Month: August 2019

After our dance with all the whales we headed into Garden Cove near L’anse Aux Meadows. It’s a moderate sized cove with decent protection from the predicted blows that were coming in. And from here Ann could walk to the famous Viking landing site. There’s a community at Garden Cove as there is in just about every semi-protected nook along the Newfoundland shore. We anchored out of the way and watched the activity at the wharf.

Throughout our journey we’ve been seeing plenty of fishing activity. Most of the wharfs have buzzed with the comings and goings of dory sized fishing boats. But we’ve also seen a number of larger draggers and long liners (we think … hard to know for sure). We just wave, and try and stay out of their way, including avoiding all their nets hung down in the water.

With the anchor down, we got back to the important parts of life; reading , eating, watching gulls on the dolphin rock , getting less stinky , staying warm , and most importantly, avoiding storms.

The predicted scary weather finally did blow through overnight. It was one of those massive electrical displays where the darkness and light were almost balanced. Luckily our anchor held well, and we were protected from the worst of it.

Let the bells ring out and the banners fly — ANN WROTE THIS!!!!:

I rowed to shore and walked to L’Anse Aux Meadows (about 3km) along the road. My boat-trained body parts complained quite a bit about this unfamiliar walking thing, but the trip was worth it.

Joining an interpretive tour hosted by a local man (from nearby Griquet — rhymes with cricket), I learned that Vikings lived at this location for 30 years around 1000AD, that Leif Erikson was among them, and that their sails were made of wool.

 

 

Beyond the site of the remains there is a reconstructed Viking village where the park interpretive employees dress up and bring 11th century Norwegian existence to life. The interior of the sod hall felt cozy especially since dark rain clouds were approaching as I left its warmth. The walk back was quick and a bit wet.

 

 

Although the weather had been pretty nice these last few days, the winds had turned to the east. This built up a large swell and big waves that locked us into Garden Cove for a few extra days. The entrance went from this:

  to THIS: .

It also turned our formerly calm anchorage into a rolly, uncomfortable bay. After three days of living in a rolling home I was glad to haul anchor and point the bow out. As we headed off we were greeted with our second iceberg sighting, and this one was much closer.

There was still a large swell on as we headed around Quirpon (rhymes with harpoon) Island. There is a narrow passage between the island and the mainland, but it’s a very shallow and with the swells running so large (must have been five meters from trough to crest), we decided the long way around was the safer way.

  

Finally, at the tip of Quirpon Island we reached the most northerly tip of our journey. We turned the corner, managing the largest swells either of us had ever experienced, and started to head south — heading toward where the butter starts to melt (well, maybe not that far south).

The shoreline all along this northern peninsula had been stunning. As we turned the corner the character became harsher — rougher. With nothing till Ireland or Norway, the ocean waves can build to monstrous sizes, till they crash into the cliffs of Newfoundland.

  

After a few hours we spotted the entrance to our next temporary home; St. Lunaire Bay. As usual, there is a village in this fairly large bay. But also as usual, we headed towards a more remote part of the bay so we could anchor away from all the busyness.

We went down to the end of the bay and found the perfect spot.

 

 

Later that evening we noticed a small boat approaching. It carried Wade and Coleen and their dog Freddie. They came over to tell us we were anchored close to an abandoned mussel farm. Although they had removed most of the old gear, there was still plenty of junk on the bottom to get snagged onto. Luckily Wade had been involved in laying out the farm, and he thought we were probably safe — as long as we didn’t drag anchor.

The forecast called for nothing but moderate (15-25 knot) winds from the southwest. One of us ( 😳 ) decided we had to try and sail these conditions, otherwise we could get stuck for days, Weeks!, even MONTHS!!! So we went out the next day into a large sea and big winds. Here’s how that turned out:

Yup.. it was one of those days 🙁 .

We limped back to St. Lunaire, this time choosing a cove not filled with old mussel-farm junk. It was another stunningly beautiful anchorage, so not too hard to put up with 🙂 . And there we waited. From our little experiment we knew we needed a north to westish wind to make any headway. So we waited…

The next day our new friend Wade came by with his two brothers to deliver us some amazing cod that they had just caught. There is nothing like fresh cod. It is succulent, and sweet. It is nothing like the cod we buy at the supermarket.

 

The forecast was calling for some favourable winds two days out, which we decided was our best bet to make some distance. Wade had offered to help us replenish our diesel, and anything else we might need. So, we hauled up anchor the next morning — in the rain — and motored over to the wharf. This would be the first dock we’ve been to since leaving Corner Brook.

