Becalmed on Washademoak Lake

Day One


This expedition would prove to be the ultimate test for both my patched up rigging and the endurance of the first mate and crew.

As the crow flies our destination at the Washademoak Lake, Rocky Oaks, is only 33 miles away but as the river flows a further 12 miles would be added at the very least, and there would be tidal currents, two sets of cable ferries and rocky shoals to negotiate.

An early start was in order and there was only a hint of a breeze as the first mate and crew filled my cuddy with provisions and equipment. By the time we set sail there was still nobody stirring at RKYC and we slipped seemingly unnoticed off our mooring.

Around two hundred yards out a sailboat was anchored and from it a man shouted a greeting, promised us good sailing weather and asked where we were heading. Our response of Washademoak Lake did not seem to shock him, despite the rate in which we slowly drifted by.

An hour later the first mate and crew were still in good cheer despite having just entered Grand Bay and still being able to clearly see RKYC. The new heading of north west barely quickened the pace as we passed the town of Grand Bay Westfield  to our west and watched the ferries on the horizon busily shuttling the daily commuters on their way to work in Saint John across from the Kingston Peninsula.

Apart from the ferries we seemed to be the only boat on the river. By the time we reached the path in the river where the ferry crossed, the daily commute was over and one of the ferries was being rested on the Kingston Peninsula side of the river. This would make the crossing of the ferries' path much easier and the sailing conditions, which were also improving as the wind was being funneled as the river narrowed, would also help.

Once the ferries were passed it was only a short distance before the river made an almost 90 degree angle change of direction and our bearing changed from heading north to heading east. At this point the full scale of the Long Reach could be appreciated. This stretch of the river runs the whole length of the Kingston Peninsula right to the horizon 17 miles away.

With the wind calm, once again, and the sun shimmering off the ripples of the river, it seemed that we would be able to appreciate every picturesque church steeple, every charming wooden lighthouse and every one of the scattered communities that are dotted along both of the forested banks of the river. By now, however, the peace and tranquility of the scene was being shattered by the thunderous bass of powerboats.

The western half of the Long Reach is strangely bereft of islands, but passed the mid-point there is an archipelago of islets. It seems that the explorers who named these islands were becoming more jaded as they headed east. The western island is called Caton's Island, while to the east of this island are located the Isle of Pines, Rush Island and Grassy Island.

This stretch of the river is the most challenging section of the Long Reach with extensive shallows and Oak Point jutting out from the northern bank to near the mid-point of the river. It was at Oak Point where we were passed by a most impressive motor yacht towing along its tender, which itself was twice my size. The wake the motor yacht produced sent me on a two minute roller-coaster ride that at least woke me from my slumber.

After passing the final island before the eastern point of Long Reach there is a dead-end devised to snag unwary sailors. Appropriately enough this is called Mistake Cove, although to fall for its deception one must be either asleep, drunk or blind.


It is beyond the entrance to Mistake Cove when the river finally narrows and heads north. Here it is tempting to sail into the wide waters of Bellisle Bay, which extends the west-east direction of Long Reach by a further 11 miles.


The section of the St. John River that runs north from Long Reach feels more like a "normal" river, and despite the wind remaining light, the landscape moved by at a quicker pace past broken down public wharves.


The Evandale Inn and Restaurant is a honey-pot for recreational powerboat and motor cruiser crews. To reach its extensive docks that are located adjacent to the resort one must negotiate the cable ferry that to my eyes seemed to zip back and forth rapidly across the narrow channel. However, we tacked across the ferry's stern and continued our journey north.

The wind was at last increasing and with the current on our side we sailed at a rapid rate past the low lying spoon island (shaped like an old spoon), and Long Island (long, but not as long as the Kennebecasis River's Long Island). On the banks the gentle sloping fertile land had meant the forest had been replaced by farmland and the associated charming farms and barns. The crew took advantage of the sailing conditions to slumber in my cockpit and rest her head on my cuddy.

Three quarters down the Eastern side of Long Island we branch off to the east. This was the Washademoak Creek, which led into the Washademoak Lake. By the time we were passing the buoys that marked the entrance into the lake, dusk was quickly approaching. Given the ideal sailing conditions, a decision was made to head towards our destination at Rocky Oaks, now only six miles away. But, as often happens as the sun starts to set, the wind subsided and the first mate and crew decided to head towards the public wharf marked on the chart as being less than a mile away.

