Kennebunkport

The Kennebunk River opens easily from the Atlantic, flanked by the significant breakwaters on either side at its mouth.  This and the fact that the historic town of Kennebunkport, located just minutes further down river, made this location appealing to us for our next stop.  The approach off the sea is located right in the middle of a large rocky ledge called Fishing Rock which causes the wave action to be really nasty if one enters at the incorrect tide time.  The river’s tidal currents coupled with the huge ocean swells, urged inward by the prevailing south west winds, can increase the intensity of the ride in, should the approach be left to anything more than half tide. However, once past the breakwaters, around the bend to starboard and slightly further upstream there is an anchorage, that we were plotted to, that would provide us our corner of refuge for this night.  We rocked and rolled as we shifted Bridlewilde over the heavy swells, glided her beyond the jetties and came to rest past the nun buoys marking the way up the winding narrow channel.  With the hook dropped we were safely attached to earth again. 

The captain - at Kennebunk River anchorage

It takes a few moments I daresay,  once the process of navigation into a new harbour has been safely accomplished, the procedure of anchoring our heavy vessel has been administered and the deployment of the dinghy, our alternate means of transportation to shore, completed, before we are able to relax, expel that amassing breath of cautious air that has been slowly building within, don our packsack and shore gear, and step into the little inflatable boat that will inevitably steer us to our next destination.  The location is often unknown until our arrival.  It may be a beach, a local dock, a prearranged marina landing, a town wharf, a ramp, a bridge embankment, anywhere we can park and leave the vessel to head into whatever community we may have come to. 

The management of the dinghy is also a consideration. We must have space to secure it, so it does not float away as the tide around it does its thing, we need to engage some sort of locking mechanism to ensure that it or its outboard motor is not stolen, we need to protect the rubber to ensure it is not punctured by sharp rocks or shells beneath it or by a rugged item protruding from under a dock.  

Once we have this done we might unload our next means of transportation, our folding bicycles, from the dinghy, depending upon where we have arrived and what the circumstances of our shore trip are.

This vehicle is also another consideration.  If we are provisioning our boat with groceries and necessities, augmenting our packsacks we must have storage baskets mounted on the bikes to handle carrying these items back.  (I have carried a five foot roll of heavy sunbrella fabric on my bike while riding it.)  

We choose to remain as environmentally conscious as we were when we lived on land, try to keep our footprint as minimal as possible and refuse to harm the water any more than it already is. Extra space on a boat is limited and we do not have any for waste. So we leave all that on shore before we re-board.  We bring containers for food storage, plastic totes for items that may dampen, like paper towel, shrink wrap bags for items like batteries – anything that we can to reduce the space an item takes up.  Before we return to the boat, all cardboard packaging is removed and left ashore.  We purchase nothing in glass and if we must,  those items are placed in plastic containers for storage,  with the glass container left ashore. Hard plastic shells must be removed – for example: the plastic around a package of batteries—that stuff does not shrink easily; we cannot waste precious space to house it aboard. 

It takes a bit of “figuring out” but it does not take long before we come up with ingenious ideas for best practices.  We specifically have a charcoal briquette barbeque (as opposed to a propane unit) aboard.  It is attached to the pulpit rail on the stern of the boat. Besides using it for cooking, the captain also uses it to burn any waste paper products that we may accumulate aboard  - parchment or waxed or  paper towel for example.

We did not bike into Kennebunkport on this occasion.  It was a beautiful afternoon and the evening promised equally nice weather. Our decision to hike in to explore was met with memorable impressions.  The large manicured estate homes, recollective of Colonial and Federal age sea-captain’s homes, the meandering estuary to the east and the unique galleries along the route made for an interesting walk.  The downtown core, or Dock Square, is a hubbub of shops, restaurants, gourmet markets, and museums famously adorned by the 19^th century architecture depicting its maritime heritage.  Both presidents Bush have been long time summer residents in Kennebunkport on their family compound at Walker’s Point.  Keith and I had previously decided, much to our disappointment, should our invitation to have tea and crumpets with Laura and George be forthcoming, we must forgo in favour of our date at the beautiful Carnegie Library we were destined to visit, further along our stroll.

 The afternoon, the evening, the walk home, the entire day was notable.  Once back aboard the boat, with the anchor holding checked, the following day’s journey plotted on the electronics, and our bedtime snack ingested, we were ready for sleep and its rejuvenation for whatever adventure may arise of the next day.

Peaks Island....so Pretty but Portland....so Painstaking

Much like its neighbour Nova Scotia, Maine’s shoreline is scattered with long deep bays.  Departing from Riggs Cove we sailed back out the five miles of Sheepscot Bay we had come in on.  Once past Cape Small, the outermost point of land on the south side of the bay, we entered the 16 mile wide mouth of the Casco Bay en route toward Portland.  Portland Harbour is sheltered in behind Peaks Island, our destination.  We knew of a small mooring field just off the west side of the island, about a 30 minute passage from it to the port of Portland.  The entry from the sea into Portland is a tedious approach.   We passed Cape Elizabeth 2 miles southeast and then steered northwest at Pine Tree Ledge for another 2 miles to get to the entrance of the channel in.  There we saw Portland Head Light, the oldest lighthouse in Maine completed in 1791.  We traveled another mile and half to Outer Green Island for  Whitehead Passage leading into the harbour.  In behind the next point of land called Indian Head Rock the bay opens again.  We entered in behind Ram Island light to the cove just off Portland to catch a mooring ball on Peaks Island. 

Bridlewilde's mast visible mid pic....Portland harbour in background

Peaks Island is part of Portland but we were told by the residents there that they believe they are their own autonomy.  The flavour of the place is completely different from the city by far…certainly they do have an island mindset.  We dinghied ashore to talk with locals, get some supplies at the Island Market and visit the library for wifi.  We went to the local police station to garner information about checking in to the country and use their telephone.  We were aware that we had to purchase a US cell number for our phone but we had not yet been in a convenient location to connect to any package. Our phone was not active.

It was election day in America. We had been in the U S of A for over a week.  Like an entry to any country in the world, one must pass through customs. So is it when one arrives by boat.   When we first arrived, in Carvers Harbour, Keith discussed this matter with the US Coast Guard to determine as to where we should report in there.  He was informed that because we had arrived under duress, due to a health issue, the custom requirement was not required.  He was also told not to worry about it as we could report into customs in Portland and pick up our required cruising permit there.

The Peaks Island police department were a great help.  The fellows were very helpful but way too busy to concern themselves with us; they were intent on watching election results discussion on the staff room television so we were placed at a desk in their office to take care of our business with customs. Likewise the customs officers were busy with the election results but asked us to meet three of their officials at their custom dock in Portland in two hours. We were given specific instructions to the location and direction concerning the vessel. We agreed and left on the boat in enough time to reach their dock by the scheduled time.

