So on Friday night I was sitting on my boat at the marina.
I had arrived later than expected from work.
My original plan was to stay at the marina overnight, then head up to an anchorage in the morning.
The anchorage is about 10 miles from the marina.
The forecast was for light and variable winds beginning early Saturday morning. The weather on Friday night was rain, with a chance of thundershowers and winds 15 – 20 from the Northeast.
After a bit of farting around, I came to the decision that I would rather sail than motor up to Lost Bay. It was about 5:30 and I figured on at least 2 hours to get there. I estimated it wouldn’t be full dark until about 8:00. Rather than sit on the boat, or, go to the on-site restaurant and look at the cute bartender, I thought I could make it to Lost Bay before dark.
By the time I got the boat ready to go, put on my rain gear and trusty Sou’wester and cast off, it was close to 6:15. Once I was underway I realized that I had left my tiller pilot at home. I hadn’t taken the sail cover off, so I set my jib and hand-bombed it up the bay.
The rain started off as a drizzle but got progressively stronger until it was a full-bore downpour. There was no one else on the water. The wind was blowing at about 12 knots and I was making good headway under jib alone. It was very pleasant. About half way up to Lost Bay the mist started to thicken to more of a fog. The heavy cloud cover, rain and thickening fog made it pretty dark out. I switched on my running lights and got my horn close to hand.
I came to realize that I wasn’t going to make Lost Bay before dark. I considered turning back: heading for the well-lit safety of the marina. I guessed that there would probably not be anyone else at the anchorage, and I was very familiar with the Bay, so why not carry on?
It wasn’t long before it was very dark and the visibility was pretty limited. I could barely make out the range to the west of where I needed to go in. I know that there is some pretty snotty stuff to the East (Osprey Bank) so my plan was to sail to the point where the north/south and east/west ranges intersect then drop my sail and motor over to the channel that is marked by a starboard hand day beacon. This went as planned and I fired up old smokey and motored towards shore.
It’s hard enough to see the day beacon in broad daylight: given the conditions on Friday night: torrential downpour, fog etc. it was next to impossible. I headed in the direction I thought was close and beamed the rocky shoreline with my flashlight. I saw a pale shape on the rocks and trusted my memory. For once it hadn’t let me down and I entered the channel.
The channel going in to Lost Bay is very narrow (I’m guessing 25 – 30 feet). There are submerged rocks and other nasties on either side. On Friday night I could barely make out either side! Chartplotter don’t fail me now!
I motored through the channel and turned down into Lost Bay. I played my flashlight across the channel as there are a couple of Javex-bottle-marked alligators you want to avoid.
The bay is pretty much consistently 8’ deep, except close to each shore where the Canadian Shield eases down into the water. I know from experience that getting too close to the sides will give you that sinking feeling of keel-kissing-limestone. On Friday night I couldn’t see the shore. I trusted to my chartplotter and scanned the anchorage with my light. I could barely make out a dim anchor light and ghostly hull of another boat at anchor.
When I was in what I thought to be a suitable spot, I lowered my anchor and paid out my rode. I wasn’t entirely sure exactly where I was hooked, but, after backing down, I knew that, at least, my anchor was set.
Now usually I am pretty lackadaisical about checking my anchor. My wife is constantly up in the night and always checks to make sure we are in position. On Friday night I leapt up at every creak and tried to make out my position in relation to the rocks and the other boat. I was pretty certain that I would hear and feel the crunch of my keel against the hard rock.
As it turned out I didn’t hit anything. When dawn finally arrived I found that I was anchored in a pretty good spot: not close enough to the shore or the other boat to hit, and not right in the channel.
This was my first night-time anchoring. It was a little intimidating, but, when all was said and done, a great experience.
Then, to ice the cake, I looked out of the companionway in the morning and saw a bird that looked very distinctive flying over the cottage at the entrance to the bay.
I am pretty familiar with our local birds and am quite confident in my identification, but I pulled out my trusty binocs for a closer look. Sure enough the bird was a mature Bald Eagle! Now, for those of you on the East or West Coast, this is no biggy. I’ve even seen plenty of these beautiful raptors in Manitoba, but to see one in Southern Ontario, is pretty special! I know that they are breeding here, but I have only seen one other (in Guelph in 1988) in Ontario. Very cool!
Another benefit to the dark is that it’s hard to gauge size. In the morning a lady from the other boat kayaked past me and told me that they though I was a 50 footer coming in in the night. Not bad for 26 feet…
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