Sail Logs

Georgian Bay Cruise, 2001

This is the long narrative of our delightful nine-day cruise along the eastern shore of Lake Huron in Georgian Bay, wherein I will present, perhaps in too much detail for some readers, the events of our journey, the places we visited, the people we met, the accommodations we found, the minor problems we overcame, and the good company we enjoyed. In the process of telling the story I hope to acquaint you with the fun of trailer boating, the features of our Boston Whaler boat, the landscape of Georgian Bay's eastern and northern shores, and the marinas and restaurants of the many small towns located there.

For those who prefer less words and fewer details, let me summarize it more concisely: it was a great trip; you ought to try it.

DAY ONE

Although this is going to be primarily a travelogue of a boat journey, as trailer-boaters our trip first begins on land and on the roads. This is at once both the joy and the bane of trailer boating.

Unlike larger boats which must move on their own bottoms to distant ports, we trailer-boaters can haul our miniature cruisers to far away seas at 60 MPH on the highway. This not only saves us time, but also considerable cost in fuel, as we can travel 300 miles or more in just a few hours on the interstate and only burn perhaps 20 gallons of gas in the process. To move a large boat to our same destination would be twice the distance by water, take perhaps as long as a week if the winds and waves were uncooperative, and burn ten times the fuel or more.

The disadvantage we face is that we must maintain and support two other vital components in the process, our boat trailer and a sturdy car or truck to haul it. And we must load and launch our boats when we arrive. These operations add additional layers of complexity to the already complicated art of cruising by boat.

2001 Cruise to Georgian Bay Our cruise begins with 305 miles of highway trailering to Midland, Ontario. From there we will travel about 500 miles by boat up and down the eastern shore of Georgian Bay.

Getting There

On Friday afternoon, I fetch the boat (on its trailer) from its indoor storage and park it in front of the house. A steady marathon of trips from house to curb begins, filling the 1995 GMC Suburban, not the boat, with gear. I don't like to load too much equipment on the boat while still on the trailer, as this increases the trailer weight load. Since most of this gear would have to be stowed in the cuddy, it would especially tend to increase the weight borne by the tongue, which we have carefully managed to keep to a safe minimum. Instead, we fill the rear seats of the nine-passenger SUV with coolers, clothes, and cargo. By the time we are done there is just room for the two of us in the front seats.

Saturday we are up early. We have targeted 8 a.m. as the departure time. There are plenty of last minute things to load. Without wasting too much of the morning we get under way at a few minutes past nine o'clock. There is a great deal of momentum to overcome to get this trip started!

The drive to Port Huron takes about an hour and the traffic is light. Before leaving the U.S.A., we stop at the duty free shop to buy some beer and other goods. The beer isn't much cheaper than it is in the states, but it is a big bargain compared to the price across the border. I think the government of Canada tries to control alcoholism through pricing; a case of beer costs a Canadian thirty three dollars of his currency. Demand seems inelastic.

We are crossing the border at Port Huron, entering Ontario at Sarnia and coming over on the recently expanded Blue Water Bridge. Driven by the large increase in border traffic, particularly trucking, the bridge's capacity has been doubled by the erection of a second, almost identical span, mirroring the graceful lines of the 60-year-old original bridge. Now one bridge carries three broad lanes of traffic eastbound, the second carries three lanes westward. There is no waiting to get on the bridge, and the toll is modest, just a few dollars for the car and a couple extra for the dual-axle trailer.

Unfortunately, Canadian Border Customs and Immigration doesn't seem to be aware of the heavy flow of traffic coming into their country this morning. About three- quarters of the way across the bridge span we come to a stop. The back-up from the customs booths stretches ahead of us for a quarter mile.

Borders

After about 20 minutes of stop and go progress, we finally are poised to officially enter Canada. We're next for the customs booth. Unfortunately, we have made a bad choice of lanes. Our booth is staffed by a woman, and a young woman at that. I have this theory about which customs booths to choose and which to avoid. This one would not be my first choice, but it is impossible to change lanes now.

I roll up to the booth, my sunglasses off so the customs agent can see my eyes, my window down all the way so the interior of the car is visible, too.

"Hello," I say to the young blond customs officer.

There is a long pause while she looks are the screen of her CRT terminal. Via mirrors and perhaps a remote television camera, she picks up the license plate numbers of our car and boat trailer and keys them into her video terminal, where they'll be checked against lists of stolen cars and other vehicles to be detained.

This process occupies her attention for some time; from our perspective she seems to be ignoring us. Finally she turns our way. No "Welcome to Canada" for us.

(I have related this story to Jim Gibson, a veteran of even more border crossing than we, and he tells me the problem is my answers; they are too long. "Make them short, and you'll get right through," he says. I'll show his suggested responses in brackets after mine.)

"What is the purpose of your visit to Canada?"

"We're going to put that boat behind us in the water and cruise around on it for a week." ["Vacation"]

"Where are you going?"

"To Midland, then north to Georgian Bay." ["Midland"]

"How long will you be in Canada?"

"Eight or nine days." ["9 days"]

"Will you be leaving the boat in Canada?"

"No, (chuckle) I am not planning on it, the boat will return with us." ["No"]

(Pause, more looking at the CRT screen)

"Are you American Citizens?"

"Yes" (in unison). ["Yes"]

"Do you have any guns or firearms?"

(Emphatic) "No!" ["No"]

(Pause)

"Do you have any alcohol that you are bringing with you?"

"We just bought a case of beer at the duty free." ["One case of beer"]

"Just one?"

"Yes, we are not big drinkers."

To Chris she asks:

"Ma'am, are you carrying any MACE or pepper spray?"

We are not accustomed to being interrogated by aloof twenty-year-olds as though we were landless immigrants about to impose a burden on the social services system of the host country and maybe beat up a few of the weak and infirm in the process. A couple more Customs agents like her and they could have a negative impact on tourism in Canada.

Finally we are cleared. I slowly put the Suburban back in gear and we roll through the customs booth, bypass the long line at the currency exchange drive-up, and exit the highway to the Visitor Information Center on the right. Jim Gibson reminded me that this was here and we'd avoid the big lines at the drive-up booth. Good advice.

They have special parking lanes for cars with trailers, a very nice accommodation since there are plenty of them coming across the bridge. We both hop out of the car and head for the tourist information center. Chris goes to the currency exchange window with $200-US and returns in a few seconds with $301-Canadian. At the travel info counter I get the latest official provincial highway map for free, and the very nice, friendly, late-thirties-something woman walks across the room to help me locate a more detailed map and information brochure on Midland that's in a rack on the wall. This will prove helpful when we finally get into the town.

This is the Canada we know and love, not the one that the cold customs agent lives in.

Rolling Along

Heading east on Highway 402, the road is being repaired and traffic is constricted to a single lane. We thread the Suburban and boat trailer between the orange barrels on the new asphalt. The construction has reduced the speed limit to about our top running speed, 50 MPH, so we are not slowed by this little inconvenience.

We have a postmortem on the customs crossing. "Your theory was right," says Chris, "never go to the booth with a woman, especially a young one."

"Yeah," I concur, "she was a pain."

"They just take their work too seriously," Chris observes. "They don't know how to do their job but be friendly at the same time."

Although it is just across the river from us in Detroit and doesn't seem exotic, Ontario is in a foreign country, Canada, and there are some little differences. First, there is the money, the bills printed in strange colors and full of pictures of the Queen. Then there are the highway signs that announce the distance to Toronto and other points, but use measurements in kilometers. With Toronto still 200 kilometers away, it seems like we have hours of driving ahead of us. We have to convert to miles in order to get a feel for just how far away a place really is.

It is funny, but here in Ontario everything needs a little conversion. The money and mileage are both deflated about 65%, but you have to double the temperatures and add 30. Gasoline comes in liters and there are almost four of them to a gallon. It takes a bit of getting used to all these different scalar numbers.

After an hour or so the road swings south a few miles and merges with Highway 401 coming up from Windsor. We pull into a service center to take a break. I check the trailer tires and bearings for heat. They are all running a bit warmer than on our previous journeys, but the weather today is much hotter; temperatures are in the mid-90's. I am worried about the trailer tires in particular. They are probably the originals delivered with the trailer 14 years ago, and although the tread is in fine shape, the sidewalls are cracked. Too much exposure to the ultraviolet rays of sunlight has taken some of the flexibility out of the rubber in these tires. They were once high quality tires, but they're suffering from old age.

I also pay attention to the temperature of the tires on the Suburban, especially the rear tires. These are very low mileage, almost new tires, but I don't think much of them. They're the absolutely lowest grade tire made in this particular size, and their load rating is very modest, only 1600# per tire. In comparison, the OEM spare tire has a load rating of 2200#. When the original tires wore, the previous owner put these cheap replacements on the truck. When I bought it from him last summer I failed to realize how limited their ratings really were. They look like nice, rugged tires, but their load ratings are crap. They are also rated as Light Truck tires, not Passenger Car tires. The difference is in the safety standards which the tire must meet.

Having all these anxieties about the tires takes some of the pleasure out of the road trip. It will cost about $900 to replace them all, but with that expense will come freedom from worry about the tires. That is worth something, maybe almost $900.

We pass several cars with trailers on the shoulder of the road, all having tire or wheel bearing problems. Anxiety boosters.

After the merger of the two highways, the traffic is doubled while the roadway remains two lanes and turns back to the northeast, heading for Toronto. The terrain is beginning to climb slightly and we encounter more hills and grades.

In another hour or so we swing north to avoid a huge cliff several hundred feet high. This is part of the Niagara Escarpment, an enormous band of rock that runs from Niagara, through Georgian Bay and Manitoulin Island, and on to western Lake Superior. This geologic feature creates most of the scenery we will enjoy in the next week.

Approaching Toronto the highway widens to six lanes or more, then offers us a branching to the north which avoids most of the city traffic, particularly in the vicinity of the busy Toronto Airport. On more good advice from Jim Gibson we take this "ETR", the Electronic Toll Road. You don't have to stop to pay the toll. Overhead cameras at each entrance and exit ramp record your license plate. From this information the toll authority looks up your name and address and sends you a bill. In a couple of months we will get an invoice for our use of the ETR and be asked to remit approximately six dollars. The smooth ride on the freshly laid pavement and the big reduction in traffic are worth the modest costs.

After twenty minutes on the ETR, we exit and turn left on Highway 400. This is the main artery northward from Toronto, and on this Saturday afternoon the road is packed with cars heading for Lake Simcoe and other resorts. We stay in the right lane and try to maintain our speed up and down the many hills.

We pull into another service plaza and I check the tires and bearings again. They are running warm to the touch, but not excessively hot. Back on the north bound highway, the traffic increases as we leave suburban Toronto. Everyone is heading north for cottage country. As we begin a long uphill climb, the congestion slows travel to stop-and-go speeds. We creep along for five miles until we reach the aftermath of a car accident, the OPP (Ontario Provincial Police) on the scene and the wrecks recently cleared from the highway. Traffic resumes highway speeds, then at the big town of Barrie a huge line of cars snakes off to the exit ramp, relieving most of the congestion.

At Exit 121 we leave the main northbound road and take Route 93 toward Midland. After half an hour on this two-lane paved highway we reach the outskirts of Midland.

We descend a long downhill grade into the center of the town, then head west along the coast road. A stoplight and a right turn later, we turn toward the water with Bay Port Marina on our left and the public launching ramp on the right.

Pulling into the ramp area, to our surprise our Whaler mates, Jim Gibson and the two Larry Goltz's, are just in the final stages of launching their boats. A previous communication by cellular telephone had put us almost an hour behind them, but we made up most of that time while their progress was halted by that accident we saw on the roadside. Their two boats are just off the trailers and into the water of Georgian Bay as we pull up.

