Windsong to the Sea - Part 5 - The Gaspe to Sydney

On August 15^th I awoke to find a 50 foot steel sloop nearly on top of me. The very embarrassed looking skipper was sitting on the deck waiting for me to emerge so that he could apologize. It seems they had dragged anchor during the night and couldn’t get the engine started to reset the anchor. I offered him a tow. It seemed preposterous to think of little 4 ½ ton Windsong towing this 10 ton behemoth. But then again, Windsong has been towed by her 120 lb. dinghy! I never got to find out if it would work because he was confident that his crew could fix the problem.

Windsong, Spot, the ship’s cat, and I were now on the Gaspe peninsula, the mountainous south shore of the Gulf of St. Lawrence. This was to be the most remote and northernmost portion of our journey before we swung south into the Northumberland Straight and on to Nova Scotia. We left our neighbour and his engine problems behind in Anse a L’Orignal and motor sailed through scattered showers past the wreck of the Empress of Ireland. On May 29, 1914 the Empress was struck amidships by the Norwegian coal ship SS Storstad. She went down with 1,012 souls aboard, making it the worst maritime disaster in Canadian history.

We spent the night anchored in the middle of the harbour at Les Mechins. The fishing harbour was full and the public dock look more suitable for tying up a freighter. The morning dawned with SW winds of 15-25 knots and a temperature of 14^oC. I had a great sail to St. Anne des Monts where I found internet access to send Jackie the forms for haul out and to get my plane tickets home. Overnight a boat came in and tied up in front of me. I spoke to the owner in the morning. He was an old timer from Montreal who had sailed close hauled from Sept Iles. I was concerned about running with the 15-25 knot winds and 3-6 foot seas and he had just sailed into them. It made me feel like I should grow some balls!

	I headed out and roared downwind past Gros Morne. At 49o16' N it was the northernmost point of the trip. At 16 miles north of Nipigon, the northernmost point of the Great Lakes, it was the farthest north Windsong had ever been. The temperatures were now staying at 14oC day and night. The water was so frigid, that the air could not warm up during the day. I arrived at Grande Vallee at 3pm and dropped anchor behind the pier where many locals were fishing and one local was playing the fiddle. I hurried ashore to see the covered bridge. When I got back to the harbour I saw a boat circling Windsong. I guess I wasn’t supposed to anchor there! I nearly ran around the bay to get back to the boat. I arrived to discover that the circling boat was filled with musicians serenading Windsong. Unfortunately, Spot was the
Gros Morne, 49o16' N	only one who got to enjoy the show. I returned just in time to see them unloading their instruments onto the pier.	Galipeault Bridge, Grande Valle, QC

August 18^th was another day of landmarks. I sailed past Pointe-a-la-Renommee lightstation where Marconi set up his first transatlantic radio station in 1904. Next, I saw Cap-des-Rosiers. At 112 feet, it is the tallest lighthouse in Canada. From there I rounded Cape Gaspe and the famous Pierced Rock and finally arrived at Grand Riviere on the much warmer Baie Chaleur (literally: Heat Bay).

Pointe-a-la-Renommee lightstation, first transaltlantic radio station	Cap-des-Rosiers, at 112 feet, the tallest lighthouse in Canada	Pierced Rock

One of the facts of cruising is that you have to make life or death decisions before your morning coffee. The next morning I made a really bad one. The marine forecast covered such a huge area that it took a good 10 minutes to read through. It was repeated twice in English and twice in French. If you missed your area of the forecast it could be a half and hour before you would hear it again. As you may have guessed, I missed my forecast.  Everywhere else in the Maritimes had west winds 15-25 knots shifting NW and dying. This would allow me to broad reach across Baie Chaleur to New Brunswick then the wind shift would give me a lift so I would be on a beam reach as I hardened up to follow the New Brunswick coast to Mirimachi Bay. It was going to be a long day, with few options for running for cover, but the conditions looked good, so I unfurled the genny and went for it.

As my coffee took effect and my thoughts began to crystalize, the first thing I noticed was that I was sailing on a beam reach. This did not bode well for heading up when I reached New Brunswick. I reefed twice as the seas grew to nine feet and the winds built to gale force. I hankered down in the cockpit while the ship rolled 30^o to each side. When I turned the forecast on again, I discovered that I was in the only place in the entire Maritimes with a gale warning. At this point I was three quarters of the way across the bay. I was sure that if I pressed on, having New Brunswick to windward would make the wind and waves die down. It was uncomfortable, but with a little patience, I could get through this.

