First of All –
- First time with the mast up since leaving Lake Champlain
- First time having to wait for 4 lock cycles before being able to lock through
- First day cruising on the Georgian Bay
- First time with no more locks ahead
Namely Speaking-
- Turning Rock
- Big Dog Channel
- Beausoleil Island
Loop Log:
- Miles Cruised today: Power: 16; Sail: 0
- Total Miles Cruised to date: 6,100
- Hours Underway: 4 1/2
- Fuel: NA
- Morning House Battery Reading: 14.3 (plugged in)
- Wind Speed: 10 ; Wind Direction: NE
- Daily High Temperature: 76
- Water Temperature: 74
I’ve raised the mast on this boat more than 50 times and I’ve yet to experience the perfect mast raising. Something always goes wrong. A line is out of position, I forget to attach the windex, something goes wrong with the flag halyard, the roller furler is facing backwards, something always gets in the way of a perfect rigging. It remains my goal, and I figure that, by now, I’ve made every mistake that it’s possible to make, and sooner or later I’ll do a perfect mast raising and rigging operation. I came really close today, and still it turned into a mess. Things start out fine, with Sandy doing a laundry, which frees me to move easily about the boat, taking my time and thinking each operation out. I’m careful to avoid each of the mistakes of the past, and things are going well. The moment of truth arrives when I begin cranking the winch and raising the mast. I get it almost all the way up and gaze upward, doing one last visual check. I spot the swaged
thimble atop one of the shrouds, twisted where it connects to the mast. Not a big problem. I slack the mast raising line and untwist the fitting, then finish raising the mast and securing the pin in the forestay. The rig is now up and secure. However, when I go to disconnect the mast raising pole, which bolts to the hinged mast step, I see a new problem. I failed to plug the running light/anchor light wire into its socket on the cabin roof. And wouldn’t you know, the loose plug fitting managed to find its way beneath the hinged mast step, where it’s gotten mashed. And on top of that, it’s pressing against the bolt which holds the mast raising pole in position. I manage to free the bolt, and figure I’ll deal with the wire and fitting later. Right now, I’m focused on getting off the dock and through the last lock of our entire Great Loop cruise. It’s hard to believe that, after passing nearly 150 locks we have just one more to go. It turns out to be the most difficult lock of all.
We know we’re in for it when we round the corner and the lock comes into view. Boats are stacked up like cordwood. Every foot of wall is occuppied by parked boats, waiting their turn to go through. Several other large cruisers are loitering in the bay, trying to keep out of each other’s way while waiting for a place on the wall. It doesn’t help that this is the smallest lock on the entire system, and it’s manually operated to boot. Each lock cycle takes nearly 1/2 hour, and we watch 3 full lockings before it’s our turn. We’re so relieved to finally be able to move into the lock. As I’m wrapping my line around the cable, one of the green shirted Parks Canada lock hands walks up, gazes up at our mast, then looks down at me and asks how high the rig is. I tell him about 35 feet. He says the fixed bridge just 200 meters below the lock has just 30 feet of clearance. Swell. I’d asked 
a couple of boaters at the last lock above Port Severn about bridges, and was told that there was just a swing bridge below Port Severn, and it opens on demand. I also asked around at the marina and got the same report. And the Canadian charts don’t list bridge clearance heights for this location. On this basis I figured I’d be fine raising the mast at the marina dock, however, now I realize this isn’t the case. Well, at least we’re finally getting through the lock. Once we clear the chamber I head for the gray wall just outside and tie up. Then the circus begins. Off comes the solar panel. Off comes the dodger. I drag the mast raising pole out from below and try to reinstall it at the
mast step. That darned mast light socket is in the way. After a good deal of prying I finally get the bolt into position. Then I reinstall the baby stays, rig the mast raising pole lines, tension the back stay, unpin the forestay, and begin lowering the mast. It doesn’t need to come all the way down, just enough to enable us to clear the bridge. I lower it as far as I can with the boom still connected, hoping to avoid taking it off too. I step off the boat and examine the angle of the mast, and then look down to the bridge. I don’t think I’m low enough yet, so I disconnect the boom and lower some more. And all this is being done in a fish bowl, with scores of curious tourists watching the show. When all is set and we’re finally ready to go, the lock gates open and I have to wait for the exiting boats to clear the lock, and a new batch of boats enter. Now we can go. We slowly make our way down to the bridge and idle under. The top of my VHF antenna clears the underside of the bridge with at least 12 inches to spare. I give the wheel to Sandy while I prepare to reraise the mast while underway. Before I can get the mast up a big power boat roars on in. I wave to him, trying to signal him to cut his speed and kill his wake. No luck. He ignores my arm waving and plows on by, giving me a scowl as he passes. Sandy turns into his wake and we bounce, but with no damage. I hurry to finish raising and pinning the mast before we get waked again.
