0930    Don's instructions:  Leave Rabbit Island to starboard;  three miles further on leave red buoy to starboard.  'Ware shoals between our course and red buoy. 183M all the way to Flowerpot Island.  Set sail - main only.

This was a fairly uneventful day, though it was some of the most open water we would meet in the whole trip.  Any strong wind out of the west would have brought big waves from the main part of Lake Huron pouring through the gap between Manitoulin Island and the Bruce Peninsula, with only a handful of small islands to break them up.  The north-easterly wind had the entire width of Georgian Bay to play with - about fifty miles.  Alan was puzzled by the course Don was taking, and we logged a statement that Don seemed to be between 5° and 10° off course.  We even investigated the after locker for tools that might be upsetting our compass.  Later that evening, after hitting Flowerpot Island right on the nose, we learned that Don took sights on the last view of Club Island, and altered course to 175M, but had no way of communicating with the rest of us.  There must have been a 1/2-knot current setting westwards out of Georgian Bay.  A fine piece of navigation, Don!

1316    Passed a stick, obviously fixed to a rock; puzzled.  If this is Kilroy Patch, we are much further back than we thought we were.  Nothing is marked on the chart anywhere near where we think we are.  Depths around here are 20-50 fathoms.  ETA if this is Kilroy Patch 0400 tomorrow.  At least we shall see the Light when it gets dark!

1336    Passed another stick, to port.  There certainly are not two shoals marked on the chart.

Later, we learned that people are still finding rocks and small shoals in Georgian Bay, and these are marked in the water before they get marked on the charts.  We were glad we were not the ones to discover any.

This was a very fine piece of navigation on Don's part.  We had seen Club Island.  In the distance, and Fitzwilliam Island had been only a bump on the horizon, but we came squarely on to Flowerpot Island fifteen miles to the south.

This part of Georgian Bay Islands National Park is delightful.  It is very small as National Parks go, and there is a move to keep it that way.  There are only six spaces for tents, and there is room for, perhaps, half a dozen boats at the dock and a few more moored in the cove.  Access is by boat only - either your own or one of the privately run ferries, which arrange their schedules to suit the passengers' convenience.  We are with those who want to keep it small - a vast tenting area would ruin the whole thing.

One of the ferries from Tobermory (Penguin: captain, Joe George) tied up soon after we did.  Our first question was: "Is the Tobermory Post Office open on Saturday?"  We were getting very close to our gooseneck at last.  Joe even offered to inquire at the Post Office and bring any mail over for us, in the morning, but we wanted to do this ourselves.

During the evening we had a very definite advantage from being in a National Park rather than in a completely uncontrolled wild spot.  A biggish cruiser was moored in the cove some 300 yard from us, and glamorous girls were sprouting all over.  Presently, a loud-speaker began blaring raucous music, and a voice on the loud-hailer shattered the peace of the bay, shouting "Where is the Champagne?  Hurry up with the champagne.  If you don't get over here with the champagne, I'm going to start on the Drambuie".  Some of the campers began shouting back:  "Shut up.  We come here for peace and quiet."  After a while, the boat did shut up and the silence was suddenly complete.  Next morning we learned why.  The Warden, hearing the racket, realized that the boat was on Citizens' Band radio, so he called them up with his own and told them to be quiet.  The people on the boat were mystified, and asked the radio where this voice was coming from.  "I'm in the cottage you see 200 yards up the shore."  "What is that?" "The Warden's cottage."  Instantaneous silence!  The Warden told us next day, that he had had noisy people on boats who absolutely refused to be quiet or to move on when asked to do so, and he had taken an axe to their mooring line.  More power to him and his axe-arm!

This evening we had plenty of time to cook super, clean up and relax.  The stars were out in force, and we had an interesting time identifying all we knew, among so many more than we ever see in the city.

Up around 0700, cooked breakfast and washed dishes before the others were up.  Walked to lighthouse on north shore of the island.  There is a beautiful trail through the woods and along the shore.  The Flowerpots that give the island its name are strange  configurations of limestone topped with dolomite. They may have begun as columns  separated from the main cliff by the twisting action of a glacier, and the softer, lower strata have been partly worn away by the action of weather and waves, leaving rather top-heavy "Flowerpots" which are now quite a tourist attraction.  They are even protected against further weathering, to some extent, by artificial replacement of the limestone round the base (and the original formation is very cleverly imitated) and by "caps" of asphalt.

