My own curse of Oak Island
Since 1795 a relentless search for buried treasure on Oak Island in Mahone Bay, Nova Scotia , has now claimed seven lives including the recent passing of long time treasure hunters Fred Nolan and Dan Blankenship. For those seven people Oak Island has proven to be a true curse to themselves, not to mention their associated family and friends.
I have my own curse of Oak Island. My interest in the island started when I read Mark Reynolds book “The mystery of the Oak Island treasure – 200 years of hope and despair” and soon followed by “Oak Island. Obsession” by Lee Lamb whom I had the pleasure of conversing with on Facebook messenger while camping on Squid Island, which is in close proximity to Oak Island.
My first attempt to sail my CL 16 Celtic kiss was a valiant one.
Having anxiously awaited for the 2008 sailing season to arrive in Atlantic Canada, my appetite for a short cruise to Oak Island became insatiable.
On an early morning in July, I was anxious to try my new 2-hp outboard motor and happily cruised along Halifax’s historic waterfront savouring a wonderful view in a brilliant sun. In days gone by this same body of water had been witness to many events that shaped Nova Scotia’s rich history. Among them were the glory days of sail in the 1700's, the Halifax explosion in 1917, which at that time was the site of the largest man-made explosion prior to the atomic bomb, and the naval convoys of WW 2.
As I closed in on Pier 21, the first landfall of numerous immigrants to Canada, the majestic beauty of luxury liner Queen Mary 2 came into view. Though many of its passengers were ashore exploring our lovely city many tourists stayed aboard and waved a friendly good-morning from numerous decks above my little luxury liner.
At approximately 1000 hrs, a gentle SW breeze made enough ripples on the water to entice me to kill the fuel line and hoist the sails. While close reaching across an awakening sea towards Chebucto Head, I had enjoyed the warmth of the mid-morning sun and slathered on the sunscreen.
One of the many local whale watching vessels, with a full load of well paying tourists, breaks the silence with a steady rumbling in the distance and takes a close pass beside me. Suddenly many cameras from all over the world descend on my little yacht and ‘click a pic’ of their own personal postcard. After a few courtesy waves, the tour boat’s engines rev up and it forges ahead, leaving a trail of exhaust fumes that remind me how great it is to be a sailor. It’s times such as these that remind me of what a wonderful life I have while I watch the whales myself for free.
Knowing that July on the Nova Scotia coast is locally known as “fog season”, I had psyched myself to dealing with this pesky fact of life and anxiously looked forward to matching my wits with the sailor’s oldest enemy. In preparing to do this, I had heeded the words of famous dinghy cruiser, Margaret Dye, to stay close to shore when dinghy sailing in fog.
I have a theory. Sailing is paradise, but if you are not prepared, it only takes seconds for chaos to ensue. While I was approaching the lighthouse atop Chebucto Head, the gentle SW breeze quickly rose to a fresh breeze prompting a quick reef. Then, just as soon as the reef was taken in, the increasingly gusting “strong breeze” dictated that the jib be lowered. From experience, I know that ‘Kiss behaves magnificently with a reefed main and jib in a strong breeze but a gusting wind makes life very uncomfortable.
The lack of a jib made windward progress in my heavily laden (full load of camping gear, etc) yet stable dinghy become painfully slow. But I was confident that things would change once I rounded Chebucto Head. I had reasoned that the influence of the land was creating the gusting conditions. And change they did, but not for the better! The temperature dropped dramatically and a strong wind was coming out of the huge wall of fog. Although Halifax, where it’s 30° Celsiusis, was only eight miles away, I was prompted to put on my foul weather gear!
As I anxiously studied the menacing wall like a boxer getting ready for a title fight, I courageously steered Celtic Kiss into the menacing waves hidden in the cloak of cold, dark mist. The fog-horns of cargo and naval ships entering and leaving Halifax Harbour reminded me of their presence. Knowing enough to stay away from the shipping lanes and being without radar, I had to rely solely on my VHF radio, handheld GPS, charts and compass. I had to rely on others to spot my radar reflector. The wind’s velocity and thick fog made this trek both a frustrating and exhilarating experience. Frustrated by a slow beat to windward and exhilarated when I was able to locate the buoys, even though they didn’t show themselves until the GPS indicated they were less than 500 feet away.
After groping through the fog for four hours while using all my senses to navigate, I found Inner Sambro Island. Though it was hidden by fog, I knew it was there because I could smell the land. The lone protected cove on the island was a welcome respite from the cold damp wind of the North Atlantic. I was thrilled that Celtic Kiss and I had succeeded in navigating in the fog on my first attempt.
The Marine Forecast for the entire week consistently called for periods of fog along the coast. Not wanting to push my luck I opted for safety and returned to the safe confines of Halifax Harbour. While sailing back to port I couldn’t help but think of the scene in Apollo 13 when the stricken astronauts made the decision not to land on the moon. “Gentlemen we lost the moon” and I felt same way about Oak Island. Unlike Apollo 13 Celtic Kiss did not suffer gear failure rather a sudden change in the predicted weather pattern kept the mysterious island shrouded in fog.
One of the advantages of owning a sailing dinghy is that the boat can be strapped down onto its trailer and towed to your destination at over 100 km/h. Thus my second attempt to reach Mahone Bay was to be done by following Highway 102 South from Halifax to the Oak Island Resort.