While underway I put the boat back together, and we begin weaving our way along the Small Boat Channel on the Georgian Bay. They say there are only 2 kinds of boaters on Georgian Bay. Those who have hit rocks and those who are going to. We hope we’ll start a new third category, those who never hit rocks. It’s not going to be easy, since the channel is lined with smooth, rounded granite rocks, just barely breaking the water surface. The route is well marked with red and green buoys, but it’s still easy to drift out of the channel. We reach our destination, Frying Pan Bay in the Beausoleil Island National Park, without mishap. I’m worried when we enter the bay, since it appears to be filled with large motor yachts. Most are anchored and stern tied to shore. Many are rafted up, including one impressive group of 7 boats, all rafte together. Off to the right I spot a dock and, amazingly, there appears to be an open space. I circle near and some guys on the dock wave us in, saying the water is plenty deep. We turn in to the dock and pass lines to the guys waiting there. We can’t believe our good fortune to get a place on a dock in the middle of this busy 3 day weekend. The folks here are very friendly, and we enjoy visiting with them, until it begins to rain. Not a problem, though, since with our mast now up we can once again use our cockpit enclosure. Hopefully, our days to come here on Georgian Bay will pose fewer problems. At a minimum, there will be no more lock delays, and the only bridge I know about for sure is the Mackinaw Bridge, and I’m pretty sure we’ll be able to pass beneath the Big Mac Bridge without any problems.
We’re tired from yesterday’s exertions, and get an easy start on the day. After breakfast we go for an hour long walk on the loop trail which takes off from Frying Pan Bay. The trail is called the Fairy Trail, and it leads us around Fairy Lake, with nice views of Honeymoon Bay and Goblin Lake along the way. We keep a sharp watch out for two of the island’s more notorious residents, the black bear and the massagua rattlesnake, but neither make an appearance. We find a few small blueberries along the trail, but they’re not particularly good,
probably because it’s been so dry this summer. The walk does get a little spooky at one point, while we’re crossing through a dark and shady woods, when the repeated wail of a loon drifts in from somewhere out on the water. We cast off around 11am, and reconnect with the Small Craft Route. This well marked course winds between small islands and barely covered granite reefs. The pink rocks and ochre colored lichens on them make for a colorful landscape. The boat traffic is still heavy, but as we proceed up Georgian Bay, the number of boats we encounter seems to lessen. This region is known as the 30,000 Islands, but one sign proclaims that it could easily be referred to as the 100,000 Islands, claiming that it’s the largest freshwater archipeligo in the world. That’s a tall claim but, who knows, it could well be true.
fresh fish dinners, and even though it’s early, I radio to see about a slip and dinner. We’re told that they’re fully booked for overnight slips, but we can put in for dinner. There is a good anchorage not far away where we can spend the night. We head for the dock, tie up, and go for a short walk to kill a little time before sitting down to an early dinner. The good smells activate our appetites and 4:30 we’re diving in to a great fish dinner. Sandy orders pan fried walleye, and I have the battered walleye. They call it pickeral up here. They also have Georgian Bay shrimp on the menu, which seems odd, since Georgian Bay is freshwater. I ask about this, and learn that Georgian Bay shrimp are really smelt. I wonder what their hamburgers really are. In any event, our dinners are excellent. As we’re walking back toward the boat a guy approaches us and asks if I’m the MacGregor owner. I wonder if I have some lettering stenciled on my forehead. I answer in the affirmative, and he introduces himself as the owner of Henrys. He asks us how we liked our dinners, and then says he has a spot for us to tie up for the night, if we’re still interested. He walks over to the spot with us, and along the way I ask him about the famous people he’s served over the years. He mentions Jimmy Buffet, Goldie Hawn, and Kenny G, to list a few. Jimmy Buffet was particularly memorable, since he piloted his own float plane here. We figure that if this place is good enough for Jimmy Buffet, it’s good enough for us. We’ll stay the night. Later on we may dinghy over to the marina just around the corner for some ice cream. 
