Day 30 – Franks George Island to Rogues Roost

We rose to gray skies and wind, raised the anchor and set off on a close reach back out of St. Margaret’s Bay. As we exited the narrower entrance the waves grew larger, a horrible mix of swell and chop. The wind was against us and rather than delay our journey by tacking upwind we motored past a foggy Peggy’s Cove and then East Dover to the protection offered by Betty Island and her neighbors. I laid down in the cockpit for a nap, covering my face with the hat Andrew lent me. When I stirred we were approaching Rogues Roost, our anchorage for the night. We motored through the tight entrance, perhaps fifty feet across, where partially submerged rocks lie across from the scrubby edge of Roost Island. We found ourselves amongst six other boats in the most protected anchorage imaginable.

Twenty to thirty feet deep, surrounded by rocky banks, and home to perpetually calm, clear water, it was a real “hurricane hole”, or at least that’s what Andrew’s dad called it upon hearing the description. There were a couple obvious cruisers neighboring us where we dropped anchor; one had the Dutch Flag flying off the backstay. We were happy to be out of the rough water, and as a result, spending half the day killing time on Isla didn’t feel at all like a chore. I called my parents, who were hosting the annual family reunion at the lake. I said hi to my aunts, uncles, and cousins, and felt a little sad about my first absence.

We rowed to the edge of some flatter rocks and pulled the Dingy between them. The vegetation was thick and tall; we fought through the glistening branches to reach the tall boulder field overlooking the anchorage from the southern arm. On a nicer day one might be tempted to run and jump into the cold water below. With an empty Caly, we went back to the boat and had a quiet evening making dinner and deliberating over whether we wanted to go out in tomorrow’s weather. Ultimately we decided to, with an early start, so we turned in early.