Launching

We have been hauling our boat with only a quarter of a tank of gasoline, which saves considerable weight on the trailer, so our next destination is back to the highway and a gas station. Just around the bend and west of the marina we fill the boat with gasoline at highway prices. The flow rate from this particular pump is slow, and it takes what seems like a half hour to fill the big 77-gallon tank. Finally, after about ten minutes of awkwardly holding the gas pump hose over my head to reach to boat fill spout, the gauge on the boat reads "F" and the pump says 130 liters. Anxious to get in the water, I call a halt to the gassing at that point. At Canadian-$0.69/liter (US-$1.73/gallon) we added $90 worth, but this turns our to be only 35 gallons at a true cost of US-$59.50. The bow-up trim of the boat on the trailer makes the fuel gauge read a bit higher than normal, and I have probably left some room in the tank.

As we prepare the boat for launching it is past four o'clock, and a small crowd of boats and jet skis buzzes around the ramp, loading onto trailers. It takes us a few minutes to get the canvas rigged. (We don't trailer with it in place because it stows in the upright position and I don't like all the extra wind load and wear of hauling it around at 55 MPH.) Then we throw two hundred pounds of gear and coolers aboard. Finally we are ready to back our mini-cruiser into the water.

The process of launching this boat is still a little uneasy for us, as we have only done it a handful of times, and on each occasion it has been on a different ramp. Each time there is some concern. Will the ramp be deep enough to let the boat float off?

The ramp facility has two lanes and decent courtesy docks. We back our Whaler down, stopping just before it enters the water to remove the hold down straps and disconnect the trailer lighting circuit (so the hot bulbs won't burst in the water). Then we back in some more, putting the stern of the boat in the water, stopping next to remove the bow tie-down, the safety chain, and finally the winch strap. Backing in a few more feet allows the boat to float off the trailer, which is now several feet underwater at the transom end. Fortunately, the ramp is pretty steep and the rear wheels of the Suburban are still on dry ramp.

Chris warps (pulls by lines) the boat sternward, and I pull the trailer out from under and up the ramp. I park the rig just beyond the crest of the ramp and run back to the boat. Next problem, will the engines run?

In the three weeks since our last use of the boat, I have replaced all the fuel lines from the tank to the engines, the fuel-water separating filter, and the primer bulbs. I am not sure I got all the air bled out of the system.

It takes a few cranks for the port engine to start, then it fires up. Unfortunately, it sputters and dies right away. Sounds like air in the fuel lines. A dozen squeezes on the primer bulb and it gets a bit firmer. I try again. The engine starts, runs a moment, then sputters again. Oh boy! Is this going to be a problem? More squeezing of the primer bulb. On the next restart the engine stays running.

I prep the starboard engine with plenty of primer bulb action. These new bulbs are very soft, and they never seem to get firm with fuel in them. With twin engines, the noise of the first engine running makes it hard to hear the second engine start, so I have developed a technique where I start one engine, let it warm up a bit, then shut it off while I try to start the second engine. This lets me hear the second engine starting much better, and the first engine usually restarts at the turn of the key once it has been warmed up.

The second engine starts and runs without too much sputtering, and I also get the first engine restarted. I let the two of them warm up at fast idle for a minute. I don't want to back away from the courtesy dock and have them die. Chris brings a few more items down from the truck. Man, this little Whaler is full of gear!

Finally, I motor the 20-Revenge out of the ramp area while Chris takes the truck and trailer over to the marina across the street. There is a canal of about 100 yards in length leading from the ramp to the bay, and from the high water marks along the steel sea wall I can see how very low the water level is this year.

The water level is, in fact, two feet below the long term average for this time of the year. Compared to the high levels of the past decade Lake Huron is missing almost five feet, an incomprehensibly large volume of fresh water. The current levels are almost exactly at chart datum and are close to record low water for this time of the summer when the levels are normally at their peak.

At the end of the canal there are several floating "Javex" bottles (the Canadian brand equivalent of Chlorox) serving as aids to navigation. Exactly how to interpret them I am not certain. Often unofficial markers like these are placed by the locals at hazards like rocks, which means you generally want to avoid them. There is a fellow on a sailboat moored along the sea wall, so I shout over to him to ask for advice on the buoys.

"Just treat them like regular red and green buoys," the local boater replies. As I get closer I can see that one is a red plastic bottle and the other a white bottle with peeling green paint. Okay, it is clear to me now how to proceed. I didn't want to ding my props just exiting the ramp area!

The entrance to Bay Port Marina where we will stay tonight is just a few hundred yards west of the ramp canal, so I enjoy only a short boat ride on Georgian Bay. I shut down for a second to check the fuel gauge level, as it warns that accurate readings occur only when not underway. With different trim on the boat, the gauge now only reads "7/8". I probably should have been more patient at the gas station! Back underway, I enter the marina to look for my Whaler cruising companions.

Stolen Fun?

Bay Port Marina has over 600 slips! I am scanning the docks looking for a pair of Whalers, as I idle farther into the marina. About ten docks down from the entrance I finally spot WHALE LURE and MEMORY, and I back into the adjoining slip. The cruise is almost ready to begin.

With the boat tied up, I head for the parking lot to help Chris with the trailer parking. She has not yet acquired the skill of backing up with the trailer attached, so I anticipate she has probably not put the trailer into its ultimate parking spot.

The launch ramp facility is a public place, and use of the ramp is free, but they don't permit overnight parking of trailers. So we have moved all our cars and trailers over to the Bay Port Marina yard, where for a fee (Canadian-$70) we can park them for a week in a nice fenced-in, guarded, well-lighted boat yard. I find the Suburban and trailer, with Chris and Larry Goltz. As I approach I notice something is wrong: the winch handle is missing and the axle of the front roller has come loose and lost its end cap. Wow, when did all that happen?

Somewhere on the 500-foot ride from launch ramp to marina both of these items have been lost! We immediately begin to retrace the path from parking lot back to ramp to look for them. The winch handle, in particular, is going to be very difficult to replace.

With three of us looking, we cover all the road back to the ramp. No handle. Maybe it came off on the ramp, which has a corrugated surface making the ride a little bumpy. No sign of the handle there, either. Maybe in the water, having fallen off when the boat slid off the trailer? Not there, at least as far as we can see into the somewhat green water of the ramp.

We search the path back to the marina. No sign of the winch handle. I can't believe this! This is only the third time I have used the new winch, and I've lost the handle! Well, it is not an immediate problem. We won't need the winch handle for 8 days, and I can also borrow a handle from either Jim or Larry, as they use the same brand and style of winch on their trailers. I'll just have to get a replacement when I am back in Michigan.

I am somewhat comfortable with the fact the winch handle came off. I was feeling rushed when I opened the back of the Suburban, grabbed the handle, and snapped it onto the winch crank post. Perhaps I did not let the retaining mechanism seat properly, and when the trailer bounced down the ramp the final few feet into the water the handle slipped off and into the bay. And the lost roller axle cap could have been forced off the end by the action of the boat keel rolling on it at a slight angle, working the axle against the bracket with some pressure.

But I do have another nagging theory. I left the trailer parked just beyond the top of the ramp for a few minutes while the boat was getting started. Maybe I should have pulled it farther away and into the parking lot. Maybe I made someone mad that I was taking too much time and space on the busy ramp. Their retaliation was to remove my winch handle from the trailer while I was busy down at the boat, a hundred feet away. This would be totally out of character for the typical Canadian small town, but I do sense a bit of resentment in the folks at the ramp today. The public ramp is right across the street from this rather fancy and yachty marina, filled with gleaming white boats, while the crowd at the boat ramp has been launching and recovering from rusty trailers a rather ramshackle lot of older, well-used, I/O-powered bowriders and runabouts in the 16-19 foot range. I'd like to think that something like this doesn't happen in Canadian small towns, but where the hell is my winch handle? How come I can't find it in the lake, on the ramp, or on the roadside. It's only been missing for five minutes and it can't be far away if it just fell off. Maybe the reason we can't find it is because it's in somebody's car trunk.

It is an odd thing, but I have heard more stories about people getting their winch handles stolen at the boat ramp. In fact, both Larry and Jim carry spare handles to guard against this happening to them.

We give up on finding the winch handle. I make one last broad circuit of the parking lot, but still no winch to be found. We walk back to the marina.

This loss, either through accident or theft, puts a little damper on the start of the trip, but we are still excited about the cruise ahead. We have made a huge transition today. This morning our boat was parked on a trailer in SE Michigan; tonight it is in the water at a beautiful marina on Georgian Bay. The weather forecast sounds encouraging, no rain tonight or tomorrow or really any for the next several days. The gang is all here, the boat is running fine, and we have eight more days ahead to enjoy boating. The preparations are over; the cruise has begun!

Cruising

The first order of business: relax. After all the packing and loading, the long drive up, the little crisis with the launching and the lost winch handle, it is time to enjoy another great part of a Canadian vacation, an ice cold Labatt Blue. It is fun to just sit on the boat for a few minutes and enjoy the harbor view. Then we check in officially with the marina and discover we are in the wrong slip. There are plenty of empty slips on this dock, but they have a policy of not renting out seasonal slips whose boats are away cruising to transient guests. So we have to move our boat to the other side of the dock and down a couple of slips. We can still socialize with our other boats by just moving our dock chairs over to their spot.

After cocktail hour supplemented with some snacks, we all go aboard WHALE LURE for a cruise of the bay and a quick run to the next town around the point, Penetanguishing. Their marina is filled with offshore racing boats, as this weekend is the occasion of a big race event. On the way we pass close abeam to a tall ship approaching the harbour under sail. It is a beautiful sight, the dark 120-foot hull of the gaff rigged schooner HIGHLANDER making good progress in the light breeze and moving silently through the calm water.

Finally, well past 7 p.m., we are back to our docks. Time to freshen up for dinner.

An interesting phenomenon occurs on these vacation boat cruises. About half of our group are from the Central Time Zone, so they're used to eating a bit latter than those of us on Eastern Time. Throw in a bit of inertia at getting a group of people ready to do anything at a particular time. Then add to it the relaxed pace of life when on vacation. The result is we hardly ever are ready to go to dinner before 9 p.m. Most nights we'll end up shutting down the restaurant.

Tonight we strike off on foot toward downtown Midland in search of dinner at about 9 p.m. Town is about a mile away along a nice footpath that follows the shoreline of the bay from the launching ramp to downtown, using an abandoned railroad right of way. It is quite a hike, but after all day in the car a long walk is good exercise.

There is great irony in the conversion of the railroad line to a foot path. In 1872 the Midland Railroad built its Great Lakes terminal on this site, and the town of Midland quickly grew to prominence around it. This excellent and deep natural harbor at the southern extreme of Georgian Bay proved to be the best rail link to Great Lakes shipping and logging. Vast amounts of timber were floated in. On shore great saw mills cut it up to be shipped east on rail cars. There was also heavy commercial fishing in the region, with the catch again shipped east via rail. Now the rail line, the raison d'etre of Midland, is gone and its old right-of-way turned into a pleasant path for evening strollers.

Downtown Midland's shops are long closed by the time we arrive, but we do find our restaurant for the evening, a small place along the main street that is filled with other late diners.

Dining in small Canadian towns can be an adventure. The Riv Bistro, however, looks like it would hold its own even in Toronto. The place has a very inviting atmosphere. The menu offers a dozen or more entrees of unusual Mediterranean foods, and the aroma of the kitchen is wonderful.

We have a big meal, including flaming Saganaki cheese appetizers and a round of drinks. Seasoned lamb is the basis for several of the entrees ordered, and everyone is very pleased with their late evening supper. I have a spicy lamb dish prepared in a philo dough shell. Chris has a shrimp dish "with lots of vegetables, lots of garlic, and lots of rice," which she enjoys, too.

