferme @ 1500hr, and it’s 1530.  The counterman sees me at the door and comes out to let me in.  He speaks a little English (way better than my aforementioned French), so we chat it up a little bit, and before I know it, I’ve got plans to change The Girl’s oil tomorrow (a few hours ahead of time, but she’ll like it).  How can I resist his offer to deliver 5 gallons of oil to the boat, and pick up my used oil afterword in the 2 buckets that he will provide?  Kindness to strangers is what these folks in “the East” are all about, almost without exception.  After the oil is changed the next day, we’re off to the post office, then searching for a machin d’argent (ATM), and of course, bierre.  Two out of three isn’t bad, the ATM can wait.  The processing plant has its’ own poissonnerie, so we have to check it out.  More fish purchased, along with hors d’oeuvres (pickled whelks, and dried salt cod).  The nice lady with the scary looking husband (tats, wifebeater, shaved head, and lotsa time in the gym) said the salt cod was good with beer-How could I resist her recommendation?  On the way out, her hubbie held the door for me “after you, Monsieur”.  You know what “they” say-Looks can be….  After cocktails, we’re hoping to have some friends over in the next few days to pawn off the salt cod (maybe it’s just an acquired taste).  The whelks were pretty good.  To be fair, during our travels today, we found out that one of the Captains fell asleep at the wheel, and ran his fishing trawler up on the rocks, then came back to the harbor with an arterial bleed of diesel fuel from the ruptured hull.  They got the boat hauled before it sank, so all is well, except the diesel in the harbor.  We’ve got a fuel truck coming in the morning.  Only need a couple hundred gallons, but it’s relatively cheap with the fishing fleet here, and it’ll probably hold us until the end of the summer.  The Harbormistress says she’ll have them come at 0800, but they’re always late, so come up to the office in the morning, and we’ll call them again.  All this communication is through a lady sailboater who speaks a little English as the Harbormistress speaks none.  That night, there’s live music on the porch of the marina.  The band was rockin’, but there’s something not quite right about ZZ Top’s La Grange sung in French.  0800, and the truck is here.  We are fueled up by 0900, and on our way for a 40 mile run to L’Anse-a-Beaufils, by way of Perce Rock, supposedly the most-photographed natural wonder in Canada.

Gotta go, the Admiral needs a deck hand.

Au Revoir

P.S. Pictures take forever with the slow internet.  I'll do it if we get a faster connection

 

 

 

Au Revoir 

Hi Y’All,

The trip to Charleston for the Admiral’s family reunion was uneventful, although clearing customs and catching our next flight in an hour and fifteen minutes at JFK was kinda tight.  Thank goodness for Nexus cards.  Told a Customs officer about our tight connection, and he walked us to the front of the line that snaked twice around the room, opened the barrier with a “have a nice day, folks”, and we were on our way.  Our niece, Emily, a Charleston resident, picked us up at the airport, and the three of us bar-hopped through the barrier islands to Wild Dunes Marina, where we met the rest of the gang (8) for lunch while we waited for our beach house to be cleaned and readied for our week of fun in the sun.  During the week, the gang swelled to 20, but no one went hungry or thirsty (we know the drill, been doing this for 28 years or so).  3 books, and lots of beach time for me is typical of these vacations, where we all parallel play, meeting on the porch for cocktails and chatter before dinner every evening.  Suzanne is a great cook and organizer, and her sisters Sharon and Sheila are no slouches in this department either-Betty Ford and Weight Watchers cross my mind often after our annual Julyfest.  The high point for me (and the Admiral) was having our Alison’s beau, Ben ask me if he could marry her.  Awesome-another kid to worry about (just kidding-sorta).  Problem was we had to keep our mouths shut, as he hadn’t asked her yet.  Back at the Girl, we found a boat card tucked into our door from “My Dreams”, a 42’ Krogen moored in the marina.  Unfortunately, between cleaning Alizann, farmers marketing, butcher shopping, and entertaining our neighbors, Guy and Lise-all in 25 hours, we couldn’t hook up with Ted and Sue who had spent the day touristing in Quebec City.  Hope to catch them along the way.  Had to catch the tide at 0400, so spent the night in the outer commercial harbor as the lock into the marina didn’t open until 0700.  The pilot boats going in and out at flank speed didn’t do wonders for a peaceful night, but we were wide awake at 0’Dark-thirty so left early.  Quebec City from the river at night was a sight, as many of the old buildings are illuminated, standing out beautifully against the moonless sky.  Eight hours later, when we arrived at Cap A L’Aigle, our stop on the way to the Saguenay, it was blowing around 17-20 knots, and we were happy to be there, as the seas were building (steep, close lake waves-not long ocean waves).  Not a lot to share about this stop, just an overnight.  Severe wind warnings were in effect for the following day, so we thought we might get stuck.  After checking the weather charts, our prediction was no wind until afternoon.  At 0500, the winds were light and variable, so off we went.  By 0700, winds were sustained at 24, with gusts in the 30’s.  Three hours later, we were happy to be at Tadoussac, the opening to the Saguenay.  So sorry, the docks are almost full, and your boat will overload them in this heavy wind-#@!&!!.  No way to anchor here in this wind and with water this deep.  Up the way to Anse St. Jean.  This time, the Admiral calls them on the phone-no problem, we’ll keep a space for you-whew!  The next few hours, we’re beating up the river in 28 knot winds which are howling down the fjord.  We’re in whale country, but there is no way to see ‘em, as the tops are blowing off 3 foot waves.  Turn the corner into the bay, and the waves subside somewhat, but the wind is still fierce.  MDO talks to the marinadude, he takes one look at us with the binocs, and tells us no way we’re coming in there in this wind-strike two.  Up at the head of the bay, there’s little wave action, and the wind is down to 15.  The bottom shoals up quickly from over 150’ to 5, so there’s little room to drop an anchor.  If the wind changes, the Girl will be laying on her side on the bottom when the tide goes out.  Looks like the wind will stay steady for the night, so we shoot the hook down for a good grab on a silty bottom.  Our dinghy ride over to the marina doesn’t reveal a pretty picture.  All the boats (and docks), are rockinanrollin’, creakinanbangin’-looks like a real puker at the marina tonight.  In spite of this, the place is pretty proud of their docks-they want $10 Canadian francs to tie up the tender and go in to town to spend money on dinner and trinkets and trash.  No can do, bucko-it isn’t the dough, it’s the principle.  Back to our calm, but shallow anchorage for some red meat off the grill.  That’s what I’m talkin’ about!  Shallow water was a non-event, wind stayed steady.  Early A.M., and they’re pouring out of the marina like rats from a sinking ship.  Late breakfast, and we’re off to Baie Eternite (the prettiest anchorage in the Saguenay).  Cruising guides say that there are 8-10 mooring balls in the bay, as it’s too deep to anchor,200+ ft.  As we round the corner, cool, only four boats on the moorings.  Not cool, there are only 4 moorings to be seen.  We’ll do a drive-by and see if anyone’s leaving.  We approach the first; the Admiral shoots across a greeting in French, and gets the reply “we don’t speak French”.  Okay….So this American couple from Atlanta, doing the Down East route and is leaving on the tide in 2 hours.  We just hung and waited after I launched the dinghy and went in to shore to pay for the mooring.  Samuel, the ranger and I had a long conversation, made longer by the fact that he spoke very little English, and I very little French.  When he discovered that the Admiral is a marine biologist, he ran back to his boat to get a flag for our boat indicating the we were “Ambassadors of the Saguenay”, as well as phone numbers to call and report any whales in trouble, or humans not following the guidelines.  When I returned to our little ship, the Admiral was happy, happy, and happy.  Lunch, then on the ball by 1300, and we were off to hike to a statue of the Virgin, some 500 metres above the bay, and erected in the late 1800’s-good story, I think Suz will fill in the details.  When we returned a few hours later, the Girl was riding peacefully, as the wind had died.  Quick cocktail cruise before dinner took us past “Sunshine Express”, owned and crewed by Robert and Michelle, a couple from Quebec City.  After yakkin’ for a few minutes, they invited us aboard, and regaled us with tales from their 30 years of cruising from the St. Lawrence to the Bahamas.  They shared some favorite spots with us, and were just a delight to be with.  Finding our way home on this moonless night was a challenge for me, but MDO had us dialed in.  Just when I started to doubt her, the Girl loomed up out of the darkness about 20 feet ahead of us (no lights, ‘cause we were just going on a short cruise before dinner).  Dinner is overrated, bed is good.  After Robert telling us that we had seen the best of Saguenay, we decide to cruise back to Tadoussac to spend the night, and, hopefully, see some whales.  We’re beginning to feel jinxed, as we haven’t seen any yet.  From all reports, we thought this would be like our trip to Antarctica, where you saw a whale every time you turned your head.  On our way down the fjord, Suz spotted a pod of Belugas from over a mile away.  We crept over, and watched as about 20 or so cruised up the bank, moving upstream.  They are a stunning, pearly white, and just take their time ambling up the shore, cruising inches below the surface, and breaching (sorta) every few seconds.  Back at Tadoussac, we are refused a dock space again (strike three).  It’s late in the afternoon, and there are high wind warnings again, but we’ll cross the St. Lawrence and make our way 30 miles or so to Anse L’Orignal, a fairly sheltered anchorage.  Two hours into the trip, the wind comes up as promised, but its 20 knots on our stern.  We round into Anse L’Orignal (Moose Bay) after sunset, and anchor in 20 knot winds just before dark.  There are 2 sailboats in there as well, and we’re all rockin’ and rollin’.  Winds are now gusting to 32, and the wind generators are howling, but it’s a pretty big bay, and we have plenty of chain out, so we’re sleepin’ tight.  Get up at first light, and one of the sailboats is gone, the other pulling anchor.  We’ll be on our way after breakfast for the short run into Rimouski,QC.

