A LONG STAY IN THUNDER BAY
We arrived in Thunder Bay, tired and strung out. I was anxious about being in an unfamiliar marina in a different country, the newness of clearing customs (which actually consisted of a 10-minute phone call), and managing our three small crew members. The harbor master told us that if we stayed seven nights in the marina, we could get a discount. On the spot, we agreed and handed over the credit card.
About two hours later once we had settled in and relaxed a bit, we regretted the decision made so quickly. I didn’t want to be in a city, I wanted to be at a remote wilderness anchorage, like the previous night we had spent at Clark Bay, the last anchorage before rounding Pigeon Point into Canada. I prefer the solitude of thinking we were the only people in the world. In Clark Bay, we had spent the night listening to the loons and the zombie-like mosquitoes pounding at the tightly sealed windows and doors and feeling the thick, white Milky Way above our heads. Now we were in a metropolis of more than 100,000 people for an entire week? We could always leave early, but we were still out the money. And how had we made that decision so quickly, anyway?
In the end, staying a week in Thunder Bay worked out fine. The wind and waves were high most days, and small-craft advisories