New Brunswick was so low and flat that it did not appear until we were nearly on top of it. The flat land had no effect on the wind. It did make the waves fall to four to six feet but the water shallowed and they became much steeper. I furled the genny down to a jib before hardening up. Sheeting in with all of my strength could only get us to point 60^o. The rail started to go under and the jerry can on the leeward side was washed overboard despite its lashings. Fortunately, it remained tied to the boat so I was able to drag it back aboard and throw it into the cockpit. The genny was not a storm sail, and it looked ready to burst. The whole boat was shuddering as she crashed into the waves and sent spray across the entire deck. At least Baie Chaleur had lived up to its name and was warm. Still, I didn’t know how long the ship and I could withstand this kind of punishment.

My best bet looked to be Shippegan. It was another 15 miles, the bridge was only 47 feet high, and the water was shallow. I wasn’t sure I could make it through the entrance in these conditions, and besides I couldn’t point high enough to get there. The only option with deep water and no bridge was Miramichi Bay 50 miles away on the same point of sail. If I tried to bear off to a comfortable angle, I could perhaps make it to Prince Edward Island, also 50 miles away. Shippegan was a lousy option but it seemed like the only reasonable one. I decided to start the engine and pound straight into the wind to close the land to try to get out of the seas and get a better sailing angle for Shippegan.

That’s when all hell began to break loose. The first thing to let go was the dinghy. It had been strapped to the foredeck and one of the 1/4 inch lines on the aft corner snapped. I bore off so that I could work my way to the foredeck without being thrown overboard. As I tried to pull the dinghy back down onto the madly bucking deck, the wind would catch underneath it and lift both of us into the air. After a bit of hang gliding I managed to wrestle the dinghy down and lash it back to the deck. I wasn’t back in the cockpit long before the line at the back of the mainsail cover snapped leaving the whole cover failing from the mast like a flag. I rode the broncho forward again, removed the mainsail cover and threw it in the cockpit. Next to go was the Danforth anchor hanging from the bow pulpit. This time I had to kneel on the foredeck as the bow plunged under, immersing me in foam up to my waist, before throwing me 12 feet skyward. I stumbled aft and threw the anchor in the heap with the sail cover and jerry can. Soaked to the waist, I stood behind the dodger, ducking with every wave so that the wall of spray could fly over my head. I had to get out of this before something serious broke. Spot agreed. She had spent this time searching for a stable place in the cabin. Now she made a leap for the companionway in an apparent effort to abandon ship.

I put the hatch board in to keep Spot below decks and went below myself. I stood over my computer desperately searching the chart for options while trying not to drip salt water on it. I could hear the dinghy straining against its lashings then crashing back down on the deck. It sounded like someone was wailing on the deck with a sledgehammer. That was when I noticed Saint-Marie-Sur-Mer. It was a tiny little harbour on the chart that was not in the cruising guide. The only sounding shown was a quarter mile out and indicated six feet. It wasn’t any diceyer than Shippegan and it was only three miles away. It was surrounded by sandy beach so the worst case scenario was that if I ran out of water I could drop an anchor with the beach to windward and wait for the wind to blow itself out. Even if I ran aground, I had a gale force wind to blow me back to deep water. Finally, I had a viable option.

As I neared the shore the waves died down but the wind continued to shriek through the rigging. Then the depth sounder started to give out. It stopped displaying the numeric depth, but if I cranked the gain, I could get a plot on the fish finding screen that gave me a rough idea of depth. Just what I needed while heading into unknown shallow water!

When I arrived at the harbour there was a fisherman standing on each pier. I screamed into the gale, "Combien d'eau?!?" This was my best guess at how to ask how deep the water was. The only response was the fisherman on the far pier beginning to signal me on which way to steer. He guided me through the twisting unmarked channel and into the harbour. There was nothing inside except fishing boats tied to the break walls. I tried to get out my dock lines and fenders, but before I could even get them out of the locker, the wind was blasting me toward the leeward wall. I decided to try anchoring instead. I motored as far to windward as I could without running aground and dropped the hook. It didn’t hold. Now I was dragging sideways toward the leeward wall and I had to get the anchor up without wrapping it around the prop. Magnificent! I managed to keep the anchor line and prop separated while motoring back to windward and retrieved the anchor.

During my antics, the fishermen had all gathered on one boat and were busily setting up fenders. As soon as I had retrieved the hook they motioned me over. There was no way to set up the dock lines without being dashed against the leeward wall. I laid Windsong along side the fishing boat

and the fishermen grabbed hold of her lifelines and rigging. They held her with their iron grips while I ran around securing dock lines.

Once things were secure, I looked at them and said, "Je suis fou!"

One of the fisherman spoke English and responded, "You are not cray-zee. You are very brave."

You know you did something really stupid when the fishermen are calling you brave! I thanked them profusely for their assistance then changed into something dry so that I could begin to assess and repair the damage.

