Our next stop on the Georgian Bay was Parry Sound. To my dismay the weather has been much cooler than I would like, but I guess it is to be expected since we are late in the season and pulling up the rear of all the Loopers.
With the wind whipping in our faces, we followed the channel around the rocky facade of O’Donnell Point and into the tight squeeze of Twelve Mile Harbour. Island after island, each had their own character and stood bold in the September sun. Bella Donna did her best not to disturb the tranquility of the territory we were invading.
Hang Dog Island
Sometimes the names of the land masses and waterways we drive by intrigue me wondering how some of these monikers were derived. Any how, Devil’s Elbow was a magnificent sight of which pictures do not do justice.
On the way around Devil’s Elbow we sadly drove passed Henry’s Fish Camp. Closed for the season we were not going to be able to indulge in the world famous fish and chips everyone raves about. Duane was particularly sullen by the turn of events since his craving still has not been satisfied. He made the faux pas of ordering his fish grilled the last time….big mistake.
Our timing was a little off today as the swing bridge into Parry Sound only opened at the top of each hour upon request. 4 miles out we heard a boater request a 5pm opening so, knowing we had to wait for the next hour, Duane slowed down even more and got the roll of the eyes from me.
I was elated as the swing bridge opened and a few minutes later we were tied securely to the town dock wall. Thunderstorms were predicted for the next day so, arriving early in the evening, we would have to wait until the next morning to figure out the logistics of where Bella Donna was better situated the following night. There was a small airport for seaplanes at the end of the dock of which the Flight Deck Bar and Grill was attached. Grabbing a quick bite we planned to be back on the boat shortly. However, on the walk down the boardwalk a gentleman stopped us inquiring about our boat and invited us aboard his tug, Cambrian. Bob was the owner and commander of the 75 year old tug which was an auxiliary unit of the Canadian Coast Guard. After giving us some homemade wine, he guided us on a tour of the ship and filled us in on the tug’s lustrous history. Granted he lost me in the engine room discussing the gaskets and whatnot, but his stories were truly fascinating and we were so happy for the chance meeting.
The next morning the skies were dark and rain was predicted most of the morning into early afternoon. George who owned the marina by the town dock was going to aid us in a pump out and then assign us to a slip. As luck would have it, the rain storm sprung up as soon as we started the engines. As we all got drenched, I felt bad for pulling George outside. Not missing a beat as he held onto the pump out hose, he said “no worries, skin keeps your insides dry.” That was Canadian hospitality at its finest.
Once the rain stopped we decided to take a self guided tour to the old Fire Tower overlooking the town. Climbing all ten stories to the top to get a better view, I realized there was a paved road right outside the woods we had trudged through to get there. Thanks Google Maps!! Not!!
As luck would have it, in my favor this time, when the downpour started again, we were a mere block from the Trestle Brewery. What better place to wait out the storm and also be privileged to enjoy “Poutine Tuesday.”
We made a couple of stops along the walk back on the “Fitness Trail” as it was referred to and picked up provisions and some needed “boat parts.” The less I know about the actual necessity of the parts, the better.
A shower recharged our batteries and we had a lovely dinner at a quaint restaurant in town –Wellington’s. We made a point to say farewell to Bob and get some more traveling advice while delivering a bottle of Duane’s homemade wine to repay him. Hopefully he enjoys it as much as we enjoyed the bottle he bestowed upon us.
We had decided to anchor out the next two days and enjoy the mind numbing serenity of Georgian Bay. Plotting our course we set off toward Byng Inlet. Along the way the buoys were scattered haphazardly assuring that we were kept on our toes.
We arrived at the inlet well into the early evening. There was a Fall chill in the air which did not make me happy…Duane interjected that the cooler air was a foreboding to inclement weather to come. Mother Nature, please let him be wrong.
