Fogo to Salvage

     

There is a cape to round past Fogo, and as we enter Bonavista bay, the weather changes from Fogo-like to a light wind pushing us, and as it is due to turn against us later, we motorsail for a good while. Overall we have a faster-than-expected passage, and hove-to for a couple of hours in front of Salvage bay, waiting for the day to break.

Salvage is another very nice, classic refuge. We have the impression to discover those places as “remote” or even “untouched”, but as I go through a book about local maritime history, it becomes clear that all those remote places were not small at all a hundred years ago and were playing a big role in the maritime routes and even the economy. They were building ships in unexpected places, large vessels were calling in regularly (although unfrequently) even tiny coves like RoundHarbour.

The boat here is called LastOne, probably a reference to the dying fishing coastal fleet, or at leat to the owner: all fisherman we see are well into their fifties (or more). A few young crew on offshore boats, but rare. In villages,  we hardly see any kids.

 

I ended up in there driven by my quest to connect to the living, not the dead: I mean, searching for good cellphone reception. "That's Clew bay ! "said Mairéad.

This is the view from the well-fenced Anglican cemetery. Even small villages like Salvage have (had, I should say) at least two churches (generally Anglican and some other protestant denomination) and matching cemeteries (or, as explained in another museum, one for Anglicans and one for all the other). From a few artifacts that I keep seeing in the local museums, like portraits of the English royalty,  sashes from the Orange Order, maps showing the “original” settlers, etc, it seems there was much more identity politics (strife, even ?) than one would think.

Twillingate to Fogo

 

Fogo is an island up there on the North coast, and somehow there is something wild about it (correct intuition – as explained later during a hike, see below). We enter the harbor through a very, very narrow passage between the cliff and a scattering of islands and reefs, no markers at all, to get through one must sail right up to the cliff and do a sharp turn, there is no room for error.  Once on the “inside” of the passage (like when the video was shot) it looks allright…

Later, it occurred to me that I ALREADY was in Fogo - the one in Cabo Verde Islands. Then on a walk we found this - 

Maybe the sharp turn to enter the harbor feels sharper because of the planet distortions at Fogo. It does feel that if you miss it, you will be falling out off the planet. 

Here as well, we are accommodated on the fishing quays.  Sometimes, there is not so much room tough… 

Classical landscape... we dont really get tired of this

Art-wise, apparently in Fogo they are more into installations. See the Wunderkammer. 

From LittleBay Islands to Twillingate (Notre-Dame bay, 3)

 

LittleBay Islands to Triton island.

We have time, so we try to visit places (and rate hurricane holes): we will stop in between in Triton Island.  Another small, quiet village with convenient floating dock and a small pub to have a dinner. Here, there is a road connection, and we start to see summer rentals and commercial hospitality for tourist. Another one night stop. It starts to be quite sure  that Ernesto will stay a bit off the South Coast and not impact us, if we don’t get East of Twillingate.

Triton to Moreton.

Another nice harbor, which might be safer that Twillingate in case Ernesto changes its mind, so let's check this - we have to wait out till Wednesday anyway. Maybe its safe, but we scrape the keels on rocks as we prepare to anchor, a bit more than a scape in fact, an abrupt stop but at low speed. A quick dive to check the bottom: no damage. The water is surprisingly warm (17 degrees).

 

Moreton to Twillingate.

Twillingate is a largish town and this is why we picked it, as we plan to stay three days (to wait for Ernesto  to move off the coast), better do that in a place where we have services. It is a busy fishing harbor, with large docks not very yacht-friendly, and continuous activity to the loading dock, mostly from “skiffs”, the open boats used for coastal fishing. 

Skiffs off Le Toulinguet. 

But contrary to France (and the Med?) the fishing crews do not mind us taking a slot on the quay, we are welcomed, and there is good infrastructure to enjoy, as in many fishing harbors: showers, washing machines, and even a lounge with Wifi ! The town seems to draw tourists based on its Northern-most location, and spectacular landscapes as well (Twillingate: named after Le Toulinguet, as it landscape is not dissimilar to its namesake in Brest’s Goulet). The weather is quite wet, but nothing out of the norm, and we feel lucky that we are not affected more than that by the hurricane. 

We are on the Red dot on the North coast.

