[Public-List] Mini-pre-misery-trip

[Gordon Laco]

So there we were…

Not many nice weekends left in the season, now that we’re on the sliding down side of September.   Because I have to be down in the city today for an RCN event, we decided to make our own weekend by scarpering to the boat Thursday morning and doing an overnighter up the coast, coming back Friday.

The weather Thursday was splendid, but as is usual these days featured an odd south east wind.  That was fair for getting out of Severn Sound so away we went.  Our friend Dave Hadfield was already up at Beausoliel Island aboard DRAKE, his wooden ketch, so we motored away until we caught up with him off Adams Point, both of us bound for Beckwith Island.

Any of you who have an interest in historic aircraft have likely seen Dave’s youtube videos… he flies vintage aircraft for the Vintage Wings collection in Gatineau.  The first time I flew with Dave was in a deHaviland Tiger Moth, used by the Commonwealth Air Training Programme in 1940 at the height of WW2 as a primary trainer.  What an experience… after we’d clambered into our cockpits (me in the pupil’s seat in  front, Dave in the instructor’s seat aft) the ground crew fellow called ’SWITCHES OFF!  FUEL ON!’  Dave repeated the call and I heard the magneto switches behind my head go click-click.  The prop was walked around four times, then the ground crew fellow called ’SWITCHES ON!’  Again Dave repeated the call and again there was a click-click behind me.  One heave on the prop and the Gypsy Major engine coughed and spluttered, then settled down to a smooth rumble.  

Dave waved away the chocks (I didn’t see that of course but did see the results of his signal) and with a burp of throttle we began bumping away over the grass.  We trundled down to the downwind side of the airfield, staying on the grass to preserve the tail skid from the pavement, where a fellow was waiting for us in a lawn chair, reading a book.  He put the book down, sauntered up to us and casually grabbed the grip on the wingtip and leaned back.  Dave burped the throttle again and round swung the Moth, now facing down the strip of grass.   The guy went back to his book and after magneto checks, away we went.   Up throttle…. tail up right away… a few fairly dramatic bumps then suddenly smooth and climbing away.  

The wind in the open cockpit was about the same as I was used to in my MG on the highway… which makes sense because the speed was about the same.  The Moth left the ground at 50 knots and climbed away at about 70… level cruising was 80-90. (no, I don’t drive the MG that fast but you get the idea…)

While landing, sideslipping to come down in steps, I was thinking ‘If I sell the boat, and sell the MG, I think I could buy one of these things!’  Well I didn’t, but flying was amazing.  I’ve flown since in higher performance aircraft with Dave, but I think the Moth is still my favourite.  Here’s a couple of his YouTubes…

Spitfire
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IHdEbb1VXew <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IHdEbb1VXew>

Westland Lysander
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tBbOkeff2vI <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tBbOkeff2vI>

So there was Dave up ahead of us, sailing along wing&wing running, or as they say in Atlantic Canada, ‘reading both pages’.  We cut the engine and dropped beside him.  Dave called over and said ‘wow, you caught up fast!’  I replied ‘I wasn’t using my engine, oh no….’  we both laughed at the fib.

So away west we both went… about 2pm the wind softened and we found ourselves meandering along at less than two knots.    We had a hurried discussion texting about destinations and finally settled on Methodist Point, which we were just passing.   I say finally, because each time we settled on Methodist, the wind would come back and we’d decide to press on for Beckwith… but no sooner was that resolved but the puff disappeared again and again, conversation by text ensued about destination.   

Because we wanted some time to sail our dinghy, and also for inter-ship visiting, we finally decided on Methodist, which was under our lee.  Naturally a brisk breeze sprang up as soon as we both bore off for it… but we weren’t lured to waffle again.

Within fifteen minutes we were at anchor in Methodist.   One of the nice things about that otherwise somewhat open place is the clean sandy bottom.  No globs of blue clay and heavy weed to clear off the gear when recovering the anchor.  

