Aquaforte Harbour to St. John's, Newfoundland

At 5 p.m. yesterday afternoon, we smoothly slid up beside the busy wharf of St. John's, Newfoundland, with Peter parallel parking our boat between another sailing vessel and a large, black tug boat. The couple on the other sailing boat were ready to receive our lines, but Peter did such an expert job that Enis could easily jump from our deck to the wharf. 

This is a busy port city. The container ship dock is off our starboard stern and is active all times of day, and the downtown area is right beside us. After we settled in, we set off to explore, although we were delayed by many people stopping to talk to us about our boat and our travels, including a British couple who are also OCC members. 

St. John's is one-fourth the size of Halifax, Nova Scotia, and we were expecting things to be on a smaller scale but similar. However, unlike Halifax, there is no development on the waterfront for strolling, and we found the pedestrian streets less charming and less vibrant. We had noted in Halifax that the streets were all clean and we had seen no homeless people and wondered if this might be due to universal health care and more safety nets in Canada, but we have had to re-assess this theory here, as we saw litter, particularly cigarette butts, in every corner and many people yesterday evening who, if not homeless, were down on their luck; a couple people asked us for money. 

After walking around several city blocks, we chose a restaurant, the Gypsy Tea Room, for dinner. The food, atmosphere and service were all very good, and we made little effort to resist the temptations on the dessert menu, choosing two types of cheesecake.

This morning, Peter went out and about while I was still sleeping, finding a coffee for Enis and talking with the harbormaster, who stopped by, and couples on other sailing boats, getting lots of information about the eastern Newfoundland coast.

We had a quick breakfast of toast, yogurt and fruit salad, locked up the boat, and set off for Signal Hill. On the way, we passed a more pleasant part of the waterfront, There is a lot of signage around about the history of the town and its former and extant buildings, but, without a basic knowledge of the local history, we found them uninspiring and so skipped many of them. We passed by the Newfoundland War Memorial near the waterfront and admired slightyly bigger-than-life-size statues of the Newfoundland dog and the Labrador dog. 

The War Memorial and colorful houses on Duckworth Street

Peter and Enis by the sculptures or a Newfoundland and a Labrador dog

From there it was a steady uphill walk to reach Signal Hill and the Cabot Tower. We stopped in the Visitor Center and watched a movie about the history of the location as a place where signalmen (and their families) lived, stationed there to raise flags to signal the merchants in town of incoming vessels. There was also a lot of information on the hill as a military fortification and on St. John's role in World War II.

Rocks and plants along the walk up to Signal Hill

Meadow of purple loosestrife

View of the harbor and St. John's

St. John's claims to be the easternmost city in North America (excluding cities in Greenland, which is also on the North American Plate). The Venetian explorer John Cabot, in the service of England, became the first Europeans to sail into the harbour, in 1497. By 1540, French, Spanish and Portuguese ships crossed the Atlantic annually to fish the waters off the Avalon Peninsula. On August 5, 1583, an English aristocrat, Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed into the harbor and claimed the area as England's first overseas colony under Royal Charter from Queen Elizabeth I. There was no permanent population, however, and Gilbert was lost at sea during his return voyage, thereby ending any immediate plans for settlement. The British government, under pressure from the West Country fishing industry, which had control of the fishing grounds offshore, forbade permanent settlement along the coast at first, and St. John's did not become a permanent settlement until the 1630s (making Jamestown, Virginia; St, George's, Bermuda; and two settlements in Newfoundland older than St. John's).

Over the following centuries, the British had control over St. John's and surrounding area, although battles with the Dutch and particularly with the French occurred over the period of nearly a century and a half, with the French taking the town twice by land. The British were prepared for attack by sea but not watchful for attack by land, which occurred in 1705 and 1708. The final battle of the Seven Years' War in North America was fought in 1762, in St. John's. Following a surprise capture of the town by the French early in the year, the British responded and, at the Battle of Signal Hill, the French surrendered St. John's to British forces. 

During the 19th century, Signal Hill was manned specifically during the Napoleonic Wars and the American Civil War. A second construction period in Signal Hill's history saw the construction of the Queen's Battery Barracks, which has been completely restored to the period of 1862, where we saw a military re-enactor load and fire a musket. Cabot Tower began in 1897 to commemorate both the Diamond Jubilee of Queen Victoria in 1897 and the 400th anniversary of John Cabot's landfall in 1497. The building was declared officially open in 1900. The practical uses of the building were flag mast signaling and as a Marconi wireless station.

Queen's Batttery

Musket firing

Other than in reference to British settlement and military history and empire building, St. John's is famous as the place where, on 12 December 1901, the first transatlantic transmission was received by Guglielmo Marconi in the abandoned fever and diphtheria hospital, which has since been destroyed by fire. The transmission, the letter "S" in Morse code, originated from his Poldhu Wireless Station in Cornwall, England. In Cabot Tower, there is an excellent exhibition about Marconi, the successful transmission, and his development of transatlantic transmission in North America afterwards. The first transatlantic transmission was a daring accomplishment, not based on scientific knowledge of the time, when the existence of the ionosphere and its property of refracting radio waves for long-distance communication was unknown.