It is approaching 11 p.m. as we begin our walk back to the marina. We detour briefly to look at the small municipal marina and town dock at the foot of main street. Our accommodations at Bay Port Marina are better, we conclude.

The downtown marina is flanked by two large industrial operations. To the east there is a huge pile of something, stone or sand perhaps. Larry thinks it is dolomite that has been removed from the Badgeley Island site in the Landsdowne Channel near Killarney run by Indusmin and brought down here by ship.

To the west and along our pathway is a Pillsbury plant running 3-shifts. No one is sure what they are making. Perhaps agricultural products of local farms are processed and loaded on foreign ships for export.

The walk back is a long one, but we are full with dinner and benefit from the exertion. It is a beautiful summer evening--warm, still, humid, the bugs flying in the globes of light that surround the street lamps. Soon we are back at the marina. After the long, full day, we have no problem falling asleep in the cozy cuddy of our Boston Whaler.

DAY TWO

Cuddy Cabin

Sunday morning finds us comfortably sleeping in the cuddy cabin of our Boston Whaler. Most people--even avid boaters--don't associate Boston Whaler boats with cabins and sleeping accommodations, but we have one of the lesser-known models of Whaler, a REVENGE, which provides a cozy vee-berth under the forward deck. We have augmented the original berthing arrangement by crafting our own filler panel to span the gap between the berths, making the sleeping area much larger and about the size of a queen mattress, although it still tapers toward the bow. On top of the foam cushions which form the bed, Chris has rolled out a thick feather mattress pad, which softens the bumps in the cushions. On top of this we sleep, covered by a tropical weight down comforter. The mattress pad and comforter are encased in soft blue cotton covers that are a perfect match for the shade of our Wm. J. Mills & Co. cockpit canvas and also serve as our sheets. This makes making the bed very easy.

The cabin is not large enough to hold two sleepers and all the gear that is normally stowed there, so upon retiring for the evening we have to toss our duffel bags out into the cockpit for the night to make room.

With two of us in the cabin, the static trim of the boat shifts to be a bit down by the bow, which creates an almost perfectly level berth in the cabin, permitting us to sleep with our feet toward the bow. Were the boat to float right on her normal lines the slope of the berths would be slightly elevated in the bow, which might make you uncomfortable sleeping with your head lower than your feet, or else require you to turn around and sleep with your head toward the bow, a much more cramped space.

When our big filler panel is in place, the floor space between the berths is almost completely covered and the berth begins at the bottom of the companionway. To get in you can gracefully enter by backing down the steps of the companionway and sitting on the edge of the berth, but to get out head-first you have to crawl on hands and knees to the cockpit. If you can spin around on the berth and gain the center of it, you can get out feet-first without crawling, but this is not always possible in the middle of the night when the other occupant is asleep. To ease this transition we keep a soft cockpit cushion handy at the companionway; it takes the pain out of your knees when crawling into the cockpit at night.

After awaking, we roll up the mattress pad and comforter and stow them in big cloth bags to keep them clean, and we move the filler panel to the forward part of the vee-berth where it stows nicely. This returns access to the floor well. In this configuration you can enter the cuddy and sit on either berth. The rolled and bagged mattress and comforter stow forward, on top of the filler panel, and our duffels from the cockpit get tossed back into the cuddy, one on each of the berths.

In the forward half of the floor space between the berths we keep a large Rubber-Maid tub of dry supplies stowed. In the original design, a Porta-Potti was located here, but we have removed it and the brackets that retained it. The notion of sleeping a few inches above the toilet is not an attractive one. On this particular cruise we will find ourselves staying in marinas each morning and night, so shore based facilities will serve our needs, supplemented with a couple of strategically sized and shaped containers in the cockpit for nocturnal use. If you're over 40, you know what I am talking about.

The cockpit is enclosed with canvas, which provides some sense of privacy when you come up from the cabin in the morning in your pajamas, and it also helps to keep dew from forming inside the boat. The full enclosure canvas also protects the gear in the cockpit from any rain that might fall during the night.

The REVENGE model of Boston Whaler has two nice console areas on either side of the cabin companionway. On starboard this area is the helm station, but on port it is just a nice, large, flat surface. While underway we use this as a chart table, but at the dock each morning it becomes the galley.

We have electrical power available from a simple extension cord that is plugged into the marina electrical outlet, usually via a special twist lock 30-A, 125 V connector. This we just run into the cockpit and leave on the dashboard. (We don't have the fuss and bother of an AC electrical system wired into the boat; this is just a 20-foot boat so we try to keep it simple.) Into the extension cord we plug a compact device that can heat and dispense water into a small carafe. Using this we make our coffee every morning, as well as occasional hot cereals like oatmeal if the weather is cooler.

To keep the deck clean, the entire coffee making operation (and the rest of the galley equipment) is contained in its own Rubber-Maid tub. When it is time to get underway, the whole mess is packed and stowed on the floor in the forward part of the cuddy.

Our cruising companions have an even more simple system for breakfast preparation: they just walk down to the marina and get a cup of coffee and an egg and toast or rolls.

Once the coffee is brewed, I usually turn on the Marine VHF radio and listen to the Continuous Marine Broadcasts for the weather forecast. The weather predictions contain generally good news. It will be warm and sunny with light winds from the southeast and only a small chance of any rain. Beside the weather information, the broadcasts also include Notice to Mariners alerts of any changes in navigation or new hazards.

The final step in the morning ritual is to roll up and stow the parts of the cockpit canvas enclosure that won't be needed. Depending on the weather, this might be just the aft drop curtain aft canvas, or could include both side curtains and the windshield. The rolled canvas pieces end up on the berths in the cuddy or on the shelves in the forward end of the cabin.

The rest of the morning slips by with the performance of little chores. There are some things on the boat that belong in the truck, and a few in the truck that belong on the boat. I also make repairs to the keel roller on the trailer so that it will be ready for us in a week when we return. While we have moved onto the boat, we still seem linked to the shore with the presence of our car a few hundred feet away. There's that sense that we are land-based. When we depart this morning, we will make another jump into a more relaxed, detached mode of operation, living entirely on the boat. Until then, I am still a bit on edge.

Midland, Ontario

Bay Port Marina has a nice marine store and a big haul out and Travel-Lift. Just behind the main building there is a 65-foot motor yacht up on blocks getting some repairs done. A boat of this size must be near the limit of their haul out capabilities. It is an impressive example of what they can handle.

In the marine store I browse around and inquire about the composition of that big pile of stuff over in the town's harbor to the east. The older fellow at the service counter does not know what it is.

I find this a bit odd. He lives here and works in the marine business. I just got here. The first question that came to mind when I saw the harbor was, "What is that huge pile of stuff?" Its presence makes the town harbor appear more industrial than recreational to the visiting boater.

I interview some other locals. The salesman in the yacht dealership thinks it is a special grade of sand that is being extracted near Pointe Au Baril. It comes down here on a barge, gets stored on that wharf, and is then trucked out.

"It used to go out on railroad cars but the town has lost its rail spur," he informs me, "so our roads are now being ruined by a continual stream of heavily loaded trucks."

"It's really too bad," laments the yacht broker, "the roads around here are taking a beating from all those trucks. The town council should have kept the railroad line going."

"They say they have about a fifty-year supply of that stuff up there, so I guess we are going to be hauling it out for a long time."

(Several months later I bump into a Canadian ship captain, who happens to tell me that his ship used to haul dolomite from Badgeley Island to Midland. I guess none of the locals know what the stuff on the pier really is!)

He also explains the operation of the Pilsbury plant. It is the reverse of what we thought. The raw material, in this case wheat, comes in by boat from Thunder Bay in Lake Superior. The plant mills it into flour, which is then hauled out by truck. More strain on the area roadways.

Our other cruising companions are also up and about, using the morning to relax and get their boats ready for the long cruise northward. Eventually, we all are prepared. We've filled our coolers with fresh ice, topped off our water bottles, stowed our gear, put up the proper amount of canvas and bimini tops, taken showers at the excellent facilities at the marina, and cleaned up our cockpits and decks. We cast off from the finger piers and head out into the extreme southeastern arm of Georgian Bay. The time is just before noon.

We get about one hundred feet away from the dock, when I ask Chris if she locked the truck on her last trip to visit it. We've left behind a thousand dollars worth of tools and gear and suddenly I am concerned. I guess that missing winch handle is still on my mind. It seems there is a tiny bit of uncertainty about the state of the door locks on the Suburban. Of course, the truck is actually securely locked, but we end up going back to check it so we don't have to live with the anxiety for a week.

Finally underway again, the sun is warm, the breeze is gentle, and the boat engines are running smoothly. We idle out of the marina entrance at no-wake speed. The time is just a few minutes past noon. Now the relaxation of a cruising vacation can begin.

The Small Craft Route

Our nautical highway northward has been provided by two important agencies. First, Nature sculpted the eastern shore of Georgian Bay into a maze of islands and channels, protected from the storms and waves of the vast open water of Lake Huron. There are two theories to explain this. Geologists and other scientists attribute the landscape to the advance and retreat of a series of glaciers, which carved the complicated and varying terrain of rocks and islets and dropped just enough soil and moss to support the growth of a few pine trees, wild blueberry plants, and other low shrubs.

The more romantic explanation of the native Indians credits an ancient God who became enraged and clawed huge holes in the mainland, then flung the excavated dirt and rocks into the bay. The holes filled with water, becoming the hundreds of inland lakes in this region, and the displaced rocks became the thousands of islands along the shore.

Either theory works for me. The results are the same: a wonderful fresh water boating paradise.

With little pressure from the sustenance fishing of aboriginal man, unlimited numbers of perch, walleye, northern pike, whitefish, and lake trout once flourished in these cool and clear waters. The whitefish population was reported to be so great that they could be gathered just by dipping a basket into the water.

European man arrived in 1615, but in the 386 years since, we have had really little impact on the terrain. In the northern portion of the route where the landscape is mainly rock there is virtually no evidence of civilization, and the nearest highway is often twenty miles (or more) from the shoreline. At the extreme southern end, there has been more development inland, but the vast majority of the islands remain rustic and unsettled. Remove a cottage here and there, and these islands, too, would appear exactly as they did to the Voyageurs of the 1700's. However, commercial fishing for several centuries has removed the bulk of the population of several species of fish, but good recreational fishing still remains for many other sport fish.

The First Nation inhabitants (as Canada calls its native Indians) and the early Europeans learned to recognize and navigate these channels by rote, but, for the transient boater, passage through them would be impossible were it not for the work of our second benefactor, the government of Canada. Thanks to accurate surveys, detailed charts, and the presence of a immense number of aids to navigation, recreational boating in these beautiful waters is made possible--not simple, but possible. Hundreds of red and green buoys of the lateral system mark the path among the hazards, and big square- and diamond-shaped daymarks denote the channel from rocky islets along the way.

Maintaining these aids is even more work than one might think. Because of the fresh water, the northern lattitude, and the seasonal climate, in the harsh winters the entire waterway freezes solid. Thus all these floating aids must be removed each fall and replaced each spring. Even the land-based daymarks must need some attention after wind and snow have worked on them for three or four months. It is a wonder that any government can still afford to do this. But support it they do, with excellent charts and surveys, and outstanding maintenance of the aids to navigation. In our 500 miles of travels we did not find a missing buoy or daymark.

At the southern end of Georgian Bay the Small Craft Route begins at the sill of the lock at Port Severn. This is the terminus of another small craft route across inland southern Ontario, the Trent-Severn waterway (and another story). Northward from Port Severn, the small boater can travel about 140 miles along the shoreline of this great Georgian Bay, going as far as Little Current on Manitoulin Island in mainly inshore and protected waterways.

If you'd like to follow along on your own chart, we begin with Sheet 1 of Chart 2202. As we go along the route the proper Chart to track our progress will be mentioned parenthetically.

