Dinghy Cruising Canada’s Ocean Playground
.”Let me go, pappa! Let me go!” That was my battle cry as a three-year-old when my grandfather lashed a line to his dinghy and set me adrift in the Strait of Canso. The Strait of Canso separates mainland of Nova Scotia from picturesque Cape Breton Island and I can remember the day very clearly. It was an overcast day with a cool northerly breeze giving the water a grayish appearance. My grandfather played with me on the beach below his house. That pebbly beach was a playground in my early childhood. We threw countless rocks and watched the ships pass by en route for far away lands that I had only heard about. I remember telling him that someday when I grew up, I wanted to work on the big ships and see the world. Hearing that, he decided that I was big enough to take command of my first vessel. Thus he launched the dinghy used to row out to his larger boat at the mooring. He tied a long line to the bow of the small wooden dinghy and sent me on my first solo voyage. He thought it funny that I wanted him to throw his end of the line into the water and be free of the land. I wanted to drift farther out into the strait. I vividly remember yelling at him “Let me go, Pappa! Let me go!” We had a lot of fun that day, a day that I will never forget. He made me promise not to tell my parents of our exploits and he took that secret to his grave. Sadly enough, I lost my paternal grandfather when I was 15 and living six provinces away in Calgary, Alberta. I miss him greatly but am glad to have his memory.
Thirty-six years later, I was heard uttering these words: “Halifax Coast Guard, Halifax Coast Guard, Halifax Coast Guard, this is sailing dinghy Celtic Kiss on Channel 16.”
“Did you say sailing dinghy?” asked the radio operator.
“That is affirmative, this is sailing dinghy Celtic Kiss and I would like to file a float plan.”
“OK, Celtic Kiss, go ahead.”
“I am departing Halifax Harbour at 1015 local time en route for the Strait of Canso.”
I then provided the particulars of my CL16 sailing dinghy’s safety and navigation equipment, which consisted of an air horn, Class “B” flares, floater jacket, a paddle, 2HP engine, compass, handheld VHF radio, handheld GPS, 8 charts, two plotters, safety harness and a cell phone. From studying my charts, I placed us one mile south of Devil’s Island and headed to a compass reading of 090 for a week of dinghy cruising along Nova Scotia’s rugged Eastern Shore. This particular September 2nd morn was greeted with much anticipation and satisfaction. Concocted six years earlier in Calgary, a personal dream of mine, sailing in an open sailboat along Nova Scotia’s scenic coastline, was finally becoming a reality. In the weeks of getting the boat ready to tackle Canada’s Ocean Playground, I was quizzed by many about the integrity of Celtic Kiss, and I am sure that some curious folk questioned my sanity. However, the pre-trip planning was literally years in the making, albeit most of it from a computer in my former home of Calgary. Sailing on the internet made my job very easy despite the multitude of hours spent downloading 500 waypoints into my handheld GSP unit. And to my great relief, all the waypoints I had marked for the Eastern Shore matched up to my charts. So obviously I knew where I was going. The next challenge to conquer was loading the boat with non-perishable food, as refrigeration is simply not an option for an open dinghy. This was an easy fix with an abundance of canned food, bottled meat, bottled water, and plenty of applies, oranges, fruit juices, UHT milk, a few boxes of nutri-bars, and a small container of almonds. And if for some reason, I ran out of food, a fishing line was taken in case I had to rely on the sea’s bountiful run of mackerel.
Sleeping … not a problem as I had two options: The first was to sleep under a boom tent on the boat, and the second was a small tent on shore. As a result of my painstaking hours of pre-trip planning, I can honestly say that I finally slipped my lines from the Shearwater Yacht Club in Dartmouth, Canada N 44 37 39.1 W 63 31 7.76" without a sense of nervousness. For rather than looking at this voyage as single 152-mile trip in an open sailing dinghy, I thought of it as a series of day trips over a week long excursion. After all, that is exactly what it was except that I wouldn’t be returning to the dock I had departed from earlier in the day. How long would the day trips be? According to my GPS, the “average” moving speed during most of my other day sails normally reads 3.3 to 3.5 knots.. That doesn’t sound too impressive considering that most times I look at the actual moving speed, the reading is anywhere from 4.5 to 5.2 knots. So with those results, I planned to make an average daily passage of 20 miles and anything over that would be a bonus. And though the “route” from Dartmouth, just outside of Halifax, to Pirate Harbour near Mulgrave on the Strait of Canso reads 152 miles on the GPS, I also added an extra 50 miles to allow for tacking in headwinds and landing on islands or finding safe harbours that were not included as an actual waypoint. Now this mileage adds up to 202 miles at 20 miles per day which in a worst case scenario should take no more than 10 sailing days to my final destination. To this I also added two days of non-sailing days to allow for inclement weather and for boat repairs. Thus, in a nutshell, my unofficial float plan was for a 202-nautical-mile trip at 20 nautical miles per day over a 12-day period. Each day was planned for 8–10 hours of sailing time.