The first mate and crew scoured the banks of the lake in the failing light looking for the wharf, then finally admitting defeat made do with anchoring at a sheltered point they named "mosquito cove". Throughout their uncomfortable night the first mate and crew slept little in the cramped conditions on the bottom of my cockpit covered only by mosquito repellant and a tent flysheet that was tied loosely to my boom.

Day 2: Journey to Big Cove


At dawn the first mate and crew were awoken by a herd of cows and their young rampaging through the undergrowth to take a look at the bedraggled spectacle anchored at the edge of their summer pasture.

The first mate and crew raised anchor at 6:30am, and with the dawn air cool and gentle on my sails we headed out onto the lake. It took two hours to cover the six miles to Rocky Oaks, which is located opposite Big Cove.

A man rowed out on an inflatable dinghy (they called him Captain Damp), he paid me some compliments and he gave the first mate and crew advice on where to drop anchor. He then ferried them and their camping equipment to the steep wooden walkway that led up to Rocky Oaks above.

It was mid-afternoon before the first mate and crew returned. The wind was up, and they brought Captain Damp with them to experience a sailing excursion aboard me. We sped across the mile wide Washademoak Lake and into Big Cove. Other small recreational boats were also enjoying the favourable sailing conditions as we sailed around the unoriginally called Pine Island (not to be confused with the Isle of Pines etc). Captain Damp then took my tiller and we tacked back and forth back to Rocky Oaks.

That evening, from my mooring on the lake, I could hear much joviality from the direction of Rocky Oaks. The first mate and crew were at last able to relax after their journey. I guessed that given the previous night's experience that their stamina would wain and I was proven right. Long before the rest of the lake was quiet on the barmy evening there was silence, bar a muffled snore, from the direction of Rocky Oaks.

Day 3: The Journey Home, Part 1 


Captain Damp ferried the camping equipment, first mate and crew back to me in the morning and we all said our farewells as we set sail significantly later than on the previous two days. I estimated that unless sailing conditions were perfect we were planning for a two day voyage back to RKYC.

Within 10 minutes the wind had dropped and the crew and first mate decided to make for Mott's Landing. There was much cursing when they arrived as the public wharf would have provided a perfect location for a night's camping instead of "Mosquito Cove". There was even a secluded beach complete with a swimming platform.

About an hour later the wind picked back up and we optimistically sailed out onto the lake. Once again, after about 10 minutes the wind dropped. There was now not even a whisper of a breeze, just silence and the sun's sharp light glaring down on the mirror like surface of the lake. The crew and first mate, after much discussion, both started to paddle for the buoys that marked the entrance and now exit to the lake.

It was after lunch time before we eventually approached the buoys. It was clear that there may not be a breeze, but there was certainly a current thwarting their paddling efforts. A sailboat in the creek had spotted their desperation and had turned around to come and offer us assistance. The first mate was too proud and stupid to accept. He preached that we would all overcome this obstacle together and that failure was not an option.

We were obviously facing an obstacle that had its origins in the Bay of Fundy; the highest tides in the world. These tides were not too discernible in the wide channels downstream, but in the narrow creek that fed in and out of the Washademoak Lake had been magnified once again to become a mighty adversary to our progress.

Eventually, after much perspiration, the first mate and crew entered the narrow waters of Colwell Creek and then, 400 yards later, Washademoak Creek. Here, the wind had picked up and blew in the same direction as the tide. The crew and first mate were glad to rid themselves of the paddles, and with sheets pulled in tight we tacked back and forth innumerable times. For every three yards gained, two were lost to the current, and we had little time to enjoy the plethora of wildlife that seemed to be displaying on the creek. Ospreys and eagles seemed more common than crows and massive salmon leaped like dolphins to bask in the sunshine for a second or two before disappearing once again into the current. Eventually we broke free into the St. John River.

The tacking continued. It seemed that the wind would always be blowing upstream on our journey home, and now as the St. John River widened the tacking swept from one bank to another as we passed by Long Island and, this time, down the narrower channel at Spoon Island.

We were able to sail parallel to the east bank of the river on the final mile to where the Evandale ferry crossed the river. With the wind still against us, the wind rising, and the river widening there were more exciting sailing conditions as we entered the Long Reach. The current and wind provided us with much spray in the cockpit as my hull bounced against the chop of the waves caused by the meeting of Long Reach, Bellisle Bay and the narrower stretch of river from which we had just sailed.