This is the parking lot of Twillingate theater, a Tuesday night. It seems that many midsize towns have showplaces likes this (eg  Bonavista)

 

From LaScie to LittleBay Islands, via RoundHarbor (NotreDame Bay, 2)

 

This is a short leg, another beautiful day to sail, and we have time for a “lunch stop” at Round harbor, a very small cove that is shaped as a perfect …circle. It is one of those abandoned outports, and we see is a fair proportion of dilapidated houses which adds to the spectacular of the place, but there are few have summer occupants as well. It is quite intimate and you could nearly hear the conversation of the people sitting for lunch on their decks.

We stay for a short walk and proceed to LittleBayIslands. We are going to get blasés, but this is another perfect natural shelter.

Hurricane holes

I needed a criteria to pre-select what places we should visit. I decided to focus on what I considered “hurricane holes” (plus some Fjords, on special request): I had anyway to select, on each coast, at least one place where I could shelter in case of hurricane warning (assuming we would have a few days to get there). The selection tends to favor places that are surrounded from all sides, a bit off the way, so this makes also pleasant anchorages. Like, Frenchman Cove in Gry river, LittleBay Islands, Moreton harbour for instance.  When I have a chance, I try to talk with locals for better advice, (a good list would be a nice addition to the cruising guide we use). 

 

We meet with Jim from Malakula who has preceded us here; there is a nice bench on the dock, and we enjoy a beer together. Quite a perfect evening,  and in addition I get interesting comments from Jim: like most of the yachties that we meet in Newfoundland, he is a recidivist, all those sailors keep coming back, which is a good sign ! 

This is yet again a port that has been emptied of its occupants, but is sort of being kept alive by temporary residents. It seems that for less than 50 grand you can get a house (or rather, its remains). I can surely understand why one would be tempted to spend summers here – as for ourselves, we will have to stay only one night. One of the reasons for us leaving is that there is no cell phone reception, and we need weather updates as Ernesto moves up the cost of USA. Our direction of travel is East, which brings us closer to the forecasted track of Ernesto, but we might lose too much time if we decide stay here until everything clear. So, we have to take calibrating risks to move, the plan beeing to wait Ernesto out in Twillingate, the next point North.

 

From StAnthony to La Scie (NotreDame bay, 1)

 

We had anticipated the past leg, the one up the West coast (from Port aux Basques to the strait of Belle-Isle), as unavoidable and unpleasant: not an easy sail, and apparently not many places to take shelter. But it turned out as a good surprise, as we found interesting ports, and although we had to compose with the weather, altogether it was engaging and it added another facet to our perception of the island. If we could have called in Labrador and l’Anse aux Meadows, it would even have been more interesting, but here the weather dictated.

In contrast, we expect the coming stage (Notre-Dame bay) to be the highlight of the cruise. It might not be intuitive us Europeans (or – Bretons / Normands) as a North coast is associated with harsher weather. But in Newfoundland, the NorthCoast is the favored ground (at this season): it is in the lee of the island, sheltered from the oceanic waves raised the predominant SoutWest, the wind velocity is lesser, and as the air dries over the island landmass, there is less fog at sea. In addition, we are now well in August, which seems to be a rather fair month on average.  Add to this an extraordinary number of islands and inlets:  this makes it for a promising stage of the trip. And in the end yes, it did hold its promises. The main topic of our executive planning conferences is not to spot the good shelters, but which tempting  places we will have to pass.

So, from St Anthony, we sail to LaScie. It is windy, but favorable and we have a fast 9-to-5 passage. As we advance in Notre-Dame bay, the weather turns to what we hope it to be (sunnier, drier).  LaScie is nearly perfect natural round harbor, we tie at a welcoming floating dock (a sign that says in big letters YACTHS MOOR HERE, fixed it for you…. ) besides another yacht,  Malakula; we briefly saw her in Port-aux-Basques and it is a nice opportunity to get to know Jim, the skipper. As you might have noticed, there is rarely a port we called in where we did not go in conversation or even friendship with fellow sailors: it is us being exceptionally gregarious, just that there is always curiosity and information to trade in the community. In this case I have an extra motivation, as Jim is based in NovaScotia, I am interested in first-hand experience of what the weather will be in September.

As usual, Sélune is somewhere in the picture...

