Well, arrival day in Ramea was the last we saw of the sun until the day before we left.  We had lots of rain and wind, as well as high seas, which precluded a timely departure.  All the while, the broken transmission threw a pall over the crew of Seastar’s mood.  Our spot on the newly rebuilt town dock seemed to be the focal point for the social life of the males on the island.  We were entertained by a constant stream of onlookers during our stay.  The main topic of conversation, of course, was the “broke boat”.  Across the small harbor, the ferry boat running to Grey River and Burgeo came and went 2-3 times/day (depending on which day it was).  Eastern Outdoors, a small hostel at the end of our dock, became our favorite hangout.  Besides providing internet (marginal) for us, cold Black Horse (a St. Johns, NL brew) was readily available.  Darlene, the proprietress, also cooked us up some fish ‘n chips with Cod that one of the local guys brought in for her.  We took some rainy walks on the 2 mile long boardwalk around the south end of the island, and visited the Senior Puffin Museum (run by the high school seniors (of which there are 4 this year)), and learned about the islands’ past and present.  We discovered that the island is energy self-sufficient, generating its’ power with wind and hydrogen powered turbines.  On July 30^th, the day before the seas were to lay down, the morning dawned sunny and bright.  Suz and I were getting a bit of a case of “cabin fever”, so we dropped “White Star”, loaded in the fishing tackle, and embarked on a two-pronged mission.  Our goal was to find Puffins and kill Cod.  We had a beautiful, wavy ride along the rocks on the south coast, but alas, no Puffins.  We did better in the Cod department, and I use the term “we” loosely.  I caught 1, the Admiral 3.  After our boat ride, we grabbed B & L, and the 4 of us hiked out to the lighthouse on the boardwalk again, this time in the sun with clear visibility.  Bruce, the lightkeeper of 28 years, graciously unlocked the iron tower which was built in the late 1800’s, and allowed us to climb up.  No snaps, as the plexiglass windows were pretty fogged from U.V. damage.  We had a farewell brew on Eastern Outdoors back porch, and bade adieu to Darlene.  We all agreed that 5 nights in Ramea were more than enough, and planned an early departure for the following morning.

On the 31rst, 05h30 came pretty early with the sun still below the horizon, and the Blue Moon just getting ready to set in the West.  We got B & L off the dock, and were underway within minutes for Harbour Breton, and hopefully, a transmission fix.  I say hopefully, because the cast of characters has kept changing.  As of our departure, several guys were available then became unavailable.  There’s no marine service, per se, on this coast, so we’ve been looking for anybody that has the expertise to do the job.  We’ve heard from the town dock that the parts are there, so worst case, I guess I could pull the trannie and have Scottie and Shay walk me through the process over the phone.  Not the best option as I would have to figure out a way to hold the engine up while dropping the 150# trannie.  We made the 66 nautical mile trip in 11 hours without event.  It was sunny, calm, and 61 degrees.  Along the way, we spotted Atlantic Dolphins, and a couple of seals (which have been noticeably absent compared to last year), while Bill and Lauren reported seeing a Mola Mola and some pilot whales.  The shoreline was spectacular, with several openings to fjords visible, as well as multiple waterfalls cascading hundreds of feet into the sea.  We’re looking forward to exploring these spots on our way back west after Seastar is repaired.  By the time that we pulled into the town dock at Harbour Breton, the temp was up to 64, and the sun was out in all its’ glory (I’ll never take the sun for granted again).  A guy brought the parts down, and reported that he was still working on getting someone who could do the job.  We enjoyed basking in the sun while we watched a line of stratus clouds representing the next Low advancing from the West.  Just after dinner, we got the news that there was a guy over at the fish plant that serviced their boats and was willing to help with the fix.  Our old friend, the rain moved in and the night was as black as the inside of a pocket.

If you want to pass on reading about the transmission debacle, skip this paragraph.  Saturday morning was filled with optimism.  Big Michael (and I mean BIG) was at Seastar by 08h00.  He measured up the distances between the engine and the stringers so that he could weld up some supports to hold the engine when we removed the rear motor mounts which were attached to the transmission.  Before he arrived, he had called a diver to check the prop for line that might have been picked up while underway.  By 10h00, the diver had hacked about 10’ of ½’ polypropylene line that had wound tightly around the shaft.  We now had a reason for the blown seal.  Michael returned around 13h30.  It took him awhile ‘cause he had to locate some steel, then fire up his recalcitrant welder that had lain dormant since before winter.  We got the trannie out, but not without a bit of effort, as there was no way to hook up block and tackle due to the cramped engine room.  Sure enough, the front seal was blown.  New seal in, trans replaced, shaft aligned, new fluid in, startherup, and BAM!  The engine looks like the bull after the fight-red fluid leaking out all over #@!$%!!.  So its 18h00 on Saturday night, Michael’s already missed his Uncles’ surprise party, and our moods are matching the foggy, rainy night.  Now we’re guessin’ it’s the pressure valve-easy to replace, but the new seal’s everted, and the bell housing’s filled with trans. fluid again-trannie has to come out.  Ain’tnobodyhappy.  Mike says he’ll come back tomorrow at 08h00, so I tell him that I’ll have everything set for him when he arrives.  I’m on Seastar in the early A.M.  When Mike arrives, I’ve got the exhaust hoses off, disconnected the oil cooler, have the engine mounts off, the engine up on the temporary mounts, and the shaft disconnected.  Pull the trannie, reset the seal, and suck out the fluid.  The new pressure valve that Bill had airlifted in last week looks different than the one we took out, so we were a little hesitant to use it, but after a night on the internet, and multiple phone calls to any expert who would pick up the phone, we were kinda confident that we could use it.  All back together, start the engine, lookin’ good, and then every orifice is bleeding fluid again.  We weren’t as bummed this time, as our optimism had been damped by the previous days’ experience.  Okay, another call to Sylvester (local VelvetDrive expert who couldn’t work on the boat ‘cause he had just had a heart attack).  Only other possibility was the pump (inside the trannie.)  (This is getting long, but not as long as actually living the drama)  Miraculously, the local “marine center” had a pump that would fit-seems that a lot of the little fishing boats around here use this transmission.  While Mike and Bill took off to get it, Yours Truly broke everything down again-practice makes perfect-I was done by the time they got back.  Off with the trannie, in with the pump.  We cranked ‘er up at 15h30, and guess what Ma?-No leaks!  Whodathunkit? 

