Back in D’Escousse, we stayed for a few days spending time with our friends and celebrating my birthday. Then it was back through the St Peters Canal, shopping and visiting and out into the Bras D’Or. I always associate this area with good weather and in a particularly bad summer, it was good to find ourselves pottering up the lake in the sun. A light breeze took us up to the pretty anchorage at Cape George Harbour.
While we were sailing up, we were stopped by the police in a large and expensive RIB. They wanted to see our papers and I couldn’t help thinking how much money and resources are wasted on this sort of thing. It is beyond my comprehension as to how two middle-aged people sailing in a small boat have any affect at all on the countries they visit – apart from bringing in a certain amount of foreign exchange and paying sales taxes which we can rarely claim back. But we have to contact Customs and Immigration and, in too many cases, do this in advance and/or at regular intervals while we are in the country. All we want to do is to visit and move on, but this simple attitude seems to frighten the authorities who like to keep us tightly controlled.
Cape George Harbour is a typical Bras D’Or anchorage, a small, mud-bottomed lagoon protected by a shingle spit, and is safe in most condition. Our sun didn’t last long and next day it poured with rain, so we stayed put and even lit the fire, burning logs that Greg had given us.
It was still raining when we got up on Tuesday morning, but we left anyway, with Trevor having to pour gallons of water over the foredeck to wash off the sticky mud. No sailor really resents this – this sort of mud is good holding!
Three hours of gentle sailing in drizzle, we anchored in a lovely spot in the Crammond Is, with no houses in sight. The anchorage is between two islands, which have a narrow slot between them at both ends. One end is really pretty shallow, but there is plenty of water in the other, with a wee dog leg. A bullet proof spot.
One of the joys of sailing in this area is the number of bald eagles. You see them constantly and they are absurdly easy to spot with their bright white heads showing up clearly against the dark trees. Although such grand and dignified birds, they seem very gentle creatures, frequently mobbed by terns, who object to them coming anywhere near their nesting sites and chased by crows, who seem to object to them simply on principal. Their call is far from impressive, too, being a rather feeble high-pitched peep. Some fishermen leave heads and guts for them on the shingle spits and it’s wonderful to see them so close. However, generally they are most uncooperative when it comes to being photographed, but I did manage to get one passable shot.
The next day was a bit brighter and we sailed round to Ross Pond. There were more houses around than we expected. People round here must spend an absolute fortune on fuel for their cars as so many of these places are miles from any shops. The very appeal of this beautiful area is one of its drawbacks. There doesn’t seem to be any control over the many houses that have been built since I first visited, and all too often they are huge, unattractive and extremely intrusive, standing on cleared ground with no trees anywhere near them. The sailing on the lake is true holiday sailing, but to my mind it is rather tame and unstimulating and generally, there are too many houses about. I much prefer the wild and woolly Eastern shore, with its fog and islands and inlets.
We went back to the Crammond Is and as we approached, we saw a boat we’d met in St Peters, Calliope, had run aground. While unpleasant for them, it was great fun for us and we rounded up and anchored. Trevor rowed out our stern line and they attached it to the stern. Once it was secured, I cranked away on the winch and we soon pulled the boat off. They headed off no doubt thanking their lucky stars that we’d been about, because this is not a particularly popular anchorage.
After lunch, Trevor took his new saw across and chopped down some more firewood. We were both happy with this new toy – I could keep warm and dry and Trevor didn’t need to spend hours each week getting the wood.
After lunch, it brightened up a bit, so we motored to Marble Mountain, which was rates as a five-star anchorage in our cruising guide. It is still very sheltered, but its appearance was rather disappointing anchorage. Most of the spit has been washed away/removed/overgrown and there are too many mansions on manicured lots. Fizz boats were whizzing around and we had to listen to loud music in the evening. It was disappointing. However, we stayed put because we were planning on having a nice tramp up Marble Mountain. According to Peter Loveridge it was quite a work out – an almost sheer 1000 ft climb. With a forecast of a sunny day, I was looking forward to it.
The day came in thick and drizzly, but it cleared up later in the morning. I made calzone – our standard picnic fare - and off we went. We had to walk along the road for much of the way and had a bit of difficulty finding the track up. It started as a logging trail with lots of ‘Keep Out’ signs, but we were determined to get our day out. The '1000 ft climb' was more like 750 ft and no more than a stroll. It was really disappointing after having looked forward to it so much. But there were some nice views and it was pleasant to sit in the sun, eat our food and enjoy a bottle of beer each, all in the sunshine.
We visited an interesting old store/shop that a lady and her partner are renovating in the hope of turning it into a sort of living museum. She stopped what she was doing to show us round – it was quite fascinating and a true labour of love. The difficulty of financing such a project really doesn’t bear thinking about.
When we got back aboard, we decided to go somewhere a little quieter and moved to the very pretty Pellier Harbour, where there were only a couple of houses in view. We went ashore and tramped - quite arduously - along the shoreline, where we had to do a bit of bush bashing - one of my least favourite pastimes. Trevor nobly left me on the beach while he fought his way back to get the dinghy and rowed back to pick me up. This was a lovely anchorage and with good holding, an easy entrance and well protected from all directions, it would be a good refuge in bad weather.
Saturday started foggy and we were debating staying in this attractive spot when the first deerfly arrived and tried to take a chunk out of me. It was speedily followed by a huge number of mates, so we got the anchor up in short order and motored until we were out of range. In due course the wind came in and we sailed to Maskells Harbour. This is a haunt of members of the CCA, not only because it is a beautiful and sheltered spot, but also because in 1922, several American boats that were sharing the anchorage decided to set up the CCA. There was just enough wind to sail in, so we did, although it was quite a tricky beat. We had quite an audience watching us sail in, so we were somewhat committed. Fortunately, it went off without a hitch and some people ashore took a splendid photo of Barky tacking in through the entrance.
We spent a few days here, hospitably entertained by various CCA members who have summer homes near by. Their natural generosity was enhanced by the fact that Trevor and I are joint recipients of their Blue Water Medal and I think they were pleased to have a medallist in ‘their’ harbour.
While we were there, we spent time with an intersting couple with an offshore motor yacht, Egret who had taken her many interesting places, including Chile. Their ocean passages sounded much harder work than on sailing boat: they were obviously competent and conscientious sailors, but with an engine running constantly, it has to be constantly monitored. Rather different from our relaxed approach when sailing under wind-vane self-steering.
Another very interesting boat was a Spray replica, Double Crow. I had actually been to see her in build many years previously in Chéticamp. With her huge scantlings she was much more a little ship than a boat and quite a sight with her handsome gaff rig.
In due course we sailed up to Baddeck, the end of the cruise for me. It was sad to leave Trevor and Barky, but my own boat was calling me and I looked forward to being back in NZ.
