The True North Channel
Published: Monday, November 7, 2022 12:00 pm
By: Bruce Kemp
A version of this article appeared in the Buyer's Guide 2023 of Great Lakes Scuttlebutt magazine.
For years I’d been suggesting that Bob and Suze come cruising with us. Devout cottagers, they have a beautiful, century-old log cabin on the Bruce Peninsula. But while Bob seemed content to sit and watch the grass grow beneath his Adirondack chair, Suze was set to go exploring once their daughter Amanda became a teenager and wanted to avoid them completely.
We sold Bob on the idea of cruising by telling him a boat was just like a cottage where the scenery (and grass) could be changed on a whim.
We were setting out to explore the North Channel – that magical stretch of Lake Huron between Manitoulin Island and the mainland of Northern Ontario west of Georgian Bay.
Hundreds of trees have been sacrificed for stories about the channel, and I’ve contributed my fair share. But on this trip, I had a new agenda – actually, two agendas. First, I wanted to introduce Bob and Suze to the pleasures of cruising. And second, I wanted to revisit and view the region in the same the way the iconic landscape painters of the Group of Seven, did three-quarters of a century ago.
Growing up in Ontario, I spent a large part of my school years checking out the prints of contorted trees and wicked westerly storms while awaiting my audience with Principal Frank for my infraction du jour.
We chartered a Hunter 35.6 from Canadian Yacht Charters (CYC). The Hunter had a big forepeak with a double berth and all kinds of stowage space along with a big aft cabin – a double berth again. It was easy to sail and had a good name – Bay Spirit.
Most Canadians, and more than a few Americans, who know about the Groups painters associate them with Ontario’s Algonquin Park, but the artists ranged far and wide, painting in Quebec, Ontario, Alberta, British Columbia and the Canadian Arctic.
We arrived at the CYC base in Gore Bay on Manitoulin Island shortly before noon. The wind was blowing 18 to 20 knots out of the northwest but settled down and by the time we slipped our lines the breeze was manageable.
Because we wanted to anchor at a reasonable hour, and be headed in a direction that would put the Bay of Islands, Baie Fine and Killarney within easy daily sailing distances, we chose the Benjamin Islands as our first anchorage.
Two hours took us to the Sow and Pigs – the rocky islets guarding the southern entrance to the Benjamin’s. Navigating here isn’t treacherous, but it does require your full attention to keep the boat lined up in the channel.
It would have taken another 20 minutes for us to bring Bay Spirit into the Benjamin basin, but with everyone pooped from a long day, we decided to set the hook in the inner anchorage at Croker Island.
As it was early in the season, there were just two other boats sharing the anchorage. An American Hatteras named Sassy was nosed up to the shore, and a steel sloop, was anchored out in the deeper water of the pool.
The Croker Island anchorage is well protected from all quarters. There are two basins. The north pool, the largest, features a good sand beach for swimming. You can’t come too close as it shallows quickly, but the beach is easily reached by dinghy. The southern pool is rimmed by pink granite and topped with pines.
We were early enough for a quick swim. It was one of those heart-stopping plunges when a toe-dip wouldn’t do enough to convince you the water was warm. The only way to find out was by making a full-gainer commitment off the swim platform. Fortunately, my heart didn’t stop, and Suze joined me. Laurie and Bob just watched from the warmth of the cockpit.
As we towelled off, Bob began grilling steaks. It was one of those first night dinners that couldn’t be matched anywhere, and the sun downers put us in a gentle mood. A kingfisher did a couple of strafing runs over the boat, and a great blue heron lifted off from the reed bed a hundred metres away.
Next morning, we overslept, which was okay, because it was the summer solstice and we had a long stretch of daylight ahead of us. Nonetheless, we still had to make tracks to hit the Bay of Islands.
A second pot of coffee was made on the go, and we settled in for the route north of Clapperton Island. My plan was to end up in the Bay of Islands and tour some of the shallow islets by dinghy, looking for sites where Frank Carmichael and A. J. Casson (two members of the Group of Seven) painted.