About the weather. I planned the trip in part based on an observation from my years in New England, where September is actually quite a nice month (making abstraction of hurricanes…). Traditionally, in Brittany / Ireland the summer season ends past mid-August, but I made a bet that in Newfoundland, I would actually have a workable window at this period. II could not confirm that with first-hand conversations or weather statistic, but the bits I gathered seemed to go that way. And then the planning took a momentum of its own, and this calendar came up. But now we are nearing the end of the season, and I start speculating on my strategy to go back home (I will be single-handed). What I saw so far and heard matches the pattern I bet on (eg, fog season ending in July confirmed by StPierre locals, August settled) but I could still be very wrong; I did get a couple of sharp looks when I told sea-going locals about sailing in September. Let’s say it is a ticking bomb, and I don’t know where the counter is.

Back to LaScie. Lovely place, very tempting to stay (the weather is beautiful). There is a tiny museum, which hosts locals playing music twice a week. The room in the tiny museum is a tiny room, but the proper number of chairs to match the number of visitors in town is arranged as we arrive – the 2 of us, and five American couples that travel together in RVs – it is clear that the audience has been very exactly evaluated (and expected to attend).  Repertory is classic Newfie folk, by now we are able to recognize a few Nefie songs (I am not saying that I can sing them; of course I wish I could).  I did not mention it, but when in Port-aux- Basques, we went to a music festival, starring the biggest country/folk group of the moment. If you look at the video, you can see the band singing headwind, so to say, sheets of fog rolling in right in their face - no problem.  Quite a good evening, and an interesting way to mix with a large slice of the population that we would never meet otherwise.  Walk back to the harbor (upwind, soft rain in the face), hitchhiking is not a thing here.

 The concert in Port-Aux-Basques: 

So, a lazy day in laScie. You might wonder why I am not working on the boat ? Anything to fix ? Well, everything works as expected. Or more exactly, by now, what does not work is not expected to work at all, so that’s sorted out; but none of this is functionally critical, and I am happy to report that what MUST work does.

Maybe it is time for a bit of credit to discreet heroes. You got the celebration for the bucket already. Just imagine the other pieces of tech we got to work, and do work:

the engine – zero problem.

the electrics. Tidied by Paul - no issues. (Update, since yesterday we have a problem with the navigation lights…)

the sails (and the Michael Mullern bridge)  and rigging – zero issues

the rudder, autopilot  - zero issues

the toilets – already praised by Paul. 

Nothing to report. 

Wunderkammer (or: Newfie folk art)

A little collection of curiosities: 

(recent at the top) 

Fogo - like in Twillingate, they are more into installations, over there. 

La Scie

Twillingate - crochet

Twillingate

From Port-au-Choix to St Anothy (strait of Belle-Isle 3)

 

We have to time our leaving Port-au-Choix: there is a big messy thingy over the Gulf of St Lawrence, (the remanents of TropicalStorm Debbie ? ) and we are juuuuust North  of it  (pic below is actual windspeed, we are where a green arrow shows 10 knots, fine, but where it is purple – you don’t want to be sailing in there ). If we leave and the boundary moves North, we might be in trouble.  We decide to wait out another night. Next day, reveille at 06:00 am – last refresh of the forecast in the drizzle, boots and foulies, a tea, and off we are.

We are where the green"10"is. All the purple mess stopped creeping North...  

For this leg,  we will be in the thick  of things, the core of Belle-Isle Strait, where it gets narrow (about 10 Nautical miles wide).  The opposite shore is the coast of Labrador – a hint that we brush territories that are out of our usual geographic sphere.  the Labrador current flows South, and raises a steep sea against the prevailing southwest winds.  We have a plan – stop in red Bay, on Labrador coast – but we also have a tactic – be  opportunistic.

 

The weather is actually clearing up and as forecasted (a medium-strong SouthWest). Eric believes in the forecast, he seems to derive some internal certainty from it. This is a new and refreshing attitude to me; always the paranoid and the sceptical. But I am the skipper, it is also my duty to keep preparing for the worse. Gobineau has interesting words about this. Let me quote it (in English !) "At sea, the captain and his officers, feeling the weigh of their responsibility, are never enttirely free. If not of anxieties, if not of troubles, at least of very real concern. They spend their lives looking around them and thinking about what they see and do not see. Apart from the accidents brought about by the wind and waves, it is never certain at sea that one will never meet another ship at night, or if not a ship, an ice-floe. Near a coast, a miscalculation, a moment of inattention, the effect of current, a thousand causes can force ths ship aground. Even when the ship is at anchor, if the mooring is not safe, a cable broken in bad weather is sufficient to put everything in jeopardy".