After crossing the bay, we scoured the harbour for the location of the customs dock that we were instructed to arrive at.  The police had given us access to their computer where we could clearly see the location of the dock on Google Maps. However, the dock was non-existent when we arrived at the location.  We weaved back and forth across the harbour wondering what information we had taken down incorrectly.  Surely, with the level of security heightened in this country and the border protection that was being discussed over the past year, we had misstepped somewhere. Now it was well past half of an hour of our specified meet time.  It was not until the captain identified three individuals in uniform frantically waving from a small dock on shore, far from our destination point I might add, that we decided they may be the customs personnel we were to meet.  We pulled the boat into the very tight floating dock amidst the ocean liners, trawlers and fishing vessels and threw our lines to the uniformed officials there awaiting our arrival.

This dock was owned by the city.  There were huge signs posted stating that there was a strictly enforced minimum free tie up time of two hours for transients such as us.  The customs officials identified themselves and told us that they were unaware of the fact that their dock had been previously removed for the winter and hailed us into this one.  It was expected that we were confused. Our trolling the waterfront looking for their pier confirmed the confusion.  They had asked for our vessel information during the telephone call from the police station, saw the Canadian flag display we had flying and were confident we were the vessel to wave in.  Once all the stressors were settled, the customs officers asked to see our passports, asked a couple of questions and we were done.  There was no boat inspection, as is customary; there was no review of all our ship documentation as is customary, nor any proof of our itinerary that we had been told was required for presentation.  We actually had to inquire of them if they would provide the cruising permit that we be required to obtain to cruise south.  It was determined that the certificate could be provided but no one had thought to bring the documentation with them. It would be necessary for us to go to their office to pick it up. It would be provided with no hesitation.  We thanked them and asked directions to their office.  There was no offer for us to travel back to the office in their vehicle.  After explaining a few facts about check in policies, they exchanged goodbyes with pleasantries and were on their way.

Considering the ``strictly enforced  `` timeframe notation signage right in front of us and no quick access to  rental car or bus transportation, we walked up the gangplank into the downtown core and hailed a cab. The cab driver chatted to us about the city, her strong political views, and discussed the fact that she did not know the names of some of her fourteen grandchildren, a fact that did not bother her at all.  Upon arrival at the customs office we were greeted by the same three individuals who had come to our boat.   We could hear election discussions on news stations broadcasting from the back offices they emerged from.  The $20 permit fee was kindly waived considering our lengthy trip to the office.  We did appreciate that.  After the seventy dollar dispense for the cab transport, we walked back down the harbour gangplank with the cruising permit we needed in hand, boarded our boat, totally legal and prepared to move forward, thankful that Bridlewilde remained secured to the dock. She had not been towed out of the city public dock for overstaying her welcome.  We had arrived back to her within the nick of time.

As the captain slipped our boat back onto our mooring ball at sunset,  in the lovely quaint Peaks Island cove, just minutes away, I remarked to him that it appeared to me that whatever the rationale behind the island residents`  desire for autonomy, it may not be unfounded.  The following morning Bridlewilde wound her way through the outer islands of Portsmouth Harbour, as we meandered south again.

.....Tenant's Harbour and Two Coves....

The fall chill was in the air.  We had planned to have reached Chesapeake Bay and warmer weather by this time.  It was crucial that we move along.   The North Atlantic Ocean is unpredictable and certainly indecisive at the best of times.   In November, one must address it and Mother Nature with extreme caution and care.  Inevitably, we were about to tackle the American north-eastern seaboard, sail southward on it so our navigational focus became highly maximized.

Saturday, November 5^th we left Carvers Harbour, dumbfounded by the long run out to the Atlantic.  We had been ushered in by a Coast Guard vessel in darkness and under stress.  It truly was rocky, narrow, dangerous and absolutely beautiful. The daily ferry to the island passed us to our port side in the narrow channel with just feet to spare.   Although the wind greeted us face on, we slogged through the incoming tide in the warm sun.  The fall leaves were still vibrant in color, the rolling Maine Appalachian Mountains spectacular in the background.  The view continued for the whole day, a perfect backdrop as we pulled onto a mooring ball in the sheltered quiet of  Tenant’s Harbour.  We had motored in behind Southern Island to the mouth of the harbour  with the sun shielded behind the shoreline trees.  We saw no one, no boats moving about, other than the few rocking on other mooring balls, heard nothing but the breeze, purring through Bridlewilde’s sheets.  Even the water was still, tendering the expectation of a sound, easy sleep.  We did not leave the boat but dined in the cockpit, placidly consumed by the sweetness of Leonard Cohen’s voice, as it reverberated across the waters on its drift back to us.

Even though we had hop scotched our way around the dense concentration of lobster pot buoys along the coastline, we were captivated by this gorgeous harbour.  In preparation for charting a course, researching appealing locales helps us determine where we might anchor, moor, take a slip at a marina or tie to a dock.  Tenant’s Harbour was a planned position. We had arrived safely and were taken with its natural beauty and lack of “tourist” infiltration.

The captain dropped the mooring line in the morning mist the following day and by 7:30 we were slipping out to sea again.  The sun shone and the wind came to us from the north early.  It turned to the northwest by early afternoon delivering a smooth 6nm sail all day, affording us a swift 25nm run to the protected cove we were heading for.   We sailed through Christmas Cove in honour of Captain John Smith who first dropped his anchor in this little cove on Christmas Day, 1614.  Although we did not drop our hook, our passage through was 49 days shy of 402 years to the day.  Captain Smith noted in his log book that this cove was marked “for its excellent protection while requiring only a modest effort in navigation to it.”  Indeed, we noticed the same.   We sailed inward by scooting westward around Inner Heron Island toward the inner harbour.  The opening is very narrow,  only about 100 feet across but should one’s vessel have a much more shallow draught than ours, navigation upriver to the gut would reward the traveler with quite a scenic trip.  I was not disappointed however, for I had something far more special in mind to round out our day.

Sheepscot River runs northward from the Gulf of Maine to Wicassat and Newcastle on the west.   It and the Damariscotta River, to the east, outskirt the huge bay which is home to the community of Boothbay.  Boothbay Harbour and East Boothbay are located five nautical miles up the Sheepscot River.  Carefully hidden behind them is a beautiful secluded cove tucked in behind the tight Gosse Rock Passage to it.   We were charted there for our refuge for the night.  

As expected, it too, displayed its splendour in brilliant fall color.   The tight rocky passage leading us in was riddled with eddies of current that tugged heavily at the boats rudder, helm and hull.  Bridlewilde nudged smoothly across the pulling waters to a mooring ball where the captain snugged her bow securely to the mooring lines.  She rounded swiftly to port where she faced the colorful shore.  Nestled deeply in the shade of the deciduous display about us, we had come to rest for the night,

in Riggs Cove.

The Inexplicable Gulf of Maine

On November 1^st our weather window opened.  After waiting 11 days for its arrival, consulting our tools, and reconsidering the results, we could cross the Gulf of Maine.  The oriface between the clouds and sea widened and we were ready to plunge into it.  Fully provisioned, fully prepared and full of anticipation we departed at noon.  In the grey midday breeze, we loosened our lines, pulled away from the security of the pier, and motored into the outgoing tide leading away from our community, our province and our country ----forward to shores unknown.

