A Christmas Cruise

It was a lovely summer’s day and after all my hard work, there was a feeling of intense relief and relaxation as I headed out of the harbour. The plan was to get to Pelorus Sound for Christmas. There was a very light NE breeze, but after negotiating the narrows out of Motueka’s artificial harbour, I could turn off the engine and sail down the lagoon towards the entrance. But with the light wind and a strong tide, I started the motor to get out over the bar. The tide set me into very shallow water out of the channel – an act of carelessness on a falling tide that I felt very bad about. But the gods were kind and I realised what was happening before it was too late.

Fantail in her new livery

To get from Tasman Bay to the Marlborough Sounds there are two choices: around the top of D’Urville I (and thus into the Cook Strait) or to sneak between the island and the mainland through a very narrow passage called French Pass. I’ve described this in a previous blog, but I can’t say that it was much more appealing the second time around. I was certainly inclined to deal with it very cautiously. I’m pleased to say that  so was David.

My usual view of Tystie

As was to be come the norm, David left after me and before long all I could see was his stern. But Tystie is 9 ft longer than Fantail. By four o’clock the wind was dying away and we had at least 15 miles to go to the anchorage we had hoped for. I was sincerely hoping that David would decide to go into Croisilles harbour. He had lost his VHF aerial and for some reason his cell phone wasn’t working, so we couldn’t discuss the matter.

An hour later, I had to start the engine to clear Cape Soucis. It was with a great sigh of relief that I saw David let fly the sheets so that he could ‘heave to’ and wait for me. When I caught up we had a brief discussion and without too much debate bore away for Croisilles and brought to in a very pretty and mercifully shallow harbour in Whangarae Bay. We’d put in 32 miles, essentially under sail and felt we’d done quite well. Over dinner on Fantail, we discussed the tides for the morrow and congratulated ourselves – well me, I suppose – on getting away in good time.

One of the things I love about coastal sailing is the beautiful calm nights; one of the things I dislike about sailing around mountainous coastlines is the prevalence of ‘katabatic’ winds. They may not fit the true meteorological definition of this phenomenon, but the net result is that same: you are sleeping like a log and suddenly the boat swings and heels to her anchor as a heavy gust falls down the hillside on to her. This happened tonight and even though I was sure I was well anchored, I defy any sailor to sleep through this sort of event. So, although it was a wonderfully secure anchorage, I didn’t get much of a night’s sleep.

Because we needed to catch the tide through French Pass, Tystie and Fantail were underway not long after 7 o’clock. A little breeze blew us out of the anchorage but then died away. Further on, we had more than enough wind, as the local topography took over again and a strong gust chased us down the harbour. I considered reefing, but it looked pretty flat out at sea and sure enough, a couple of hours after leaving I was almost becalmed of Pahakorea Pt. At the time I was happy, because it meant that I'd arrive at French Pass on the tail of the ebb. However, when the anticipated sea breeze failed to materialise, I started to worry. David seemed to be sailing well, so I started the engine and went to find his wind, after which, although we had to beat, we made good progress.

Tystie apparently sailed through French Pass (although David later admitted to starting his engine and using it for a few minutes) but I bottled out at the last minute and put on the donk to get through the narrows. We picked up a lovely NE breeze to take us up Admiralty Bay. Admittedly a SW would have been nicer – but beggars can’t be choosers and any breeze is better than none!

Fantail has no windlass, but has a superb chain pawl – a copy of Iron Bark’s.

Tystie at Waihinau Bay

For all that, I had been concerned about anchoring in 20m and we had agreed to try and find shallower places wherever possible. As we turned into Waihinau Bay, I saw Tystie casting about, obviously looking for a good berth. My heart sank a bit as I approached and saw David launch his dinghy and take a stern line to a tree, but I need not have worried: a 26ft boat needs less room than one of 35 ft and there was space for me to squeeze in between a local launch and a fishing boat. I dropping the hook in 9m, feeling rather close to shore, but when I rowed over to Tystie, I realised I was well off. You would think that after so many years, I’d be able to judge these distances better, but lots of experienced sailors admit that they often feel too close to another boat, or to the shore, only to realise, when they row away, that there situation is perfectly satisfactory. 
 For the first time, I assembled and launched my new folding dinghy. It went

Waihinau Bay

together in a few seconds. I had thought about the launching process for some time. Katie and Maurice used to launch Nanook’s dinghy by lifting the guard rails from their sockets and dropping them on deck, which allowed the dinghy to go directly over the rail. I can’t do that, but when I fitted the self-steering, I removed the ‘gate’ at the stern, which led to a little boarding platform. This gate was secured with pelican hooks and I used these to replace the lashings on the port lifeline. Casting them off, I made sure the wires were over the side and easily slid the dinghy into the water. When I came to haul her back up, it was equally easy. A success.

For the moment, Peawaka has to be carried along the guard rails, but I will 

For the moment, Peawaka has to be carried along the guard rails

fit chocks so that I can secure her on deck for offshore conditions. I would hate to lose both dinghy and guard rails to a large wave!