Chart Details

We have purchased the offical Canadian charts for this trip, while our mates use the spiral bound chart booklet published by Richardson which reprints these same charts into smaller, more manageable segments. The booklet form has advantages and disadvantages.

On the plus side, the bound charts are much easier to handle on an open boat. The larger paper charts we are using would be awkward at the console of a boat like a Boston Whaler Outrage. Behind our large fixed windshield and on our broad, flat dashboard, we can spread out the individual paper charts as needed. In the open breeze of the center console boat, the chart would be difficult to keep and to read. To protect the booklet of charts, they are enclosed in a heavy, clear plastic zip-lock bag. You can read the charts through the clear plastic, and the bag keeps wind and water from damaging them. This design makes them much more manageable in an open boat.

The disadvantage to the bound chart booklet from Richardson is twofold. First, the charts, originally long strip charts and accordion folded, are broken into much smaller pages in the booklet. This means every few miles you need to change pages, which may mean stopping to remove the booklet from the protective bag, flipping pages, and reinserting it into the bag again. Beside the nuisance of having to do this, the division of the chart into smaller panels often makes it harder to see the big picture of where you are. The original charts frequently change compass orientation, not always using north-up, and the smaller booklet charts do this even more often. Also, small-scale details are sometimes moved to different pages from the one containing their larger scale represenations. Searching and finding these detailed insets can become a chore.

A second disadvantage of the booklet charts is their limited color printing. The original charts are issued in four colors of ink (black, red, blue, and brown) and use shades and tints. The Richardson's reproductions use just two colors, black and brown, and substitute a tinted gray for the blue tones. The distinguishing red features are lost entirely, reproduced simply as black. Earlier version of the Richardson's booklet were printed in even less fidelity, entirely omitting the blue tints. For this reason, the Richardson's charts are harder to read than the official charts.

The Richardson's booklet does represent a considerable savings, both in size and money, over purchasing the equivalent information in individual official charts. Actually, we have both, keeping the Richardson's booklet as a reserve should we loose an individual chart overboard.

At 12:15 on a hazy, sunny Sunday afternoon we join the waterway about six miles north of Port Severn. As if to test our navigation, the planners immediately throw several challenges at us. First we must approach close to the shore on a range, threading between some shallow water. Next we must swing through a series of red and green buoys in a chicane of hairpin curves, avoiding rocks and some of the most shoal water in the route. After this little test, the navigation simplifies, following a natural channel that is marked on either side with red and green daymarks and buoys. It is almost as if the designers of this route intentionally incorporated at the start of the trip all the elements to be found later, so that the prospective voyager could become acquainted with them and get a taste of what is to come.

What chart we actually use does not make a great deal of difference at this point in the trip, because we are content to fall in behind the other two boats, leaving the path finding to them. Previously, in our days of solo cruising in open water, I would keep a precise plot of our position using deduced reconning (D.R.) techniques. Now I am content to follow in the wake of the other guys who have been through this stretch of coast before, but I do keep track of where we are with frequent references to the charts and occassional notation of our position and time at particular landmarks.

Gaining Lattitude

The initial ten miles or so of the route traverses a region that has been developed into resorts and cottages. There are frequent NO WAKE zones, and we share the waterway with many other small craft, including Jet-Skis. Over a dozen marinas in a one mile stretch near the community of Honey Harbour provide a home port for all these boats. Beausoleil Island to the west, part of the Georgian Bay Islands National Park, is our protection from the open water.

At Mile 16 we leave the resorts behind and enter the Muskoka Landing Channel. (Sheet 2 of Chart 2202.) There are no roads down to the coast here, and just a few cottages are seen on the shoreline. Complex channels lead inland, heading upstream to the lakes and rivers that feed their water to Lake Huron. About two o'clock we diverge from the main route at Mile 22 to explore Go Home Bay. Several miles up we carefully negotiate a narrow but deep gap between the tall rocky shores and enter the Go Home River. Near the end of the navigable water, we stop and raft together for lunch, just drifting in the slow current and light breeze.

This style of cruising is new for Chris and me. We have spent many summers living aboard a sailboat for a week or two at a time, lazily sailing around the many harbors and anchorages of the North Channel of Lake Huron. In the course of these adventures, we developed our own mode of cruising. If we were going to move the boat somewhere on a particular day--and we didn't force ourselves to move every day--we'd get up early and get going. We'd have the anchor up and be underway before 8 a.m. Then we'd sail all morning on the usually building breeze, trying to arrive at the new anchorage before 1 p.m. That would guarantee us a couple of things. First, the sun would be high overhead allowing us excellent vision into the water so we could see any rocks or obstructions as we came into the new anchorage. Second, we'd get there early, insuring ourselves a good spot to anchor for the night, for the good anchorages often became crowded by late afternoon. Once we had the anchor set, we could relax, have a late lunch, take a snooze, explore the harbor in our dingy, go for a swim if it was warm and sunny, and just relax and enjoy being on the boat. We could watch the breeze build as the day wore on, often reaching a peak around 4-5 p.m., and instead of being out pounding in the waves, we could sit in a calm harbor, and watch other guys out pounding in the waves. Our pacing on this adventure is a bit different.

One big change is that we are cruising in a group. This takes a bit of getting used to. Things take longer to happen with a group, and the larger the group the longer it takes to reach a decision or an action. Today we have gotten off to a very late start, underway just about noon. That's when we would normally be closing in on our destination!

In our sailing days, once we got underway we'd head straight for the next overnight stop, sailing for three, four, five or more hours until we got there. Today we're just two hours into our trip up the coast and we are taking a long diversion for lunch. It seems like we should continue on toward our goal instead of taking this side trip. But we go along with the group, and we do have a very enjoyable lunch in the backwaters of Go Home Bay. With our much faster small power boats, we can go five times as fast as our sailboat, so we can make up the lost miles in just a few minutes.

After lunch, we break up the raft and exit Go Home Bay, but instead of coming out the way we went in, we take Devils Elbow Channel. This is the shallowest and narrowest of passages, and with the lake at chart datum level there is barely enough water on some of these rocks for our shallow draft outboards to get over. With our engines tilted up as high as possible, we do manage to get over the initial shoal at the eastern end of the channel. At the western exit we find ourselves looking at a stretch of unmarked water that we know contains some rocks. Just then a local comes around the corner on his way in. His track gives us a course to follow and we escape into North Go Home Bay.

From there it is a simple jump across Outer Bay and we rejoin the Small Craft Route just in time to divert to the Monument Channel, which carries us along the backside of Galbraith Island. Once out of that passage, we divert again to follow the old steamer tracks into Indian Harbour. Then out again to the main track, continuing on to Big David Bay. By quarter to four we have just passed a lovely stretch of coastline with several large, recently built homes near Tully Island and Niblett Island. All the material to build these fine structures must have been brought out by barge, making the cost of construction quite dear. The magnificent setting and beautiful view of Georgian Bay to the west are worth the price, I am sure. (Sheet 3 of Chart 2202)

It is almost 4 p.m. and we are just 26 miles up the coast from our entrance to the Small Craft Route. We can run at higher speeds out here, however, and we pick up the pace, running on plane at about 22-24 MPH most of the time. We pass Twelve Mile Bay, Moon Bay, and Loon Island. We are on the move, I think to myself.

About 4:30 p.m. we come to Frying Pan Island, which is home to a unique eatery, Henry's Fish Restaurant.

"We have to stop and try their fish," radios our leader Larry Goltz, "it's great."

Having just eaten lunch about two hours ago, we can't really be hungry for another meal, but stopping at Henry's is part of the trip that can't be skipped, so we pull into their floating docks and tie up for a late afternoon snack. At the take-out window we all order a few pieces of perch, which we consume at a nearby picnic table. The fish is delicious, I have to concede, but I am still worried about our progress. I am not quite certain how much farther we have to go to make our overnight stop. After about 30 minutes ashore, we are back to the boats and heading northward again.

In this stretch of the route there are islands everywhere. We weave in and out among the buoys and daymarks. It is fun boating. As we run off the end of Sheet 3 of Chart 2202, I turn right and begin heading east toward Parry Sound.

"Hey, you're goin' the wrong way," my mates hail me on the radio. Our marina destination in just a mile or so farther north, tucked into Pengallie Bay (hidden in the corner of Sheet 4 of Chart 2202 near CONTINUATION D). It's Killbear Marina, 56 miles up the route from Port Severn and about the same distance from our start in Midland. With all of our side trips and diversion, however, my knot log shows over 63 miles travelled today. At 7:45 p.m. we arrive and call the dockmaster on the radio for accommodations.

Killbear

The docks at Killbear Marina have been built for the higher water levels that have been the norm for the last twenty years. They tower above us, a couple of feet above our heads as we stand in our low cockpits. These lofty decks are still workable with larger boats, but they're much too high for outboard boats like our Whalers. The marina has added secondary floating docks along several of the piers and built stairs up to the originals to bridge the vertical gap. We tie up alongside a long floating dock that accompanies the main pier eastward from the marina to the other docks.

We have been underway for almost eight hours, so it is good to shut the engines off and relax. In our cockpit we carry two folding canvas deck chairs. Initially I did not find them very comfortable, but after spending most of the afternoon standing at the helm, they do provide a welcome change of seating. I unfold one of these and take a seat on the floating dock.

The cockpit of our WHALER-20 REVENGE has just two real seats, a pair of swivel bucket seats with cushions in the forward end for the helmsman and navigator. The rest of the modest cockpit is open. At the rear, along the low bulkhead that forms the engine well, we have four coolers. One is a large Igloo Cooler that can also be used as a seat. We use it for dry storage of boat gear. It is full of spare lines, hoses, mops, cleaner, bottles of oil, spare engine parts, and a small tool kit. It is more a deck locker than a cooler. Bungie cords hold it to pad eyes mounted on the deck.

Flanking the big cooler are three small coolers. One of these is marked "JIM" and holds my choice of cold beverage. Typically it is stocked with four beers and two waters. A twin to this cooler, marked "CHRIS" contains her choice of cold drink, typically six bottled waters. The third cooler holds a modest supply of food for lunch, just some cold cuts, cheese, bread, and milk.

Chris and I split the labor and responsibilities of running the boat. Underway, I am usually in charge of the helm and the navigation. At the dock, Chris takes over and handles checking in with the marina, filling out the paperwork, paying the bill, and--most important--getting the keys to the bathrooms. While she is up at the office, I relax and drain some cold beverages from my cooler.

Thanks to the northern location and the summer declination of the sun, we have plenty of daylight even though it is past 8:30 p.m. I don't think sunset is before nine o'clock up here. Although there is a restaurant and bar at the marina, our companions want to go by boat to another harbor just around the bend. All five of us go aboard WHALE LURE for a five mile run up the coast to Snug Harbour. (Sheet 1 of Chart 2203)

Dinner Cruise

It is a beautiful, calm evening, and we motor across the smooth water at 40 MPH, carefully putting our courseline as midway as we can between the islands and rocks. The LOWRANCE Differential GPS is carefully recording our track, which we will use as our guide on the way back. Although the moon is almost full, the skies are overcast tonight and it will be very dark by the time we leave for home.

As we approach the restaurant, the Snuggle Inn at the head of the small inlet of Snug Harbour, lack of daylight is not our only problem. There is a noticeable lack of water here, too. The eastern side of the harbor is completely uncovered and is now a sandy beach. A narrow channel of deeper water leads to the restaurant, reported as dredged to 3-feet in 1980. In the twenty years since then in has silted in a bit. Larry's son (also Larry so we'll denote him by his initials LCG) is at the helm, and he has to tilt the big Mercury 200-HP outboards almost out of the water to keep the props from hitting the sandy bottom.

There is a seawall alongside the restaurant, but the only open space is at the farthest (and shallowest) end. Larry (LCG) puts on quite a demonstration of boat handling as he slowly manuevers and turns the big Whaler around in the confined and shallow water, then brings it right alongside the dock.