Prior to departure careful provisioning of foodstuffs and safety gear pre-occupies my time. The placement of such items in the boat to maintain proper trim of the vessel as well as ease of accessing items when quickly needed is paramount. After this is done to my satisfaction the mast and boom is secured to the boat and of course Celtic Kiss is firmly tied to the trailer to prevent a catastrophic launch while driving on the highway. For this particular outing I had been preparing the boat for a number of days usually between shifts at work. After the last nightshift at work before starting my mini-vacation I drove down to the Dartmouth Yacht Club. The plan was to hitch-up the trailer, drive home and leave for Mahone Bay the next morning. All was going well despite the darkness for I had cleverly placed the boat trailer underneath a lamppost in the boat yard. Once hitched-up to my Honda Civic I tested the signal and brake lights to ensure all was legal and safe. Once satisfied, I put the car in gear and slowly drove out of the Dartmouth Yacht Club. I wanted to do this at night as there’d be less traffic and I learned in the past that whenever I try to move the boat in or out of the driveway there’s always an audience so thought it best to do this late at night when nobody is around. I tried to back-up the boat once before during daylight hours with the Honda Civic into my driveway. The combination of. an unwanted audience, some of whom couldn’t resist giving direction, and the fact that my vision is somewhat impaired because of the lowness of the car, I found what used to be very easy became a very frustrating and embarrassing experience.
It turned out that my late night plan was a saving grace. For as I was not far from the entrance to the yacht club and drove to the ramp for the MacKay Bridge. I heard an odd sound coming from behind me. As there weren’t any other vehicles around me I assumed that something had gone awry with the trailer. Because I was not in a position to pull over to the side of the road, all I could do was slow down and proceed across the bridge as best I could. When I got onto the bridge the humming sound had stopped. Nevertheless I drove the entire span to Halifax with one eye on the road and one on the side view mirror all the while asking God to get both me and the boat home in one piece.
Once in Halifax I had to drive over two overpasses, drive underneath another and navigate a precarious hairpin turn before I could get to an area to stop. Thanks to the lateness of the hour I was able to drive at a respectable 40km/h on roadways where the maximum posted speed is 70. As I came to the hairpin turn that takes me from the Windsor Street Exchange to Joseph Howe drive I slowed down to 15km/h and with the angle of the car to the trailer I was able to get a better look at the trailer. I could see that the left wheel was wobbling which indicated that the bearings had burned out. With only 1.5 km to reach my driveway I opted to go for it and asked God not to leave me stranded on the road late at night. God was good and let me make it home unscathed. Though there were some moments when I looked out the side view mirror and saw smoke billowing out from the trailer’s axle. Thank God there wasn’t any traffic or I’d be in a world of trouble trying to tow a disabled trailer and merge into driving lanes. When I pulled up in front of the house I stopped in the middle of the street to survey the damage. The trailer tire was at about a 30 degree bend and chalked it up to it being bare on the axle and not on its bearing assembly. Dejected I slowly pulled the trailer forward and lined it up for my driveway. But I find that backing up with the Civic is never easy so I decided to unhitch the trailer in the middle of the street and manually pushed the stricken trailer into the driveway. I knew right away that my second attempt to Mahone Bay, or more precisely Oak Island was lost. However the next morning I gathered my tools jacked up the trailer and proceeded to remove the tire from the axle. With a few squirts of WD-40 and some not so easy turns on the tire iron, the lug nuts holding the tire to the bearing assembly came off. To my astonishment the axle had bent! Now it was official, Celtic Kiss was parked for the winter. Given the quick coming of fall all I could do was place a tarp over the boat and wait for spring to arrive.
When spring ’09 did arrive I set out to replace the axle. Ideally one could simply use a ratchet and socket set to remove the bolts holding the axle to the trailer. But with repeated immersion into salt water the bolts had corroded and simply would not budge. Thus I used a grinder to cut the U-bolts holding the assembly in place and within minutes the trailer sat on its stand without an axle. With measuring tape in hand I took the measurements, jotted them down onto a piece of paper and took them to Provincial Spring in Halifax for ordering. I was told it would be about a week. With that in mind I deemed it to be a good time to get to those other trailer chores I wanted to do but never had time to get to. The winch handle sheared away during the trans-Canada trip and is lying somewhere in Saskatchewan. Then as time went on I noticed that my winch ceased making that clicking noise when hauling in the boat and suddenly it became difficult to haul the boat onto the trailer. More often than not the trailer was on an incline at the launch ramp and the little spring controlling the little piece of metal that acts as a brake was not working properly. Actually it wasn’t doing anything so considering that my winch has a missing piece and an inactive part I thought this was a good opportunity to get a new one installed.
The winch was on really tight and I had to use a blow torch to heat the bolts. Once the bolts were heated up I was able to loosen them and remove the old winch with two 9/16" wrenches and a claw hammer for extra torque. Of course the holes on the metal backing plate didn’t quite line-up with the new one so I had to persuade it to fit. I did this by making the pre-drilled holes in the backing plate a smidge longer by eroding the top part of the hole with a drill bit. This did the trick and now I have a new winch that happily clicks when working. Have to admit that the user forum at for Cl 16 owners is not only a useful tool but a habit I’ve had for many years. The forum is like an extended family and we have all done our best to be there for each other to ask for and to give advice to each other. While updating the forum of my trailer repair exercise it was suggested to me that I replace the plastic wheel on my jack stand that raises and lowers the trailer tongue, with an air filled one. I was told by a forum user ‘Windjammer’ that an air filled tire is much easier to use on gravel than its plastic counterpart. The DYC yard is not yet paved so an air filled tire is a good solution. Blindly taking this advice. I set out to remove the plastic tire and match it up to an air filled one. Nothing is easy though as I discover that the sleeve around the bolt, holding the wheel onto the unit, is corroded onto said bolt and after much “persuasion” came free from the assembly. Now with plastic wheel in hand I search the shelves in the tire section of Princess Auto and after some near hits and misses I find the perfect little tire for less than $20 and install it onto the jack stand. With two side-projects completed I receive a call from Provincial Spring informing me that my axle is in. Without hesitation I take the old axle for recycling and hop in the car for the quick trip to the shop. Oh crap!!! The axle is to long for my trailer and it’s surmised that I took the measurements incorrectly. Like any normal person would I measure the axle from end to end but I was informed by the friendly staff that the proper way to measure an axle is from face to face meaning the vertical part of the hub assembly that the lug nuts screw into. Fortunately I had the original one in the car so I gave it to the experts and another week later I had a suitable axle for my trailer. The obvious next step is placing it on the trailer. Now I freely admit that I am not mechanically inclined like the other Dunbar men in my family. I am however a regular internet surfer and when looking for directions on proper axle assembly I found Youtube to be a great help. I am very grateful that I watched a video on youtube prior to the installation as it saved me a lot of frustration. For example, previously I didn’t know that I’d have to drop one end of the spring assembly in order to slide the axle/hub assembly into place.