It was a lovely calm night and after all my work of the previous week, I slept like a log. We had decided not to leave until a bit of a breeze filled in, so Christmas Eve started in leisurely fashion. David came over and we discussed possible anchorages. Looking out of the harbour, I noticed a sea breeze was filling in. For the fun of it, David offered to tow me out to the wind to save my diesel and to see how well Tystie functions as a tug.

Tystie gives us a tow

I hauled the anchor up without much difficulty – the chain pawl really seems to take most of the effort out to it. Tystie has the same size chain, with a 20k anchor at the end (as distinct from my 10k) and David reckons it’s hard work to haul by hand. As he was apparently awe-struck at Annie the Amazon, I didn’t tell him how easy it actually was!

The boats at Ngawhakawhiti Bay

Once out in the Sound we had a lovely sail. We poked our noses into one potential anchorage, but the sailing was too nice for us to wish to stop, and we continued to sail down Tennyson Inlet, passing the wonderfully named World's End to bring to in Ngawhakawhiti Bay, which looked like a lovely Christmas anchorage. At 1630 I dropped the hook in a civilised 7m, and sat back to admire the beautiful bush that surrounded us. It had been a most enjoyable 15-mile sail and I was feeling quite besotted with my little ship.

On Christmas Day, I loafed around while David resolutely took himself into the bush to find the Nydia Track that we were intending to tramp on Boxing Day. It took him very little time as it passes right by the anchorage! Later in the afternoon, we had the obligatory Christmas feast on Tystie, and quaffed a good bottle of wine.

Peawaka and Little Auk

Well fed and contented, I rowed back to Fantail, churlishly leaving David to wash up. This sailing in company has its advantages!

The glorious weather continued and we had a perfect day for our tramp. It was a lovely bush trail, with the odd gorgeous view. I love bush walks, being in among all the trees and ferns and trying (usually unsuccessfully) to identify what it is I am looking at. The occasional view only adds to the interest; sometimes we could look back to the anchorage where the

two boats lay quietly looking at their own reflections. The path passes over a spur and from the top we could see down into Nydia Bay, which looked delightful, with a couple of Platonic islands placed tastefully in it. (Later, at low water, one of these pretty little islands turned out to be the end of a

View from the Nydia Track

peninsula.) We stopped for lunch in Nydia Bay, sitting on a posh wharf belonging to an unoccupied bach. We were amazed that anyone could resist the temptation to spend Christmas there. David took the opportunity to go for a swim, but it looked too cold for me.

I was looking for some Matai (trees) to show to David who wasn’t sure if he’d seen one before, and found a couple of lovely young ones by a pool that had a pet eel in it - a huge black, blue-eyed beast about a metre long. David seemed less inclined to swim here! When we got back, it was low water, but I found I could carry my dinghy on my back down the beach. It was surprisingly easy, but would be impossible in much wind, in which case the easiest thing would be simply to collapse it and carry it down.

The next morning, I went to fill up with water from the stream. I didn’t need to go far up: the fresh water lens was several inches thick and if I just dipped the necks below the surface and didn’t stir the water up, I could easily fill my bottles.

At about 1030, I hauled up my anchor and set off in pursuit of Tystie. The wind in the anchorage was a little gusty, and I set the sail first to try and sail the anchor out. We sailed over it, but I managed to retrieve that situation and then Fantail did the job very nicely. It’s interesting experimenting; it seems the best way of sailing out the anchor is with about 5 panels up, pulling the final three up once I’m under way. On this occasion, the anchor got hung up at the roller, while we sailed inexorably towards the beach, so I had to dash back and tack before catting it properly.

Toshitinui Reach

The wind was all over the place. I plugged away for about an hour and a half, but David, as usual, was almost out of sight. Tystie was sailing nicely, so I ran the motor for half an hour to catch him up and enjoy some decent sailing, too. We had a snoring sail down Towhitinui Reach. Fantail was a bit over-pressed and tearing along at 7 knots, but with Tystie around to help if anything went wrong, I thought it worth pushing things a bit, to see what she can handle.

At a place called Tawero Point, we had to turn back on ourselves to go down Popoure Reach. The fresh breeze was funnelled into some quite nasty gusts and when I saw Tystie heeling right over I dropped 2 and then 3 reefs in the sail. We had to beat up the Reach in these gusty conditions, but Fantail seemed to relish it. I shook the reefs out again, but further on, a valley was sending down strong gusts. It was so localised that it didn’t seem worth reefing: instead I feathered the sail, while we worked our way through. It’s wonderful to have a sail that doesn’t flog. There was a narrow stretch where the current was running at about 2 knots against us. Every now and then we would come to a hole in the wind and I was interested to see that while Tystie's weight kept her moving through these calm patches, Fantail just stopped. After a while I got fed up of going backwards and forwards past the same bit of scenery, so motored for 5 minutes to get through.

