Snow, Snow, Wonderful Snow

We abandoned ship for the Superbowl weekend storm and instead spent the weekend at Kai-lee's house. After shoveling out on Monday, we shoveled in to Mary T and rode out the Feb 9/10 blizzard onboard. It wasn't too bad as the wind was off the land. We heeled a bit but it wasn't uncomfortable. We did not go outside until Thursday. Things are back to normal for now.

Cruising on the Mary T - Nova Scotia to the Bahamas

The film you've all been waiting for is finally here. Amy recently completed the editing of our 2007-2008 trip up to Nova Scotia and down to the Bahamas. We call it a docu-comedy. For more information, go to www.cruisingonthemaryt.com

We are back in slip C-61 at the West River Yacht Harbor in Galesville. Our thanks to the Tates for renting us their slip again. We'd also like to thank our dear friends Tim, Viki, and Annie for allowing us to stay at their house while we renovated our V-berth. The work involved removing the head-liner, cleaning all the mold, painting the fiberglass, and varnishing the teak. We hope to continue cleaning, painting and varnishing the rest of the boat as weather permits.

We also had our diesel inboard repaired. There was a messy fuel leak and an oil leak that had nagged us throughout our trip back from Newfoundland. The oil leak from our raw water pump was the result of sloppy work by a mechanic in Maine. The arrow in the photo points to the broken gasket he covered up with a new gasket.

Another important item we were able to cross off our "to do" list was the replacement of our wind speed instrument. This device had not been working for a number of years. We lived without it for most of that time but missed it at night when looking up at the wind indicator at the top of the mast becomes very difficult.

How about that big snowstorm December 18 & 19? We heard it was coming so we abandoned ship and headed to the home of Ken's daughter and son-in-law. It wasn't so much the snow that concerned us as was the very strong winds that were predicted to blow from the northeast. The slip we occupy is exposed to choppy seas when the wind is out of that direction and that makes life aboard quite unpleasant. We returned on the 20th and spent about 45 minutes shoveling the snow from the boat and the dock. Hopefully there won't be any more blizzards like that this winter.

Southbound from Maine

We've been back in the Annapolis area since Oct. 5 but were too busy to finish the blog in a timely manner. So, here's the belated recap of where we've been and what we've done since leaving Robinhood Marina--the end of the last major blog entry:

We left the foggy, foggy Sheepscot River on September 13th. The pea soup gradually dissipated and by mid-day the sun was out. Our destination, Cape Porpoise, was about 45 nautical miles away. The sailing was good fun until the last hour or so when a front approached driving some big waves and gusty winds. And, just like when we arrived back in June, the entrance to Cape Porpoise was congested with an inordinate number of lobster pot buoys that added to our other challenges.

We navigated through without mishap and again found an unoccupied mooring. It was right next to the one we had used on the way up which, at this time, was holding the boat of the fellow who owned it. He happened to be aboard so we invited him over for a drink. Peter didn't quite remember us at first but we jogged his memory with a reminder of how we ran in to him at the town dock. The course of the conversation covered sailing, lobstering, Buddhism, and small town politics among other things. Peter departed as the sun set and wished us fair winds and flat seas.

We set out for Gloucester on Monday with hopes of seeing our friends from Windfall, Raffi and Lisa, as well as Amy's sister, Molly, and brother-in-law, Tim. Despite a somewhat light wind we sailed most of the way and arrived in the late afternoon. We picked up a city mooring in Smith Cove and Molly and Tim drove out from Littleton to join us for dinner. Amy cooked up a delicious pot of lentil stew as well as the leftover moose stew that Tim was eager to try.

Raffi and Lisa were away with charter guests, so, we decided to stick around to see them when they returned the following day. It gave us an opportunity to get some walking in and see parts of Gloucester we'd missed before. We were also able to have our refrigeration system examined by a fellow whom Raffi had contacted. The system had been quitting on us at random intervals since Shelburne, NS. Herman, the repair man, diagnosed it as needing a new controller but he didn't have one to replace it with. So, we figured we'd deal with it in Maryland and just continue to buy ice.

Raffi and Lisa returned later that day and invited us to join their charter guests for cocktails. The guests, a couple from New York, were eager to hear of our trip to Newfoundland.

