St. Pierre and Miquelon (France), St. Lawrence and Aquaforte Harbour, Newfoundland

We are staying on the boat today in the most inland cove of Aquaforte Harbour, Newfoundland, because there is rain and wind today, with gusts up to 30 knots, interspersed with fog and very diffused light.

I will go back a few days and relate our adventures in St. Pierre. Sunshine poured down on us on the morning of Saturday, July 19, but the wind and the ambient water temperature made it nippy on the boat. As we did on Monhegan Island and a couple other places, we totally underestimated the difference between the temperature on the water and the temperature on land and donned too many layers for exploring on shore. 

Catamarans gliding across the harbor

We tied up the dinghy at the yacht club. Peter went to the large hardware store across the waterfront road and Enis and I started walking, with Enis's nose on high alert for the aroma of French bakeries. At at the visitor's center, we picked up maps and information about grocery stores and waited for Peter, who had tried to call and text us unsuccessfully because he had found toasters at the hardware but it was closing in five minutes. (Our toaster died a few weeks ago, and we could not just buy a new one in Maine or Canada because the voltage is different in the U.S. and Canada than in Europe. The complications with volts and amps and other electrical parameters confuses me.)

St. Pierre and Miquelon in the Gulf of St. Lawrence is a self-governing territorial overseas collectivity of France in the northwestern Atlantic Ocean, located near the province of Newfoundland and Labrador--the last piece of French territory in North America, a vestige of the once vast holdings in New France. Located off the western end of the Newfoundland's Burin Peninsula, the archipelago of Saint Pierre and Miquelon comprises eight islands, totaling 242 square kilometers (93 sq. miles), of which only two are inhabited. The islands are bare and rocky, with steep coasts, and only a thin layer of peat to soften the hard landscape.

We walked along the waterfront, passing four rusted cannons pointed toward the entrance to the harbor, where a fort once stood to defend the islands from the British. Under the terms of the 1763 Treaty of Paris, which put an end to the Seven Years' War, France ceded all its North American possessions to Britain, though the British granted fishing rights to French fishermen on the Grand Banks and the Newfoundland coast, and as part of that arrangement returned Saint-Pierre and Miquelon to France's control. 

Cannons and lighthouse on the waterfront

The white and red painted lighthouse sits at the end of a short rocky causeway and beyond that is "Les Salines," a row of brightly painted but faded structures that were fishermen's sheds for processing and storing dried fish, particularly cod, and for maintaining boats and gear. Local people were setting up tables between the sheds and dories on the shore for a flea market. One shed was ready to sell deep-fried food and local musicians were scheduled to perform in the afternoon. 

The colorful dories perched on wooden rails and the bright red manual capstans were the most interesting feature of Les Salines. The dory is the traditional boat of Saint-Pierre-et-Miquelon, similar to the American pirogue. Commercial fishermen have since abandoned these boats for more modern ones. But in Saint-Pierre, a handful of determined mariners continue the tradition. These devotees are called the Zigotos (a French colloquial term for eccentric or peculiar people), after the association they founded over 30 years ago. St. Pierre dories are larger than typical Grand Banks dories, with lofty bows and sterns resulting from an accentuated sheer and rocker. They are renowned for their seaworthiness and ability to handle challenging conditions, with some even having made ocean passages.

Enis among sheds and dories at Les Salines

Dories with their capstans

The Zigotos have created a fine museum inside one of the sheds with a wide range of artifacts and gear and very informative signs about the history and culture of building and fishing from the traditional dories, and we spent a bit of time there educating ourselves about this unique feature of Saint-Pierre et Miquelon.

Peter and Enis at the Zigotos' museum

From there, we walked back into town. The streets were strangely devoid of people; the well-maintained houses and immaculately dirt and litter free streets were deserted on this early Saturday afternoon. Other than a handful of tourists near the visitors center, we had seen no one other than the dozen or so local people at the flea market at Les Salines. We wondered (and still wonder) where everyone was. 

The buildings are painted in bright colors but, without any architectural ornamentation, have no real charm. The construction is entirely utilitarian, with small windows to reduce heat loss in the cold winters. We assume people were living in them, but with traditional, Victorian-style lace curtains at every window, it was not possible to peek inside. The laundry hanging on lines to dry was the only sign of human activity. 