Tystie had disappeared so I swept down in pursuit and found her tucked well up in Yncyna Bay. A few minutes later I was anchored alongside. It had been an interesting and occasionally fast 19 miles, but I was really quite tired and more than a little hungry, as I had had no lunch. In spite of having both electric and wind vane self-steering, I had been unable to leave the helm for more than a minute at a time. The wind was so fluky and the pilotage so demanding that actually sailing the boat took my whole attention. David also complained that he hadn’t managed to have his lunch!

As so often happens in the Sounds, some heavy gusts tumbled down the mountainsides during the night.

After lying in bed doing sums, I decided the easiest thing was to get up and let out the rest of the chain and some rope until I was sure I had plenty of scope out.

I feel very confident of my ground tackle. Tystie carries more chain than Fantail, but it’s the same size as mine. Her anchor is 20kg while mine is10kg, but she is almost three times as heavy as Fantail and, being so much bigger, has heaps more windage. Tystie rarely drags her anchor, which makes me feel that my ground tackle is more than adequate.

We left just after 0900 the following morning. David seemed to get a better wind all the way, while I ran into a big hole, just as I had got going, and it took me ages to get out of it. So I had my usual view of Tystie's stern. It was handy, in a way, because it was easy to see where to go next. I still took care with my pilotage which was not difficult, although very satisfying, but again the sailing was full on, with the fluky wind and constant course alterations.

Coming into Havelock was also a bit full on, with the channel less well-marked than it might be in places. Towards the end, it runs right alongside a cliff. The markers are on the land, but there are none offshore, where in my humble opinion, they would be a lot more useful: a thundering great cliff is pretty hard to miss. To add insult to injury, there were zillions of speeding fizz boats, coming the other way. As we had to pass port to port, they effectively forced us into the shallows. I found it pretty stressful and David admitted he’d felt likewise. I suppose you probably get used to it after a while. When I came into the marina, there was lots of activity. David had already tied up in a berth and while I drifted around, wondering where to go (in a small boat, I tend to feel I should be in a small berth), he called to me that he was asking the marina supervisor to allocate us berths. Good lad. So I carried on drifting round for another quarter of an hour, until he came back with a berth number for me.

After we’d both tied up, I took David to the Slip Inn for cold beer and, as we hadn’t had lunch he bought us pizza to share. Beer was shockingly expensive at $7.50 a handle – about 500 ml – but it was worth a celebration: after all, this was the inaugural NZ Junk Rig Association rally! It was a shame no-one else was here to share it with us.

After lunch, we ambled up to town to do a bit of shopping and I bought the dinghy a more appropriate painter. I’d been using a 14mm mooring line, which was a bit over the top. We had dinner on board Fantail, after which we both settled down on our respective craft with a good book. The forecast was for lots of rain, and as David wanted to stock up for his trip south, we decided to stay over the next day, which lived up to the forecast.

The 30th came in overcast and drizzling, but we decided to take the ebb after lunch and push on. I topped up with fuel and water and cast off about 1300. I motored down the channel, a bit worried as I negotiated a dog-leg between the cliff and the first green marker. When I was almost there I realised that there were actually leading marks, which weren’t shown on my chart. I had been paying so much attention to the echo sounder and course that I hadn’t realised what they were, assuming they were markers showing an alternative channel.

My less usual view of Tystie

We motored doggedly on, the wind on the nose, until out of the channel. After faffing about for a while in light and baffling winds, to coin a phrase, we got a sudden shift and were suddenly running up the reach. Tystie, who had been struggling to keep up with me, now walked away as usual. I had to put my washboards in to keep the rain out, which made pilotage more awkward than it might have been, as I was worried the chart might blow away if I put it down in the cockpit. At Four Fathom Bay, where we planned to anchor, we just about ran out of wind and I drifted in and dropped the hook in a blessedly tranquil anchorage.

I made myself a hot whisky to thaw out. One of Fantail’s failings is that there is no place for oilies and although the boat was initially warm and dry, it got steadily more dank as the night progressed and they dripped sullenly, from hooks by the companionway. It was still raining when I turned in.

I got up at dawn on New Year’s Eve to see heavy rain and a falling barometer. The best idea was to go back to bed until I woke up properly. A rainy day isn’t all bad. I had a nice lazy time reading and David rowed over after lunch so that we could discuss what to do. Stay put, was the final conclusion. It was so damp and cool, that after David left I lit the fire – a good move – and I felt a lot better once Fantail was warm and dry. Fine, summer weather! I was missing our usual sunshine.

I made some tapenade and dug out a bottle of bubbly to celebrate New Year’s Eve on Tystie. We must be getting old – neither of us wanted to stay up to see the New Year in. We couldn’t even say, ‘well, it’s already New Year in ...’ and call it quits, because NZ is the first to greet it, but I’m sure the New Year didn’t mind.

