Adventurous First Weekend
15 May 2014 | PCHM
The sloop and I left Cobourg Saturday morning (10 May) and headed towards Hamilton harbour, with winds out of the west steady above 20 knots, waves near 1 meter, and the weather service issuing a High Wind Warning. Tacking out to sea, back towards shore, then back out to sea was not getting me very far but I was sailing. It was my introduction to Sam's Closin' Time. I had not slept since early Friday morning and, although I was not sleepy, I was making mistakes that I attributed to lack of sleep. A little bit after lunch, I was close to Port Hope so I put in there taking the west channel to the yacht basin. The depth sounder read 8 to 10 feet at the entrance but suddenly crept down to 4! With just a hint of "something" I believed we might have touched a soft sandbar. But we kept on going into the yacht basin. I met Ed and Wayne who had just launched their wooden boat and were at the sea wall. I asked if it was okay for me to tie up for an hour or so to get some badly needed sleep.
"Sure, you can stay all night if you need!" They showed me the windward side of the basin where I'd be better held off the wall and I motored over.
I was just settling in to catch a couple Z's when a lady hailed and asked how I was doing. If I recall clearly, Jan was her name and she confirmed that I could stay the night if I wanted. She was tending her boat when I was about to leave, an hour or so later. (That sleep sure was short but necessary and did the trick. I had not set an alarm but woke anyway.)
Yes, there was conversation about the "issue" at the channel entrance and I told them I thought I did actually touch.
The next stop was at Newcastle Marina. The wind had died that night and I had ran the motor for a while and so wanted to top up the spare tank of gas I had used up. I was there around 7 a.m. but the offices would not open until 9. I walked around through the gazillions of midges hovering about in little clouds here and there and began thinking about making way again anyway. Back out at sea, the winds were still out of the west so we tacked back and forth again until about noon or so. The winds died to nothing.
I clambered below, covered in a nice warm layer of three coats and a blanket, and slept for a couple hours. Then, bing!, my eyes popped open and we motored a bit. In the distance, looking through binoculars, I could see a dark line on the water/horizon. Mirage? Probably... but, no. Wait. Looking again a few moments later, I could see it was not a mirage but actual water wrinkles telling me wind was there!
Yes, there definitely was wind. From the southwest came the perfect winds for an exact course on a close reach straight to Hamilton harbor. Was it Fei Lian (Chinese), Tāwhirimātea (Maori), Vitztlampaehecatl working with Cihuatecayotl (Aztec), Njord (Norse), Venti (Roman) or one of the Anemoi (Greek: Lips, perhaps)? Whichever god, gods, or goddesses were involved, I don't think there ever was a more perfect setting of winds for what we needed. The knot log read 5.4 but the GPS read 5.9. Keeping in mind that our hull speed is just over 6 knots, it is easy to understand how this fine sloop could win so many yacht races.
I tried the tiller autopilot only to see the tip connection to the tiller break. We sailed on for a few moments, then I hoved her to and got out the bandage tape. With a very white tip kludged together, I set the autopilot to keep our heading (thanks to one or all of the aforementioned gods) and sat watching the world go by, chilly a bit, but wondering if the heavens that those gods lived in was exactly like this.
Soon, Pickering drifted by and the winds died down. Sleep again and then, as the afternoon sun warmed the world and me, off we went with the same gods, the same winds, the same joy, passing Toronto as if it shouldn't be there. Sunset was spectacular beyond words.
Night crept into my world and Port Credit was off our starboard beam. I had planned to fetch LaSalle Marina on the Burlington side of Hamilton Harbor because Port Credit Harbour Marina (my old home port) was constipated with paperwork and administrative meetings so much that they hadn't had time to decide if they wanted to rent me a slip for the summer. I wanted to get some gas for the motor anyway, so I eased the sails a bit and we tore through the Lake Ontario waters towards the Ridgetown. (Did my mighty sailing vessel know something I did not? Did she know this was HOME for me?)
We motored into a dark PCHM as slow and quiet as could be, committing to memory this proud moment.
To whatever gods there were watching over Sam's Closin' Time and me, I thank you for sharing this part of heaven with me. Thank you Jim Quibell for selling me such a fine sailing vessel.