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On a wing and a prayer.... So here
we are July 12th and sat at anchor in Assizes Bay, Labrador and
the fire burns brightly as we dry out from a beating from the weather as
we seriously misjudged a 9 mile jaunt across the bay to another harbour
but we’ll come to that in due course. We left Lunenburg and headed off for the Bras D’Or Lakes, an area famed over here as a premier cruising ground as indeed it is. We overnighted to the entrance to the lakes, struggled to identify the buoys and spent an entertaining hour or so blundering between mud banks and extricating ourselves from being aground. Luckily it was mud and relatively calm and eventually we gave up and anchored for a couple of hours until we had enough light to see where we needed to go. In our defence I should add that the chart and the GPS do often not agree and that many lights, these included, are not lit so needles and haystacks come to mind. We tied up to the canal entrance and found ourselves subject to a rain storm that would not have been out of place as a showcase for monsoons. Waterfalls were everywhere and we stood outside rather than drag the wet below. Through the lock and into the lakes, where we spent a week or so thoroughly enjoying ourselves.
Toots making a break for freedom and a night on the town In
the wonderful Cape George Harbour we were able to anchor in 5 metres yet
so close to the bank we could pull the stern around, attach the dinghy to
it and use the boarding ladder off the dinghy onto the shore. Tooty repaid
this generosity by bringing 4 rodents of varying sizes aboard. Luckily,
for us anyway, they were all dead. It is a great anchorage and long may it
remain so. In the town of Baddeck we met up with John and Mary who rode
580 miles on some super fast Beemer from their farm in Maine to see us and
the following morning headed back again. Great to see them again and they
can rest assured that sailing their boat around the Atlantic will be a
doodle compared to that jaunt. More comfortable at any rate. We
headed out of the lakes, ending up in Sydney (!) where we woke to find
ourselves in the middle of a dispute. Local fisherman with savagely
reduced crab quotas had blockaded the Ferry terminal and 3 or 4 ferries
were either at anchor or moored up awaiting a decision from someone about
what to do. Eventually the fisherman got a meeting agreed and went home,
ferries started moving and the following day we headed off for Ingonish.
Ingonish with its winter ski runs Fog
accompanied most of the journey and we were lucky to see a schooner coming
out of the harbour as we approached. The channel is narrow and tends to
move with sandbanks intruding and moving making the buoys difficult to
chart. Perry, the owner and skipper of Avon Spirit came aboard and later
returned with a very welcome 5 litres of home brewed wine. We savoured in
for a week and enjoyed it nightly. Ingonish, by the way, is one of the
jewels of the area. Surrounded by high hills it could have been
transplanted from a Scottish loch. Stunning place with great people. We
headed in out the following morning under a vicious squall and set course
for Port Au Basques, Newfoundland, taking a similar route that the ferries
from Sydney would operate along. They
have a strict traffic control at P Au Basque and everyone must report in
on approach so we listened as ferries reported speeds and courses to the
Coast Guard. Gratifying to hear the same CG warn the ferry of a “small
vessel at such and such position on course so and so travelling at a speed
of 3 knots” Us of course and we’re still outside the reporting zone.
For part of the journey the fog had lifted and we were treated to a
display by one or more whales breaching. Still about ½ mile or so away
but we could clearly see their huge bodies coming out of the ocean before
sending up a huge cloud of spray as they crashed back down again. One of
the sights of the trip.
Mickle
Tickle, Newfie We headed off, in fog, for
the west coast of Newfie warning the CG we were crossing the shipping
lanes. They called us an hour later to warn us that the forecast
was for 30 knot winds with gusts of 40+.... Well it was from the SW
and we were heading NNE so we felt we could handle it and with a reef in
the main and the staysail sheeted in hard we roared on through the day.
Serious speeds of 7+were the order of the day and our average speed
improved at last. As dawn approached we reached the Bay of Islands and
found ourselves in a huge, almost inland sea, where the islands are
enormous and have a prehistoric feel about them. The islands we have seen
around the Atlantic seemed so puny compared to these monsters and the
terrain is steep and what few settlements we could see were shacks for the
fishermen in summer. Crept into a ledge ridden anchorage and savoured the
view. Actually we did tie up to a jetty but with tide dropping and
insufficient depth we thought it best to move.