On the first day out, my OTP (on time performance) was already in jeopardy. I awoke at 0530 and made my way to down to Shearwater Yacht Club to catch the ebb of the high tide at 0730. Despite my careful planning, everything seemed to be quickly unraveling, as it was taking much longer than anticipated to load and re-arrange my final stores and launch the boat. This took a great deal of time and I wasn’t able to depart until 1015 and now the NE wind was coming to life. However this later than expected departure allowed a small group of well-wishers consisting of my mother, who was visiting from Calgary, and uncles, Harry and Charlie, both of Dartmouth to see me off. When the lines were slipped I jokingly said “Let me go Charlie, Let me Go”
As I was again sailing solo with little weight aboard Celtic Kiss, and given the forecast and current sea state at the harbour mouth, I thought I’d be better off sailing under a reefed main so as not to be overpowered. I soon learned that this was an unnecessary exercise as the added ballast of supplies made Celtic Kiss more stable than I had anticipated. What a pleasant surprise to find my 350lb dinghy behaving like a keelboat. Time to shake out the reef, get on a close reach and watch Halifaxfade into the horizon astern. If the wind held there was an outside chance that I could make my first landfall in the vicinity of Egg Island as planned. It seemed to take forever, but Halifax finally disappeared from my line of vision.
During the first day, I find myself carefully studying my chart, looking up frequently to pick out my landmarks and taking my fixes. Devil’s Island at the mouth of Halifax Harbour has finally disappeared. Cow Bay comes and goes, as does Lawrencetown. Shut-in Island then appears before my bow and just may end up being my first landfall. Not a great start, but at least it is a start, though I would like to end up where I told the coast guard I would be. I had originally planned to make my stopovers no later than 1700 hours to allow myself time to cook a meal and set up my tent before I lose my light. At 1545, I find myself abeam of Shut-in Island. Should I stay or move on? After much contemplation, I decide to make up for lost time. Given the reduced wind, I settle on making a landfall 4 miles ahead of my current position, rather than the 8 miles to Egg Island or nearby Long Island. In order to compensate for a dusk landing in Jeddore, I decide to eat supper while sailing. Out comes a collection of apples, oranges, and a cold can of chunky soup … washed down with a Pepsi. Not a stellar meal but it does the job. On approaching the dock at Baker’s Point in Jeddore Harbour, I attempt to call the coast guard on my cell phone to let them know where I am. To my great surprise, the screen on my cell phone flashes a depressing message: “searching for service”. Being a bit frustrated at this, I can only hope to make contact with the coast guard on someone’s landline before they start searching for me. At 1933, I tie up alongside the fishing boat Grandfather’s Gift and give the cell phone one final chance. To my great surprise and relief, I am able to make contact with the coast guard and let them know I am secured at Baker’s Point. After tidying up Celtic Kiss and preparing the cockpit for my first night’s sleep aboard my luxury dinghy, I hunt up an Alexander Keith’s as a nightcap to celebrate a successful passage of 29.3 nautical miles.
The next morning, I awaken at sunrise with great eagerness to get underway. My plan is to do a quick study of the charts, listen for the weather and re-open my float plan. After a quiet departure from Grandfather’s Gift, I take advantage of a following wind which prompts me to fly the spinnaker. This glides me past my previous night’s unreached destination of Egg Island and onward to my next destination of Pope’s Head on Phoenix Island
It was during this leg of the trip that I encountered an interesting phenomenon. Even though the wind was light, the rocks near Egg Island emitted a whistling sound as if wind was blowing though a ship’s rigging. As I sailed by this area, I was able to study the rocks, thinking I might be able to locate a herd of seals or some other inhabitants, but nothing was spied through the binoculars. If I were the superstitious type, I might have surmised that the wailing I heard was my seagoing ancestors watching over me.
I am quite pleased with my spinnaker handling skills. It took me quite awhile during sea trials to learn to do this by myself. The forecast calls for increasing winds of 15–20 knots. I don’t want to be overpowered, so my eyes regularly scan the sea for dark water signifying heavier air. At approximately 1000, the forecast wind hits me like an invisible wall and I feel it prudent to quickly douse the chute and stow it back under the forepeak. Soon the wind pipes up to 20+ knots, and I find Celtic Kiss surfing down waves at 6.5 knots under a full main and furled jib. As the afternoon wears on, the wind increases even more, prompting me to reef the main while I continue on my course towards Pope’s Head, which I estimate to be 2–3 miles away.
