Thirteen hours door to door. Rain, sometimes heavy, from Espanola to the Sault. Eight stops, for dog walks and to relieve cramped legs. (Not much room in the Subaru, but it did well towing the trailer.) Whitewater house intact—too dark to survey the yard.
Huge south wind, adding some interest to the process of haulilng the boat; main and mizzen sails removed, but the big jib left for a calmer day as it would have become unruly, unmanageable, and destructive.
Another boat, a 32-foot Catalina, was hauled just before us, and we had the opportunity of watching a fascinating display of boating incompetence. As we were walking to Heliotrope they were trying to get out of their slip. Unused to wind apparently, they got the boat crosswise, nearly wedged between two finger docks. Lots of running back and forth and pushing this way and that finally got them free of the dock, but then the first mate threw the bow line into the water. "That can't be good," I said, sotto voce. "I wonder how they will handle things when that line wraps around the prop?" All of which just shows how little I know—the boat never went forward. The skipper seemed to much prefer reverse, and somehow backed all the way to the gas dock, where a number of on-shore helpers worked valiantly to minimize the crash. I met the couple later, on the hard, and they seemed absolutely nonchalant and quite confident in their seamanship, wanting to chat about this and that.
Packing up tonight for tomorrow's drive to Wisconsin.
Last of the water this season.
Ready to burn.
And our first, almost red tomatoes.
Air ever so clear and cold. A.M. wind and surf, settling back to to an afternoon calm. We worked on road beautification (repairing Hydro damage by chopping, dragging, and flatening all the debris in the right-of way) and in doing so discdovered several more logs of ash, which were drug out, chopped, and turned over to the J&ME splitting team for splitation. Our stockpile of excellent firewood grows, and this evening a few pieces from today's cut have the stove glowing and the house cozy.
Furthermore, just while we were not looking, autumn has "come in on little cat feet..."
In the hour before dinner (and blog time) I sat in the Zen spot, watching clouds make layer cakes, cream-puffs, and Yorkshire pudding; listening to a small surf set the rocks to murmuring about the season to come. A threesome of mergansers worked south to north, dipping their hammerheads below the surface to scan for minnows; and gulls held steadfast to their evening flight patterns up and down the shore. Pax wandered up and down, and back an forth, taking a drink, encouraging the mergansers to move along, then finally then settling down on the big limestone flags alongside my chair, and he often does, giving a sigh, content in his knowledge of the Eightfold Path.
Earlier in the day, actually rather earlier, it was all about sailing. Even before the clock struck eight, Heliotrope was footing out of Mudge bay, on a fine northeast slant to the channel, where the pivot brought her wing-and-wing for a sustained four+ knots all the way from Kittiwake Rock to the big west-end lighted buoy, J19. All the while we watched a squadron of heavy black destroyers move over the mainland to the north. Rain there, but just a some tatters on us. A few miles out, the wind dissipated, leaving a brief calm, before the wind came back, this time from the southwest. But three tacks later we were into and down Gore Bay, where Heliotrope is now well secured on "A" dock, to be hauled on Friday.
So now, the pier is gone, Heliotrope is no longer here, and the weather looks deliciously bad. Sounds like fall, eh?
I remember when Heliotrope made the trip this spring from Gore Bay to Kagawong, and I remember when the pier went in. Wasn't that yesterday?
Although the boardwalk has now become a very close approximation of a pier. It is going to have to fend for itself this winter, and this spring when the ice comes in, so it will be interesting to see what remains in May. Much less fun taking a pier out than putting one in (although the water is warmer).
Stealth ornaments. Imported from Eureka Springs, and hung this spring, but so far mostly unnoticed.
We tried again to sail the boat to Gore Bay, but out in the Bay we were met, once again, by a blast from the west and turned tail.
Try again tomorrow.
After coffee, and a nice frittata, we went for a sail, the ostensible objective being Gore Bay. A fine close reach brought us out and into the channel but then the wind really piped up, and right on the nose, so we dropped the main, raised the mizzen and turned back, taking a sleigh ride back down the bay and then along our shore.
Photo courtesy Mary Ellen
That was tiring, but after naps we walked up to the falls, where there were hundreds of salmon thronging the waterfall pool, having made it all the way up their river of origin in order to start the next generation, and then die.
After that is was lasagna apple pie, and lots of conversation, with J&ME, Murray&Eline, Jim&RoseMary, and us.
Not the prettiest day—cool, windy, and mostly cloudy. However, the Leavers (of Whitewater) arrived from Stratford (and a week of plays), and we had a pleasant evening of conversation, smoked pork chops, a walk in the dark along the Lane, and then tea and baklava.
Steady rain most of the night and well into the morning, necessitating a late rising. Cold and damp, necessitating a good fire in the stove. North wind with big, pounding surf.
Necessitating a trip to the marina to check on the boats, only to be blocked by a cordon of turkeys. (Possibly, someday, Cordon Bleu turkeys, eh?)
Then an afternoon of sunshowers—first sun, then showers.
Ultimately, we hope, leading into a perfectly clear night—solar storms may be producing substantial aurora borealis.
One of those fine fall mornings when you step outside, look up at patches of blue among the rolling gray, take a deep breath of newly-minted but balsam-scented air, and say "holy cow it's cold." That's also when you know you are going to have fried green tomatoes rather than juicy red ones.
Here is the new tree nursery. We collected about a dozen white oak acorns on or river walk yesterday, and they all sank when put in water. Now we are trying to find some viable red ones. Next spring, little trees, yes?
Grey, windy morning, with a real bite in the air. Perfect for the "wood warms you three times" shtick. Though, to be honest, I think it was Thoreau who first made this observation, and he suggested the warming effect was only binary.
Photos courtesy of Mary Ellen.
But, whatever, wood we've got—piles of it, and we are ready for pretty much any chill.
In the afternoon Pax demanded a walk along the river, but when, on our way there, we checked how the boats were handling the big north-west blow, we found a substantial deadhead bobbing dangerously near the finger docks. Seeing this, we sprang to action, launching the Geode, lassoing the timber, and towing it to shore.
After that, we walked partway up the river, where we saw several salmon thrashing their way upstream through an unseasonably strong current.