It is almost nine o'clock as we get to the restaurant, climbing up the slightly unsteady stairs from the harbor, and it looks like we will be their last customers. In fact, the staff looks a little disappointed that we have arrived; I think they were planning on closing the doors and calling it a weekend. We take a seat near the kitchen and discuss what kind of fish we should order. Without any explicit agreement, from here on everyone will order fresh fish for dinner every night.

There is quite a choice available tonight. Besides perch, pickerel (or walleye), and whitefish, there is also splake available. Splake is a sterile hybrid fish, created in a government hatchery by the union of a Lake Trout and a Speckled Trout and released in these waters to supplement the declining commercial fishery of the other species.

The fish dinner costs $15 to $20, depending on your choice of fish and its preparation, and can be supplemented with an extra piece of fish for an additional $2 charge.

"What's your best fish tonight?" Larry Goltz asks our owner/waitress Renai Perks.

"They're all fresh," she replies, "but I like the pickerel best."

"If I order a pickerel dinner," Larry inquires, "can I get an additional piece of splake for two dollars more?"

"Usually we don't do that," our host confides, "but tonight, Okay."

Chris and I solve the problem of which fish to get by ordering different kinds and agreeing to trade pieces. This is fun dinning.

The restaurant is sited on the sandy shore of the inlet, with access from the water and also from a dirt road leading down from the land. With nearby Kilbear Provincial Park full of vacationers, it is an excellent location. The tables are simple, paper place mats are the menus, and the walls are mostly windows that look out on the harbor. Open rafters in the ceiling hold a couple of fans, and along the perimeter there is a collection of mounted fish of various species native to these waters. The screen door to the parking lot hangs slightly ajar, and a little sand from the road or beach is underfoot on the floor. The family dog is sleeping on the landing of the stairs from the seawall. Near the kitchen there are a couple of birds in cages. It is a very unpretentious place. This is not a suburban recreation of a little fish restaurant in a small harbor, this is that restaurant.

Dinner comes with cole slaw made with several kinds of cabbage ("It's great," says Chris). You also get a potato, either baked, french fried, or cottage fries. In Canada fries are always served with vinegar. Bumbleberry Pie a la mode makes a great dessert.

By quarter past ten we have finished our meal and in the darkness we walk down to the boat to return to Killbear Marina. Our trip home will be guided by two devices, one the amazing high-technology of Global Positioning Satellite navigation, the other the slightly more old-fashioned aid of a flashlight.

While Larry Goltz adjusts the chart plotter display on the LOWRANCE unit, his son Larry drives the boat, watching the track of our new course and trying to make it overlap the track of the old plot as closely as possible. Jim Gibson, who grew up boating in the Thousand Islands region of the St. Lawrence, stands in the bow with a small flashlight, locating the unseen buoys using a technique he perfected as a boy, long before a rocket propelled the first GPS satellite into space.

Jim sweeps the beam of the not very bright flashlight across an arc of about fortyfive degrees on either side of the bow. It is a very dark night, but one by one the buoys reveal themselves to us. The reflective tape affixed near the top of each buoy redirects a few of the photons of light from the small flashlight back to the boat, and the effect is amazing. It is almost as if the buoy were lighted. As Jim swings the beam across the waters, little bursts of red or green light appear from the floating aids, clearing announcing their location.

The sky is filled with clouds overhead, and no moonlight penetrates to help us see. Dark islands are almost invisible, but on some a stray light from a cottage helps us see them. One or two small lights from islands in our path appear to me to be boats, and as I concentrate on starring into the darkness they seem to have motion relative to ours. But there are no other boaters out running around on this dark night; we are alone on the water.

Although I am fairly confident in the computational ability of the microprocessor inside the LOWRANCE DGPS to correctly deduce our position from the slight differences in time it marks in the reception of six or more signals from satellites orbiting overhead, the thought does occur to me that if we should hit a rock the unique hull construction of the Boston Whaler will keep us floating until morning. Ironically, Chris tells me later that she had the same notion as she sat in the stern of the boat, watching the twin bubble trails of the big, black Mercury engines disappear into the darkness of the night.

We make it safely back to Killbear Marina, where Larry's son again puts on a boat handling clinic as he precisely manuevers the big Whaler into the space between our other two boats along the dock.

Day Three

The morning finds us slowly awakening to a warm summer day with hazy skies. I brew some coffee on the dock and enjoy a cup sitting on our deck chair on the low floating dock. For breakfast Chris and I have just a bowl of cereal and some milk. Our cruising mates head over to the marina restaurant for some heartier chow.

I check the weather forecast on the marine radio:

	For Georgian Bay:
	Winds southeast 10 knots increasing to 15 knots tonight.
	Chance of showers.
	Outlook: light to moderate Southeasterlies. Fair.

	Water levels for 24 July:
	Lake Superior 0.18 meter ABOVE datum
	Lake Huron 0.03 meter ABOVE datum.
	

The marina bathrooms are a long walk up the pier. With precise coordination we all manage to get in for a shower. The three shower rooms are small but there is good water pressure and plenty of hot water.

The marina has a very nice store that has a broad inventory of marine supplies and spares. They also have a big travel lift and haul out. At this moment the lift is occupied with a beamy 40-foot trawler from Toronto that is resting in the slings above the yard. One of the trawler's twin rudders is bent, the result of backing into a rock in some shallow water. Her owner and family are staying aboard, living on the boat while it's on the hard and the repairs are made.

Fueling

We've been talking about getting underway earlier, so we've set a target of 10:00 a.m. Around that time I get my engines started and head for the fuel dock. Larry recommends topping off the tanks here as fuel is likely to be more expensive as we proceed north. This morning I take on a surprising amount of gasoline, needing 100 liters or 26 gallons to get the fuel gauge reading "F" again. My knot-log indicates 64 statute miles travelled, making my fuel economy about 2.5 MPG. Fuel is $0.84/liter (Canadian dollars), or about $2.08/gallon (US dollars). I also top off the oil reservoir tanks, each engine needing about a quart and a half to reach full again. I am adding the "premium" brand 2-cycle engine oil, the Mercury labeled TCW-III oil that costs $18/gallon. So I've burned about $13.50 in oil, $55.50 in gasoline, making my cost for this leg $69, or roughly a dollar per mile.

The engines are oil-injection and use "precision blend", a Yamaha name for oiling that is adjusted for engine speed. The engines seem to be very lightly oiled at idle, as they produce little smoke. I am curious what the overall ratio will work out to be. We have run through about 26 gallons of gas while only using 3 quarts of oil, a ratio of (26 X 4) : 3 or about 35:1. This is not as high as I expected. Perhaps, like the gas tank, I had not filled the oil reservoirs to the brim at the start.

We pay for the dockage and fuel, also adding a couple of bags of ice to the bill and the coolers, then clear the gas dock to make room for our other boats. Surprisingly, it takes only about 120 liters to top off the tank in WHALE LURE, her twin 200-HP engines having not used much more fuel than my smaller two. And Larry has made two extra runs in his boat that I didn't cover, so WHALE LURE's fuel economy is surprisingly good.

By the time everyone is finished at the gas dock and back underway, it is past 11:00 a.m. as we head out of the marina entrance channel, a short stretch marked by paired red/green buoys that leads to St. Aubyn Bay and the Small Craft Route.

On our way back toward Snug Harbour again, this time we squeeze through the narrow Canoe Channel where the rock sides are 27 feet above the 8-foot deep water. Then we are back into our familiar shoreline route, weaving among the buoys and daymarks just inshore of a string of protective barrier islands. Just past noon the Shebeshekong Channel takes us behind Franklin Island while twin ranges guide us in and out of the tight passage at Frances Point (Sheet 1 of Chart 2203; Mile 19) Around Mile 23 we get a glimpse of the open lake. The winds are light from the southeast and the waves out there are less than half a foot in height. On the small craft route they are even smaller. We turn into the wide protection of Shawanga Inlet and make a beautiful seven mile straight run through the islands and rocks of this large bay before heading more westerly inside of aptly named Turning Island. As we proceed up Middle Channel we pause to watch a float plane take off. Three miles ahead we stop for lunch about one o'clock at the Ojibway Inn, located on the northwest side of Ojibway Island. (Mile 33 of Sheet 2 of Chart 2203)

Ojibway Inn

The Ojibway Inn was once a resort hotel, constructed by American Hamilton Davis in 1906 to provide lodging for an clientele of guests looking for a rustic yet refined vacation. It survivied in that capacity longer than any of its competitors, but eventually the hotel closed, and the facility is now run as a island community center, restaurant and store. It is a hub of activity for all the cottagers in this beautiful stretch of shore. There are about eight floating finger piers emerging from the rocky island into very deep water. We find a spot and tie up our trio of Boston Whalers.

We are greeted by a friendly college-aged young fellow whose summer job is both dock master and store clerk at the island. It is no problem for us to tie up for a while and visit. Passing boats like ours are welcome to come for lunch or dinner, and to shop.

The island is the hub of a large community of cottages, and boats come and go from the docks continuously. Much to our surprise, a very high percentage of them are also Boston Whalers! We see a wide variety of 13-foot and 15-foot hulls, an occasional 17-footer, and even a very nicely restored 21-Outrage. And the island residents see our larger Boston Whalers, too. Several of them come over to chat. Without out any prompting, we get spontaneous comments like this:

From the dockmaster: "I really like these older-hull-style Whalers. The newer hull design is not as good. This older hull really rides nicely."

From a cottager: "My brother wanted a Whaler and he bought a new one. He had it about three weeks and he didn't like it. Sold it and bought a used, older style Whaler."

And from several admirers of WHALE LURE: "I didn't know they made Whalers this big!"

The surrounding islands contain hundreds of cottages, most of them held in the same family for many generations. Young boaters arrive and depart the docks in small outboards. It is a great place to spend your summer as a young boy or girl.

"I feel cheated," I say, "that my great-grandfather did not leave me a place to inherit up here. What a spot!"

"Isn't this the place," says Larry Goltz. "You could really grow up with a Whaler around here."

From all across the States and Canada the descendents of these early land owners return to enjoy the brief summer. We bump into a U.S. family from Chicago, and discover the mom went to high school in our home town of Birmingham, Michigan. It is a small world and here a rather genteel one, too.

We take lazy lunch on the porch at the Inn, looking out through the shade of the tall pine trees at the sun on the beautiful water and watching the stream of boats coming up and down the Small Craft Route just across the little bay. The Ojibway Inn serves up an excellent Gilled Chicken Club sandwich.

About quarter to three we are back under way. Unfortunately, about two miles down the channel Chris discovers that she was so relaxed on the porch at Ojibway Inn that she left her purse sitting there! Oops. We make a U-turn and head back. As I mentioned, it is a rather genteel setting, so when we arrive back about 25 minutes after we left, Chris scampers ashore and finds her purse sitting right where she left it.

At 3:15 p.m. we are back underway, with purse aboard, and heading northward to rendezvous with the other two boats who have been busy exploring the Pointe au Baril Channel inland a couple of miles.

Pointe au Baril

Around Mile 35 (Continuation D of Sheet 2 of Chart 2203) we rejoin our mates and turn toward the exit from the inland route at Pointe au Baril. This is one of the few points along the eastern shore where you can enter from the lake in heavy seas. To mark this passage for the early navigators, a large barrel was placed on a stake at the tip of the inlet, which then became know as Pointe au Baril or "point with a barrel" in French. Now a red-roofed Coast Guard building and lighthouse mark the point, but a replica barrel still stands as well.

