830 
FOREST* AND STREAM. 
[Oct. is, 1904. 
it is only the west end of the head of the peninsula form- 
ing the west side of Presqu'ile and Brighton harbors. 
The evening fell, and a reddening of the western clouds 
told us the sun had set. With the growing dusk the E. wind 
freshened and hopes of a night in port revived within 
us. Then darkness almost completely closed about us, 
utterly shutting out the great world. It was small wonder 
that the growing darkness, the whistling wind, and the 
dangers of making a difficult port in the darkness of night 
induced in Watty a slight feeling of nervousness, for to 
him all this was new. But we are not entirely alone. 
There to starboard blinks a distant yellow eye. Ah, the 
Scotch Bonnet ! Then to oort shines out a nearer glare- — 
Presqu'ile Point light — white, strong, and steady. Toward 
the Presqu'ile light, and toward the hidden dangers of the 
Presqu'ile rocks and shoals, we slip along. To pick up 
Presqu'ile range lights was an absorbing occupation. 
Ahead to the E. there glimmered a red and a white light. 
"Looks like Weller Bay," muttered the Skipper; "but 
still, if they are not the range lights, where in Sam Hill 
are the range lights? Go forward, Watty, and keep your 
eyes peeled." We were now on the starboard tack, and 
Presqu'ile light was hidden from the Skipper by the main- 
sail. The red and white lights looked so desperately far 
off that doubt and uncertainty filled his mind. Suddenly 
Watty hailed, -White light showing, apparently E. of 
Presqu'ile light." "Ay, ay, Watty ! Now we have it," 
and the Skipper quickly eased off sheets a bit and bore 
away for the shy twinkler. 
Nearer and clearer grows the first range light. There 
beyond it to the N. is another white light, and beyond 
that again a red light. Our course is now clear. Keep 
the white lights in range till the first glides by to port; 
then keep the second white and the red in range till the 
second white is passed to starboard; after that either run 
on N. and anchor near to Brighton piers, or turn to 
starboard round the second white light and head for the 
white light marking the channel to' the mouth of the 
Murray Canal. 
Our choice was to lay at Brighton, and so about mid- 
night, after a dashing sail up the bay, our anchor rattled 
down to the bottom in about 10ft. or 12ft. of water, close 
to the N. shore. 
Morning broke heavy and gray, with clouds and mist, 
anon thundering bursts of driving rain upon us. Late 
hours at night meant late hours in the morning, and after 
a late breakfast the crew manifested no undue anxiety 
to get under way. Toward noon the Skipper tired of in- 
action, and gave the word "On to Trenton, rain or no 
rain," and the crew responded with alacrity. A moderate 
S.E. wind was blowing, enabling us to nicely lay a course 
for the mouth of the canal. The rain soon ceased to fall, 
but the wind gradually increased in force. 
Once inside the canal, trouble began for the Skipper. 
The wind was then blowing hard, but the banks of the 
canal and various groves of trees at times stopped the 
breeze, and made the sailing most exasperating. Now 
the wind comes free, then dead ahead; now a zephyr, then 
suddenly a howling gale. Now we glide along the canal 
pointing our course, then a foul puff comes and we edge 
nearer and nearer the sharp stones of the northern bank. 
"Ready about !" shouts the Skipper, and away we shoot 
on a short leg of 60 or 70 feet to the weather side. 
About again, we start once more a long diagonal toward 
the northern bank. This style of work is varied by the 
excitement of hauling and passing four swing bridges, 
an exchange of compliments with the west-bound Macki- 
naw Tainui, and the receipt of a few remarks on the 
pleasure of yachting from facetious farmers driving along 
the tow path. 
At last we reach the piers at the E. end of the canal, 
and swing out into the Bay of Quinte, which a look at 
the chart will show to resemble almost anything but a 
bay. On its dark waters, among its wooded islands, and 
past its many outreaching points, we were now to do our 
sailing, and while I think of it, take this lesson to your 
heart — "Buoys wherever found must be carefully fol- 
lowed." If you think you can neglect them with even 3ft. 
draft, you are mistaken. Between the canal and Trenton 
a long shoal is marked by three red buoys, which must be 
left to starboard. 
By 4 o'clock we had anchored off Trenton, with the 
wind still strong from the S.E., and a dirty looking sky 
overhead. Our hook was hardly down before a large 
sized, weatherbeaten, serge-clad individual rowed out 
from the town and announced himself as the "Commo- 
dore." He further informed us that our position was not 
a good one, as the wind was likely to "blow like h — ■ 
from the S.E.," and advised us to come inside the new 
cold storage dock. We did so, and found a very snug 
little spot where we lay with our bow to the dock and a 
small anchor over the stern. While the Skipper was 
dropping the anchor, the "Commodore" dropped a pair 
of huge legs down the hatchway, and surprised Watty 
with a request for "Some good Scotch whiskey or 
Canadian would do on a pinch." He got some Canadian, 
and then, puffing at one of Watty's Pittsburg stogies, pro- 
ceeded to enlighten us on the failings of well-known yacht 
skippers and on the manner in which he had tendered 
good advice to some of them. We are now inclined to 
think that possibly his advice to- us was not altogether 
disinterested, and perhaps not even necessary. 