The following day, Windfall headed to the Misery Islands near Salem, since the forecast was for rather strong northeast wind. We were heading for Scituate or Provincetown and figured the strong winds would get us there quickly. However, after a few hours, we found the very large following seas to be a bit too unpleasant. So, knowing that Misery loves company, we decided to rendezvous with Windfall.

The Misery Islands are part of a conservation organization and there are many moorings available used mostly by day-trippers. Raffi saw us approaching and got in his dinghy to assist us since the moorings do not have pick-up lines. We threw him one of our dock lines and he attached it to the mooring for us. Such service!

Windfall departed shortly afterward due to their guests' schedule, but we decided to spend the night. Although there was a wee bit of ocean swell that rolled through the very small break between the islands, the anchorage was very protected from the 25 knot north east winds that were blowing. We remained at Misery for two nights waiting for the seas to settle down. Although we were not actually miserable, the swell made us have to hold on as we walked around the boat.

We left Misery behind on Friday and had a lively ride to Scituate. The wind was still in the 20s but the waves were somewhat kinder and gentler. Saturday brought even stronger winds but we thought that the waves would be smaller since we believed the wind would be more offshore. Our geography was a little off, however, as the wind had a lot more fetch and thus produced some rather large waves. We moved quite fast under reefed sails and hit the Cape Cod Canal on schedule and rode the tide to Onset, the first town on the western side of Buzzards Bay.

Onset has a very nice anchorage and quaint atmosphere--at least in the waterfront area. We didn't get to walk around as much on our previous visit in 2007 and were quite impressed with the place this time around.

We set out for Block Island on Sunday but were not making very good time. The wind gradually picked up but it was against us. Feeling that we were in no hurry, we decided to go up the Sakonnet River rather than beat all the way to Block Island. The Sakonnet is east of Newport and the Naragansett Bay. It has grand mansions like Newport but not the heavy boat traffic.

It was around this time that we decided to head down Long Island Sound rather than spend several days waiting on Block Island for favorable winds. We figured we had time to enjoy the Sound and didn't relish the thought of meeting up with the fleet of commercial fishermen during the overnight portion of that route. During the next few days we hit Fisher's Island, NY, the Thimble Islands, CT, Stamford, CT, and finally City Island in NYC.

In Stamford, we visited with Amy's friend, Michelle, who treated us to a fine, home-cooked meal and much needed hot showers. We were also able to hook up with cruising friends Lou and Jane from Nyack, NY. Our visit with them was quite memorable for a variety of reasons, including seeing Lou and Jane's house; being chauffered by them around the treaherous NYC metro area in rush hour traffic; going to the fabulous Donald M. Kendall Sculpture Garden in Purchase, NY, and seeing a very large gathering of Hasidic Jews involved in Tashlikh--the practice of casting off the year's sins by throwing bread into the Hudson River and preparing for the new year.

We had heard on the news earlier in the week, that a record number of the world's leaders would be gathering at the UN starting around September 21. These events happen about once a year and back in 2007, our friends, Bruce and Ester, aboard Con El Viento, got hung up in the East River during that year's meeting because the Coast Guard closes the river to all boat traffic. Their story was quite scary, and we didn't wish to be caught in a similar situation.

Therefore, we decided to wait until Saturday, when there were no scheduled meetings with bigwigs at the UN. We had telephoned the Coast Guard and they informed us there would only be the standard security zone. After we started to head down the East River at Hell's Gate, we heard on the VHF radio that the Coast Guard moved the security level up a notch so that we had to transit on the east side of Roosevelt Island. It wouldn't be such a big deal except that there is a bridge there that must open for us to pass under. We had a very difficult time finding out the opening schedule due to the very busy VHF radio traffic. Although you would think the Coast Guard would help mariners by giving out the schedule, they insisted they did not know what it was. Another boater heard our conversation and said it is simply every hour and half hour. How hard would it be for the Coast Guard to relay that information in their radio announcements?

Anyway, we arrived at Atlantic Highlands, NJ, around mid-day and settled in for an extended stay waiting for favorable winds. When the wind finally shifted to the north, we had an exhilarating ride down the coast of New Jersey. The wind was truly offshore this time, blowing in the upper teens. The waves, however were non-existent so it was like sailing on a lake.