Deserted street in St. Pierre

We were hungry and eager to have French cuisine, but finding an open restaurant was a challenge. (I have since read that there are only eight restaurants in the town.) Finally, we discovered one on rue Maréchal Foch. We were seated at a communal table and ordered our meals. At a French restaurant, nothing is ever hurried; we waited quite a while for our food, but it was definitely worth the wait. We could not refuse dessert and indulged in chocolate banana bread and chocolate crème brûlée. 

Peter, Sherri and Enis waiting for lunch

After our meal, we walked back to the waterfront and the visitors center, getting information about supermarkets and hardware stores. We walked on the streets which slope up from the water and found the combined modern supermarket and hardware, where we selected a toaster and picked up a couple more bottles of Diet Coke and a large glass jar of Nutella. After taking these items down to the dinghy, we set off to hike on the craggy hillsides above the town.

Enis made a detour to a grocery store to get drinks for our hike, and Peter and I continued up a moderately steep and never quite straight street to reach a vista point and a trailhead while I talked with our son Matthew via WhatsApp. A few other people were enjoying the panoramic view of the town and the little islands nearby. The bright sunshine and air quality index number of two made everything around us vivid and sharp. 

View of the rectilinear houses of the town and the breakwater

When Enis arrived lugging the drinks in the dinghy bag, which had already been stuffed with jackets and was weighty, we began our four-mile hike. The scenery was spectacular and the vast landscape and the minute details of the plants, algae and rocks was dazzling. It was an easy, well-maintained trail over rolling land and our total elevation gain was only about 400 feet (120 meters), although the expansive views made it seem as if we were higher. We were surrounded by open areas thick with sheep laurel and cinnamon ferns and other lush plants punctuated with stands of conifers, including balsam firs, that only grew to perhaps 20 or 30 feet because of the quality of the soil and the harsh climate. At the higher elevations, we encountered clear, tannin-dyed springs and bogs. The second half of our trail followed a series of connected ponds gradually descending to sea level. 

Cinnamon ferns

Balsam fir

True forget-me-nots and meadow buttercups

View from the beginning of the trail

Ceanothus and the crags above St. Pierre

A spring among the peaty ground

Miquelon across the water from St. Pierre

Étang du Telégraphe

Sheep laurel and cinnamon ferns by Étang du Trépied

Yellow water lilies almost ready to open

View of Île de Marins (uninhabited)

We had a short discussion about whether to have dinner on the boat or at a restaurant and, despite my superb cooking skills, the lure of French cuisine was irresistible. We noticed that people were beginning to come out onto the streets. At the first restaurant we came to, two women were waiting for it to open; they had reservations for 7:00. We had read that reservations are strongly advised for all the restaurants, but we found this hard to believe as the town seen deserted during the afternoon. When this restaurant opened, we were told they could not seat us if we had no reservation. We had seen people waiting outside at another restaurant down the street, so we asked the maître de for a recommendation for another restaurant. He suggested a place around the corner that we had passed that seemed to be only a bar. However, the chic restaurant was upstairs. The maître de greeted us with his reservation book; when told that we had no reservation, he tried to hide his disdain and agreed to seat us with the understanding that the table was only available for an hour. Given the amount of time we had patiently and with great reward waited for lunch, we felt that whether or not the meal took less than an hour was not under our control. Once again, the food was unbelievably magnificent. 

It had been a long and rewarding day, and we quickly retired for the night after returning to Mantra. The next morning (Sunday, July 20), we prepared to leave. We raised the anchor and went to the government dock. On a Sunday morning, no one was around, but a local tour boat operator who had come to the dock to pick up two passengers was able to point me to the customs office at the ferry pier. There, a young woman at the ticket office directed me to ignore the signs forbidding entrance and go through the gate to the other side of the building, where I did find the customs office, with no one there. However, there were brief "sortie" (exit) forms to complete and put in a box, so I filled one out, happy that my junior high and high school French enabled me to read the instructions.

First boat we have seen equipped for ice breaking

Meanwhile, Enis went to an open grocery store to find a breakfast of French pastries and arrived back with three croissants and three large pains au chocolat. We got under way and enjoyed them with honey and Nutella after we reached open water.

Only half an hour after casting off at 10:15 a.m., we were sailing along with 20 knot wind from the southwest under partly sunny skies, on a starboard tack with two reefs in the main. An hour later, we let out the reefs and sailed on a broad reach with 7 knots of speed over water. Unfortunately, the wind died to 3-5 knots just after noon, and we had to furl the genoa and turn on the engine. The seas increased from 1-3 feet to 3-5 feet and the boat was rolling around sloppily as we motored along at 6.5 knots. Passing by impressive cliffs, we made it to the somewhat dilapidated town wharf of St. Lawrence, Newfoundland, on the southeast coast of the Burin Peninsula, before 5 p.m., tying up first on the inside and then moving to the outside with the advise and help of local fishermen because of the rough surfaces on the inner dock. It took us several pathetic attempts to dock before we were successful. 