This is a day just made for traveling, and we have some long miles to make. Dead calm at 6am when I cast off and motor out into the channel. The sun is just rising, lighting the world up with those magnificent low angle rays. We weave our way between islands large and small, taking great care to stay between the red and green markers. In some places, we have no more than 10 feet between the sides of our hull and the buoys. About half way into our run we’re forced to head out into open water, since the close in waters are just too choked
with rocks and islets to afford clear passage in sheltered water. This is a good day to be outside, though, with just a light breeze ruffling the water surface. Once I make the turn to the northwest, we gain enough angle on the wind to warrant raising sails. I set both main and jib, and the light wind moves us along at 3.5 to 4 mph. If we were just out playing, that would be more than enough speed, however, we still have nearly 20 miles to go and it would turn dark before we reached an anchorage at that speed. In these rocky waters that’s a very bad idea. I run the engine at just over 2000 rpm, and our speed increases to around 6 mph. 
As the miles pass by, I regularly switch to new charts. I’m using strip charts which are folded accordian style, for this part of the trip. They come in chart packs which I bought second hand from a couple who had just completed their loop cruise. Out on the open waters I’m using a large area chart which covers the entire Georgian Bay, however, as I near our destination, the anchorage at Bustard Islands, I look for the detailed accordian chart from chart pack 2204. To my surprise, 2 of the 4 charts in that packet are missing. I failed to notice this before we left home. So, I’m left to navigate using the large area chart along with the electronic chart in my Garmin GPS. It’s sufficient, but I sure miss having my detailed paper chart, which allows me to look ahead at a glance, without having to push buttons and scroll around. 
The plan is to get another early start, and I’ve got the engine started by 6am. However, when I go forward to raise the anchor, the plan falls apart. I start pulling, and when I get to the start of the chain, I can’t break it loose, no matter how hard I pull. I put the engine in gear and try to push against the direction that it set last evening, but no luck. I next try motoring in a circle, but that doesn’t work either. Then I run the rode back to the winch and try pulling with winch power, but it’s just stuck hard. My last attempt involves lowering my gaff hook with a line, with the handle looped around the anchor chain, in the hope that the gaff hook will snag the anchor’s roll bar. It’s a real long
shot, and long shots rarely pay off. The anchor is probably fouled on a rock. It’s 20 feet down, and that’s beyond my diving capabilities. I’ve run out of options, so out comes the knife, and I donate anchor and chain to the Georgian Bay. For the balance of the trip I’ll be relying on my Fortress anchor, which I carry as a backup. It’s already rigged on the bow, with its own chain, so we should be ok unless I encounter another nasty rock.
Not sure how far we’ll get today, but with wind and rain in the forecast for tomorrow, we want to go as far as possible. We’re off the dock by 7:30 on smooth waters. On our way to Gore Bay I hear a call on the radio, announcing the start of the North Channel Cruisers Net at 9am on channel 71. We flip over to 71 so we can listen in. They follow a standard format, with emergency traffic, weather information, news highlights, this day in history items, and call for boats to check in with boat name and location. When they get to our area I call in. It’s a nice way to keep track of people and network with other boats. We decide to head in to Gore Bay, where I’ve been told they have a
good chandlery. I’m hoping they’ll have an anchor and boat hook to replace the items we’ve lost. We arrive at noon and I look over the stuff in the chandlery. They have anchors, but not the Rochna that I’m looking for. They also have boat hooks, but not one that will work for us. We pick up a couple of minor items, and then have lunch at a nice, nearby outdoor place. After lunch we head out again, into an increasingly breezy North Channel. I’d been motor sailing with main and jib before pausing at Gore Bay, but I decide the jib will be enough in this wind. We must pass the mouths of several large bays, with 6 and 9 miles of open water, so I don’t want to be out with too much sail up in a building wind. I steadily shorten the jib, but occasionally we get hit with a strong gust which heels us over beyond the comfort range. I’m watching a sailboat out in the middle of the channel, under full sail and obviously moving very well. They catch up and then pass us by without difficulty. I call ahead to Meldrum Bay Marina to see if they have a spot for us. I estimate we’ll get in around 7am, and after a long run we make it, just 9 minutes later than I’d estimated. On the way down Meldrum Bay I see that sailboat again, and he’s coming all the way into the bay under sail. The wind is really gusty, but he still doing great. I take some long range photos of his boat, hoping we’ll get a chance to talk with him, so I can e’mail the pictures to him. 