The decision had been made to moor at one of the first public wharves on the sheltered south bank of Long Reach, but we knew that this was still several miles of hard tacking away. The river became rough once more in the moderate winds and disturbed waters around Oak Point. After we had passed this location we traversed the river to the southern bank to locate the public wharf making sure to miss the extensive shallows that stretched for more than a mile south west of Grassy Island. We had earlier ran aground in the mud off Mistake Cove (a schoolboy error rather than a mistake). We didn't want to make the same mistake again in choppy waters hundreds of yards away from either bank.

The light was already beginning to fade when the public wharf was finally spotted and we sailed toward its more sheltered eastern side. The first mate and crew wearily pulled their camping equipment from my cuddy and disappeared into the gloom to camp on the adjacent beach.

Day 4: The Journey Home, Part 2

The morning was, in sharp contrast to the others, misty and murky. There had been light rain in the morning and as soon as this had ended the first mate and crew had emerged from their makeshift camp on the beach, damp, sullen and no doubt aching from the previous days long sailing.

The grey weather had not meant an increase in wind speed. As we set out into the dull mist not another boat could be heard or seen on the river. As we tacked slowly, gradually making our way downstream we never did meet another boat. We had 10 square miles of the Long Reach to ourselves to and no-one to share the melancholy conditions.

By lunchtime we had made it to the end of Long Reach and could see the shadowy forms of the ferries ticking back and forth between Kingston Peninsula and the town of Grand Bay Westfield. In these conditions, with a lack of wind, two ferries crossing at relatively supersonic speed was going to prove a challenge and the first mate and crew had the best part of an hour to weigh-up the challenge as we gradually sailed towards these ferries apparently guarding against our homeward voyage.

We came in close quarters to the ferries, but every time we thought we could cross, we had to tack away as the other ferry made its return voyage laden with a couple of cars. Eventually, we made it across and with relief settled down to the frustratingly slow final stretch past Kennebecasis Island and into the Kennebecasis River.


As we finally pulled onto the sheltered waters off RKYC in the mid-afternoon the sun made an appearance and we watched the dinghies racing around the buoys and sometimes capsizing in the wind. In the same wind we zipped back to our mooring and realised that of the over 50 miles of sailing over the last four days the best conditions for sailing were those last 400 yards.

Rescue at Reversing Falls

The first mate and crew arrived on a bright morning carrying an assortment of fishing tackle. As they readied me for the day's sail I gathered that our plans, following the stress of our previous adventure, were for a leisurely sail to the St. John River and attempt to catch a fish supper. I also gathered that the first mate was not much of a fisherman and that if they were to rely on a fish supper they would be going hungry.

The wind was moderate and from the northwest, so it wasn't long before we were out beyond Ragged Point in the St. John River. The narrow gorge-like lower St. John River was to my port side and I was surprised when the decision was made to sail towards it.

At the entrance to this section, the St. John River narrows from being more than a mile wide to less than a couple of hundred yards. A quaint wooden lighthouse stands guard on the bank as if to warn you of the perils ahead.

There seemed few perils as we leisurely sailed and drifted down the river. After each turn in the river a decision was made to press on a little further and we passed motor cruisers pushing their way back up the river. Soon, the cliffs on either bank flattened out and the office blocks and church steeples of Saint John city centre could be made out along with the bulk of Saint John's pulp mill. In addition, and more concerning to me, the rocks that marked the start of the wild water of the Reversing Falls could clearly be seen.

The Reversing Falls is a mecca for visiting cruise ship tourists to Saint John. As a seemingly noisy protest of being forced to leave the relative tranquility of the St. John River, the river rushes down a series of rapids before entering the cold water of Saint John Harbour and the Bay of Fundy. As a final twist, at high tide in the Bay of Fundy (home to the highest tides in the World) the water makes a last gasp return back up the rapids and into the St. John River.


The crew and first mate turned my bow upstream and attempted the tacking maneuvers that would be necessary to make the journey back up to Grand Bay. After ten minutes we had not moved, with the current cancelling out any forward progress we would have made under normal conditions.


A decision had to be made quickly, and the decision was to sail close to the banks of the river and head further downstream to Saint John Power Boat Club. Nervously, we passed by the remnants of what was once an area of industrious ship building activity but now has largely been claimed back by nature.

The first mate and crew breathed a sigh of relief as we negotiated the shallows and turned into the cove where the Saint John Power Boat Club is located, bristling with its eclectic mix of boats of different types and sizes. The club has a much different feel to RKYC. Everywhere I could see work being carried out on various wooden hulled boats in a passionate attempt to bring them back to their former glory. My first mate hailed one of these workers, who was busy with a paint brush in his hand, and asked for the time of the next high tide. This high tide would provide the current to push the boat back up the river and away from the jaws of the Reversing Falls. The answer came back from the friendly worker that high tide was still more than four hours away.


