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)
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