All was going well until suddenly a gust hit me, and Celtic Kiss rounded up into the wind. I quickly recovered and hove to while I took a fix on the chart. I decided it would be wise to take refuge in the lee of the land. Somewhat disappointed that I would once again fail to make my intended landfall, I took solace in knowing that I was close to my intended destination, and was confident that I had made the correct decision to seek refuge. By the lay of the land, I knew I was going into a well protected area. This was quite important as the forecast called for gale force winds and occasional rain for tomorrow. My new course took me into Tangier Harbour and eventually to the sandy shores of Baltee Island. Immediately, I was impressed with the white sandy beach in a well protected cove where I was quite content to stay and wait out the oncoming gale. While soaking in the scenery of my new environment, I distinctly recall saying out loud to nobody in particular, “Who needs Cancun?” Once I had secured myself on this sandy beach and having attained some local knowledge from a family who were enjoying a Labour Day picnic, I immediately called the coast guard on my cell phone and closed out my float plan. The fact that I had communication with the outside world was a pleasant surprise.
The Baltee Island stopover gave me time to evaluate my journey. According to the GPS, 52 NM had passed under the centerboard with no problems whatsoever. At the outset of the trip, I had concluded that the added food, clothing and camping gear would add ballast and thus stability. I was in fact pleasantly surprised to note that all the extra weight was making Celtic Kiss behave more like a keelboat than an open sailing dinghy. A relaxing day on this pristine little island also provided me an opportunity to re-organize my gear. During the past two days of sailing I had noted that the items I needed on a regular basis had to be more accessible. I was frequently in need of spare batteries for the GPS, charts, flashlight and a steady supply of fruit/snacks. As well, I was able to get the barbecue out and enjoy my first cooked meal. To celebrate my successful trip, I treated to myself to some bottled chicken and baked potato with all the trimmings. In short, it was a magnificent meal, and I found myself truly content on the shores of Baltee Island. That night, I went to sleep serenaded by the Tangier Harbour Fairway Buoy rhythmically whistling in the waves, guiding mariners to safe refuge.
From listening to the weather forecast the night before, I knew that the gale had passed. A small craft warning was however, issued with maximum winds of 25 knots. Given the confidence I had in the seaworthiness of Celtic Kiss, I decided to head out. Anxious to get going, I awoke shortly after daybreak and had a quick breakfast, which consisted of mixed fruit, granola bars and almonds. After re-opening my float plan and going through the lengthy process of tearing down my camp and restoring the boat, I set off for the most exhilarating sail of my life under reefed main alone.
The gale had left behind very large offshore swells, which made for great surfing. The combination of 25-knot winds and 12-foot waves had Celtic Kiss speeding down the Eastern Shore in excess of 9 knots for the entire day of sailing. My course took me across Pope’s Harbour, Spry Bay and Mushaboom Harbour. It was around here that I noticed many breakers offshore as I was entering a very rocky area of the Eastern Shore. Common sense dictates to stay away from the string of breakers or face the direst of consequences. Given the large number of breaking waves over any offshore rocks, it was easy to spot them from a great distance. I termed this “breaker navigation” which required a particularly keen eye on the breakers because Celtic Kiss and I were, in a way, sailing blindly along this portion of the coast. I was never in any danger, but I would say sailing blindly because I could not read my charts as they were securely tethered to the mast. Proper weight and balance are integral factors in a sailing dinghy and given the wind velocity and sea state, it was imperative that I sit as far aft as possible so as not to bury the bow in the back of a wave. Hence my charts were out of reach. Though I was thoroughly enjoying my sail, and my confidence in the seaworthiness of Celtic Kiss had grown exponentially, safety is always first and foremost on my mind. In my many years of dinghy sailing, I have learned that the difference between paradise and chaos can be a matter of only seconds. A broken split ring could cause certain rig failure: a dismasting is bad at any time but in an angry sea it could be a disastrous situation.
Once I was clear of Beaver Island, I spotted a red spar buoy, which I knew from experience, marked a channel into safe haven: Quoddy Harbour. Though I had told the coast guard I would go as far as Tuffin Island, I had spotted Quoddy on the mainland and now altered course to make a landfall there. But to get into the harbour, I had to pass through a narrow passage between two islands with breakers all around them. This required some precise navigation and careful planning. I couldn’t fall too far off the breakers because I wouldn’t make the channel, but on the other hand, I could not go too far upwind as I would be at a bad angle to the waves.