We arrived in Atlantic City after about 12 and a half hours and found a spot in the Brigantine anchorage. The next day was a shorter run to Cape May where we ran in to our favorite good Samaritan, Paul. Paul lives in Atlantic City but was in Cape May aboard his boat, Journey, headed for the Chesapeake. We had dinner together and shared many cruising stories. Fortunately for Paul, Journey fits under the Cape May Canal bridge. Mary T's mast is just a couple of feet too tall. This means that Paul can shave about two or so hours off the trip up the Delaware. We, on the other hand, have to head back out the Cape May inlet into the Atlantic and go around the very bottom of the Cape May peninsula. We, along with all the other cruisers poised to head up the Delaware the next day, had the choice of leaving in the wee, wee hours of the morning to catch the flooding tide, or wait until the afternoon. We figured we'd just leave at daybreak.

This was not a good decision. Although the wind was favorable (from the southeast), the current was against us. Despite the conflict, we were making good time at the start. But later in the day, as the current grew swifter and the wind stronger, we had some serious gybes both planned and unplanned. We were motor sailing with only a reefed main but the reef was coming undone with each gybe. The conditions were so rough we figured it was better to live with it than take a chance on the deck. We knew we'd eventually get to some protected waters but we had a bit of a struggle to get there. Our nerves were severely tested by the weather as well as the large ship traffic, the shoals, and the crab pot buoys. This particular Saturday won the award for the worst sailing of the whole summer. Luckily, no one got hurt and nothing got damaged.

In order to help recuperate, we treated ourselves to the marina at Summit North, DE, and then sailed into our beloved Chesapeake on Sunday, October 4.

After about four and a half months and 2,950 nautical miles, our second sailing adventure was over. After much thought, we decided to stay put in Maryland for a year rather then continue heading south to the Caribbean. We plan to continue cruising in October of 2010.

Amy is currently working hard on the docu-comedy of our 2007-08 adventure which we hope to make available for public consumption in the coming month--just in time for Christmas. Check back here for the release announcement.

That's all for now. Thanks for reading.

Change of Plans

This is just a quick entry to let you all know that we changed plans regarding how we'd get back to the Chesapeake Bay. We were going to sail from Block Island, RI, to Atlantic City, NJ, but the forecast for the coming week didn't look promising. So, we opted to go through Long Island Sound and down the Jersey coast. We hope to be back in the Bay by late September/early October.

Back in the USA

We weathered the remnants of tropical storm "Danny" while in St. Peter's, Cape Breton. It was no big deal compared to "Bill" the week before, still, we had some significant wind for a few hours. We let the sea settle down before heading for Sambro on Monday, August 31. Sambro is a small harbor south west of Halifax. The wind was perfect until about 10pm when it quit requiring us to motor through the night. The moon was almost full so we had great visibility.

Our progress was so good we decided to bypass Sambro and keep going to Lunenberg, NS one of our favorite places. We picked up a mooring and enjoyed the great view of the harbor before heading off to our favorite bar in Nova Scotia, the "Knot Pub." It felt almost like going home. The fish and chips dinner and the scallops were as good as we remembered from before.

We contemplated staying there another day because the wind was going to be against us but decided to push on anyway to Port Mouton. However, after thrashing about for a few hours in opposing wind and seas, we changed plans and headed into the LaHave River. We'd heard good things about the area, so it was not a hard decision to make.

One thing local cruisers and guide books rave about is the LaHave Bakery. Not only do they have great baked goods, but they have moorings as well. This was our destination. You can't miss the bakery as it's on the water and has the name painted on in very large, block letters. The moorings were harder to locate. The one that we initally tried seemed way too small, so we dropped it and headed towards some larger ones that were just a stone's throw away. After picking one up, we relaxed in the cockpit for a few hours before heading over to the bakery's wharf in our dinghy. We had only gone a few yards when we saw a man on a dock off of a nearby house, waving his arms to get our attention. We figured we were on his mooring.

"Welcome. My name is Grant. Would you like to tie up your dinghy to our dock? Want showers? Can I take your garbage for you?" It was like Newfoundland hospitality all over again.

He went on to say the mooring was not the bakery's but that the owner hadn't used it all year so, sure, go ahead and stay there. Then Donna, his wife, came out to greet us as well. Grant and Donna are cruisers who recently retired and moved from Halifax to their new home on the river. They invited us to come back after our visit to the bakery and our walk around town.