Trenton is noted as the possessor of an antiquated 
stable serving as a bridge over the Trent River. This 
bridge is covered in and has hogged and sagged in so 
many ways that in profile it is a good deal like the street 
in Damascus "which is called straight, and which is a 
little straighter than a corkscrew, but not quite so straight 
as a rainbow." Trenton has another specialty — a rather 
high, steep, -round-topped hill just at the back of the 
town. Watty asked a bright looking boy what the name 
of the hill was. "What hill?" said the boy. "Why that 
hill," said Watty, pointing with his finger. "That? Oh, 
that's the mountain," was the reply. 
The morning was again dull, cool, and spitting with 
rain. The wind was fresh from the S.E.,' but. in such 
sheltered waters the sea, though choppy, was not heavy 
enough to interfere with speed in windward work. One 
reef in the mainsail seemed to provide comfortable sail- 
ing, so we turned it in and poked our nose out into the 
open. The course is plain, but "watch well the buoys." 
One large black cuter evidently had not, for she was 
being ignominio-usly towed westward by a snorting tug, 
while a man aft kept jerking spouts of clear water out of 
a large tin pump with its suction end stuck down the 
hatchway. 
This was a day of lively close-hauled work, the boat 
just laying her course and keeping the land slipping by at 
about a four-mile gait. Ten miles seem to vanish in no 
time, and there is the long stretch of Belleville bridge. 
Watty sends a melodious sea bellow floating- off through 
the megaphone, and grudgingly the bridge keeper opens 
up enough to let us corkscrew through. A couple of 
miles further on" we pass Massasauga Park and enter Big 
or Hall Bay. Here the wind has a wider sweep, and get- 
ting lunch proved no easy task for Watty, for the boat 
was lying down to her work, and prancing in most lively 
fashion. 
. 'U^he east end of the big bay on the Prince Edward 
side is the village of Northport, and aft it lies a shoal 
i~„iked by four red buoys. Now the bay narrows again, 
and we pass a lighthouse on a little island which gives 
the range with Belleville light. Then looms up the tall 
sawdust burners of Deseronto, and the gay summer cot- 
tages on Forester's Island. 
If your draft is very light you may turn south through 
the channel west of Forester's Island. With 3ft. or over, 
take the E. channel and keep outside a buoy near the S. 
end of the island. 
Just before we reached Forester's Island the wind piped 
up with an ominous whistle in the rigging, and a waving 
and bending of the trees ashore. A second reef was tied 
down in the mainsail. Then the mizzen and big jib came 
down, and a storm jib went up instead. This canvas we 
held till well S. of Forester's Island in the lovely reach 
stretching down to Picton, some twelve miles away. To 
have the pleasure of this sail, it is worth while braving 
many trying storms and exasperating calms. The water 
is clear and deep; the banks rise high on either side, 
robed in many tinted green. Here summer cottages peep 
through the trees close to the water's edge; there a fresh 
green cultivated field creeps down the side of a slope. 
Now the wind begins to free and fall lighter, so little by 
little we spread wider wings to the blast, and the patent 
log clicks a merrier tune. Hay Bay opens up to port and 
allows the wind a fairer sweep than ever, and faster and 
yet faster we speed on our way. Watty holds the watch 
on the log. "What is it, Watty?" "Six just," comes the 
answer. Now we open up Adolphus Reach stretching 
away to the E. toward Kingston, and the wind frees yet 
a trifle more. "What says the log now, Watty?" "Six 
point three," replies Watty, and so we speed down the 
cul-de-sac of Picton Bay and drop anchor at 8 :o5 P. M. 
in the snug little harbor close to the E. shore. The Skip- 
per enters in his log, "Forty-four miles run; time, 11 
hours." 
No hurry the next day, as our goal— McDonald's or 
Prinyer Cove — is only 15 miles away. So leisurely we 
"do" the town of Picton, renewing stores and patronizing 
the post-office. Then with a fresh S.W. wind we run 
N.W. for Glenora, with one reef in the mainsail. A large 
open boat starts before us, and afraid, apparently, to run 
dead before the wind, zig-zags up the bay. We, too steady 
to fear rolling; with free sheets, steer straight as a die and 
steadily drop the sloop. Soon the little belfry of Glenora 
church appears high on the sky line around the corner, 
and we swing E. along the S. shore of Adolphus Reach. 