With plenty of time on their hands, the first mate and crew retrieved the fishing tackle from deep in my cuddy and spent an hour casting lines out into the river. When they returned it was confirmed that there would be no fish supper tonight.

The crew and first mate then took an interest in the large steel hulled sailboat adjacent to our temporary mooring. I could tell that the boat was well traveled and from its accent originated from Eastern Europe. A man explained the work he had carried out on it to restore and improve the facilities on board. Within half an hour the man had started up a small motor boat and was attaching my bow line to its stern. I was going to get a tow up river.

For the next 20 minutes we were towed back up the St. John River and finally out past the lighthouse to the entrance of the expansive Grand Bay. The line was detached and the man jovially waved farewell. The crew raised the jib in the brisk northwesterly and I was free once more to sail in the waters I love. I could feel that the first mate and crew were enjoying the sailing in the wind and sunshine as we tacked up towards Ragged Point and I did my best to be as responsive as possible to their wishes.


But suddenly there was a loud crack and a jolt of pain ripped through my hull. One of the bolts securing the port chain plate which through the stays helps supports my short, but perfectly formed mast, had loosened and was jutting out of my hull. Luckily, we were close to Ragged Point and to a sailing direction that would put less pressure on my injured hull. Within half an hour we had limped back to RKYC and a smooth docking meant that I could rest, exhausted and sore after the day's adventures.


Temperature: 24C
Duration: 3.5 hours sailing (+ 2 hours moored at Saint John Power Boat Club)
Wind: Moderate
Length: 13 miles

The Length of Long Island

If from space Kennebecasis Island appears to be like a morsel in the jaws of the monster-like Kingston Peninsula, then Long Island appears to be like a pilot fish on the Peninsula's flank.


Long Island, with its current permanently residing population of zero, is not the world famous Long Island, but it does represent the largest of all the numerous islands of the Saint John River system. It is 4.5 miles long and more than a mile wide at its broadest. Long island is similar to Kennebecasis Island with its history of settlement by a small, but hardy, community of farmers. These pioneers gradually gave up scraping an existence in relative isolation and were then subsequently replaced by seasonal vacationers and their respective summer cottages, which are scattered along the shoreline today.


This journey would be the this summer's longest to date and the trepidation of the first mate and crew were made obvious in the way that we left our mooring. Once out into the Kennebecasis River we set sail upstream past Burnt Island and the ferry that runs back and forth between Millidgeville and the Kingston Peninsula.

The river was relatively free of boats with the wind light and the humidity building. As Long Island came into view, I overheard another reason for the nervousness of the launch; the possibility of thunderstorms. The sun was now cutting sharply into my gunwales, after an overcast beginning to the journey, and I felt a storm would be unlikely.


We passed the southwest point of Long Island with the affluent, suburban community of Rothesay off my starboard bow. Long Island at this point consists of rolling hills and forest, with the only apparent clearing the small sandy coves at the water's edge. To be honest, I was paying more attention to the horizon, where at Rothesay Yacht Club, cute dinghies were zipping back and forth in competition.

As we headed in a northeasterly direction the island became more rugged and it is here where Long Island's most prominent feature can be seen. Minister's Face is a cliff on the island's southern shore that rises in spectacular fashion, broken but sheer, from the river. We marvelled at it as we slowly sailed by, its cliff face dwarfing my mast.

Beyond Long Island, to the northeast, is a small neighbouring island called Mather Island. This island was once used as a summer vacation destination for Saint John's orphans. The original plan was to circumnavigate Mather Island but the first mate and crew, despite my protestations to continue, would not risk the potential of being grounded in the narrow passage that separates the islands. We backed off and sailed around its southeastern and then northwestern coast, bearing towards the Kingston Peninsula side of Long Island.

From here, looking over the Kingston Peninsula to the north, white clouds could be clearly seen bubbling higher and higher into the humid atmosphere. 


A storm felt a much greater possibility.


With the wind in a southwesterly direction we were having much fun tacking back and forth between Long Island and the Kingston Peninsula, gradually making our zig-zag course downriver. We were having so much fun in fact that we didn't notice that the sky was darkening. As we made our way past the southern portion of the island I felt the rumble of thunder through my hull.


As a sailboat, nothing scares me more than a lightning storm. Okay, with the exception of a shallow coral reef in combination with wild seas and an oil tanker bearing down on me, nothing scares me more than a lightning storm. Luckily my fear was only matched by the first mate and crew, who immediately made for the coastline of Kingston Peninsula. We then hugged the coast, waiting to see if the storm would break over us.

