At 2130 we spotted the flashing green buoy that marked the southwest entrance to the Devil Island Channel. All day and into the evening the wind continued to increase and by now the wind had increased to approximately 30+ knots and waves had built from eight to ten feet. We were tired and anxious to secure shelter as we passed the flashing green buoy and headed up the Devil Island Channel. We were pleasantly pleased that we had been able to sail over 100 miles utilizing only a corrected compass heading. It was comforting to know that the compass heading had been accurate.

Tobermory:


At 2230, in pitch-blackness, we entered the Devil Island Channel and were beginning to look for range lightsthat marked the channel. Since we were going into unknown waters at night, the sails were dropped and we continued under power looking for the range lights marking the channel. “See any lights,” I yelled to Mr. Singer. “Can’t see a thing,” came the response. Slowly we proceeded through the blackness for there were no lights and the sky was overcast. Slower and slower; throttle down to idling speed. “Where the hell are the range lights Mr. Singer? Are we in the channel?”

I quickly went below to check the chart and make sure we were on a course that would take us up the channel. The course was correct, but still no range lights. Fortunately, by now the wind had died down and the water had calmed down. Still no range lights. “Are we in the channel?” I thought. “Keep her exactly on course,” I instructed Mr. Singer. “I’m going forward to look out.” There are numerous hazards such as boulders and small islands in the area and we were fearful of running aground or crashing into a submerged boulder. As I Looked into the blackness, I could see nothing. Perhaps we should turn around, return to open water and wait for daybreak before trying to enter Tobermory.

By this time we were barely making way. All of a sudden I saw a distant group of bright white lights over the port bow. It couldn’t be a town because to the northeast was the Georgian Bay. I turned aft and shouted, “What do you suppose that is?” Again, looking forward, the lights were gone.

We kept looking in the direction the lights were first observed. Nothing. Still we were moving down the Devil Island Channel trying to see in the blackness. Then in the distance a single white light, then a second white light behind the first, and then several more lights followed.

We finally figured that what we were seeing was a ferry, the Chi-Cheemaun (Objibwe for Big Canoe), sailing from Manitoulin Island to Tobermory. The lights being observed and disappearing were those of the Chi-Cheemaun’s lights passing behind small islands that dot the area. Eventually the Chi-Cheemaun passed several miles in front of us heading for what now could be observed as the faint glow of light from Tobermory in the distance. We continued slowly on our original course until we could see the Chi¬Cheemaun’s stern light. The Mistress was then slowly turned to starboard and safely followed the Ch-Ccheemaun’s course into Tobermory.
As we motored into Little Tub Harbour at midnight we began to look around for a place to tie off the Mistress. Off to the port side I saw another sailboat tied off. Coincidentally, it was another Tartan 37. Slowly we came along side, stopped and Mr. Singer began to tie off. Suddenly the hatch of the disturbed vessel opened and a gentleman came on deck. “You guys just relocating from across the harbor,” he asked. “No,” I responded. “We just came from Lake Huron.” “What?” he asked incredulously, “You mean you just came down the Devil Island Channel?” He just shook his head and without waiting for an answer, ducked below. Judging from his reaction he probably thought we were insane. Perhaps he was right.

We went below, enjoyed a couple of beersicles to take the edge off and/or add to our extreme exhaustion, cooked another meal of canned food and collapsed into wonderfully secure sleep.