It was fairly minor: the dinghy had bent the chimney for my fireplace which was easily straightened and the transponder for the depth sounder had come unglued from the hull. The battery for the dinghy’s depth sounder had been stored in the compartment with the depth transponder for years, and had never moved. Today had been enough to make it slam against the transponder until a three inch diameter plug of epoxy had separated from the hull. I re-glued it with some Lifeseal and there was joy in the depth sounder once again.

The next day dawned clear with light winds. The forecast was for 25 knot winds on the nose in the morning and shifting to a beam reach in the afternoon. After yesterday’s experience I decided to err on the side of caution and wait until the afternoon. I felt like my balls had shrivelled up. It is amazing what a fine line there is between a healthy respect for the sea and cowardice. The headwinds never arrived and I departed at noon with 20-25 knots on my beam which died away before the day was over. I anchored for the night in Portage Island Anchorage in Mirimachi Bay. It was a strange anchorage as I was in 12 feet of water 1/4 of a mile from the nearest shore. The other shores of the bay are well over a mile away. The mosquitos were incredible. I was swarmed upon entering the bay despite a 10 knot breeze. At least it was finally warm.

	In the morning, the engine wouldn’t start. The wire for the glow plugs had broken off at the engine. I crimped on a new ring connector and we were off. Out on the Northumberland Straight there were so many fishing boats that, at one point, you could see one every five degrees all the way around the horizon. The first set of fishing boats seemed to be setting nets. The second set was setting out crab pots. There were so many pots that it was like negotiating a minefield. Despite all of my dodging, at 4:30 the inevitable happened: "Whomp, whomp, whomp!" The boat stopped with a pile of Styrofoam behind her. I tried reverse, and I tried cutting the line and alternating
Spot has the right attitude!	between forward and reverse, but nothing would free	Catch of the Day!

the line for the crab pot from my prop. Out came the mask, snorkel, and dive knife, and over the side I went. It came off easily with no cutting.

I arrived in Summerside in the dark. There was a strange pattern of lights in the entrance channel. With help from my binoculars I eventually figured out that it was two powerboats assisting a third that was without power. It seems that he ran out of gas. When I reached the Yacht Club, I was greeted by half of the membership. They knew the guy who ran out of gas and were waiting on the dock to laugh at him!

It was a calm motorboat ride under the Confederation Bridge to Charlottetown. I followed the Wednesday night racing fleet in and dropped a hook in the mooring field. From there I motorsailed into 10-15 knot southeasterlies to the Caribou Island Anchorage where the ferry departs from Nova Scotia to PEI.

Confederation Bridge

I had a nice sail in misty conditions until Cape George. Along the way I noticed a strange whirring sound. I reached into the cabin and found Spot asleep with her back leaning against the bilge pump switch. I moved her over a little, and the sound stopped. A few minutes later, "Whirrrrrrrr", Spot was back on the switch! This repeated several times, and was cute for a while, but it was draining my batteries! No matter, at Cape George I had to harden up some much that I had to start the engine and motorsail. I transited the Canso Causeway and dropped the hook in "The Basin" off of the Lennox Passage.

The next morning I passed through the St. Peter’s canal into the Bras d’Or. Just like in the Stan Roger’s song, Giant, there was fog on Bras d’Or. When it cleared the lakes were calm as a millpond with rolling hills and winding channels in every direction. I anchored in "The Harbour" off of Baddeck bay. Bell did his hydroplane experiments in this bay and Irving Johnson’s Yankee is wrecked in the next bay over.

St. Peter's canal	Beinn Bhreag (Beautiful Mountain), the Bell Estate	"The Harbour" where Bell performed hydroplane experiments

I took the dinghy into Baddeck to see the Bell museum. It was fantastic the think that my dinghy was skipping over the same water where the Silver Dart took flight and the hydroplane HD-4 became the fastest boat in the world. The only thinkable position for the dinghy’s throttle was wide open! When I got back to the boat, I spun up my Tanglefoot CD to listen to McCurdy’s Boy. The song tells the story of how a local boy piloted the first flight of the Silver Dart, Canada’s first airplane.

I spent my final night on the hook in Otter Harbour. I found no otters, but it was beautiful, and the locals were having a hell of a party on a raft of converted fishing boats.

In the morning I sailed under the Seal Island Bridge and back onto the sea. At 2:30 pm, August 27, I pulled into the Dobson Yacht Club in Sydney, Nova Scotia. I had sailed 1714 nautical miles in five weeks. At the Dobson I hauled Windsong out of the water and winterized her. It was a sad moment as Spot and I pulled away in the cab heading for the airport. But, we could feel secure that Windsong had been put away snugly to wait out the winter. The voyage was done, and it was time for us to leave her.

	Safe at the Dobson Yacht Club for the Winter