From the top of Signal Hill (548 feet above sea level), we took the North Head Trail down the seaward side and walked along the cliffs. Along the way, we found Adirondack chairs for resting, an abundance of wildflowers, stunning views of the harbor and the coastline, and, most impressively, a vertical fault-line crack in the bedrock. We were 90 feet above the water, and we heard the wind in the large crevasse and heard ocean waves breaking. This seemed impossible, but we climbed to the top of the fence and looked straight down and could see the water!

View of Cabot Tower

Wildflowers along the North Head Trail

Peter and Enis relaxing in Adirondack chairs on the trail

Vertical fissure on Signal Hill 

We arrived back at the edge of town, at the colorful neighborhood known as the Battery, where houses are perched on the steep lower slopes of Signal Hill near the entrance to the harbor, some seeming a bit precarious. 

Peter and Enis in the Battery neighborhood

The Battery neighborhood

Part of a mural in the Battery

Having entirely missed lunch, with our only nourishment since breakfast granola bars, we were hungry and thirsty and chose a Mexican restaurant on the pedestrian section of Duckworth Street, once again quite satisfied with our meal out. 

We have spent the evening on board. While it was warm (70 degrees!) in the morning and afternoon, during our dinner the temperature began to drop as a chilly wind blew in, and we have been happy to stay in the warmth below deck.

Tomorrow morning, we continue on our journey north. 

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. 

Baddeck, Nova Scotia to Saint Pierre and Miquelon, France

On Thursday, July 17, we left beautiful Baddeck and its gorgeous weather this morning, passing north through the Great Bras d'Or Channel, entering the open sea, and crossing the mouth of the Gulf of St. Lawrence to reach the French Territorial Collectivity of Saint Pierre and Miquelon. We are now on a mooring ball off the town of Saint Pierre, where we easily and promptly cleared in with Customs and Immigration at the government dock. 

When we raised the anchor in Baddeck Bay, dressed in shorts and t-shirts, shortly before 11 a.m., yesterday, the sun was shining and the water was glistening, leaving behind a place that we would have liked to spend more time exploring. Peter said that, had he known how beautiful the Bras d'Or Lake is, he might have chosen to only go this far this summer. He also said he might be tempted to move here if things become more crazy in the States. But we are continuing on our expedition to the north, with me having some trepidation.

But, there is still another full and fun day in Baddeck to write about. Enis had to work all day, so, after taking the SUP to town for an early morning coffee, he stayed aboard, where I left him in charge of another three loads of laundry. (It's a small capacity washing machine.) Peter and I took the dinghy to town around 10 a.m. Our first stop was the museum at the Alexander Graham Bell National Historic Site of Canada. For almost anyone, when his name is mentioned, the first word that comes to mind is "telephone," but he was involved in so much more and did not consider the invention of the telephone as his greatest accomplishment. Rather, he was most proud of his work with and on behalf of the deaf. Both his paternal grandfather and father were significant contributors to the understanding of and teaching methods for deaf persons, and Bell's first career, at which he was quite successful, was in teaching deaf persons to speak.

Bell first visited Baddeck in 1885 with his wife Mabel and fell in love with the surroundings. It reminded him of Scotland, his place of birth and childhood. He returned the following year, bought land, and began to build Beinn Bhreagh. The family visited the estate from about 1888 until his death from diabetes in 1922, initially only in the summer and then later often year-round. Both he and Mabel are buried there. The home itself, visible on Red Head across Baddeck Bay from the town, is not open to the public as it is owned and occupied by one of his descendants. 

Beinn Bhreagh

At the estate, Bell built a laboratory and boatyard, conducting many experiments in powered flight and hydrofoil technology, and explored other areas of scientific interest, such as sheep breeding. Some of his most notable accomplishments at Beinn Bhreagh included the first manned flight of an airplane in the British Commonwealth by the AEA Silver Dart in 1909, plus the HD-4, a hydrofoil boat invented by Frederick Walker Baldwin and Bell. Designed as a submarine chaser and powered by aircraft engines, their vessel set a world watercraft speed record of 114 km/h (71 mph) in 1919, which remained unbroken for many years.

Many of his blueprints, drafts and models are on display at the museum as well as reconstructions of some of his aircraft and watercraft. In addition, the museum does an excellent job of giving a sense of the type of man he was--curious, passionate, family-loving--through timelines, photographs, quotes and letters between him and his beloved wife and also with his collaborators. 

As we were finishing up at the museum, we received a text from Enis saying the washing machine did not seem to be working. Since it was just a five minute ride out, we took the dinghy out to the boat and figured out the problem.