Well Dang.  No sense killin’ the rest of a sunny day.  We cast off at 16h00, and headed up to the end of the fjord to anchor in NorthEast Arm outside of Harbour Breton.  Along the way, we passed several aquaculture sites where they were raising Atlantic Salmon.  Numerous waterfalls cascaded down the rocky 600’ verticals to the sea below-pretty good scenery.  After passing through 2 sets of narrows at the head of the fjord, we entered the bay, where we dropped the hook in 15’ of water.  We motored over to Seastar, where Lauren fed us the chili that she and the Admiral had cooked up in the afternoon, and her now-famous, self-described “communion bread”.  (She’s having a bit of trouble with her oven, and it’s anybody’s guess as to how her bread will turn out-this loaf is about 1 ½” thick).  This anchorage marks the farthest East that our travels will take us this year- 55degrees, 43.2 minutes west longitude.  If we travelled due south, the first land we’d hit would be near Paramaribo, in Surinam, South America.

Monday, the 3^rd of August. Partly sunny and high 50’s.  Most importantly-no rain.  Our travels were to take us to the harbor village of Grand Bank, on the Burin Peninsula.  Before we can take off Bill has to tie off his port driveshaft, ‘cause he’s only running on the starboard engine for the next 10 hours or so (he wants to make sure that his engine hour meters are the same on both engines).  Along the way, we’re delayed for a half hour or so, while we idle amidst a pod of Minke whales accompanied by several Atlantic Dolphins.  (The Atlantics are different than their southern counterparts, the Spinners and Bottlenoses, in that they are not as likely to swim in the bow wave for as long, but they are much more energetic, often jumping completely clear of the water, spinning around and slamming back on their sides.  Their coloring is also more interesting, as they are white and gray, instead of being homogeneously gray in color.)  The whales are milling around, surfacing within 80’ of the boat at times.  After they sound, the dolphins often indicate where the whales will surface next, and we slowly idle over to that spot.  Arriving in Grand Bank, we find that the man-made harbor’s walls are filled with commercial fishing boats.  The floating pleasure boat docks are pretty full, and our cruising guide tells us that the max size boat that they can accommodate is 35’.  The Admiral brings us in and we tie up at the only wall we can find.  It’s draped with spider-infested tires and bleeding creosote.  Bruce, the Harbormaster that didn’t answer his VHF, meets us, and says that the floaters are deep enough to take us.  Meanwhile, Suz gets creosote all over the sleeve of her favorite white fleecie while handling Seastar’s lines.  Soooo…… we get off the wall and bring the Girl deeper into the harbor.  It sure doesn’t look like there would be enough depth for us as we thread between 2 lines of boats with 3’ to spare on either side, but as we parallel park in the open space, there’s 15’ of water.  Local knowledge is good.  There’s no potable water on the dock, and we have to run 150’ of extension cord to shore to get 15A power (enough to run 1 of our battery chargers), but for $.42/ft., life is good.  The sun’s still out, so we take a 2 mile walk to and through town to get a taste of Grand Bank, NL.  Stops at the hardware and grocery stores get us a little conversation and local color.  On the way home, we toured the fully-restored Harris House, a Queen Anne style home, built for a sea Captain in 1908.  Back at the boats, we haul out the “soccer Mom” chairs for “Docktails”.  We strike up a conversation with a guy who works on one of the shrimp draggers here, and end up with a pile o’ shrimp for the freezer-you’re beginning to get to know these East Coasters.  Bill says that he feels like eating pizza, so we head over to the Mom ‘n Pop joint on Church St. where the kids are working the counter.

This morning was calm and sunny, and we were off the dock at 07h30, headed for St. Pierre (which is actually part of France).  We plan to stay there for a few days eating French cuisine, while the next round of bad weather moves through.  At around 09h30, Suz spotted 2 spouts, so we headed over to watch as 3 pilot whales and their Atlantic Dolphin pals put on a show for us.  Throughout the morning, we have seen patches of frothy water here and there around us.  Moving closer to investigate, we found that the churned up water was caused by Atlantic Dolphins breaching, spinning, and diving-apparently feeding-cool.  About a half an hour ago, the fog banks that we had been watching close in on us finally did.  There’s less than ¼ mile visibility, but we’re only an hour and a half from St. Pierre.  I’m hoping that we’ll have dock space when we arrive-Suz has sent emails in both Anglais and Francais to the Harbor Authority-but no response.  We know that there was a sailboat race from the Madelaine’s to here this week, so hopefully, the harbor won’t be full-we’ll see.