Bon Jour mon amis,

I’ve been bad, bad, bad.  Where do I start?  The transit of the Richelieu Rapids was a non-event.  It was a narrow channel, but no commercial stuff coming the other way.  We had a big guy a couple of miles behind us, but after some hasty calculations, and not some minor debate, we decided that he wouldn’t catch us until we were out the other side.  Immediately after exiting the rapids, PortNeuf was hiding behind an old freighter breakwall, augmented with a newer stone one.  We threaded our way in the “S shaped” entry, and found ourselves in a square, well-protected little marina.  There was only one dock big enough to hold us, so in we went.  We started out on a fairly long dock, where they also sold gas, but by the time that the harbormaster quit saying “pull forward, pull forward” (in French), we were wedged between the dock and a 20 foot finger with about 3’ to spare on either side, bow in (more on that later).  So, I pay Annabelle, the high school aged marina gal for the nights’ stay, and happen to mention that if she looks like her Mom (who I met earlier, and doesn’t parlez vous anglais), when she grows up, she will be very pretty.  The restaurant here is a good one, and the only one for quite a few miles, so making an earlier reservation was helpful.  The deck dining area is right above the yacht club’s patio, and I hear 2 women below my table chatting it up about how that American told Annabelle that her “Mommy was pretty”. I lean over the rail, and it’s Mom talking to one of her friends.  She blushes ever so slightly, and then asks me if I’d like to take a look at her bateau.  Given that the Admiral is in the washroom, I politely decline, as I value my life.  The next day at the time of our scheduled departure, the wind is blowing 24 knots, with gusts to 30 or so, with high wind warnings until midnight.  There isn’t much of a village, and the Catholic Church is in disrepair and locked.  They do have a bar, however, so after our 5 mile power walk, a few brews are in order.  Back to the boat, and dinner there, as the restaurant is pretty proud of their food (as evidenced by the prices).  After dinner, the wind calms down, and I think that we should turn the boat around to get ready for our morning exit.  Had a little redpop with dinner, so we figure we’ll just turn and leave in the A.M., as the winds are predicted to be light and variable.  Wake up to the 17 knot light breeze (we’ll talk about the veracity of Canadian weather forecasts later), and curse ourselves for not taking “the bird in the hand” last night.  Turning the boat in a 64 foot space (we’re 53 overall) becomes a production, as everyone around feels obliged to help, and offer advice without being able to speak a word of English.  We retie after turning, as we now have to take tide and current into account for our travels, and it’s not time to leave yet.  This really gets everyone on the dock’s panties in a wad, ’cause they just can’t understand these crazy Anglais.  By the time we’re ready to leave, the wind is a sustained 20-good call on turning the Girl early.  Just a quick comment about tides and currents.  Since Trois Riviere, the St. Lawrence River has been tidal, that is, sometimes the current is withya, sometimes agi’nya.  It can be as much as a 7-9 knot swing, depending on the state of the tide.  So…you don’t just travel when it suits you, you have to look down the line and calculate time, speed, and distance, and the state of the current on different segments of your course.  This is aided, in our case, by “The Atlas of Tidal Currents of the St. Lawrence River”.  Very important when you’re travelling in an 8 knot boat.

By 1300, the Girl is stern-to at the Port of Quebec (Quebec City), not without a little drama, as the young lady (who can’t see this whole huge marina from where she sits) is on the VHF, telling us to pull into a slip that already has a boat in it.  Who’s there to catch our lines?  Bill and Lauren (remember them?-Grand Banks Classic).  They’re fresh from Ottawa, and Canada Day, feelin’ real proud to be Canadians, and we want to hear all about their trip.  We take a look across the fairway, and there on the wall are “Texas Ranger” and “Spirit Journey”.  Lauren has wanted to meet Ron from “S.J.”, as they have carried on an email correspondence (long story about Krogen blogging), but haven’t met.  You know how much we hate parties, but it’s time to take one for the team.  A couple of calls on the VHF, and its cocktails aboard “Alizann” at 1800.  One of our Quebecois friends, Clairmont fondly calls these get togethers “5 to 7’s”-I don’t know if this is endemic to the region, or just one of his personal “isms”.  Anyhow, one thing leads to another, and soon we are all out in the Old Port, foraging for food.  A good time had by all, but an early night as the other Krogens are off on the tide at 0700, and we have tourist stuff to do tomorrow.  Quebec is really two cities, an old and a new.  Like Montreal, they have gone to great pains to preserve their rich heritage.  The Old Port, and area inside the old city wall could be any small village in western Europe.  With Bill and Lauren, we walked just about every inch of the old city.  After breakfast in an Old Port bistro, we walked every street, window shopping (and more).  Then it was a ride on the funicular up to the high ground, where the Chateau Frontenac, fort, Citadel and the Plains of Abraham (a sight of 2 historic battles-English and French) are located.  Next to the Citadel was an amphitheater, where some rockers were doing sound checks, and just havin’ a good time rockin’ some familiar riffs from various artists.  Of course, we had to see what was going on, so we strolled over to make some inquiries-Oh yeah, Billie Joel is the headliner for the Quebec Music Festival this week, and he’s playing tonight-cool.  From there, we walked the top of the old city wall from beginning to end.  Along the way, we had to stop at a few incredible churches, including the Notre Dame basilica and the Ursiline Nuns Monastery.  The day morphed into evening, and after a 5 to 7 at Bill and Laurens’ (where she informed us that her pedometer had recorded something like 8,990 steps today), we finished with dinner in an Old Port restaurant, with the promise of more fun stuff in the morning.  Sadly, Lauren was a bit under the weather, and anyway, they had to reprovision for their next days’ departure, so we left them, carrying an invite for dinner at their place after our day.  Suzanne and I walked up to the John Baptiste quarter, which is old, but not too touristy, where the Admiral found an “Aveda” salon.  (I don’t know much about this stuff, but our friend Jeff, who cut MDO’s hair for 20 some-odd years, told her that those were the places to go when out of town).  Yep, they could take a walk-in at 1330, and yep, they liked doing short hair, so the deal was on.  Killed a few hours going through the small neighborhood marches (markets), butchers, vegetables, cheeses, specialty foods and etc., as well as getting a personal guided tour of (of course) the St. John the Baptist church by a Master’s student from France.  Oh, did I forget?  There’s also the chocolate museum (actually a chocolate shop with a funky little “museum” attached) - a good spot to get a little gift for tonights’ hostess.  While Suz was getting sheared, I had a bierre at a sidewalk bistro, and watched the peeps.  Musta’ been close to the college, as there were lots of tats, piercings, and generally a predominately youngish population-good fun.  The Admiral was happy, happy, happy.  Short hair again.  On the way back to the boat, we stumbled upon another music venue, and listened for a while to some French-Canadian Hiphop.  Down the road was a street performer from the local street performing community (yes, there really is one) who entertained us for a bit.  Had to get back, as we were flying out the next morning at 0500 for the family reunion in Charleston, SC.  Bags packed, boat buttoned up, we ask Lise and Guy, our Quebecois boat neighbors if they will watch our babies (herb garden) while we are gone.  Heck yeah, and our boat too, if we’d like.  I love boaters.  Dinner at B & L’s, home too late, and up too early (0300), and off to the International airport on July 13th.  I’ll fire this up into space, and catch up in the next few days, got to catch the tide now.  No pictures, cause I’m on somebody’s home network up here in the Saguenay fiord with my Rogue, and it’s SLOW.  So slow, it didn't go.  Now I'm even behinder-I'll get some stuff written tomorrow-11 hour day.

 