It seems that when I go to do something, one job creates another. Once I got myself immersed in fixing my trailer I took this opportunity to sand/grind the rusted paint off and apply a new primer along with Tremclad Rust paint purchased from Wal-Mart. Once that messy job was done I got to thinking about installing guide bars onto the trailer. The bars will act as a second person when retrieving the boat and hold it in place, centered on the trailer. I could have sure used that help a few years ago when I went sailing on New Years Day. If it wasn’t for Brian it would have been a lot longer before I got warm again. So with the blessing of my fellow CL user forum members, I purchased two 8 foot 2X4’s, brackets and bolts and with the use of a measuring tape, rip saw and power drill, I was able to fabricate a set of guide bars. In essence I have a whole new trailer.
Shakedown, Breakdown and Busted
I have a phrase about sailing that rings loudly like a church bell when the air is. deafening in silence. “Sailing is paradise but in the blink of an eye chaos can reign supreme.”
That is exactly what happened to me in the early evening of May 26 2009. For a number of weeks prior I had been laboriously preparing my beloved CL 16 Celtic Kiss in anticipation for an early season trek to Sambro Island. The island itself is nothing more than a huge chunk of granite that is surrounded by roughly thirty shoals. But this island is home to both North and South America’s oldest lighthouse which for two and a half centuries guided mariners into and out of the Halifax Harbour Approaches. One of the many things I love about Nova Scotia is its rich history which goes hand in hand with my fascination of lighthouses. Upon learning of the significance of the Sambro Island lighthouse I just had to visit the island upon which it sits.
In a rather rare occurrence my insane work schedule and weather window co-operated to provide me with an opportunity to achieve this goal. The forecast called for sunny days with a northerly winds for a downwind run to take me out to the island, followed by a southerly wind to take me back to Halifax Harbour the next day. On the morning of my departure I awoke to higher than expected NW winds. As I didn’t want to unnecessarily stress the boat nor myself for the initial voyage of the year I delayed my departure from the safe confines of the Dartmouth Yacht Club. As the day wore on the wind finally abated to allow a more comfortable cruise. Sensing a decrease in wind velocity I awoke my barely used 2 hp Honda outboard, slipped my lines and powered out of the Dartmouth Yacht Club. Once I reached the historic Bedford Basin I gleefully raised the sails to the first reef and silenced the purring outboard. Content with the balance and trim of ‘Kiss I headed southward, through the inner harbour and out to the open ocean.
Celtic Kiss was handling extremely well like the true dreamboat I fell in love with in 1997. Under reefed main, full jib and centreboard raised to reduce drag, ‘Kiss and I broad reached seaward at a steady 5.7 knots. At this rate I’d arrive at the island with plenty of time before the sun went down.
Once I cleared the lighthouse on McNab’s Island, which now stands in place of the gibbets used for hanging pirates two centuries ago, I noticed that the wind had shifted to the west and was now coming directly from the south end of Halifax. I adjusted my sails accordingly and steered for Chebucto Head a mere five miles on the bow. Chebucto Head also houses a lighthouse which marks the southern approach to Halifax Harbour. ‘Kiss was well balanced in the final approach to the Chebucto Head waypoint. With an open ocean in front of me, a gentle swell and fabulous wind I had found my paradise. Then I blinked.
The ebbing afternoon land breeze threw out a few random gusts somewhat disturbing my own personal paradise. Still under reefed main and jib I was not too concerned but kept a sharp eye for the telltale cat’s paw signaling a gust of wind. Having spotted a small one I instinctively let the main out to compensate. To my disbelief ‘Kiss started to roll to leeward and despite my valiant efforts to maintain proper trim, she didn’t stop until the mast head was resting comfortably on the water. As a result I quickly found myself taking an unscheduled swim in the cold North Atlantic. Still in a state of shock I hurriedly worked my way around the transom while I’m sure my floater jacket snagged on every protrusion of my confused rig. Being aware of my surroundings I spotted a tugboat engaged in towing one of the Canadian navy’s Kingston Class Coastal vessels. Though I was in the shipping lanes the tug was directly behind me but was in no danger of running over me. Because my handheld VHF radio was on its way to the bottom of the harbour I had to rely solely on the professionalism of the tug boat captain and was satisfied that he would initiate rescue procedures for me and my stricken vessel. I diligently set myself to do a self rescue by swimming to the centreboard and try to leverage the boat into an upright position. Despite all my training in sailing dinghies I simply could not get ‘Kiss to co-operate. After a few failed attempts to reach the skyward gunwale while at the same time placing my weight on the centreboard, I began not to panic but got very frustrated. “Why oh why won’t you come up for me?” I yelled. And then I called out to my guardian angel, my late grandfather. “Pappa I know you’re watching. Please help me Pappa please.” Through all the frustration and chaos I was smart enough to grab the floating bow line and hold it tightly as ‘Kiss, like a runaway racehorse, was still charging for Chebucto Head. I knew that if I lost my grip on the line I’d be in a very bad situation. At the same time I pulled the centreboard to its fully extended position and struggled to get my weight on it to lever the boat to an upright position. In another oddity the centreboard was lying flat in the water and was not higher than the water’s surface. In hindsight this signalled that the inner hull was flooded. Ideally the centreboard should be well clear of the water forcing me to reach upwards on the centreboard. This time however I was able to simply sit on it and finally escape the ocean’s icy death grip on my tiring body. Then I carefully maneuvered myself to stand on the centreboard. Sensing defeat of a self-rescue attempt, I patiently stood on the centreboard and waited for the tug to come closer to my position. As he passed by a deckhand yelled something inaudible to me over the speakerphone. At that point a May Day call must have been received by the local harbour traffic as two pleasure boats raced to my position. I’ll never forget the site of seeing a blue Cape Island style tour boat racing toward me from the harbour with a spew of foam being thrown off its bows. He and another boat SV Slider from the Armdale Yacht Club stayed with me until two Coast Guard inflatable’s rocketed from Halifax to rescue me. It was like watching the opening scene to “Baywatch” but not nearly as sexy.