To transit here we must briefly expose ourselves to about 100 miles of open water before we can make a sharp turn back toward shore and reenter the protection of the inshore passage. Today it is a "piece of cake" and we negotiate the RGR offshore buoy without difficulty. Turning northeast for a brief leg, we clear Shoal Narrows. Here, in one of the few instances where the chart and the route don't agree, we find three or four buoys added to help us make safe passage.

Just east of Hangdog Point we are again emerging from the route into relatively open water at Red Buoy A68 when we encounter some opposing boat traffic. A rather large express cruiser, a 45-foot Sea Ray, is about to turn into the narrow opening from the opposite direction. Both he and WHALE LURE are making for A68 at about the same distance off. Larry throttles back to let the big cruiser come around the floating aid ahead of him, and I watch from ten boat lengths back with amazement as the approaching boat cuts between WHALE LURE and the mark, forcing Larry to hit reverse and backdown rapidly to get out of the way. Perhaps momentarily confused by the appearance of opposing traffic, the skipper of the other boat has incorrectly applied the "Red-Right-Returning" rule and left A68 on his starboard side, putting his course precisely over the 3-foot shoal that it marks.

"Hey," I say to Chris, "that guy just took that buoy on the wrong side!"

I think he must know it, too, as he goes by us without much of a wave hello, his head down and concentrating on his chart. It is little mistakes like this that keep all those local marina Travel-Lifts busy.

From here we go seaward toward Hangdog Reef, another spot where the Small Craft Route ventures into open water for a sharp turn around, this one almost a 160-degree turn at buoy A74. If there were a large sea running--and there certainly could be--transiting Hangdog Reef would be extremely difficult. The route threads among many rocks and shoals, and with large waves working on your beam it would be impossible to hold to the narrow courseline needed to make safe passage among all the hazards. Fortunately, today there is hardly a ripple on Georgian Bay, and we can zip out, round A74, and return to run up Hangdog Channel, guided through the shoals and rocks by a dozen or more buoys.

North of Pointe au Baril, the number of cottages and the amount of shore or island development noticeably declines. Our boat glides through the water between rocky islands for the most part in their completely natural state of pinkish granite. Bands of golden brown moss mark the limit of the highest rise of the lake water in recent decades. The pine trees that have taken root in the limited soil share a distinguishing characteristic: their windward branches are stunted and bare, while the eastward pointing limbs grow much longer. The whole tree trunk often leans slightly east, inclined by the strong winds that blow off the lake all winter.

The Small Craft Route now proceeds inland about two miles heading for the village of Bayfield Inlet at the head of Alexander Passage. The Naiscoot River drains into the lake here, creating a number of small inlets. We turn seaward again at Gibralter Point, and enjoy a four mile run up a natural channel with Big Burnt Island on our right and Meneilly Island on our left.

Offshore

Around 4:45 p.m. we again approach open water, and now for the first time in our trip the Small Craft Route cannot provide us with a passage among the rocks and shoals of the shoreline. In many areas of the coast here the hydrographers have given up on soundings and just marked the water with a large # meaning "foul ground." To avoid this we must make a nine-mile passage offshore, running about three-quarters of a mile out but only in water 8-10 feet deep. Fortunately there is no sea running at all, and as we cruise on plane over the calm water we can see a frightening array of huge bolders beneath us, in some spots only five or six feet below.

We proceed northward at about 22 MPH, the speed where our boat and motors seem most at ease. At this throttle setting the engines are running at 3900 RPM, a point where they made a nice gentle sound, and the boat's hull rides smoothly on plane without any hint of porpoising (the repeated bouncing of the bow of the boat up and down in the waves).

At approximately 5:30 p.m. we are making a turn around buoy A126 (Mile 55 on Sheet 3 of Chart 2203) and heading back toward shore. A range guides us eastward, and several sets of paired buoys help us avoid shoals. Once inshore we negotiate some tight spots between Danny Island and its neighbors at Mile 56, before getting into the natural channel of Byng Inlet, our destination for our overnight stop.

Byng Inlet

The wilderness beauty of the route during the last 20 miles has been magnificent, but now two signs appear, advertising the facilities of competing marinas. As we motor slowly up the Magnetawan River we pass the first of these establishments, Wright's Marina, and continue inland toward the second, St. Amant's Marina, about another mile upstream.

Even though it has less marine facilities than its competitor, we have chosen to stay at St. Amant's Marina because of its location close to The Little Britt Inn, the restaurant we are planning on visiting for dinner tonight. The Inn has some docks in front of it, but the low water level has left them in rather shallow water, making it difficult for us to go there except on foot. Around 6:30 p.m. we tie up at the docks at St. Amant's, which float low in the dark, tannin stained water of the river. Unlike the gin-clear water of the lake, this stuff resembles iced tea.

By staying on the northern side of the Magnetawan River we are in the village of Britt. The better-known but smaller town of Byng Inlet lies on the opposite shore. Neither community is a bustling metropolis. Both have commercial docks for the purpose of accommodating small tanker ships to receive oil and gasoline, which is then hauled out by rail and truck. The chart shows small tank farms just up from the shore on both sides of the river. We are at the well head of the petroleum source for the region.

By cellular telephone we arrange dinner reservations at The Little Britt Inn. They are booked full all evening until closing in the upstairs dining room, but they can accommodate us for dinner served in the bar at 8:30 p.m. As has been our pattern, we enjoy an hour or so of socializing on the dock in our deck chairs, augmented with some adult beverages and snacks. Our discussions always include the topic of our boats and how to improve them, but as we become more acquainted (and have a second beer) we expand our subject matter to include a broader range of issues. A long but well-told story brings out a hearty laugh from all the men. The gathering breaks up. We return to our boats to dress for dinner and to snap on our covering canvas so we won't have to struggle with it in the dark when we return.

It is a pleasant walk up the lightly travelled coastal highway to the restaurant. We're hopeful that there might have been a cancellation and we could be seated in the dinning room, but we are not that lucky. The bar will be fine, and they have a lighter menu there, too. We all order "Georgian Bay Shrimp", a house specialty made from strips of whitefish in tempura batter and deep fried. This unusual preparation of the native fish turns out to be very good.

Today is Chris's birthday, so we raise a toast in her honor. Excepting Larry's son (who is in his twenties), Chris is the youngster of our group, still in her forties. Our senior member, Larry, has recently turned 60, but seems to have more energy than everyone. Good recreation like boating keeps you young.

On the walk back to the boats it is a warm and calm evening. We are moored adjacent to the fuel dock, and the large and still brightly illuminated GAS sign casts a strange yellowish light onto the boats. The ramp to the floating dock from the seawall descends at a steep angle. Its design did not anticipate such low water levels. Stepping safely down it to the docks represents one of the greatest dangers to be overcome in the trip so far! We have moved northward 120 miles by boat in the last two days and been outdoors in the sun and the breeze almost all of that time. Getting to sleep will not be a problem this evening, even in the bright glow of the GAS sign.

Day Four

It is much easier to get to the electricity up on the shore, so I move my coffee making operation up the noisy floating dockings to a picnic table along the roadside. I brew a fresh pot and enjoy a little conversation with some passers-by, one a fellow boater with a good tale of cruising in Georgian Bay, the other just a local out for a morning walk. The weather continues fair and warm, with the skies clearer and more blue than any morning so far. This will be a beautiful day on the water. About 10:30 a.m. we are fueling at St. Amant's Marina Gas dock.

Fuel Consumption

The fuel gauge shows we have 11/16th (just below 3/4) tank, so I am encouraged about the fuel consumption rate. Gas prices are actually lower here than down south, so I decide to fill the tank to the brim. I have to add 127 liters of gas at $0.729-Canadian/liter before I can hear it whistling up the filler pipe. That converts to 33.8 gallons, $61-US total, and a bargain at $1.80-US/gallon. The knot-log says we have gone 55.3 miles on this segment of our trip. The fuel gauge now reads 17/16th, i.e., above the FULL mark, so we have refilled the tank to a higher level than it previously held. Fuel economy for this leg computes to a gloomy 1.6 MPG, but it must be better than that due to the variation in the fill levels. There must be room in the tank for about ten gallons beyond the "F" reading on the gauge, and allowing for that brings the fuel economy back to a more reasonable 2.3 MPG.

We lie off the fuel dock and drift in the current while the other boats also take on some gas for the next leg of the trip. The dark color in the river water is from all the old wood still on its bottom. In the early 1900's, the heyday of lumbering in this region, the second largest sawmill in Canada was located here, cutting timber at a prodigious rate and filling whole trainload of railcars every few days with freshly sawed boards.

Northward

It is close to 11:00 a.m. by the time we reassemble our flotilla and motor slowly downstream to the Lake. We exit via the North Channel route, a shallower and less well-marked passage. The Small Craft Route proceeds northward, again in the shelter on the islands, and we pass the last cottage to be seen for many miles as we clear a rocky ledge at Cunningham's Channel (Mile 7 of Sheet 1 of Chart 2204).

The scenery takes on a noticeable change, the rock becoming even more rugged and the few trees canted and windblown. To make our passage more enjoyable, we have the fairest day of the trip so far. It is beautifully clear and the skies are a deep blue. We twist our course among the rocks, as always helped by the well-placed buoys and daymarks.

Key Harbour

Around noon we take a brief diversion to look at the facilities in Key Harbour. We thought Byng Inlet was a bit rustic, but Key Harbour exceeds it in that quality. To describe Key Harbour you need to use words like "camp", "outpost", or "settlement."

At the mouth of the inlet an abandoned railroad building and ruins of a long pier mark the entrance. For a brief time around 1910 the facility was used to ship out iron ore that was mined north of Sudbury. After about a decade, the harbor's depth could not accommodate the newer, larger ships, and the iron ore trade moved elsewhere. The direction of shipment reversed after that, and the railroad used the dock to receive coal hauled up from the south by ship and destined for use in some of those same mines.

The abandoned spur line runs north, but the long inlet runs straight due east and inland about 7 miles to the even smaller town of Key River, where the highway crosses the river. The controlling depth of this passage is charted as low as one foot, and even at the river bar there seems to be limited draft, especially this year. We leave the upstream waters of the Key River unexplored on this trip, and we return to the Small Craft Route.

From here, our compass swings westerly for the first time. We have reached the extreme northeast corner of Georgian Bay. At Mile 18 we divert from the main route and follow the old steamer track northward, into the maze of islands near Fox Island and through the tight passage at Dorés Run.

Everyone must have had a light breakfast because at 12:30 p.m. we stop for lunch and anchor just below Parting Channel on Obstacle Island. Don't you love the names of these places? (Obstacle Island-to-Gateway-Island detail on Sheet 2 of Chart 2204) We drop our hook and the other boats raft up to us, the light breeze from the southeast keeping us nicely taunt on our anchor rode. These rafted lunches become little picnics, as everyone passes a favorite dish or shares sandwich ingredients. A group of four small I/O bowriders cruises by headed south as we eat. They are the only other boats on the route today.

After lunch and hauling the anchor, we resume our passage and face the challenge of Parting Channel, one of the narrowest points on the trip. It is no problem for our nimble Boston Whalers, although it might prove a bit more difficult if you were piloting a larger yacht.

In this section the channel runs through deeper cuts in rather tall islands, and we wind and twist our way among them. At 2:25 p.m. we reach the northernmost point in our journey as we enter the Main Outlet of the French River and turn southwesterly for a run down to the Bustard Island Lights and Georgian Bay (Mile 25 of Sheet 3 of Chart 2204).

Westward

For this next leg of the trip you want to pick a nice day, as there is no inshore passage available and you must traverse the northern extreme of the bay for about 15 miles in open water. If the wind is from the south, there is a hundred mile fetch and the waves can build to impressive heights by the time they roll up here. Today the breeze is moderate and the seas are running 1-2 feet from the southwest. It is not a bad passage, but after days of running in dead calm water it is definitely a change of pace for us.