Bon Jour,

A cool and overcast day greets us on this “We’re going to Montreal” day.  A couple of locks, connected by a 20 mile, man-made ditch, imaginatively named Chenal Sud (south canal), and we’re in the big city.  Wouldn’t be much to talk about if we hadn’t had a hydraulic overheat alarm screaming at us in this narrow channel between the locks.  Fortunately, no freighters, so non-essential hydraulics shut down, and we do a U-turn to get to an emergency anchorage about a mile back.  Meantime, I’m down in the engine room.  The strainer for the cooler looks good. So I pop the top, open the seacock, and get no water.  Cool, there’s probably a plastic bag or something sucked up against the outside of the thru-hull.  I pull the hose, and reopen the valve-whoosh, lotsa’ water!  Looks like the end of a stick in the hose, so I give it a yank-Nothin’ honey.  A pair of pliers extracts weed that’s a perfect mold of the inside of the hose, hard as a rock.  Reattach hoses, open seacock, and we got water.  Shoot the cooler with infrared pyrometer(thermometer).  Temp. dropping means we didn’t fry the impeller when it ran dry-unheard of!  As I emerge from the 110 degree engine room, the Admiral reports that we’re almost to the anchorage.  No need, another U-ey, and we’re back on track.  While we’re waiting at the next (and last) lock, all other strainers (engine, generator, and air conditioning) are checked-all good.  Rounding Isle St. Helene, we are banging our heads against a 5-6 knot current.  As the Girl’s top speed is around 9 knots in calm water, she’s getting a cardio workout while blasting along at 2.1 knots.  45 minutes through these swirling waters, with the wave tops blown off by a 15 knot headwind give the Captain time to think about contingency plans in the event of a mechanical failure.  Better not to verbalize these thoughts at this time.  Anyhoo, the wind blows the clouds away as we approach the Montreal Yacht Club, our home for the next few days, and after a call on the radio, we get our fenders hung for a bow-in, portside tie.  Only problem is, that the guys on the dock inform us, is that you’re not allowed to bow-in.  Okay, change all fenders while hanging in the narrow fairway, and back in blind, as the bridge is covered, and I’m driving from the pilothouse with the Admiral whispering instructions in my ear over the two-way radio.  Can’t help but notice our new neighbor standing on the deck of her brand-new Azimut 53 (fa$$$t trawler), with her bitch-wings* on, guiding me in with the laser stare.  Better to be lucky than good.  We’re here.  Lots of adrenaline, and it’s only 1300hrs.  After tidying up the Girl, paying the rent, and etc., a walk is in order.  The marina is in a part of town called Vieux(old) Port.  If you didn’t know better, you’d think that you were in Europe.  The warehouses and old city buildings, built from the 1700’s on, are well-preserved, and beautifully restored.  Since Canada Day(their 4th of July) is tomorrow, it’s a holiday weekend and things are hopping.  Restaurants look kind of touristy, so into the Marriott to confer with the concierge.  Got the perfect place for traditional French cuisine. 5 or 6 blocks, and 2 alleyways later, we’re asking the maître d’ for un table pour deux.  OMG!  He has a tux on, there’s crystal, china, and silver on linen tablecloths.  Normally, wouldn’t get too excited by that, but I’ve got cargo shorts, flipflops, and a T shirt on.  I bring this to his attention (as if).  No problem, we look “grand”.  Great dinner, good service, good story.  Next day is exploration day.  Needless to say, we put on some miles (around 10, we figure) on foot, then 8 or 10 more on the double-decker tourist trolley.  On foot, we hit every Catholic church (there are lots) from Vieux Port to the International and Financial Districts.  The underground city is also a must-see.  It’s a series of underground shopping malls, interconnected, and stretching for miles below downtown.  Supposedly the largest of its’ kind, and pretty cool.  A trip to the “marine hardware store” as recommended by our friend, Scottie, takes us to a part of the waterfront that we might normally miss.  It’s Canada Day today, and they’re closed.  Peering through the dirt-encrusted windows, it’s clear (sorta’) that we’ll need to come back tomorrow.  (Checking out the hardware store in any town that we visit is compulsory for Yours Truly.  It’s almost a religious experience).  Hit the Chamber of Commerce (equivalent), buy billets for the tourist bus, and we’re off for a driving  tour, highlighting the different districts of the city, culminating with a climb up Mount Royal, the city’s namesake.  When we get to the trolley’s central hub, we gotta get off, and it seems that the busses are done for the day-no more hop on hop off.  What’s another mile or so walk?  Did I mention that it’s 90 degrees?  Our dogs are barkin’ by the time we return to the Girl after stopping at the Cirque De Soleil ticket office for front/center tickets-tomorrow’s performance.  Fireworks are in order for tonight.  Good news is that they’re over the river, and our boat is the perfect viewing platform-Whew!  Shopping day today, so off come the bikes.  The trip to the hardware store is a lot quicker than yesterday.  Oh Yeah, this place is the real deal.  More of a supplier of navigation equipment and charts for the big guys than your typical marine store, but they’ve got a hodgepodge of small stuff too.  The guy working the counter is a part timer, being a retired radar and systems designer from the Canadian military.  The real business is going on behind a stack of crates at a computer terminal, where a young lady is busy on the phone and computer, filling orders for the big boats.  2 hours later, after coming in needing nothing, we’re back on the road with $180 Canadian francs worth of oddsnends, and an earful of politics, navigational issues, and the general state of world affairs (I love talking to people).  Armed with a recommendation, it’s lunchtime, then off to the grocery store for fresh fruit and veggies.  I was amazed that a 12 pack of Labatts was only $12.99.  By the time taxes were added, over $18.  I guess that’s the price you pay for the superior (hahaha) health care system.  –sorry, couldn’t resist.  I think that this is our 4th Cirque De Soleil performance, but they never get old.  Canwegoagain?  Canwecanwecanwe?  July 3rd, and time to depart.  Our trip down with the current gives the Girl a personal best 13.2 knots at ¾ throttle.  After the glandular trip in Montreal, MDO and I are looking for a quiet anchorage tonight.  The bill is filled with a spot in the Sorel Islands.  This is a group of low-lying Islands at the west end of Lac St. Pierre.  Kind of out of the way by land, and the cottages, some shacks, some with generators and satellite dishes, are only accessible by boat.  All of the structures are on stilts, much like places in the low country of South Carolina.  It’s so pretty here, that we stay 2 nights, enjoying the sunny days, and cooler temperatures, exploring the bays and islands by dinghy.  On Saturday, the 5th, we’re off to Trois Rivierres.  We anchor off the public beach at the river’s mouth, as the charts show no detail farther up the river.  Even though we’re still on the Seaway, there’s very little current here.  The water flowing out of the river is full of tannins, which make it kind of a black tea color, whereas the Seaway water is your typical turbid blue-gray.  There is a clear line where the river and Seaway currents are fighting to a draw, as evidenced by this change in color (sorry-geeked out for a minute there).  We anchor just inside the line.  CRIKEY!  These Canadians do NOT waste a Saturday!  There’s a beach volleyball court set up, complete with loudspeakers, a D.J., decibels to spare, and a crowd to match. Sail and power boats, jet skis, kite sailing, paddleboarders and waterjet boot play. We have ring side seats for the Cirque D’eau a Trois Rivieres.  I’m layin’ on the boat, catchin’ some rays with my ear on the deck, and I think that the generator’s still on.  Thump! Thump! When I get up and find that it’s not, I realize that it’s the hull vibrating from the French disco music on the beach, even though we’re 500 yards away.  If Salaberry was cooking a few Saturdays ago, this place is on steroids.  We notice again that Canadian boaters have a different concept as to what constitutes a close quarters situation.  Boats whip by at speed, and so close that you can tell the eye color of its’ passengers.  Oh well, what a circus, but all’s well that ends well.  At 1630, sharp, the party’s over.  Music stops, rafted boats break up, and the crowds on the beach thin out.  We had kinda hoped that things would go on a little longer, as it was fun spectating.  It’s been windy and sunny all day, so I’m a happy camper.  The solar panels and wind generators are “puttin’ money in the bank”-I love not having to run the generator.  The wind stays up all night, and the morning dawns gray with high wind warnings issued for the whole day.  We have a shot of chain out in 13 feet of water, and we haven’t moved a yard, so we feel comfortable leaving the boat for an explore by tender.  As we are unloading “White Star”, I spot 2 trawlers about 2 mile away heading toward us.  Suz grabs the binocs.  “They look like Krogens” says I, “They are” says she, “48’s”.  We fire up the AIS**, and discover that they are “Texas Ranger” and “Spirit Journey”, both owned by folks that we met at the Krogen rendezvous in Solomons last Fall.  A quick chat on the VHF confirms that they are heading to the marina in the next bay over.  After a 2 hour exploration of the 3 branches of the river in the tender and banging the crap out of the prop (but no need for a sheer pin, Andy), we’re at their boats catching up.  Looks like we’ll see them in Quebec City in a few days.  Still blowing like stink, and the high wind warnings are on for the next few days, we up anchor the next day, for a short trip to Batiscan River, a quiet anchorage a few miles from the village of Batiscan (pop. 1000).  It’s shallow there, so we come in on the low tide-the theory being that if we run aground, the tide will lift us off when it comes in.  No worries, we glide in over a shallow depth of 6.3 feet (we draw about 5 and change right now), and anchor in 9 feet.  We keep the amount of chain out to a minimum, as the boat reverses direction when the tide moves in and out, and there isn’t a lot of room to swing.  Pretty cool spot.  Very natural, except for a clearing on the other side of a grove of trees, where there sits a high end trailer-type park.  There are some very expensive looking land yachts there, which are obviously weekend getaway spots.  Attached is a little marina, which looks like the parking spot for the boats, attached to these R.V.s.  We dinghy’d over and walked around.  Only a few people at home, I guess most at work in a city somewhere.  They had a very nice, brand new restaurant/bar at the place too-unfortunately, closed on Monday.  Somebody put a lot of Canadian francs into developing this place-I hope that it works out.  By the way, they have an open internet, hence me slaving away over a hot keyboard, waiting for the tide to be right at the Richelieu Rapids.  Gotta go soon.  Tuna sandwich delivered by the Admiral.  It’s still windy, but sunny.  Should be a good day to shoot the rapids, and then overnight at Portneuf before Quebec City.

Au Revoir,

Marty

**AIS-automated identification system.  It’s basically a transmitter/receiver similar to a transponder on an airplane.  It transmits your boats vitals-name, size, speed, course, destination, etc.  It receives same info from other boats that are equipped with AIS systems.  The gizmo then uses algorithms to compute closest point of approach, time to closest point-basically, probability of collision for the vessels.  It displays this info on your electronic chart.  Pretty cool, ‘cause it can see “around the corner” and farther than radar in most situations.  It is required on commercial vessels, but can be installed on pleasure craft. 