-Later

Port Aux Basque (P’aB), part 2

 Next challenge-power.  There were plenty of power outlets on the wall, but, like Canso, they were of a type that we had no adapters for. (For our fellow cruisers that follow us for crumbs of info, they were circular, 3 round prong females rated at 110V, 30A.  You’ll have to make your own adapter by buying parts as I couldn’t find one on the typical marine supply sites).  Anyway, the harbormaster who didn’t return calls was nowhere to be found.  When I went into the fisherman’s chandlery by the pier looking for him, all I got in reply to my query was “Good luck”.  When I related my experienced no return calls, the guy at the counter said that he’d heard that story from a lot of transients.  VERY long story short, I finally tracked Dumbsy (as he is called locally) down, and cajoled a homemade adapter out of him.  Didn’t get a good answer out of him for not returning my calls.  Meanwhile, we had a constant parade of locals driving down to see “the big boats” at the pier.  Our plan was to leave the boats in P’aB for a few days, and take a road trip up the west coast to L’Anse Aux Meadows, a Unesco World heritage Site,  the site of Leif Eiriksson’s  Norse outpost from the 900’s.  Lauren had been working diligently doing the rental car boogie for several days to locate a rental car for us to no avail.  She was not to be denied, and finally she found one at Stephenville Airport, some 200 km away.  Well, there is a trans-Newfoundland bus service from St. John to P’aB that passes through Stephenville twice daily.  Complicated, but doable.  Along comes Mr. Albert White, one in the stream of townies coming by.  We’re rappin’, he’s showing me some videos that he uploaded to YouTube (he bought his first computer when he retired for the second time at age 71), and we get around to “What’re you doing here?”  You’re already 2 steps ahead of me.  You’ve guessed that he’s going to Stephenville in the morning (to take his daughter to the hospital for an MRI)  Said he’d pick us up at 0730.  0724, horn blaring (from a switch hotwired around the steering wheel, ‘cause a new wheel costs $400), the Dodge Caravan rolls in on two wheels and screeches to a stop.  His wife and 32 year old daughter (a very big girl) are wedged into the back seat, middle seat and shotgun reserved for the freeloaders.  In go the bags, off come the sweaters (he’s got the heat set at about 25 C), and we’re off on the big adventure.  Dude.  He’s got a miniature TV monitor hanging from the sunvisor, linked to videocams facing front and back, recording continuously (“Did I mention that I got my first computer when I was 71?”).  For the next 2 hours, the minivan is straining up and screaming down the mountainous highway to Stephenville, but we’re not worried (much), as Albert was a long-haul trucker in one of his previous lives.  What a sweetheart, won’t even let us fill the tank “Just filled her yesterday”, he comes in to the rental office with us to make sure that they have our ride.

Over the next few days, we cover the 700-odd kilometers, mostly coastal road to L’Anse Aux Meadows and back.  We climbed the 750 stair trail up to Blow Me Down rock, hiked the glacial moraine at Westbrook Pond in Gros Morne Park, toured the Viking site at L’Anse Aux Meadows,  checked out the iceberg that had grounded itself in the bay at St. Anthony, drove in to every little fishing hamlet, and stayed at two delightful B & B’s.  Good company, 60’s and 70’s music on the satellite radio (hey, nothing but the best in NL), baguettes and cheese, granola bars, trail mix, and a case of beer (after the anchor was down) kinda made it feel like a road trip from days gone by.  The navigation was stellar, as we only had to execute 14 (but who’s counting?) U-turns.  The driving by Bill was impeccable (no car/moose collisions), while the monologue from the back seat was truly without peer.  At 1900, we caught the bus from St. John after dropping our ride off at the (closed at 1600) Stephenville airport.  A couple hours later, back at P’aB, we all agreed that the way to see the west coast was by road, as the little harbors were nothing to write home about.  Dumbsy had left an envelope on the Girl, requesting payment ($80/ 4 nights), to be slid under the door at his shed.  We slept hard, happy to be back in our own beds.

18^th of July.  While we were away, tropical storm Claudette had veered out to sea and became a fish storm.  We had a fair bit of wind, but nothing like predicted.  The sailboats had gone, so we were the only boats on the wharf.  We hit the groceteria in the morning, and were off the dock by 1115 for the short hop to Rose Blanche harbor, where we would overnight before heading to Grand Bruit, an abandoned outport with all of its’ buildings still mostly intact.