Headlands of Great St. Lawrence Harbour

Headlands of Great St. Lawrence Harbour from Mantra

Mantra approaching the St. Lawrence wharf

St. Lawrence fishing boats and processing plant

Boys were fishing from the piers and were eager to engage us in conversation as we tidied up lines. They really wanted to come aboard, and one did with the excuse of needing to use the bathroom. We completed clearing customs and immigration by phone, after being asked if we had taken anyone aboard in St. Pierre or if anyone had asked us for passage from there, which seemed odd. 

After settling in, we took a walk about town, which is home to about 1000 people. From the late 1700s through the early 1930s, the community's livelihood was based on fishing and small-scale farming. In its early days, it was a very prosperous and active port rivaling St. John's. By the late 1800s, the economy was in a steep decline, and the 1920-30s Depression and a tsunami--caused by the 1929 Grand Banks earthquake, in which 27 people died and many lost their houses, boats, stages and supplies--resulted in even greater hardship. Mining of fluorspar, a mineral which had been noted as early as 1843, was begun by an American in 1933.  Hard labor with no pay initially led to the opening of a more significant mine in 1937, and then a second mine was opened by another corporation. For 40 years, despite often unsafe conditions, the mines attracted workers and their families and the town was vibrant. But in 1978, with the mines closed, shafts were sealed, buildings were leveled and much of the physical evidence of the town's mining heritage was eradicated.  

Large crystals of fluorspar in a rock in front of the museum

The houses in St. Lawrence are utilitarian but neat and well-maintained, with large yards, and the people are friendly, but the only attraction in town is the little miners museum (which was closed) and the monument to the miners who saved 186 lives of American sailors whose ships, the USS Pollux (93 fatalities among 233 men) and the USS Truxton (110 fatalities among 156 men), had crashed and broken up on the rocks nearby during World War II, on February 18, 1942. The local miners demonstrated tremendous heroism in driving sleet and snow, howling wind and acute cold to pull sailors over icy cliffs, bringing them to the nearby mines and into their own homes, where they were bathed in warm water, given what little clothing and food could be spared and nursed back to health. The bravery and kindness of the people of St. Lawrence was recognized by the U.S. Navy, who built a hospital in town in gratitude in 1954.

Since we left beautiful Bras d'Or Lake, we have increased our focus on the weather forecasts. The weather windows for travel are becoming smaller and the adverse conditions restricting movement are increasing in severity. Therefore, we decided to leave St. Lawrence the same day we arrived and cast off the dock at 10 p.m. on July 20, hoping to reach St. John's before nightfall on July 21. We sailed well through the night, but the wind dropped to 6 to 8 knots as the sun rose early in the day in the east, and we encountered an adverse current, so we could only motor at 5.5 knots. In the afternoon, haze turned to fog and for hours we could only see a very short distance around the boat. Realizing that we would not reach St. John's until the middle of the night, and with rain and strong wind with gusts up to 35 predicted, Peter rerouted us to Aquaforte Harbour. As we approached, the fog became intermittent. Forested, steep hills rose on either side of us as we entered the harbor, and we were delighted by many puffins, flying, diving and swimming around us near their nesting colony on Spurwink Island. A waterfall flowed fiercely into the harbor at Spout Cove.

Waterfall in Spout Cove

Spurwink Island

Puffin flying up from the water

We anchored once, but the anchor did not hold on the kelp covered bottom, and Peter and Enis went on deck in the damp fog and darkness to re-anchor. They have figured out how to create chartlets using Garmin Quickdraw to record depths as we move and did some tracking as they searched for a better bottom for anchoring. We will update the Ocean Cruising Club's guides with the information we have gathered.

Enis and I went out on deck after we had re-anchored to admire the other-worldly atmosphere of the foggy night.

Fog obscuring the land

Mantra at anchor, with the fog making the lights on land seem brighter and bigger

We are now entirely surrounded by hills in this little cove, yet the 20 knot wind is strumming the rigging and turning us in different directions all the time. The decibel level of the constant noise increases with gusts up to 30 knots. Despite the narrow opening into this cove, there are whitecaps on the water. We do not want to think about what the conditions are like out on the open water.