Eventually, I was able to thread the needle between the Harbour Islands at the entrance to Quoddy Harbour. I estimated 700 feet as the distance between the two islands where towering breakers marked the sides of the narrow channel with less disturbed water in the middle. To starboard of Celtic Kiss, white foam was within a boat length, and to port I could stare into green water of breaking waves that were higher than the spreaders. Once I had sailed into the lee of the Harbour Islands, the swell disappeared, but the high wind was still evident even though the forecast had called for diminishing wind. Thus I tacked under reefed main into Quoddy Harbour and admired the beautiful homes. One mansion in particular stood out, and I noticed a person standing on the back deck watching my every move as I guided Celtic Kiss to the public dock at Gammons Creek Harbour. Upon my discreet arrival into the picturesque village, I immediately sought a bit of local knowledge and soon found myself walking up the driveway to the mansion I had been admiring from the water.
Being shy by nature, I gently knocked on the door and was greeted by the young lady who had been watching me entering Quoddy Harbour. As it turned out, Elisabeth and her two roommates were also sailors and quickly made me feel welcome to their home. Elisabeth, Marika and Karin were also sailing adventurers and currently had their sailboat in balmy Mexico waiting for their arrival to go off to far and wonderful places. In great maritime fashion I was quickly provided use of their telephone so I could close my float plan and contact various family members who had been following my trip. While speaking to my mother, I received some great news. My father was scheduled to fly in from Calgary the next day.
Seeing that my little vessel was receiving quite a bit of attention from my new found friends, I invited them to come down to the dock with me to give Celtic Kiss the once over. I think it was at this point that the gals took pity on me as they saw my sparse accommodation and offered me the use of their studio for the night. The thought of a warm stable bed that would allow me to stretch out at night was definitely appealing to me. Needless to say, I eagerly jumped at their kind and very much unexpected offer.
Noting that it was still quite early in the afternoon, I decided to take advantage of the warm sun’s rays to dry and generally air out my sleeping bag and assorted items of clothing. And of course I found myself continuing to re-arrange my cargo of food, clothing etc. into a more orderly mess. And I especially made sure that the batteries for my handheld GPS would never be far away. According to this little wonder, I had reached a maximum speed of 9.1 knots and sailed 23 miles in only 3.5 hours on that particular day. As well, a total distance of 75 nautical miles traveled thus far in my journey was recorded. What a great feeling to know that I was well into a coastal cruise that at one time I could only dream about. As the lazy afternoon wore on into early evening, I could still hear the North Atlantic’s towering waves crash into the many jagged rocks that dominate this part of the coast. I went to bed hoping that the sea state would be a little bit less harrowing in the morning.
Just as the forecast had predicted, I woke to a dismal day of rain with a threat of fog patches developing late in the afternoon. It would have been easy to roll over in bed and wait for better weather, but the wind speed and direction were in my favour, as was the tide. Again, a quick breakfast at daybreak, and Celtic Kiss was once again prepared to go to sea. From a conversation I had had with the local wharf master the day before, I was assured that Liscomb was within striking distance. After a quick call to the Coast Guard to re-open my float plan with Liscomb given as my intended destination, Celtic Kiss quietly slipped from West Quoddy. Intense chart study the previous night, along with some local knowledge gained from my gracious hosts, allowed me to guide Celtic Kiss safely back out into a calmer Atlantic Ocean.
The plentiful shoal waters provided larger swells for an early morning wake-me up. While I was passing the many rocks that were waiting to eat my fiberglass, I encountered the same whistling sound I had heard at Egg Island. And just like at EggIsland, not a sign of sea life except for some seaweed that gave a distinct odour of fish. After I had passed the shoal waters of Quoddy Harbour and entered the deeper water of the North Atlantic Ocean, the waves became much more bearable and provided a comfortable broad reach towards Liscomb Island. Today’s visibility was rated as fair to poor in showers, so my trusty compass was closely monitored as I sailed towards my next waypoint of Barren Head.
Since my departure from Halifax, I had mostly followed a course of 090 degrees and soaked in the scenery of the vast ocean expanse at the eastern edge of Canada’s mainland. While I gently sailed past Ecum Secum, and on to Tuffin Island, I noted to myself that I had been much better off spending the night in West Quoddy rather than Tuffin Island. Though it would have been nice for once to close a float plan from the destination I had provided the Coast Guard with.
