Tuesday: “Unnamed Bay” on De Courcy Island to Selby Cove, Prevost Island

After a calm, restful night out of the wind, we woke to another clear, sunny morning. We can’t believe our luck with the weather this trip, especially compared to one we took last August that felt like November most of the time.

As we were eating breakfast, we noticed we had company: a family of four river otters was making its way along the shoreline, each member gulping down small fish as they swam along. They were only about thirty feet from us, so it was pretty fun to watch. On the other side of the bay, this guy was still looking for his breakfast.

We didn’t have a planned destination for today, so we got out the charts and discussed some alternatives. We settled on one, but then about ten minutes later we changed our minds and picked a small bay on Prevost Island. We haven’t been there in many years, and we wouldn’t have to fight some strong currents, going against us, to get to our other choice.

You know the feeling you get when something goes terribly wrong very quickly? The rapid pulse, the lump in the stomach, the dilating pupils, the sweaty palms? Then you probably know that when something almost goes terribly wrong very quickly that you feel the same way, but for just an instant and then you feel relief and quickly forget about it. We had the latter experience, fortunately, just after we pulled our anchor and started heading out for our newly decided upon destination. We were leaving a bay on the south end of De Courcy Island, and just to the south of us is another island with a small bay on its north shore. We decided to go over and take a peak – we had actually stayed overnight there once a long time ago, but wanted to revisit it for just a minute. We went in, very slowly, being mindful of the reefs that line both sides. The tide was low, so the reefs were easy to see; in a high tide, they pretty much disappear. After our visit, we noticed on the chart that there was a shortcut exit between a couple of the nastier looking reefs, so we figured we’d take it. Before we could say “holy crap,” we realized that the tide wasn’t quite low enough to expose another part of the reef – we could see under it the surface just about punch a hole in our keel. Reefs are pretty unfair that way. We made a quick, sharp turn to starboard (not enough time to just slam it into reverse) and hoped we would clear the danger. Boats don’t steer like cars, from the front, but rather from the back where the rudder is, so sometimes you think you’re making a sharp turn when actually your stern is still heading merrily along, even swinging wider the way you don’t want it to go. The gods were smiling on us, because we missed hitting the reef by that much and continued on our way without incident. Somebody told us that having bananas on a boat was bad luck, but we have had bananas the whole trip and had great weather and, now, missed a reef. We’re keeping the bananas.

As we quickly forgot about the incident, we headed south into the sun and pulled into Selby Cove about three hours later. Prevost looks a little like your right hand does if you hold it in front of you, thumb up, palm side in. There are five fingers of land poking out to the northwest which create four long, skinny bays that are popular anchorages. Selby Cove is the one between your forefinger and middle finger. We pulled in to find only one other boat. There was a beautiful little “niche” indenting a section of shoreline, complete with its own shell beach, and decided to make that our home for the night.

In Canada, more so than in the states, boaters at anchor often run an additional line from the stern of the boat to shore. This has the effect of holding the boat in one position, instead of allowing it to swing freely around in a circle on the whim of the tide and wind. It’s done mainly to allow more boats to stay in a crowded anchorage than would otherwise be able. We decided to use a stern line tonight not because of crowds, but so that we could keep our beautiful view of the niche and also get some shade in this very hot, still afternoon. Here’s what the setup looks like from our shady stern, followed by our view when we wanted to warm up.

The rest of the day we took it easy, tromping around on shore for a while and running the dinghy around the bay. Here’s Craig, with Elsa in the background.