I started 2012 with several New Year’s Resolutions. They have a monotonous repetitiveness about them: maybe I should make a resolution to make no more resolutions. Our sober New Year’s Eve meant that not only did I not wake up with a hangover, but I was off sailing by 0700. There was the threat of rain and heavy overcast, but it cleared up a bit and, in spite of the barometer continuing to fall, we had a pretty nice sail to Ketu Bay. The wind was light and generally fair and for once, Tystie simply could not catch us. We got into Ketu about 1130, so had plenty of time to go ashore. David anchored in 17m and invited me to raft alongside, which, chain pawl or no chain pawl, sounded a lot better than pulling all my chain up from that sort of depth in the morning.

Ketu Bay

After lunch, we went for a walk, after a rather unpleasant, muddy and slippery scramble up a steep slope. There was a surprisingly flash road that looked to have been graded very recently, although for the life of me I can’t think who would use it. It doesn’t seem to go anywhere and there was no sign of wheel ruts or tyre tracks. One of life’s little mysteries. We wandered along one way and then walked back in the other direction, but it wasn’t that stimulating a walk and after a couple of hours or so, we went back and slithered and scrambled back to the beach, covered in mud.

Dinner was on Fantail and for once it was warm enough to have drinks in the cockpit. It’s cold on the water in this part of the world. I was tired again – sailing in the Sounds is not ideal for the single-hander and I can see why people like launches here.

Tystie and Fantail rafted together.

Strong gusts tumbling down the hillside woke me in the small hours; I was worried that we’d drag Tystie’s anchor – the main reason I really don’t like rafting up. I cast off from Tystie about 0900. David was planning to go east and south, I was on my way to Nelson, to catch up with friends – it was the parting of the ways. We plan to rendezvous near the end of March at a Junk Rig Rally to be held in Mahurangi.

Because of the gusts, I motored out for a little while and then raised some sail. We headed towards D’Urville, shaking out reefs as we went. We made good progress, though the wind, at first, was up and down and all over the place. Supposedly SE it was redirected every which way by the surrounding land. For most of the day I was sailing in company with a sloop of about 32ft. It made a pleasant change to sail at the same speed as somebody instead of simply staring at his stern for the duration. I was rather impressed that, close-hauled as we were, Fantail had no problems keeping the lead!

We went through French Pass with no problems and carried on down towards Croisilles Harbour. As we approached the wind increased until it was gusting F6. I dropped a couple of reefs and then a couple more. From a lovely, sunny afternoon it had changed to being really unpleasant – and cold, to boot. I had to be very firm with myself that the anchorage would be sheltered, because the wind seemed almost to be blowing along the harbour, but the closer I got, the less wind there was and even the gusts became more tolerable. I was tired, but pleased with how the rig had performed in this, our first blow. I dropped the hook in a grateful 4 or 5m, much better than scrabbling around for somewhere sufficiently shallow in the Sounds. It was heaven after the wind in the outer harbour. In here the gusts were much less strong and I had my good anchor down with plenty of scope out. .

I relaxed with a glass of wine and then cooked a good meal. The gusts died away and it was calm by the time I turned in. I slept like a log.

Fantail in the Sounds

The next morning, I left about 0800, sailing the anchor out. There was just enough wind for full sail: Fantail tacked herself nicely and headed out on the right tack. As usual when I do something right, there was no one to see! A land breeze took us out to sea, but once outside, the wind went light and fluky. I motored a couple of times when it went dead calm but found a breeze about half way across to Adele Island, where I anchored for the night. The following day I sailed over to Nelson, where I stayed for a couple of days before heading back for my home port of Motueka.

Fantail's upgrade

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David’s visit has been a great boost for Fantail and me. As well as giving me the encouragement and inspiration to get on with jobs on board, David has also put his designer’s brain to work on my behalf, and given me skilled assistance – particularly with some tricky woodwork, which is not my strongest suit.

The Junk Rig Association is to hold a rally in North Island in March. The Royal Cruising Club plans a Bay of Islands meet. I should very much like to go to both, but really felt that neither Fantail nor I were up to it. David agreed about the former, but not the latter and has spent a considerable amount of his time and energy on both. I have been worried about the forehatch, which I’ve always felt to be a miserably inadequate affair, ever since I bought the boat. For a start it never had any adequate means of securing it. Although I remedied this, with some difficulty due to its unusual design, nothing I could do would make it more than barely weatherproof. It certainly wasn’t strong enough to go to sea. Most people kept telling me to ‘get over it’, so I asked David’s opinion. He took one look at it and said replace it.

  So that was job number 1. After costing wood, considering the amount of work required and also the amount of mess that would ensue building a wooden hatch, I then looked at an aluminium one. It was possible to buy one large enough to go right over the old cut-out on a new framework that would probably strengthen the existing deck, too. My friend Paul came to my assistance again, conning one of his innumerable contacts into selling me a top-quality Culé hatch at cost price. I bought some cedar and David and I made and fitted a frame for it. I painted it and its surrounds the colour that I plan for the decks, but alas have not had time to do any more.

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In spite of apparently being so huge, it fits on deck ‘like it grew there’ and I’m very pleased with the result. As well as being completely waterproof, it lets in light. What bliss! I also love being able to lie in bed and see the stars and the moon, check the burgee and get an idea of the weather.

