by -
Arlyn Stewart
Part One – Where did the channel
go?
Wow… three weeks to cruise the North Channel this year… my dad use to
say…”your ship has come in”. Usually, R&R is put in at
Harrisville, Mi. and worked north along Michigan’s N/E coast and into
the North Channel via one of the three passages from North Lake
Huron. This year she is trailered to Spanish, Ontario via the
International Bridge at Sault St. Marie, then sailed East to the
Northern areas of the Georgian Bay.
Spanish has a super nice modern marina and exemplifies the hospitality
offered by the Canadians. Either Canada has inherently nice people
or the staff are carefully chosen. Since my last visit, the west
channel to the marina has become unusable because of low water
conditions on the Great Lakes. Water exiting the Spanish River
spreads itself over several small channels so that none of these are
very deep. Entrance to the marina now involves an eastern routing
thru one of these small river channels. My charts are old but the
harbormaster provides current information. The routing is tedious
and wouldn’t be something to attempt at night by the uninitiated.
Deeper keeled sailboats were unable in 2001 to get to the marina.
One of the great joys of cruising is exploring new places.
Collin’s Inlet became this year’s addition. Located five miles
east of Killarney, it stretches eastward 11 ½ miles with Mill
Lake located towards the eastern end. Created by this channel is Philip
Edward Island, making up part of the northern coast of the Georgian
Bay. The western end of the channel exits into the northern most
reaches of the Georgian Bay while the eastern end exits into Beaverstone
Bay.
We enter from the west and quickly discover the tranquil nature of the
channel with its variety of color in the rocky bluffs. There are
aspen, pine and birch groves entwined with rocky vertical bluffs of
multi colored rock. Blue berry bushes cover much of the rocky
areas. A native told us a few years back the LaCloche Mountains
are the oldest in North America. We are in no hurry and motor
leisurely and quietly eastward and are treated to views of dear, blue
heron, and beaver. The passage thru the channel is surreal as we
wonder how the channel could have been naturally formed.
The channel opens into Mill Lake, one of the most beautiful, isolated
small lakes I’ve seen. Only a few well-kept hunting and fishing
lodges mar the natural setting of the channel and lake. There is
little boat traffic. On Mill Lake, there are two sailboats at
anchor N/W of the island fisherman call Turtle Rock. We ease
quietly southward along the west side of the island and then
east. The chart shows a shallow rock slightly beneath the surface
here and to anchor in this area, we need to identify where it is.
As we glide slowly in… at first it seems that the low water has it
visible. Then we note that either this rock swims or it’s rather a
beaver. A glance toward the island with observation of beaver
huts confirms what we just speculated. The rock is found and we
move off and settle to anchor in mirror surfaced conditions. As
its early evening, we watch the beaver for a couple of hours. One
of which, comes from the east side of the lake dragging dinner. It
swims to a shallow spot near the island and munches out on the limb to
be disturbed shortly by another wanting a handout. Hospitality is
not offered however as the host keeps its back between the dinner guest
and the bough. A mother and two urchins swim from the island to
an area near one of the huts and disappear. We decide to swim
also… and the water is not quite so cold here in the lake.
With charts in the cockpit, the next morning we motor east to traverse
the remainder of the inlet and exit into Beaverstone Bay. Here,
there is a fare amount of fishing activity as its waters spread out to
form a large bay strewn with many rocky shoals, fingers and small
islands. All in all, it is a wondrous area with such a mixture of
terrain. I’ve carefully studied the charts for the bay’s exit
channel south into the Georgian Bay, which includes three ranges.
Two of which are linked by a right angle turn. The channel lies
within an expanse of rock shoals and from a distance looks as if many
turtles lie on the surface sunning. Waypoints have been pre-programmed
into the GPS and numbered on the chart so we know at any given point
where we are. Winds are moderate, but enough to blow the boat
quickly if it should lose way.
Before we arrive at the first range, we observe what seems to be
another range marker not shown on our chart. Not sure what this
means, we follow our gps to the first range on our chart. The
foundations of the range markers are there… but the markers have been
removed. Scanning the area ahead shows a mass of rock humps.
Decision time, do we go back and try to sort out the new range… or
follow the gps thru this abandoned channel.