Barren Head is getting larger on the bow and though it’s early in the day, I need to make some decisions as I can see the weather coming in from the sea. Feeling confident that I can make my destination of Liscombe Lodge, I also feel confident that I can make it as far as Sherbrooke and spend a night with some relatives there. I know that I’ll get an excellent home cooked meal, great company and no doubt a few beverages. So, as Barren Head falls astern of my little luxury yacht, I carefully weigh out my options while the weather closes in on me. I know I definitely don’t want to be out here in fog. My concern is not so much being hit by another vessel as I’m sure there wouldn’t be another foolhardy soul out here, but I particularly don’t want to run afoul of a rock with my name on it. Though I hate to give up Sherbrooke, I navigate my way to the entrance of the Liscomb River with a plan to reach the Liscombe Lodge resort. I must be living a pretty good life when one of Nova Scotia’s finest tourist destinations ranks second on my places-to-stay list. But with Liscombe Lodge, another challenge presents itself: It’s a seven-mile run up the river in steady rain and I’ve never sailed up Celtic Kiss up a river before. But I’m up for the challenge. While the rain intensifies, I am more than ever convinced that I made the right choice in closing the float plan at Liscombe Lodge.
Upon arrival at the little dock of the resort, I find a little space to secure Celtic Kiss for the night. I then gather up my duffel bag of clothes and my charts before taking the short walk up to the main office of the Lodge. “Do you take vagrants?” I jokingly ask the office staff.
The friendly ladies behind the counter laughed at my remark and were extremely helpful in getting me settled into a luxurious room overlooking the Liscomb River. Having been informed that I must make dinner reservations for the dining room rather than just showing up looking for a meal, I made plans to dine at 2000. As it was only 1530, I would have time to check my messages on the internet, have a shower, shave, make a few phone calls, and either get a little sleep or watch a bit of television. When I contacted the coast guard, it was quite satisfying to report to them that after four days of sailing I had finally arrived at an intended destination. And of course I was able to study my charts and plan my next day’s sail in comfort. This section of the Eastern Shore is a bit intriguing to me for I was now approaching an area that my father and his two brothers once attempted in a 34’ Cape Island power boat when I was only a young boy of eight. Their Pirate Harbour to Halifax voyage did not meet with much success, as Trebor (Robert spelled backwards) succumbed to engine failure in dangerously close proximity to Nixon Mate Shoal and had to be towed by a rowboat to safety.
As my Uncle John Dunbar wrote in his journal:
… At 0530 hours a change in the sound of the motor brought Charlie rushing into the cabin. After a cursory inspection, it was discovered that the transmission had become overheated and seized, although there was no evidence of any transmission fluid in the bilge. Upon further investigation, Charlie announced that we could proceed no further. A fix was obtained on the chart which indicated that we were just east of Indian Harbour and about six miles off the coast and two miles southwest of Nixon Mate Shoal.
This was most disappointing. Here we were, with no radio and adrift six miles off the coast on a Sunday morning, when no fishermen would be putting out to sea. How thankful we were that my father (author’s grandfather) had insisted we take his rowboat along as a tender; it immediately became obvious that it would be put to good use.
As daylight approached the wind began to increase in velocity from the southwest, which would eventually blow us onto the reef unless we took evasive action. While Charlie and Bob (author’s father) were checking over the motor, I got into the rowboat, attached a line to Trebor’s bow and commenced to row, saving gas for an emergency, as we were not at this time in any immediate danger. Slowly but steadily she moved forward. At 0845, three hours after I had commenced rowing, we were well past the reef with several miles of good water between us and the lee shore. With the increasing wind, the waves had now risen to a height of seven or eight feet, while the sky became overcast.
Sadly, that was the last voyage for Trebor because, after being towed to Halifax, she was put on the hard and repairs were interrupted by a move to Calgary. Thirty-one years later I now had an opportunity to visit the area where this infamous sea saga took place and would get a better appreciation of what my father and two uncles endured.
My dining reservations were soon approaching, so I did my best to find a dry set of clothes and shoes to wear to the classy dining room. I didn’t want to look like an unkempt hippie though I had earlier declared myself as a vagrant. But considering my circumstances, I think I could have been excused because I was in the middle of a somewhat daring adventure. After enjoying a fine meal, I ordered one of my favourite drinks to celebrate the midway point of my dream: The Long Island iced tea was sipped with much satisfaction. It was at this point that a couple stopping here in their Nonsuch 30 Feline Fine spotted me. They were retired and sailing from their home in Quebec City to the Bahamas. I was invited aboard for a nightcap.
Having enjoyed a comfortable night’s sleep in my Queen Size bed, I gathered my belongings, secured them aboard Celtic Kiss, and once again found myself in the dining room feasting on an all-you-can-eat buffet. Though this was a great treat, I didn’t want to savour it too long, as I didn’t want to lose a good tide to take me down river and out to sea. My friends on Feline Finehad already slipped their lines. After quickly consuming breakfast, I continued with my morning ritual of calling the coast guard and told them of my plans to go as far as Fisherman’s Harbour.