We watch the sea temperature, that would give a clue when meeting the Labrador current, but the water temperature remains surprisingly  high, around 14 degrees (off Nova Scotia, it was down to 11 degrees). 

There is a little traffic in the Strait: we saw some cargo ships, and of course the ubiquitous Newfoundland costal trawlers, our harbor companions. 

We are making fast progresses, and by the afternoon, we reach the narrow part of the strait. There are a few signs that the place can be challenging – for instance, we come across a race, that creates some nasty chop, but would probably create a real challenge in stronger winds.

 

We are moving faster that we had planned to (was the plan made by a pessimist ?), and keep refreshing our projections and options as we progress. For instance, it is now clear that if we call in Red Bay (on Labrador coast) we might miss those favorable conditions (the wind will shift tomorrow). So we decide to press on and turn the corner (cape Norman) and forgo the stop in Labrador. But this also means that we it will be nighttime when we reach l’AnseAuxMeadows,  and St Lunaire, so it won’t be practical to stop there.  L’Anse is the place where the Vikings settled originally around year 1000, and Eric as myself were very keen to see it with our own eyes.  During a later pub conversation,  we realized that we both experienced the same feelings as we were watching the coast go by during our respective night watch, as Sélune was cruising in from of l’Anse:  the that what we were seeing  – dark silhouettes of buffs on the coast – was exactly what Leif Ericsson and his aclolytes saw.

Early next morning, we are around the Northern tip of Newfoundland. We now  have to beat against the wind to reach StAnthony, it actually gets sporty as we close to the harbor (again – high cliffs, high winds). Once in, we find a good shelter – the place lacks of charm, but we do have a decent anchoring spot (by now, we are accustomed to feel our way without super-precise information from the charts; for instance we have to do a couple of hard turns  – “you see this seagull ? it STANDS on something….”) . We had somehow the hope that we could rent a car and travel to l’Anse, but no luck there. That will be a one-night stop.

As you can see we are quite choosy when it comes to anchoring. What the plotter does not shows is a few bumps...

From Bonne Bay to Port au Choix (Strait of Belle-Isle, 2)

 

Well, when we reach the open sea out of BonneBay fjord, we a smacked by an fresh breeze, a very-very dark night, gnarly seas. I feel like I would rather trade that for a glass of wine on Irv’s deck. Well, its ast progress, the forecast is reasonable, we push on, take it easy – setup the staysail and strike down the main. By next morning we are in sight of Port-au-Choix peninsula, and by early afternoon we are docked at the bottom of the bay among the fishing fleet. There are a few industrial buildings, but they can’t hide the original character the place, which the original sellers would easily recognize - it is one of the oldest settlements (Port-Au-Choix: form the Basque PortoChoa, the small port, and before the Basques, of course the Beothuks, as nice little museum reminds us).

There is a bit of industrial infrastructure in PortAuChoix, but it is not hard to brush them off and find an unchanged shore. 

Folk art.

I read somewhere in Port-Au-Choix that Basques have quite a strong tradition of sculpture / folk art, and I don’t know if the author was hinting at a link to what is going on in Western Newfoundland, but locals are bold and expressive. There was already a few blips of that on the South Coast, but its really prevalent. 

I will post my little gallery of folk art in a separate post. Mags, don't be surprised if by November there will be some stuff on our lawn.

 

 

 

From Port-Aux-Basques to Bonne Bay (Strait of Belle-Isle, 1)

 

Eric told you about the Tablelands, here is about our call in Bonne Bay.

As very clear on a map, the  way up the West coast is a long stretch, with quite a linear shore; it is notorious for weather, not only wind-wise but also sea-state wise. So, we have to spot the few places where we can / have to stop after leaving the SouthWest coast. Bonne Bay was attractive shelter-wise, and also because in case of being  locked in by weather, we can try to get some hikes in the Gros Morne park.

The first half of the passage, after leaving PortauxBasques, is pretty uneventful. We pass CapeRay in the fog, but it lifts and we had a nice afternoon downwind sailing, enjoying the sights of the coast (which is still a novelty for us, after so many days of NOT seeing the East or South coasts !).