We bought some bread at the bakery and left it there so we could walk unencumbered and pick it up upon our return. Nearby we found a an historical site and museum commemorating the original French settlement. After reading all the information plaques, we sat on a bench to stare out at the river. Within a few minutes an older gentleman walked up and started chatting about the history of the place, why we should move to LaHave, US health care reform, world-wide food shortages, the Clans in Scotland and on and on concerning a wide variety of topics. Although he was very pleasant and interesting, we were rather tired and concerned that the bakery would be closed before we got back to pick up our bread.

We finally made our move to leave. He, it turned out, was headed in the same direction. So, we chatted and chatted some more while walking. We left him at the post office--his destination--and continued on to ours. The lady at the bakery said she wondered if we had walked to Halifax as we were gone so long. "No, we just ran into a very talkative guy at the park" I said. "Was he wearing boots and shorts?" she asked. "No, but he was Scottish." Then she described someone else that did not fit the bill and noted that there are quite a few long talkers in town.

We got back to Grant and Donna's house and planned to just say thanks and move on. However, they invited us in for drinks and to talk about our recent cruising adventure. We thought that sounded like a fine idea. Their house is right on the water with a beautiful view of the La Have River. They had just moved in a few weeks prior and were planning to cruise on their sailboat, Mr. Bill in the coming years, so they were eager to chat about boats and destinations. It turned out Donna was from Newfoundland, so we felt right at home. We thoroughly enjoyed the several hours we spent there and will definately look them up again the next time we pass through.

The following day, the wind was still against us but we did manage to make it to Port Mouton. Mary T was thoroughly coverd with salt from all the spray we took. Port Mouton is a place we've been to before and enjoy it every time. There is a beautiful sandy beach and very clear but cold water.

From Port Mouton, we went to Shelburne where we planned to wait until favorable winds would carry us to Portland, ME. The Shelburne Harbour Yacht Club was sponsoring a sailboat race and cook-out. As we were sailing in to the harbor, the racers were headed out. We felt like Muslim pilgrims at Mecca walking the wrong way around the Ka'ba. We recognized one of the participants--Blue Chip and a short time later they called us on the radio. After the race, we met up with Darrel and Janet on their boat and had a fabulous cocktail hour with them and their friends. Turns out they quit the race and motored back to the club as they were getting bored by the whole exercise. They insisted we join them at the cookout even though we had nothing to bring except our giant box of red wine. Everyone in the club was very gracious towards us, even though we lacked a covered dish for the pot luck table.

We didn't end up lingering in Shelburne, but headed out the next day for Bar Harbor. The wind would be favorable and, we felt like visiting Acadia National Park on Mt. Desert Island. As it turned out, there was hardly any wind at all and we motored the whole way--about 26 hours. Boring but efficient.

Arriving at Mt. Desert Island from the water is quite spectacular and reminiscent of Newfoundland. Bar Harbor was hopping with activity which was somewhat of a culture shock for us. We enjoyed a few of the local restaurants and the free buses sponsored by LL Bean were still running throughout the national park. We did a rather strenuous hike and ended up at the Jordon Pond house, a restaurant in the park famous for popovers. The other dishes were nothing to write home about, but the Popover a la mode (chocolate Sunday in a popover) was to die for.

We anchored the following off McGlathery Island in Penobscot Bay's Merchant's Row. Close by was the 145 foot schooner, Heritage. Heritage is a charter vessel and the crew had just rowed the guests to a beach on the island. Amy, every curious, decided to go over and see what they were up to. Turns out they were having a lobster bake and Captains Doug and Linda invited her to join in. They were even kind enough to send one lobster back to the Mary T for me.

We're currently at Robinhood Marine Center waiting to visit with our friends, Corning and Tita Townsend, who live in nearby Edgecomb. We had also hoped that the yard here would re-install our water pump which they had installed back in June. It has leaked oil ever since. We were very disappointed when we were informed that they would not do a re-install gratis. There is much we like about Robinhood but we would not recommend the place for mechanical repairs.

We shall continue heading toward the Chesapeake Bay on Sunday September 13, because it is getting chilly. It is time for the snowbirds to fly south.

More on Newfoundland and Cape Breton

As we have been far from Internet connections and only able to post brief blogs through our single side band (SSB) radio, many of the highlights of our trip have failed to make it to print. Now, from the comfort of the dock of St. Peter's marina in the Bras d’Or Lakes of Cape Breton, I shall try to recapture some of the stellar moments of our voyage.