Nearly every community has a public wharf. Some are rougher than others, but they are all designed as working-boat docks. They are also fixed, meaning we rise and fall with the tides but they don’t. This makes tying up to them somewhat of a challenge for us prissy-boat sailors. But we managed.

Wade met us at the wharf and not only drove us into the village to refill our diesel cans, but also gave us a tour of St. Lunaire. Coleen had a doctor’s appointment in the neighbouring big city of St. Anthony (~2,500 people) and they kindly offered to let us come with them, which we did!

Wade is one of these people that seems to have done everything. He and his brothers were commercial fishers until they sold their boat. He’s also owned a restaurant, ran (still runs) a small sawmill, piloted a tour boat, and is currently a coast guard officer on the St Anthony-based cutter the CCGS Pennant Bay. This is one of the Coast Guard’s newest vessels, and a mighty fine one she is.

We also got a tour of their other sailboat, the Kuan Yin. She’s a ketch-rigged steel sailboat, all fully equipped and ready to go. Wade and Coleen are selling her for the incredible price of only $25,000, so if you’re interested in a boat that would truly go anywhere, including the Northwest passage, this is an incredible deal.

While in St. Anthony we spotted two other sailboats tied up to wharfs. They are both headed to Lewisporte, but the one from Europe had a pretty tight deadline, so we probably won’t see them again till next Spring.

The kindness of Newfoundlanders seems to know no bounds. Coleen and Wade not only helped us restock and gave us these grand tours, but also invited us back to their home for dinner, oops, supper. There we met their grand daughter, along with their five house cats. What a wonderful day it was!

Wade finally drove us back to Pachina Mia, and we settled in for a night at the dock. We said our goodbyes, and then climbed back on board. The boat never feels right tied to a wharf, and there were very odd bumps and bangs that kept us both awake much of the night. We also had to leave with first light to make our next destination.

It was a chilly, early morning. But the winds were workable, and the seas had dropped. We headed out of the bay and pointed the bow south. Not far along we were greeted with a sight straight out of a Newfoundland tourist ad:

With the fridge in and working perfectly, and all our stuff either stored aboard or moved to Lewisporte, we finally ran out of excuses to stay. We had one final cockpit drinkies/going-away party with our good friends Gord & Leona, along with Brian. Then the next day we were off.

 

 

On the way out we passed another of our many Corner Brook friends, Kenny. He was just coming back from a night out at Woods Island. We said our so longs as we passed by, sadly going in opposite directions.

Given what happened to us last year, we were somewhat nervous about stopping at Woods Island. Last year we did that and didn’t move for almost two months. But it was the perfect jump off point to leaving the Bay of Islands. So we slid in through the narrow passage and dropped the hook one last time. It felt like coming home!  

We waited two nights for a good weather window to open up for our first big hop north to Bonne Bay and mountains of Gros Morne. It’s a 35 (nautical) mile jump, and the longest we’d travelled in over two years. We passed  Weeball (Gurnsey Island) and headed north.

The last time we had been to Gros Morne it was on a road trip some 25 years ago. It was quite a bit different arriving here again in our own boat.

 

The sail up was great. It felt wonderful to hoist the old rags and feel Pachina Mia show us what it meant to be a sailboat once again. And though the wind and seas piped up a bit, we made it safe and sound in a few short hours. We sailed, then motored up the fjord to Neddy Harbour, then dropped the hook just outside of a mooring field.  

 

 

People think of Newfoundland as wild and remote. It is that, but it is also thinly but pervasively populated. It seems that nearly every nook that is remotely safe from the elements has some sort of town, village or just gathering of shacks. And so it was in Neddy Harbour.

 

 

While we waited for a good weather window to make our next big hop (over 80 nm) we relaxed in the relative calm of this snug little harbour. After a few days we had our chance.

 

 

 

 

Getting up before dawn, we ate, hauled anchor, and  motored, then sailed our way north to Port Saunders area.

It was a brisk sail with 25+ knots of wind, and large rolling seas. Luckily, most of it was on our aft quarter, so we managed with reefed main and small jib. We flew into Hawkes Harbour just south of Port Saunders, and found a beautiful little bay to drop anchor and enjoy the life around us.

 

 

Our next jump was to be an easy and relatively short one. Unfortunately the weather had not checked with the forecasters, so instead of south winds blowing us along, we ended up with north winds on our nose. This, along with a counter-current, produced those steep choppy waves all sailors love to hate. The short easy sailing day turned into a long, grinding slow slog.   