One of the best pieces of kit that came with the boat is a Simrad TP22 autopilot. Of course, it requires a lot of electricity, but it is great not to have to steer all the time and can be very useful at ‘lending a hand’ at the tiller. However, I have an innate distrust of such a complicated piece of equipment and was not keen on the idea of having to rely on it for my trip up north. David agreed, but ‘just happened’ to have several pieces of self-steering gear in his lockers. He designs and builds his own gears and often tries out new ideas. These leftovers, combined with a few more pieces of wood, some blocks and some line, were assembled, assessed, fitted, trialled and finally passed as fit for use. This all took rather longer than it sounds, but Fantail now has a proper sea-going, offshore wind-vane self-steering gear. 

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To me, this is not only a vital piece of gear for any short-handed or single-handed sailor, but one of the best pieces of safety equipment you can fit. Mine cost virtually nothing, due to the fact that David had so much of it to hand, but even starting from scratch, it would not be expensive. It will work regardless of the state of the battery, needs hardly any maintenance, can be repaired on board or in a simple workshop ashore and allows me to concentrate on things like pilotage or cooking warm food, while it gets on with the job of steering the boat. The only time it does not work well is when the winds are very fluky, as in sailing in the Marlborough Sounds, of which more another time.

The first boat I ever sailed in, Stormalong was black and it seemed quite natural for us to paint Sheila black, too. Since then, every boat I have owned, with the exception of Spartan, has been black until I bought Joshua as she then was. At the time I disliked the white hull and the maroon trim and the passage of time did nothing to make it more appealing. I soon envisaged the colour scheme that I wanted and was so sure that it was correct, that it was always something of a surprise for me to see the all-white boat at anchor. To me, my little ship’s transformation would not be complete until I had painted her the colour I wanted.

David and I had planned a small cruise in company over the Christmas holiday. Fantail had become quite foul in her drying berth in Motueka and the difference in her performance had become noticeable. As I had to haul her for antifouling, I decided to paint the topsides at the same time. I made arrangements to get her pulled out on one of the trailers that the Yacht Club uses, in spite of the truly dreadful forecast. The weather on the day we hauled out was better than anticipated and taking this as an omen, or maybe simply because I’m an incurable optimist, I went for broke and started sanding down the hull. I was then committed and I have to confess that mid-way through the operation, I was rather wondering if I hadn't bitten off more than I could chew. The boat had had plastic ‘go-faster’ stripes stuck on, and these took an age to remove. A heat gun didn’t work, nor did sanding. The least inefficient way of getting them off was to peel them, but the plastic was old and brittle and often reluctant to co-operate. I had only 5 days to get these damn strips off, sand the hull and bottom and apply two coats of paint on the built-up topsides, 2 coats on the hull and 2 coats of antifouling on the bottom. And the forecasters were still muttering about rain.

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David nobly offered to feed and water me every night, so by 0630 every morning, I was hard at it. He also nobly refrained from telling me that if the weather forecast was right, I didn’t have a cat in hell’s chance of getting the work done. But I bet he thought it!

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The gods were kind to me, the weather held and with careful juggling of painting times so that the hot sun was not kicking the paint off faster than I could apply it, I got the job knocked over. The Good Old Boys in the Yacht Club were somewhat taken aback at both my frenetic activity and my colour scheme. They tend to do their work in a more leisurely fashion and, generally speaking, boats are white. However, Ivan was going away on the 22nd and as he had taken such infinite cares with Fantail when hauling her out, I preferred that he would be the one to put her back in. Besides, David and I wanted to be in Pelorus Sound for Christmas, so I had to get a move on.

By 0730 on 22 December, I was ready to launch. Ivan checked all his lines; I fussed over my new paint and occasionally relaxed sufficiently to admire my handiwork. I thought she looked rather special, actually.

I felt a huge sense of relief as I warped her along the wharf and in spite of the early hour, I had a small bottle of bubbly chilling for The Occasion. I felt I deserved a celebration.

 
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I went round and admired the new paint job, looking very mellow in the early morning sun. At last (apart from the deck) Fantail was looking as My Boat should.

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Less than an hour later, Tystie and Fantail were sailing down the harbour, bound for the Marlborough Sounds.

The Green Interview that Trevor and I did with Silver Donald Cameron can now be viewed, if you have good Internet access.  I haven't so have not seen it, but I did download the transcript of the conversation, to remind myself of what it was all about.  I think it would be interesting to view.  You have to subscribe, but I think most people would agree that most of the other interviews would be fascinating.  When I stop working flat out on Fantail and get away cruising for a while, I shall be reading many of the transcripts myself.

https://thegreeninterview.com/interview/hill-annie/

My friend, David, who helped me design the rig, sailed in from Tasmania a few weeks ago and has been nobly helping me with various projects. Paul, in whose workshop I built the rig, came down for a visit so that we could take the two boats out sailing; we had a huge amount of fun.


I took a load of photos of Tystie, but then I gave them to David and forgot to keep copies for myself, so can't put any on this post. 