Prior to departure from Gold River, as a precautionary measure, Keith had professionals review the work he had done and perform installations that he was somewhat unsure of.  The skilful David Evans connected all of our electronics.  Not only is David’s work outstanding but he is such an interesting character.  I could write a blog specifically about his accomplishments and worldly experiences but that is for another day.  Shortly before we were to leave Yarmouth, David called Keith to follow up on some of the installation he had done for us.  He wanted to clarify whether or not he had attached a specific piece of electrical equipment. With careful direction relayed over the phone for location purposes, David asked that Keith check to see if an ACR unit was mounted. The ACR or alternating current regulator isolates and delivers proper charge to each battery bank. It was determined that the unit was not installed. This was not a piece of equipment that we had asked to have installed but one David thought would be an asset to our system and had planned to put it in.  He informed us that he would be in Yarmouth the following day from Lunenburg to do the installation.   Upon hearing our departure plans, David suggested we meet him in Gloucester, MA a few days later for him to do the install, since he had been summoned to do work on another client’s boat there. As we were about to cross the Gulf, Gloucester would be the perfect destination for a number of reasons.  We could check into customs there.  It would be a short run to Cape Cod from where we would enter Buzzards Bay to head down Long Island Sound to New York City.  David would have the installation completed and the weather was still lovely there.  It was decided. Gloucester was our destination.

Although somewhat dull, it was a lovely afternoon.  We motor sailed flying the jib only, fully extended, and skipped along at 6.5 knots with ease.  The sailing was smooth; the systems were functioning properly; we were making great time and the evening approached gracing us with a lovely sunset.  

As the evening began changing to night, we knew it was going to bring a further chill but we were prepared for it.  Both of us took our station at the helm spelling each other off.   The crossing was progressing as expected until 2 am when the sky began to darken.  No moonlight behind the clouds, no visible clouds, no stars, no satellites, no air traffic, just darkness.  Blackness – the water was black; the sky was black. The plotter, of course, backlit, provided the only light surrounding our little vessel.  The wind had risen somewhat, forcing it directly to the nose of our boat and the wave height began to increase slightly.  The situation was not of concern as we had experienced these conditions before. We knew the boat’s capabilities and were confident that all was fine. 

And all was fine with the captain and the boat.  Unfortunately, I was not.  I am prone to seasickness and have developed personal strategies to combat and manage it.  However, it is vital that each step of my strategy work in conjunction for success.  The slightest deviation will alter my status and then the disintegration begins.  One of the tools I employ (probably all in my head but who cares-- it works) is to position a place of reference to my eyes.  It could be a jut of land, another vessel, the horizon, a cloud, a star, anything that will give me a lengthy point to view.   Now 14 hours in, my point of reference was quickly diminishing with the blackness around me.  The sky had darkened and I knew I was going to be seasick within a few minutes.

We were 125 miles offshore out into the Gulf of Maine.  I was in full blown seasickness mode, totally incapacitated.  Keith had to manage the boat completely on his own with approximately 35 hours to remain at the helm.  Within the next 15 hours my condition deteriorated.  I continued to drink water but because I was vomiting every 15 minutes, I was dehydrating and losing consciousness, and was completely unable to assist the captain.  The limited relief I could offer at the helm required that I tie a bucket about my neck and upon his return fall into the cockpit on my hands and knees, welcoming the opportunity to hang my head.  The next time I lost consciousness, Keith decided that he needed to turn the vessel back to shore, somewhere, to address my health situation. Due to my incapacity, the captain had no opportunity to change his electronic chart courses.  He gave the boat to the wind, giving her the free reign gliding us northwest with the wind fully in her sheets.

The state of the sea was extensive but not unfamiliar to us.  We had experienced rough waters like this before and the captain was in full control.  The morning arrived grey; we were continually being thrown back and forth, further exhausting the captain.  (When this incident was all over, Keith admitted to me that had he not been concerned about my state of health, he would have enjoyed the challenge of the rebellious waters.)  My condition continued to deteriorate and by 4 pm Keith insisted that he call the US Coast Guard for assistance.  He knew we were closer to shore now but was unsure of our exact location.  Keith radioed the Coast Guard on Channel 16 on the VHF radio to give them our coordinates and my status.  By this time, I was now laying on the cabin floor between the two settees unable to carry on any reasonable conversation, oblivious to reality.

The US Coast Guard staff were absolutely amazing to deal with.  Their direction to us was kind, thorough and comforting, in a very difficult situation.  The commander of their recovery vessel identified their plan for us including the deployment of a helicopter to come and pick me up from the vessel.  However, I refused to leave Keith and Bridlewilde.  With this consideration taken into account, it was then determined that their representative would radio our vessel every 15 minutes to monitor my condition.   Our radio is positioned inside our cabin and with the captain unable to leave the helm, I positioned myself between the cockpit and the cabin so that I could respond to the calls.  The Coast Guard personnel identified our position, informed us that we were still about 30 miles offshore with a position heading toward Carver’s Harbour, Maine.  It would take at least another six hours before our arrival in the pitch dark, in treacherous waters un-navigable, without local knowledge or daytime passage.  The Coast Guard rescue vessel staff informed us that they would be coming out to meet us bringing medical attention to me and to provide navigational information for our travel into the harbour.  It would be three and a half hours before we would see them; it would be dark and they would provide safe passage into the Carvers Harbour for us.  

It was a very welcomed and thankful first sight of that coast guard vessel’s arrival.  After recognition that I would not leave our vessel to board theirs for my recovery process to begin, it was agreed that we would fall in behind them, staying close to follow their lights in toward shore, around the craggy narrow inlet into the harbour and to a dock where we were to tie up.  It was another three hour ride, for which I have little recollection; other than I was brought back to consciousness and reality by the constant shrill beckoning of the VHF, intended to keep me in the now.  I was still very sick but being awakened to this actuality was a sense of security for both of us; and although still retching, it was at these times that I forced myself to drink water.  The captain had doused the sails; Bridlewilde was under power and the captain remained exhausted at the helm following the coast guard ship in.

Our arrival to the dock at about 10:30 pm is a semi-conscious blur to me.  I was whisked off our boat to an awaiting ambulance that the Coast Guard people had previously arranged, my vital signs dealt with immediately, and then taken to the small outport nursing station at Carvers Harbour, thirteen miles off the Maine coastline.  Keith was left at the dock to deal with moving Bridlewilde to a safe protected site for the night.  He would be transported to the nursing station by volunteers ready to do whatever was needed to assist.  The nursing staff had arranged transport for me to the hospital on the mainland should I need it.  Before that was to take place local volunteer nursing persons provided expert attention to me.  I was intravenously re-hydrated and drugged for re-stabilization and within hours I was able to talk coherently, walk and feel human again.  Keith had arrived at the nursing station by this time and Bridlewilde had been secured.  We were treated so well by all the people that dealt with us with such consideration and care.  We felt relieved even though we knew that our journey to Cape Cod was now going to take a sail down the New England coast, a sail we had attempted to avoid with the Gulf of Maine crossing.  Once I was stabilized and it was determined that it would not be necessary for me to be transported to the mainland, one of the nursing staff asked us to return to her home to spend the remainder of the night, have warm showers and breakfast with she and her husband.  The offer was so tempting but we declined to return to our beloved vessel, the vessel that had safely returned us to land, the vessel that was awaiting our return, the vessel that was our home. We were so appreciative however, for the hospitality and concern offered to us.