Yo,

A few hours of motoring through the Bay of Quinte brings us to Kingston, Ont.  It’s the bomb!  Once the capital of Upper Canada, it still retains its’ regal style.  The thunderstorms have chased us all day, and the sky looks like they’re going to catch us real soon-like.  It’s super calm, and the surface of the water is like that jar of mercury that we’d marvel at in eighth grade science class (before rolling it around in our bare hands and spilling some on the floor-explains a lot about the present brain damage).  Nonetheless, weather radar shows storms bearing down on us, and we are not to be disappointed.  The harbor whips up into a froth, and the Girl is soon strainin’ at her lines.  No worries, we be laffin’.  Weather passes, off to dinner.  Chez Piggy (Anne’s suggestion-you remember Anne)  presents us with an eclectic selection of Canadian and nouvelle cuisine.  We order Meguisharah(sp?) oysters.  Never heard of ‘em, but WTH?  Tender little guys, and very sweet too.  Hope we’ll see them again, as they are from back East.  Great dinner, wine list questionable.  Next morning-warm and humid.  Andy and Jody should be here for cocktails tonight, so cleaning, unpacking their linens, trip to the super and farmers markets are in order.  (I can’t be trusted food shopping, so guess who’s cleaning?).  I’m rewarded with a chocolate almond piece of goodness that the Admiral has picked up at the bakery we spotted yesterday.  All is (almost) forgotten.  It’s hot, humid, and sunny, but the weather radar shows dogmeat (storms) stretching all the way back to Michigan-think A & J driving.  Looks like rain is imminent, but we throw our bikes on the free ferry to Wolfe Island, home of one of Canada’s largest wind farms.  What a shocker (no pun), they don’t grow wind there, they harvest electricity FROM the wind.  690 volts from each turbine (X86 turbines), boosted to 24,000 volts before shooting over to the mainland, where it is boosted again to around 200,000 volts, and injected into the grid.  Sorry to burden you with my nerdiness, but I love this stuff.  Our 20 mile tour brings us back to the ferry dock where the locals have graciously built a pub with outdoor seating-Beer us!  A & J are in the parking lot that used to be called the 401 in Toronto.  No worries, MDO will whip a boat dinner, and we’ll wait cocktails for them (yeah, right).  They’re here, and the rain that has been following them all day is hot on their tails.  No sooner than we get their stuff on the boat, it lets loose.  Lightning and torrents of rain-as Andy would say, “a real turd-floater” (think this has to do with latrines, and Viet Nam).  The next several days has us all doing the tourist thing in the Thousand Islands area.  Lots of self-guided tours, trolley rides, tour boat rides, castles, museums, forts and etc, zigzagging from Canada to the U.S.A. Without lots of details, let me just say-trolley tour of Kingston, Canada’s military College (our West Point), Fort Henry, restored Coast Guard cutter and museum, Antique Boat Museum, Boldt Castle, Singer Castle, and lots of cottage(?) gawking, finally ending in Brockville, Ontario, where Andy & Jody will catch the VIA (train) back to Kingston and their car. We do a mixture of marina and anchor out nights, jumping between nature and man made.  Did I mention that Andy is the self proclaimed (and highly acclaimed by all he feeds) “Grillmeister”?  Jody holds her own in the Hors Douvre creation department, so with Suzanne’s able direction, we were not hurtin’ for food.  The Admiral will fill you in with some details regarding sites, attractions, and etc., I’m sure.  Gotta say a few words about our buds, A & J.  They gave us our first fix, starting a lifetime of addiction.  When we camped with 2 kids in our 19’ runabout, they were the Mothership that we followed and rafted to on weekend and then weeklong cruises.  They sponsored our membership in The Great Lakes Cruising Club.  Our children were about the same ages, so we shared in their successes, commiserated on their needs for improvement, and supported each other as only true friends and confidants do.  You get the picture.  This visit was our third on the Girl, the first being on her maiden voyage from Solomon’s, Maryland to Troy, NY, the second being to Isle Royale in Lake Superior.  After cruising together for 25 years on our own boats, it’s super comfortable having 4 heads together, running the Show.  We were sad to put them in their cab at Brockville, but will look forward to the next time that we see them.  Guests gone.  Time to……CLEAN.  Four hours later, the Girl is spiffy inside and out, the guest linens are clean, vacuum-bagged, and stowed away.  Last stroll through the Brock, uno mas cervesa (oh, that’s a year down the line), and we’re all done in for the night.  Brockville was definitely a great stop, with the exception of no Wi-Fi (as was advertised, but this ain’t my first bait-and-switch), and hey, the world will still be turning when we reconnect.  Sunny and 70 degree weather with puffy cotton-ball clouds sees us off in the A.M..  A short cruise with the current takes us to the backside of Toussaint Island, about ½ mile above Eisenhower Lock, where our dynamic (?) duo will spend the night, mostly out of the current (.5 knot).  We haven’t done these locks before, and as they are pay-as-you-go, a recon mission is in order.  White Star* is over the side, and off we go to chat with the lockkeeper.  Talk about a contrast from the Trent/Severn!  The lock cannot be approached from land.  There’s a wall to tie up at, and a closed circuit phone to talk to the officials on, all behind a tall security fence.  I call, and chat it up with the lock tender, and he gives me the drill.  Oh, by the way, he knows that we are up behind the island, because he has a security camera in that bay (note it’s a half mile away).  I observe that skinny dipping is probably out, and he replies “yeah, that he can see right up there” (not really sure what he meant by that, don’wannaknow.  An old canal, used before the Seaway was built, takes our ride into a very cool lowland with bountiful wildlife.  Blue herons, too numerous to count, a beaver, and a mink are all spotted.  When we turn off the engine, we are greeted by a cacophony of birdsong.  Lock through in the morning, and travel uneventfully on another sunny, 70 degree day.  Our primary depthsounder is acting cranky.  Won’t register any depth over 20 feet.  Call Furuno tech support, and I’m not likin’ what he has to say.  Cha-Ching!  We’ll review further when in Montreal, in the meantime, the backup is purring along.  Early afternoon ends this short travel day outside Cornwall, anchoring in a 2 knot current, on a boulder-strewn bottom.  First time for us in heavy current, and it’s kinda creepy to see the water blowin’ by us when we are not moving.  Uhhhh….not so comfortable leaving the boat, so we work on our tans, and do small boat chores the rest of the day.  Saturday at noon, and we are pulling into Salaberry- de- Valleyfield.  Pretty chill little town with the emphasis on fun.  Not many boats anchored out, so we pick a spot that we think will be out of the traffic pattern-as the other end of the harbor has a fountain in the middle that gushes about 100’ into the air.  Boy, did we get here at the right time!  There are two boats in the harbor when we arrive, and two hours later, there are 52.  With a phalanx of jetskis slaloming between the anchored, rafted, rockanrollin, everybody laffin’ boats, this is a happenin’ spot.  Down goes the tender, the Admiral and I are off to cottagegawk, and check out the town dock.  Whip by the marina to purchase a Quebec flag for the Girl, as a Canadian flag is not entirely apropos here makes us aware that we’re not in Kansas anymore.  Je ne parle pas francais, and you’re in deep merde here.  Good news is, that after we tour the Ancien Chenal, and stop at a local bistro, we are able to use some of our knowinanylanguage the key phrases that get us bierre,  saumon and boeuf tartare-Yum!  Back to the Girl to mix up a little sippy-sippy, and we’re motoring through the anchorage to do a little rappin and boatlovin’.  A guy on a Cruiser Inc. waves us over, and produces a Passagemaker magazine, pointing to an ad for Kadey Krogen (our boat). No, Parlez vous Anglais?  No problem.  Little sign language, lots of broken Francais on our part, and he and his femme are in our tender to go take a tour of the Girl.  When it comes to bateau’s, we all speak the same language-the tour was a hit.  Krogen, sign us up for another commission.  A little Joni Mitchell, then Neil Young to honour our Canadian hosts with dinner, and we’re rackin’ for our early morning anchorup on our one-stop trip to Montreal.  0700, 18 degrees, C, and we’re off.  First bridge has a 3 knot current in the approach-no problem.  Big problem.  The bridgetender ain’t makin’ it happen.  Doing donuts between two caissons in a narrow channel is not our idea of fun.  We’re just about ready to pull off after 15 minutes of this foolishness, and he gives us the green light, raising the draw.  A 55’ Tiara (go fast) runs up our stern, and races us to the next lock (no contest!).  Suzanne checks the name and hailing port (Boyne City, MI) Arriving at the next lock, we find that there’s no room at the inn.  All of the spaces at the wall are taken up by boats waiting to lock through.  Our pal is sitting at the spot that was ours, had proper etiquette been followed.  No worries, we tie up at the upper reach, outside the security fence.  Off the boat, stroll up to the fence to chat with other boaters who have been waiting for 2 hours.    Seems that it’ll be another 2 hours before we can lock through.  Life at 0 knots.  Hers truly comes up with her BIG dog and remarks that she’s trapped like a rat in a cage (behind the security fence), and should have landed where we were.  I can now address her by name (thanks Suzanne) surprising the BeJesus out of her, and let her know that it’s too bad.  (All the while thinkin’ that Karma’s a bitch!).  It’s a beautiful day for a boat ride, and after meeting some very cool Canadian folks on their new boat who rafted up with us through the 2 locks, we’re on our way, with an invitation to visit them at their home on the St. John’s River for steaks and redpop a few weeks down the line.  Montreal is in sight on the horizon, and Lac St. Louis is like the city market on steroids (boats, not cars).  A real shocker to my I’mtheonlyboatonthewater system.  Late afternoon brings us to the anchorage that MDO spotted on the chart, and we’re the only boat there.  6 foot depths don’t scare us any more after our numerous brushes with terra firma in the Trent/Severn.  Stir-fry, la bierre, a gorgeous purple and pink sunset before rack-time.  Tomorrow brings the last 2 locks, and a 5 knot current (against us) till Montreal (home for the next few days).

 Bon Soir,

Martin

***”White Star” is the name of our tender(dinghy).  When we were casting about for a name for the little one, our friends Phillip and Catherine from the U.K. (3 solo transatlantic crossings) had the answer.  As my maternal Grandmother was a Titanic survivor, along with her mother and infant sister, it seemed the perfect way to honor one of my favorite people on the planet, thus, White Star, the Titanics’ parent company.

Loonie Toonie in Canada

 

I don’t know about you but when I travel one of the first things I look at is the country’s money. Beside the obligatory king, queen, president, czar, etc. The money usually has an historic building, animal or pyramid with a scary eye.  I like to ask the locals, “Why is the …. on your money?”  Why is there an Egyptian pyramid with a scary eye as the top on ours? I have no idea.

Canada has some fun money. The “Loonie “ is the $1 dollar coin and you guessed it has a Loon( a northern  duck like bird that has a unique song) on one side and Queen Elizabeth II on the other. It is bronze in color and is the size of our quarter. The “Toonie” is the $2 dollar coin and no it does not have Daffy Duck on the back. It has a polar bear.  It is about the size of our fifty cent coin, has silver outer ring and a bronze colored inner ring.   Canada does not make paper $1 or $2 dollar bills.  The new larger denominations bills, $5, $10, $20, etc. are high tech and appear to be very difficult to counterfeit.  The bills are made of paper but near one end there is a clear Mylar(not sure what it is) strip with a hologram. Good luck trying to photocopy. 

 

One last thing about Canadian money. They no longer make the penny and ignore the penny. For example, if something costs $1.91 and you pay with a “Toonie” you receive ten cents back as change. No looking in the car ashtray for the pennies. Try that is the US! I would bet that there are more Canadian pennies circulating in the US than in Canada.  I love the Canadians!

