My second morning in Shelburn, I called a friend who bought a Tanzer in the same town near Detroit where I took delivery of Strider and has been slowly bringing her back to his home in Nova Scotia. He eagerly agreed to join me for the leg to Lunenburg. We had a nice sail down the river although skies were low and threatening. The wind was right on the nose and the current against us (so far, it always seems to be in Nova Scotia) so we started motor sailing after rounding the whistle at the river mouth. Visibility then dropped to about a quarter mile and it began to blow hard. I hadn’t foreseen the strength of the wind so I didn’t have time to put on full foul weather gear. Jerome’s stayed below while I powered on towards Lockport and I was soon being drenched by every wave as we punched into it.
We saw a sailboat sailing hard up the river about half a mile ahead of us. He rounded up in the river and stowed his sails so we hung back to give him plenty of time to get settled in the small harbor. I figured that, if he ended up rafted to a fishing boat, we could raft to him. We came up to the docks to find him moored in the windward side of a float with space opposite. A man jumped off the sailboat onto the dock to help us with our lines. It was a tough upwind landing with a short turning space. I was tired and drenched as well as shy about how much water there might be at the pier directly downwind. Anyway, my approach was terrible and I was just about to bail out and go around for another try when the man on the dock reached out and grabbed the bow line. The go round option evaporated but I figured someone competent enough to have sailed the 40’ish foot boat across from us in those conditions would help us salvage the situation.
I knew we were in trouble as soon as I saw him start pulling on the line without putting it on a cleat first. Doubled over and pulling in that wind, he might as well have been towing a car. I yelled for him to put it on a cleat. No response. He started walking downwind along the float with the line in his hand. We were in deep do do and the raw pilings were coming up on our beam fast like teeth ready to chew Strider’s topsides, lifelines, and rigging to tatters. This is why I generally prefer not to have “help” when docking. Some hand waving and yelling got him to cleat the line out at the end of the dock and some heavy use of the engine got us close enough to throw him a stern line. Sweating the boat in was then about the limit of what the two of us could manage.
We met the fellow on the dock a bit later. He looked to be about 70 and it turned out he was a French speaker only and we couldn’t learn anything except that he was from New York (Long Island hailing port on the transom) and was alone. I really would like to know his story. He went into the liquor store and disappeared into his boat. We disappeared into the excellent restaurant at the head of the dock where we also paid our $0.80 (Canadian) dockage.
The weather report held the promise of a corker of a day and I wanted to be in Lunenburg for the weekend to meet friends so we were up at 0330 and motoring out not long after. The promised backing of the wind never materialized. We motored between two rain showers without getting we. We motored, and motored, and motored against the current. This part of Nova Scotia mostly looks mostly like a gray line on the horizon very slowly sliding by. It began to clear up off the Mouth of the Le Have River. We saw several whales and began to get a nice view of very interesting coast line as the sun came out and 4 - 6 foot, long period, swells began rolling in.
The wind came up nicely just as we rounded the point into Lunenburg Bay and we finished the day with a nice, three tack, sail that had us following my planned route up the bay and engine speed on the last tack.
I dropped Jerome off at the town dock where his girlfriend was waiting and then anchored out in the harbor. Sitting in the cockpit and looking out at Canada’s maritime and traditional boat capitol, I decided that this is, without a doubt, the coolest place I have ever sailed Strider into. There are two square riggers on the waterfront, the schooner Bowdoin, which have worked for and have a sailing model of which my father sailed as a boy, was leaving the harbor.
There is a houseboat clubhouse anchored out in the harbor and a group of young men were partying on it and sailing around in a collection of traditional small craft and occasionally shooting off a fairly large cannon. I would hear the shock wave “click” against the hull before the boom. Can you imagine such a scene in the states?
I’m going to be here for a while.
Humbly submitted by POTL for Roger Long
We saw a sailboat sailing hard up the river about half a mile ahead of us. He rounded up in the river and stowed his sails so we hung back to give him plenty of time to get settled in the small harbor. I figured that, if he ended up rafted to a fishing boat, we could raft to him. We came up to the docks to find him moored in the windward side of a float with space opposite. A man jumped off the sailboat onto the dock to help us with our lines. It was a tough upwind landing with a short turning space. I was tired and drenched as well as shy about how much water there might be at the pier directly downwind. Anyway, my approach was terrible and I was just about to bail out and go around for another try when the man on the dock reached out and grabbed the bow line. The go round option evaporated but I figured someone competent enough to have sailed the 40’ish foot boat across from us in those conditions would help us salvage the situation.
I knew we were in trouble as soon as I saw him start pulling on the line without putting it on a cleat first. Doubled over and pulling in that wind, he might as well have been towing a car. I yelled for him to put it on a cleat. No response. He started walking downwind along the float with the line in his hand. We were in deep do do and the raw pilings were coming up on our beam fast like teeth ready to chew Strider’s topsides, lifelines, and rigging to tatters. This is why I generally prefer not to have “help” when docking. Some hand waving and yelling got him to cleat the line out at the end of the dock and some heavy use of the engine got us close enough to throw him a stern line. Sweating the boat in was then about the limit of what the two of us could manage.
We met the fellow on the dock a bit later. He looked to be about 70 and it turned out he was a French speaker only and we couldn’t learn anything except that he was from New York (Long Island hailing port on the transom) and was alone. I really would like to know his story. He went into the liquor store and disappeared into his boat. We disappeared into the excellent restaurant at the head of the dock where we also paid our $0.80 (Canadian) dockage.
The weather report held the promise of a corker of a day and I wanted to be in Lunenburg for the weekend to meet friends so we were up at 0330 and motoring out not long after. The promised backing of the wind never materialized. We motored between two rain showers without getting we. We motored, and motored, and motored against the current. This part of Nova Scotia mostly looks mostly like a gray line on the horizon very slowly sliding by. It began to clear up off the Mouth of the Le Have River. We saw several whales and began to get a nice view of very interesting coast line as the sun came out and 4 - 6 foot, long period, swells began rolling in.
The wind came up nicely just as we rounded the point into Lunenburg Bay and we finished the day with a nice, three tack, sail that had us following my planned route up the bay and engine speed on the last tack.
I dropped Jerome off at the town dock where his girlfriend was waiting and then anchored out in the harbor. Sitting in the cockpit and looking out at Canada’s maritime and traditional boat capitol, I decided that this is, without a doubt, the coolest place I have ever sailed Strider into. There are two square riggers on the waterfront, the schooner Bowdoin, which have worked for and have a sailing model of which my father sailed as a boy, was leaving the harbor.
There is a houseboat clubhouse anchored out in the harbor and a group of young men were partying on it and sailing around in a collection of traditional small craft and occasionally shooting off a fairly large cannon. I would hear the shock wave “click” against the hull before the boom. Can you imagine such a scene in the states?
I’m going to be here for a while.
Humbly submitted by POTL for Roger Long