Island of Death

Squid Hole, Isle aux Morts

June 20, 2011

Wreck Rock, Bad Neighbour, Wash Rocks, Tinker Sunker . . . rocks and ledges with names. There must be hundreds, even thousands of rocks along the southwest coast and they’ve contributed to over 3000 known wrecks. George Harvey and his family lived on Isle aux Morts, Island of Death, in the mid 1800’s. He would bury the dead seaman that washed up from wrecks he couldn’t see and rescue those he could.

One wreck he rowed out to with his daughter, Anne, and dog Hairy. Hairy swam a messanger line out to the ship and then swam back to their little boat while Anne rowed to keep them in position. All told, Harvey and his daughter Anne saved over 160 seamen and passengers. The rescues themselves were amazing but then the Harvey’s fed, clothed, and housed the victims for several weeks before outside help could be summoned. I can’t imagine how they stretched their meager, subsistence living to take care of all those heartsick people who’d lost everything.

Today no one actually lives on Isle aux Morts though the town is close by. We loaded up cameras, hot chocolate and snacks and headed out for a long hike. No trails here, you just pick a destination and try to find the easiest way to get there. As we trod through bogs and climbed on top of tuckamore trees, I kept thinking of Dorothy trying to make her way to Oz. Tuckamores are short pines that have been growing for a really long time. Their branches overlap creating an interlocking web and a seemingly impenetrable obstacle.

Trudging along, a foot occasionally breaks through and you slip under the branches. Perhaps we’re one step away from being sucked down into an underground world of gnomes and fairies.

True Newfoundland Experience

Harbour Le Cou, Newfoundland

June 19, 2011

I’m sitting at the salon table with the heater just starting to warm the 50° cabin. Josh, our son is asleep in his bunk and Russ is reading in his. Andante dances from side to side as gusts buffet us but with a line tied ashore and our anchor dug in, we’re staying put. This is the predicted 45 knot gale and we’re very glad we’re tucked up on the lake side of Harbour Le Cou and especially glad we’re not out on the notorious Cabot Strait.

June 4th we flew home for a fun family wedding. Congratulations Sarah & Tyler! So good to have this last family contact before we really head off. And not willing to let go of family yet, we’ve brought Josh back with us. Leaving Annisquam at 11am in our car, we pulled into Baddeck at 0300 and rowed out to Andante and were underway that afternoon.

Josh had 9 days with us before he started his 2 day trek via ferry, shuttle and plane to get back home and we were hoping to show him some of Newfoundland. The weather was just not cooperating. But, tucked into the heater warmed cabin, we ate yummy food, read, did a few boat projects, some yoga, took turns kayaking, and Josh got a lot of homework done.

Finally a windshift and we made the jump across the Cabot Strait. Motor sail under the stars and the dramatic Newfoundland landfall we were hoping to show him . . . waves roiling over outlying sunkers and smashing against cliff faces as birds soared. Motoring past the small settlement of Harbour Le Cou, we moved into the fjord. Andante needed to be safely tucked away for the coming gale and the wharf in town was not the place to be in the predicted wind direction.

The usual anchorage referred to in the guide would’ve put us close to a nasty lee shore and allowed waves to build for quite a ways before they hit us. We moved around to the lake side and tucked up close to shore. Our 45 lb. Manson anchor seemed like it was bouncing along the rocky bottom until it finally caught. Not willing to bet that we weren’t hooked by a tiny crevice of rock down there, Josh jumped in the dinghy and took a line ashore. That line is tied around a tree and a big boulder and is taking most of Andante’s load with the anchor as back up. Feels pretty snug.

A local skiff came by with Eric, his wife, who’s his deck hand, and a “damn tourist” (Eric’s joking words!). Eric showed off the beautiful lobster he’d just gotten from his trap and agreed we were in a great spot and that the town wharf was not the place to be.

Our shore party launched kayak and dinghy and headed over to the barasway. Barasway is the Newfoundland version of the French word Barachois which means a shallow inlet. This barasway separated the main part of the fjord from the part with this beautiful waterfall.

This part of Newfoundland reminds us of Labrador; small tuckamore trees that have been growing for decades, springy moss, boggy patches, and here in Newfoundland pitcher plants in their northernmost habitat.

Josh scampered (there really is no other word for it!) up advising me on the easiest route. You can look into the interior and not see a sign of human life for as far as the eye can see. There are no roads into the interior of southern Newfoundland save one further down the coast and it comes in from way up north. The land is threaded with lakes, streams, and bogs or hard as granite.

Great hike and we crossed over the waterfall and back. On a sunny day (We’re told they do have them here.) I can see bathing in the falls and I’ve heard of people actually swimming here.

Back to the boat and we were settling in when Russ looked out, “We’ve got company.” A skiff with 4 people in their early 20’s came alongside and chatted for over an hour. Harbour Le Cou is the end of the road that reaches from Port Au Basques and they said it’s really the end of the world. No FM radio, no cell phones, etc.

If he had to leave right now Josh got a good taste of what we found in Newfoundland, gorgeous scenery and amazingly friendly people.

Horizon? What horizon?

Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia

May 30, 2011

We’ve been making tracks as much as possible and when a weather window opened to head North, we took it. Cape May to Block Island. Block Island to Martha’s Vineyard with a terrific sail down Vineyard sound. Topped 7.5 knots, which is about as fast as we’ll go.

A few days hanging out in Vineyard Haven and then the forecast we’d been waiting for: winds light and variable swinging to the east and then south. Waking to fog we took one last walk ashore and then motored out of Vineyard Haven Harbor.

Fog. It can be a light haze that paints everything with an otherworldly brush or it can be so thick you can’t see the bow from the cockpit. On our 5 day passage from Martha’s Vineyard to St. Peter’s Canal on Cape Breton we saw it all! I saw the stars for about 30 minutes on my first night watch but that was it.

You start to feel as if you're in a cocoon. A turtle with an atmospheric shell that moves along with us. Everything outside the shell is muffled or non-existant. It starts to play with your mind after a while. You can’t really tell where the horizon line is. But radar makes it a lot less stressful today. Russ’ family has stories of sailing circles around a buoy for hours until the fog lifted a bit. They weren’t sure which #1 buoy it was and weren’t about to sail blindly on. They aren’t the only sailors with stories like that.

But for us sailing in fog means keeping an eye on the radar and an ear on deck. We never saw anything until we were off Cape Breton but we did hear one fishing boat and saw numerous ones on radar.

Overheard radio conversation between SV Hannah and a fishing boat:

“So when do you think this fog’s gonna lift?” Mick of SV Hannah

“Couple of months I think,” fishing boat Captain.

You just have to laugh.

Cruising is . . .

. . . Fixing your boat in exotic places

Cohansey River, Delaware Bay May 18, 2011

That’s the sailor’s definition of cruising and although I’m not too sure how exotic the Cohansey is, we’re definitely fixing our boat. We finally threw off the dock lines on Monday, May 16. An overnight at Chesapeake City in the C&D Canal and we tackled Delaware Bay. And I do mean tackle.

For several years we joked the score was Delaware Bay 6, Andante 2. Delaware Bay is full of shoals, fish traps that have thick posts emerging from the murky depths in unlikely places, strong tides, very large ships that move very fast and a lack of places for a small boat to shelter.

We’ve endured nasty summer thunderstorms where it’s a complete white out and lightning storms with cloud to cloud streaks and bolts that reached down from a night time sky. Our old bronze prop became a permanent resident of the Bay during one of those storms so I always approach this body of water with respect and a bit of trepidation.

Turning south out of the canal, torrential rain made it hard to see the buoys. The rain eased off a bit but what had started as a motor sail quickly became a motor and then a motor into headwinds. Calling it quits, we motored up the Cohansey for several S turns. This is a classic Chesapeake Bay river meandering through salt marshes acting as a nursery for species until they're big enough to go out into the Bay itself and sheltering countless other birds and fish.

Delaware Bay is an important stop for lots of migratory birds including The Red Knot. This small bird flies up from Antarctica, gorges itself on horseshoe crab eggs and then continues its journey to the Arctic where it lays eggs, raises chicks, and does the return. The timing is incredible and if something goes awry and the Red Knots miss when the horseshoe crabs lay their eggs there can be a major die off.

The fixing up part . . . our head (that’d be the marine toilet) has been acting up and is now refusing to flush. Not a good scenario! Russ began the fun task of taking it apart and William discovered that our outboard wasn’t working as well as we’d like. Just back from servicing, it had no umph, refusing to go any faster than a slow crawl.

Two days anchored gave us a chance to make the repairs. The problems were narrowed down to a bad flapper valve and a bad spark plug.

Around the gear sorting and repairing, we explored the river and salt marshes in kayak and dinghy. Gliding up one of the many guts that feed the river fiddler crabs frantically wave their one big claw and startled sandpipers scurry along the bank. A Harrier Hawk soars low over the marsh grasses looking for his next snack.

I’d say this round was a tie bringing the total score to: Delaware Bay 7 Andante 4

Blog keeping notes: I've added an iceberg album and put a "before" picture under the refit album so you can see the original layout.

We’re off!

Corner Brook, Newfoundland

June 27, 2011

My procrastination has finally caught up with me! We just left on another trip and the blog hasn’t finished our 2009 trip so . . . the decision has been made to “be present”. There’ll be quite a bit of time this summer when we won’t have internet contact so I’ll try to use that time to tell some more tales of our 2009 adventure.

Meanwhile . . . the Far North has continued to call to us and we decided almost as soon as we got back to head further up the Labrador. It’s been 18 months of working, enjoying land activities, greeting our new granddaughter and boat projects.

Ready or not, we left the dock on May 16 with our nephew, William, along as crew for the first leg to Cape May. Let the fun begin!

Sunshine & Crosses

Chambers Cove, Newfoundland

August 26, 2009

I gazed through binoculars at the 300’ cliffs of Chambers Cove, sunlight glinting off the cross at the cliff’s edge. Giant windmill blades moved lazily in the summer breeze. It’s a far different scene than the early morning of February 18, 1942. With the cliffs obscured by blinding sleet, the U.S. Navy destroyer Truxtun smashed onto the rocks. Farther down the coast at Lawn Point the supply ship USS Pollux, traveling in convoy, came to grief. The lead ship, USS Wilkes hit the rocks but was able to back off.