- The Admiral -

16 June, 2014

Hola Mis Amigos,

Let me just say that the territory between the last 6 locks of the Waterway is unremarkable.  Getting back to civilization-road noise, industrialization, etc.  A bit of rain and drizzle made this gray area grayer.  As we rounded under the highway bridge in West Quinte (formerly Trenton), we rang up Craig on VHF channel 68 at the Frazer Park Marina.  As we backed into our slip, he was there to catch our lines along with our oldnew Canadian pal, Bill (Grand Banks Classic “Sea Star”).  Must be a story here-there is.  Seems that after they left us in Hastings, they were plagued by a recalcitrant transmission which insisted on overheating.  He was well and properly vexed about this, since both trannies had just been rebuilt by one of the best outfits in Ontario.  Delving deeper, the Admiral asks “What type of transmission?”  Velvet Drive.  “Velvet Drives SUCK!” says she, still smarting from an ulcerating wound over 7 years old.  (But that’s a different story about a different boat and not at all positive about the product or the complete and utter lack of customer support).  After agreeing to agree on this matter, it seems that the rebuild shop does understand customer support, and hired a local mechanic, and shipped a part free of charge-couple days lost, everybody happy, happy.  The rest of the good news is that we were able to enjoy Bill (a.k.a. Ed) and Lauren’s company for another evening of dinner and chuckles.  Tomasso’s provided the venue and the good grub.  It’s a very popular place, attested to by the big week-day dinner crowd.  After breakfast, Sea Star was off, and we were ready for some exploration.  The Royal Canadian Air Force Memorial Museum is about 4 km. out of town, and was VERY worth the ride.  When we arrived, a docent latched on to us, and gave us a very thorough Q and A session, as well as some tips and tricks for getting the most out of our visit.  Besides the indoor displays, including a Halifax heavy bomber (the only one in existence), there is an outdoor static display of twenty-five or so aircraft-all Canadian military except three.  Had to get my picture made next to an F-104, my favorite Cold War era jetsled.  Two-and-a-half hours later, back to the boat through a misty drizzle to check the weather and regroup.  New neighbors!  A shiny 34’ American Tug,”Great Laker” is tied next to the Girl.  Anne and Larry are from Michigan and are completing the Great Loop (down the Mississippi, across the Gulf, up the eastern seaboard, across the New York canal system to the Great Lakes).  He says the weather will hold, so it’s off to Mount Pelion, an area of high ground just out of town where Samuel Champlain met with (and probably screwed over) First Nation leaders in the 1600’s.  The view was great, the ride straight up.  Whew!  Gotta get more exercise to go along with that redpop.  Live music at the park, 75 yards from our little ship gave a nice backdrop for dinner cooked aboard.  Postprandial cocktails see Anne and Larry waddling (just kidding) back from Tomasso’s.  Can’t have one without the other (sorta like Temptation and the Hawaiian War Chant for you U-M fans)-How ‘bout comin’ over for a drink?  Yep, Larry’s a Michigan alum, met Anne while living in California, and returned to Michigan around 7 years ago.  They’re headed up the T/S to complete their Great Loop after having their boat on the hard in New York this winter.  As an aside, I think that Krogen should get us on the sales team, as I have acquired TWO hot prospects in just three weeks (just sayin’).  It’s Saturday, and colder (52F).  Quick trip to the Farmers market to pick up some strawberries, and we’re outta’ here.  Get “Great Laker” pushed off the dock, then it’s our turn.  Now that we are underway, I hafta say a few words about Craig and Frazer Park Marina.  It ain’t much to look at (the facility), but has to rank among our most enjoyable stops, due to its proprietor, Craig.  You’d be hard-pressed to find a more gracious and helpful guy.  When we couldn’t find a strong young guy to help us raise our mast, he was right there on our boat helping.  He has a wealth of knowledge about boating and his town, which he is happy to share with you.  Having been there for 17 years, he is fully invested in making sure that his “peeps” are having a good time.  Good Folks.  On our way to Picton, the Girl is telling us that she is happy, happy, happy to have 100 feet of water under her keel, and some room to breathe around her.  Planned to anchor in Picton, but the harbor is so cluttered with mooring balls that we tie up at the town dock, which is in need of major amounts of TLC.  They’re pretty proud of it though, and charge us accordingly.  The town itself is pretty cool, built in the late 1800’s, it looks a lot like many of the other towns and villages along the way.  Revitalized, presumably for the tourist trade, it was pretty vibrant on this sunny Saturday.  On the way home, we checked with the little inn on the harbor to see if we could buy their password, and have interweb on the boat.  Absolutely not!  “Here’s the code, didn’t know it went that far”.  Life at 7 knots in small towns.  Our 10 mile voyage to Prinyers Cove brings us in around 1200.  Sure enough, the bay is littered with mooring balls (all unoccupied).  There is a little marina with a dock to tie up to.  I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I wasn’t born yesterday.  It’s starting to dawn on me that all these balls are producing income for the docks.  We drop anchor in the mooring field, and take a long dinghy ride to cottagegawk.  Dinner off the grill, and a little reading to get our itinerary ready for Andy and Jody after we meet them in Kingston.

See Ya’

12 June, 2014

Hi Y’all,

After 2 nights in Peterborough, it’s time to load up the bikes and get on down the river.  74 degrees and sunny as we pull away from the wall at Lock 20.  Seems that folks are running aground in the middle of the channel below Lock 19, sooo.. we have a chat with the Lockmaster-yes, it’s true, in fact, Wayne (the navigation director of the Waterway) is in the barge setting new ATON’s (aids to navigation-translation-buoys) as we speak.  Down goes the lock, and there is the barge getting’ busy.  We’re through with no problema.  Over the winter, the effluent from the power plant had been depositing silt, making the original channel unnavigable(?), so the channel is moved-simple unles you’re the first boats through in the Spring.  Muskie season opened yesterday, so as we run merrily across Rice Lake, the fishermen are as thick as the Dammit flies were on the boat a week or so ago.  The Admiral is hoping for a pic, so when we pass a boat with one on, we have to stop.  After a valiant fight, our fisherman reels in a huge 7” perch-no muskie picture today.  Hastings Village Marina is our home for the night as we need to get hooked up to some city water to wash all of the pollen (there’s lots), and bugs (there’s more lots) off the boat.  They have a cool system for pumping out your holding tank too, with a setup at each slip, so we get that taken care of too-sorry about the pottie talk.  As we’re finishing up our deck scrubbing, etc., a couple comes by asking about the Girl.  They’re on the Grand Banks Classic that we saw moving towards the Lock earlier(they spent the winter working on her, and she is one pretty girl).  One thing leads to another, Bill and Lauren are soon getting the cooks tour, causing a relapse in their WKV48 (WannaKrogenVirus).  Sure, a little red wine would be nice.  Getting’ late, “what are you guys doing for dinner?”  A few more burgers on the grill, and pretty soon we’re making a night of it-so goes the boating deal.  We’ll probably see them in the St. Lawrence after they do the Rideau Canal.  Breakfast at Banjo’s, and we’re off to Campbellford, whose attractions for us are food-the best bakery in the world, a chocolate factory, and more restaurants than a village its’ size should have.  The town wall at Campbellford is situated at a pretty little town park, with electricity for the boaters-cool.  Off come the bikes as we will stay 2 nights here.  There’s a bike trail along the canal to the next lock,complete with a pedestrian suspension bridge over the rapids, so we take the round trip, which deposits us right in front of the chocolate factory.  Being the good friends that we are, and knowing our pals, Andy and Jody will join us in a week, we take one for the team, and plunge in with empty backpacks.  Mission accomplished.  Chocolate?-check.  On to Dooher’s (evil bakery), where the sticky buns will be coming out of the oven (it’s now 1030-good to have local knowledge of the baking schedule).  Baked goods?-check.  We’ll scope out menus at the restaurants on our way to the grocery store for fresh veggies and fruit.  Back at the boat, something’s been bugging me in the darkest hours of the night for the past week since we kissed the bottom hard.  Out with the SCUBA, into the drink (with a lifeline as there’s a current).  Yep, the bottom of the keel is pretty chewed up, as well as the bottom of one of the wings, but not the deal that I conjured up in my nocturnal musings.  It’ll be fine without repair, but you know I’ll reglass it when the boat is hauled the next time for routine stuff.  While I’m diagnosing a defunct motor starter on the dive tank compressor (What do you guys do on the boat all day?), Eric and Pam, who are doing the Great Loop in their 45’ Carver Voyager stop by for a chat.  They’re from North Carolina, so MDO and they are soon fast friends.  I get the motor starter figured out.  There is a fuse inside a plastic fixture hidden from view that is blown.  Unfortunately, it doesn’t have a friend in the 8,000 (maybe a slight exaggeration) spare fuses that I have on board.  Have to find one when I get to a town with a population of more than 2,000.  Cocktails take us to the civilized hour of 1945, and we mosey up to the restaurant that was closed last night (Monday) for dinner.  They stop serving at 1930-#$@!!&&!  I boldly walk into the kitchen where there are people with sharp knives and let them know how I feel about their work ethic.  Grrrrh.  I’ll show them!  Back to the boat for a gourmet meal of Stacy’s Pita Chips (I’m still waiting to grow up).  Morning brings a driving rain that stays with us all day, making the six locks for the day a kinda wet affair.  We love our dryer.  On route, we pass the Kawartha Queen, a little cruise boat carrying 48 liveaboard passengers to the various sights up and down the Waterway.  Frankford is a cute little village at Lock 6.  Someone in the community had the foresight to install electrical pedestals at the lock wall to encourage boaters to stop (and hopefully, spend some dinero in town).  It works!  9.80 Canadian pesos for hydroelectricity.  Rain looks like it’s passed, we’ll head to Trenton today, the 12th, then off to Kingston, to pick up Andy And Jody.

Hasta Luego!

Pages

Captain's Log

April 24 started out with an early departure.  We got off the dock at Spanish by 07h00, retracing the route taken by the ferry the day before.  It promised to be a pretty day.  The sun was blazing low on the horizon as we motored slowly out through the creek, and between the coral heads to the ocean.  The low sun made it a little unnerving running through the coral, as it was blinding, and its’ low angle made the water black, and unreadable.  We breathed a sigh of relief as the fathometer started reading ever-increasing depths.  Fishing was on the docket, as crossing the New Providence Channel meant lots of deep water.  I had rigged the last of our frozen Ballyhoo (Little fish, about 10”-12” long that the big guys like to munch) the night before, so baited up and got the lines in by 08h30.  We got our first hit at 09h00.  As the line was running off the reel and Suz was coming back to the cockpit, another fish hit the second reel.  Twenty minutes later, we had 2 Mahi, a 47” and a 44” in the cooler.  Within a half hour, the third Mahi was in the cooler, this one a smallish 42 incher.  The Admiral said “No mas!”, but we dragged some artificial lures, anyway.  I guess the fishing gods knew that we had had enough fun for one day, so for the next 6 hours, we rolled along over 1’-3’ seas, enjoying the passage to Great Abaco island, fishless.  Sirius XM radio was playing a Prince tribute, so the tunes kept coming, bringing back some poignant memories for both of us (we’re both Prince fans, and have had some great times while listening to his music). By late afternoon, we were tied to the dock at the familiar Schooner Bay Marina (this is where we started our trip to the Abacos in 2015).  One of my enduring memories of this place was being nearly devoured by the No-see-ums.  I wasn’t disappointed.  The “flying teeth” were out in full force while I stood at the cleaning table filleting fish.  The task was made simpler (if not longer) by my new-found pal, Jack, an 11-year old on the other boat docked here.  He was the fisherman in his family, and he was gonna catch a Mahi, so he would need to learn how to filet one.  He brought his trusty new filet knife to the table with him, so our first task was to learn how to sharpen a knife.  As we went about our task, and impromptu anatomy lesson, he regaled me with the family secrets (as 11-year olds are want to do).  The least damaging went like this: “We didn’t have a very good day yesterday, my Mom especially”.  “Oh, really?”  (Note the open-ended question here) “Yeah, I was casting off the back of the boat, and my hook got caught next to the dinghy.  The dinghy is inflatable, so I was terrified (his word) that I might put a hole in it.  I pulled the line back, and got the hook stuck in me.  These fisher guys were on the next boat, and they came over and tied a string to a hook, told Mom to hold the line tight, and jerked it out.  Well, I guess Mom didn’t hold the line tight enough, ‘cause the hook flew through the air, and landed in her, even deeper.  Then, they did it to her.”  By the way, this story was corroborated earlier in the day, as 2 fishing boats were chatting on the VHF radio.  Well, we got the job done.  Jack got to try out his new filet knife, and my “Really big, really sharp” one, and took a couple pounds of Mahi filets home for his efforts.  (this after he cut the eyes out of the fish, killed about 50 black flies, squirted the washdown hose, sharpened his knife, and chased a few birds-you get the picture).  Mom, Sarah, took half of the fish up to the lodge, where it was cooked for her family’s dinner.  A fun day. I think I’m gonna be a better Grandfather than I was a Father.  Went to bed with a big smile on my face.