22^nd of July.  That’s cruising.  We’re sitting on the bait station dock in the harbor over from Rose Blanche.  The breeze has been brisk for the past few days at between 20 and 30 knots out of the East, driving off and on (mostly on) deluges.  The high temperature cracked 50 F (I think) yesterday.  Right now, the temperature is 48 F, its pouring rain, and we’re clocking winds with gusts to 29 knots.  The Girl poked her head out into the ocean this morning, not because we really thought we’d travel, but just to placate ourselves, and affirm our decision to stay another day.  Decision affirmed.  Driving into a 10’ head sea with 5 second intervals against a 24 knot breeze made our decision a no-brainer.  Turning the boat around in these conditions was another story altogether, and certainly entailed quite a “pucker factor”.  When you’re halfway through the turn, broadside to the wind and down in the trough between waves, it can be a real cupboard rearranger.  This one was no exception.  Full power, hard rudder, but flying stabilizers tend to set off alarms, and bow thrusters don’t work all that well when they’re trying to push air-no mean feat on a 62,000 pound vessel.  Anyhow, Lauren and Bill didn’t know what they were missing, but took our word for it as we slinked back to the pier.  So,now I can take this down time to recap the last couple of days in beautiful  Rose Blanche, Newfoundland.

The village dock was filled with locals’ boats when we pulled in, so we decided to anchor up under Cain Island.  As we rounded the island, it was plain to see that there was some aquaculture activities going on here, so no go.  The abandoned fish plant back to the west, in Diamond Cove, had a dock, but didn’t look too inviting…..Hmmmmh.  The lobster season had just closed a few days earlier, so we figured that there wouldn’t be a whole lot of traffic at the Newfoundland Bait Depot dock.  Sure enough, the place looked like it was buttoned up for the year.  We eyeballed the fixed, L-shaped dock, and figured that we could put the Girl on the 35’ face, and Seastar on the projection from shore.  After tying up, we paced off the other segment and checked the depths-looked like Seastar had room.  We gave Bill the option of rafting off the Girl, or pulling onto the dock around our hanging-out bow, and he opted for the latter (trusting soul that he is).  No problemo.  He whipped her in with a couple of feet to spare.   A couple was motoring by in their dory just then, so I waved them over to ask them if it was okay to tie up here.  “ Oh yah, fishin’ season’s ower.  Ain’t nobody been ‘ear ‘til Spring.  Ont some Cod?”  “What’s that?”, says I.  “Ont some Cod?”   “Yes, please” is my answer, so he throws a Cod up onto the dock.  “Ose people witcha?”  “Yep”  “Here’s anudder.”  Whap!  “Wont anudder?”  “No thanks, that’s plenty”.  Off they go with their bucket full of Cod.  There’s been no commercial Cod fishing here since 1989 when a moratorium was put in place after Cod were practically fished out, but there is a season for individuals that had opened a few days previously.  Welcome to the East Coast.  There’s no power or water at the dock here, but it’s very secure, and the small bays’ shoreline is dotted with colorful, tiny (maybe 600 sq. ft.) homes.  There’s no cell service, and we’re thinking that we’re really getting out there.  I guess we are.  The following morning, we packed up our rain gear and hiked over to the Rose Blanche Lighthouse, quite possibly the only all-granite lighthouse in Atlantic Canada that’s open to the public.  Built in 1871 by Scot craftsmen, and designed by the engineers at D&T Stevenson (named after father and uncle of Robert Louis) of Edinburgh, it was abandoned in 1941, gradually falling into ruins.  In 1988, a group of locals began the lengthy process of reconstruction, using nothing but hand tools and muscle power, utilizing 90% of the original stones and quarrying the rest from the rocks below the site.  By 1999, the project was completed.  The reconstructed house is furnished with period pieces and local antiques.  The Canadian Coast guard has since dismantled the modern light tower at the site, and employs the restored tower for its’ light.  Our tour of the lighthouse had a bonus courtesy of the crummy weather.  We were just about the only ones there.  The hike out over the barren, windswept rocks with the waves crashing in below was pretty spectacular.  With the exception of our high tech clothes, we could easily envision ourselves traversing these same paths in the late 1800’s.  Oh yeah, there were 3 bars worth of cell service on the highest rock of the point (note to self).  After the lighthouse, we took the “Old Road” over to the outport Harbor La Cou, a couple of miles to the east.  It’s really no more than a path, but it was the only way to travel between the 2 villages before the road was built.  The scenery along the way was simply indescribable-lush greenery speckled with colorful wildflowers, placid ponds, and towering granite ridges, all ending in a deep fjord, the shore of which was home for 20 hearty souls in a outport called La Cou.  We met a couple of ladies there that told us of some paths to good vistas back in Rose Blanche, so after we returned, we hiked them too.  We weren’t disappointed.  After our 10 (or so) miles of hiking, Suzanne treated us to some Beef Stroganoff (20 minutes in the pressure cooker).  We weren’t in a hurry to get up and at ‘em the next morning, as seas were predicted to be 8’ on 4 ½ seconds with wind speeds in the 20 knot range.  I hiked up to the “high rock” spot to download the new GRIB’s on the Ipad.  Whoa! Wind speed was slightly higher than the 20’s, in fact; it felt more like 30-35.  I wished that I had thrown the handheld anemometer in the backpack.  The waves crashing into the rocks below the lighthouse were blasting plumes of spray 40’ into the air, fuel that the wind atomized into a driving mist.  I didn’t need a weather forecast to tell me that we weren’t going anywhere today, just when we might get a crack to slip through.  It looked like our first opportunity would present itself in a couple of days.  That afternoon, we walked the trail back to Rose Blanche and had a late lunch at Madolyn’s Teahouse which was attached to RoseSea’s B&B.  Lynn, the 74 year old proprietor of both establishments is an Ontario native that came into some money a few years back and decided to buy and renovate a couple of run down shacks in R. B.  When she asked her friends in Ontario what they thought, they told her she was crazy, hence the name of her teahouse Mad old Lynn.  The food was less than unremarkable, but the rooms in the B&B were all new and tidy, if somewhat Spartan.  Back at the Girl, Suz and I spent some quiet time reading while the wind whistled overhead.  The morning of the 21rt was another one justliketheotherones-bleak, windy and rainy.  Bill and Lauren were starting to exhibit signs of cabin fever, so we split ‘em up.  Bill and I hiked up to the “high rock” spot so that we could get a new forecast, and he could talk to his son on the phone.  Suz and Lauren had a spot of tea and some Girltime on Alizann.  That brings up to this morning when we poked our nose out.  After we came back to the pier, the skies just opened up.  It’s been pouring rain in sheets all day, so we had B & L over for a “movie day”.  We turned Bill on to the “House of Cards” series a week ago, and gave him the first three seasons on a hard drive.  He’s been binge watching, ‘cause he’s a big Kevin Spacey fan.  Soooo…. The movie choice was a natural as neither he nor Lauren had seen “The Usual Suspects”.  Afterwards, the ladies cooked up some beef stew in the handy pressure cooker.  I wouldn’t say that Bill and Suz stomped us, but Lauren and I are looking forward to some Euchre redemption on a rainy day in the future.