In a few minutes we are close upon the stone mills of 
Glenora, and drop anchor close inshore W. of the dock. 
Offshore the water is very deep, but those who prefer 
may tie up at Glenora dock. 
pi course we climb up the fine road leading to the top 
of the height, and seek the celebrated Lake of the Moun- 
tain. Picture to yourself a clear, emerald green lake, 
several hundred acres in extent, set up here high above 
the bay, the nearest thing to heaven of all around it save 
the trees. Out of it all day long pours a steady, never- 
failing flow driving the whirring turbines of the mill be- 
low. Days and months may pass, seasons change and 
years roll on, but still the little lake fails not nor over- 
flows. From the bay side edge of the bluff a splendid 
panorama spreads out before one. To right and left 
stretches out Adolphus Reach, with rippling squalls 
streaking its dark surface. In front lies Glen Island, and 
off beyond that a silvery shimmer glints through the trees 
from some of the ramifications of Hay Bay. 
But time passes, and we hurry down to our boat to get 
away for the cove. The next hour and a half was filled 
with excitement. The wind was heavy and dropping in 
gusts over the edge of the southern bluffs. Right over 
the quarter it came, so two-reefed mainsail and whole 
jib seemed to suit our needs. Not large canvas, but more 
than enough when a big slaty cloud rolls up overhead, 
throwing a chill shadow before it and carrying under- 
neath it a dancing shimmer of white. A few spits of 
rain and then a stinging gust that buries our lee rail and 
sends us staggering on. A word to Watty sends him 
forward to drop most of the mainsail, leaving the peak 
set up between the lifts. Both squall and rain are soon 
over, and once more we are speeding on our way at a 
6-knot gait, and rapidly nearing the E. entrance of the 
bay. There ahead is the low outline of Amherst Island, 
and here to starboard the entrance to the cove, hardly 
suspected till right at hand. 
No one could ask a better harbor. A lovely arm of 
the bay runs inland about a mile with a greatest breadth 
of less than a quarter mile. The water is deep right up 
to the shore, and the wooded banks show scarce a sign 
of human habitation. On the E. side stands a storm sig- 
nal station, for this is an important harbor of refuge, sit- 
uated as it is at the extreme N.W. corner of Prince' Ed- 
ward county, with no outside harbor nearer than 
Kingston. Here we lay quietly till Saturday morning, 
enjoying to the full the natural pleasures afforded. 
Saturday morning we resumed once more the strenuous 
life, and entered into a wild battle with a W. gale. Re- 
duced to two-reefed mainsal and storm jib, we glided out 
of the cove and into the fierce chop and whistling squalls 
of the reach. But, oh, the wild exhilaration of it all ! 
Hatless, with wind-blown hair and spray-wet faces we 
bucked into it, the while wind and sun seemed to soak 
into the very marrow of our bones. 
A call at Cressy dock for letters varies the excitement. 
Inshore we run on the starboard tack close under the lee 
of the dock; then about and a quick shoot up into the 
wind just at the corner. Watty, watching his chance, 
makes a spring, carrying a line with him, and I see him 
frantically clawing at the edge of the dock, like a cat 
trying to climb a brick wall too high for it. But he suc- 
ceeds at last, and drawing himself on top takes a hasty 
turn round a snubbing post. "Nearly missed it," he cried. 
Then he started off for letters. He subsequently ex- 
plained that the full force of the gale caught him right 
in the face just as he struck the dock, and came within an 
ace of dropping him in the briny. 
Off once more, and this time with an added excitement. 
A big three-masted schooner under lower canvas has 
come into the reach, and there, a mile away to leeward, 
is tackling the same herring-boning contract we have in 
hand. Tack after tack we. watch her. Quicker in stays 
than she and outpointing her, we just about make up for 
her- superior footing. As we near Glenora the wind backs 
a little, and we soon find we have a short leg to the S. 
and a long leg on our way. The schooner likes this bet- 
ter, and crawls up a little. Now the wind backs right 
into the S., and we joyfully ease sheets and speed W. 
with added life. The schooner draws yet a little nearer. 