The end of the night gets more sporty, dead downwind in 25+ kts, with steep seas. Sélune is not easy to drive in those conditions.  At daybreak we gybe to make the entrance to BonneBay, on a backdrop of high and dark cliffs – not unlike, say, the cliffs of Mohair, or SCotrland West coast. It takes forever to get in the lee (the shelter ) of the coasts, but finally and gradually we get out of the rough part. There are still stronger gusts dropping from the cliffs, 30kts plus. We spot something of a strange color, orange-y in the water – an upturned boat ? No,  it is a dead whale. It gets my paranoia engine going: I always fear of hitting a whale – the conequences would be real, it would be like hitting a rock, not a  – but I reason that they spend lots of time underwater, and then they do take some action to avoid us when at  surface, so overall a small risk-  but to this risk I have now add DEAD whales – just floating there in the surface to …. months ? years ? ). Brrr.

No, if the boat hit this carcass, it won't be like hitting butter. More like 50 tons of rock and bones. 

Back to entering BonneBay. We sail deeper in the fjord to a nice natural basin called Neddy harbour. We anchor and it looks like good holding, but the wind still a bit too strong to relax completely;  the kind of wind when you hesitate to leave the boat on its own at anchor. As I step on the deck to prepare the dinghy, a guy waves to from the shore, indicating that we can tie up to the (private, and only) dock – a very nice dock, with a very nice yachtclub-like building in the background. That’s an offer we wont pass, and promptly, we are greeted by Irv.  It is a really ideal place for us, and in addition Irv and his wife Melanie will be embarrassingly generous hosts for us (we are offered fresh cod, and blueberry muffins for breakfast !).

Water is super-clear and quite warm, 17 degrees. I have a quick dive to check my underwater paint, all good. All those hours I spent in the yard (and Paul's) are well behind now, but the effort paid, we have very few technical issues. 

Irv's and Melanie idyllic dock in BonneBay.

Bonne Bay is a tourist hub, and the vibe is a quite different from what we have seen so far  –  cottages for rent, boat tours, a few restaurants tuned to the urban tastes with ponytailed baristas. All quite tidy, it reminds me of Norway (but that’ very localized: next village, RockyHarbour, is properly Newfie). Offshore, the sea is covered in whitecaps, and we enjoy the day ashore. But the wind is due to abate, which opens a window for us to move up North. We have a nice dinner with the crew of Q-If, a boat that I had admired a few times when I was visiting Caen (small world). Last goodbye and thanks to Irv & Melanie & Valerie and we cast off by dusk.

 

Travelling at nigh

During this trip, we do often start our passage in the evening.  It might seem strange: for sure, when the day is over, the inclination is rather to relax with a good glass of wine and a hot dinner. But leaving at the end of the day enables us to do 100 + miles legs, while still arriving in daylight at the next harbor.  It is very productive in terms of mileage, and as we take watches, we are still operational the next day.

My good friend the pail

Quietly sitting aft on Selune is our third crew member. Sturdy and reliable, he is always here for me when I need him.

When nature calls, he answers the call. While some enjoy leaning over the ocean, he keeps me safe and my pants dry.

When it’s time for more serious business, the pail remains a comforting companion. The boat’s head is warm and inviting, but the pail offers a more spacious alternative and a moment of calm and contemplation amid the rolling waves.

He also proves his worth when the catch of the day comes aboard. Our pail holds the entrails without complaint, making the cleanup a breeze and keeping the boat fresh.

When my stomach gets queasy during the night watch, he is there for a comforting chat. Dinner being a few hours ago, our conversation is of little substance, but words are not necessary when you understand each other.

With my good friend the pail, life on board Selune is a little more comfortable and a lot less messy. Thank you from the bottom of my bowels.

Gobineau part 2: of the Irish and other thoughts

Dancing in Halifax and interviewing fishermen on the Newfoundland shores, our good friend Arthur de Gobineau had the time to form a strong personal opinion on a variety of topics, including the Irish people and american women.

In his own words, which are those of a 19th century aristocrat, and therefore not quite politically correct:

 

The Irish

• The [Newfoundland] population is therefore remarkable for a uniform shade of honesty, and if there are a few exceptions to this, they are to be found among the Irish, who are infinitely less serious minded than the rest of their compatriots.
• If the Irish are not to be ranked as the country's most solemn inhabitants, they are perhaps the most likeable, and they are certainly the most lively.
• What the baleful Englishman, the serious Scot, the hard-working Acadian may desire but hesitate to seek, the Irish will do what is necessary to obtain and be the first to throw themselves into the fray. What they have to lose is very little, what they have to gain always problematical.

What do our Irish readers think?