To clear all the rocks and shoals, the Small Craft Route runs about three miles or more offshore, and it makes stingy use of buoys, which are several miles apart and generally cannot be seen from one another. From our starting point at buoy DJ, I know we are at the most southern point in the offshore passage, so I head due west and hope to pick up the next mark. Guided by his GPS and some previous waypoints, Larry (and Jim) head more offshore. I figure any mile to the south is one we'll just have to retrace, and I hold to a more inshore courseline, about 3/4-mile closer to the Ontario mainland shore.

After about six miles we are approaching easily seen Grondine Rock, a ten-foot high pinnacle with an unlighted daymark, but the 3-foot shoal on nearby Simpson Rock is nowhere to be seen. To solve this dilemma I turn on my handheld GPS for the first time in the trip and check our position. We alter course to approach Grondine Rock from due east, a safe bearing, and wait for the GPS to tell us we must be clear of Simpson Rock. In the process we get a close up look at Grondine Rock's shoreline.

There is something about seeing the color of the water change from indigo blue to a light creamy turquoise and watching the waves curl up and break on the shoals that gives rise to fear. This is not some subtlety of navigation learned after decades at sea, but a visceral reaction, something programmed into our DNA. We watch the elemental forces of wind and waves trying to push us onto the rocks, defeated only by the overcoming thrust of our propellers, and suddenly the air temperature seems colder, the water darker and more concealing, and our faith in the boat more in question. The lake does not seem as friendly and benign as it did a moment ago.

The twin outboard engines, mechanically ignorant of the closeness of the shoal, continue to run perfectly, and they power us past the hazard without missing a beat. By now our mates have rounded buoy DB2 a mile or so further offshore, and their course line turns northward to converge with ours. Soon we sight D84 and much larger D86, the sea buoy marking the inlet to Beaverstone Bay.

Beaverstone Bay

There has been a recent change in the entrance channel at Beaverstone Bay, and the one shown on my 1983-Edition chart is no longer used. Generally in this area there is little need for up-to-date charts. The terrain and lake bottom are all composed of rock that has not moved for millenia, and in some cases the hydrographic surveys themselves are almost 200 years old.

Motivated perhaps by economics and also good seamanship, the government has moved the entrance to Beaverstone Bay to an entirely new path. The old passage, with a limiting depth of about 7 feet, was a marvel of navigation, requiring four ranges and taking you within inches of rocks awash and 2-foot shoals. The new channel follows a much simpler route, needing only four buoys to mark the turns and maintains almost ten feet of water the entire way. We head downwind and enjoy a simple run into the protection of Beaverstone Bay. Suddenly we are back in the calm water of the Small Craft Route again.

(If you don't have the updated buoy positions, you can get them from another section of this website)

As we cruise rapidly up Beaverstone Bay's eastern shoreline, I notice my well-worn chart is filled with annotations of visits here in 1992, 1994 and 1997. (Mile 44 of Sheet 4 of Chart 2204) I recall those pleasant days of sailing with my children when they were still children, but both Chris and I wonder if we would be able to summon the energy needed to duplicate those live-aboard sailing marathons again.

Beaverstone Bay shoals as we proceed north and inward, eventually needing a dredged channel to connect us to our exit. Five sets of paired buoys guide us across the mud shoal. Then we turn west again, and enjoy the fabulous scenery of Collins Inlet.

Collins Inlet

Collins Inlet is not a river estuary, but a beautiful inland extension of Lake Huron which forms huge Phillip Edward Island. Its clear water runs at least nine feet deep along the 12-mile passage. In this section the shores are steep vertical clifts of cleanly cleaved rock which reveal massive upthrusts of layered granite. The sunlight filters through tall pine trees on the tops of the bluffs. The water is clear and free of hazards. You cannot find a nicer setting. After about five miles the passage opens and forms Mill Lake, with depths to 80 feet and more. We continue westward, exiting into an even narrower gorge-like waterway. Eventually the shoreline elevation drops, the water widens, and we return to the mouth of Collins Inlet and the final leg of our journey along Georgian Bay's eastern shore.

(While stopped for a moment in Mill Lake, I inadvertently reset the knot log to zero. It had been indicating about 179 Miles travelled.)

As we head westward behind the shelter of One Tree Island, we again face open water. Our course line is a half mile offshore, and for some curious reason this stretch seems to be one of the roughest passages in the whole voyage. Perhaps the shoreline's shape or underwater contour is to blame, for it acts to reflect the waves back into the lake, where they add and subtract from the incoming rollers to form a nasty mixture. It is like sailing in a blender, as the curling water seem to come from all angles and strange standing waves exist in the middle of nowhere. The four mile run west-southwest to Killarney is a rough little trip, and we are extremely glad to round the lighthouse at Red Rock Point and enter the shelter of Killarney Channel.

Killarney

It is about 6:30 p.m., rather late in the day for cruising boats to arrive at such a busy location as Killarney, and we pass a number of marinas which seem to be filled to capacity. At busy Sportsman Inn, however, they do have a small dock open which can accommodate our diminutive boats. We pull in and tie up, but we find the floating dock a little too small. It sits only a foot or so above the water, and our boats stick out several feet beyond the end of the pier. The narrow dock rocks back and forth, and fendering the boats is a problem. Next we discover that the entire marina facility shares a single bathroom and shower! There must be a hundred boats here, and even at 7 p.m. there is a line for the Men's room.

Larry pulls me aside and advises to delay registration for a minute; he's going to reconnoiter the facilities at the adjacent Gateway Marina and see what they have available. I take off to find Chris before she plunks the VISA card down for the night.

To our surprise, Gateway Marina has three fine slips available and brand new laundry, bathrooms, and showers, with a much lower boat-to-shower ratio. We cast off our lines and move 100 feet upstream to Gateway's docks for the night. Because of the low water, harbour master Fred personally directs each boat around the high spots inside the break wall and helps us into our slips.

We moor CONTINUOUSWAVE on the up wind side of the dock, next to a similarly-sized, 2001-model cuddy cruiser from Ohio, powered by a big Mercury Optimax engine. There is a noisy family of four aboard, but I soon realize they're just using the dock for the day--they'll be heading back to their cottage in a few minutes. When the captain starts up the engine, it exhausts a huge plume of oil into the water, first noticed by the young boy on board, who points excitedly at the greenish sheen of oil flowing from the engine's lower unit. Having heard several horror stories regarding 2001 Mercury Optimax engines, we offer some counsel about keeping an eye on the engine and its performance. The Optimax powered cuddy-cabin departs, leaving me with an oily scum line deposit. The rest of my mates are fastidious boat keepers, so I have no choice but to immediately break out a long-handled brush and try to scrub the strange oil off the sides of my boat.

Dinner tonight we be even more casual than normal: fish and chip take out.

"They close at nine so we gotta go now," say Larry Goltz, who has picked up some local knowledge on our restaurant tonight.

Home Cooking

We walk a hundred yards down the waterfront to an old red school bus parked on a pier that houses Killarney's famous fish and chip carry out, HERBERTS FISH. I have been hearing about this place for years, with people telling me it's run by someone with the same last name as mine. It is a bit of a disappointment to finally get to the source and find that it is not HEBERT'S but HERBERTS.

When I get to the head of the line to place my order at the window, I mention to the folks in the hot and busy interior of the bus that I can't believe their name is Herbert instead of a good French-Canadian name like Hébert.

"No, it's 'Herbert'," says the nice woman in the school bus, as she hands me an enormous serving of fresh deep-fried whitefish with a ton of french fries. We sit down for dinner at a picnic table under an awning, enjoying the view on the waterway, the nice breeze blowing up the channel, and the warm golden glow of the sun declining in the northwest sky. Chris has thoughtfully brought me a cold BLUE reinforcement for the one I'm drinking in a plastic cup, so we have the perfect dinner.

After nine, with the window finally shut on the bus, the proprietors begin the process of closing up for the night, and I get a visit from one of them.

"I heard you mention 'Hebert' at the window," says a woman about my age, as I stretch my legs on the pier. "That used to be our name, but my dad changed it to Herbert."

"No kidding," I reply, now finally satisfied that I am getting the real story. "I didn't think there'd be a 'Herbert' up here. 'Hebert' is much more common in Canada."

"Yes, says my new-found distant cousin Ida, "if you go up to the cemetery you'll find grandfather's grave and it says HEBERT on it."

"I bet his name was Joseph, too?" I inquire.

"Right," she says a bit surprised, "Joseph Hebert."

"That," I tell her, "was my great-grandfather's name, too: 'Joseph Hebert.'"

From the genealogical research that I've done, it's the most common name for a male Hebert in eastern Canada. There are hundred of Joseph Hebert's in Ontario and surrounding areas going back many generations.

"We are probably cousins, fifth or sixth cousins, perhaps," I conclude.

"Originally grandpa was from Cheboygan, Michigan," she confides, "so if you want to do some more research, look around there.

Her dad changed the name to end years of misspellings and perhaps a bit of anti-French attitude in this predominantly Irish fishing village.

She spots my LABATT can and warns that I'll get her in trouble.

"Better get rid of that," she chides, "we're not licensed for beer."

I toss the can into the recycle barrel that supports a local charity. By the way, the fish at HERBERTS nee HEBERT'S is out of this world. If you ever get to Killarney, you have to try it. I'd put my name on it any day!

Day Five

This morning we are really at our destination already, as we plan to return here tonight, but we invent a mission to go boating. We'll head west to the town of Little Current on Manitoulin island and then run up to Neptune Island to drop in on our fellow Boston Whaler enthusiast, John Flook.

We exit the Killarney Channel on the western end and head across to the Landsdowne Channel (Sheet 1 of Chart 2205). This stretch of the Small Craft Route is very familiar to me, as we have been up and down these passages many times in our twenty or more trips up here.

Little Current

One thing we have learned in cruising this area is that the wind generally blows either west or east. Today it is from the west, and it is blowing up the Landsdowne channel with some power behind it. Heading into it at 20 MPH creates a gale of apparent wind across the boat. We struggle up the Landsdowne and turn into the shelter of another Snug Harbour for a little tour of one of our favorite anchorages.

I am curious how much water there will be at the entrance bar, as this year is the lowest lake level we've experienced, but we find at least six feet under our bottom as we enter. Inside there is a large collection of boats, almost all sailboats with a few trawlers mixed in, and they seem to eye our little fleet of Boston Whalers with suspicion. After three days of passing dozens and dozens of anchorages like this on the way up, Snug Harbour seems to have lost some of its allure. And sharing the beauty with 40 other boats, after being virtually alone for a hundred miles, also takes some of the charm away. We make a fast circle of the anchorage and return to the channel and our westward course.

The Landsdowne Channel opens to Frazer Bay, and with the 20-knot westerly blowing we are facing a strong head sea. It is a rough ride across to Strawberry Island, and then on to Little Current. It's fun to go under the bridge without having to wait for it to open. We motor through the rapid wind-driven current running under the bridge piers, and come to the town of Little Current.

I was up here last summer at the Whaler Rendezvous, but Chris has not seen Manitoulin's main town since 1997. I ask her if she is excited to see it again after a four-year absence. It's funny, but her reaction is muted, too. I think all that beautiful scenery on the way north has taken the edge off the appeal of Manitoulin and the North Channel.

Our party divides for a while at this point, as Chris and I go to the town dock to do some shopping. I need a spark plug gap gauge so I can install new plugs in the engines, and Chris needs to send some postcards. We'll divert to Little Current while Larry and Jim head to Neptune Island to see if John is still there. We'll check in via radio in about 30 minutes.

On land again we discover how hot the day has become. Without the cooling 35 MPH breeze from the boat, it is swelteringly hot ashore. After a couple of stops, I am directed to an auto parts store on the eastern edge of downtown, where for $4-Canadian I get a funky little gauge that sells for 99-cents in most American auto discount stores.

