pattern. No matter how many times he had been forced to do them, he never could relax until he was safely on the ground. He silently applauded the cunning and courage of those seamen below him.
In Canada, he chose Provincial Highway 21 for the lakeside, or mostly lakeside ride to Kincardine, where he would have lunch before the final few miles to his destination for the day. Along the way, he would make a brief detour into the largest city on the western shore, Goderich. Somewhere, he could not recall where, he had read about their unique octagonal Main Street that trapped uninformed tourists, not knowing where or how to get off while maintaining a real sense of direction. Phil wanted to give it a try himself.
The fog had moved entirely offshore by the time he reached Goderich. He found that the critics were correct about the old Roman-style Main Street. He did manage to solve the enigma, however, and was once again on his way without taking time to explore yet another intriguing town.
Back on the road once more, his intent was to reach Kincardine by noon—which he did. Their Scottish heritage was in evidence everywhere he looked. At the Bruce Inn on Queen Street, a place highly recommended for its good food and service, he asked a lot of questions. He wanted to know what he might be missing on his brief stay in yet another appealing old town. His waitress told him about the Kincardine Scottish Pipe Band that paraded every Saturday evening until Labor Day and about the sundown performance of the Phantom Piper every other day of the week by their historic lighthouse. Phil also learned about a pair of old shipwrecks that were, to this day, still right there on the beach. The first was the Erie Belle, a wrecking tug whose boiler blew up while trying to reach another vessel in distress, the Carter. Only the boiler remains, but after many years, the lake level had dropped enough to leave it on dry land for all to see. The other was the Ave Maria. Her captain had been caught in a serious storm while trying to reach safe harbor. The old schooner opened up below the water line. With only a foot of freeboard, he made for the beach, where the coal-laden ship disintegrated, losing four of the six crewmen in the process. Here again, because of the receding waters, she lays half in and half out of Lake Huron. There were several other unfortunate skeletons nearby, but those were two examples that could be viewed without even getting your feet wet.
The waitress was a fountain of information. It was easy to see that she had pride in her community, and Phil would have liked to listen more, but he knew he must move on. He paid the bill along with a larger than usual tip to show his appreciation and was on his way. This was another place he promised himself to see more of at a future date.
At Southampton, at the base of the Bruce Peninsula, Highway 21 turned inland. He switched to County Road 13, followed it to County 9, and finished up with a combination of small lanes, Stokes Bay Road to Clarke’s Corners, Ira Road to the junction with Provincial 6, then straight up to land’s end at Tobormory. The automobile portion of his journey was over. It was 5:30 on a day that turned out to be very pleasant. He could still see some patchy fog over Georgian Bay to the east and Lake Huron to the west, so he was sure that it was not quite as pleasant for everyone.
III
Breaking out the high-pressure hoses, the deckhands washed down the weather deck to rid it of every trace of massive amounts of coal dust left behind by the loading process. It was a dirty job, but it had to be done. Hans watched from above while the last of the grimy residue was forced out through the scuppers.
It was not long before his trepidation about fog became a reality. It fell on them like a heavy woolen blanket shortly before they were to enter the Detroit River. The timing could not have been worse. The Detroit area and the St. Clair River were the most congested shipping lanes they would encounter during the entire voyage. Charlie Kendrick would be kept on constant alert in the radio room watching the radar and sonar readings while listening for other traffic. It was not just other vessels he had to be cognizant of. It was even more urgent to monitor the water below. The area was a veritable graveyard of sunken ships, some of which could cause navigational nightmares for large vessels like the Jammison. To help him with his ominous chore, Charlie had enlisted Pete Fletcher, the second wheelsman who was also electronically trained. All of the information they received in the radio room could be read in the pilothouse as well, not far removed from their position. At least three, at times more, pairs of eyes had access to urgent data at any given moment.
With all of their lights blazing and the irritating foghorn blaring at regular intervals, they had every reason to believe that the situation was well in hand. Running at a much-reduced speed, they felt reasonably comfortable despite the miserable conditions.
Navigating the Detroit River, Lake St. Clair, and the St. Clair River channel presented other obstacles in the form of a myriad of islands in all sorts of odd locations. Hans and his third wheelsman, Jim Tracy, were kept on their toes playing dodge-em with these mostly small islets. Hans thought about how his position of command required little physical labor, but without his mental agility, nobody on board would be safe.
All things considered, bad weather, tight quarters, and the ever-present anxiety, they made fair time through the eighty-mile maze. They passed under the Blue Bay Bridge, connecting Port Huron and Sarnia at 4:15 on Sunday afternoon and sailed into the vast clear waters of Lake Huron. The fog had thinned some but had not yet gone completely away. Still, it would be much easier to cope with on open water. They had to travel at twelve knots, slightly below their normal cruise of fifteen, but it could have been much worse. The Straits of Mackinac were approximately eighteen hours away if they could maintain their twelve-knot pace. They should arrive there around eleven on Monday morning.
IV
The George Inn on Bay Street was a delightful place. Situated as it was facing Little Tub Harbor, the view was nothing short of spectacular. Phil had had no choice when he made his reservation because most of the lodging facilities in Tobormory were shut down this late in the year. Still, he believed he could not have done any better. Of the ten cozy rooms, only two would be occupied that night. The grill would be available for both dinner and an early breakfast. What more could he ask?
The first priority was to get in touch with Dave Ham at his home in Matitowaning to confirm the arrangements for the flight to Fitzwilliam Island on Monday morning. During their earlier conversations, they had determined that Dave would bring along some equipment Phil would need during his island stay. A good radio and a small generator with the fuel to run it were what he wanted. There would be no electricity in the small cabin without a generator. He would also need some way to communicate with the outside world.
“Dave Ham,” said the welcome voice at the other end of the line. “How can I help you?”
“Hi, Dave, it’s Phil Wells. I wanted to let you know I’m now in Tobormory. We still on for tomorrow?”
“Phil! I was expecting your call. We sure are, but it might be a good idea to make it a little earlier than we planned, say seven, if that’s okay with you. I’ve been monitoring the weather reports. It looks like we may be in for a blow around noon. I want to avoid it if I can.”
“You’re the boss, Dave. As warm as it’s been all day, I presumed something was headed our way. Do whatever you think is best. I know what storms can do to a light plane. I’ve had more than my share of that sort of thing.”
“Right, I almost forgot how you earn your living. We’ve still got a bit of fog here, but it should be gone by morning, so we shouldn’t have to worry about that. By the time we reach Fitzwilliam, it should be all clear.”
“That works for me. I’m getting anxious to see some real wilderness. By the way, were you able to get the stuff I asked for? I don’t want to be completely isolated.”
“Everything is already loaded in the 185, Phil. We work with radios almost as much as telephones around here. I’ve got some great units that will fill the bill. Nothing too big either.”
“Perfect, Dave, I’ll see you in the morn. I look forward to meeting you and swapping stories. Your kind of flying is much different than mine.”
“See you then,” said Dave as he broke the connection.
A long chat with Jana finished Phil’s day on a high note. Monday would be full of new