Well, that’s it for now.  I’ll shoot this into space as soon as we have service.

-Later                                                                                                                                                                                            

PS. What is an outport? There are few roads in Newfoundland. Because of the huge Cod fishing industry previous to 1989 many Outports cropped up along the shores of NFL to be close to the fishing Banks. These outports were only accessible by boat. No power, no roads. As the Cod industry began to fail the NFL government was having a difficult time finding resources to provide basic services such as medical care. In the mid 1950’s NFL was almost bankrupt and the Cod industry was collapsing. The government decided to lure residents(resettlement)  of the outports to villages that were accessible. Promises of housing, jobs, etc  did not pan out but the people had left their homes. These abandoned outports dot the southern coast of NFL and are spooky. Houses, churches, wharf all intact just no one home.  Nowadays a few outports(still only accessible by boat) exist but are slowly disappearing. How does it happen? When the population diminishes to a degree that there are not enough inhabitants to justify the cost of running and maintaining the power source, resettlement becomes the only option. The few remaining residents of these isolated ourports vote for resettlement. The diesel –powered generating station is shut down and dismantled and the power and phone lines are taken down. This is how an outport becomes abandoned. After resettlement, residents can rent their old homes from the government for 5 years for $1 a year. A few people return for a few weeks during the summer. Thought you might like to know. -The Admiral

Got our Canada Day” shirts.  Twofer $20C (that’s $16 US).  Hard to beat that.  The Navy guys came by and asked when we planned to leave, as they were bringing a frigate in for the celebrations, and she would be parked perpendicular to the docks, precluding any ins or outs.  We weren’t planning on going anywhere, but were amazed that we were even allowed to stay (the U.S.N. has a 500 yard “security zone” around its vessels).  The sailors were pretty chill compared to ours, and as the tugs brought the “HMS Charlottetown” into her berth at the city pier, she blocked out the sun, her bulwarks towering over the Girl.  After grocery shopping, I got my “Bearly’s” fix.  The volume and quality of the hand-cut fries was over the top, but the burger didn’t reach the stature that I had built up in my mind over the previous year.   Just shows, “You can’t go home”.  No more “pouty face”.  After some more walking and exploring, it was time for Bill’s niece, Chelsea’s birthday party at the “Ale House” pub.  We were still pretty full from lunch, but managed to choke down a salad, fantastic fish chowder, and a few beers before the cake.  Time to get over to the Arena for The International Tattoo (Let’s hurry up and have fun).  It was quite a spectacle.  If you like rousing marches and bagpipes, you were in the right place.  I thought of my good friend, Gary, back at home.  (He and I are always raggin’ at football games when the marching bands play unrecognizable modern music instead of J.P.S.’s stuff).  He would have been in his element.  The show was a tribute to the fallen in WWI, and many countries were represented by their performers, including Canada, the U.S.A., Norway, France, Germany, Oman(?), Estonia, and Sweden.  In between the marches, we were entertained by gymnasts from Germany and France, a precision motorcycle team from Paris, acrobats on bicycles from Germany, and various troupes of Irish dancers.  The 2 ½ hours went by much too quickly.  We returned back to the boats just in time to see a bunch of 15(?) year old boys toss a fiberglass whale from the kiddie’s playground (you know-the animals on the coil springs anchored into the ground) into the harbor-presumably to impress the girls that they were with.  They scattered after Lauren shouted that “That was a shitty thing to do”.  We ran to the boats and got our boat hooks as the whale slowly began to take on water and sink.  We hooked the handle, but by now, he was getting pretty heavy, water, coil spring and all.  Some much hammered young men came by and gave us a hand.  Mission accomplished-saved the whale.  The next morning, it was Tattoo redux in the form of the C.D. parade.  After the parade, we hiked up to the Citadel, where a 21 gun salute was fired by a bank of howitzers.  Inside the fort, “Oh Canada” was sung, and a huge birthday cake was cut and doled out to the masses.  Next, it was a walk to the Halifax Public Gardens, where an R&B combo was giving a free concert under the Victorian gazebo, as we strolled around the immaculate plantings.  Back down at the waterfront, we listened to some more free music, this time Cape Breton stuff with fiddle and squeezebox.  After a quick bite from a few of the stalls at the indoor Seaport farmers market, we headed over to Garrison’s microbrewery for a sip (or Two) on the outdoor patio.  Within the course of a few minutes, the sunny, warm day turned cloudy, breezy, and cool.  The Admiral and ace weather person suggested that we hot foot it back to the boats, and the skies opened up when we were about 50’ from the Girl.  A slow drizzle followed, along with a super-sized helping of fog.  Fireworks?  Cancelled.  It was a good night to just “hunker down”, so Bill, Lauren, and Bill’s nephew, Joe, and his Grandaughter, Paityn joined us for sips and conversation.  On the morning, the skies had cleared, and the “HMCS Charlottetown” slipped her lines at 0930, allowing us to get on our way.

