Captain's Log

4 August, 2015
Posted by tuck on Thursday, August 13, 2015 - 14:08

Bon Jour

Well……  The fog didn’t clear up.  Radar and chartplotter showed us that we were in the outer harbor of St. Pierre, but you couldn’t prove it by looking out the window-pure pea soup.  I had forgotten just how disoriented you can get moving at slow speed in zero/zero visibility.  I love my instruments.  As we approached the rock jetty leading into the inner harbor, the fog became wispy, then immediately gave way to bright sunshine.  Lucky, lucky, lucky.  As usual, the Harbor Authority wasn’t answering their VHF, so as we passed a commercial fishing boat that was idling around waiting for the rail tram to pull them out of the water, Suzanne asked them where we should tie up.  Uh oh, here we go with the French.  Fortunately, the Admiral retains and builds on her vocabulary, while I have to start from scratch every time we’re with French-speakers.  We sidle over to a long pier, and by the time we’re close to the dock, the fishermen have tied up and are ready to catch our lines.  By the way, they’ve called both Customs and Immigration to come down to the boat for us, so we won’t have to walk up to the office.  Really?  Clearing Customs is a breeze.  The head officer speaks perfect English, and lets his two pals practice theirs on us under his watchful eye.  As usual, Suz is pumpin’ him for some local knowledge, and he tells her that the bus tour is a must (by the way, his daughter is home from University, and she’s the guide).    Suz and Lauren are all smiles, ‘cause it’s our plan to eat our way through this French town, meaning no menu planning for a few days.  We head over to the Touriste Informacion office, and get the skinny on treats, eats, and tours.  Our new best friend at the office, John-Pierre makes dinner reservations for the next 3 nights, and we’re good to go.  At 18h00, we’re waiting for the bus tour, chattin’ it up with Emilie, our guide-more local info.  The tour needs 6 to go, and there are only the 4 of us.  As we’re leaving, 2 ladies run up, so the tour is on.  The tour was well worth it.  We wound through the narrow streets in town, and then drove out to the country for some photo ops, as Emilie pointed out the high points and gave us a short history lesson.  Passing by Emilie’s Grandfathers house, he gives her a thumbs-up.  Oh yeah, he owns the tour bus.  Back in town, her Dad is waiting to drive her home.  He looks a little different from the last time that we saw him.  Cargo shorts, Tee shirt and flip-flops are quite a contrast from the crisp uniform with the sidearm on the hip.  Over the next 3 days, we enjoyed being in France.  The stores had a great selection of cheeses, cured meats, and pate.  The bakery had fresh goodies every morning at 06h00.  Our nights out for dinner provided a nice diversion, with wonderful food, decent wine, and good conversation.  The weather was rainyfoggywindy, but hey, what’s new.  One of the locals told us that they had 45 straight days of fog last year, so we’re not gripin’.  The “Prohibition” tour (one guide and the 4 of us), gave us some insight in to the effects that Prohibition in the States had on this sleepy little fishing community during the 30’s.  During that time, 300,000 cases of liquor passed through here every month, destined for the United States’ east coast.  Al Capone was said to have spent some time here (although I couldn’t verify this independently), and lotsa money was made from running liquor.  During our stay, the sailboat racers coming from the Madeline’s dribbled in from the fog, completely overwhelming the facilities.  By the time they were all in, their boats were rafted 3 and 4 deep along the pier, along with monopolizing the (free) laundry room, drying all of their wet duds.  No biggie, though.  None of them were up at 06h00, when I usually do wash.  We departed on a sunny Friday morning, the first day of the “Rock ‘N Rhum” Festival, as the ferry disgorged groups of pierced and tatted young folks arriving for the scene.  We diverted out to Colombier Island, a couple of miles out of the harbor, as it was rumored that there were Puffins out there (you already know how the Admiral has this thing for Puffins).  Pete (the stuffed Puffin) stood watch from his perch next to the compass, while the Admiral manned the binoculars.  No need.  There were a gazillion Puffins in the water, air, and on the rocks.  In spite of their numbers, it was tough to get their pictures, as the little guys are pretty shy.  Out of 100 or so shots, hopefully, we’ll get 5 or 6 good ones.  After idling around for a half hour or so, we continued our cruise up to Langlade and Miquelon, the other 2 islands in this French Archipelago.  Langlade has only a few summer cottages, and Miquelon only 600 inhabitants, as compare to St. Pierre’s 6,000.  The reason for our Miquelon drive-by was that we were told that there were seals on its’ North end.  Where there are seals, there are usually Orcas, and we hadn’t seen any of these killer whales yet.  Well, I think that maybe we were sold a bill of goods (or maybe it was the language barrier), ‘cause the North end was bordered by sandy shores-not exactly seal territory.  The bonus was the Minke whales that we saw on the way.