 

 

We finally made our destination for the night: St. John Island. At the mouth of the bay we were greeted by some very odd shaped rock outcroppings, and a reminder that not all boat journeys end well. 

  

 

Inside the harbour we found a couple of fishing camps, and gentle waters. and were treated with our first new animal sightings; first caribou, then moose. I’m used to seeing Lake Superior caribou. This big boy looked twice as large!  

We left early the next morning for yet another large jump, heading for Flower’s Cove. With Ann at the helm we pointed our bow north once again, heading for the opening of the mighty Strait of Belle Isle. On our way we spotted our first seals, and then some dolphins!

Someone once called the Strait “the world’s most dangerous waterway.” 😉 This may have been a slight exaggeration, but it is certainly a stretch of water to take very seriously. The cold Labrador Current cuts through here. Winds funnel and build, and the tidal currents ebb and flow, sometimes reaching over three knots. We had to get both the current and winds right if we were to have an easy passage.

All this meant another stay, this time anchored just inside the harbour mouth of Flower’s Cove. We dropped our hook off the fairway and set up to watch the trawlers and smaller dories go about their constant business as they fished the waters off the cape.

     

While sitting in Flower’s Cove we enlisted the aid of Donna to help  us figure out when we should run the Strait. We needed to find the right combination of tides and currents; a task that Donna took to like the old crusty salt that she is (or dreams of being 😉 . With Donna’s guidance we found the right moment, so hauled up anchor once again, and headed around the cape. 

The sea temperatures, which had started at a balmy 15 ºC in the Bay of Islands (Corner Brook), was now down to around 7.5 ºC. This quickly makes everything a lot cooler, so out came the fleece and toques. It truly felt like we were north.

 

We left with the early light of morning.There are few safe harbours along the Newfoundland shore of the Strait, so we had to make our next anchorage before the tide turned. This was another 40 nm hop. Our TOP boat speed is 7.5 knots, so we were counting on the current and winds to push us along fast. 

The currents did their job. Unfortunately the wind never really materialized until far later in the day. So our grand scoot through the Strait was done entirely under motor. Easy peasy… Who ever said it was the “world’s most dangerous waterway” 👿

 

 

But while the journey itself was uneventful, the sights more than made up for the boredom of motoring. First there were the gannets torpedoing from great heights to spear their fishy prey. Then there were the dolphins and whales which were becoming a regular, but always exciting, sighting. And finally there was the distant white thing on the horizon. 

“Is it a ship … nah.” “Must be a building on the Labrador side of the Strait … but that doesn’t make sense.” Wait!! It’s an ICEBERG!!!!!  Our first Iceberg!

 

It was distant, but unmistakable. What a sight! 

We eventually rounded Cape Norman and Cook’s Point and headed into our safe refuge of Ha Ha Bay. On the way in we spotted numerous minke and humpback whales. I’ll never tire of seeing these amazing animals.

In Ha Ha Bay we anchored somewhat off the village of Raleigh; a “traditional fishing village” — or so the tourist signs said. We didn’t actually see any fishing activities. But the bay was big  and beautiful, and the village looked tough and rugged and very northern.

We had seen a number of whales as we entered Ha Ha Bay, but they seemed to stay outside — until nighttime! 

I awake to a “poosh”. Then another, much closer. Then our boat starts rocking as if a big rolling wave had just hit us. Then more poosh, poosh. Whales! There are whales swimming right next to our boat! 

I bolt out of bed, and run to our cockpit. It is nearly pitch black, but I can hear a whale swimming very close off the stern, and then I hear it breath: poosh! And then I can see the boiling froth of water not 20 feet from our stern as the whale breaches and breathes. 

By now Ann is up and we both watch and listen with amazement. But it’s freakin’ cold, especially in naught but our skins, so we head back to bed, only to be awakened shortly thereafter by more poosh, poosh as another whale comes in to take a look at us.  

Amazing… 

The morning dawns, and a somewhat threatening forecast convinces us to to move on from Ha Ha, and head a short distance over to what looked like a better protected bay. It was also close to L’anse aux Meadows — a place Ann had to visit. So, perfect.

We head out of the bay to navigate a short, but tricky cluster of islands and sunkers. No sooner are we out of the bay that we begin seeing our nighttime visitors once again. Whales are incredible.    

   

As we round one of the trickier points I spot a large vessel washed up on one of the islands. This is a reminder that this land takes no prisoners. It is beautiful, but we can’t get lulled by this.