We were given a ride back to the boat.  Keith had previously cleared a path for us to make our way to our bed. I was shocked to see what real mayhem had occurred inside. Supplies had been thrown from hatches, drawers had been emptied, books were strewn, dishes were splayed everywhere, cushions and settee mattresses were disheveled.  She was a mess, a mess that would be addressed on another day. The boat rocked in silence, our pillows were fluffed and our bed swaddled and inviting.  We fell into it drained, lulled to sleep by the lap of calm waters trickling against the hull of our sailboat.

The next day was spent putting Bridlewilde and ourselves back together.  We went to the fire station for showers; we went to the local coffee shop for breakfast, we went to the nursing station to provide our medical insurance coverage where we were told to  “ forget about that – it was what we do – help fellow citizens of the world who need it.”   We were so impressed with this community spirit – the volunteers with the ambulance, the nursing station, at the pier, at the fire hall, the provision of the wifi café, providing us with a mooring ball, and the professionalism of the Coast  Guard---such selfless acts are commendable. 

Bridlewilde has continually delivered us to ports unexpected and unknown. We decided to spend a couple days recovering and to become familiar with our surroundings Carvers Harbour is located on the southern coast of Vinalhaven Island in the mouth of the Penobscot Bay in the North Atlantic Ocean.   Looking at the harbour, the number of the lobster fishing vessels moored, rafted, tied, moving about confirms the significance of their presence.  They fish lobster and lots of them.  Unlike the short timeframe of the Nova Scotian lobster fishery, these fishers in Maine may fish year round.  Vinalhaven Island is the largest of Maine’s offshore communities.  There are about 1200 permanent residents, half of whom are involved in the lobster industry with the other half involved in businesses supporting them.

Refueling before departure from Carvers Harbour, Maine

Carvers Harbour

We walked about the small town. We stood on the bridge overlooking the reversing falls that run underneath a home right in the midst of the falls, discovered the work of local artists, visited the free wifi café, and ate at the friendly lunchroom across the harbour from the mooring ball we were given. Although this charming little community had smitten us, we knew we must move along.  After a quick visit to the fire hall to make a donation in honour of the safe haven this community had provided for us, we fueled our tanks  and pushed Bridlewilde out of  this harbour toward the sea again. 

Yarmouth ----Land's End

The run from Port LaTour to Yarmouth took one full half day.  Bridlewilde slipped out around the breakwater just as the sun was rising in Port LaTour.  We very carefully monitored the designated markers guiding us through the nasty shoals near Northwest Creek to our starboard.   Safely positioned beyond the ragged crags of Baccaro Point light, the wind snapped Bridlewilde's sheets, challenging the boat to clip along over the water swiftly with ease. The wind was with us; the swell of the sea manageable and the sun was warm. It was a glorious sail without incident.  We had hoped to see some water life activity or another vessel but nothing at all came to us, nothing but the never ending roll of waves and the freshness of the cool sea air.   Once past Cape Sable Island, we charted our course inward, between Outer and Stoddart Islands, an effort to cut off a little distance.  With a long day behind us, we bid farewell to the Atlantic Ocean between the two landmasses, Cape Forchu to port and Rat Island where we entered into the lengthy channel in to Yarmouth Harbour, just as the sun was about to set.

Bridlewilde, with burgundy hull on outer dock - mast will identify her

We had already been in communication with the other two Canadian vessels we had met in Brooklyn.   They had moved on to Digby but informed us that the marina right in front of the Rudders Restaurant right downtown was closed for the season with no services available but could still accommodate us well. We drifted quietly into an outside dock there, secured the vessel lines for the night and fell into bed asleep almost as quickly as our heads hit our respective pillows. 

The following morning we consulted our “tools” to determine if we had a window to head across the Gulf of Maine to Cape Cod.   A window is referred to as a period of time for which sailing conditions are favourable for one to depart from, navigate through and arrive at ones destination. Crossing the Gulf of Maine is a 48 hour crossing at best and perhaps longer in our smaller vessel.  It was our preferred route, enabling us to cut off quite a chunk of the eastern seaboard. It had always been the route of choice, Keith was familiar with it as he had sailed it prior, and considering our late departure date it would put us in good position to remain in favourable weather by the time we reached Chesapeake Bay. But the window was closed and we spent the day scouting out Yarmouth for further provisions. 

We met Denis. We saw his sailboat on an outer slip further down the dock. What sailor could resist the temptation to find out who was aboard?   Denis was also heading south, recently arrived from Halifax, looking for crew and alone on his boat. 

We searched and purchased current flares.  Flares are dated with an expiry date just like groceries. We had perfectly good flares aboard but we knew that the US Coast Guard (as with the Canadian) can board a vessel at any time to do an inspection.  We were aware that some of our flares were outdated. We were also aware that should this be detected by a USCG search, we’d be held up for a considerable time until the situation was rectified.  (We learned this when we had an inspection of our boat done before we departed Gold River.  This inspection is called a survey.  It is an in depth detailed recount of everything that pertains to the vessel.  Because Keith had done so much work to the boat we needed our previous survey updated and our insurance agent would want a record as well. Prior to our departure, we hired Lunenburg Marine Surveys to do this work.  Choosing these professionals was an excellent choice.  We highly recommend them to any one requiring this work done.  They were thorough, informative, professional, highly experienced, prompt, detailed and to top it off they are the only Nova Scotian surveyors with the expertise to provide ultrasound equipment. Thereby, they were able to report a true picture of the state of our steel deck and hull.)

We searched for a GPS puck.  I noted earlier that Keith installed a Monitor Wind Vane unit on our boat.  I will provide more information about this piece of equipment in a following post.  The installation of this unit required that we remove the davits from Bridlewilde`s stern.  A very simple description of a davit is that two are required that usually mount on a boat`s stern. They are a series of poles, lines and pulleys used to lift from the water. One may most often see then used for hoisting and transporting a dinghy on the stern of vessels.  Ours were very valuable to us but everything in a boat is a compromise. The stern our a Mason sailboat, especially the 33`s such as ours, are very narrow. In order to mount the wind vane, unfortunately the davits had to go.    And they went quickly.  We advertised on kijiji, a young couple, Dylan and Karen, met us in a parking lot in the North end of Halifax and departed with our cherished davits however, not without a lengthy conversation; not without a friendship evolving; and not without a good deal happening for us both.  It turns out, Karen works with Joyce, Keith’s mom.  It turns out, Dylan has pertinent information that would be helpful in our charting courses to the Bahamas since he and Karen had done the trip on their boat the previous year. It turns out , Dylan installed the same wind vane on his boat. It turns out, Dylan and Karen set up a date to visit us in Gold River before we depart to see our boat and install some helpful electronics on our laptop.  All I can say about this destined connection is …it turns out….well!  The GPS puck does fit in to this narrative.  The data that Dylan so generously loaded onto our laptop is tracking mapping for the entire world. It is incredible. It is an additional electronic navigational tool that we use to track our routes south.  However, due to the fact that our vessel is steel, we occasionally cannot get satellite signals through the steel deck of the boat.  We need a GPS puck that has a magnetic base that can attach outside to the steel house companionway, with a six foot cord attached that will plug into a USB port into our computer inside. This would enable us to physically chart our courses in the comfort of our interior cabin as opposed to plotting on the deck in whatever weather conditions thrown at us. The GPS also links an image of the vessel to the track as the boat travels along it. But this tool was not to be found in Yarmouth.