The predicted early morning rain hits at 6am. I hurry out and set up the cockpit enclosure (just too tired last night to do it before retiring), and then crawl back into the sleeping bag for 40 more winks. When we finally do get up I’m second guessing yesterday’s decision to lay over today. It’s a beautiful morning, and quite calm out on Meldrum Bay. I’m thinking that we very well could have made our move to Drummond Island today. Those thoughts are quickly put to rest around 11am when a small sailboat makes its way into the harbour and docks at the marina. The couple on board report having made a very rough passage across the North Channel. An hour or two later a large
sailboat, which had been in the marina last night and had departed earlier in the morning, returns to the dock. The captain says they’d tried going out and had turned back. Just too rough out there, he says. So, the decision to lay over is looking better all the time. 
We’ll check again before turning in tonight.
I’m up at 5am and the boat is prepped and ready to go by 5:30. Just starting to get color on the eastern horizon. A light breeze ruffles the water just outside the breakwater. It’s hard to tell what it will be like at the mouth of the bay. I walk over and confer with Larry and Elaine, confirming their intention to also head for Drummond this morning. I head out with Shamrock following close behind. I’m going slightly faster, and I begin to open up a little distance between our two boats. About halfway out of the bay we start picking up the swell, 1 to 2 feet at first, but quickly increasing to 3 feet. Further out I can see lots of whitecaps, and the wind speed strengthens as we near the
first point which defines the bay. We’re rising and falling into the closely spaced troughs, and as the wave height steepens to 4 feet, occasionally higher, we start to pound. I call Larry on the VHF, who is trailing by 1/4 mile, telling him I’m thinking this isn’t a good idea. He wants to go just a bit further before deciding to turn back. I’m hoping when I clear the point that the wind, blowing right toward the island, may create a bit of a cushion effect, however it just seems to be getting stronger, the waves growing higher. There’s no way I want to do this for the next 6 hours. The forecast predicts a lessening of wind speed in the forenoon, however, even stronger winds by early afternoon. With these rough seas I can’t make the speed I will need to reach Drummond Island by noon. It’s just not going to happen today, so I pick my spot and hang a “U” turn. Running with these high seas is no picnic, with the boat constantly trying to slew around with the push of trailing seas. Larry heads out for a bit longer, but ends up drawing the same conclusion that I have, and he follows us back into Meldrum Bay. We tie up back at our slips, disappointed that we couldn’t make the trip to Drummond today, but comfortable with our decision to backtrack.
City I have options. If the news from home starts to improve, I can push on by water as fast as safety allows, perhaps covering the 238 water miles in 4 or 5 good weather cruising days. The risk there is that wind will most likely impose delays. Another option is to rent a car and drive down to Grand Haven, retrieve the truck and trailer, and start driving south. My new friend Larry has most generously offered to ride with me in the rental car, so it can be driven back to the rental agency. I can either leave the truck, boat and trailer in Grand Haven with my friend while I fly to LA or, if it looks like I can afford the extra time, spend 5 days on the road trailering the boat back to Washington. It’s tough to be in this situation when I’m needed at the folks’ home. Hopefully, things will sort out in the next few days, but right now, everything seems uncertain, including the weather. Tomorrow looks doable, but then so did today. 
We’ve decided to leave a bit later than yesterday. It blew most of the night and is still in the process of settling down. It’s supposed to calm down in the middle of the day. I don’t want to leave too late, though, since we have a good distance to cover, and we need to allow for clearing US Customs at Drummond Island. You never know when that process might result in delays. Also, there’s a good chance it could get breezy in the afternoon, and I’d like to get in before things have a chance of getting rough again. I reach down and turn the ignition key, like I’ve done hundreds of times before on this trip. The engine fires and catches, like usual, however, after a couple of moments, it dies. That’s very unusual. I go to restart and it struggles to catch. I finally get it to fire and I lift the idle arm, which revs it up
enough to keep it running. We shift into reverse and get off the dock, but this seems like an ominous development on this, the second to last planned cruising day of the trip. I suspect that the spark plugs are in need of replacement. At least, I hope that’s all it is.
yellow quarantine flag, and we near Chippiwa Point, which is the turning point toward Drummond Yacht Haven, which is where we’ll clear Customs. Before gaining the point, however, I sight a sailboat close to shore. At first I figure it’s just anchored there, but things just don’t look right. In the binoculars I can see the jib partially unfurled, and the mainsail hanging loosely from the boom. The boat is heeled slightly to port, and is not moving. She’s aground. We don’t see any crew on board or on the beach. A bass boat cruises close by, and then moves off. On the basis of all the gear still on the boat, it can’t have been there very long.