Upon crossing the mouth of the St. Mary’s River on a very relaxing day, I heard a speedboat quickly bearing down on my position. I knew right away that my cousin, Don, had got word of my presence and made a special point to greet me. The Dunbars of Sherbrooke are not only my family, they are great friends. Though I hadn’t had a home-cooked meal the night before in the comforts of their kitchen, a non-perishable treat bag was now placed on a boat hook and passed over to me. Any navy in the world would have been impressed with the precision of that maneuver.
After the exchange of pleasantries, Don sped off to Sherbrooke, and I continued on my course to Country Island where I would alter course into Fisherman’s Harbour. Immediately I opened up the bag of goodies to find some apples, oranges, a bag of chips, chocolate bars, a few cans of pop, and a few cans of beer. Given my lack of refrigeration facilities, I deemed it necessary to find a new home for the beer before the sun got to it. Thus I raised a can of Alexander Keith’s and toasted my father and his two brothers, Charlie and my late Uncle John. Ironically, the last time I ever saw my Uncle John was at Liscombe Lodge.
After having my moments of nostalgia, I soon get the spinnaker up, which helps me get closer to Country Island faster for a short time before whitecaps appeared when I am abeam of Wine Harbour. Down comes the spinnaker, and soon the lighthouse of Country Island makes its appearance. A steady SW wind takes me ever closer to my destination and according to the GPS my ETA for Country Island is 1430 and since Fisherman’s Harbour is west of Country Island, my ETA for Fisherman’s Harbour should be around 1330. That’s simply too early to call it a day, so I carefully study the chart and try to locate a destination further ahead.
If the wind stays steady, New Harbour is within reach. As Celtic Kiss glides past the twin lighthouses of Port Bickerton, New Harbour is becoming more of a real possibility. Soon I am abeam of Fisherman’s Harbour, and the lighthouse of Country Islandis taking a definite shape. I have always been fascinated with lighthouses, so I opt to sail outside of the island to get a better view, since judging by the chart I’d be running into shoal water again if I stayed inside Country Island. For the first time in my voyage I am surpassing a destination provided in my daily float plan. Considering my previous failed attempts, this is cause for celebration. Hence I plan to have another gourmet meal done on the barbecue similar to the one I had on Baltee Isl%and.
Having successfully navigated past Country Island, I set course for the buoys that would guide me into New Harbour. The increasing swells let the buoys voice their location to me while warning me of submerged rocks and ledges. Each buoy was carefully studied on the chart, as I wanted to make sure I knew what each buoy was marking — it’s not always as simple as “Red-Right-Return” when approaching a foreign port. To complicate things a bit, the wind was rising more than I had expected and I soon found myself reefing the main for the final approach into New Harbour. I could also tell that I was being watched from ashore and didn’t want to make a foolhardy approach in front of an audience. Upon reaching the public wharf at New Harbour and securing my lines, I immediately tried to call the coast guard and let them know my whereabouts. To my chagrin, cell phone service is non-existent in New Harbour so I relied on the kindness of the wharf master, Trenton, and his wife, Charlene, for the use of their telephone. Again in true Nova Scotia form, Trenton and Charlene offered to assist me with any of my needs. The only question Trent asked me was if I had seen any tuna, as the season was opening in just a few days. The answer was unfortunately “No”.
I set up my tent and gathered my sleeping gear prior to pulling out the barbecue and having a hot meal of bottled beef, baked potato, and a celebratory glass of rum and Pepsi. As darkness set upon me, the wind didn’t abate as it normally does at dusk. This was a disappointing turn of events for I know that this part of the coast has quite a reputation that I didn’t want to be involved with. The Nova Scotia Cruising Guide states on page 111: If fog prevails or if the sea is heavy from a southerly direction, it is advisable to sail well offshore clear of all dangers, round up into Chedabucto Bay and enter Canso from the northwest. That night I could hear the waves relentlessly breaking on house size rocks in the distance and went to bed hoping I would have a favourable sail to Canso.
At daybreak I awoke to abated wind and sea, and once again prepared Celtic Kiss for a day sail to Canso. It was too early in the morning to awaken Trenton and Charlene so out of courtesy, I opted not to ring their doorbell. As I couldn’t get reception on the VHF, not even the weather station, I slipped my lines and headed out to the green buoy marking the entrance to New Harbour and altered course for Canso. Up went the spinnaker again as I began my slow run to Canso. The sky looked to be clearing to seaward, so I gathered that I was in for a much wanted fair weather day for sailing to this historic fishing port famed for high wind and/or fog. The slow run on an almost flat sea gave me time to reflect on my joyous trip thus far, and I was a bit saddened that it was coming to an end. This day was a bit nerve-wracking though, as I had received word that a welcoming party would be forming on Saturday in Pirate Harbour. Hence I didn’t want to be overdue for Saturday’s arrival. On occasions, the wind could barely fill the chute and thus allowed it to drag in the water.