Entering the Bay of Islands (lighthouse is 116 metres high...) Ever
onwards and northwards we went, enjoying the strong SW winds that kept up
our speed. Unfortunately with tail winds we often need to gybe and have
become adept at releasing the innumerable lines associated with Hannah’s
main before completing the manoeuvre. However on one of these occasions we
came out if it and found the main had torn near the peak and we nursed our
precious sail all the way into harbour. The next day saw us steadily
stitching a couple of patches of Sunbrella over a bit of tape to create a
marine version of Joseph’s coat and a closer inspection of the sail
revealed the chafing we had suffered from the shrouds, vangs and running
backstays. Seams had become to come apart and we will be spending many
days effecting solid repairs before we leave for Greenland. Of
course all these wonderful tail winds sometimes have to be met head on and
Cooks Harbour was our nemesis. As we approached we put the second reef in
and turned toward the harbour some 3 miles away. Using main and stays’l
we beat in toward it until a bang warned us the cringle had pulled off the
sail and we were without a functioning main. The harbour lay direct to
windward. Henry, our faithful engine, struggled to cope with an outgoing
tide and 30 knot winds. At one time our speed fell to 0.02 knots (about 2
miles a fortnight) and it seemed we must head off someplace else. We upped
the revs and gradually began to make headway, arrived in the harbour to
find it chocker block and anchored on 75 metres of chain and glad of the
shelter.
Battle Harbour
Battle Harbour Battle
Harbour is a restored fishing community, actually it was THE most
important fishing community in Canada at one time and the place is a sort
of living museum. Its world famous (although we, of course, had no idea of
this...) visitors stay in the restored homes, wander the island, go watch
whales etc or simply unwind. We chose to shower and laundry first but
spent a wonderful few hours roaming the island, visiting graveyards and
soaking up the aura of the place. No community lives there now other than
the summer staff who do a great job. Their welcome as we came alongside
was so friendly (including a slightly bemused “was that us out there
yesterday.........) and nothing seemed to be a problem for them to sort
out. Mike, the manager, even allowed us to raid their woodpile to help us
through the cold nights ahead. We loved the place and would willingly go
back and work. Wintering is not possible of course as the place is closed
up and the staff come to check on things from Mary’s Harbour, travelling
the 9 miles by skidoo across 4’ thick ice but a great discovery for us.
Should we stay, should we go.........? Well we went, of course, but with a
real reluctance. The journey took us along the coast, past whales and into
Occasional Harbour. It looked great on our chart and it is. Except for
anchoring. Depths are still some 15 metres when we were a boat length or
so from the shore and we spent a frustrating few hours seeking somewhere
safe to stop. Labrador has many abandoned outposts where whole communities
have been persuaded by the government to leave their homes and move to
central locations to make life easier for everyone. Battle Harbour was one
such place and we’d seen others on our brief visit to this Province. In
Occasional there were several and we passed them as the sun began to set,
colouring the shacks and surrounding rock a glorious red.
Of course this is the optimum time to see
them but it struck us as unbearably sad to see homes abandoned and
in such a wonderful; setting. Yes we know that the reality of that sort of
life must have been harsh by urban standards but whole communities lose a
way of life that generations may have practised.
An abandoned community on Occasional Harbour We
took the decision to head off to Greenland as we had few charts of
Labrador and time was pushing on. Labrador really is one of those places
that you could lose your self in and our next visit will see us prepared
with charts and a pilot book. If
you are thinking of crossing the pond by boat then do yourselves a favour
and forget the return trip via Bermuda/Azores etc and take the time and
energy to head north to Maine and then east across the Maritimes and
beyond. It is a cruising paradise and the more remote the places have
become it seems the more spectacular the views and sights.
Pilot whales playing alongside As
we left Belfast and began the trip east we found the magnetic variation
gradually increasing. Back in Maine it was, I think, about 6 degrees W and
in the area we are now it had risen to 26 degrees W. A little north of
Nuuk it reaches 38 degrees W and beyond the Artic Circle it seems
compasses become increasingly inaccurate making me wonder how on earth did
those early explorers work out which direction they should be going in? July
24th Today we arrived at Nuuk having had, probably the worst
trip of our lives.... The
Navtex warned of gales across much of the Labrador Sea although the day of
the gales was bright, sunny and warm. As the evening drew on clouds began
to gather and we started shortening sail. And shortening sail. Finally we
got through the night but the blow kept on coming. We’d tried bearing
away under stays’l alone but found ourselves being forced up to wind and
losing control. Dropped the stays’l and raised the storm in its place
and things improved. But the wind didn’t and for the first time ever we
were forced to run before the blow under bare poles. Steering was easier
if facing astern as it was then possible, with concentration, to ensure
the stern met the growing waves at the right angle.
