The Beauty and the Beast
The day dawns sunny and warm as promised. We don’t have far to travel today so we take advantage of the weather and head to shore for an excursion.
We can’t walk far as the tide will be turning and we won’t be able to get back to the dinghy. Incredible shore beauty everywhere we look!
The low tide brings the empty scallop and clam shells, and bits and pieces of crabs to shore. The rocks are wet, glistening in the sun: granite and individual rocks of just quartz, mica and feldspar. We find a spring emptying into a small pool, wishing we had brought our water bottles. There are song birds we have not seen in many days, as the gulls and seabirds reign over the water.
I hope you can get a sense of the beauty from the photos I have included.
The tide is turning so we head back to the dinghy, me having to step gingerly over a few rocks to keep my boots dry.
The sun, the calm basin, the shore tour: all the beauty of nature keeps us smiling and relaxed as we start the engine and follow our route back out to the Coffin Islands and toward St. Augustin and tonight’s anchorage.
With no need to stop in St. Augustin, we travel down the Sable Passage, enjoying the cruise through another inner passage, avoiding the “big” water. The landscape continues as we have seen now for several days, rocks and lichen and seabirds.
The plan is to stop at the anchorage on the northeast side of Cumberland Island, as recommended in our guide book - go all the way in for the most shelter, but upon arrival we find the basin too narrow and too deep for easy anchoring with sufficient swing room between the rocky shores. We leave and decide to head to Portage Bay, just outside of the channel into Robin Bay.
We know the channel is narrow with a rock at the other side, but it is clearly on the chart so we are quite comfortable with the route and expect to be anchored in time for dinner and a quiet evening.
Nature has so far been very kind to us. We have had no storms, except for the short squall near Montreal and we have come accustomed to the tides and how to adjust for anchoring and docking.
About 500 feet from the narrow channel, my “Spidey senses” are on full alert! The water ahead has taken on a very different appearance - looks like it is “moving” back and forth through the 90 foot width. Harald goes forward to keep an eye, mostly for the rock, but in just a matter of seconds we realize we are heading to a shallow channel, in low tide!
It’s too late. We hit bottom. Fortunately, we are only moving at less than 2 knots so the “nudge” isn’t damaging to us, but the natural reaction is one of fear and for the integrity of the keel and especially of the rudder. The steering wheel won’t turn so we know the rudder is also sitting on the bottom.
A boat arrives, coming from Blanc Sablon, within minutes and they agree to try to pull us off. Even with his large outboard the current is too strong for success. He leaves us to our own devices until the next boat arrives coming from the same direction.
“From this angle, that doesn’t look very good”. I don’t even want to take photos as consensus is this will not be posted or shared with anyone! There is a sense of pride and also embarrassment. We have navigated and travelled over 1200 nautical miles, through difficult passages, rocks and shoals, without incident.
It is what transpired over the next 4 hours that changed our minds: the power of nature must be shared.
Advice from our second visitors is to wait until high tide to float us off the rock and they expect the current will just take us right through the passage. High tide is at 1:00am so we aren’t too comfortable with that idea - also considering we might just land on the shallow shore as we go through.
The third boat of visitors suggest we just wait until the tide starts to turn. We don’t need more than a foot to be freed. Then we can turn the boat and go back out the way we came. He also looks at the chart with us and shows us another (safer) exit to access Portage Bay.
At this point we are hungry and tired but sitting at a 30’ angle makes any meal preparation or sleeping very difficult. We know we are in for a few more hours of discomfort until the boat heel goes back to level.
We turn on lights and before setting an alarm for a 45 minute nap and after eating some cheese and crackers, nature shows her hand again with the loveliest sunset we have seen in days.
Too close to shore for easy steering once the tide turns
An uncomfortable 4 hours waiting for high tide.
A show of beauty is appreciated even in the worst of circumstances (note the swirl of current)
We continue our vigil, without an actual nap, and begin to weigh out all the possible scenarios for when the tide floods under the boat. Will the engine start? Is the propellor damaged? Will we be able to steer at the precise moment? The anxiety heightens in the dark.
Like clockwork, at precisely 9:00, we start to hear water sloshing under the hull and watching the Lev-O-Gage, hold our breath as we see the heel begin to lessen. We can see the current swirling on starboard side, but can still make out individual clam shells in very shallow water on the port side.
We are dressed in our warm coastal wear and life jackets, water bottles filled, chart plotter set to night view - we are ready for the expected departure, which could be at any given moment.
That moment comes at 9:45. There is enough water under the keel and the rudder. Not only do we drift off but the boat begins to turn toward the direction we came from. We start the engine and are grateful for steering and no water coming in the bilges. Other than the sound of our engine, our whoops are probably heard for miles!
Under a lovely full moon we follow the 7 mile intricate pattern of the inner passage out through Cumberland Harbour and into Portage Bay, arriving at 11:30pm just 1 and 1/2 miles from where we thought our journey might have ended.
We send the beacon home, have a small bedtime snack and settle in for a short night, grateful for the beauty and the beast.