What a day.  We were off the dock at Schooner Bay at 0800.  By 0900, as I was putting the second line out, we got a hit on the first one and boated our first Mahi, a 44 incher.  He gave us quite a fight.  I rebaited, and we were trailing 2 Ballyhoo with green/yellow silicone skirts.  Within 15 minutes, as I was cleaning up the blood from the Mahi, one of the reels started.  Click……. Click…. Click, Click, Click………Cliiiiiiiiiiick.  Started real slow, then that reel was screaming out line.  “Fish On!”  I really didn’t need to tell Suzanne, she had already slowed the Girl, flipped on Otto, and was headed back to the cockpit.  The fish jumped, maybe 150 yards out, but I didn’t get a good look at it, because I was focused closer to the boat, but out of the corner of my eye, it sure didn’t look like a Mahi.  Maybe a Wahoo, but it didn’t FEEL like a Wahoo (not enough brute strength).  Suz asked if I wanted the other line reeled in, but I said “no”, ‘cause where there’s one, there may be another.  Twenty minutes later, as we got the fish closer, and got a glimpse before he headed straight for the bottom, we could see that he was some sort of Billfish.  Panic set in.  We had to let him go, but really didn’t know how to go about it.  Suz remembered a fishing captain telling her that you just grabbed them by the bill, removed the hook, and turned him loose.  Yeah, sure.  Anyway, we reeled him up from the depths, and brought him alongside.  Raising him out of the water by the single strand steel leader proved a challenge, as he wasn’t done yet.  Between the two of us, we got him up enough for me to grab his bill, while he resisted frantically.  We snapped a couple of pictures after we untangled him from the second line which I had unwisely had Suz leave in the water, dehooked him, and sent him back to fight another day.  He was only about a 40-pound Sailfish (or maybe my adrenaline was really kicked in), and we wondered what we would do if we hooked a really big Marlin.  Guess that’s another question to ask the next time we meet professionals at a dock.  We put the wide angle lens on one of the camera bodies just in case we had another opportunity.  I’ll be darned.  A half hour later, the same tentative nibble on the bait, then all H, E, double hockey sticks, broke loose.  This time, as the reel was screamin’ out line, I focused on the waaaay out.  Another one.  Suz played him for 15 or 20 minutes, then began the give and take to get him to the boat.  Meanwhile, I reeled in the other line.  After a bit, the ratio of give to take tilted in her favor, and he was alongside.  Another Sailfish!  This one was pretty bloodied, and we were concerned that he might not do so well, but after we shook the hook out, he wallowed for a few seconds, and was off to the races.  The next few hours, we trailed a couple of artificial lures while I went up top and started cleaning the boat.  I was standing on the roof of the pilothouse with a hose in my hand, when Suz laid on the horn, throttled down, and screamed “Fish on”!  By the time I got down to the cockpit, she was on the reel, and nearly 500 yards of line was out.  A second later she said “I think we lost him”.  Boy, did it take a long time to get all that line in.  Done for the day, entered North Bar Cut and headed up Tiloo Cay, where we would anchor for the night.  At anchor, we finished cleaning the Girl, and I filetted the Mahi, while Suz made fresh bread.  She’s calling me for dinner (fresh Mahi), so I gotta go.

-Later

PS Still no net for pics.

Helooo,

I promised a few words about The Island School.  Here goes.  The Island school was founded around 20 years ago, on land donated by the DeVos family (see Amway Corporation, Grand Rapids, Michigan).  Its’ mission is to teach kids to be good stewards of the environment, and good citizens in general.  Curriculum subjects include earth sciences, marine biology, renewable energy, and etc.  The facility generates all their needed power (via wind, solar & biodiesel) and place excess into the Bahamas electric grid. The school has 2 terms of 100 days each, with 50 High School students (mostly sophomores and juniors) living in.  These students are mostly from the States.  Tuition is $30K/ term.   The 70-odd staffs talents run the gamut from teaching to the operation of the schools hydroponic farm, solar and wind generating system, carpentry shop, and daycare center.  In addition to the live-in students, the School hosts camps and field trips for local kids, these being nearly free of charge.  Immediately adjacent to the School, is the Ocean Institute, where current research includes the restoration of the conch population in the Bahamas, as well as the problems that have been created by the introduction of the invasive Lionfish into these waters.  The school pays local fisherman for their Lionfish and subsequently serves them for dinner. After our 2-hour tour, we had barely scratched the surface-check out their website. www.islandschool.org

April 21rst, and it was time to say “goodbye” to Davis Harbour.  What a great little marina-Friendly people, good shelter from all winds, and FAST internet.  Since we had visited Rock Sound and Government Harbours on our road trip, Hatchet Bay would be our stop today.  We had a pleasant, albeit wavy and windy trip under partly cloudy skies.  Along the way, we were entertained by a pod of around 10 Dolphins, one of which was a small youngster.  The Girl got a nice saltwater bath, and was pretty crusty by the time we got to the opening of the harbor.  The harbor is entered through a 90’ wide channel cut through a rocky cliff, which was a bit of a challenge with the 24 knot crosswind/sea.  Once inside, the water was quite calm, but still quite windy.  We had a heck of a time getting tied to the very poorly maintained mooring ball.  After a few tries, we finally got a line on, which promptly wound itself into knots.  Recalling our friend, Ann’s travails with a recalcitrant mooring over a year ago, in which she very nearly lost her leg, requiring medevac, multiple surgeries, and months of rehab, I cut the line loose and left it on the ball.  As we motored to the other end of the bay to drop our anchor, we got a call from another boater on the VHF, asking if we needed help.  He motored over to the ball, and after nearly 15 minutes, managed to get our hopelessly knotted line free.  We returned, and got hooked up, then started sharing stories.  It seems that he saw our hailing port, Charlevoix, MI, and had lived there while he ran a sailmaking shop.  He had a home on Oyster Bay.  We have several friends there, so we had mutual acquaintances.  Now, here’s the crazy part.  Suzanne told him that 20 or so years ago, before we built our present house, we had looked to buy a house on Oyster that had a blue metal roof.  He says “That was my house!” Next, Suz says “Is your last name Gleason?”  I thought he was going to drop dead-I don’t know how she remembers this stuff, we only looked at the house once.    We took down the tender to run in to shore, explore, and pay for the mooring.  The motor ran sluggishly for a few minutes, then died, reeking of gasoline.  After hauling “White Star” back up, and pulling the engine cowling, we found that the gas was coming out of a weep hole in the fuel pump reservoir.  What?  Pulled the pump, emptied the fuel, and took apart the pressure regulator-bad “O” ring.  Into the trusty thousand ring kit.  New “O” ring, and we were good to go.  To shore, for a quick explore and pay the rent on the mooring.  Nobody home at the Front Porch Restaurant (mooring owner), so we stuck a twenty under the welcome mat, and called it good.  Nothing special in Alicetown and Hatchet Bay, except for the arrival of the ferry, which brought the whole town out to the dock.  We headed back to the Girl.  The Gleasons joined us that evening for sips, and we shared chats about mutual friends, and the lake in general.

We delayed our departure until 08h30, so that we would hit Current Cut, on the north end of Eleuthera at slack tide on our trip to Spanish Wells.  It was cloudy and overcast, but the wind and seas were on our stern, so it was a comfortable passage.  The current was still running at 4 knots as we went through the cut, and we thought about breaking out the water skis as the Girl shot through at a blistering 10.2 knots.  The marina at Spanish Wells Yacht Haven was in the final stages of renovation.  The docks were brand new, the swimming pool had just been completed, and some little bungalows were getting their finishing touches.  Translation-we won’t be able to afford this place next year.  We walked the length of Spanish Wells Island(St Georges Cay), and were surprised by the level of cleanliness in general, and the tidy appearance of the houses in particular.  Spanish Wells was first colonized in the early 1630’s by the Eleutherian Adventurers (see Puritans seeking religious freedom).  In fact, the word Eleuthera has its’ roots in the Greek word for “freedom.” Spanish Wells is also the home of the Bahamas fishing fleet. SW provides the majority of the Bahamian lobster for the Bahamas.  Back at home, the brand-new tiki bar at the marina was rockin’ that night, but we just chilled on the boat.  We had a big day planned for the 23rd, taking the ferry over to Harbour Island, the first seat of government in the Bahamas colony, and exploring for the day. The island aka Briland(for the many Briland roosters that wander) was shaped by Loyalist Governor of Virginia, the honorable John Murray(1786-1797). He fled to the Bahamas after being awarded the title of Lord Dunmore, Governor of the Bahamas.

Gotta tell you a quick story, ‘cause it’s still bugging me.  We went into the 8’x8’ ferry office to buy our tickets, and there was an old guy sitting there, apparently just hangin’ around.  As we talked to the nice lady about the ferry, he heard that we were Americans, and wanted to start preaching politics.  He informed us that he was British, but had lived in the Bahamas for sixty years.  Well……he informed us that most of the English really didn’t care for Americans, and thought that we should butt out of their internal affairs (the U.K. is currently thinking about leaving the E.U.).  I’m a tolerant guy, so I let him go on, but when he finally hit a nerve, and our tickets had been purchased, I told him that our experience with the French and English was just the opposite.  Most of the folks in his generation that had any common sense were extremely grateful to the U.S. for bailing their asses out of two World Wars, and that if it hadn’t been for us, he would be speaking German now.  (Door nearly breaks off its’ hinges as Tucks exit stage left).  When we returned that evening, I apologized to the ferry lady for slamming her door.  She said, “Let me tell you something.  He came to the Bahamas in 1942, married a Bahamian woman, and has been here ever since”.  Hmmmmh, can you say “draft dodger”?