A five hour run took us into Shelter Cove, near Tangiers Bay.  This was a really gorgeous anchorage, complete with a fine beach in a wilderness setting.  Had we not been pushing to get to Canso for the Stan Rogers FolkFfestival, “Stanfest”, we would have stayed a few days-and probably will in the future.  The local lore has it that during Prohibition, rum runners would anchor here to hide out from the authorities, tying Fir trees to their masts in an attempt to camouflage them.

Our next stop was Fisherman’s Harbor.  Not exactly scenic, but good protection from all winds.  Along the way we spied a pair of Mola Mola (I guess that’d be Mola Mola Mola Mola) lolling on the surface.  These Giant Sunfish are usually found far offshore, and prefer tropical waters, but are found as far north as Newfoundland.  We were able to get within 10’-12’ of them, and could clearly see them below the surface, but the sun was such that we didn’t get any good snaps.  They weren’t real big guys-looked to be between 100-200 pounds.  (They can be as large as half a ton).

Saturday afternoon brought us in to the sleepy little hamlet of Canso, guided in by the steeple of the Catholic Church high upon the hill, as mariners returning from The Banks have been for decades.  There isn’t anything quaint about this little factory town that went nearly belly up after the fish plants closed down.  There’s still a small fishing fleet that takes Snow Crabs, then Lobster, in their respective seasons.  Other than that, there doesn’t seem to be much keeping the town alive.  Seemed like there were a lot of pensioners there.  Like a lot of small villages in these parts, it’s a shadow of its former self, but there is some history.  The British used Canso as a staging area for their attack on Louisbourg in 1745.   Later, the radio towers here received and passed on the S.O.S. from the “Titanic”.  The city dock was actually a cement-capped pier, but all of the pilings were in good repair.  No water, and 15 amp hydro (just enough to keep our batteries charged), but, hey, what do you expect for $30?  So…we got our grocery shopping at the Co-Op (grocery, hardware and variety) store.  Thirst setting in, we headed to AJ’s, the only bar in town.  It was pretty much a double-wide with one small window and a display cooler that you pulled your own beer out of.  We pulled a couple of chairs out onto the “patio”, a 10’x12’ wooden deck separated from the highway by a 6’ tall privacy fence enclosure.  Sweet!  Okay, sounds like I’m Canso-bashin’-not so.  Just sayin’.  That’s Canso for 362 days.  For the other 3, IT’S HAPPENIN’.  For the past 20 years, the band shell and adjacent athletic fields have been home to the Stan Rogers Folk Festival.  During that period of time, it has become one of the top 5, if not the number one venue for folk music in North America.  So big, in fact, that music venues all over North America and Europe chipped in cash to keep “Stanfest” afloat after last year’s show was deep sixed at the last minute due to the visit that Hurricane Arthur paid to the Maritimes.  Some of the finest singers and songwriters in North America and Europe (Scotland) make appearances here.  For 3 days, from 11:00 A.M. till well after midnight, on 6 different stages, you can take your pick of myriad acts.  In addition to performing, many of the artists take part in various workshops.  We made it for the last day, wish we had been there earlier.  I could tell ya lots more, check the website.

Bill and Lauren had a little maintenance issue with a transmission that they needed to work through in the morning, so we took a bit of a late start.  Okay with us after a 2:00 A.M. curtain call the night before.  We traveled familiar waters through the Canso Causeway, having transited it in the other direction last year.  We spent a quiet evening at anchor in Havre Boucher, on the North shore of Nova Scotia.  Bill and Lauren came over for a reprieve of our Jigg’s dinner (Corned beef and Cabbage) from several nights previously, this time in the form of soup (Barley, Carrots, Onions, Potatoes, secret spices-you get the picture) along with just-baked homemade bread, courtesy of the Admiral.  We were joined in the anchorage by a lone sailboat that appeared just before nightfall.