We scouted the town for services. We looked for the library, the local Y for swims and showers, the best coffee shop, a chandlery, laundromat, our last Frenchy’s, a grocery store, and all located within walking distance. Within hours we were provisioned, ready as we could be to leave our country, and land’s end, the following day for new horizons.

The following day did not come with favourable weather, nor did the next, nor the next.  We remained at the dock waiting with some time on our hands---11 days of time on our hands until we would depart.

We kept busy and remained in Yarmouth .  Yarmouth emits a rocky ruggedness about it in places.  Its terrain is rocky and washed by the sea. I cannot attest to being a rock hound; nothing to the like of my daughter and granddaughter, who at any given time, one might find either one of their pockets adorned with some volcanic remnant treasure they may have been compelled to pick up.  But I do like them. I have been known to carry a hammer with me on a walk just in case I encounter one that intrigues me enough to look inside it.  While tramping along some rocky Nova Scotian beaches, I have attempted to break them against one another in search of amethyst strains when a unique one has caught my eye.  So I suppose it was inevitable that the Yarmouth Runic Stone piqued my interest. 

The Yarmouth Runic Stone is housed at the Yarmouth County Museum Archives.  This rock, found locally, is a slab of quartzite said to have been deposited here by ancient explorers, specifically Leif Ericson, an adventurer and Viking sailor.  Supposedly the markings on the rock outline an inscription on it.  One field of thought identified by some historians is that the markings are Norse runes, a type of descriptive alphabet used by ancient travelers from Iceland and Greenland. It is an unconfirmed belief that Leif Ericson traveled to this area as early as the year 1000.  While history reports the MiKmaq nation to be the first inhabitants here, calling it Keespongwitk, meaning Land’s End, Samuel de Champlain named it Cap Fourchu when he arrived in 1604 and the French Acadians set up a small fishing village of about 50 people around the mid 1700’s  who called it Tebougere.

Considering my sailing adventurous romantic nature, I am inclined to lean toward the belief that Leif was first about the place, leaving the rock to mark his territory.

Another wonderful point of interest to poke about in when one has the time in the Town of Yarmouth is the Nova Scotian Art Gallery, Yarmouth Site.  I saw the most wonderful electronic image of a right whale scaled almost to size, projected in mosaic onto a darkened wall in this gallery.  I was mesmerized by the multitude of color, the immensity and the beauty of this piece as it moved across the gigantic wall almost as though it were alive and swimming there beside me.  It was one artist’s rendition of how the creature portrayed itself.   I was surprised by the impact this electronic piece of art had upon me.  Had I not seen the piece depicted in this manner, I am not sure that I would have been otherwise so moved.   True to form however, an art gallery is designed to house samplings with the intent of stirring ones senses. 

 The friends we met on the two boats from Lake Ontario contacted us from Digby.  Jimmy and Jacquie were visiting with family there but repairs were moving along slowly on Joe and Rose’s boat. They rented a car and came to visit with us.  When we met at Rudders for supper, of course, we recounted new sailing stories.  We talked of the vessel Painkiller, Denis’ boat, also still in the harbour waiting for the same weather window.   These four sailors knew Denis; they had stayed together in a marina in Halifax, and had exchanged good times and good stories also. Of course, Denis was contacted, dragged out of bed to join us at the restaurant for the remainder of an enjoyable evening together.

The sea was nasty outside the harbour.  The storm, Matthew was pounding the coast further down the eastern seaboard southern coast and it wasn’t letting up. The gulf stream dragged the remnants of the ugly water north; the water was mighty and confused.  When the sea is this angry, it takes its time calming, but until it does, a coastal community is at the mercy of what it brings with it.  It was so for Yarmouth.  The wind had risen in the harbour so additional lines were applied to Bridlewilde to hold her safely in place. We went to bed early, still positioned on the outer dock.   We didn`t sleep well; nor did we get to sleep easily listening to the wind howl through the rigging. We could feel the rise of the water in the harbour as the boat movement under us rocked a little heavier.  The screaming of the wind intensified, waking us, with something banging loudly against our steel hull. We could hear the water washing wildly against the dock. 

Earlier in the evening, just after dusk, a small trawler, a new purchase delivery vessel from Halifax headed for St John, came into the harbour to get off the water. In the dark following, one after one, we watched as huge fishing trawlers inched into the harbour finding berths along the piers to secure their monstrous fishing vessels. Keith and I looked at one another, both of us understanding the look of frowned concern on each of our faces. We were well aware there was reason to worry if these big sea monsters well equipped for rough water, were inching their way into this now crowded harbour seeking refuge.  It was nasty out there. It was nasty in the harbour. We could feel the writhing of the boat under us. Six foot waves were screaming up the same channel we had come in just a few nights prior.  We could see from the large windows in our cabin.  The waves were capped in white, frothing angrily, coldly crashing against us and over the dock.

We had all the fenders we had positioned along the dock but the banging and crashing was too loud. Something was wrong.  Keith ventured out of the safety of our cabin to assess.  The small trawler tied in front of us had broken loose, held now only by one line and was crashing into the bow of Bridlewilde. We were terrified, not of the storm but of the damage that may occur to the boats.  Continued, it could be an insurance nightmare and an even longer hold on our travel plans than the weather.  We put a call in to the Coast Guard. It was two in the morning; we had no idea who owned the little trawler. The marina was closed for the season; there had been no one near the vessel for all the days we had been here.  The Coast Guard could not assist; no vessel was able to come to retrieve the boat in front of us. They wished us good luck. We called the local RCMP.  They responded and sent two officers in a cruiser to talk with us. They were reluctant to venture out onto the dock and had no safety harnesses or lifejackets available but could easily see the need to get the situation under control.

 

Keith was able to read the call signs on the flailing trawler to call them to me so that I could relate them to an attendant on the other end of the second VHF radio call I was making to the Coast Guard.  We wanted them to search their records to find out who owned the ship for contact information.  Again they were unable to assist. Their database did not support small pleasure craft vessel data.  I copied the info and provided it to a police officer who came to our boat to inform us that they were unwilling to board the trawler due to the intensity of danger to anyone stepping aboard.  By this time four more RCMP cruisers arrived. A constable was able to use the data to pass on to the marina manager who they had roused from bed. 

The storm intensified; we had to move our boat out of further harm but the weight of the water was so heavy pushing her into the dock.  We needed help.  The boys from the new trawler heading to St John came to the rescue. They were awake and out addressing additional securing lines on their boat parked next to Denis but came readily to assist.  We all struggled to get Bridlewilde off the dock, pushed out into the mayhem of water and using her trusty little engine she swung around to head inside to a slip opposite the outer dock.  Keith revved the engine to give her everything it had to help her bend into the tight entry, ravaged by the onslaught of huge waves.  Within fifteen minutes that seemed like fifteen hours even with the help of four able men, Bridlewilde was secured again, scraped and scarred, but not beaten. 