The control display is completely blank, indicating no power to it. On top of the engine stumble at the start of the morning, this marks a continuation of a disturbing trend. One thing after another is acting up or going wrong. It seemed to start with me losing the boat hook in one of the last locks we went through. More recently, the Scirocco fan, which is installed in the cabin ceiling, and which we heavily rely on for cooling and air circulation in the cabin, decided to quit. Probably a loose wire or switch problem. And now the autopilot has decided it’s had enough. It’s as if the boat is trying to tell us it’s getting very tired, and needs to take a break from this year long voyage. 
We’re off early for the final run of our trip. I ease our way out of the marina and head south, toward the open water of western Lake Huron. Just before we leave, a large lake freighter passes down the channel. We must be on the route between Lake Huron and Lake Superior. Once out on open waters I turn west. The water is glassy smooth, and I decide that, since we have plenty of gas, it would be a good time for our boat to act like the MacGregor 26X Powersailer she is. I open the ballast valve and air plug, and we power up. As the
bow rises, the ballast water we’ve been hauling around with us ever since leaving Norfolk VA quickly drains out. Soon we’re booming along at full throttle, leaving a spreading wake behind us. On this smooth water, it’s amazing to be able to see our wake stretch out virtually to the eastern horizon. Our speed hits 11.5 mph, and then improves to 12. As we near Macinac Island we start tickling 13, and after we pass by the island, we’re running steadily at 13 mph, a record speed for the trip.
Mac Bridge, which connects Michigan’s Lower and Upper Penninsulas. This great suspension bridge was completed in 1957. Prior to its completion, traffic would stack up for miles and hours, waiting for the ferry during high demand times like summer and the opening of fishing and hunting seasons. 
our friends’ house by 5:30 pm, and it’s a joyful reunion. They’ve gotten the truck’s oil changed, and have hitched the truck and boat up for us. We learn that wasps built a nest in the surge brake coupler, resulting in a sting during the hitching process. Hopefully they’re all gone now. I also learn that our friend couldn’t get the trailer lights to come on. I’ll work on that in the morning. Our friend is a local policeman, and in the event that I can’t get them working, he writes me up a warning citation for defective equipment. He says that will get me past any stop by law enforcement here in Michigan. After that, I will be on my own. I hope I can get those darned lights working.
Our friend fixes us a great breakfast, and I’m hoping I can quickly get the lights working, so we have time to drive back north and get the boat pulled yet today. Balky trailer lights stand stubbornly in the way of this great plan. When I check, I have a left turn signal, but nothing else. I go to work, cleaning up the posts on the trailer/truck plug fitting, but no joy. I then start testing wires. I have power to the truck outlet, I have power to the flat plug fitting on the trailer, but nothing further aft. I remove the right trailer light unit off, looking for a wire to test back there. I don’t find what I’m looking for, but I do find a great big, swarming ants’ nest. They’ve invaded inside the light housing and they’re not happy. I dump them out as best I can, but this just results in ants all over the grass where I’m trying to kneel. Ant bites reward my efforts from this point forward. Bad ground is the suspect. I disconnect the ground connection bolts, grind down to bright bare metal, and start poking holes in various wires with the sharp end of my test light. I get confusing, mixed, and inconsistent results. I get frustrated in trying to get a good ground, and run down to the local auto parts store where I buy a length of trailer wire. If I can’t get a
ground through the trailer frame, I’ll splice onto the ground wire up at the hitch and run a continuous ground wire back to the right trailer light. Before going to that extreme I give the ground bolts one more try, and this time I get a circuit back at the right turn signal. However, when I try to light up the tail light fixture, no light. I’ve got power there, but the light won’t work. The unit is sealed, so I am at a loss. Perhaps the ants somehow have messed it up. Back to the parts store I go, to buy a new light fixture. They don’t have the rectangular style I have on the boat, so I settle for a round unit. Back at the boat, the ground is no longer good, so I clean up the connections and tighten bolts once more. Finally, I have ground and power and a working turn signal, tail lights, and brake lights. Amazing what a good ground connection can do. Only problem is that it is now past noon, and plans for the day are seriously compromised.