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. 

St Pierre to Fortune

 

Eric: 50 Shades of grey…

Sailing in the fog gives you a deeper understanding of this underrated color. A patch of darker gray in the North? Get your outer jacket and get ready for rain. Lighter tint on the horizon?  The visibility might increase to more than 100 yards. We need a new name for the fluffy, cottony gray that tells us that yes, it is possible for the fog to get thicker. The dirty white above is a nostalgic reminder that the sky once was blue. And what is this almost black blob on the horizon? The coast that we are expecting? No, it's just a trick of the all powerful God of the Mist. Among all this gray, the black and white flight of a penguin brings a welcome contrast, and the red beak of a puffin is an extravaganza of color.

 

A short sail today from Saint Pierre to Fortune to clear customs. Two tacks, broad reach, wind 10 knots, sea calm. A comfortable ride so far. We are leaving France, so today's sandwich is jambon de Pays et Ossau-Iraty basque cheese.

Francois:

Fortune is a mandatory call after St Pierre, as we have to clear our entry into Canada, and this can only be done in some designated places, like Fortune. Originally we were planning to do this passage overnight, but during our final dinner in StPierre (very nice, thank you) we figure out that it is best to  travel to Fortune early next day, and leave Fortune as soon as we get our clearance for an overnight leg to IsleAux Mortds. So, we leave StPierre at daybreak. Another navigation in thick fog – I will probably leave Newfoundland without ever seeing Miquelon, although we spent the whole morning alongside its coasts.

Fortune turns out to be a rather nice stop (and the fog lifts in the afternoon). Eric has a nice walk up the creek and 3 billions year back (the cliff just next to the harbor is one of the few places on earth where pre-Cambrian and Cambrian are visible). Dinner at the ferry ticket office (where else ?), and we are off at 19:00 for our next leg.

 

About those overnight passages: we find that travelling at night is a good way to visit multiple places, while keeping our pace. Of course it requires the effort to sacrifice some of sleep,  it leaves us a bit confused the day after, but it is worth it.