It’s at times like these that it’s best not to look at the ETA option on the GPS as the readout was predicting an arrival time in Canso Harbour at 2000…twelve hours from now. Yikes! Odd how I had hoped for the wind to abate, but this was a bit too much. Hopefully, when the sun rose higher, the wind would come with it. To me it felt like I was rounding Cape Horn on a calm day, for how often does it happen that this particular approach could be so tame?
Down comes the chute as it’s dragging in the water, causing the boat to round up to seaward. Ironically, now that I was farther out to sea, I could get a weather check on the VHF. Light winds and overcast with clearing in the afternoon. As the day wears on, the teasing zephyrs of light air entice me to raise and lower the chute repeatedly throughout the day. What a workout I’m giving myself.
While I was passing Dover, a curious fisherman came out in his newly painted boat to see if I was all right, and offered to tow me to Canso. I quickly declined his kind offer, but I did ask to him to relay my float plan to the Coast Guard. He obliged by skillfully coming alongside Celtic Kiss, allowing me to jump into his boat Skipper Joe to use his much more powerful radio. The view of a fully rigged and skipperless Celtic Kiss, drifting free six miles off the coast was an eerie sight. “That’s something you never want to see,” remarked Joe. I couldn’t agree more, especially considering that it was my boat we were looking at. After re-opening the float plan, I thanked Joe for his kindness and got back aboard Celtic Kiss to continue my journey. This whole episode gave me great comfort. It is nice to know that someone’s eyes are always set on me though I may not be aware of it at the time. Given the light airs, I opted to save some time by sailing closer to the shoreline rather than sailing far out to the pre-set waypoints programmed into the GPS. I was a bit concerned about entering Andrew Passage from this altered course, but a simple rule of thumb is to steer for the deep water and stay away from the breakers. Considering the modest ten-inch draft of my laden hull, I was still confident of an uneventful passage through the channel. I used the experience and knowledge gained during the run from Baltee Island to West Quoddy to keep my nerves at bay. As the sun finally broke free of the cloud, I was entering Andrew Passage and bid farewell to the North Atlantic, “It’s been a great time and thank you for being so kind to me.” Just then a whisper of a south-west wind arose, and I could see the porpoise frolicking in the mouth of the Passage. Was it just a coincidence or was the North Atlantic saying to me, “Glad you enjoyed your stay and come back soon.” A southwest wind was perfect, enabling me to make a quick run down this passage and to take running fixes in a stable boat. As I made my way down to the opposite mouth of the channel, Canso Harbour opened up to welcome me. Again I heard the whistling sound I had encountered twice before. For once I wished I had someone with me so I could say to my crew, “Do you hear that?” The whistling sound then turned into something that sounded like the squawking of either a flock of birds or a herd of seals. As I left the Passage, the sound was almost deafening and I thought to myself, “I couldn’t anchor here overnight even if I wanted to.” Soon after, Celtic Kiss nosed her bow past Glasgow Harbour, and Canso came into view. What a wonderful sight after such a long day. The steady wind I was now experiencing brought me quickly and smartly into the Canso Marina under full sail. Now I finally felt that I was back in my home waters as the hills of Cape Breton were certainly a wonderful sight in the late afternoon.
While I was securing my lines at the Canso Marina and Campground the Park Warden drove up to the dock. Anticipating the conversation, I asked what the berthing fees would be. I was informed that anything under 25 feet was $20/night. As this was my last night of a great adventure, I was perfectly willing to hand him a damp $20 bill, but before I could flash my cash, he said, “But I just don’t feel right about charging you that much for such a little boat.” So after some haggling at the dock, we agreed on a mere $5 for the night’s stay, use of a picnic site for a barbecue and a spot to pitch the tent. It also included use of washroom facilities and a hot shower. Pretty good deal, I thought. Upon completing the haggling process, I dug out my cell phone to call the coast guard and close my float plan for the night. Again I had been warned of spotty reception, but I got through on the first try. Feeling lucky, I called my parents as well. Both of my parents had by now arrived in Pirate Harbour for tomorrow’s triumphant arrival. I was able to leave a message on their answering machine just before the signal faded again. At least they would know I was now in the vicinity. Soon after that call was made, I received a call from my good friend, Rob, in Calgary. I was in the midst of telling Rob about my trip, but as I was walking around with cell phone in hand, I lost reception.