We've finally gotten around to posting some new photos online. Rather than putting them in the text, we created separate pages for them so we can easily add captions. Please use the "Photo Album" link on the right side to access them. We'll add new ones as we get the chance.

In the town of Francois, set dramatically at the bottom of a red-cliffed fjord, Karen, from Challenge, was given two huge cod by a local fisherman. He then asked Kenny and I if we would like some too. I looked at the bewildered Karen holding the two big fish by the gills. “I think we could share what you’ve given her.” Karen looked at the fisherman imploringly, “Do you think you could show me how to fillet these?” The fishermen kindly took them back and deftly turned each fish into 4 ready-to-cook fillets. Dieu merci. I put ours in the fridge and baked it in bread crumbs the following night. It was possibly the best fish I’ve ever eaten.

That day in Francois was the last we saw of our buddies Karen and Phil on Challenge. They were unsure of their destination as they had to figure out a place to meet up with Phil’s brother who was to arrive in Baddeck, Cape Breton in a couple of days. As their boat disappeared over the horizon, we imagined they were heading for St. Pierre and Miquelon, French islands about 60 miles south of Francois.

Contrary to what we’d previously decided about turning back to the west, we headed further east and turned up a fjord called Hare Bay. It is difficult to convey in words the majesty and vastness of these places. And I think I should give an even poorer rendition were I to turn to watercolors. I never knew rock could be so beautiful. When the slanting rays of the sun lands on the cliffs it reveals a great range of hues (pinks, greens, grays, reds) and textures. Sometimes the fog drapes around the peaks like a gauzy shawl constantly rearranging itself. Other times the fog is so thick you can’t see the wall of rock which you know is fifty meters off your beam. But we were lucky. There were only a few occasions when we sailed in fog so dense we could only make out the edges of the boat and the wave about to pound into the hull of Mary T.

In Hare Bay there was one other boat at anchor. A fishing boat turned into a pleasure craft with a young happy couple aboard. We jumped into our dinghy to explore further up the bay and came upon a most gorgeous waterfall set in pink stone. We tied up to it and climbed among the rocks. It was so perfect, it almost didn’t look real but rather something created by Disney.

The following day the sun shone bright and the winds were favorable, so we could not resist the idea of sailing to France. We headed south off shore for the mystical Gaulic islands of St. Pierre and Miquelon. It’s all that remains of the French empire in North America, but that’s more than the English can boast. Although Great Britain finally triumphed over France in the war for north American territories, America and Canada soon became independent nations. St. Pierre and Miquelon, however, are still part of France. Vive la France!

After a beautiful sail from Hare Bay (55 nautical miles), we pulled up to the yacht club dock in St. Pierre and tossed our lines to the customs and immigration agents, who just happened to be there. They came aboard and we quickly went through the formalities. They were more than affable and spoke French with French accents, not like the Quebecois whom I sometimes find difficult to understand. We cast a glance around for Challenge, but she was nowhere in sight.

Later we went ashore in search of a Basque restaurant which had been recommended. The town is laid out on the slope of a hill ascending from the harbor. The commercial center of town only takes up a few blocks. The houses are mostly wood and brightly colored. Though the town was much bigger than the tiny Newfoundland outports we’d visited, it was dead. There was hardly a soul on the streets.

Unable to find the place, we asked the only locals we saw standing outside someone’s home. They directed us there and highly recommended it. The restaurant called Ongi Etorri, or something like that, was a bit more formal than we expected, so we chose a discreet table on the fringe of things so as not to distract from the ambiance with our slovenly dress and sailor talk. Although the place was nearly empty when we entered, by 10 p.m. it was full. The St. Pierrais are not early diners.

Kenny ordered the salmon and I the scallops drenched in a sinfully rich cream sauce. As is our custom, we exchanged dishes midway through the meal. Both were delicious. Because we didn’t yet know the exchange rate of euros to dollars we thought it a bargain. Ignorance is bliss.