Then the nightmare really began. The men could see the cliffs, almost touch them. But frigid water, roiling currents and a growing mass of oil slickened debris filled Chambers cove. The water temperature was 30 degrees Fahrenheit. After several harrowing attempts, a small group made it ashore. From there one sailor, blackened by oil, clawed his way up the cliff face and began to follow a barbed wire fence, hoping it would lead to a settlement.

Eventually he came to the local mine and told his tale. The men went to the clifftops and looked down at the scene. By this time, men had begun to jump into the water only to be smashed into the cliffs, carried out to sea, drowned under debris or frozen into immobility. A few made it ashore.

The men from the local community of Lawn began to haul the sailors up, one at a time. Literally dragging them up the cliff. A small fire was built and the growing number of survivors tried to stay alive.

After realizing another ship was in distress, rescuers from the small community of St. Lawrence made their way to Chambers Cove. The men were taken into homes in the local communities and nursed throughout the night by the women. First order of business was to scrub the oil from them. One woman kept scrubbing and was muttering that she couldn’t seem to get the black off. The man came to enough to mumble, “Ma’am, I’m black. It won’t come off.” That man was Lanier Phillips a cook. Later he said the way he was treated by the Newfoundlanders changed his outlook on life. “I wish the world could go to St. Lawrence and take a lesson on love and humanity.” This American Life did an episode about the tragedy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JJkbkBbTaYI&feature=related

In all 203 perished and 168 survived.

It’s a gripping story and “Standing into Danger" by Cassie Brown tells it well. Over the years, survivors came back to visit their rescuers and the U.S. Navy donated a hospital in appreciation. The local economy was mining and a lot of the rescuers suffered from black lung. Now the mines have shut down and the communities are scraping by.

Whew!

Little Burin, Newfoundland

August 25, 2009

Bill did indeed come a knockin'. We rocked around a bit. The wind howled in the rigging. But our anchors held fast and we even managed to sleep. It was a good drill in prepping the boat and us. Hope we don't have to do it again for a while!

And so began the task of putting it all back together, including dumping the tires back over the side - a much more enjoyable task than putting them up there in the first place! A fisherman came by later and said they were going to be tearing that wharf down next year and we could've just cut the line on the tires and dumped them in the harbor.

And almost ready to go again . . .

Hunkered down for Bill

Little Burin, Newfoundland

August 23, 2009

The last 36 hours have felt like we've been in a neck and neck America's Cup Race. We've been tweaking sails, kicking the motor in for a course lift (OK that part wasn't American's cup racing), basically doing everything possible to get tucked in somewhere before Hurricane Bill hits. Of course he's changed his mind and instead of heading for the Avalon, he's headed for the Burin Peninsula, right where we're headed!

So we're looking for a perfect, snug hidey hole and hoping Bill's strength will diminish before he gets here. The fish plant at Little Burin seems to offer the right mix. We passed by the rusting hulk of 3 draggers at least 100 feet each and tied up to a huge wharf on the back side of the plant which should act as a wind shield. It's a little cove so there's not much room for waves to build up.

We got busy stripping everything we could off the boat: sails, kayak, jerry cans of water & fuel, it all got tucked up under the plant. Alun, single-handing aboard SV Sarah a 1966 fiberglass boat, came in and began to make his preparations. From St. John's, he'd been up to Labrador and was about at the end of his summer cruise. It was encouraging to have another cruiser to discuss tactics with and share some of the work.

These tires caused us a lot of concern. We started playing that "what if" game. "What if we're pinned against the dock with the gunwale under the tires, then the tide comes up and we're basically pinned under the tires with the water rising?" or "What if we're pinned against the tires and they snap our shrouds (those are the thin steel cables that hold up our mast)?" You know just little thoughts like that.

Our solution, haul these massive tires up onto the wharf. Not as simple as it sounds. We used the halyard tied around a tire with one of us guiding it and one raising it.

Two tires have become Andante's fenders so hopefully they'll ride up as we ride up. It's a very protected spot and we feel good about it as a place to ride out the storm.

The strategy that's evolved is to stay loosely tied to the dock with the stern closer in and the bow out at a 45 angle. Our Manson Supreme Anchor, our primary anchor, is going off the bow and our 2nd anchor, a Bruce, is going off amidships to keep us pulled away from the dock. Added to that the guys on the big fishing ship have loaned us a bunch of huge fenders. Andante looks a little like those science class experiments where you try to design cushioning around an egg and drop it from the 2nd story. If your egg doesn't break, you win.

Alun had a local friend that loaned him a car and we all went into Marystown for pizza.

Bill is set to hit here around midnight -2am. Sunday/Monday night. Which beg two questions:

Why do these things always hit in the middle of the night?

and

Couldn't the National Hurricane Center have come up with a better name than Bill?

Andante stripped down! The name on that big boat behind us . . .Katrina.