Shediac

Shediac  was to be a biitersweet destination for us. We were expecting and looking forward to seeing family there.  Dawson, our 8 year old grandson was coming aboard to sail with us to our following destination, Pictou, NS.  But at the same time we were aware that we would be putting our voyage on hold in Pictou.  Keith had to return to work. We were a week away from our final destination on the south shore but we were also well aware of how quickly one week could turn into two because of the weather upsets that had been so prevalent this summer. We were out of time so the decision had to be made to get the vessel to the safest and most convenient port in NS where we could leave her until we could return when time permitted to continue the trip.

It was another beautiful day.  We sailed, still dodging lobster pot buoys; we remained further offshore to the centre of the Strait where the waters were deepest and there were fewer settings.  As we entered Shediac Bay we could see the white sails of other sailboats lining the Bay. The local sailors were enjoying the conditions too.  But again the weather can turn in a moment and behind us we could see the clouds darkening and building. 

There are 2 marinas in Shediac and a large sheltered basin to anchor.  With so many boats in the bay we knew the exodus into shelter from the bay and the upcoming storm would be heavy.  We doused our sails early to prepare for the run in to the harbour with the other boats. We were further out into the bay than most so we knew we would be one of the latter boats arriving. We watched  as they lined in order to approach the harbour and followed suit.  The dog-legged channel is well marked by 3 sets of range lights and buoys but it is important not to miss any of them.  One could easily end up on the Chene Bank or the shoals at Snake Point.  The very shallow channel silts heavily with the shifting sands from the beautiful beaches that Shediac is so well known for.  The buoys are moved regularly to mark the deepest channel.  We had read that the entry into the Pointe du Chene Yacht Club was only a narrow gap between the breakwater and the Chene Bank.  We just did not realize how narrow.

Upon our approach we had seen a Canadian Coast Guard boat speeding further past us out into the Strait. We were commented to each other that perhaps one of the other sailboats out there was caught in that storm that was looming on our stern and we had missed hearing the call over the VHF.  But we continued in and were shocked by the narrowness of the entry channel.  It follows along the breakwater to a very sharp 180* turn just as you enter and then an another immediate 180* turn to reach the boat slips with a width of 30 feet the full length of the channel.  Just as we were making the first 180* turn we ran aground.  Apparently, we were far too close to the inner side of the green marking buoys inside the channel– we found this out later from local sailors who told us that the heavy weather this year has caused deep silting in the channel  and  funds had not yet been made  available to dredge it – one fellow told us that locals are aware of it so they hug the breakwater upon their exit and entry to avoid the sand closer to the markers. But not being locals we favoured hugging the buoys rather than the jagged rocky breakwater in a 30 foot channel and we ended up buried in the sand.

We were not worried about the boat because we had been stuck just hours before in Bouctouche in the same kind of soft sand but you can imagine our state.  Here we were stuck in the channel , blocking the channel that would protect the boats waiting in line behind us to enter, in full view of all the other sailors in the harbour and all those who have lined up to see what all the commotion was about.   The smaller boats behind us were able to pull by us and one fellow in a speedboat attempted to tow us but his boat was not powerful enough and broke the tow rope.  Other fellows arrived in dinghies kindly offering us their condolences and advice. But we were stuck and the only option was a tow as there were boats waiting to enter. We were not able to wait for tidal lift this time – we were on the opposite side of high tide.  Soon there would be less water under us that would make the release all that much more difficult.

As luck would have it the Canadian Coast Guard vessel had returned.  Buddy in a dinghy scooted out to them to find out what their procedure was.  When he returned with the scoop; we called them on our VHF radio and made arrangements for a tow and shortly thereafter, we were pulled free of the sand and into the harbour entry.   Cheers and clapping could be heard from the crowd watching as the afternoon’s entertainment had ended and all was safe and sound.  We had arrived in the harbour before Dawson had.  We were concerned he may be one of the onlookers and may now be frightened by the prospect of coming aboard.  Apparently, we had not been the only vessel to have run aground in the same spot this summer.  Stories were told about far worse groundings and recoveries than ours but I am not sure they restored the captain’s sense of dignity nor mine as much as we would have liked.   

While we were securing Bridlewilde to the marina floating dock we had been assigned, Dawson arrived with his parents and dog, Duke. Wewere overjoyed to see them and  enjoyed the remainder of the afternoon.  We ventured out onto the water just before dark to take everyone out for a short sail. Dawson was thrilled and this was the first trip out on the water on Bridlewilde for Ben, although he had been aboard her many times before , it was always while she was on the hard in Ontario.  The re entry to the harbour was uneventful .  With all the information to work with, the captain and Bridlewilde had no difficulty.   Dawson’s parents returned to the valley and we prepared for departure the following day.

The storm had arrived bringing with it the spoils of nasty weather conditions for those wanting to travel the water the following day.  It was unsafe for us to travel the 15 hour sail to Pictou especially with Dawson aboard. We did not want his first experience aboard our boat to be anything but great so we made the call to leave her there and go back to the valley from Shediac.  We would return to sail her back as soon as Keith could get away from work.  Our friends Bruce and Belinda, came to pick us up and drive us the 3 hour drive it would take to get us home.

While we waited for them to arrive, I packed up what was needed to take home with us. Dawson and his grandfather went gunk holing in the dinghy.  Dawson was learning how to drive it and our little 3.5 hp engine is just the perfect size for him to learn with.  In the warm shallow waters of the Chene Bank, Dawson was in his glory; they scouted out to Parlee Beach to snorkel, cruised around Snake Point to set up camp, and dug for hermit crabs in the sand of the shoal.  Upon his return, he had shells to display, hermit crabs to house, diving stories to relate,  fort building details and adventures on his desert island to tell,  tales of outrunning the pirates they had run across and grandiose ideas for his next cruise.  He is a treasure himself!  It was so good to see him again.

On Day 39, August 15^th Bruce and Belinda arrived and it was with a heavy heart that we got into their car – A car – I hadn’t been in a car for months - but we were resigned  and I knew we had to open that door to reality and step back in.  It seemed to me as though I was awakening from a wonderful dream. I wanted to fall back to sleep to slip back into the unconsciousness of the marvelous dreamland I had been floating around in for the past 4 months.  But that was not to be and we were back in our house in the valley before we knew it.