With crew at bow and clear water allowing/ visibility deeper than our
draft, we moved cautiously forward following the compass rose on the
gps. We pick our way thru the several turns of the channel and emerge
safely into the Georgia Bay. Ironically, last winter while doing
the chart work, I had mused to myself why someone had developed such a
complicated series of ranges when a little to the west there seemed to
be a much straighter entrance. As we worked back west the new
channel markers were easily identifiable.
Part Two – Forgot that rock
Entering Baie Fine is always a good feeling. It’s a beautiful
long narrow bay and has a lot to offer. Deep within, lies “The
Pool” a picturesque setting made famous by cruisers and artist.
A way in, on the right lays Marianne
Cove, a very sheltered anchorage as well as starting point for a
hiking trail up to Casson Peak. While I’ve been here a couple of
times before, it’s a favorite and included again on this cruise.
The day has been fairly long, having come from last nights anchorage in
the Benjamin Islands thru Little Current where we fueled at Spider Bay
Marina and with time left before the hourly opening of the rotating
bridge, stopped along the channel to get ice cream.
As we neared the cove, I slowed the boat to less than half speed,
around 2 ½ miles per hour in anticipation of the turn into
the cove. We rounded the steep rocky bluff by a good margin and
suddenly the boat lurched into the air and grounded fast. rocking
somewhat on its own wake. I was stunned and new instantly that we
had hit a rock. I recalled that I had known in previous years and
forgotten that hazard was there. An assessment showed that we were
listed slightly meaning we weren’t free of the rock.
A quick check of the motor and rudder showed that they hadn’t been
affected. The motor reversed us a few feet and it seemed we would
simply back off but then reverse progress stopped. The rock was
now visible to port about eighteen inches under the surface, and
displayed a great amount of white gel coat. I had the feeling
that some of that was not mine.
Yet grounded, an anchor was dinghy’d a way off the stern and set
but attempts to kedge off met stiff resistance and in fact tended to
accentuate the remaining list, now less after backing off the
rock. About this time, and elderly kind looking gentlemen rowed
out from the only cabin in the area. His words were as kind as his
looks and equally helpful. I told him that I could see a cable on
the bottom and had tried to kedge aft and met resistance and was about
to get in the dinghy again and have a look. He offered to do that
for me and reported that my centerboard was down and likely hung and
keeping me from backing further. This surprised me as I had
raised the board in preparation to entering the cove. The
centerboard cable had obviously broken and allowed the board to drop
when backing off the rock and it was now hung on either the bottom, a
rock or the viewed electrical cable. Releasing tension on the
kedge line… a fender was tied to the bitter end of the rode and let go astern.
As a moderate breeze was setting us toward the rock… the gentlemen
rowed the bow anchor upwind and forward about 150 feet. It was a
simple matter then to haul the boat to it … we were free. After
retrieving the bow anchor, we entered the cove to assess and deal with
damages, especially the water on the cabin sole.
I had felt sick when the crew first informed me of the water, but upon
a quick look, saw only a little water in the bilge. The source of water
on the cabin sole was not from an overfilled bilge though I was
concerned that there was any water in the normally dry bilge. That
there was no inrush raised my spirits that hull integrity was
ok. After grounding on the rock, I had quickly
checked for water and found none. My mind scanned the possible
explanations.
Prior to the attempt to kedge off the rock, I had emptied the water
ballast tank thinking that might set us free. Inserting an air
pump in the vent line located in the anchor locker does this. My
boat also has a vent line for the fresh water tanks located across from
the ballast vent and I had inadvertently put the pump into it
first. While under pressure, fresh water may have been
forced from the system and found its way to the cabin sole.
Another possibility was the ballast valve shaft seal might have leaked
as air was pumped into the tank, this has been witnessed before and
would explain the small amount of water in the bilge, but not that on
the cabin sole. A more remote possibility was that the ballast
tank itself had a crack that would show again when attempting to refill,
but the ballast likely wouldn’t have pumped out with a crack preventing
pressuring up the ballast tank. At any rate, I was fairly sure
that no water was coming in now, so we motored out of the cove to
retrieve the Bruce anchor and upon returning it began to rain.
The boat was a mess with things out of place, but as the rain wasn’t
cold, my first priority was to set things in order.