Our excursion to Harbour Island was a delight.  As the ferry threaded its’ way through “The Devil’s Backbone”, amongst the numerous shallow coral heads, we plotted the course on the IPad, so we could duplicate it when we left for Great Abaco.  We walked the streets of town, checking out the old buildings, then headed to the pink sand beach, where we bar-hopped for snacks and sips.  Back to Spanish, we hot-footed it up to Food Fair so that we could provision some fresh produce before they closed at 17h00.  Returning to the boat, we found that Gary and his wife Charlene were our new neighbors.  They were having some electrical problems, so I gave him a hand.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t get him fixed, but did get the problem diagnosed so that he could order the necessary parts.  Well……Suzanne busted the mold for my Birthday dinner this year.  No spaghetti and meatballs.  She surprised me with a favorite that we hadn’t had since our last trip to Italy-Vitello D’ Tonnato.  OMG!  The diet really took a hit as we washed down the creamy goodness and pasta with green peas with a great bottle of white.  Every now and then, I forget how lucky I am that she still puts up with me after nearly 38 years.

Okay,  see ya’

 

Crappy internet, so I'll add pics later

Hey!

Boy, do I have a sore butt!  I know, T.M.I.  We hopped on our bikes today after a hiatus of, maybe 3 months.  We thought Lighthouse Beach at the south end of Eleuthera, was about 8 miles away.  Well…….  When we hit 8 miles, we were still in the interior of the island.  Another mile got us to the beginning of the 3.2 mile, brutal, rocky, rutted, washed-out road (?) out to the light.  Boy, was it worth it! (Check out the pics).  We shared our peanut butter sandwich, fruit, and nuts on the deserted beach which is purported to be one of the most beautiful in the world.  We walked a couple of miles on the sugar-fine beach, helping ourselves to the bounty of sand dollars that had washed up during the previous week of heavy winds.  Returning home, we paid the rent at the marina office, polished some stainless steel, and planned our trip up the coast of Eleuthera and to the Abacos.  Our plan is to start tomorrow (the 21rst) morning.

So…let’s back up.  After the kids left, we headed back to Emerald Bay Marina to get the laundry done and clean up the rest of the boat.  A one-day stay was all it took, and we were off to Cat Island again, this time to Arthur’s Town, boyhood home of the actor Sidney Poitier.  We were off the dock at 06h52, and were anchor down at Arthur’s Town eleven hours later.  The trip across the Sound was gorgeous-sunny, 1’ seas, 10 knot winds, 80 degrees.  We laid on the roof of the pilothouse while Otto drove.  Freezers were full, so no lines wet.  At Cat, we were the only boat anchored in the bay.  Thought it’d be a quiet night-not so much.  Julia’s restaurant had a little tiki hut by the beach, and the locals were ROCKIN’!  The music was great, and they were done by 23h00, so it saved us having to pick out tunes on the boat.  We dropped the tender in the morning to go ashore.  It took awhile to find a spot to land, as the shore was pretty rocky, and there were no docks.  Finally, we found a little sandy beach about a half mile south of town.  It wasn’t ideal, but we put out a stern anchor and tied the bow to a tree on shore, holding the boat off.  Arthur’s was a sleepy little village.  I’m guessin’ not more than 50 people living there.  We stopped at Cocktails by the Sea, and had a Coke under the palapa while we talked to Grammy.  She was about 80-ish, and had lived in A Town her whole life.  At one time, it had been booming.  Had a big pier where the “mail boat” came in, bringing supplies for the rest of the coast.  A big storm took out the dock, it was rebuilt elsewhere, and the town slowly spiraled down.  Now, she says, only old people live there.  No jobs, the kids move away to find work.  (sounds a lot like Newfoundland).  She also gave us her take on the current government, and the local gossip.  Suz and I didn’t verify this, but she told us that Bahamians couldn’t vote unless they had a passport or a birth certificate.  The only place to get these official documents is in Nassau.  Most people here are so poor that they never get off the island.  Soooo…..  Most can’t vote.  Interesting.  We moved on, and visited with Emily Rolle, who had a small shack on the edge of town where she sold straw goods that she had made.  I spotted a couple of recycled liquor bottles with a red liquid in them, and asked her what it was.  “21 Gun Salute”.  “Okay, so what’s that?”  “You know, when de man geds a bit oweder, he jus’ get’s a bit tired, you know?  He jus’ needs a bit o’ peppin’ up.  Dis be makin’ him feel a bit frisky again, so makin’ wife happy”.  “So, are you saying that it puts a little lead in his pencil?”  Big smile.  “Yeah, dat’s it!”  So the conversation goes on, and we discover that Emily’s Mom taught her how to make this stuff, and she got quite a name for herself.  A guy on Great Exuma who made “Salute” got together with her, and they combined recipes.  Same for another guy who hailed from New Providence.  Her potion is now the culmination of many years’ experience times three.  Some doctor in Great Britain tested it, and says it works better than Viagra.  Emily asked if we wanted some.  The Admiral told her in no uncertain terms that the boat was too small already.  We bought some baskets.  We figured that we had exhausted A Town, so at 14h46 we were up anchor, and on our way to Half Moon Cay, formerly known as Little Salvador.  Holland America Cruise Lines bought the island, and renamed it Half Moon.  There was some chatter on the internet about whether or not private vessels were allowed to anchor there, with a story of a sailboat being chased out.  Suz called “Veda L”, another Krogen, that we had passed several days earlier for the scoop.  They were based out of Eleuthera, so we figured that they’d know.  They said “no problem”.  “We just call on the VHF and ask permission.  Never had a problem”.  We arrived, we called, we got no answer, so we were anchor down by 17h50.  The anchorage was a little surgey, but with the flopper stopper down, we had a comfortable night.  At 09h30, the “Carnival Glory” came around the point, and dropped anchor about a half mile away, ready to disgorge her thousands of passengers for a day of sun and fun on the island.  By 09h52, we were on our way, lines wet.

Between Half Moon and Eleuthera, there is an underwater ridge that is from 10-15 fathoms deep.  On the Atlantic side, and on the Exuma Sound side of the ridge, the depths drop to hundreds of fathoms. This is where the big fish like to hunt.  This shallow ridge also causes the waves to pile up as they roll in from the Atlantic.  The forecast was for 2’-4’ seas, but when we got to the Bridge Ridge, they were a tad bigger.  Suz was driving, and as I walked up to the pilothouse after tending the lines, she exclaimed “Oh, shit!”  She was looking over her right shoulder towards the ridge.  A wave was rolling toward us that I couldn’t see over.  In fact, I was looking at the junction of the middle and upper third of the wave from where I stood, nearly 13 feet above the water.  All we could do was hang on, as it rolled under our starboard beam.  It was a real “cupboard cleaner”.  Dishes flew out of the cabinets, the countertop was cleared, fruit was rolling around the floor, and the furniture was stacked against the port wall.  I went below to get things in order, and no sooner than I got back to the pilothouse, one of the reels was screamin’ out line.  “Dammit!  What do you want me to do?"  I figured that if we headed downsea, I wouldn’t get thrown out of the cockpit if we encountered another biggerthanaverage wave.  Well, that Wahoo jumped once, threw the hook, and was on his merry way.  I rebaited, got the line back in.  Meanwhile, Suzanne had adopted the strategy of tacking back and forth, so the waves weren’t on the beam.  Never saw another wave that big, most were in the 6’-8’ range, with a few 10 footers thrown in.  We got two more bites, but were only able to boat a smallish (32”) Mahi.  As we were pulling in the lines a few miles south of the Davis Harbor entrance, we passed by a Bahamas Defense Force cutter.  She was at anchor over a bank, in about 60’ of water.  “What the……." Suz grabbed the binocs to check them out.  They were bottom fishing!  Three guys were leaning over the rail, handlining.  As we watched, one of them hauled in a good-sized Red Snapper, threw him in the cooler.  Well, I guess they gotta eat too.

Davis Harbour reminded us of “Old Florida” and the marina at Great Harbour, in the Berry Islands.  It was pretty cozy, and we immediately felt right at home.  First day, the 18th, was occupied with chores.  The Girl needed a good scrubbin’ after her salt water bath.  The internet here is lightning fast compared to the past month or so, so I was able to finally get some pictures up.  The next day, we rented a car from Mr. Theophilus Morley, who brought the car to the harbor.  As I drove him back to his home, he told me about his kids and grandkids.  I was losing count, so I asked him how many kids he had.  “21, and 49 grandchildren”.  “No way”.  “Well, I don’t drink, and I don’t smoke, but when I was a young man, I had a lot of girlfriends”.  I guess so.  Suz and I drove up the island, visiting The Island School, Rock Sound, Governor’s Harbor, the blue hole, and various sights along the way, returning to the Girl around dinnertime.

This is getting’ kinda long-winded, so I’ll tell you about The Island School later.

-Next Time

Hello Strangers,

It’s been a loooong time since we’ve had decent internet, so I’ll try to cram some pictures up into the ether, and get caught up on the last few weeks. It’s the 18th of April, and the kids have come and gone.

Jeremy, Jodi and Mikaela arrived right on time, as Suz and I waited for their taxi at “Red Boone”  in Georgetown. We all had the $10 Burger and a Beer special with a couple of ala carte brewskies.  After that, the obligatory stroll through the few gift shops and knick knack shacks there.  The weather window was open, so the next morning, we ran the ten hours up to Cambridge Cay and grabbed a mooring.  Unfortunately, little Miss M had a case of the Mal de Mer, but was a trooper all the way.  The next day, Jody and Mikaela had their first snorkel lesson from Yours Truly before we set out to explore the grotto at Rocky Dundas.  There, we swam through the narrow passageway (exposed only at low tide) into the large cave with a hole in the roof, the sun pouring through and illuminating the interior.  Next, we dinghied to Compass cay, where we hiked to “Rachel’s Bubble”, a frothy tidal pool there.  Back to the girl for lunch, then the 2 mile dinghy ride to “The Aquarium” for a little reef snorkel.  On the way home, we checked out the sunken plane off the coast of Pasture Cay, then beached the tender in search of iguanas-none were found.  Next day took us to Staniel Cay, where we saw the swimming pigs, then dinghied to “Thunderball Grotto”, so named because some scenes from a James Bond movie were filmed there.  The current was fierce, but our new snorkelers kicked its’ butt.  One group of touristas was leaving as we arrived, and we had the place to ourselves for a half hour before the next group of revelers arrived-sweet.  On the half hour ride back to “Alizann”, the winds came up, and the blue/black skies opened.  As our friend Andy would describe it, “A real turd floater.” All we could do is laugh, as we drove into the 30 knot winds, sunglasses on, to keep the driving rain from tenderizing our eyeballs.  The plan was to shower and return to the Staniel Cay Yacht Club for drinks, but squall after squall nixed that program.  We had a spirited night of cards instead.  Ohhhhh……weather.  We had planned on a stop at Rudder and Lee Stocking Cays on our way back to Georgetown for their plane, but increasing seas and winds dictated a change in plans.  The Admiral and I did NOT want the vacation to end on a seasick note, so we opted for a run to Emerald Bay Marina before the weather, where we could all spend a day poolside, with cocktails from the tiki hut.  It turned out to be a great call, we missed some sights, but we made up for it by snagging 2 Mahi, a Wahoo, and a ‘cuda.  The girls, avid freshwater fishers, were ecstatic, even though a shark hit one of our Mahi’s taking off the tail while reeling in.  It did, however, make it a lot easier to bring in.  The pool day was perfect.  For $50/head we were allowed to use the facilities at Grand Isle Resort, and enjoyed the day, with lunch and cocktails around the pool.