Watty eyes her glumly, and fervently wishes the wind 
would drop a little, so that Lorna could carry all she 
has. "Never mind wind, Watty, we have a chance yet," 
and the Skipper puts over the helm and squares away N. 
for Deseronto. "Get the spinnaker on her, and we'll give 
that black-hulled tank a chase for her money." The 
spinnaker is soon ballooning out to port, and the schooner 
responds with a raffee on her foremast. Watty notes the 
log— 6 point 4 — and then makes various bets with no 
takers that the schooner will catch us by the time we 
make Forester's Island. But, no ! We seem to hold our 
own— nay, even gain— as the stronger puffs lift our strain- 
ing spinnaker and sets it tugging at the afterguy. At the 
corner of Forester's Island our balloon canvas disappears 
as quickly as a young frog in the presence of a black 
bass, and our sheets come in for a jog to the W. The 
wind is falling now, and up go our big jib and the 
mizzen. About twenty minutes after rounding, Watty 
looked back toward Deseronto and then shouted, "There 
she is !" Sure enough, there, a mile and a half astern, 
that big hooker was just poking her flight of jibs round 
the corner of the I. 0. F. preserve. 
The sun had set before we reached Big Bay, and with 
the sunset the wind died away to a mere summer zephyr. 
The peace and quiet of the evening rested on us like a 
benediction after the hurly-burly of the day, and we 
watched the tawny glow of the sunset fade from the sky 
and water, feeling that, after all, more than half the 
charm of nature lay in the very fickleness of her moods. 
A churning, thudding steamer with her many glaring eyes 
comes surging up through the gloom astern. A wave of a 
lantern over our stern sets her swinging off to starboard, 
and she sweeps by with a tinkle of music and laughter, 
a fleeting vision of brightness. We follow in her wake, 
and, swinging to port out of the steamer course, drop 
anchor under Massasauga Point at 9:15 P. M., well con- 
tent with the day's work. 
Sunday was fitly kept as a day of rest. That is, we 
walked all over the park, took our time over our meals, 
and only troubled ourselves to sail to Belleville during the 
afternoon. There we lay alongside the retaining wall of 
Queen Victoria Park, just ahead of the old Norah, once 
a sloop now a schooner. Norah is one of the relics of 
old Captain Cuthbert, noted as the designer of the 
Countess of Dufferin and Atalanta, two America's Cup 
challengers, and also good old Whitewings, for years the 
champion of her class on the lake, but now a Port Credit 
stonehooker. Here we stayed till 11 130 Monday morning, 
needing stores and having correspondence to attend to. 
A light W. wind set us once more at the old wind- 
jamming game, and the Belleville bridge tender saw to it 
that we had a little more of the corkscrew experience 
squirming through his half-opened bridge. By 5 o'clock 
we had made the canal entrance. The wind was light 
and dead ahead, and Watty looked inquiringly at the 
Skipper, seeking to know what was to happen next. In 
about ten minutes he knew all about it, and found him- 
self out on the tow path at one end of a hundred feet of 
line, the other being made fast half way up the mast to 
keep the line clear of the rough stones of the bank. 
Steadily he settled down to work, musing the while on the 
hardships of dry land yachting, and anon dispersing a 
school of dry land porpoises in the shape of cows. The 
day was cool and the sun getting low, so the conditions 
were favorable for active exercise, and the Skipper did 
not fail to impress upon Watty the beneficial effects of 
towing on the liver, or to encourage him by making com- 
mendatory remarks to all we met on the fine qualities of 
Lorna's "Government mule." Half way through, the mule 
kicked, and the Skipper was fain to take the towline 
himself. 
Seven o'clock saw us through the canal and tied up to 
the end of the N. entrance pier. A hungry pair we were, 
too, after a very active day, and the evening meal fully 
satisfied the crew's propensity for good living and the 
Skipper's pride^ in displaying the qualities of Lorna's 
commissariat. The evening meal was usually our good 
meal. Breakfast was invariably light; lunch, too, was 
usually light. The Skipper holds that health and happi- 
ness are best promoted by moderation in eating and 
drinking, and by avoiding any wide departure from home 
habits. The frying-pan and whiskey bottle are still too 
much in evidence on some yachts. 
The W. wind had now died away completely, and we 
were at the mercy of swarms of hungry mosquitoes till 
Watty in self-defense lit up one of his stogies. These 
were guaranteed to ward off burglars, and the mosquitoes 
simply shrivelled. 
As the moon rose higher and higher, a faint zephyr 
from the E. gained in strength till it finally became a 
good whole sail breeze. Then the swimming reflection 
of the moon broke up into a long lane of frosted silver. 
Round the twinkling lights of the bay we slipped till the 
outer range light was close under our bow, then we 
swung sharply to the W. and again to the S into the 
little cove behind it. There, in 6ft. of water, our anchor 
sought the bottom. 
Du ring the night a heavy thunderstorm broke over us. 
Sleep was out of the question till the din was over. At 
length the last mutter of thunder faded away in the dis- 
tance, and we drowsed off into unconsciousness; but not 
for long. Twice the storm king returned to the attack 
with all his forces, and awoke us to listen to his threaten- 
ings. Watty was a patient man, and said little, but his 