We left from Mot with a N wind, which means a headwind up to the Abel Tasman Park, where we were headed.  However, it meant we could run down to the bar together

After we crossed the bar and headed offshore, Tystie vanished over the horizon.  We plodded on, close-hauled to Adele, with only just enough wind.  I lashed the helm and really enjoyed the sail - for once there was enough wind to get the whole way without resorting to power.  It has to be said that Fantail sails really well to windward - it's nice to have a boat that actually makes progress when beating!

Both boats spent the night anchored of Adele I and in the morning, David and Paul came aboard Fantail.

David tweaked some of the control lines to his satisfaction, and then we took her out sailing.   David had lots of fun sailing her - she is so light and responsive compared with his ocean-cruising 35 footer and he was delighted at how the sail has turned out.  We have altered the lead of the running luff parrel and the sail is setting properly now.  Only one Honk Kong parrel left and I think this can come off.   I'm pleased about that because I think they stress the rig. 

The wind was up to about F5 at times and David carried on with more sail than I would have.  But she stood up to it, which is more than you can say for me!  But it was good to try things out. 

When we came back I had to put them back on Tystie and with the fresh wind eddying around and the boat swinging at anchor to the tidal swirls, it wasn't easy, but apart from a few bruises, I don't think there was any damage.

The following day we sailed up to Anchorage in company.  I left first, the sun shining but not much wind.  I motored up out of the roadstead to get enough breeze to sail with and carried sail right into anchor.  Tystie came in a bit later - apparently she had only managed to sail down into Torrent Bay.  Small is beautiful I thought, smugly!

We all went ashore for a walk and then sailed back to anchor on the W side of Astrlolabe Roadstead.

I enjoyed the sail so much so that I ran half way down between Adele and the mainland before turning round and beating back - just for the fun of it.  It was wonderful and even more wonderful to find myself enjoying it all so much.  It makes all the hard work and expense seem worth while now and has enthused me sufficiently to get on with some of the other jobs I need to do to make the boat properly seaworthy.

Drying out wasn’t going to happen, so we decided instead, to go across and see some friends in St Peters. Their bush telegraph was obviously working, because as we tied up at the waiting jetty, they were there to greet us. 

We had a pleasant time catching up later that evening. I had long been wanting to meet a couple who have a junk schooner, Easy Go, that they built to the same design as Badger, so I was delighted when I discovered that Greg not only knew them, but knew them well enough to invite them over for dinner the following day.

After a wonderful evening, we all went back on to Iron Bark for nightcaps, still talking nineteen to the dozen, with so much in common and so much that we wanted to learn about each other. Bob and Kathy were leaving to see their son in Newfoundland in a couple of days, but we just had time to make arrangements to go and see them – and the boat! - before they left.

St Peters, I should explain, is at the entrance to the Bras D’Or Lakes, a remarkable geological formation that is an essential part of Cape Breton’s character. The island of Cape Breton was almost split into two by the formation of two bodies of water – going back to the days of the great glaciers, which form a large part of the area of this island. (Although a causeway was built over half a century ago, to join Cape Breton to the ‘mainland’ of Nova Scotia, it is, by Nature’s purpose, an island.) These two lakes are themselves almost separated by a ‘Narrows’ at Barra, that was long ago exploited by building two bridges – one for road and one for rail. They are still brackish, although almost fresh, and so have a unique ecosystem. The major appeal of the Bras D’Or for most people – particularly Nova Scotians and particularly sailors – is that being inland, they rarely encounter the prevailing summer fogs that bedevil the rest of the province.

The canal itself is no great feat of engineering if compared with some of the European creations, but is interesting and – better still – staffed by some of the most pleasant people one could ever hope to meet. It is always a pleasure to go through and, as a sailor who isn’t particularly fond of motor cars, there is an additional delight in seeing the bridge swing open and make all the traffic wait as one makes one’s stately way through.

We sailed into the River Bourgeois on a grey day. Considering that Bob and Kathy have now made it their home and that for a long time, it has been the summer retreat of the renowned writer Farley Mowat, it is perhaps a rather inappropriately-named spot – in the sense that most of us use the word ‘bourgeois’.

 We anchored close to Easy Go

and before we had worked out where the house that Bob and Kathy were building was located, we saw them dragging a dinghy down the beach and rowing out to meet us. We went over to see the boat and were made very welcome. Easy Go was built – incredibly - in 11 months, but while she is undoubtedly very simple, there is no feeling of a project that was rushed or in any way executed less than thoroughly. It did my heart proud to see her – she had Badger’s spirit strongly within her and Bob and Kathy would leave me standing in their economic efficiency and their ability to enjoy all the good things in life. It was good to see that a lot of the things that I think worked particularly well in Badger – such as the unusual companionway, had been both copied and kept.

Later, we went ashore to see their latest project – the cutest little house – whose 350 sq ft will contain all that anyone would really ever need. We stayed for the evening and I was very sorry that they were leaving on the next day and that I wouldn’t get the chance to spend more time with them.