Upon their arrival the pleasure boats departed to allow the coast guard to take control of the situation. Within seconds I was taken aboard one of the inflatables and blankets were wrapped around me and a quick assessment of my physical condition was performed. With adrenalin pulsating through every vein of my body I was in no mood to sit still. Together with the coast guard crew we made many unsuccessful attempts at a salvage operation. But Kiss was very stubborn that day and was determined to complete her death role. Like a teenager that’s had way too much to drink, ‘Kiss regurgitated her contents into the harbour. Out spilled the handheld VHF radio, compass, digital camera and an assortment of other items that were previously tucked into the forepeak.
When the death roll was complete a call was made for back-up as assistance was required by RCCG coastal vessel Sambro. How bitterly ironic. I couldn’t get to Sambro but Sambro is coming to me. While we waited for Sambro to arrive on scene it was decided that one boat would stay attached to Celtic Kiss, while I went in the other inflatable to retrieve items in the small debris field that was slowly making its way to sea. Among the items we retrieved we were able to capture my gas can, floating rope, distress flares, sponge, foul weather pants and a half full bottle of rum.
After scavenging the debris field we headed back to the completely overturned “Celtic Kiss” and I felt quite saddened to see my pride and joy in such a desperate state sinking deeper into a watery grave. The inner tank had flooded and all that was keeping her afloat was the built in flotation along the gunwale and a taut line to the inflatable. In desperation I wanted to snag one of the dangling stern lines to keep her from going under. After a few attempts we were able to catch a line and tie it to the coast guard’s 2nd inflatable. Now with both bow and stern lines firmly attached to the inflatable’s we powered astern in hopes of getting one side of the boat to “dig in” and trip over itself thus bringing the boat to a righted position. After a few attempts the plan worked as ‘Kiss was right side up again and looked like a boat. After two hours of being submerged and inverted for a good portion of that time, the outboard made an appearance as did the mast and sails. This success was somewhat tainted though. I had initially assumed the outboard to be a loss but I didn’t think the mast would snap into two pieces. The only thing holding the mast together was the fully still intact reefed mainsail and the shrouds. Still too busy to break down and cry, the first order of business was to get the pumps aboard and bail. I don’t know who worked more, me with the manual pump or Lindsey, one of my rescuers, who was feverishly priming the CG’s pump. Nevertheless we were able to drain the cockpit and a good portion of the inner hull. ‘Kiss was floating again without the fear of being swamped.
When MV Sambro arrived on the scene we focused on getting ‘Kiss ready for the tow back to the Dartmouth Yacht Club. As Sambro took my disabled boat back to the Dartmouth Yacht Club I was taken to the club in the inflatable as it was much faster and would give me a chance to shower and change into dry clothes before the tow arrived.
As we departed the scene of the accident I took a final look around the area. As I peered out into the sea my eyes focused on a red dot bobbing up and down in the waves. That red dot was a Bible that I always have on board when undertaking an adventuresome voyage. I will admit that I am not the most religious person in the world but I am spiritual and do not question the existence of a higher power. Upon obtaining ownership of Celtic Kiss in Calgary in 1997, I made arrangements for my boat to be blessed by Rev. Marion Barkley. During a psychic reading by a lady, who sometimes assists the Calgary Police to help unsolved cases, told me t I have two guardian angels. My angles are always watching over me to protect me from harm and I am convinced that they are my paternal grandparents, my uncle John A. Dunbar and two of the most heralded seamen in my family Capt. Charlie Maguire and his brother Capt. John Maguire. Many have said that the Bible drifting away from me was a sign that God had abandoned me. But I like to think it was a reminder that God and my angels were watching over me. During my sombre trip home I contemplated many thoughts as the scenery of Halifax Harbour whizzed by. “What will I do with the boat?” Should I try to fix it or just get rid of it?” Will I stay ashore for the rest of my life?” “Will I ever be on the harbour again?” And “How will my family react to all of this?”
**I’m marching inland from the shore
Over and my shoulder carrying an oar
When someone asks me what is that funny thing you got
Then I know I’ll never go to sea no more, no more
I’ll never go to sea no more
Within a few minutes I dejectedly stepped onto land at the Dartmouth Yacht Club and lost the adrenalin rush that was keeping my body warm. To make matters worse the club house was closed so I couldn’t take a much anticipated hot shower to warm up. My alternative was to sit in my sauna like car for though it was 20C I was getting a chill. Just as I sat in the car and took a deep breath, my guardian angels revealed their presence by sending my Uncle Charlie to meet me at the DYC.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
** Tom Lewis. Self Propelled Music. Performed by McGinty. Atlantic Favourites 2
. Rocky Coast Music
“Well you’ve been controlling the airwaves for the passed two and a half hours.” I was informed. By mere coincidence Charlie had turned on his VHF radio and listened to the entire rescue operation.
“As soon as I figured out it was you and heard you were being taken to DYC I got some warm clothes for you to wear.”
I put on some warm clothes and after telling Charlie my ordeal, I made way for my home in Halifax while Charlie stayed behind to receive Celtic Kiss from the Coast Guard.