Of course there was no more sleep for the rest of the night. While the tide continued to rise, so the storm continued to build until late morning.  Had the tide been receding perhaps the strength and size of the waves may have been much less.  When we were able to venture out to assess the damages we were shocked to see the two 50 foot American vessels, a steel sailboat and a cruiser, also resting in the marina, had both broken free and had attacked each other. The owners were not aboard but the vessels were thrown against each other inside the harbour throughout the night.  With so much force , there was massive damage to both boats. We saw some of it taking place from the safety of Bridlewilde but we had no idea the magnitude of the damage.  Unfortunately, in a situation such as this storm one cannot become involved with an unmanned vessel unless you are willing to completely accept total responsibility for it, and as a result it is left to the devices thrown at it, alone.  It took days for the sea to calm down enough for us to sail out again.  Denis tried a departure in the midst of the wait but he had to turn around and come back to the safety of the harbour.   We waited it out and on November first it was a go. We had three days of good clean weather. With the fuel and water tanks full, all the provisions we needed aboard for at least 2 months, the passage charted, and an uplifted attitude to boot,  at 12:10 pm on an early grey afternoon we exited Yarmouth Harbour and the shores of our country for the  two and  a half day crossing of the Gulf of Maine to Gloucester, Massachusettes, US of A.

Nov. 1, 2016 Departing Yarmouth Harbour . A little chilly but we are on our way across the Gulf of Maine.

Port LaTour

Our next port of call was Port LaTour.  We chose this location because it was a shorter sail, we could manage it in a few hours and it would be a good location from which to depart for a full day sail to Yarmouth.

We sailed in through the breakwater into one of the two small harbours in Port LaTour.  We chose
the enclosed harbour, called a boat basin,  for protection purposes even though the wharves were fixed and geared for larger fishing vessels.  We had been in enclosed fishing ports many times and were comfortable there. The other small harbour is set up with floating docks for small cruising craft like us. However, we were concerned that the marina there may be closed and should we tie up we would be open to the fall weather winds.  We also kept a sharp eye to the forecasts. We knew the bad weather that was brewing offshore would cause nasty coastal upheavals for a couple of days and it was best to be tucked inside.

As you will note in the picture below, the entrance to this safe haven is very narrow.  It is a really tight squeeze to navigate but just as we were attempting to enter, a young fisherman in his power skiff, true to Nova Scotian precept, saw us heading in came out of the enclosure, circled out in front of us and entered in between the large wharves to help guide us through the safest route in. Our depth sounder was reading a very low depth as we were entering on a low tide with a healthy breeze and a hefty chop building.   We were thankful for the assistance and once we were tied up along the inner wharf wall we looked to find the fellow to thank him but he was no where to be found.  We later found out that this is just tradition these local seafarers take on - just second nature - just something they all do to assist one another on the sea.

We tied to an inner wharf where there was space behind the rafting fishing trawlers.  The tide here is a 10 -12 foot variance so long lines were required that were attached to the strong buttresses of the wharf.  The lines must be arranged in such a way that they are able to move up and down with the tide so that the boat moves with the tide direction yet they must remain taught enough to keep the vessel secured to the wharf wall.  As the tide rises and falls so does the vessel.   Ample fender coverage must be applied so the boat will not scrape or be damaged as she moves up and down.  The pictures below depict the boat at high tide at night and on a falling tide during the day.

Port LaTour supports an active fish plant, albeit quite tiny, it continues to remain functional in this small Nova Scotian coastal community, unlike many others we have been in or sailed by.  There is a processing plant, an ice making plant, an ice distribution centre for fisher people and others,           and a small fish store. Keith was given some absolutely delicious fresh fish fillets by one of the fishermen which he immediately battered and pan fried for us.

The weather remained dull, rainy and foggy for three days which kept us tied to the wharf for as long. We hiked along the beach looking for sea glass and any other piece of interest we could find.  We wandered around the docks to see what the activities were and we decided to hike toward Barrington for a change of scenery.  As we ambled down the very quiet road, enjoying the smell of the dampened firs, dwarfed in growth by the sea air and salt spray, a car pulled up beside us and asked if we needed a lift.  Again, so typically a Nova Scotian gesture.  The lovely couple who stopped were on their way to Barrington for a short run, to carry out some tasks on this rainy day, and were happy to give us a lift.  Margaret and her partner were delightful.  We chatted about things, they delivered us to the grocery store, took us to numerous sites to try to find items we were looking for; we even checked out the local Frenchy's together.  They drove us back to the boat, helped unload our bags of treasure and waved goodbye as they drove away.  In the gloomy eeriness of the surrounding fog, we felt warm, as we climbed back down the wharf ladder into our boat.  We knew this kindness, we felt it all around us and we knew we were soon sadly leaving it behind.

Nova Scotia - her southern ports - Lots happened in Lockeport

Secured safely to the dock in Lockeport.  See what I mean.  Few boaters; the docks are deserted!

We promised ourselves that the number one priority for this voyage would be safety. Looking at the picture above its hard to fathom that the sea beyond the break in the background could possibly be difficult. But we are tied to this dock in Lockeport for just that reason.  We arrived here on a fair sea but without the correct peripherals we could be slogging along with the wind on the nose of our boat at a speed of 2 knots and pounding over unruly waves that come at us every four or five seconds.  We keep track of the wind, the wave direction, the length of time before each wave reaches us (called an interval), the water depth, what the weather forecast for the location of our departure is as well as the weather for the destination, the speed the boat and how it reacts in all of the elements.  If they all do not align to our liking, we remain at the dock or mooring or anchorage.  And no matter what the conditions are on the water, very unlike the captain of the ship,  I am susceptible to seasickness.

So here we are in the lovely sunshine awaiting a safe time to venture back out onto the Atlantic Ocean.  And we have time to kill. There is never time when there is nothing to do on a boat, certainly not for us, but choices are made with this lifestyle, just as in any other.  On this gorgeous sunny day, my project was to add to my medicinal repository, another potential remedy for seasickness, just in case it was needed. 

Awaiting the serving of Thanksgiving dinner at my daughter`s family cabin just a few days prior, I had the fortune of hiking around the garden.  I noticed there, that the lavender was starting to dry in the October fall coolness and it brought to mind the little blue bottle I had stashed aboard our boat. Ultimately, the reminder of the little blue bottle brought to mind the story of how it became to be on our boat.   While we were sailing from Lake Ontario to Nova Scotia up the St.Lawrence River, we met another sailing couple, Ted and Marie, who were heading to Newfoundland. They were seasoned sailors having spent many years sailing the Great Lakes and hailed from a small community so close to where I grew up.  We became friends and sailed together for quite some distance. We parted waves as they ventured into Gaspe Bay and we continued on out into the Gulf and further afar. However, not before Marie provided me with yet another piece of wisdom.  Marie was concerned about the possibility of my seasickness episodes worsening. She insisted that I take a bottle of her remedy with me.  This little blue bottle containing an oil tincture, the oils extracted from lavender, was her gift to me as we parted.  She explained that she kept it aboard her boat, it was a lifesaver, and that I should use it sparingly because she had been unable to find the product again.  It is applied behind the earlobe, its beautiful odour easily drifts into my senses and I did and do use the product sparingly.  It works as well for me as it did for her,  It may be psychosomatic, who knows , I do not care.  It works; I appreciate it; it is almost gone; and I have been unable to find the product too.  The fact that I was in short supply gnawed at me occasionally; subsequently, the sight and soothing fragrance of the drying lavender in the garden rekindled that bother. Without explanation, I persuaded Susie to give me a few springs of the lavender and before she delivered us back to the boat, I had a bag full.