The following day we decided to breakfast at l’Hotel Robert, famous for its display of Al Capone memorabilia. The croissants at l’Hotel Robert were decent, but the cafe au lait was disappointingly prosaic. Not what one expects in France. There was a little room off of the hotel’s restaurant proudly devoted to St. Pierre’s important role in the rum running business. Al Capone was a frequent visitor to the hotel and owned a warehouse in St. Pierre where he stockpiled alcohol to be shipped to the USA during the prohibition years. The display which treated the murderous thug as a kind of hero included a large photo of Al and his trademark boater. I suppose to thousands of alcohol consuming Chicagoans, old Al was also a hero.

We visited another museum in St. Pierre which was primarily devoted to the history of cod fishing on the islands. Like Nova Scotia and Newfoundland, these little islands came to be populated by Europeans because of the vast amounts of fish and whales to be found in their waters. My favorite thing in the museum was an honest to God guillotine which was used only once in St. Pierre.

In the latter part of the 18th century, a man found guilty of murder was sentenced to death. The island was not in possession of a guillotine so one was shipped from the Caribbean Island of Martinique. Why they couldn’t have just hung him, I don’t know. Then came the problem of choosing the person who would let the blade fall on the condemned man’s head. Although a fairly hefty sum was offered for a volunteer, no one would step forward, so a convict was pressed into the position. It was decided that they should test the machine on a calf to make sure it worked. The blade failed to severe the head of the calf completely so it was sharpened before the real event.

On the day of the beheading the town’s square was full of onlookers. The condemned man admitted before the crowd that he took a man’s life and now as a consequence his life would be taken. He bravely went to his place without struggle and stretched out his neck so the blade would make a clean cut. The man appointed to let the blade fall suddenly froze. Finally, the condemned spoke up. “C’mon, make it quick.”

The blade wobbled and descended. The cut was imperfect. The volunteer had to finish the job with his own knife. The crowd shrunk away in horror. Never again was a man condemned to death on St. Pierre. Vive la France!

Our last day on St. Pierre we took the dinghy around to a deserted cove and had a lovely picnic lunch with red wine on a cobblestone beach. Lunch was followed by a brief constitutional clambering over rocks to achieve a summit with a rather lovely view. Then back to the dinghy which we rode over to a tiny island called Grand Colombier which is home to seals, puffins and other assorted sea fowl. Puffins are very tiny and fly quickly, so it’s hard to appreciate their cuteness in person. They are easier to see in photographs.

On our way back to Mary T, we made one more stop at Isle des Marins, which lies just across the harbor from St. Pierre. It was the site of much cod fishing activity back in the day. The cobble stoned beaches were once covered with cod put out to dry. Now it has a few habitations, beaches, a cemetery, and strewn rusty remnants of a shipwrecked freighter. There little museums devoted to different aspects of fishing -- the lines, the hooks, the dories.... We hiked from one end of the island to the other until we could no more.

Unfortunately we did not get a chance to visit nearby Miquelon, which is home to wild horses which took up residences when the ships upon which they were borne wrecked on the shoals. Miquelon is also the summer haven of many a St. Pierrais. It’s convenient to have a summer house so close to home.

Although the scenery in St. Pierre was not as breathtakingly dramatic as the south coast of Newfoundland, it was fun to enjoy a bit of French culture in the North Atlantic. Our only disappointments were the lack of sidewalk cafes and boulangeries (bakeries). We didn’t enjoy a single baguette the whole time we were there! Au’ revoir St. Pierre. A la prochaine.

Having spent our last euros on digestifs, we headed back to Fortune near the tip of the Burin Peninsula in Newfoundland. It was as pleasant 25 mile sail from St. Pierre. Fortune is one of the designated ports of entry for Canadian customs. We were able to check in over the phone. No official ever came aboard. Fortune had more floating docks than we’d seen since we’d left the states. The town reminded us of suburban America.

We only spent one night in Fortune as we were anxious to start heading west and then return to Nova Scotia before the autumnal gales set in. Francois was our goal for that day, but the winds turned against us, so we went back into beautiful Hare Bay. This time we were the only boat there. Bliss.

We awoke to pea soup fog, but decided to head for Francois anyway. It was only 10 miles away and the entrance is wide and easily navigable blind. Of course our radar and GPS are indispensable at such times. Departing Hare Bay we saw very little of the rock walls looming up on each side of us, nor could we see the cliffs upon entering Francois. Fortunately we could see the dock.

