Navigating the Trent Canal and what Canadians call “The Ditch” was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. These were the narrowest passages we have encountered so far. As the First Mate, I am the lookout for any impediments that may arise and are not clearly marked on the charts. As I do not want to be navigating the boat head on into a rock formation, I’m more than happy to man the binoculars and provide snacks.
Heading out through the breakwater onto Lake Simcoe, we seemed to have a good window to cross relatively smoothly. It was cold and windy but the waves were no match for Bella Donna as they hit straight on the bow and she trudged through without hesitation. We were safe and sound in Port of Orillia Marina in less than two hours. I had reluctantly agreed to stay two days in the town in order for some much needed maintenance work to be done on the engines and to wait out the impending storm.
I had my hopes up since Orillia was touted on a few sites as a rival to Nashville in the music scene. Those hopes were soon dashed as I was told upon check-in at the marina that after Labor Day everything pretty much goes dark.
I spent the afternoon washing and waxing the boat as Duane did his thing in the engine room. After that I preoccupied myself with laundry and took a luxurious shower in the new pods installed for the boaters at the marina.
The next day I set out on my solo tour of the town. There were art galleries, antique shops and museums up and down the blocks in walking distance from the marina. I went to get a much needed pedicure along the way and walked around exploring the town with my toe spreaders on as the salon did not have any nail dryers. Duane slaved away in the engine room all day so he was delighted when I returned with cold beers in hand. But, he was not so delighted that I only returned with one Italian hero which I half-heartedly shared with him. And to further prove what an awesome girlfriend I am and to reward him for all his hard work keeping our little abode running smoothly, we took off to town for a delicious Italian dinner at a local restaurant which was recommended to me on my afternoon walk. My treat!
Thursday arrived and I had come to terms with the fact we needed to spend another day to ensure the boat issues were rectified. We hopped on our bikes—one part pleasure excursion and one part maintenance expedition. When all was said and done and we had an additional 6 miles under our belts, we made a stop at the beach with a backpack full of boat necessities.
Friday morning I jumped out of bed with more pep in my step than I had in days. I had an agenda to stick to before we finally departed— one more pod shower to relish (you never know what kind of facilities are coming your way) and a quick stop by the Mariposa Market to purchase some freshly made cinnamon buns. I felt a cavity brewing just walking through the doors.
A warm bun in hand, we cast off toward Lake Couchiching and the last two locks before the Big Chute.
It was cold and cloudy and we arrived into Big Chute Marina late in the afternoon. After we tied up with the help of a couple docked near us, we walked over to the Chute to get a closer look. The railway car which was going to lift the boat out of the bay and carry her across the land to the body of water on the other side was fierce. I was in total awe, as I have been many times on this trip, witnessing the intricacies of the mechanics put in place so long ago to make this land accessible.
That night a couple we met earlier, Ken and Michelle, stopped by the boat and we had a bonfire up by the marina. We all discussed our travels thus far, and they, being from Canada, gave us some advice on the waters to come. We were excited about the next step of our adventure and settled into bed way after midnight all wound up with the anticipation.
We cast off our lines in the morning and turned out of the dock to wait in the designated spot on the wall at the blue line. Duane uses “boat slang,” as I call it, in some of the most inopportune moments. Case in point…approaching the lift I am concentrating on pulling in the fenders which have been out for the better part of the month through the locks in addition to securing lines in the event they are needed, when he bellows “Port side to.” Now I have the starboard and port references down pat, but normally have to respond with “to what?” fully expecting the sentence to be completed as to what his intentions are at that moment. Well he has ceased to respond thinking I am a mind reader and all I get is the “are you serious” look. As he flipped the boat around, I just pretty much threw my line at any cleat that came close hoping I hook it and then pulled tight.
The lift operator instructed a smaller boat to proceed onto the submerged car and then instructed us to assume our position at center back. I threw off the port line which I had masterfully secured to the cleat on the wall (that was the “to what” I had been waiting for) and Duane carefully maneuvered the boat onto her slings and, just like that, she was lifted out of the water into the cradle. Admiring the railway lift was one thing, but sitting on the bow experiencing the ride across and down into the lower body of water was a whole different ballgame.
Still riding on a high from the railway lift, the last lock in Port Severn seemed like a formality and barely registered in my mind. When reality set in, we realized we had arrived in Georgian Bay! Georgian Bay has been one of the most anticipated destinations of the trip. With that, we took off through the crystal blue waters toward the 30,000 islands…