Facing
aft to see what is happening
A
manic view from the safety of the saloon
Bee’s
view forward as Hannah rides another monster... Slightly
disconcerting to see this wall of water gaining power and height, throwing
itself at you and becoming this boiling mass of foam spitting and snarling
about 3 feet away. Bee was watching our bow as this same mass passed below
us and boiled its way into the distance. In a moment of sheer exhilaration
(it soon passed, believe me) Bee checked our speed and found we were
consistently moving at 6 knots +.........5 hours of this was enough and we
opted to stream warps and weights to slow us down and hold the stern into
the waves. Big mistake for us as Hannah lost her inherent buoyancy and we
consequently shipped several large seas into the cockpit. It may have been
then or earlier that Toots appeared briefly and promptly a wave dumped on
her, emerging as a skinny, and very pissed off, rat. It took some time to
get the warps and chain back in and once done we decided (out of a choice
of one option) to lie ahull and spent a peaceful night huddled together on
the sea berth listening to the gentle whisper of the wind and the tinkle
of gentle waves slapping lightly against
the hull...... And
now our troubles are really beginning...We emerged the following morning
and began to get ready to sail again as the wind and waves had died a
little. Bee noticed a tight line leading from the main and gentle pulling
and an audible check on the prop suggested we may have a fouled prop...oh
good this is getting better. Well, little we could do about it just then
as it’s still blowing a hoolie, the waves are more like bungalows than
houses but apart from that the water temperature is bloody cold and
survival was more important than getting the engine going. We roared on,
heading mostly for Nuuk. Oh yes we forgot the really hard part. Whilst
we’d been heaved to or lying ahull the sea had been doing our Stan over
something chronic. Stan, you’ll remember is our wonderful self steerer.
Well now he wasn’t anything as the sea had un-glued the repair we had
made and with 300 or 400 miles to go it was all down to hand steering. We
heaved to, yet again, to get some rest, using the mizzen and storm jib and
found the mizzen had begun to tear............. but the good news was that
by turning the prop shaft in reverse we were able to free the rope from
the prop. We were chuffed. Soaked, cold, frightened but chuffed. Let’s
light the fire, dry things out below (we’d taken a couple of big ‘uns
on the quarter and shipped a bit below) We lit it and the back draft
filled the saloon with smoke. We put the extension on and the smoke kept
coming. We cut up a large coffee tin to wrap around the chimney, acting as
a wind break and we were in business. The chief eejit was stood on deck,
watching the waves coming at us, marvelling at the way heaving to reduced
everything to a swaying motion. Can you see where this is going? I looked
at the chimney, a proud piece of 1.5 metres of stainless steel, surmounted
by an expensive revolving top and our bit of coffee tin. Idly I noticed it
all seemed to be swaying but then we were rolling a bit and suddenly we
were the starring role in a Blaster Bates monologue as the good old Archy
Medees principle of levers and world moving came into place. The height of
the chimney proved too much for the base plate and with a crash the whole
shebang was ripped from the deck and came tumbling down as I stood gob
agape in amazement. The top came free, bounced off the deck, pirouetted
across the capping rail and plummeted into several hundred metres of
water. Smoke began filling the saloon (isn’t this where we came in?) and
we spent an entertaining hour or so trying to get everything sorted out
before we could begin to move. We decided to check the bilge and found
water everywhere (we rarely have much water in the bilge other than what
comes in via the stern gland) and that took another hour whilst we cleared
it. But we got ourselves together, sorted out lines and sails and began
the journey again to far off Nuuk. The weather eased and we made good time
although the total 800 miles took 10 days in the end. Tied up to a fishing
boat in the main harbour, waited in vain for the police to arrive to book
us in and drank a litre of wine as we huddled over the stove overjoyed
with the fact that we had arrived in one piece. Awoken the following
morning at 8 by the skipper of said fishing boat wanting to move and the
lines were adrift to prove it. Later that day the customs came, drove me
to a local marina where the manager kindly allowed us the use of one of
their storm buoys and here we sit. We
discovered today that we have a hole in a pipe that leads from the heat
exchanger hence the shed load of water below decks but it does explain a
number of other puzzling happenings with the engine of late, so we’ve
repaired that, found and replaced a sheered bolt, entertained a local
journalist in exchange for a bath, greased the windlass, been to see the
shipyard about making a couple of bits for Stan and fought off the hordes
of mozzies that occupy Greenland. Some are the size of Concorde, with
similar speed and they get everywhere. Even wearing thick wool socks was
no protection from a vicious sting but they’ll happily fly up your nose
or land in an ear and seem to lack the sense of propriety of their
European counterparts. Greenland
is an amazing spectacle which, we’ve been told gets better as we go
further north. It is a hard country though and the people must be tough to
survive. We rowed back to Hannah, passing a couple of hunters quietly
skinning a seal on the rocks below a block of flats. It is, for us, an
extraordinary sight, yet is in keeping with the surroundings and is part
of the survival process.
Nuuk suburb
Main
Harbour, Nuuk We
hope to leave Greenland in about 3 weeks or so and at this stage it is
doubtful we will go via Iceland as sails etc are somewhat beaten and we
need to get back and, dare I even mention it, get some work to buy new
ones. The thought fills me with horror although Bee is less concerned (a
fact she puts down to my increasing “dodderyness”) be that as it may,
with luck, friendly winds and an absence of hurricanes creeping out into
the N Atlantic we hope to get into Cherbourg about the first week of
September, return Tooty with Mr A Dilley (stand up and take a bow muttley),
load up with booze and cheese and then home to help Paul celebrate his 40th
birthday. |
