Grey birch on a neighbour's lawn

Many people were without power for a day or two due to trees and branches falling on power lines.

Damaged roller-reefing jib in Mahone Bay harbour

One of the two floating cabins in Mahone Bay harbour dragged its mooring inland.

Who's the strongest of us all? This spider's web is battered but not broken.

Was it really the eye? Perhaps it was just the sky just clearing after the brunt of the rain had passed, because according to the storm’s dynamics, most of the rain was ahead of the eye.

In any case, it was a nice moment.

On this tidal inlet near Oak Island, it's supposed to be low tide at 11 a.m., but it looks more like high tide, due to the storm surge.

At 11 a.m., as the hurricane approaches, the powerful southeasterly wind is pushing water into the bay, causing a storm surge. We’re lucky that the tide is low. Otherwise, some coastal areas would be flooded and there would be damage to infrastructure.

At Western Shore, surf’s up! This is usually a quiet and peaceful place, sheltered from the prevailing winds. But not today; the wind is coming right into Mahone Bay bringing the ocean with it.

Taken around 11 a.m. Wind is from the southeast. The centre of the hurricane is still to the south of Cape Sable Island and tracking northeastwards towards us at 30 mph (50 km/hr). Winds at nearby Lunenburg are reported to be SE 81 gusting to 99 km/h.

Our T22 at 9 am near Oak Island causeway in Mahone Bay. Waves crash on the Marina's jetty in the distance.

We woke early to the sound of the wind, and the news that Hurricane Earl is tracking more easterly than predicted last night, and should pass us directly overhead. Right now it is just south of Yarmouth and has not made landfall yet.

Environment Canada calls it a marginal category 1 hurricane, though some other sources have downgraded it to a tropical storm.

Satellite image of Earl at 9:45 AT

The rain comes in waves.

I have fantasies of being able to photograph the eye if it passes overhead, but may not get blue sky behind.  The satellite image doesn’t show a clear hole in the middle.

Extra lines from the mooring to the mast, just in case.

It’s a bit surreal preparing for a hurricane. If it weren’t for the weather forecasters and mass media, we’d have no idea that anything was coming. We take it on faith that they’re right, and act. We aren’t going camping or sailing this holiday weekend. Instead we’ve battened down the hatches and stocked up on cheese, and we’re waiting it out.

It looks like Earl will have been downgraded to a tropical storm before it hits Nova Scotia. We’re used to that. The colder water around Nova Scotia sucks the juice out of many hurricanes. But tropical storms can still pack quite a punch and cause damage, flood roads and unmoor boats. And occasionally a big one hits, like Hurricane Juan in 2003. So it’s best to be prepared.

Some people are taking their boats out of the water. Nearby, Oak Island Marina is asking boats with the greatest windage to leave the marina before the hurricane passes, whether to a “hurricane hole” such as Chester Back Harbour, or onto the land, to prevent damage to the marina and other boats.

Tanzer 22

We have a strong mooring and a small, seaworthy sailboat (a Tanzer 22), and we still plan to do lots of sailing this fall. We will remove the sails to reduce windage, remove the outboard engine, secure or remove anything that could cause damage when bouncing around inside the boat, double up the mooring lines including a line from the mooring to the mast, and hope for the best.

If it weren’t so hot, this work would be easier.

Meanwhile, at home we have to be prepared for power outages and high winds, which means taking down the screened-in mosquito shelter, putting tools and toys away, filling the bathtubs and jugs with water, backing up my hard drive, and stocking up on food, batteries and camping gas. As long as the power stays on, I’ll report here on the storm as it passes.

On the beach, it could have been 100 years ago.

The wooden gaff-rigged sloop was on its way from Lunenburg to Mahone Bay.  But the cable used to raise the centerboard had broken.  So the sailor ran her up on Bachman’s Beach, on Second Peninsula, hoping to fix her at low tide.

The team of draft horses was in training, as usual, and was pulling a sledge.  Their driver brings them down to the beach to cool off.  We’d met them before, a couple of years ago, on this beach.

The hull of the sloop was built by David Westergard from a half-model he’d found.  (Westergard is currently building a couple of schooners at the Dory Shop in Lunenburg.)  Only after he’d built it did he learn that it was a particular Pubnico type of fishing vessel that was often fitted with a make-or-break engine.    The sailor (whose name escaped me; add a comment if you read this) had rigged the boat  himself and was bringing it to Mahone Bay for the schooner races.

“Are the schooner races part of Chester Race Week?” I asked, naively.

“Not at all.”

“Do the schooners eschew Chester Race Week?”

“Fiberglass Race Week!”

Right.  The folks who perpetuate the skills of wooden boat building live in a different universe from the carbon fiber and kevlar world of the most serious racers.  But they sail the same waters.

And so do we, on short overnight cruises in our 32-year-old fiberglass sailboat, not belonging to one group or the other, but glad to admire both, from a respectful distance.

Draft horses cool down at Bachman's Beach, July 2008

Spaghetti squash shoots and leaves deform themselves trying to get to the other side of the deer fence

A little more on the deer fence around my vegetable garden:

It’s really working very well, as far as the deer are concerned.  The biggest challenge to it right now is the squash, which will go to any length to get through to the other side of the fence.  There has been some damage to the netting, so I’ve either pruned the shoots that were trying to get through or directed them under the fence to the open lawn beyond.

Site 15, Kejimkujik National Park, after the rain

It was raining as we set up our tents on Big Muise Island in Kejimkujik Lake.  Three days later, I had to bail rainwater out of the canoe as we paddled back to Jake’s Landing from Site 13 on Ritchie Island.  In between, however, we had a couple of very pleasant days enjoying the warm water of the lake, the quiet forested islands, the wildlife – even the loud, musical bullfrogs that kept us awake at night – and, of course, our own good company and food.

Backcountry campsites can be booked 60 days in advance.  For peak summer season, you really have to book that far ahead.  So when the day comes, you go, rain or shine!

Site 13, Kejimkujik National Park.

If you go:

A very loud bullfrog. Heike Ortscheid photo.

Finally, here you can download a Google Earth kmz file that will show the backcountry campsites on Google Earth.  Very cool.

http://bbs.keyhole.com/ubb/ubbthreads.php?ubb=showthreaded&Number=412472&site_id=1#import