Next morning, I donned my wetsuit and goggles to inspect damage and
discovered it confined to the top and to a lesser extent, the
leading edge of the centerboard. Forward when the boat hit, a
section about eight inches had been bruised into the glass and probably
into the core slightly. The retract cable had also been pinched
and sliced. It received a temporary repair and the ballast tank
refilled and upon finding all dry, I felt fortunate that the cruise
could continue with repairs made at home.
The water mystery on the cabin sole was solved later that evening when
making hot chocolate. Here is what happened. Remember that I
had pressured up the fresh water system by mistake with the pump in the
vent line, doing so sprayed water out of a small crack in fresh water
supply fitting to the sink faucet. The crack faced the galley
cabinet door. Fresh water bounced off the door, some of it
falling to the bilge and some dripping down the door and with the boat
listing, flowed under the door and onto the cabin sole. The
chocolate packs are stored in a bin attached to the back of the galley
cabinet door... they were wet.
Part Three – Bear with me
After repairs, it was time for more fun and the hike and view from
Casson Peak was fantastic. The sky was clear for a great
view. Crew and I returned to the boat just after lunch and set out
for “The Pool” at the eastern end of Baie Fine. Baie Fine is a
long narrow bay and about half way within… I noted something ahead in
the water, possibly a deadhead. Observing it making progress across the
bay meant however that it was living creature. Was it another
beaver? If both it and we stayed our course, it wouldn’t be long
till we’d meet. No, it didn’t have the same movement and
silhouette as a beaver… it had to be…yes, it was a black bear.
I cut back the motor to yield right of way and watch the bear swim
across in front of us but the noise change evidently caused the bear to
decide to retreat. I held course to avoid stressing the bear,
though it was tempting to get closer for a good picture. We passed
with fifty yards to beam and the bear realizing that we hadn’t changed
course and were now going away, reversed again and continued across the
bay. The sighting was a nice experience and though a close picture
wasn’t obtained… I felt good about not intruding into the bear’s space
more than necessary.
A contrast to this occurred three days later when motoring thru
Collin’s Inlet. Rounding a bend, a powerboat sped along the
channel toward us and the passenger pointed to the bank on our side of
the channel and almost immediately the driver swerved at a deer standing
in the water on our side of the channel evidently to bolt it. When
they saw us, I could see the words, “Oh shit” come from the surprised
face of the driver as he executed a very hard evasive turn back to his
side of the channel to avoid hitting us.
Part Four – Once out, there is no
going back
On Mill Lake again, I listened to the small craft advisory warning and
in particular the marine report and forecast which outlined twenty-five
knots from the south and continued morning rainsqualls ending in the
afternoon with winds slackening. We were three moderate days or
two long days from Spanish where we would haul out. We could also
pick up a day on the road by making one day quite long. So, we were
working with two weather days at the cost of longer days to compensate.
I hoped to avoid the long days if possible. The planned day’s
passage was from Mill Lake to Browning Cove on Haywood Island.
Although twenty six miles, most of it was protected from this southern
blow as we would route thru the channel at Killarney, then through the
Landsdowne Channel both protected from the south. In fact, the
strong southerly would aid traversing the Landsdowne Channel because it
would set a westerly current. The hard part would be the
Georgian Bay between the west exit of Collin’s Inlet and Killarney, a
distance of five miles.
Nearing the channel entrance, we emerged from protection from the
wind to realize that our expectations of this crossing were well
found. It was blowing like stink. Surf was pounding the
rocks on both sides of the channel entrance and there appeared to be
six or more feet running in the bay. I thought about
staying. It would be a difficult effort to sail, in part because
the channel entrance was narrow and I didn’t want to exit the channel
under sail and setting in the wild bay would be an effort.
However, if the motor quit, the lee shore was only a mile north and to
set anchors would mean a very nasty day. While
Killarney lay on a beam reach, close hauling would be necessary because
of the great leeway this wind would cause. It would be a tough
course to sail under jib alone.
In our favor were that it was only five miles to a very easy entrance
to Killarney channel and the new Honda 8 extra long shaft had been super
reliable and shown no tendencies for the prop to break out. I
hugged the windward side of the channel and leapt into the
maelstrom. I knew in an instant that this was the greatest swell
I’d been in and not by a little margin. My second thought was that
there wasn’t any going back as coming out was tough but going back into
the channel riding a swell that could carry us to leeward and rocks was
not an option. We were committed.