We left the next morning and Bob and Kathy came down to the entrance to the river, where they took some brilliant photos of our sailing out.

We woke up to a perfect, if perfectly calm, morning. We left straight after breakfast, drifting out of the anchor and leisurely making sail.

The ‘other part’ of the St Andrews Passage, which I had also always wanted to transit, was the Canso Strait, taking you between Canso I and the mainland, where the town is located. En route to the passage that goes past the town itself, we passed the Canso Light sitting on its wee island, which looks as though it might get washed away in the next severe gale!

As you turn the corner, the town is completely dominated by a huge church, and this continued to be the case as long as we had the town in view. The leading marks are, in true Nova Scotian style, well maintained and attractively designed and executed. I often wonder why, now that we have so many aids to our creativity, we can so rarely create something that is both functional and attractive. Indeed, creating something aesthetically pleasing seems to be an impossible challenge for most designers these days.

The passage was very pretty and the town looking most appealing under a sunny sky, bordered as it was by a calm sea. But I couldn’t help thinking that it’s probably a bit bleak in the winter. From all angles, the church was the town and I wondered how much influence, for good or otherwise, this institution has on Canso.

Canso is an old town, by New World standards and it is amazing how many of its day-marks are obviously of quite some vintage, but still standing. I am sure they must get battered by ice in the winter and they are undoubtedly built of soft woods, but in the middle of the channel leading out towards Ile Madame, was a structure holding a light. It was covered with shags – until I got my camera out – but although sagging and bulging, and well out of true, still appeared to be doing its job.

We drifted out and with no great distance to go, were quite happy with the light winds that took us most of the way to D'Escousse. If nothing else, it gave us an excuse to finish off the beer!

When we arrived at D’Escousse we found the harbour full of boats, enjoying the Yacht Club's annual festival. There was no sign of our friends Don and Marjorie, and after catching up with the irrepressible Claude, who shanghaied us to go and look at a building he's restoring (apparently to the accompaniment of a running battle with the local council); and visiting our dear old friend, 'Uncle' Bill's widow, who was baking vast quantities of bread for her son to take back home to Central Canada; and participating in the 90th birthday party of a complete stranger, we went back aboard. Trevor had been hoping to put Barky alongside to scrub off some barnacles and change the anodes, but this didn’t seem to be the right day for such a task!

We left today in very light winds, but sailed until we came to the St Andrews Passage to Canso. I've been dying to do this for years, but somehow it has never happened. It's supposedly quite tricky, but it turned out to be very well-buoyed and quite straightforward. 

Not even very exciting, it was all so well organised, but very pretty and well worth while! By the time we got there, what wind there was had headed us and there was a foul tide running, so we started the engine. There were more buoys and they took us along a slightly different route from that shown on the chart. We saw lots of seals near the strangely-named Sherewink I. The shores, covered in stunted spruce, had a number of what were apparently holiday homes along them.

We ambled along until we came into Port Glasgow, which is a real misnomer, where we anchored. There is no port at all and the only sign of any building is the spire of a church peeping over the hill. But it’s a spacious harbour, although there are a number of rocks and shallow patches that would make it awkward to sail in and out of.

This Eastern Shore is a truly delightful cruising ground.

Thursday saw us sailing in very light breezes and wending our way among a variety of islands and skerries, the sixteen miles to Beaver Harbour. There is a spit here, where I hoped we'd get ashore and explore, but after we had anchored, we realised that there were terns nesting there and as we didn’t want to disturb them, we stayed on board.

We left the following morning, with fog coming and going. Trevor had loaded in the waypoints and at a tricky moment realised that he had put in some incorrectly, so there was a bit of flurried activity. The compass badly needs swinging – the joys of a steel boat! - which makes the one in the GPS more important than is usually the case. But one usually has more time than one realises. There was a lovely bit of pilotage through islands, which I enjoyed doing the old-fashioned way.

We came out into a large area of open water and drifted in the hot afternoon sun while we drank a couple of the beers that we’d bought in Sheet Harbour.

Just before tea time, we anchored in Mary Joseph, a fishing harbour with a large fleet of dead boats and the somewhat surreal sight of a large Coastguard vessel grounded ashore.

Saturday came in with a beautiful dawn.

But I was glad to leave Mary Joseph because I found it a rather depressing harbour. Just before we got under way, a fishing boat set off, calmly dumping a bag of rubbish overboard - plastic bottles and polystyrene takeaway containers. I can’t understand how people whose livelihoods depend on the sea can treat it this way. I’d have thought they could have dumped their rubbish ashore before they set off.

 

We sailed out in very light airs. We had a bit of fun by Liscomb Island when the fog came in thick and (once again!) the waypoints didn’t match reality. I was actually quite happy, because I was steering and had been taking in the route as we sailed along. The visibility was coming and going and I pretty much knew where we should be heading, but it’s a bit different when you suddenly come up and can’t see anything! But GPS or no GPS, a couple of bell or whistle buoys in the vicinity, doing their thing, are always welcome. We noticed that the sound of the whistle buoys seems to carry much better, regardless of the wind direction, than that of bell buoys. We were almost on the Liscomb buoy before we heard it!

