A quick Google search confirmed that there is a gondola going up the mountain and that there is a trail that would let us explore the Highlands park. There is construction (83 condo units as we found out later), so we had the option of going onto the rocks to the right of it or onto the marina dock to the left. The docks seemed like a more prudent idea, and we found out that the marina offers moorings (I didn’t see them) for $10, overnight dockage for boats 45 feet and under for $20 and $30 for larger boats. Besides us, there were no other visiting yachts though.
It took us 5 minutes to reach the base of the gondola station.
After Switzerland I was amazed at the price to go up: buy online for $50 or at the kiosk for $58. And that’s for some measly 300 meters of altitude! Well, we were there. My phone could not connect to the site, so we did have to pay a surcharge. Mark asked the guys about transportation options on the island and got another contact, which unfortunately proved to be not helpful.
The views from the top were outstanding!
Our options for walking were a “Look off” trail, supposedly 30 minutes there and back and a Hawley lake trail, 80 minutes. In 5 minutes we reached the lookout point, where we met a mother and a grandmother. The kids with their father went to kayak on the lake. Mark semi-jokingly asked if they have room in the car in case they are headed into Halifax on Sunday, but no the car is full and they are not going to Halifax on Sunday. Given the inflated walk times, we were sure that it would be significantly less than 40 minutes to get to the lake and proceeded on the second trail.
It was very warm and the forest vegetation emitted pleasant scents: pines and balsam fir were abundant. Solid birches, like the ones from my childhood in Siberia complemented the look of the evergreen trees. We found a few blueberries and saw a lot of red little berries that seem to be edible, but have a tangy taste and more pit than flesh.
The lake was cute, a lot smaller than I expected (although I didn’t really have expectations). Given the hiking experiences that we had in Switzerland, I wouldn’t recommend the whole package as an experience. I’m also surprised that they didn’t make a trail to the ocean facing mountain, but hey, we get what we get and we don’t get upset.
Back at the base we had a drink overlooking the Gulf taking in the lovely view of the harbour and the sea.
Spirited sail
We made it back onto Salty Ginger after escaping the dust storm created by the construction vehicles, tidied everything up and had lunch before sailing back. Mark caught a mackerel, I took a swim and we were ready to depart.
The current in Great Bras d’Or was supposed to reverse at 17:00 and reach its peak around 20:00. We thought we had ample time to make it there and hopefully drop the anchor before dark. The wind shifted and now had a lot more southerly component than the day before — definitely not the best conditions for us. It was also clear that outside the harbour it was not a light breeze.
We successfully navigated the narrow channel. Had we followed the new chart on the GPS, we would have ran aground. The GPS track shows that we should have ran aground.
Out in safe depths, we partially unrolled the mainsail and a tiny portion of the jib. Surely that should be ok. The wind came down in strong gusts down the mountain and then would stop. We were still shielded from the waves, but the white caps were clearly visible a few hundred meters away. The hatches were closed even before we departed, but as I started to throw the pillows down and then zipped down the central window of the dodger, I saw a huge puff ahead and yelled to Mark to head up so that we could spill the wind. Too late. The sails caught the wind, the boat tipped at least 45 degrees, so that standing in the forward part of the cockpit I had no chance of reaching the jib sheet way aft of me. Mark had no control of the boat; she rounded into the wind and then righted herself with the sails flapping violently.
Now that I could reach the jib sheet and the furling line, I rolled in a lot more of the jib and (we think, but we’re not sure) a bit more of the mainsail. I took over the steering. It was still boisterous, but with the reduced sail area, manageable. We had solid 20+ knot winds and some gusts into 30. Both of us were ok, down below in the cabin was a huge mess of all the things that fell down, including items that have never fallen before. Without much delay, we put on life vests. Just in case.
Once we were farther away from the big hill, the wind steadied and the most violent puffs did not come back. With spray flying and sometimes waves completely flooding the foredeck, Salty Ginger could get up to 6.5 knots, but then a wave train would slow us down to 5. We were going 45 degrees off course, as expected. Given that we had time, sailing close hauled looked like a much better proposition than to turn on the engine and head straight towards the entrance to the lake.
For some reason, we were the only boat in the Gulf. We saw an occasional bird and otherwise no other signs of living creatures. Interestingly enough 2 gulls ended up accompanying us. One of them was gliding in the air perturbed by the sails for good half hour. It was mesmerising to see it make light movements of the head and the tail. The spread out wings barely moved.
Over the next few hours the wind continued to subside, so we kept rolling out the sails when our speed would drop to 5 knots. Better than the other way around. Most of the time we still had at least 15 knots true and sometimes gusting to low 20s. Of course, it didn’t help the sea state until we were some 5 miles away from the shore, but made the sailing part a lot more manageable.
Above Cape Breton Island we saw clouds brewing. They brought humid air to supplement the salt water from the waves that filled the air. The steering wheel was wet and it got colder, so for the first time since entering the lake we wore pants and light jackets.
We passed pretty close to the bird islands and saw a couple of puffins doing their fishing. It was getting late, and now it was clear that we will be dropping the anchor in complete darkness.
Weird currents
Mark had another look at the guide book and found Otter Harbor which is just beyond the bridge and would be some 8 miles closer than Big Harbor into which we thought we’d be pulling in.
A couple of miles outside the entrance to the channel we had about half a knot of current against us. I was baffled. Given the timing from the day before we must be at the right time to catch the current, and checking the current table yet again, I was sure I didn’t misread the table.
Once we were in the buoyed part of the channel the current stopped and then started to pick up in the right direction. When we got to the narrows, we had 2.5 knots helping us. Very interesting eddies.
Once past the narrows I went to the galley to start cooking dinner. It was getting very dark. I heard Mark calling me that something weird was happening. Indeed, first there was a motor boat crossing our bow with no nav lights. Luckily, its wake still had some colour that was different from the colour of the water. Second, we were doing 5.5 knots! It seems that Mark veered a bit too much to the right and the strong current created an equally strong eddie which was now pushing us in the wrong direction. The water was very agitated, as if it were boiling.
A few minutes later we were out of the eddie and the current was helping us a bit. Dinner was ready and I came back into the cockpit to help Mark navigate us under the bridge. In complete darkness it was quite difficult to judge the distance to the bridge. The distance to the blinking red buoys at the base of the bridge was impossible to judge. We were in plenty of depth and the GPS location corresponded to the direction of the visual marks that we saw. Nevertheless it was a bit eerie.
Past the bridge I turned toward the Otter island too early: the eddie immediately stole half a knot of speed. Moving just a bit back into the main flow put us back into the helpful flow of the water.
Once near the island we saw a buoy for some fishing trap and I hurried to the bow with a flood light so that we could figure out where to anchor. Luckily there was no fog, so the outline of the island was clearly illuminated by the light. A flock of birds sleeping in the water probably did not appreciate being blinded by the light, but otherwise there was nothing dangerous in the water. The anchor went down in some 20 feet of depth and we were secure. In the morning we confirmed that the anchoring spot was right: a hundred meters forward the current and the wind were creating confused water.
We ate dinner in the cockpit with the lights of the bridge far out in the distance. Staying anchored in a very quiet was so nice after a boisterous day on the water!
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