All along the trail through the woods, are signs to various caves - six in all - and to the Sentier Mountain Trail.  We did not take this, but Tom reported that it leads to a green meadow in the middle of the island, surrounded by high cliffs.  We learned later, in conversation with the Warden, that this is where the lighthouse-keepers' wives used to grow their gardens; furthermore, before the coming of electricity (the 'Hydro' as everyone calls it) Cave No. 4 was the lighthouse-keepers' refrigerator!  We had talked to the keeper the previous evening, and he had offered to show us the lighthouse, but when we went up to it, he was not there, and we didn't like to go to his house, as there was a notice asking visitors to be quiet because the man off watch would be sleeping.  The lighthouse is one of the modern type of construction - a skeleton steel tower face with panels of white fiberglass for easier visibility by day;  in the calm weather and bright sunshine, the blue water of the bay looked so peaceful, that it took a little imagination to picture the keeper climbing up inside the iron hoops provided round the ladder for his safety, and really needing the protection.  The lighthouse itself is a little way from the keepers' houses, along a concrete path and up some steps.  It stands on a platform about halfway up the cliff, and commands a fine view over the Bay, Bear's Rump Island lying peacefully about two miles away.  The lighthouse itself is 91 feet, and the flashing light is visible 15 miles.  It is powered by electricity and the keeper had told us the previous night that if the electricity fails, there is only an 18 second delay while the reserve diesel generator kicks in.  Before the advent of "Hydro", kerosene was the fuel.  The keeper seemed to regret that he is no longer called upon for the craftsmanship of being a lighthouse keeper, able to repair his gear; he is a technician now, for the electric equipment, and had to call the mainland for major repairs.

Not far away from the lighthouse is a 225-foot radio tower.  We were speculating about the problems of replacing bulbs in the red lights atop it, and even more about what happened if a guy wire broke!  On the way back from the lighthouse we met the keeper, and he said that in this case he does not start climbing;  he calls Toronto!  His two-way radio connects with the telephone system at Wiarton.

Walking back from the lighthouse, we explored one of the caves and found a real stalactite.  It did not connect with a stalagmite as it had formed above a shelf, and united itself to the edge of the shelf.  We explored the Flowerpots, too, climbing right down on the shore to get a close view.  It is a pity that the Government has had to give them artificial support, but apparently there used to be three, and one has toppled over some time during the three hundred years since the first European explorers paddled this way.

On this walk we saw the only snakes we met in the whole cruise - two garter snakes.  The Flowerpot Island brochure assures visitors that there are no poisonous snakes on the Island.

After a leisurely lunch, we caught the Penguin at 1300, and became tourists for a while, watching the other side of the island go by and listening to the skipper pointing out things of interest.  Joe George is a former high school teacher, whose tales of touring with his school band pleasantly filled the time between the Flowerpots and the points of interest around Tobermory. (Tubbermurry as we learned to call it, if we want to sound as if we know!)

Tobermory has two harbors - Little Tub and Big Tub;  Big Tub seems to be the haven for big, rich yachts and Little Tub for lesser mortals and commercial traffic.  Joe put us off at Little Tub, recommended a restaurant for supper, told us where to get hold of him when we were ready to return, and - perhaps most important of all - directed us to the POST OFFICE!

Full of expectant trepidation, we trooped up to the Post Office and asked if there were a package for Phillips.  The lady said "Dr. Phillips?" and riffled through the stack of mail for the Ps, while we hovered on the other side of the counter.  She produced a yellow package, and with bated breath we watched Alan tear it open - even tearing one of the beautiful stamps, until warned to be careful with them - and there, in the palm of his hand, lay a beautiful bronze gooseneck!  With it was a letter from Dr. Riddell of Kitchener, Ontario, which read:

Good Morning!

Our misfortune is your fortune.  Broke our wooden mast on the weekend.  I phoned Eric Stubbs to inquire about getting a new one and he told me of your plight.  Replaced ours with a metal mast and do not need this gooseneck.  I hope it reaches you without too much delay, so that you may continue your trip.

Press on!

W.R. Riddell, D.C.

With minds at rest, we proceeded to the rest of our shopping - which included  shackle pins, so that we could replace the toggle pins on the shrouds, and avoid the near-disaster that happened when one worked loose on Monday afternoon.  (Ever since then, by the way, the drill had been "Ready about!  (Check the toggle pin)  Hard a-lee!")  It seems that no one in Tobermory carries sailboat supplies.  We walked about five miles in search of boat hardware without success - though a kind motorist picked up Don, Tom, Connie and me when we decided to turn back, and Alan and Pete had a ride back to Little Tub from Big Tub by water, when a kind Chicago millionaire ran them round in his dinghy.