The entrance into Spanish Ship Harbour was narrow and intricate with a bit of tide running, so we motored in. The harbour, which had looked so pretty on the chart, was nowhere near as attractive as I'd hoped it would be. A lot of trees had been cut down ashore and a major highway ran along the far side. Trevor went ashore to cut some wood, but came back complaining about the poor quality. Still, as he pointed out, with his trusty chain saw, he didn’t mind spending time cutting up indifferent wood because it wasn’t really that much work. 

As we sat having our sundowner, the fog came in and we wondered if we were going to be trapped there the next day.

We were planning to leave early, because we had a 45-mile sail ahead of us, heading for Whitehead Harbour, so we were relieved to find that the fog had vanished when we got up.

We were underway just after 7, with a light wind, which forced us to use the engine for a little while. It filled in to about F2 by 9 o’clock, but 2 hours later, there was no sign of the promised westerly. However, it gradually filled in as forecast, and we were soon sailing along in fine style. Well offshore there was not a lot to look at, so we appreciated all the more the sight of a very pretty little schooner going the other way. Trevor got some fine photos of her.

The entrance to Whitehead Harbour is hidden among islands and skerries and took a bit of sorting out. For once the Mr Loveridge’s cruising guide was not particularly clear and as we bounded along in a fresh breeze, there were a few tense minutes before everything fell into place. Once it did, it was quite straightforward and we made our way into the charming Yankee Cove with no more problems.

Astonishingly, five other yachts followed us in, including three Nonsuch catboats of various sizes. The place was positively crowded!

With easterlies forecast, and then rain, we stayed in Yankee Harbour for a few days. It was a lovely spot. One afternoon, I took Lisa and rowed all around the island that made up one side of the anchorage, leaving Trevor to wrestle with the cooker which had been misbehaving. That used to be my job – there are advantages to being a guest!! Trevor also assaulted the local forest and we spent time sorting out photographs, swopping with one another so that we each had a good selection.

Unbelievably, we ran out of water last night. Trevor was convinced that somehow I had managed to get through 180 litres since we left Halifax, which seems unlikely. I reminded him that I do still live on a boat when I’m not on Iron Bark and, moreover, at present have to fill up a 4 litre container as my tank needs repairs. And that usually lasts me more than a day. In the end he agreed that possibly there had been an airlock when he filled the tanks and that they hadn’t filled properly. After some debate about bludging water from one of the nearby houses, we decided instead to go to Sheet Harbour, where we could top up fuel and fresh food, too.

 

There was no wind, so we motored the 6 miles there.  We launched Lisa and rowed to a small wharf, with a launch alongside, as there was no other good landing.  As we tied up, a man walked over the road from the house across the way and welcomed us to the town.  It was his wharf and far from being irritated at our appropriating it, he told us that we could use his outside tap to fill up our water containers.  Nova Scotians are such generous people!  So while Trevor filled water containers and bought diesel I went and found a supermarket. 

Sheet Harbour is an attractive town and it was apparent that it had much civic pride.    There were handsome houses and the main street had been ornamented with new  Victorian-style lampposts and trees had been planted by the sidewalk.  Before shopping, I walked from one end of town to the other, stopping to admire the rapids that explained the fast-flowing current in the river.  They had once been dammed and diverted for hydro-power for a saw mill.  Now the river is dammed further up and the water runs freely here.  It was an attractive spot.

 

I had forgotten how fierce the sun can be in Nova Scotia and my face had been getting burnt, so I went looking for a visor. I had been surprised that I couldn’t find one in Lunenburg and now, incredibly, this item of head wear that was once so ubiquitous was nowhere for sale. I mentioned this fact to a nice lady in the hardware store. She promptly picked up the phone and rang her husband at home, giving him strict instructions as to where he should look for some ‘spare’ visors that she had, and to bring them to the shop. This he duly did and she offered me one from what he had brought. She refused any payment and insisted that I accept it as a gift. I was very touched at her kindness and consideration.

On the way back, I thought I’d get us some grog from the liquor store, and as I went in, there was Trevor coming out. Two minds with but a single thought! We combined forces (and purses) and staggered back to the boat with shopping, bottles and cans.

After we’d stowed our purchases, Trevor took me back ashore to the garage to show me a chain saw that he’d seen. Sawing up firewood is not his favourite task, particularly the pine that it most common around Nova Scotia. It takes quite a lot of effort and burns quickly. I had to admit that the little saw he showed me was light and small. And I know that Trevor some times was cold and damp in Chile simply because it took so long to acquire firewood. So ‘why not?’ I said and the deal was done. The Good Old Boys sitting around the shop part of the garage, drinking coffee, took a great deal of interest in the whole debate and transaction. I guess not a lot happens in Sheet Harbour.

 

We had noticed a pretty spot back down the river and decided to move back for the night, but the wind died, so after drifting a couple of miles, we headed inshore and dropped the hook in Watering Cove.