Then we went back to town for errands. We stopped at the Baddeck Yacht Club first, where we talked with a couple employees about our need to find a windsurfing mast to use an iceberg pole as well a person interested in taking our two unused and unneeded kayak seats for free. What luck! They had a pole they had no use for and one of the instructors was a kayaker. We took the mast to the dinghy dock, promising to return later with the seats, and then set off on our errands. Peter detoured to the marine store while I started walking directly to the supermarket, taking a slight detour into the town library. I cannot resist libraries because they give such a sense of the community. This one has used books for sale outside and in the foyer. Before the entrance to the main part of the library, there is a shelf with food with a sign saying, "Take what you need, give what you can." The library itself offers not only an abundance of books and computers and other items normally found in such an institution, but also loaner cross country skis!

The cheerful Baddeck library

The supermarket was large and well-stocked and we easily found everything on our list. Shopping in Canada with U.S. currency is a deal right now as the Canadian dollar is worth 75 cents to the U.S. dollar.

At the dinghy dock, we loaded up the groceries and the long, sturdy mast, and returned to Mantra. After lunch, we conducted our plan launch of our old life raft, which we had kept to practice deployment and boarding and to become familiar with the items stocked in a life raft, which include packs of water, MREs, oars, a medical kit, sea-sickness pills, water collection mechanisms and many other survival items. After a few minutes sitting inside the life raft going through the kits, Peter decided that the first thing that should be done after getting everyone aboard is to take the sea-sickness pills because the craft feels like a bouncy house, even in calm water. 

Peter in the water with the four-person life raft

The water in the bay was warm. Enis relaxed on top of the SUP, while I hung out in the water and Peter swam under the stern to check the prop. Peter and I took showers, and then we all dinghied the short distance to Kidston Island to hike. We were the only ones there. First we went to the point with the Kidston Island Lighthouse and then we began walking around the perimeter of the island, but mostly through the woods. The predominant vegetation consists of balsam firs, paper bark maples and hay-scented ferns, punctuated with occasional splashes of color in the form of flowers or berries. The quiet and the sweet fragrance of the firs were delightful.

Kidston Island Lighthouse

Common haircap (Polytricum commune), one of the largest moss species

Blue bead lily (Clintonia borealis)

Peter and Enis, Kidston Island hike among balsam firs and other trees

Hay-scented ferns, paper bark maples, and balsam firs

We returned to Mantra just to pick up the life raft to tow to the yacht club, where we hoped we could persuade them to take it if only to allow the kids to get a chance to see one. Towing it was more of a challenge than we anticipated. With its water-ballast pockets and its design not intended to run smoothly through water, the little dinghy engine had to put all its might into getting to the dock. As I was looking for someone to ask about donating it or disposing of it, the bartender for the yacht club called out to us from the second level deck and asked if we had accidentally deployed it. He then said that the sailing school would love to have it--which was just what we were hoping--and advised us where to stow it. 

Enis and Peter setting up the life raft to tow

Towing the life raft

Then we went upstairs for a drink and conversation about Baddeck with the bartender, who recommended the restaurant behind the yacht club for dinner. We had an excellent meal followed by homemade blueberry pie (made from the waitress's grandmother's recipe) before returning to the boat for the night.

Yes, Enis did take a shower that day also, as the sunlight was fading. 

And then the next morning, we left this charming village with its friendly and helpful vibe, knowing from the weather forecast that we would also be leaving a brief experience of summer.

The gently sloping, rounded green hillsides on both side of the channel contrasted with the sun-sparkling water was left behind and we could see the fog on the eastern horizon as we entered the Gulf of St. Lawrence. 

Great Bras d'Or Channel

It was not long before we were adding layers of clothing and those on deck were wearing full foulie gear as we traveled at 8-10 knots the rest of the day, through the night and until we reached St. Pierre harbour, mostly on a beam reach with 20-25 knots of south wind and 6-10 foot waves at short intervals on the beam in dense fog. Most of the time, visibility was less than a couple boat lengths. 

It was fast but not particularly comfortable sailing. Before we reefed the sails, Peter and Enis took turns hand steering as the autopilot was getting overwhelmed, and they seemed to find this exciting. Despite my antipathy for night sailing, particularly in dampness and fog, I offered to take night watch twice but was turned down even though I could handle the boat's movement. Unfortunately for Enis, it was a bit much for him, and he was sick overboard in the night. 

Peter enjoying steering Mantra at 10 knots

Enis steering

Enjoying the last of the sunshine as the waves break off starboard

What I hate about sailing in what I consider adverse conditions is not being able to do anything except maybe listening to music or an audiobook, which can get old. I can't read, do puzzles, play games with others on board, color, cook or bake, or even clean (which, yes, I actually enjoy doing). In the vastness of unoccupied time, I think about whether our kids know how to arrange to transport our dead bodies home and that we own burial plots next to Naomi's. Pretty morbid.