North American women

• From a purely sentimental point of view, Frenchmen, Italians or Spaniards may say that the American girl is lacking in naivety and, if not in the most impregnable virtue, at least in innocence; that one of the principal delights promised to the man of taste is having to teach his partner a great many things and delicately relishing the extent of her ignorance; that there is no great pleasure in entering into intimacy with a young wife who is, on the eve of her wedding, as advanced as an old casuist.
• Young ladies enter life as a speculators enter the Stock Exchange. Their beauty, wit and charm are their available capital.They want to marry, and do all that they can to pledge themselves to one husband, one might almost say to ensnare him.
• They are not scrupulous about making obvious advances. It is common to see a charming young lady at a ball clinging to the arm of a dancer who half an hour before was a complete stranger. Man is very frail in these circumstances and quickly reveals the weak spots in his heart and mind. If he is vain, she flatters him. If he is tender, she allows him to glimpse inexhaustible treasures of affection and devotion. If she thinks him passionate she contrives to let him think that the spark and the flame are only pale imitations of the volcano that fills her heart.

And on and on, but I think it is time to leave the Count of Gobineau to his musings... 

Gobineau

On Selune's reading list is Arthur de Gobineau "Voyage à Terre-Neuve". Gobineau was a french aristocrat, who fancied himself a man of letters and later became a diplomat. He was sent in 1860 to ensure that the English were abiding by the terms of the treaty of Utrecht.

 

Signed in 1713, the treaty ceded Newfoundland to England, but granted exclusive fishing rights to the French on a large portion of the Island shore. Gobineau was very proud of the savvy french negotiators, who let the English have a worthless island in exchange for lucrative fishing rights. Was he right or deluded? Your call.

The agreement was however a recipe for ambiguity: The French could fish, but not establish permanent settlements, why the English could establish settlements, but not make the only living possible on these shores.

 

Gobineau was therefore sent to investigate on the steam ship Gassendi along with an English counterpart on the Telane.

The two quickly became very good friends and, amid weeks of intense partying in Saint-Pierre, Sydney, Halifax and St John's, found the time to explore the most remote parts of Newfoundland.

They quickly established that all was well in the best of worlds. Certainly there were a few English settlements on the west coast, and they had to fish for a living, but they promised to stop and leave as soon as the French would ask. Certainly the French captains and officers on the northeast coasts established some nice homes, but they did leave them to the care of an Irish groundkeeper when they sailed home for the winter. A few years later small Irish villages grew around the captains houses but what can you do? In the words of Gobineau, the Irish, like all ichtyovorous people, multiply in a startling manner.

All being perfectly satisfactory, Gobineau could claim his mission a success and return to his Parisian life with a clear conscience and maybe a few broken hearts in NewFoundland, and his name to a remote inlet on the west coast

The Tablelands

The Skipper gave me shore leave for the afternoon today, so I decided to do a little exploring.

The nearby Tablelands are a unique area where iron rich rock from the earth mantle, called peridotite, has been thrust to the surface. This is believed to be one of the oldest rocks on earth, around 4 billion years old. Only in Australia and Antarctica can we also see this occurence. 

 

The Tablelands are visible from our mooring and too close to pass. A short hop on the local ferry drops me at the small town of Woody Point. Trying very hard to look touristy, like a child playing grown-up, it remains a quaint little village. 

A walk on the main road leads me to the head of the "Lookout Hill Trail." The name sounds promising and off I go.
The slope <pant> is steep <pant>, but <pant> the trail goes through a nice, peaceful wooded area. The view at the top is worth the hike, with a beautiful view on the whole Bonne Bay and the majestic Tablelands. At 404m, this is higher than the highest point in Brittany, which makes feel a bit like Sherpa Tensing.

Back to the village, and a nice cup of tea on the coffee shop patio.

Now getting ready to board the ferry, settle my bill at the Cat and Rooster and leave for our night sail North.

Grey river to GrandBruit

 

We motor out of the Grey River harbor to find a clear horizon in front of us (offshore), and an easterly breeze – the forecast was calling for calm, and this is a nice surprise. We hoist the spinnaker  (but not the main, in the American sailing vocabulary this, I think, is called wanking) and it gives decent traction. 