Occasional rain squalls had caused me to don foul weather gear and
sea boots, for which I was thankful, as the ride became
wet. This crossing is the only time I’ve gotten water thru the
companionway hatch while closed. Our course angled across what I
believe to have been eight feet of confused swell because of the back
surge do to the shallow bay and close proximaty to the northern limits
of the sixty miles of fetch. While not a lot on the ocean,
it is huge and steep on the short wave period of the Great
Lakes. R&R pitched and rolled and the prop spun out
occasionally, even though the wind on port side favored setting the
motor deeper. Best results were to reduce power to about
1/3 throttle keeping the boat from leaping off crest and hammering into
the troughs, yet maintaining adequate speed for good helm
response. With crew sheltered below in the V berth, R&R
worked toward Killarney at three mph ground speed rolling starboard and
port over each oncoming angular swell.
Buried much of the time from visual reference by the swell and made
worse by the rain, I could not see our destination across the bay.
My method of navigation relies heavily on the gps and its data stream to
the auto helm, but it’s easier to steer from the compass. Here is
what works for me. My passages are usually preplanned. If
not the winter before on my desktop computer, then the evening before
with the lap top. Waypoints for each course correction are set and
these populated into a route. Waypoint and route data are
transferred to the gps. When setting out, the desired route is
made active in the gps. This means that the gps becomes smart, it
automatically decides where you’re at and tells you course and distance
to the next waypoint and where you’re at relative to the rhumb line
(line between the last and next waypoint). I use the compass rose
screen for course, as it is very intuitive to point the arrow straight
ahead and get on course. The rose shows relative directions from
that course. If one knows for example that the wind is coming as
in this instance from the south…. One can easily see on the rose where
the wind is relative to the course.
The compass rose screen however isn’t as easy to steer to as a wet
compass because of data update time, which isn’t much of a problem at
6mph but becomes a pain at 2-3 and if the boat stops, is useless.
For this reason, I want a compass course but my compass is greatly
influenced on some points by the installation of the autopilot with its
servomotor mounted too close. This keeps me from taken a course
from a chart and applying it to the compass; unless I develop a
deviation chart…way too much trouble when factoring in the additional
need to compensate the course for leeway and currents etc. There
is an easier way, which doesn’t care what the compass shows…it uses the
compass, regardless of dramatic deviations.
Put the boat on course indicated by the gps, then monitor for a minute
the cross track error. It will tell if you’re sliding to the left
or right. Adjust the steered course to track the boat on the rhumb
line. The Cross Track Error (XTE) reads in hundredths and will
tell you when you have strayed from the rhumb line 53 feet. This
is very easy to do and becomes intuitive after done just a few
times. Now, note the compass reading and steer to it…whatever it
is… who cares. It my case because of compass deviation and lots of
leeway, it might be off 30 deg from the course to waypoint… but will now
keep me on the rhumb line between the two waypoints.
Fortunately, one of Autohelm’s screens displays the Cross Track Error
(xte) data stream from the gps in great big letters and does so whether
using the auto helm or not. It is a favorite screen and usually
the one on my auto helm head as I don’t use bearing information from the
fluxgate compass of the Autohelm but rather that of the gps.
Use of a gps has limitations, the important point is as with any tool,
be familiar with what the tool will and won’t do. Do not be lulled
into following its course to a waypoint where hazards are near as it can
guide you in a large arc to the waypoint if the boat is set by current
or drift. Using XTE will prevent the arc, by providing information to
stay on the rhumb line, but keep in mind that even a 0.00 XTE reading
may allow 53 feet of stray from the line.
Crossing the bay takes an hour and half. Neither I or crew have
been bothered by sickness and in fact find ourselves hungry.
Within the channel at Killarney on the mainland side, is an old school
bus converted into a kitchen. Out of this kitchen come some really
fine fish ‘n chips that bring ferry boats of tourist daily to
enjoy. The whitefish is caught daily…. Uh, in this instance,
not this morning. When pulling into the dock a young man
asked, “Where did you come from?” “Out there,” I replied as
I glanced towards the eastern end of the channel. He looked my
face to see if I was humoring … and realizing I wasn’t, offered, “Bet
you have a story to tell.” I did, but because I had fish ‘n
chips on my mind gave him a very short version, “It was wild.” He
responded, “The fisherman go out seven days a week, but didn’t today.”