As I was unpacking the boat and transporting my gear up to the “picnic site”, I was quizzed by many locals who were quite interested in the voyage. One gentleman even made the effort to go to his house, got his teenaged son who is also a dinghy sailor, and brought him down to meet me. It’s not often that people meet someone in such a “cute little boat” who has sailed here all the way from Halifax.
As dusk was settling upon the marina and my final gourmet meal was cooking, I walked down to check Kiss’s lines and noticed a sailboat coming into the marina. A sleek little Mirage 29 berthed on the opposite side of the finger from Celtic Kiss and I helped a fellow solo sailor secure his lines. In a brief conversation I was informed that he was sailing from Halifax to the North Shore of New Brunswick. After a week of sailing all alone, I would finally have another boat to look at, as we would be going the same route to the Strait of Canso the following day.
My night in Canso was especially wonderful as I had pitched my tent in a designated picnic area at the foot of a breakwall that housed a little lighthouse. How fitting it was for me to sleep beside a lighthouse on the last night of my voyage. To top it off, the cloudless sky offered a full orange moon shining over a still Atlantic Ocean. After enjoying yet another celebratory meal of bottled pork, baked potato and the last of my rum, I quietly sat on the picnic table and basked in the greatness of all that Mother Nature was offering me on this wonderful night. Feeling very grateful and thankful for all that had transpired, I made one final call on my cell phone — to my girlfriend, Charlene, in Halifax. I could only leave a message on her voice mail but I thanked her for giving me so much encouragement and for forgiving my undivided attention to the boat in the weeks prior to my departure date. Our vacation times had been set for the same two-week period and I hadn’t wanted to abandon her, but am forever grateful for her insistence that I should fulfill my dream.
…
Awakened by a foghorn, I couldn’t believe my luck. Immediately I opened the tent flap to watch a fogbank roll into the marina. Canso was living up to its reputation. But knowing the weather forecast, I guessed correctly that the sun would burn off the fog, so I closed the tent flap and went back to sleep. A short while later, the foghorn ceased its sharp groan, which signaled all was clear. Unlike mornings past, I took it easy this morning and enjoyed a fine breakfast of mixed fruit, left-over bottled meat and cans of Pepsi and 5-Alive. A much welcomed hot shower followed, as did a shave. As I finished my morning pampering at 1000, I watched the Mirage 29 leave Canso Harbour en route for New Brunswick. So much for having company, I thought, but I really didn’t care as nothing was going to spoil my last day at sea. Savouring every moment, I leisurely packed up my impromptu campsite and prepared Celtic Kiss for the final leg of the journey.
At 1220 Celtic Kiss poked her nose past the rocky entrance to Canso Harbour and I could see my buddy out on the horizon. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was getting myself into a race. Knowing the forecast was calling for a westerly wind, I knew that this would be an unpleasant and gusty day to sail the Canso Strait.
I used my local knowledge to hug the lee shore of Nova Scotia’s mainland while my competitor was getting pounded over on the Cape Breton side. When all was said and done, I made up great time sailing at 5.5 to 6.2 knots throughout the final leg from Canso, and soon found myself abeam of the Mirage. To my delight, I zipped past him and got a visual on my final waypoint C21. Another two minutes and I could see the beach that my grandfather and I used to play on, which meant that I had enough room to clear Susie’s Island and altered course for a final windward leg into the Pirate Harbour wharf under full sail.
Upon my arrival, childhood friends and neighbours who had been following my trip greeted me. The people I wanted to see the most, my parents, who had both watched me spend countless hours in front of their computer in Calgary, planning this voyage, stood on the Pirate Harbour wharf. Fittingly my father, the man who would get up early to stand in line at 5:00 a.m. to sign me up for sailing lessons when I was much younger, took my bow line and secured Celtic Kiss to her final destination.
We all celebrated with champagne and beer on the wharf to mark a successful voyage. I noted the time when dad took my line. It was 1717 hrs and ironically enough, this meant I had arrived at the right place at the right time: a week earlier, I had announced to the coast guard in Halifax that I’d arrive in Pirate Harbour at 1700 hrs on Saturday September 9.
— — — — — — — — —
Robert B. Dunbar
Celtic Kiss CL2120
Epilogue
Prior to the trip I had been persuaded to buy an outboard motor for safety reasons. I am happy to report that during the entire trip not a drop of fuel was used, and that I can thus still keep my purist sailing status.
Robert B. Dunbar
Celtic Kiss CL2120
Final GPS readings:
Moving Average speed: 3.6 knots Actual Sailing Time: 51 hrs. 44 min.
Overall average speed: 2.8 knots Avg. Daily Distance sailed: 30.6 nautical miles
Maximum speed: 9.1 knots Total Distance Sailed: 185 nautical miles