“Come home” was underway in Francois so the docks were full of boats two deep. We rafted up to a trawler outside of a fishing boat making Mary T the third boat out from the dock. Newfies are accustomed to rafting up and are very accommodating in such situations. The couple next to us were in their eighties and very spry and fit, much like my own mother and her husband. The man used to fish for cod from a dory off a big sailing schooner out of Lunenberg, Nova Scotia. They mostly plied the Grand Banks, which is quite a distance off shore. He was the real deal, but unlike many he did not wax nostalgic about those days. I asked if he had enjoyed. “Not really. We did what we had to do.” He was also an excellent concertina player so it was a treat to be his neighbor.

His wife understood our American accents better than he could and often repeated to him what we said. We had a hard time making out what they were saying, too.

“Got any floys over dere?” he asked.

“Floys?... Oh flies. No not now.”

In Newfie: bye = boy; foine = fine; toime = time; th = d or t. Basic greeting: “G’day. Noice day.”

Some people were easier to understand than others. Occasionally we just faked comprehension with a nod and a smile, and they did the same to us.

That night there was a dance in Francois in their community meeting space. It was reminiscent of a middle school cafeteria. We sat at the end of a long table of strangers, exchanging nods and smiles. The place was packed. You could bring your own booze or buy it there. We bought it there figuring it was the least we could do to support the community. After all, the docking was free and so was garbage disposal.

The music at the dance consisted of a one man band playing a combination of American pop and old Newfie favorites like “Coxie Woxie.” Coxie Woxie always get everyone out on the dance floor.

Coxie Woxie, Dixie Bird

How I love my Coxie Woxie Dixie Bird....

Kenny didn’t feel like busting any moves, so I danced with other girls or just by myself. The dance floor was packed for almost every tune. Newfies love to party.

The next day I went for a hike while Kenny worked on the boat. Much to my surprise I found loads of wild blueberries. I dumped out my water jug and used it to collect the berries. The only people around was a young couple enjoying the fresh water pond. It was a bit chilly for swimming for my taste, so I stuck to my berry collecting and just enjoyed the pungent smell of fir trees and the tremendous views which I’ll never be able to paint.

It was in Francois that we learned of Hurricane Bill from our cruising friend, Corning Townsend. We went to the library to get on-line and discovered that the models projected the path of the storm to come right through Francois in about five days. We immediately delved into a healthy cocktail hour and discussed our plan. First we thought we’d head out the next day for Sydney, Nova Scotia and batten down the hatches there. Surely they’d have good docks and a hotel room if necessary... Then we decided, it would be better to head west along the Newfoundland coast and get as far away from the storm’s path as possible.

We departed early the following day and sailed in a total white out until our arrival in Burgeo when the fog lifted. Dropping the anchor in long reach with two other sailboats, we breathed a sigh of relief, until we looked at the weather report again. Now the hurricane was projected to make a direct hit on Burgeo. Great. Westward ho to Isle aux Morts.

Isle aux Morts lies 55 nautical miles west of Burgeo and just five east of Port aux Basque on the south coast of Newfoundland. It was about as far west as we could go. We nestled into the corner of the wharf and waited for Hurricane Bill.

There were two other boats moored there and they belonged to locals. Tom Harvey was one of the boat owners and we became instant friends. He brought beers over to Mary T’s cockpit and we took a break from tying things down. Other men lounged on the wharf and joined in the conversation. Tom’s ancestors were famous in Isle aux Morts (Island of the Dead) for rescuing the victims of shipwrecks. Isle aux Morts takes its name from all the ships that crashed on the rocks just off shore. Although there are many little islands surrounding the town, Isle aux Morts proper is on the mainland.

Neither Tom nor the owner of the other boat were taking the extensive precautions that Kenny and I were. To them it wouldn’t be any worse than a normal blow in the winter months. Nevertheless we decided to prepare for the worst.

Just as the Harveys of the 1800s helped rescue people from sinking vessels, Tom looked after us and invited us to his house to take showers. His wife even gave us a jar of pickled mackerel. They couldn’t have been nicer.

We spent four days in Isle aux Morts and had continual visits from the townsfolk. One man, aged 77, was a foreman at the now defunct fish plant. (Every town on the south coast of Newfoundland is home to a closed and rusting fish plant). He told us, “People came from towns all around to work in the plant and we all made money hand over fist. My wife worked in the factory too. The harbor was full of fishing boats.”