. As I drove home my attention turned to my wife Charlene. How do I explain this without scaring her? She already had a bad experience due to incompetent sailing instructors when we were dating and I certainly didn’t want my experience to further compound the problem. But just when I was convinced that things are at their absolute
worst, a pleasant surprise greets me. Charlene saw me pull into the driveway and greeted me albeit confused. After telling her what had happened Charlene said to me. “Rob I want to go sailing with you but Celtic Kiss is too small. We’re just going to have to get a bigger boat” WOW DID I EVER MARRY THE RIGHT GIRL!!!!
After getting a hot shower and a change into my own clothes I rushed back to DYC to meet Charlie and to receive Celtic Kiss. The sun was setting and just as I was crossing the bridge back to Dartmouth, I could see the silhouette of RCCG Sambro rounding Navy Island. Damn I missed them but at least I know that ‘Kiss is safe. So onward I went to the club and saw my boat tied to the floating dock next to the ramp. She was listing to port with folded mast atop her once gleaming deck. Shrouds were hanging overboard and her new sails were looking more like a cheap tarp you buy at Canadian Tire rather than expensive wind powered engines. Charlie and I then manoeuvred ‘Kiss onto her trailer, drained the water in the inner hull, and placed her safely in the parking stall.
The day after I was mentally wiped out and re-played the scenario many times in my head. I have come up with the reason of why things happened. I was sailing conservatively with a reefed main and full jib and board three quarter the way up for a broad reach. As the wind began to give me that “Land wind” effect it also shifted. Though I had re-adjusted the sails to get a perfect trim, I had neglected to lower the centreboard for what was now a beam reach. In essence my stability was gone hence the feeling I had that ‘Kiss had rolled from underneath me. If I had clued into this oversight I could made a simple adjustment to lower the centreboard out to give me a better center of lateral resistance. I had forgotten that the centreboard was not fully extended.
Feeling mentally exhausted and traumatized by my episode I found myself to be very lethargic and uncaring. On the advice of my good friend and fellow DYC member, Brian recommended that the best thing I could do for my mental state was to be pro-active. The first step in recovering mentally was to focus on getting the outboard motor operational. As it was submerged for 2 hours I feared it was a lost cause but it was suggested that I drain the oil and dry it out as best I could. But as I am NOT mechanically inclined and knew I wouldn’t be able to fix it myself, I thought it best to take it to Pro-Cycle in Dartmouth, the local Honda outboard dealer.
When the shop opened the next morning I put the motor in the trunk of my car and filled out a work order. Like a car accident patient in the hospital, the technicians got to work on it right away before the salt could do irreparable damage. According to the work order they drained the fuel tank for fear of ingesting salt water in the carburetor. The carb. was also cleaned out and the oil was flushed 7 times. So now the outboard is good as new.
While waiting for the motor to be repaired I went back to the boat and tried to get the sail out of the gnarled mass of aluminum that was once my mast. When it snapped the sail track collapsed on itself trapping the bolt rope inside. Using a cold chisel, hammer and bolt cutters I was able to pry the mast track open just wide enough to get the sail free. The jib was unscathed and the only problem with the mainsail was a hole where it was trapped in the mast.
Next step was the broken mast. This was a very daunting challenge as I found it was next to impossible to get a second hand CL-16 mast in Nova Scotia. The cost of a new one shipped from the CL dealer in Ontario was rather cost prohibitive so the next best solution was to have a sleeve made to piece it together. This all important task was accomplished by Rod’s Machine Shop in Dartmouth. . The original estimate was a loss of 12 inches. This 12 inch loss in mast height was of great concern. It would have a domino affect on the cut of the sails, shroud lengths, and a major re-design to for the mast step.
Irregardless the mast step had to be re-built and after much discussion with Brian it was decided to re-build the mast step to it’s original measurements with the intent of building it up to accommodate a shortened mast once it was repaired. While waiting for the mast to be delivered Brian gave me a really good education in fibreglass repair. The slot where the mast step sits was completely destroyed in the accident but fortunately all the broken pieces stayed with the boat. We used these pieces and put the slot back together just like a jigsaw puzzle. Once the pieces were put together, we used a combination of 350 ml resin, 7 ml hardener and a handful of silica mixed it to the consistency of peanut butter. This mixture was then applied as filler on the inside of the assembly to give back the structural integrity. Once set Brian layered the entire back of the step with 6 layers of wetted-out strips of mat. (Same mixture of 350 ml resin and 7 ml hardener with NO SILICA) Once set we applied the gel coat. For that mixture we had 150 ml gel coat, 2 ml hardener and a handful of silica. Mixed vigorously until it looks like cream cheese and apply with a plastic stir stick. The silica in the gel coat allows for the sanding process. For proper sanding I started with an 80 grit to get the rough stuff out and then switched to a 200 and then followed by 400 wet-dry sandpaper. The mast step is now stronger than it ever was and in hindsight I wish I had done this years ago.
After having many conversations with the machinist I received some wonderful news. He told me the mast would only lose an inch in height. I’ve learned that when it comes to masts, inches really count. Once the mast was completed and delivered I was able to take some tangible measurements for new standing rigging. The new shrouds were made one inch shorter than the original set by the rigger at North Sails in Halifax. When everything was finally fitted together the rig tension was better than before. Fortunately my boat has an adjustable gooseneck. Normally a shortened mast would mean one of two things for the sail. Either it would be too baggy or it would have to be cut to fit better. The gooseneck allows me to simply pull the boom lower and the sail adjusts accordingly. Pardon the pun but that’s a lucky break.