I believe I mentioned previously that the captain of our vessel, my husband Keith, is passionate. He is passionate about whatever it is that he takes on; in that I mean that he engrosses himself into every project that he sets out to do with such a relentless vigour.  He ponders, he researches, he looks for the best route he can find to resolve the issue he might be attempting to work on.  

For a short period of time before we departed on this sailing trip, we were dog sitting our granddog,  Duke, for a bit. During this time, Duke developed a skin irritation that would not subside no matter what meds we gave him or how we adjusted his diet.  Keith decided he would act as his own vet as he had done so many times prior with our six horses.  He would devise his own remedy for a skin cream for this dog. 

I came into our home one afternoon after work and could smell something so unusual, almost offensive at first, lingering throughout the whole house.  I inquired as to what was going on.  For those of you who know this man, you will recognize what I mean when I say that he had a look about him; he cast a slight glimpse of saucy pertness and he had the tiniest squinting at the corner of his lips when he said to me, "What,  what smell?"  Within a few minutes he had confessed to me that indeed the smell lingering was that of  the fat of a bear that he had spent the day rendering in the kitchen oven.   Apparently, he had asked his hunting buddy boys at his work, for the remains of the fat of a bear should anyone of them shoot a bear on one of their hunting trips. Unannounced to me he had arrived home with a huge pail of this fat the night before, planned and proceeded to render it for two reasons.  One to crisp up some of the fat for dog treats for Duke and the other to produce a liquid that he would strain and cool,  to which he would add teatree oil to create a cream  to rub  into Duke's coat and skin.  He stored this rendered "bear grease" cream in the cool to harden.  Once cooled, the cream resembled lard and had absolutely no odour.  Shortly thereafter, Duke's skin problem was healed and we had an amazing product that worked for numerous skin irritations.

I recount this because we had our last remaining container of this cream aboard Bridlewilde. When I mentioned to Keith,  this fine day, that I was about to attempt to render the oil from the lavender to make a seasickness remedy for myself, it was then that he suggested I add our last portion of bear grease to the mixture to better extract the volatile oils from the plant enabling a double whammy effect.  This "potion" is what you see me brewing on our camp stove on the dock in Lockeport Harbour.

Witchcraft....perhaps!

Lavender reducing.  Yes, it does work!

Lockporte was our destination for a number of reasons. It is an excellent departure point for mariners choosing to cross the Gulf of Maine for Cape Cod, our intent.  Keith had been to this port on a prior trip south where he crewed another friend's vessel across the Gulf.  Lockeport also held a significant personal attraction. 

Randell Dominaux was a good and gentle man. He was married to my husband's deceased sister, Beattie; he was a sea captain, one of my husband's fathers and he spent most of his life on an ocean. Randall fished for Clearwater Seafoods, a well world renowned illustrious business in Atlantic Canada, and his home port was Lockeport .......so we were bound to sail there too. This man was so highly regarded, a gifted seaman, and such an explicit important asset to his employers that at his loss they honoured his memory by naming a new ship acquisition after him,  The owner of the company presented this dedication in a eulogy at his funeral; we  hoped to see the vessel in port there but she was at work out to sea.   Anywhere we were in this port, at the mention of his name, stories of his valour, his fishing prowess and his warmth of character were told with consideration and pride.

The Randell Dominaux

For details of  this vessel go to:

http://www.marinetraffic.com/en/ais/details/ships/shipid:3709112/mmsi:316013590/imo:8619546/vessel:RANDELL_DOMINAUX

We remained in this harbour awaiting our weather window across the Gulf of Maine to Cape Cod. We further provisioned the boat.  We hiked the beaches. We visited the library . We chatted with people. Keith fished for mackerel. We looked for gear we needed. Keith tuned the wind vane on the stern of the vessel. But our weather window did not come and we decided that we would continue along traveling the coast to Yarmouth, another excellent port from which to depart across the Gulf. 

Keith overseeing the move further inside the floating docks.

.

Anchors aweigh...

Departure day arrived. However, it was not during daytime we slipped away.   Our daughter, Susie, and hers, Zaxy, arrived during the day, along with our good friends, Bruce and Belinda, for lunch and final goodbyes.  Our son, Ben, came to see if his dad needed help with any last minute adjustments and to see us off.   Emotions ran high.  It was difficult for all of us.  As the warmth of the  beautiful autumn day began to wane, so did our loved ones. With in minutes they were gone.

It seemed surreal, lonely. We looked at each other standing on either ends of our beloved boat. Was this it?....  Then, in just enough time to wisp us from the fog of our encompassing doubt,  Linda and David, liveaboard friends from the marina, strolled along the dock to wish us “Fair Winds” and  throw out lines to us as we pushed away from the dock.  Yes, it was real again.  It was destined.

Then, at six o’clock in the evening, October 7^th, one week before Thanksgiving Day, almost five years to the day from her arrival at the same dock, we slid Bridlewilde out of the serene little harbour in the mouth of the Gold River, motored her into a dead calm Mahone Bay, for a destination charted to Round Island anchorage. We hooked to a mooring ball there later that evening, arriving in the darkened, quiet cove of the island with a misty moon highlighting our first evening out.  Our adventure had begun. We were en route and all was well with the our world.

Dead calm departure - notice the wake ripples as we depart

The following morning as soon as the mooring line dropped into the water, the boat pointed out, toward out next port of call at Liverpool.   We had a wonderful day of travel and arrived at the Brooklyn Marina just at dusk. We were excited, we were exhausted, and we were happy.  As we guided the boat into the floating dock we were pleased to see the masts of two other sailing vessels tied there.  We had sailed the Atlantic coastal waters before at this time of the year, today included, and knew that there were very few sailboats sailing.  We were well aware that most people were pulling their boats from the water this late in the season rather than raising their sheets.  We were even more excited when we noted that the sterns of these two vessels identified that they each hailed from Ontario.  It meant that they may be travelling too.

The next morning, after consulting the weather resources we use to help determine how and when we travel on the ocean, we decided to remain at the marina for a couple of days.  Susie was spending time with her family at their lakeside cabin for Thanksgiving.  She contacted us, asking that we come for dinner and came to pick us up. However, before she arrived the people from the two other vessels came by, introduced themselves, explained, like us, that they were travelling, and had made it this far from Hamilton, Ontario.  One couple, Jimmy and Jacquie, had family locally that they were visiting.  The other couple, Joe and Rose, were travelling together with Jimmy and Jacquie, due to complications they were experiencing on their vessel.  Their plan was to remain in Brooklyn for the weekend and then travel to Digby, NS where Jimmy would visit with his mom for a couple of weeks and Joe would have the necessary work required on his boat done.  Both couples were retired, living aboard their boats, also like us eventually, heading for warmer climates further south. 

