The Tao of Walking Ridge

Each day of my singlehanded journey was decided by the weather and whim.  After a day at Beardrop, I decided to check out a little cove around the corner.  Only big enough for perhaps 2 or 3 boats, at this time of the off season I had Long Point Cove to myself.  The log reads:

9/3/92 - Long Pt Cove - 11 NM, (10:40 - 17:20), Winds 25 SW

It wasn’t far, but I spent some time sailing about before finding it. I anchored in the cove for the evening and awoke to the luckiest event I’ve ever had while sailing.

I woke up and looked out the side window to notice a large rocky outcropping drift by.  Startled, I went topsides and discovered my anchor was dragging.  I’d rested easily all evening, but the wind had picked up in the morning and I had drifted directly out the opening of the cove.  What are the odds?  I lifted the dragging anchor and faced with the decision of waiting the appropriate time to vent gas fumes before starting the engine and crashing into some rocks, decided to hit the ignition.  It started, and I was underway perhaps 20 seconds before going aground.

Now I was there.  I had arrived.  I was in the North Channel.  Now I could live according to whim and the rhythm of life.  One destination I definitely wanted to see was Beardrop Harbor.  Beardrop is about a quarter mile wide and a mile or two long.  It has a very narrow opening, making it a great place to sit out a storm.

I was actually able to sail to Beardrop in strong winds of 25 plus knots.  I kept the sails very short, sailing jib only so I could control it better.  The Tartan 34 is not rigged with roller furling and is not ideal for single handing.  But with an autopilot, I’m able to be captain and crew and, by sailing it conservatively, sail safe.

The log reads:

9/2/92 - Beardrop Harbor - 26 NM, (9:05 - 14:29), Winds 25 - 30 knots E

After sailing such long legs to get here, the 5 1/2 hour passage went by quickly.  Sailing short sailed I made over 4.5 knots!  The wind was loud in my ears.  The waves were short and choppy as the North Channel is relatively protected compared to Lake Huron.  Upon arrival at the opening to Beardrop, I found the markers to line up with the entrance.  A book that describes the local navigation marks is pretty much a necessity in the north channel.  It isn’t uncommon to line a rock up with a white mark on a cliff face.  For Beardrop, I lined up the marks, took the heading, and thought I was going straight into the cliff.  But an opening appeared and I motored through.

As I entered Beardrop the wind dropped and the waves fell to calm in a matter of seconds.  Once again, the contrast with the hours during the passage was dramatic.  The calm was intoxicating.  The Tartan had a dingy on davits off the stern, and I lowered it into the water and explored the harbor.  It was a great place to explore with a dingy.  Very protected, with lots of rocky outcroppings to climb on and explore.  A great mix of big boating and small boating.

While there, I continued to bask in how remote the area was.  I could go hours without hearing or seeing another boat or airplane.  It did occur to me that if anything happened, it was likely that no one would even respond to a marine radio call.  Perhaps the Canadian Coast Guard was monitoring channels, but I certainly saw few signs of life.  Self preservation was definetly a priority.

As I settled in for the night, I had my most unsettling encounter of the trip.  A small outboard skiff circled my boat and I heard someone call “Hey, Captain!” a few times.  I saw no spot light, heard to official identification, and assumed it was likely to be one of the locals that are known from time to time to become a bit intoxicated.  Frankly, I was scared.  I stayed below and they left after a few minutes.

The log for the day reads:

9/1/92 - Arrived Meldrum Bay - 46 NM, (8:40 - 16:30), wind 12 knots, NW engine on 8 hrs, 40 min

It was another day of motoring.  As I approached the gap between the Manitoulin and Drummond Island there was great anticipation.  This was the gateway to the North Channel.  But I still had more than an hour of motoring to go before I was able to weigh anchor.

As I arrived in Meldrum bay, the contrast between the day of motoring and the conditinos in the bay were dramatic.  The trees surrounding the bay blocked the wind.  So I went from waves, wind, sound to nearly dead quiet.  Remote.  Off in the distance, a lone motor was heard.  It belonged to a single engine aircraft probably 3 miles away.  That was it.  The peace and quiet overcame me like two stiff shots of 16 year old single malt scotch whiskey.  This is why I made the trip.  (I am actually writing this in 2008, recalling the arrival, and the memory is still vivid).

The procedure for passing customs is to find a phone and call in upon arrival in a Canadian port.  So my first stop was to the dock at Meldrum Bay with some gas docks and a building.  The building looked to be on the end of the road (about 7 miles?) that runs from end to end through the Manitoulin Island.  A sign on the gas docks said “For gas call xxx-xxxx).  The place was unattended.  The “lodge” was unlocked.  Inside was a payphone, I called customs, returned to my boat, and anchored out in the bay for the evening.  I never did actually see anyone.