During the 1920s and ‘30s Carmichael kept returning bringing A. Y. Jackson and the others with him. Jackson loved the light here. He wrote: “Every wind brought its change of colour – the North wind with everything sharply defined and the distant islands lifted above the horizon by mirage; the South wind – the blue giving way to greys and browns and the water washing over the shoals; and the West wind best of all sparkling and full of movement….”
Though we sailed through the region, members of the Group of Seven canoed it, stopping to sketch whenever they saw something that pleased them. We had wind direction to consider, and when it came time to make the turn north into the Bay of Islands, the wind was bang on our nose. None of us relished the prospect of being driven into a rock-strewn bay while tacking.
Instead, we headed for the next stop on our pilgrimage. Laurie put Suze on the helm and began teaching her how to steer the boat. With Suze driving, we made for the north end of the Waubuno Channel.
Bay Spirit made the serpentine passage past Little Current to the swing bridge that connects the mainland and Manitoulin Island. We got there shortly after 1 p.m. and had to wait for the two o’clock opening. Passing the Strawberry Island lighthouse on the other side of the bridge, I informed everyone that this was a famous lighthouse. Bob took me to task asking, “If it’s so famous, why haven’t I ever heard of it?”
“I can’t be responsible for your lack of education,” was my insightful rejoinder and I turned to Suze to back me up on the light’s notoriety. She’d never heard of it either. I was chagrined until I remembered that the Grand Bend Yacht Club was so taken with the structure, they modelled their clubhouse after it.
After crossing Frazer Bay with Bob driving (he turned out to be a natural helmsman), we motored into Baie Fine. I wanted to hike up to Topaz Lake. Topaz was the subject of one Jackson’s paintings. It sits 450 feet above the anchorage at the end of Baie Fine, in a kettle formed by the La Cloche hills.
The white quartz of McGregor Point and the Blue Ridge (part of the La Cloche hills) overlooking the Pool was turning a rich hue of pink in the declining sun as we anchored. There were only a few other boats, including another CYC yacht riding at anchor.
The next morning, we began our ascent to Topaz Lake. The landing at the foot of the trail it was still overgrown with weeds because there had not been enough traffic to beat them down. When blueberry season started that would change.
It takes the better part of an hour to hike up and we made it with a minimum of sweat and bug bites. The lake reflected a clear sky, giving the water that peculiar northern shade of blue that turns to black as you look at it. I could see why Jackson would choose this as a subject.
The morning was splendid, and we made our way along a narrow path at the edge of the Blue Ridge. From here we could see the entire pool and much of the length of the outer arm of Baie Fine.
Compared to other cruising grounds, the North Channel has a lot of places to acquire food and fuel. Although CYC will provision your boat, you can visit one of several grocery stores and the liquor store in Gore Bay. Mid-trip, if you are anywhere near Little Current, tie up to the town dock or stop at one of the marinas to do some shopping. Farther east, Killarney, Ontario, has a grocery store and, as far as we know, the only liquor store in the province with its own dock.
A day later we cruised into Killarney to pick up some groceries and pump out. We stretched our legs around town and lunched on pickerel and fries at the red Herbert’s school bus-cum-restaurant. Someone mentioned the stained glass in the St. Bonaventure church on the town’s main street. The church was open, so I slipped in to have a look. One window depicted the martyrdom of the Jesuit St. Jean de Brébeuf. Another was an intertwined anchor with fish on a background of a net catching a haul of stars, and a third showed a sailing ship symbolizing Christianity. The windows are worth a look, and they made me wonder if there is some magic in the waters and forests of the Canadian Shield that causes highly attuned painters and the fishermen-parishioners of St. Bonaventure’s to see the beauty of this unimaginable landscape, where lesser mortals might only see simple rocks and trees.
About the Author
Bruce Kemp is an award-winning writer and photojournalist who lives in Merrickville on the Rideau Canal in Ontario, Canada. He is also the author of The Fugitive’s Son, Weather Bomb 1913, and The Whales of Lake Erie.
tags: Georgian Bay, Lake Huron