Zaxy's thankful tree and turkey drawing (from her hand print) presented at Thanksgiving dinner. Each of us were asked to identify something we were thankful for.

Over the next few days at the marina, we developed a friendship with these two couples, shared sea stories, hearty belly laughs and each of us explicating our plans for our destinations unknown.  Naturally, we shared our contact information and promised to keep in touch as we traveled along our respective routes.  On Oct 12, with the weather in our favour, all three sailing vessels departed the small village harbour, early, on  a quiet, cool, misty morning breeze; Bridlewilde bound for Lockeport and the two other sailboats pointed out for Yarmouth.  

......come Heaven or high water........⛵....

Darrin Swinamer is the Marina Manager at Gold River Marina. It was also Bridlewilde's Nova Scotian home port.  From the time Bridlewilde first glided into a slip,  Thanksgiving Day 2011, after her inaugural voyage east from Prince Edward County, in the Bay of Quinte, Lake Ontario, and over the years we were clients there,  we inundated Darrin with comments and questions about future plans we had to head south and possibly beyond with this vessel.

We felt like we belonged at Gold River. It was the perfect place for us to remain, hone our sailing skills in Mahone Bay and prepare for what was to come before any adventurous plans we had took place.  This sense of comfort was primarily due to Darrin's prodigious ability to create a welcoming environment and include us into the friendly healthy sailing community that was already established at the marina.  Darrin is one of many at the marina but it is his warm character, willingness to help, his years of experience and dedication to his clients that makes this small coastal marina an excellent destination. Although he is incredibly conscientious when he's dealing with a vessel, it is his elfin sense of humour that invariably brings out the best in him.

We spent 5 years at Gold River. We met so many other wonderful sailors there who taught us much, who assisted when we needed help, and encouraged us to steer forward. During the summer of 2016 we moved aboard Bridlewilde on the hard to complete projects to ready her for the oncoming expedition we were about to embark upon.  Inevitably, as each project neared completion, our excitement mounted and we expected that within days we would "splash" the boat into the water.   But the list of things to do continued to expand and the launch dates kept moving further forward.

Launching a boat or splashing it, as it is sometimes called,  requires planning.  At Gold River, the marina manager must be consulted to provide a date.  He needs to work with the tide in order to lower the vessel into ample water depending on its draught (the depth under the waterline of the boat). If the mast requires stepping that must be considered and organized. Stepping means replacing it back onto the boat if it has been removed. Then the rigging must be attached and secured and the boat is then moved to an available dock in order for the sails to be mounted. Its not a ten minute job.

Bridlewilde is 18 tons dry but she had been loaded with another 2000 pounds while on the hard with all our provisions. She has a 5.5 foot draught and her mast had been removed so that work on it could be completed.  When she was finally ready for launch she was hauled by a transport truck with a hydraulic lift closer to the water. The truck is moved to the vessel on the hard where the truck lift was carefully placed underneath the vessel. The stands that held her in place there were removed. When the hydraulic lift was engaged it lifted the boat onto the trailer underneath it and it is was then ready for transport toward the water. Its a touchy spectacle to watch as your heavy boat trucks through tight corners and other vessels that are stored at the marina. But with Darrin's careful maneuvering she was carried to the boat lift that moves along a railroad track that enters into the water.  The truck backed the boat in toward the lift where slings were placed around her keel and hull to raise her onto the lift. She hung there until it was time to send her to the water.  The massive marine railroad electronics were deployed at the marine shed when the tide height was correct and  quietly, but stately, the boat slipped down into the harbour waters...finally, afloat again.

Once Bridlewilde was moving freely through the water on her own, using deck lines, Darrin manipulated her to the edge of the pier where her mast was stepped.  Before it was stepped,  the rigging was held in place together so that it did not fly wildly all over when it was vertically picked up by a crane that lowered it onto and into the boat. When the mast was positioned all the rigging was then secured.  The rigging is the equipment that supports the mast.   On Bridlewilde there are long stainless steel cables called shrouds positioned to her bow and stern and sets of three shrouds on each of the port and starboard sides of the boat. Each of these shrouds is connected to the deck of the boat by heavy adjustable units called turnbuckles that can vary the tension on each of the shrouds.  This is necessary to enable the stability of the mast and to aid in keeping it upright.  We have our mast "raked" or slightly slanted toward the stern for better sailing capability. Naturally, the marina manager must adjust the mast as it is inserted through the deck of the boat to be received at a mount on the floor of the cabin inside the boat. Some vessels have the mast attached to the deck of the boat however,  in our sailboat the mast travels right through the deck and is attached to the keel inside.

Following the secure stepping of the mast, the boat's fenders were attached and Bridlewilde was moved to a floating dock where the sails were then mounted. The foresail or jib is attached to the roller furler that is secured like a shroud at the bow of the boat. It has a circular housing attached to it that receives the lines or sheet for the sail so that it can be raised and lowered from the cockpit.  The mainsail is attached to the boom and the mast. When it is raised it travels up the mast using a series of sliders which move up the inner side of the mast.  Winches are used to assist in the raising or lower of this sail. This sail plan identifies our vessel to be known as a sloop.

It is a detailed process to get Bridlewilde into the water. It is not just a matter of trailering her in and letting her slide off the trailer. When I was a young person growing up on an inland lake in northern Ontario, after a ten minute job of lowering the powerboat we had,  from the trailer into the water, we were aboard and water skiing within the half hour.  Not so with Bridlewilde.  She demands attention.

As I mentioned earlier, as each project approached the point of completion, the heads up was given to Darrin that Bridlewilde was close to a launch date.  This whole process of informing Darrin began in late July when we "wanted" to have the boat in the water. However, as noted,  Keith's list of projects kept becoming more extensive and the boat did not "splash' until late September.  I also mentioned earlier that Darrin has a great sense of humour.  Throughout all this repeated informing and cancelling of the boat's launch date with Darrin, and unannounced to us until we actually had the vessel in the water, he had a secret marina lottery taking place.  Apparently, the lottery was open to clients of the marina and one could guess the date Bridlewilde would actually splash or if she, in fact, would at all.  This was all a source of good fun with no malice intent. Everyone in the marina was well aware of what was going on up there on the hill where Bridlewilde was placed on the hard and she became a topic of curious conversation. And throughout it all, we were in the dark until the boat was actually launched.

Considering that few recreational sailors, other than die hards, choose to depart the chilly north Atlantic waters of NS for warmer southern waters after mid August, apparently, quite a considerable conversation about it all went on within the marina community.  Well I guess we must be considered die hards now, for we were bound to depart....come heaven or high water!

We are ready!

                                                                     

Soon to pull out of Gold River Marina, Mahone Bay,  NS.
Photo compliments of our good friends  Pat & Barb Baker.