Sailing in Mahone Bay
After what seemed like an eternal test of patience Celtic Kiss was finally fit for sailing and I admit there were times I didn’t think this day would ever come. Logic would dictate that I have a “shakedown cruise” in my home waters of Bedford Basin but I was determined to sail the picturesque waters of Mahone Bay, steeped in folklore. Mahone Bay is a very popular destination for locals and tourists from distant shores but this little jewel is only a 45 minute drive from my home in Halifax. With Celtic Kiss in tow on the new trailer axle and repaired mast I gleefully made my way to the Oak Island resort. The tunes of Newfoundland folksy-rock band Great Big Sea was the chosen CD of the day for this trip. When the song. “Captain Kidd” , the pirate thought to have buried treasure at Oak Island , my cheeks actually hurt from the big grin on my face. I arrived at the Oak Island Inn Resort and soaked in the magnificent beauty of Nova Scotia. With the assistance of two of the marina’s workers we were able to rig and launch Celtic Kiss. At the first launch every season I’ll step into Kiss’ cockpit and experience an almost spiritualistic connection with King Neptune. Thanking God to be alive as all my landlocked problems both great and small evaporate from my being. Because of my previous dismasting/capsize incident which greatly curtailed my sailing time, I was able to experience that euphoric feeling twice in a single summer.
The new mast sleeve was holding just fine and the sight of my original orange, red and white sails back dropped by a clear Nova Scotia Blue sky sent me on a marvelous high. I did a few tacks and everything held in place. The shrouds tension was good the mast stayed in one piece. With confidence in my rig I pointed the bow into the bay for a day of exploration and sea-trials. The sound of the gentle blue waves crashing into Celtic Kiss’ newly polished hull was a symphony that only a sailor can appreciate. The 15 knot wind takes me passed Frog Island with its man-made seawall as an attempt to prevent the ocean from eroding the privately owned island to barren rocks. Upon clearing the island I tack to port and head upwind for Green Bell Buoy MC 59. This buoy marks Sheep Ledge which is a group of rocks, far from the mainland, that rises high out the water at low tide. A few more upwind tacks and I am abeam of the buoy. Then, as if a curse was following me the windward shroud supporting the mast unraveled from the turnbuckle. In a state of disbelief I distinctly remember saying aloud “O My God I can’t have two dismastings on two consecutive sails” Without panicking I instinctively knew I had to take the pressure off the mast before it crumpled into yet another broken wing. I had two options. I could tack again and take the pressure off the mast BUT I’d eventually have to tack again which would tempt fate. My second option was to take down the sail to alleviate all pressure.
I immediately started the re-furbished Honda outboard and was thankful that I was smart enough to take the motor into the dealer within 24 hours of it being submerged. ( The mechanic had to flush it 7 times to get it working properly) Once I got the motor running I looked around for an island to seek shelter. Mahone Bay is home to 360 islands so my options were pretty good. Having the chart ingrained in my mind I made for Squid Island. I picked this particular island due to it’s close proximity to my position and I had read a favourable review that a friend of mine had published on the Canadian Wayfarer site.
http://www.wayfarer-international.org/WIC/Cruise.Logs/2001MahoneBay4.pdf
The problem I encountered was simple. The turnbuckle simply unscrewed itself out of its housing and jumped for freedom. Once ashore on Squid Island I simply screwed it back together and wrapped some rigging tape around it. I tested the repair by grabbing the shroud and pulled on it and was satisfied with its integrity. Just then the wind picked up considerably and I took this as an omen and not wanting to tempt fate so far from home I decided to make the best of my situation. I had planned to eventually set up camp on an island with no particular destination in mind. I just didn’t know it at the time that Squid Island was my planned destination. I convinced myself that this was the right thing to do. I got out a kedge anchor for the stern, tied the bow to a rock and went for a refreshing swim. The island truly is a 5 star accommodation with a magnificent view of the fabled Oak Island. For those that aren’t familiar with the legend of Oak Island I’ll briefly explain that since 1795 there has been a treasure hunt on this mysterious island that has captured the imagination of many for more than 2 centuries. The treasure is yet to be found despite it’s many attempts including the current 2009 “dig”
Having become overly comfortable on Squid Island I stayed for the rest of the day and greatly enjoyed it’s offerings of great scenery, abundance of blueberries and raspberries and of course the tranquility of a deserted cove for swimming. My only company was an Osprey whose nest rested upon a large tree not far from my campsite. I also played with some survival skills. Aside from using our regular store bought food I tried a few things I’ve learned by watching Survivorman. Canadian adventure survivalist Les Stroud has produced one of the few reality shows that actually educates its audience. In a sense I was shipwrecked but not even close to being in danger.
I tested some “surviving” foods such as live snails and seaweed. I also wanted to try a bag of dehydrated food. The instructions on the bag are simple, even for me. Simply boil 500 ml (2 cups) of water and pour into bag of dehydrated food for ten minutes. All I had to start the fire though was a BBQ lighter. I had purposely not taken any wood or paper. After gathering a good supply of driftwood and dried leaves I used Purell hand cleaner as my fire starter. It worked magnificiently and when the flames started to show signs of sustaining itself I placed clumps of dried seaweed onto the fledgling inferno to really get the fire going. Within minutes the fire was hot enough to boil water and just like the directions on the bag said I was happily feasting on a very tasty bag of dehydrated food after ten minutes.
The next morning I went on a blueberry and raspberry trek that provided for a great breakfast. My handheld VHF radio’s weather station informed me that as the day wore on, bad weather was coming. I had timed my arrival to the resort to be at high tide thus I had to leave Squid Island no later that 1pm.
