Crossing Over

We left Port Dover on July 31st amid tears, laughter and a stream of champagne bubbles flowing from the prow of our boat. Fortnight had been officially christened for her maiden voyage and we were at last Bahamas bound. We waved final good-byes to our little family standing on the pier and turned the boat towards the lake.

It was a perfect day. Favourable winds and gentle waves carried us to our first anchorage at Port Maitland. We dropped a hook in a broad expanse of water around the first bend in the river where tall grasses lined its banks and gulls dove for their dinner. After finishing ours, we took drinks up on deck and enjoyed the evening until the bugs finally forced us in and to bed.

We awoke the next morning to find the boat completely enveloped in a thick mist! When it gradually lifted and we could snatch glimpses of shoreline through the haze we set sail for Port Colborne and settled into a comfortable marina. The stroll into town was an unexpected pleasure. A park adjacent to the docks was filled on one side with children splashing delightedly in an imaginative “water-feature” while on the other side, a contented group of seniors seated in lawn chairs happily raced remote-controlled yachts. Further on were leafy streets shading lovingly restored homes and colourful gardens. When we reached the canal we found the tall ship “Pathfinder” had arrived with eager students hanging from the yardarms, teenagers jumped off canal walls into the refreshing water below and couples walked dogs along the promenade edging the bank. We bought ice cream in a delightful sweet shop—the Chocolatier—and marveled at how lucky we were to be a part of it all.

The weather window held for our last day in Canada and we motor-sailed across the lake under a cloudless sky. During these last few days we had passed scatterings of cottages dotted across wide expanses of beach, large swathes of forest and gullied cliffs. Now we turned away and sailed past the finger of Port Abino jutting out into the lake and pointing the way to American shores. At its very tip a majestic Victorian lighthouse stood sentinel against a leafy backdrop. But, as we glided past it, everything changed as the incongruous geometric shapes of the Buffalo skyline loomed grey through the haze and replaced the forest green. We had “crossed over” and the real journey was about to begin.