April 7th was turnaround day.  We all got up early.  Availed ourselves of the free laundry facilities at Emerald Bay for towels, sheets, etc., and cleaned the Girl inside and out.  Having rented a car for the day, we dropped J,J,&M off at the airport, and picked Ali and Ben up, as they had flown in on the same plane that was carrying the rest of our gang out-how convenient.  Same program.  Into Georgetown for beer, burgers, and the tourist thing, then back to the boat by way of “Prime Meats”, a specialty butcher shop.  Besides gorgeous cuts of meat, the butcher there makes a chicken salad that I’ve been lusting after since our stop there a couple of weeks previously.  The weather permitting, we had decided to run the “Boatguest Circuit” again, so we headed back to Cambridge Cay, then work our way back to Georgetown.  There, we hiked the Cay, and got Ben (another first time snorkeler) hooked.  Struck out on iguanas again, but hey, it’s all in the process.  Next, it was Staniel Cay, where we DID get to have docktails at the yacht Club after hiking the south end.  We departed Staniel on the 11th, headed for Farmer’s Cay for the evening.  Along the way, we anchored off Black Point on Great Guana Cay in order to stop at “Lorraine’s Mom’s” house to see if she had any fresh bread for us.  Jackpot!  Raisin Cinnamon Coconut, and just plain old coconut loaves were warm out of the oven.  We made our way down to Farmer’s Cay by late afternoon, anticipating a good day of fishing on our way to Georgetown the following day, as we had been skunked on our way to Cambridge.  We weren’t disappointed.  We boated 3 Mahi, and lost the biggest one (which Ben had fought for over 30 minutes) due to my inability to get him gaffed when he came alongside the boat.  He straightened out the hook (literally), and swam off.  I’m pretty sure I heard him laughing over my curses.  Our videographer discovered the challenges of filming with rolling seas, and left her breakfast on the deck.  BUT….she did get some good footage of her hubby reelin’ in the lunkers.  Once at anchor outside Georgetown, I found out how handy it is to have a Chef as a son-in-law.  Together, we had those fishies butchered in no time, sharing a few techniques along the way.  A spirited game of cards ended their last night with us.  (By the way, the Wells family kicked the Tuck family’s butts for the week).  Seems to be a pattern here.  Maybe we’ll play dominoes next visit.

April 12th.  The taxi doors weren’t even closed, and I was feeling pretty empty.  We were so lucky to have our kids with us, but I wanted more.  Strange, how when they’re growing up, you take it for granted that they’ll always be there as you chase the almighty dollar.  Then, they’re gone, and you wonder where all that time went.

I’ll do the 13th-18th later.

-Just Me and Ma for awhile.

n

March 22nd.  Another cloudy day was forecast, and around 10h00, we were off to shore to pick up our bread.  Bad news, Darlene had run out of propane, and was an hour or so behind. No worries, we walked over to “Hidden Treasure”, where Denise was just opening, and put in our order for dinner.  Lobster for Suz, and Grilled Mahi for me.  Later, Darlene fed us some Bahamian pea soup while we waited for our bread.  That evening, we were the only guests at “Hidden Treasure”.  Denise, the owner, sat with us and told us that she had just moved back to Cat Island from Nassau, where she had worked as a banker for the past 19 years.  She and her husband own a home there, and in fact, he is still there, working as a chef in a very upscale resort.  He has to work for a few more years, but she was tired of the traffic, sirens, congestion, and “pop, pop, pop” (I assume gunfire) at night in Nassau.  They’ll have a long-distance relationship until he is able to retire.  In the meantime, she’s growing a business on her childhood home of Cat.

Wednesday morning and the overcast was thinning giving the promise of a sunny day.  Perfect.  We planned on walking to the Hermitage atop Mt. Alvernia, the highest point in the Bahamas, snappin’ along the way.  So, here’s the scoop on Father Jerome.  Born in England in1876, John Cecil Hawes trained as an architect, and later became an Anglican priest.  After the hurricane of 1908, he was sent by the Bishop to the Bahamas, where he became known as Father Jerome, to rebuild damaged churches.  The seven churches that he rebuilt on Long Island all bear his unique stamp, with thick stone walls and barrel vaulted roofs.  After Long Island, he settled on Deadman’s Cay, where he ministered to the locals.  He then took a “sabbatical” (my words), and acted as a wagon driver, monk, horse breeder, and missionary, before converting to Catholicism and becoming a Catholic priest.  Upon returning to the Bahamas, he built many catholic churches, as well as the St. Augustine monastery in Nassau.  Nearing retirement, he arrived in New Bight, on Cat Island where he built his last church, Holy Redeemer.  There, he also selected a site atop a rocky outcropping on the crest of Comer Hill(the highest spot in the Bahamas at 206 feet), as the spot for his retirement home, known as the Hermitage.  There, he lived in isolation until his death in 1956.  We had a good hike up to the top, and snapped quite a few along the way.  The place had been deserted since the late 50’s, but was still in remarkably good condition.  Unlike many places we have visited around the world, there was no graffiti or evidence of vandalism.  We were able to walk through the residence and chapel, which commanded a360-degree view of the island and surrounding sea-very cool.  We were the only people there, and with the wind whistling around the structure, it wasn’t difficult to put yourself back in time and imagine life here.  On the way down, we descended a very steep, rocky trail connecting sculptures depicting the stations of the cross.  Pretty apropos for the week before Easter.  The road leading back to the beach was bordered by fields that had obviously been under cultivation at one time, as they were bordered by rock walls.  The fields were now overrun with low scrub, and a few scattered papaya trees.  We ventured off, and picked a few papayas, and found some cabbages, tomatoes, and goat peppers, all growing wild.  With some effort, we found a few ripe veggies that weren’t rotten and stashed them in our backpacks. 

Back at the dinghy, we were dismayed to find it high and dry on the beach.  In spite of our having anchored it with the wind blowing it away from the beach, the current had brought it back to the sand (on a falling tide!).  #$!@%!!.  The transponder for the depth sounder had snapped off, breaking the wire, and making it useless.  There was no way that we were moving the little boat (at 750#), so I got a lesson in Conch cleaning from Kotti, who worked at Hidden Treasure, and had a beer.  Later, with some additional help, we got the tender wet again.

Thursday, the 24th, we took a 9 hour ride over 2’-4’ seas under an overcast sky.  No fishies, the dry spell continued.  We passed through Rudder Cut, and turned north to drop anchor in the lee of Rudder Cay, a private island marked with “No Trespassing” signs wherever you might think of going ashore.  We stayed here until the 26th, and got some good pictures inside a grotto looking back at the Girl.  We also visited a stainless steel sculpture of a mermaid sitting at a grand piano, commissioned by David Copperfield, and anchored to the sea floor in the neighboring bay.  What?  Go figure!  (Our trusty little waterproof camera got flooded a couple of months ago, but Jeremy is bringing a new one on the 1st, so if we go back, I’ll snap a couple).

Saturday, the 26th, we headed for Lee Stocking Island, where we planned to stay for a few days.  Again, no fish caught-this was getting old.  We dropped anchor just off a Caribbean Marine Research station, abandoned in 2011.  We explored there for a few days, both on land and sea.  The station reminded me a little bit of the abandoned outports in Newfoundland.  Looked like everyone stopped working and just left.  The station was quite extensive, spread out over the entire north end of the island, and we walked through each and every building there.  One afternoon, while sitting on the back porch reading, Suz spotted a couple of locals in a skiff paddling to shore around a half mile away.  Long story short, they had run out of gas.  After we brought them some gas, the motor wouldn’t start.  We ended up towing them a couple of miles to Children’s Cay.  They promised to take us lobstering the next morning as a gesture of thanks, but never showed up.  Undeterred, we searched out some coral heads on our own, and Suz actually spotted a crawfish (spiny lobster).  He was tucked back into a hole, with no chance for a shot, but we eventually teased him out onto his “porch”.  One shot.  Right between the eyes, and we had our first bug.  Happy Birthday, Suzanne.

It was almost kinda creepy.  I woke up last night with the feeling that something was wrong.  As the mists of sleep cleared from my brain, I realized that it was quiet.  The wind had completely died.  Our forecast looked good, and I thought “Tomorrow’s gonna be a good travel day”.  By 05h45 the wind was back, and the dinghy was thumpin’ against the side of the Girl, torn between following the tidal current or the wind.  I got up and retied her, then watched the stars slowly blink out as nautical twilight gave way to dawn.  By 08h11 the dinghy was stowed, the anchor up, and we were underway under sunny skies and an 11 knot breeze.  As we exited the cut, we found the seas running at about 2’-4’ on a 7 second interval.  As soon as we cleared the 30 meter contour, the lines were wet.  By 09h32, the drought was over.  Fish on!  It felt like a biggie, and it was.  That 42”, 16# Mahi took 200-300 yards of line off the reel before I could even think of gaining some ground on him.  Before we finally had him next to the boat, he had jumped a half dozen times, sunlight reflecting off his blue green hide, violently trying to shake the hook.  He still wasn’t done, fighting furiously when he saw the boat, and before Suz could get him gaffed, we had visions of losing him like the one a couple of weeks previously.  “I can’t get ‘im, I can’t get ‘im………Got him!”  Suz hauled up the gaff, and dropped our prize to the cockpit sole, where he promptly shook the hook in about 3 flops.  Lines back in the water, and within 15 minutes somebody had stripped our other Ballyhoo off the hooks.  I had only rigged 2, so we trailed artificial lures the rest of the way to Conch Cut near Georgetown, and got nuthin’.  By the time we had the anchor down at Stocking Cay, across from Georgetown at 13h11 (exactly 5 hours after we had left), the laundry was done, and our battery bank was fully charged.  We got the dude filleted, and some boatchores done, but mostly enjoyed the breezy sunny day.

Bigtime pre-visitor boatchores tomorrow.  Jeremy, Jody and Mikaela arrive on the 1st.

-Later

Pages