The only problem with Squid Island is that it’s only cove is open to the prevailing southerly wind in a Nova Scotia summer. I arrived on a Northwest wind making the cove a windward shore. But this morning the wind was blowing right onto the gravel beach. It’s not always easy to sail away from a lee shore but that was the problem I was faced with. Prior to departure I had gone over in my head how I would do this flawlessly. Ideally the bow is dead on into the wind with sails hoisted. Sail backwards for a bit to let the bow swing through the wind and adjust the sails accordingly. Unfortunately that’s not quite how it happened. I’m not sure what was going on in my head but I was becoming apprehensive again about raising sail in a strengthening wind. Sure there’d be lots of flapping of sails making disconcerting noise. But that’s all it is ……….just noise and nothing to be feared. I had convinced myself that the engine needed a good work out as it still hasn’t yet recorded the recommended 10 hours of running time to be fully broken in. So I used this as my excuse NOT to hoist the sails. So with a new plan of attack in mind I walked the anchor out into deep water far from shore. The plan was to get in the boat from the shore, pull on the anchor line until I was in deeper water at which point I could temporarily secure the anchor line to the mast. From there I could get the motor started then turn my attention back to the anchor line to raise the anchor from the muddy depths of Squid Island Cove and motor away. What really happened was that somehow when the anchor released it’s grip, the wind turned the bow into the beach and the blasted motor stalled!!! I could hear the words of Silver Donald Cameron when he wrote in his book Wind, Whales and Whiskey “……..engines in sailboats are an abomination- dirty, smelly, unreliable, explosive, and expensive….They lull you into trusting them in tight situations-and then they fail.” As I was pre-occupied with the motor I failed to notice the trajectory of the bow and when the motor, that does not have neutral finally did start, drove Celtic Kiss firmly into the beach narrowly missing a beach ball sized boulder. What the hell was happening to me? Did all my seamanship skills drift away with the Bible I lost at Lighthouse Bank? In extreme frustration and admittedly on the verge of a breakdown, I tried this maneuver again with similar results. Completely exasperated I waded waist deep into the water and walked Celtic Kiss to the bitter end of the island, cursing all the way. At the last possible second before ‘Kiss drifted off towards Oak Island, and quite possibly without me, I took a leap of faith into the cockpit in what had to have been my most successful failure leaving an island.
Once I was able to get into Celtic Kiss and get my mental state back in order I pulled the cord of the outboard. Naturally it started on the first try. What luck! The rain was not far off and the warm southerly wind teased me to no end. I should’ve put the sails up realizing it’s not so bad once I got out in open water but I held firm with the motor as it still wasn’t fully broken in. I am primarily a sailor and not a prop jock. Odd as it seems I feel that once I start the motor I feel that I have less control and my recent departure from Squid Island cements that belief. But practice makes perfect and after all that I have been through I have the luxury of being in my little boat, that I bought in Calgary, cruising next to Canada’s most fabled island. Not wanting to waste this opportunity I decide to motor the entire perimeter of Oak Island all the while wondering where and what treasure lies beneath this shrouded island. In the 200 years of treasure seeking most of the attention has been on Smith’s Cove. On entering Smith’s Cove with the GPS barely reading 1 knot I took ‘Kiss close in to the shore to take some pictures of Nova Scotia’s living history. At approximately 150 feet away from shore the under hull started bumping into and scraping over car sized rocks.
BUMP BUMP BUMP !!! For even though the tide was 7/8 high I had hit the remnants of cofferdam originally constructed in 1850. The cofferdam was originally constructed to allow the treasure hunters unfettered access to what they believed were flood tunnels that guarded the treasure. However one of the many powerful North Atlantic storms breached the dam thereby flooding the work site. I now have first hand evidence of the goings on at Oak Island. Intrigued with my discovery my sailor senses quickly took control and quickly guided the tiller away from the island and into deeper water. Satisfied that I had accomplished my ambition to visit Smith’s Cove, albeit as short as it was, I opened the throttle and headed for the boat ramp at the resort. The man-made L-shaped breakwater at the resort provides protection from all directions. The onslaught of wind and wave was quickly dampened once entering the enclosure. This allowed me to make a picture perfect landing at the boat ramp for all the tourists to see. On exchanging pleasantries with the gentlemen who had helped me the day before, we worked together to get. ‘Kiss onto her trailer for a quick de-rig before being towed back to the Dartmouth Yacht Club. This was my first sail in Mahone Bay but definitely not my last.
My second attempt to reach Oak Island was a little more successful but still did not fulfill my expectations. Having now openly admitted that I am one of the many that has become enthralled with the history of Oak Island Celtic Kiss was again prepped for what promised to be a wonderful trip that took two years to hatch. Rather than attempting to sail from Halifax Harbour I decided to take the quicker route 45 minutes down Highway 103 to launch at the nearby Oak Island Inn.
After loading up with camping gear and and uneventful launch Celtic Kiss nosed her bow passed the breakwater into the majestic waters of Mahone Bay. This much anticipated sail did not last long for on the second tack a shroud parted from the chain plate on the deck. Fortunately the wind was fairly light but I had to quickly find a place to beach before dismasting. Given my current position,wind direction and velocity and tack that would not put undue pressure on the rig, Squid Island was chosen as my point of refuge. Even though I had my trusty Honda outboard I thought it prudent to keep the mainsail up and rely on the windward shroud to hold the mast up. If I took the sail down the mast would start to wobble putting it in further peril.
After doing the necessary repair a quick glance of the ambiance of Squid Island provided I realized it’s an excellent campground with Oak Island in full view. After spending the balance of the day basking in the sun despite the ever present coastal fog The evening was spent cooking over an open fire survivor man style meaning I did not use matches to light the fire. I used a magnifying glass and hand sanitizer on dry seaweed. and ate a few servings of kelp, seaweed and snails.
During the night to coastal fog rolled in like a damp mystical blanket
Having recently read “Oak Island obsession” chronicling the treasure hunt of Robert Restall who lost his life in pursuit of buried treasure. Through the magic of Facebook I was able to get in contact with his daughter,Lee Lamb who wrote the book, while waiting for the fog to lift and was able to instant message with Lee in a most surreal experience.
As the fog lifted the new threat of squalls prevented me from raising sail as I didn’t trust my repair to be up to this particular challenge and is my only option was to use the motor to navigate around Oak Island. Not quite the way I had anticipated to explore the area but at least I was able to enter the infamous Smith’s Cove below the famed money pit!
Prior to setting out on this trip I had planned to anchor overnight in Smiths Cove and soak in the ambiance of this mysterious island.