Tuesday, the 7^th, we had a calm, 4 hour ride to the West coast of Cape Breton Island.  The morning started out a bit cool, with wisps of fog, but by the time that we reached the entrance to Mabou Harbor at 1200, it was a sunny 72 degrees.  Several winding miles up the harbor, which, by the way, had a very narrow, twistyturny, shallow entrance bar, and a flood tide pushing us along at 5.9 knots (puckerup, sportsfans), we shot “Queenie” (our 105# CQR anchor) down in 16’ of water.   Bikes loaded on to the tenders, we puttered up the river to the Mabou Marina, a 50’ long floating dock with a decided “list”.  Our objective was the Glenora Distillery (I’m pretty sure the only single malt whisky distillery in North Am.).  Seven of the 10 mile trip was on an old, abandoned railway bed, along the Mabou River at first, then following its’ headwaters up into the Cape Breton Highlands.  The last three miles were up, up, up.  A mile on a dirt road, then 2 miles on busy, shoulderless (with long drop-offs), Highway 19.  That part was truly scary, with blind corners, and crests, cars traveling at 100kmh.  We slipped in under the wire for the last tour of the day, and learned a bit aboot single malt whisky (not Scotch, as that’s trademarked, or whatever by the Scots’ distilleries).  The ride back to the sea was downhill mostly, and we all breathed a sigh of relief when we left the highway unscathed.  When we returned to the tenders, we hadn’t had enough, so we rode our bikes up (is there a theme here?) to Mabou to have dinner at “The Red Shoe Pub”, owned by the Rankin Sisters-you know, of the famous Rankin Family Singers.  There was a bit of live music going on from a local group-Pipes, Fiddle, and Guitar.  I swear, I think that the Maritimer’s, and the Caper’s in particular, are born with an instrument in their hand-seems that everybody around here plays.  Anyway, a good time was had by all, so after agreeing to an 1100 departure so the Girl wouldn’t have to kiss the bottom on the way out, we headed back to our trusty little ships. Tomorrow we depart the land with Scottish roots and move North toward the area settled by the Acadians(French).

This morning, we had cloudy skies, but the temperature was up to 69 degrees.  As we waited for the tide to rise, the wind did too.  As predicted, the South wind was up to 27 knots by the time that we pulled anchor.  Seas were predicted to be 2 meters, but we figured that out of the South, with us headed North, they wouldn’t be too bad.  The sun popped out as we were exiting the inlet which made reading the depths a lot easier.  We cleared the mouth seeing no less than 8’ of depth on a flood tide.  I felt like kind of a weenie for being worried about it.  Our ride has been comfortable, with 3’-5’ (with a few 7 footers mixed in) seas on our stern.  The breeze is blowing the tops off the waves, and the sun on the shore is making a beautiful backdrop.  We’re thinking of our friends, Annie and Michael, and the train trip that we took through the Highlands of Scotland a few years back.  Our goal today is Cheticamp Harbor, on the Northwest side of Cape Breton.  We’ll stay there for 2 nights so Bill and Lauren can get some laundry done, while we wait on a weather window to open for our trip to the Magdalin Islands, in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, where we’ll spend a few days.  After touring these French-speaking islands, we’ll head over to Newfoundland.  Not sure what the Interweb situation is going to look like, so hopefully, I’ll be able to shoot this up into space tonight.  After that, I’ll do the best I can.

-Bon Jour 

Well, it looked like the weather was going to cooperate for the crossing to Nova Scotia on Thursday, the 25^th.  We had always done our own weather forecasting, but since this trip would take us 100 miles offshore, in cold and infrequently travelled waters we wanted some backup.  Jim and Colleen, aboard “Mosey On”, had told us about a weather service, “Commanders Weather”, which they had used from time to time with good results.  The Admiral pulled up their website and was impressed with their credentials.  The group of meteorologists, many with over 20 years’ experience, made their living predicting weather, doing forecasts for boats around the globe.  After calling them, we decided to have them do a custom forecast for us.  Long story short, their forecast confirmed our choice of departure time, and predicted good weather and seas for our trip in a concise email, breaking down our travel days into 3 hour segments. 