Old Friends

On my way back to the boat I stop at Wally's Gas Dock, where the rather famous yacht CHANTICLEER is fueling. We have seen this boat cruising many times in our previous visits to this area. A beautiful 110-foot Burger motor yacht, CHANTICLEER has just arrived from a month long trip from her home port of Jensen Beach, Florida. The owner is on board, in fact she is having lunch on the fantail. Still looking like Hollywood, 88-year-old former movie star Francis Langford is wearing sunglasses, a white sweater, and a gold lamé hair covering as she enjoys her noon meal, prepared by her cook and served by her steward on the screened-in aft deck of the gleaming yacht. Married to outboard engine pioneer Ole Evinrude (who died in 1987), she and the big yacht have been annual visitors here every summer for decades. As soon as they finish fueling they're off to their anchorage at the tiny twin islets they own in The Pool, a beautiful spot in the extreme northeast end of Baie Finn. It is quite a sight to see her and her famous CHANTICLEER. What a way to go! I hope I am still game for cruising when I am 88-years old.

We rendezvous with our returning boats, who found no one home at Neptune. As it turns out, we have just missed bumping into John Flook as he departed from Neptune Island after a ten-day stay, but we do run into his cousin piloting their new boat, a very nice 25-foot Parker hardtop. We stop to chat and admire the new boat while drifting in the channel. With that big westerly blowing today, you'll need a 25-foot boat to ride out there comfortably.

We turn east and head back to Frazer Bay, the wind graciously behind us. The time is just past the hour so a gaggle of sailboats has just departed on the bridge opening, and we scoot through them as we head east. Passing one 40-footer close abeam we get a little more than we bargained for. Crewed by Europeans, a couple of the men are sailing in the nude. The sight of bare buns on the stern rails gives us a chuckle.

For lunch we divert to another old favorite anchorage, Browning Cove on Heywood Island. The main harbor is filled with sailboats but we turn down the little channel to the east and anchor in the lee of the island with a beautiful view to the north of the La Cloche Mountains behind us. The water is deep, about 17 feet, and it has that typical sea green color. Just enough breeze to keep us cool comes off the land, and we raft up for lunch again. It gets so hot that after lunch Chris and I dive in for a swim around the boats, using the built-in ladder on the stern of MEMORY to get back aboard. It is late afternoon by the time we get dried off and ready to go.

Quest for Dreamer's Rock

The skies are still clear and the sun still fairly high in the sky, so I suggest we take a try at going to Dreamer's Rock. This is one destination that has eluded me in all previous visits, as the entrance channel is unmarked and tricky to navigate. As we run north and downwind I see the breeze is backing to the south, and there are some big rollers coming across Frazer Bay. It will be a rough ride back upwind.

Dreamer's Rock is located on the Whitefish River Indian Reservation, at the far southeast part of the La Cloche Peninsula. To reach it, you must enter from McGregor Bay and traverse the Boat Passage route. This requires a very careful entrance. The problem is the extreme variation in the water depth. You can have 100 feet of water at your stern and be looking at only a foot of water at your bow. We tried one aborted attempt at coming in here many years ago in our 5-foot draft sailboat. That day the sunlight was of no help due to overcast skies. Today there is plenty of sunshine, but we have waited until too late in the day to take advantage of it. Coming slowly up the entrance I cannot see a clue to water depth from the color of the water.

I am on the verge of aborting again when by a stroke of good fortune (for the second time in this trip) a local fisherman and a pal come flying by us in small outboards. We watch their course through the entrance narrows, where they take a sharp turn to the left. Immediately I fall in behind them, following their wake while it still shows in the dark water. Once clear of the unseen shoals, I glance behind me to see if the other guys have followed. They are coming in, too, but WHALE LURE seems to be straying too far to the right.

The locals in the fishing boat see this, too, and they make an abrupt turn and begin waving at Larry to turn sharply left. He takes their direction and avoids the nasty wall rising from the depths in front of him. The fishermen take off again at high speed and disappear around the bend, while we motor more slowly into Boat Passage.

Finally I get a glimpse of Dreamer's Rock, the long awaited destination. It soars about 200 feet above the water, offering an excellent site for observation of the whole region. The rock is characteristically white, but it has a strange texture, giving it the appearance of a huge cranium. I think I understand its appeal to the First Nation culture.

In Indian tradition, a boy coming of age would encamp for a week of solitary fasting on the top of Dreamer's Rock, searching for his Vision Quest. Sleeping and meditating on this sacred ground would perhaps permit the spirits to reveal to him via dreams and visions the young Indian's future role in life. He would be guided by this insight and conduct himself as a hunter, a warrior, a farmer, or fisherman, as directed by the Spirits' guidance.

We circle around to the south of the peak, coming to a small lodge. Our new friends in the fishing boat seem to sense our reticence to proceed, so they come out from the dock to guide us through the rocky passage. In the process, they also display a couple of huge northern pike they have caught in Baie Fine. These are monstrous fish and would be a thrill to land for any fisherman.

I inquire with them about climbing to the top of Dreamer's Rock.

"That may not go too well with the Indians, eh?" replies one of the fellows. "That's sacred ground to them, and they don't let people up there any more."

Even if it could be arranged, it is too late in the day to start such a climb now, so I hold that goal in reserve for another visit. Time to get back into deep water before the sun drops behind the bluff on the way out.

"Just keep to the right, all the way up the bay and on the way out," advises our friendly Canadian fishing guide, "there are some big rocks in there."

We exit from Boat Passage and return to the well-charted depths of McGregor Bay.

McGregor Bay: New Dimensions

McGregor Bay had been for decades an uncharted collection of rocks and shoals known only to the local cottagers, but finally in June of 1997 the Canadian Hydrographic Service published Chart 2206. Reflecting many summers of surveys in the bay done between 1985 and 1996, the new chart was a welcomed addition to the small-scale, detailed strip charts of the Small Craft Route series. Unfortunately, there are several things about Chart 2206 that make it a pain to use.

First, instead of continuing the accordion folded strip charts of the 2200 series, Chart 2206 was published as one large sheet printed on both sides of unusually heavy coated paper stock. Arranged on the single sheet were six smaller panels, three on a side, and laid out in such a way that they could be cut into three smaller sheets that would contain a complete sub-chart on each side. These new sheets could then be folded to become the same size as the rest of the 2200 series charts. It would have been much handier if the agency had performed the cutting and folding for the chart buyer, and presented the chart in the over-wrapping card stock folder that the rest of the 2200 charts make use of. But this matter of presentation is a minor problem compared to the second issue with these charts.

Reflecting their country's conversion to the metric system, the Canadian Hydrographic Office issued Chart 2206 of McGregor Bay with all the distances and depths in metric units. Instead of sailing over water that is 6-feet deep, we now give a cautious eye to water 2-metres in depth or less. The problem is not so much one of conversion from unit to unit, but rather the fact that in the shallower depths, those less than 10 feet, the chart maker now must use two digits to provide the same information that a single digit previously conveyed. Water depths can't be shown with a solitary number, like "3" for 3-foot depths, but now the chart is cluttered with two digits for every sounding, and that 3-foot patch is denoted with "0.5".

Using the metric dimension and two digits actually provides more resolution, but it is unnecessary. If the water were 0.5 meters in depth is this better than 0.4 meters? There are 3.1 more inches of water in the former case, but this is hardly of concern to the recreational boater. It is much simpler to announce the changes in depth in increments of one foot rather than in tiny steps of a tenth of a meter. It is a case of more data but less value.

We decide we'll take a brief exploration of McGregor Bay, but since I am the only one who has the new chart (the others are using a Richardson's Chart Book which was published prior to this new chart's release), I must take over the navigation.

As we are cruising up the north shore of McGregor Point, I am staring at the chart trying to find a safe route through all the shoals, when I get an excellent idea. Since the chart is in metric units, I will change my depth sounder display to metric as well. This will make correlating the depths I see on the chart with the readings on my sonar much easier.

We cut in toward shore at an unnamed group of islands (46-02-00 N; 081-38-38 W) and idle among their many cottages, rocks, and shoals. From there we take a leg due north and cross the bay, approaching Pardsay Crag Island, where the locals have built a range. I try to deduce the bearing on the range so I can chart it to see where it leads. This area is a mine field of rocks awash, and it is not clear how to utilize the range's guidance to avoid all these hazards. By my plotting, the course on the range leads almost directly over some rather shoal water, although it does avoid most rocks in the area.

By now the western horizon is filled with glare from the declining sun, so I decide not to chance a new route across the rock laden bay. Instead we revert to following our path out the way we came, again assisted by the chart plotting ability of Larry's DGPS. We retrace our course and return to the exit at McGregor Point.

As I predicted, there are nicely developed rollers coming up Frazer Bay, and we have to pound directly into them to get back to the Landsdowne Channel. It is a rough ride across, but after about thirty minutes of slogging upwind we reach the protection of the Landsdowne. There we are again in calm water, and we proceed back at planing speed.

Killarney Mountain Inn

Tonight's dinner plan take us by foot down the road a few hundred yards to the Killarney Mountain Lodge. This is a wonderful resort, built originally as an exclusive executive retreat for a major corporation, but eventually sold off in the corporate streamlining of the 1980's to a private operator. Built for entertaining and feeding large groups of corporate clients in elegant camp style, the place has successfully continued life as a resort, a marina, and a restaurant.

We sit down at a large round table in a big log cabin, bare wooden floors underfoot and a hint of a breeze off the lake coming through the large screened open windows. We are one of the last tables to be seated tonight, as it is now 9 p.m., but our waitress doesn't seem to mind the late addition to her section. She gets us a round of drinks while we read the menu.

The kitchen is geared to feeding guests who are staying for the week, so each night there is a different special on the menu. Tonight's featured whitefish dinner sounds good to all of us, and we order five of them.

"I was watching them clean fish down at HERBERTS," notes Larry Goltz, "and they were removing the lateral line from the filets."

We have had many discussions at our dinner tables this trip about the need to remove the lateral line from the fish. This is the darker line of flesh that runs down the center of the filet. The lateral line contains less desireable tasting portions of the fish, and it should be removed, preferably before cooking. If the chef failed to do so, it should definitely not be eaten. This is the unanimous advice of our table of experienced fishermen.

"So I asked them [the people at HERBERTS] if they always removed the lateral line," continues Larry, "and they said 'yes.'"

"It looked like they were cleaning some fish for delivery elsewhere, so I asked them where that fish was going. 'Killarney Mountain Lodge' was the answer. So you're eating HERBERTS' whitefish here tonight."

The fresh catch, minus lateral line, prepared to perfection in the kitchen, presented in the beautiful setting of the old log cabin dining room, and eaten in the good company and fellowship of our mates makes one of the best meals of the trip.

We have really enjoyed our dinner at the Inn, and we are in no rush to leave it. We wander down the hall into the "Carousel", a tall-ceiling, octagonal lodge, with a big central fireplace, a bar, and entertainment. We grab a drink and a seat, and enjoy the singing and guitar playing of tonight's featured performer, a unknown but decent Canadian singer.

This set is almost over, so we stay through the break and hang-in for another half an hour, enjoying the lodge and the additional entertainment of a group of rather boisterous and intoxicated guests. There is a full moon rising over Lake Huron to the south, we are in a lovely setting, we are really in relaxed-vacation-mode now, and it is just plain fun to sit in the Carousel, have another drink, and people-watch.

Two bartenders and three waitresses keep the drinks flowing. Behind the bar a series of seven flags are hanging from the rafters. After a few minutes of concentration we deduce all of their nationalities, except one. The flags are from the nations of Australian, US, Canada, France, Germany, Ireland and the Netherlands (that's the one we couldn't identify).

Eventually we wear ourselves out, but the crowd in the Carousel keeps roaring and the folk singer is still singing as we walk back to our boats through the quiet town.