The first flash of lightening confirmed our fears and we dropped anchor by a small cove. Here the first mate and crew abandoned me to fend for myself, to see if my small but perfectly formed mast would be prominent enough to attract a fork of lightening that would blow me out of the water and into sailboat heaven.


The next thing I felt was a squall of wind hitting me full across my beam, making me drag my anchor. The first mate, bless his bald pate, jumped into the water grabbed my stern line and tied me securely to a limb of a nearby tree.


The rain was torrential and the wind blasted me for the next three quarters of an hour, but the storm blew out as quickly as it had arrived. The first mate and crew, drenched and cold, were keen to set sail and we made for the gap between the Kingston Peninsula and Long Island's southern most point.

By the time we had negotiated our way down river past the Millidgeville to Kingston Peninsula ferry back to RKYC, the sun was shining and it was as if the storm had never occurred. In fact, the only give-away was the shaking hand with which the first mate gripped my stead fast tiller.


Temperature: 25C
Wind: slight to moderate (squalls)
Length: 23 miles
Duration: 7 hours (including 1 hour at anchor)

Picnic at McCormack Cove

McCormack Cove is is Kennebecasis Island's most striking feature; a huge gouge in the southern flank of the island that almost splits the island in two. It is named after the most notable of the families that farmed the island in the 19th century.

When the wind is in a northerly direction the cove can be a sheltered spot for a picnic. But I was surprised with the choice this evening given the south westerly wind, that meant that all the gusts would enter directly into the cove without any shelter.


However, the purpose of this trip, it soon became clear, was not only to have a picnic in scenic surroundings but to provide testing conditions for some tacking practice by the crew.


McCormack Cove is wooded with a prominent headland jutting out from its centre, and a few of the island's summer cottages add to the pleasant surroundings. One particular cottage reminded the first mate and crew of their cottage they once owned in Northern Ireland.

Temperature: 22C
Wind: Moderate
Length: 6 miles
Duration: 1.5 hours

Traversing the St. John River

We sailed out between Indian Island and Ragged Point with the wind light and from the north west. There was plenty of opportunity to admire the high-end houses that cling to the steep sides and line the small coves of the rugged terrain.

Once around the final headland we moved out of the Kennebecasis River and into the St. John River. This area is known as Grand Bay and is a spectacular sight with a wide expanse of water due to both rivers being well over a mile wide when they join. To the south the start of the relatively narrow and gorge-like outlet of the St. John River can be viewed where the river angrily and noisily spills into the cold water of the Bay of Fundy through the Reversing Falls. However, rather than heading south we set a direct course across the St. John River to one of RKYC's neighbouring boat clubs Saint John Marina.

When we were about 100 yards from the marina a course was set south towards South Bay. At the entrance to the bay two giant pylons provide the height required for electricity cables to span the half-mile wide stretch of water. We followed these wires from west to east and to the south we could make out cars glinting in the bright sunshine in the car park by the beach at Sand Cove.

We tacked back across the St. John River, past the new houses being built on the Anchorage and back past Ragged Point to a smooth docking at RKYC.


Temperature: 25C
Wind: Light
Distance: 9 miles
Duration: 3 hours

Postscript

Later that day my crew and first mate eloped onto a larger sailing boat for a similar voyage across Grand Bay. I was very jealous because I couldn't help but notice them admiring its towering mast. Afterwards, they told me that they felt guilty for their transgression and asked my forgiveness.

A sailboat may forgive but never forgets!

Circumnavigating Kennebecasis Island

From space, Kingston Peninsula must look like a giant 20 mile long river monster, its head jutting south west and separating the St. John River from the Kennebecasis River. The morsel it appears to be about to capture in its formidable jaws is Kennebecasis Island.


From the river, Kennebecasis Island is a lot more significant than a mere morsel. Through the 19th century the island supported a small community of pioneering farmers, and even their children went to school on the island. Today the island is home to a cluster of summer cottages and their residents, who take advantage of the cable ferry that runs through the months when the river is free of ice. It was therefore an interesting and challenging choice that the first mate and crew made to sail around this island.

The wind was moderate and the sun was still high as we sailed directly off our moorings. The mainsail was raised first and it was a pretty smooth launch when compared with the slap-stick effort of the first voyage. We headed north past Goat Island at a steady pace directly towards the 400 yard wide channel where the cable ferry was busy transporting vehicles back and forth laden not only with their passengers, but with the food and drink that would allow them to celebrate Canada Day in a suitable fashion. 