A bit of stress coming in, it is quite rocky, and there are no strait strategies to reach in the harbor using natural landmarks - and we cannot the main entry point, a masonry tower about 11 meter high. we trust the GPS to get in (in fact, we should not fret about it: trusting the GPS is what we would do, if there was fog, isn,t it ?). It is later confirmed that the tower has been swept by hurricane Fiona 2 years ago. We use electronic charts that are supposed to be updated immediately... In situations likes this, the difficulty is not so much finding a safe way to get in, than managing the uncertainty: if this tower is not there, what else should we doubt ? 

By the way, one notable landmark that is likely to be kept in place is a very tall communication mast (showing as a chimney on the nautical charts, this is traditional signage). It is probably 100 meters high - and the irony is that, in the harbor, there is no cell phone reception.

Grand Bruit  (it takes its name from a waterfall that cascades in the harbour, we actually take care of tying Séluneto minimise the noise).It has been "resettled" about 10 years ago, but there are still a few inhabitants - in summer only, probably. 

I see a kid fishing out of the pier (the one teenager in town ? ighe very well be), he is after mackerel, and shows me how his line is set. I will put this to work next morning as we leave for Port-au-Basques, we deploy a line and within 20 minutes we have 2 mackerels (well, 1 and half) although we were travelling at more than 3 knots... This is getting interesting, not to mention that 1) Eric knows how to cook mackerel 2) I have finally found the Maille Dijon moutarde and 3) are judging that this deserves opening a bottle of Bourgogne blanc. 

Another very nice spot.

Fortune to Grey River

 

We head to Grey River. We wanted to go to Isle aux Morts (not cheerful, those names – do we see a pattern here?) but the breeze won’t cooperate, so we pick an closer spot. There are so many option anyway… so, Grey river.

The entrance to is a bit tense, no visibility at all (let’s say, 250 meters), and we have to find a gap in the cliffs that is about 400 meter wide. In addition, there is a SW swell that MIGHT break at the entrance according to the nautical guide. If this is the case, we might found ourselves uncontrollably surfing towards the cliff but from where we are, maybe 500 meters away, we have no way to find if this is a real risk, apart guessing the situation from the rumble of the waves breaking on the cliffs. We feel our way in with the GPS. And then we are inside the fjord (the place IS really a fjord; plus I have to do a bit of marketing as Eric absolutely wants to visit fjords; a Fjord it is).  Inside, the fog lifts (somehow) and we motor to Frenchman cove.

We drop the anchor in Frenchman cove. I get the attraction for fjords Eric, but no, thanks. I find them lugubrious, spooky, lonely. Too Gothic for me, I prefer Roman.

One surprise is that we see a skiff power out of nowhere going nowhere (as far as we can tell). And back. And then another skiff emerging out of the fog (we are dressed with 3 layers, the guys are in T-shirt – where do they come from? ) and heading for a kind of tiny beach at the bottom of the cliff. One of them steps ashore with something (a roll of tape) and comes back a few minutes later and they are gone. Discreet wave.  it reminds me of a time I anchored in Minquiers (a minuscule, off the way archipelago way off Cotentin coast), it was same scenario – you are alone, then someone comes in from nowhere, does mysterious moves, and leave with a discreet wave from the distance…

Frenchman cove, the fjord...

After a couple of hours in Frenchman Cove, we move back to the village end of afternoon. We anchor in front of the village. A sundowner (have to trust the clock on that one as fog did and will not lift), and we row ashore - the whole thing turns out to be a very good surprise. Grey river, 70 inhabitants, is one of the few remaining  outports. Those are communities that are not connected to land. Most have been re-settled:  the government makes the inhabitants move to another, bigger place, say,  Port-au-Basques. But here, there is still a school, and (apparently) some permanent residents. We walk the village, basically a small lane running through the cluster of houses. They have a large diesel generator but even at night lights are sparse.

The Grey River outport

They have “Landlines” through a big aerial, but no cell service. We meet a local, Ira,  on the quay, the frustration with the government policies is not far below the surface (and that goes as far back to  questioning why Newfoundland chose to integrate to Canada…) . 

Ida makes his point

We elucidate the boat traffic in the fjord: it is a family going to their cabin up the fjord for the weekend. I check Ira: so people find it too crowded here ? the irony is not lost on him. He is born in Ramea island, which is in fact probably more populated and more open than Grey river… I also wonder why he has chosen to come to live there… and so his wife. Nice guy and very well mannered; reminds me of the folks in Western Ireland.   

Regarding outport people, I heard a good line in a local song about Ourport people yesterday"... we never asked to be found". 

Anyway, a great escale, really different from anything else.