Then he explained the surgery he’d recently undergone to have a cancerous tumor removed from his liver. Lifting up his shirt, he revealed the giant scar on his abdomen. “Never felt no pain from it." He was indeed a healthy looking older gentleman without an ounce of fat on him unlike so many Newfies who suffer from obesity.

Weathering the hurricane didn’t turn out to be so bad. The worst of it lasted about three hours. It blew and it rained and blew and rained and we drank rum to calm our nerves. At 12:30 p.m. we went to bed and slept like the dead. The only damage was to our masthead light’s bracket which we later had repaired in Baddeck.

Following the storm we wanted to fill up our tanks with diesel before heading back to Nova Scotia. The only gas station was in Port aux Basque a 20 minute drive from Mary T. We figured we’d stand by the road with our fuel jugs and stick out our thumbs or get a cab if necessary. Turns out we didn’t have to do either. Ward, the harbormaster came by in his car to check on us and offered us a ride. We did top off his gas tank to show our appreciation, but he wouldn’t have asked for anything. Ward had a heart of gold.

In addition to his job as harbormaster, Ward was in charge of allocating cemetery plots, which was a pretty touchy occupation. Often times people changed their minds about where they wanted to be buried as a result of divorce or family feuds. Newfoundland is primarily rock, so burial space is at a premium. Ward told us about his sister with Alzheimer's a disease to which he’d also lost his mother. He used to fish and be a hunter of caribou and moose, but now his knees were giving him trouble so he couldn’t walk too far.

You might think Ward was an unhappy man, but nothing could be further from the truth. He professed enjoying life and appreciated what he had. Before we left Isle aux Morts, he gave us two jars of moose meat as a parting gift. I had expressed a curiosity about the taste and he hadn’t forgotten. I look forward to our first moose stew.

There were others who came to talk or observe us at the wharf. One man who appeared to be a little on the slow side just sat and watched us for hours. A woman working in her yard one day stopped us as we were passing by. “You the ones on the yacht?” “Yes.” Everyone referred to Mary T as a “yacht” because it was for pleasure, not work. We loved that. The woman then proceeded to tell us of her daughter who lived in America and worked for Southwest Airlines. She and her husband used to go and visit all the time, but now he had health issues relating to his heart and had to be near the blood bank in Port aux Basque. No one complained about the health care system.

As Kenny pointed out, we were the only new set of ears in town. Although people usually expressed a desire to know where we were from, most were more interested in sharing their own story. I enjoyed being able to learn so much about people without having to ask many questions.

Our crossing back over to Cape Breton was swift and lovely. It was a beautiful sunny day and the wind was off our beam. For a few hours we traveled at 8 knots which is fast for us. We reached Baddeck at 2:00 a.m. Only the last part of the trip was nerve wracking as it was dark and difficult to judge the distance of the navigational buoys and pick them out from lights on land. It was like sailing into a Christmas tree.

In our haste to get to Newfoundland we did not do justice to Cape Breton’s Bras d’Or Lakes, which boast many a lovely anchorage. We did stop at two lovely places near the northern tip of Cape Breton on our way to Newfoundland. Both Ingonish and Dingwall are known for their highlands which are often compared to those of Scotland. There’s even a distillery nearby where they make Scotch. We swam in a freshwater lake in Ingonish. The water was glorious -- clean and not too cold.

Dingwall has practically no town, a dying resort and huge, beautiful empty beaches. Were it America, they’d be packed with sunbathers and chain hotels. We met an honest to God treasure hunter there, selling fast-food out of a trailer. He talked with the passion of a gambler and told us how he hires several divers to go out with him and systematically comb the waters off the coast where a Spanish Galleon and other ships are said to have gone down. He knew it was a long shot, but he was addicted.

Now at the marina in St. Peter’s we’re poised to head southwest, back to familiar waters. We hope one day to return to these parts.

Back in Baddeck

We left Isle Aux Morts, Newfoundland, yesterday morning and arrived in Baddeck in the Bras D'or Lakes in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, at around 2 AM Wednesday. The sail across the Cabot Strait was fast but we had to negotiate the narrow entrance to the Great Bras D'or Channel in the dark which was quite tedious. We discovered that our masthead running light fixture was blown off by "Bill" and is hanging on by only its wire. We will try to get that repaired tomorrow and be on our way, but may have to wait due to the possibility of gale force winds.

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