After supper, Alan decided to have a haircut, and found a barber who was a real gem.  This fine gentleman was over eighty years old, and had a fascinating 70-year old barber chair that he had rescued from destruction 25 years ago, and refinished for his shop.  It was beautifully carved.  Despite a severe handicap with arthritis, he cheerfully carried on his business, looked after a beautiful garden, and "tried to keep his house the way it was when his wife was alive".

Back at the Penguin, the rest of us were watching other boats in Little Tub and listening to Joe getting orders for ice on his radio.  I am commanded by the others to include in the log that we watched a little dog, on the foredeck of a big and beautiful sailing boat, quietly pee down one of the ventilators.  When Alan appeared, Joe went and picked up his four blocks and two bags of ice, and we were off to Flowerpot Island again.

It was getting dusk by the time we were back, and everyone was eager to see how our gooseneck fitted.  It was a little too big for our track, but Engineer Hanson supervised the filing of it, and before putting up the tent that night, we fitted it.  What a joy! (Engineer Hanson also came up with a method of preventing the toggle pin from undoing itself, by stuffing it with a piece of paper-clip.)

If close-hauled, we could just have fetched Cabot Head, but Don wanted us to see the North coast of the Bruce, because the cliffs are spectacular.  We therefore fell off to a close reach, and agreed to rendezvous at Cabot Head, in Wingfield basin.  Cabot Head easily visible, over fourteen miles away.  In clearing the anchorage on Flowerpot Island, we had hit a rock, so once we were sailing, I checked the forward locker for water, and found it dry.

- click here for larger image

While I was guddling in the forward locker, the spring that holds the watch-strap  on the watch came off, and so the log records that there is no detailed log for the next few hours  We sailed a close reach till we were near the Bruce Peninsula and then tacked along the coast.  The wind freshened to a good Force 4, waves 3-4ft;  and then fell light soon after noon - Force 2, waves 2-3ft.  The cliffs along the shore really are spectacular - 100-150 feet high in places, with trees down to the shoreline in parts, and other parts bare rock or scree. 


At the foot of West bluff, about two miles from the lighthouse on the point of Cabot Head, we saw a back-packer who was evidently walking the Bruce Trail;  we waved to each other.  There seemed to be several beaches, but none of them turned out to be sandy;  all were shingle and rocks.  The sun was hot.

1430    After a rendezvous in Wingfield Basin, we departed without landing.  (Later we learned that Wingfield Basin is thick with poison ivy;  our reason for not landing was that all the land closest to the mount seemed to be private and we did not want to take the time to cross the basin to what appeared to be a public spot.  By now, the wind was almost gone.)

1510    Course to clear Smoky Head 175T, 183M.


We had now only a slight breath of air, and hot sunshine.  The three boats were separated by a quarter of a mile or so from each other, and I could imagine the others lying back, Dow in hand, radio on (and not to Mafor either,)  taking it easy.  Not so W866.  The log reads:

1528    Set spinnaker, down main (much more comfortable without main under these conditions of light wind and moderate waves.)  Wing out jib on opposite side.

Lay out washing to dry - eat chocolate - move washing around - drink water - all the time, fiddling with the spinnaker and jib sheets.

1610    Wind (what there was of it) on port quarter.  Spinnaker boomed out on starboard side.  We were about one mile offshore and gradually overhauling Tom, two miles offshore.  Don, also fairly far offshore and quite far behind - further away from both of us than we were from each other.  Alan chose our course to catch the sea-breeze he hope would spring up.

1855    Abeam Cape Chin (7 ½ miles from Cabot Head in 4 ½ hours.)  Very light wind, NW  Speed now 1kt.  ETA Smoky Head 2200.

2020    Smoky Head abeam.  3 miles in 1 hr. 25 min, so speed since Cape Chin 2kts.  Course south, wind WNW, Force 1.  ETA White Bluff 2200.

2145    Abeam White Bluff.  Wind N, Force 1.  ETA Lion's Head Harbor 2245.  Dead run, starboard tack.  2 ½ miles to go, estimated speed 2 1/2kts.

Tom and Pete appear to have taken shelter for the night behind White Bluff.  Don and Connie have not appeared round Smoky Head, and have probably taken shelter there.

Rowed from the middle of Isthmus Bay into Lion's Head Harbor.

2305    Tied up at the Government Wharf, Lion's Head.  Sandwich and bed.  A good, clean washroom here - contrast with Killarney Government Dock, where there was none.  Observe that the choice of course in mid-afternoon, and all the fiddling with sails, have paid off in that we are the only boat to reach Lion's Head tonight.  One slight problem getting in - chart shows a fixed green light marking harbor entrance.  There were two fixed green lights, and for a time it was not quite certain which was the harbor light.  The other appeared to be some kind of private light - perhaps for advertising rather than navigation, but they looked exactly alike from seaward.