Thousand Islands Excursion
Maybe you too have been regretting the end of summer. It’s been rough, but here’s an opportunity to hang onto some warm delights.
Come share a Thousand Islands excursion with Esther and me, a trip we took to locations eastward from our usual haunts. The narrative is illustrated by some of my favorite low-altitude aerial photographs.
The first day brought us to the Thousand Islands International Bridge that links Canada and the US. Passing under a bridge in a sailboat, when the top of your mast is fully 60 feet above the waterline, requires a certain amount of sangfroid. Seen from the deck, the mast and bridge appear certain to collide.
There are two such threatening bridges on the route from Toronto to the islands: the Norris Whitney Bridge at Belleville and the Bay of Quinte Skyway Bridge.
It’s fun to invite children, or even the child within us adults, to lie on the deck and watch the bridge approach. There’s that moment of terror, followed by relief when there’s no crash. (It turns out that bridges and sailboat masts were built with each other in mind.)
But the most interesting bridge we encounter is the Thousand Islands Bridge. It crosses from Canada to the US, with spans that sit on Georgina Island, Constance Island, Hill Island, and Wellesley Island. This system of bridges was first built almost nine decades, and it covers eight and a half miles.
Our approach that day was challenging, as we had to thread our way between a dozen small, closely-packed islands. The narrow passages between them forced the water to run fast and deep, driving the boat quickly downstream. Steering became an interesting challenge, as random unexpected currents would suddenly swing the boat from side to side.
We passed under the span between the Canadian mainland and Georgina Island, then continued along the channel. Studying our charts, we decided to stop at a new anchorage for us, a sheltered spot near Reveille Island. It was far enough away from the bridge that practically no sound reached us.
I sent the drone up to explore.
Here you can see Second Wind in its private bay, swinging from the anchor under glorious skies. On the left, the Canadian channel leads to Rockport, Brockville, and eventually Montreal, Quebec City, and the ocean.
Turning the drone’s camera in the opposite direction, I photographed the northern half of the bridge, as a tour boat passed under the same span we had traversed.
Setting out in the dinghy, Esther and I visited Constance Island, which you can see in the middle, directly under the bridge. It’s one of 16 islands in the magnificent Thousand Islands National Park. It has a lovely trail around its perimeter, but the down-side is that it twice led us just a few feet below the enormous bridge.
So we were twice assaulted by the roar of big trucks and constant traffic. On the other hand, the noise diminished quickly as we explored further.
Being able to go ashore for a long walk is a major criterion when we’re looking for islands to visit. We know it’s crucial for our health.
While flying earlier, the cottage with a red roof at the bottom of the frame caught my attention, so I sent the drone to photograph its intricate patterns from almost directly overhead: triangles, diagonals, shadows, and shades of color.
Capturing shapes and symmetries that you could never see from the ground is one of the unrivalled strengths of drone photography.
With the day’s activities slowing, we ate, swam, and slept deeply. The next morning, we pulled up anchor to voyage on toward Grenadier Island.
It’s the longest of the National Park islands, comprising sections at the island’s west end, center, and east end. In between are dozens of privately-owned lots. The popular central section features a large, shallow bay.
With water levels particularly low this summer, we chose to anchor with other sailboats well outside that area. But for power boaters, with their shallow draft, the large dock and inner bay are an attractive area to anchor or tie up.
The circular island in this image, with its private cottage, boathouse, and docks is a good example of how intimately the park and its neighbors integrate throughout the Thousand Islands.
At the top of the photo in the center, you can glimpse a pathway that led us to an overgrown road running the length of the island. It once connected the properties of a vibrant farming and fishing community, now extinct, its remnants largely concealed from us by the abundant forest. We followed the road on foot for several miles.
This image, facing south from Grenadier, shows the United States at the horizon. Second Wind is the boat anchored furthest from shore, protected from all but the southwest winds.
Off Grenadier are the appropriately-named Slim islands, which on this photogenic day sat under a glorious bank of cumulous clouds.
After another peaceful night, lulled to sleep by the boat’s gentle rocking, we set out for Adelaide Island, the second most easterly of the national park. (The final island is near Brockville.)
Discovering deep water close to shore, we anchored only a few yards out. Because Adelaide is too small to offer walking trails, we stayed on board, and I sent up the drone to have a look around.
This image shows some features that make cruising a delight. Two large solar panels re-charge our batteries from dawn to dusk, even when the sun is low or shaded by clouds. The aft panel does double duty as the drone’s takeoff pad.
Another feature is the dinghy’s electric outboard engine. It’s almost silent, entirely odour-free, and emits no carbon. What a relief after years working with a cranky four-stroke motor!
And maybe you can see the basil plant peeking over the transom at the left. Its leaves contribute a savory delight to many a home-cooked Italian meal.
Near our boat, a flock of cormorants had taken up residence on a dead tree. The drone captured the moment when three of them set out to hunt for fish.
Although we didn’t leave the boat, the drone enabled us to enjoy the island’s abundant beauty, especially the lush marshland that reaches almost to Grenadier Island.
At the horizon, you can see the Canadian mainland.
After a couple of hours, having enjoyed a swim but with no expectation of a walk, we pulled up anchor and set out back toward the west.
Travelling against the current, the trip was slower as we passed the sites of previous delights. Not until dusk did we arrive at our dock in Gananoque, gratified, enchanted, exhausted, and ready for bed.
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