So I sailed the dinghy around a bit, then swooped over by DRAKE to invite Dave aboard.  A word on the dinghy… I built it during the height of COVID, which gave me something very pleasant to do over that second winter of the plague.  The pile of wood I dumped at the workshop in November was a lovely lapstrake dinghy by spring.  It took a bit of tinkering to get the ergonomics of the rowing just right, and I’m still tweaking the sailing rig, but what a pleasure that thing is.

I went and got Dave… we yarned about flying and sailing for a while, then we all went over to DRAKE to continue in his cockpit.  As the sun dipped, we went back to our boat to get the BBQ going and we each had supper on our own.   The sun went sooner than expected, but thankfully the annual era of mosquitoes is over so we weren’t driven down below by that particular pest.  I recalled a line I read this fall, where someone wrote he was glad each September when ’The mosquitoes go back to hell for a few months’.  

We had an evening book reading session… We’re in the habit at home and afloat where I read aloud while Caroline knits.  Sharing books that was is really nice.  We’ve just finished another ‘circumnavigation’ of Patrick O’Brian’s historical fiction series, now we’re re-reading David Niven’s autobiographical ‘Moon is a Balloon’.    A bit of at lights out… then sleep.  Well a little sleep.

About midnight the wind came up and poor SURPRISE was hunting around at her anchor, snatching at the chain and vibrating her mast, occasionally deeply enough of the later we could feel it in our bunks.  I tend to fall back asleep once assured the hook is still in good, and I can identify the various bangs and groans, but not Caroline, who stays awake.  One time on another trip, we were rolling as waves bent around into our anchorage.  A rumble and thumb developed in my side of the boat… what the heck is that, I ran through everything I thought it might be while laying in my bunk in the dark.  I convinced myself the sound was a chainplate pulling out.  That got me bursting out of my sleeping bag, flashlight in hand to investigate.  It was a tin of soup rolling back and forth.  I stood it on end again, and returned to my bunk; asleep in a jiffy.

Morning…  after the howling wind all night, a fair calm prevailed.  After ham and pancakes we hoisted the main, hauled in the anchor then glided over to Dave in DRAKE to say bye.  He was in his cockpit having his coffee.  After exchanging pleasantries we uncorked the genoa, and glided away out into the open and for home.   By 10am we were slashing along beating to windward in a 15-18kt easterly… finally getting past Sawlog Point and Minos Bank.  We anxiously watched to the north for Indian Belle Rock’s green pin… it’s one of those I swear the Canadian Coast Guard moves around just to be funny.  

At last another slashing tack on starboard dashing along thinking that once on port we’ll be able to close reach all the way home… but what ho… wind is still blowing… boat still heeled… speed dropping.  When it got  to 4.5 I suddenly remembered I hadn’t blocked the daggerboard slot in the dinghy.  Yup, that was the problem.  Instead of skipping lightly behind us it was plowing the seas like a dreadnought with several hundred pounds of water in it.  We hove SURPRISE to, I hauled the dinghy up close and dropped carefully into it to pump it out.  Fortunately it still had enough buoyancy to carry me without swamping completely.   Eventually it was free of water and out I came… letting the dinghy back out to the ‘5 to 6 knot mark' on its towing line.   (It’s possible to put the dinghy on the forward face of a stern wave, which helps it plane along diving rather than trying to climb the back of a stern wave)   We tacked the genoa, released the helm and zoom away we went with the cheerful abandon we’d enjoyed before the dinghy took advantage of my forgetfulness to fill itself up.

Home at Midland Bay Sailing Club again in due course… what a great two day trip.   

Today I’m just back from attending the re-commissioning of HMCS YORK, the naval establishment I belonged to when I was in the RCN.   But instead of marching in the officer’s platoon at ship’s company at divisions, or yelling at them from the front, I was sitting with the other grey haired guys in blue blazers (medals on for the occasion) watching the current mob perform the ceremony, with critical eyes on their drill and snap.    Did we do it better?   Hate to say it but we thought so.   Humph, old grouches… I guess that’s we all sat away on the side…  and I do remember the grey haired brigade in my day, when I was in uniform myself… 

Onwards… a bit of summer left despite the date.  Then the Misery Trip is looming…

Gord Laco Surprise 426



Gordon Laco
www.gordonlaco.com <http://www.gordonlaco.com/>
705-527-9612