In the narrow sheltered channel our speed dropped and as we passed the island's Keith Cove we had plenty of time to admire all the sailboats and motor cruisers moored up and decked out with their Canada Day bunting and flags. As we passed through Milkish Channel and headed west we could see a covered bridge on the peninsula. We tacked south west as the island narrows and the channel widened and there was less shelter from the wind. The size of the waves gradually increased.


By the time we left the channel both my bow and stern lines were trailing behind in the water and soon after the first crew's cap became the first casualty lost over board. The second casualty was the camera which succumbed to water damage. Spray from the waves' white caps was soaking the crew and first mate and it tickled my coamings as we sailed close hauled to clear the island's westerly headland. This, I remembered, was why I had dreamed of returning to the river.


Once we cleared the headland we set a quick course directly back to RKYC where the masts of the remaining sailboats at their berths could be seen on the horizon. As the sailing became easier, I could sense sighs of relief from the crew and first mate. I wanted to return to the waters off that headland, heel right over and hear my hull slam against the waves once again. 


I am sailed therefore I am.

Temperature: 25C
Wind: Moderate
Length of Voyage: 10 miles
Duration: 2.5 hours

The Voyage of the Three Islands

This morning there was a cool refreshing mist coming off the cold waters of the Bay of Fundy that rolled over the hills of Saint John down into Millidgeville. First mate and crew were at the moorings and I could sense their anticipation and excitement. They hurriedly fixed my stays in place with new, shiny pins and then they fitted the jib and mainsail in preparation for raising.

In the past I have had a small motor fitted to my stern, but the first mate claims he has a sailing purists ideology and that we must sail (or if required paddle) off our mooring. I notice that nobody else shares his ideology at RKYC. I also notice that they didn't feel confident enough to sail off the moorings this time but instead paddled out into the river before desperately fumbling at my halyards as they raised the jib and mainsail. Again, there were some profanities that I did not approve of!


Obviously they were not very confident on this, their maiden voyage. 


We set off at an overly leisurely pace, as they got to grips with my tiller and sheets, from the little bay in which RKYC is located towards Burnt Island.


Burnt Island is located only 100 yards off the mainland. A circular shaped, steep sided, rocky island roughly 250 yards across and covered in forest, it looks the perfect location for the lair of a James Bond villain. However, as far as I can see the island is uninhabited.


As you approach the island you pass Tucker Park. With its beach it is a popular location for Millidgeville residents who wish to swim and paddle in the relatively warm waters of the river. Overlooking the island from the mainland is a Gothic style mansion, but none of this seemed to be the focus of the first mate and captain who, at the slow pace of sail, were having to fight off ravenous horse flies.

Once (eventually) past the island we headed north and gathered speed before heading down river in the direction of Goat Island and Indian Island. These two islands are located about half a mile south west of Burnt Island. From the air, I have been told, they resemble two huge whales, the large Indian Island chasing the smaller Goat Island.  There is a shallow channel of water 100 yards wide separating the two. Like Burnt Island these islands are uninhabited but are both popular with the Saint John kayaking fraternity who, during the summer months, will often camp and party on the islands' beaches.

We passed to the south of Goat Island before tacking north through the narrow channel separating the islands. This maneuver would not be undertaken by large sailboats, but with my draft being little more than two feet and the river being high after recent storms there was little risk of grounding on the sand bar.


From here we set a course parallel to the northwest shore of Indian Island heading towards Ragged Point on the mainland. This is the location where the Kennebecasis River joins the St. John River. A southerly tack, followed by a course in a north easterly direction along the southwest coast of Indian Island led us back into the narrow channel once more. Once through we completed a figure of eight around the two islands.

With the sound of rumbling stomachs resonating from the crew and first mate, the voyage was almost complete and we headed towards RKYC, which was half a mile to the south. I was pleasantly surprised, albeit in easy sailing conditions, how these two apparent novices had coped. But my exasperation was soon rekindled.


Coming back towards the moorings there was much panic trying to get the sails down in good time while staying in control. Meanwhile larger boats, travelling out from RKYC, pushed their way past seemingly oblivious to the confusion. Eventually, with sails half down and flapping in the wind the first mate and crew paddled the remaining 100 yards to the mooring and a well earned rest.

Temperature: 20C
Wind: Light
Length of Voyage: 5 miles (4.3 nautical miles)
Time: 2.5 hours