Thurs Aug 3: Indian Harbour to Three Finger Bay anchorage

This morning I said to Rick: ‘hey, it’s great that we are anchoring out-that way we can’t spend money’ … oh wait….There is this thing called The Internet.  We managed to buy plane AND train tickets while far away from ‘stores’.    $$ 🙄🔨

We were off early , since people kept waking us.I was tired and grumpy as the anchor chain dragged on the rock bottom all night, and it was NOT a reassuring sound.  It turns out to be a sound that gives you the exact opposite of a good night's sleep.  We've never had that happen before (the sound, I mean - not the sleepless nights.  We have those often, it's part of the glamour of boating).

 Rick warned me it would be 'a bit rough', as we came out into the unprotected part of Georgian Bay, for a short 40 mins (that seemed like a week).  It was.  I had to lie down for a bit, but it got so rough I slid right off the banquette on the upper deck-so that was a fun time.  I felt better while driving, since I had to really concentrate on the slalom required in the narrow channels.

Look at all the islands and terrifying red obstacles in our path.

Narrow channel between to unforgiving surfaces.

Another shot of us tucked up in our anchorage. So. Many. Options. We were going to go further, but I picked this spot.  

It’s called Gunkholing when boaters cruise around, looking for remote, unknown or secluded anchor spots.  We won't do that here, where there are so many rocks - we will stick with charted and known anchorages.  But even then, things can go wrong.  Trigger Alert - this is a scary bedtime story; you should probably lock the door and turn on the lights before reading on.

There were other boats in the bay, but it was big enough we could find a private spot and we felt pretty proud of where we settled in.  After some wheedling and cajoling, Rick agreed to try a Med (short for Mediterranean) Mooring.  It's used a lot in this area to reduce swing if there are many boats in one anchorage and/or if there are rocky areas around. In this case, we wanted to be sure we didn’t swing into the rocky ledge nearby.  Try to remember: Rock = Bad.

I needed Rick for this part since one person has to hold the boat in place and the other lucky person has to put on his swimsuit, get the kayak down, find the long rope, put a marker (red life vest) on it so no boats run over it, and paddle to shore to affix it to a rock.  Which he did with a mountain climbing chock, that can be wedged into a crack in a rock.  If it sounds like one person is working harder than the other, that may be true.  I'm the idea person, people - I can't be bothered with the execution part...

We knew there was a storm on the way, and we were pleased to be holed up safe and sound.  I had a lovely nap and Rick did Rick-things (useful boat things, as opposed to a puzzle or a coloring book).  The sky began to darken; looking at the radar map we could tell it was a serious storm, but felt it would skirt our area. 

Hmmmm-it no longer seems to be doing much ‘skirting’…

The weather service changed the status from warning to watch and then it was on us.

At one point we lost sight of the boat on our starboard side, it was blowing rain so hard.

 

First it was just lots of rain, but then the wind started to blow. This is when the Med Mooring became a  terrible idea. With the boat unable to turn into the wind, as it is designed to do, the only things that could give under the stress of wind coming broadside (remember, we present a very big target for wind with our upper Bimini) were the mooring rope and the anchor.  In the end it was the anchor that gave. The anchor started to drag and the boat to be pulled toward the rocks where the Med Mooring was tied, while wind and rain raged around us.  In an ecstasy of terror we started the engine and I held the boat in place while Rick managed to get the rope off the back of the boat. We were able to cruise back out into the bay and hold while the storm died down.  A series of 'help'' calls to the Canadian Coast Guard came over the radio - we were not the only ones having a hard time.

After a huge dither-debate we decided to re-anchor in the same place, which we did and then Rick went to get the Med Mooring line and life jacket. Which we decided not to use ever again if there are ANY CLOUDS IN THE SKY.  We felt really well dug in and started to relax.

Intrepid Rick off to get our abandoned gear.

Rick had a hot shower and tried to cheer me up (that is so Rick - to try to take care of me, while freezing!) with smoked mozzarella, done in his DIY smoker. The result was revealed to be a weird plasticy-tasting blob, stuck to the bottom of the smoker.  Darn.  What a sad waste of yummy cheese.  That experiment gone wrong is what we all in literature call 'foreshadowing'.  The day was not done with us...

Cheese blob.

With dusk fast approaching we suddenly realized we were dragging freakin AGAIN, and right toward the rock shelf.  You may possibly recall that we live in fear of hitting the prop again.  There was a scramble to all stations and we tried to bring up the anchor while staying off the rocks.  At one point I'm pretty sure we were dragging the anchor chain along the bottom of the boat, as the wind had pushed us over the anchor.  It was impossible to manage without power, and eventually we turned on the engine - only to have the prop hit rock hard enough to shut down the engine.  At this point the only reason I didn't wet my pants was because I was having an out-of-body experience.  I don't really know why we were able to start the engine again without hitting, but we did - and cruised out into the bay in the semi-dark.  Consulting the charts we found a spot far away from the shore, but in shallow enough water we could drop the anchor.  AGAIN.  One of the problems, obvi, with the Georgian Bay is that we need to anchor in mud, not rock; and we only have enough chain to anchor in 15' or less.  But this water is deep, right up to the shore, and then it's rock - we don't have enough chain to reach the mud.  But SOMEHOW we found that unicorn spot and the anchor held.  

We were so rattled we decided to take watches.  Rick went to bed, since I had had a nap.  I'm sorry to say that I am the weak link, and I feel asleep about 1 hour into my watch.

I was up long enough to see the moon come up, and to say to it 'oh no - don't think your lovely light will improve my mood'.

It was calm and serene the rest of the night, with hardly a ripple of breeze to stir the water.  But our adrenaline and emotions remained a nasty stew…