We spent the morning of the 25^th getting our stuff together for a 1200 departure.  We cooked up a pot of chili, as it’s our custom to have a microwaveable dinner (just in case the seas turn to dogmeat) for overnight passages.  The bridge was kinda grubby, as we hadn’t driven from uptop for a month or so, so I took off the canvas and gave her a good cleaning.  “White Star” also got a good washup, and her engine flushed with fresh water before having her canvas put on.  Suzanne called Verizon, and had our data reduced, and a Canadian plan instituted for the phones.  Before we knew it, it was time to pull off the mooring and go for a boat ride.  Sooo……, under sunny skies and 73 degrees with the wind out of the North at 10 knots, we were off.  Two hours into the trip, we were treated with whale sightings.  Over three miles of our course, we saw no less than 10 or 12 Humpbacks, either lolling on the surface, or blowing and sounding.  At one time, Suzanne spotted a commotion about ½ mile off our port bow.  Seabirds were wheeling and diving, and the sea appeared to be boiling in an area about the size of a football field.  As we approached, it became apparent as to why the water was “boiling”.  It was absolute mayhem.  A school of tuna was engaged in a feeding frenzy, many of them breeching, completely leaving the water as they decimated a school of baitfish-there must have been a hundred tuna.  When she spotted all the birds, Suz had me haul in the lines as she didn’t want to snag a bird.  We would have SURELY caught a tuna had the lines been wet, but I couldn’t help but wonder what we would’ve done with a 4’ tuna had we hooked one.  Wow!  What a way to start a trip.  Over the next miles, as the sunny day morphed into night, we passed by a half dozen more whales.  I passed my watch viewing a couple of movies based on Tom Clancy novels.  Over my five hours, I only spotted 3 other boats, all of them fishing a bank around 0100 hrs.  When I got up at 0700, we were in Canada, and Suz was watching the Today Show.  We were amazed that we had a TV signal 80 miles offshore.  Throughout her watch, she had only seen three other vessels, one freighter and a couple fishermen on the international boundary.  I whipped up some scrambled eggs and took up my watch while the Admiral headed down for her morning nap.  The seas were benign all night, and continued to be so.  At around 0800, a Giant Sunfish appeared around 20 feet off the starboard beam.  I snapped a few, but all I could get was a pic of the dorsal fin.  The rest of the day was unremarkable, air temp dropping into the 40’s with overcast skies.  The lines were wet all day, and all we had to show for our efforts was a Tern, which got tangled in a line and drowned before I could get it in. As night approached, the lights of Nova Scotia began to appear in the distance.    The seas and wind were so calm that we decided to push on to Lunenburg, 8 hours closer to Halifax where we planned to meet our friends, Bill and Lauren, to spend Canada Day (their 4^th of July).  Soon, we encountered a fleet of fishing boats working the banks south of Yarmouth.  As I ended my watch at 0200, I went to bed and slept peacefully, feeling like I was coming home.  When I awakened at 0700, Suzanne had piloted us to within 3 hours of Lunenburg, and went off watch, whipping up a batch of her now-famous “Egg Suzmuffins w/ sausage”.  Two days in Lunenburg will give us a nice rest before the 7 hour jaunt to Halifax.

Our old spot at the town dock in Lunenburg was empty, so we pulled in and got tied up and off the boat.  After being aboard for a few days, it always feels good to get off and stretch your legs.  On our way up the road to the dockmaster’s office which is housed in a marine supply store, we passed the grocery store.  They had a nice display of potted herbs for sale on the sidewalk.  Our Basil plants were at the end of their lifecycle-getting woody stems and tasteless leaves, so the Admiral was happy.  When we dropped the new plants at the Girl, I’m pretty sure that “Old Baze” had a sense of foreboding regarding his impending burial at sea.  Continuing our stroll, we found the schooner “Bluenose II” open for tours.  She’s a replica of the famous fishing schooner Bluenose, who was undefeated in 17 annual races against the New England fishermen’s fastest challengers.  After being defeated by the Americans in 1920, the first year of The Fisherman’s Cup races, the Nova Scotians built Bluenose, and didn’t lose again-a huge source of Canadian pride.  An image of “Bluenose” resides on the Canadian dime.  Two legends regarding the naming of “Bluenose” are worth noting.  The first regards the fact that the Nova Scotian fisherman often carried the blue-skinned potatoes grown in NS, and got the nickname Bluenosers from the Americans in the New England ports that they visited.  The second alludes to the fishermen rubbing their drippy noses with blue-mittened hands, causing the dye to leave them with blue noses.  (Doubtful, as highly superstitious fishermen regard the wearing of colored gloves to be unlucky).  You be the judge.  Anyway, we were able to board the “Bluenose II”, which was closed for refitting during our last visit here.  She’s truly a magnificent ship, built here in Lunenburg by the same yard that built the original.  Our stroll took us on past the berth for the vessel that does the whale-watching tours, and their chalkboard also mentioned Puffins.  PUFFINS?  All I’ve been hearing about since missing the Puffins that had already migrated North last Fall was that “We’re never gonna see a Puffin”-Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but you get the picture.  Pete, our stuffed toy Puffin, has been dutifully riding on the shelf of our pilothouse, helping us navigate tropical waters, patiently awaiting his chance to link up with his cousins.  Sooo…..After a LOT of sleuthing, I discovered that the Puffins were nesting on Pearl Island.  Okay, where’s Pearl Island.  I looked up my buddy, Harold, a retired commercial fisherman for the answer.  “Well, I never paid much ‘tention to deese islands, I was always headed to the Banks”.  Not to be deterred, he called his buddy, Rex, who said “I been livin’ here all my life, (he was probably 70 or so) and I ain’t never seen me a Puffin”.  (Just an aside, the Nova Scotians’ accent is very similar to the Caucasian Native Bahamians-probably due to similar ancestry).  Bummer, Dude.  We finished our walk at the “Knot Bar”, where 2 pounds of mussels were washed down with a couple Alexander Keith’s.

As is our custom, Suz checked the weather for our travel day after tomorrow.  What? 8’ seas and 30 knots out of the South?  #!%$^!!  So much for a couple days rest.  We phoned up Bill & Lauren, who were docked in Mahone Bay, (a few miles East) planning on a night of Lobster dinner and dancing.  After about 30 seconds of discussion, we all decided to push on to Halifax the following day.  I admonished the kids “not to stay out too late” HAHA, Lauren LOVES to dance.  That said, it was time for us “short ball hitters” to get some sleep after our 2 day passage and loss of an hour due to crossing into the Atlantic Time zone, and looking at a 0600 departure.

-Later