With the oncoming threat of a particularly nasty line squall I revved the engine and raced for the Oak Island Marina where a hasty haul out was completed before the torrential rain hit
After six years of silence Oak Island began calling me again and my adventurous spirit answered the call. With many hours of meticulous preparation all done by piecemeal. Celtic Kiss and I. left the safe confines of Bedford basin and enthusiastically made way up Halifax harbour past the watchful eyes of the Canadian Navy as well as tourists at Historic Properties . Buy a great stroke of luck the Queen Mary 2 was docking at the iconic Pier 21. Eventhough I kept my distance Celtic Kiss experienced much turbulence. in the wake of the bow thrusters.
Further up the harbour passed the distinctive red and white cranes of the Halterm containerport is the point Pleasant shoal buoy. The point Pleasant shoal buoy recently became a very personal spot for my family as it is the spot where my uncle Charlie Dunbar’s ashes were spread during a very dignified Battle of the Atlantic ceremony. Uncle Charlie introduced me to sailing at the Dartmouth Yacht Club when I was eight. Upon arrival at this sacred location the sails were lowered and a bouquet of roses were gently placed in the calm sea then I shared a beer with him. After shedding many tears I could hear his voice say “ Get on your way now and don’t waste the wind”. With that I hoisted sails and continued my charge out of the harbour with tears still streaming down my cheek. Further ahead is an area where I met my own crushing defeat at lighthouse bank. In May 2008 I took Celtic kiss for a shakedown cruise to Sambo Island before a planned trip to Oak Island later that summer. It was a magnificent sail of the harbour on a fast broad reach. In order to prevent ‘Kiss from tripping over the centerboard it is necessary to raise the board to reduce drag. As I’ve been a due to the lighthouse on McNab’s Island a sudden gust and Wind shift made Celtic kiss roll out from under me. Treading water in disbelief I couldn’t fathom what had happened in the hundreds of miles of sailing in heavy air including a sail hours before the devastating hurricane Juan made landfall, Celtic kiss had never rolled over and played dead. In the ensuing chaos Celtic Kiss survived the ordeal but suffered a broken mast, destroyed mast step, ripped sails and a waterlogged motor. Fortunately all were repaired but because it took so long for repairs to be completed to planed trip to Oak Island was scuttled. Whenever I sail through Lighthouse Bank I always take a moment to thank the Sea God’s for sparing my life that day. In September of that year when the ocean water is out it’s warmest a tragic event really hit home with me. A fisherman was out nearby at the not too distant Devils Island and fell overboard. His body was never recovered.
Leaving Lighthouse Bank astern in A whisper of a breeze Sambro island came in to view. As I tacked close toward the head land where the Chebucto. Head lighthouse is located Sambro Island momentarily disappeared. When able to tack back out towards the harbour mouth my course was set for the Halifax Charlie fairway buoy. My heart sank when Samboro island was suddenly hidden behind a curtain of fog. I had high hopes for an enjoyable cruise to Oak Island when the Coast Guard informed me that the area was clear as a bell when I filed my float plan earlier in the day. With mixed feelings of despair nervous anticipation hopefulness dread and resignation a tack toward the head land was made. Soon after the fog marched over the head land with growing and trepidation I tacked once again for the fairway boy and actually watched it disappear in the ever advancing fog. My plan excursion was quickly unravelling but I still contemplated entering the fog bank but that idea was quashed when boats coming home from the Chester regarding starting to pop out of the fog bank not having radar I didn’t want to risk collision last I see is the opportunity to sail back towards hearing call to visit the site where HMS tribune met her demise in 1797. All the while I had hoped that the passage of time would see the fog dissipate.
As the afternoon wore on the fog continued to stand guard over the harbour entrance and my meticulously planned excursion is now in unravelled mess. Knowing that I was just wasting my time a new course was set further out into Chedabucto Bay to provide a better look beyond the headland in hopes that the fog had receded. While heading out to my waypoint I called the Coast Guard to get a fog update. Through a relay to a fishing vessel on their radar I was and informed that all was clear at the Three Sisters buoy (HD3).
With renewed hope and vigour I pressed the reset button and mentally prepared for a partial nighttime voyage to Oak Island. After a few minutes of bouncing over the swells the topping lift. and radar reflector suddenly crashed into the cockpit.
. “Well there’s no way I’m heading into a fog bank without a radar reflector” I said aloud
Taking this as an omen from my Uncle Charlie, I evaluated my situation and called the Coast Guard to cancel my float plan.
. After being laughed at by the coast guard for not even leaving the harbour for my grand adventure I turned away from the fog bank in disgust and headed for Wreck Cove on McNabs Island.
After a graceful landing on the sandy beach I sat on the bow of my little ship to reflect on the days events and contemplate how to spend the rest of my vacation. Caring toward the harbour entrance the fog bank was not only starting to advance but also I have a growth spurt look like a teenager. The bank looked to be at least a mile high!
Wreck Cove after a long day
Feeling very dis-heartened by the anticipated fog forecast on the coast but the scorching sun on land I. opted to head back to the Bedford Basin Yacht Club and resigned myself to doing day sails for the rest of my vacation. Within minutes of leaving Wreck Cove my trusty Honda ran out of fuel I could hear Charlie saying to me “ Come. on Robert I taught you better than that ! You were supposed to top up the gas when you were at the beach”. To add insult to injury the gas cap fell overboard while refuelling does cancelling any thought of overnighting for fear that salt may find its way into the tank and seize the engine. In a foul mood I retraced my path up the harbour dodging a few container ships on the way. Upon securing Celtic kiss to a temporary berth at the yacht club I drove home turned on the TV just in time for the 11 o’clock news. There are learned of what the media called a “fog monster.” that stretched from new England to Newfoundland. In retrospect I think Charlie was trying to keep me away from the fog monster
I will eventually get to Oak Island
Rob Dunbar
Halifax