Next stop, Fortune Newfoundland, where we cleared customs, and planned a visit to Fortune Head Point, where there were some significant geologic formations (read “fossils”-Nerd time).  On the way, Lauren and Bill discovered that their macerator (the little chopperupper gizmo that pumps out your holding tank) had crapped out-pun intended. Sh%t!  Literally.  Along the way, we called Canadian Customs and got our reporting number (we both have NEXUS cards, which streamline border crossings for Canadian and U.S. citizens).  Seastar wasn’t so lucky.  The Customs agent told them that they needed some face time with the officers in Fortune.  The good news was that the guys were at the dock when we arrived, and cleared Bill & Lauren without a search of their boat.  Kinda ticked Lauren off that we didn’t have the same treatment, but the fact is that a lot of Canadians return home with prodigious amounts of cheap liquor from France (the “sin tax” on liquor in Canada helps fund their health care system, making booze very expensive), and don’t declare it.  We still had plenty of time, so we hooked up with Kendra (a geology student on leave from university in St. John’s), to give us a personal tour of the museum, and drive us out to the park to view the actual formations.  So…..Fortune Head is the recognized GSSP (Global Boundary Stratotype Section and Point) for the Precambrian/Cambrian Eras.  Getting’ deep, but a GSSP is an internationally designated reference point on a stratigraphic section which defines the lower boundary of a stage on the geologic time scale.  In other words, the rock formations that have been thrust up here by continental drift clearly show fossils from the end of the Precambrian, and the beginning of the Cambrian eras.  (For you non-nerds, the Precambrian Era had very primitive single cell life forms such as bacteria and simple soft bodied worms, whereas the Cambrian Explosion witnessed the largest evolutionary changes in life forms on Earth.)  After all that fast-moving geologic excitement, we stopped at the local watering hole for a few brews to cool down our overheated neurons.  When dinner was done back at the boats, it was time to dope out the macerator issue.  I swear, the guys who design boats are sadists.  Why is the stuff that you need to get to always in a spot where you need to go through your repertoire of yogic  stretches, feeling like half of that couple on a plate from The Kama Sutra (you know-the one where you say “is that even possible?”)?  Anyway, the aforementioned macerator is tucked on the back bulkhead of the engine room, behind the generator, over the propshaft.  The 8” passage around the gennie is guarded by a pair of skin-devouring hoseclamps waiting for new meat.  I don’t want to get too graphic, but it’s still pretty hot in there from the engines, and I’m balancing off one foot with my head jammed against the bulkhead 5” from the evil apparatus when I pop the waste-welded hose off.  Splash, followed by uncontrollable gagging.  You get the picture.    The pump is fried, but where can we get another one?  Scottie says he can send us one, but it’ll have to get through customs, then be shipped to wherever we project we’ll be-not happenin’.  Enter Bryce (remember the facilitator in Harbour Breton who got things going for the tranny repair?).  He still hasn’t gotten around to sending a bill for his previous services, but he finds a pump in Gander.  His wife’s picking up their nephew at the airport there and he’ll have her pick up the pump.  Then, he’ll drive over to Hermitage and put it on the ferry to Gaultois (say gol tiss), where we’ll be going tomorrow.  Do I have to say anything else about the generosity of Newfoundlanders?  Anyway, this is getting long, so I’ll sign off.  No bandwidth, but we’re lucky to have internet as there’s no cell coverage here, so no pictures for now.  I’ll shoot this up, and talk to you

-Later

4 August, 2015
Posted by tuck on Tuesday, August 4, 2015 - 20:58

Well, arrival day in Ramea was the last we saw of the sun until the day before we left.  We had lots of rain and wind, as well as high seas, which precluded a timely departure.  All the while, the broken transmission threw a pall over the crew of Seastar’s mood.  Our spot on the newly rebuilt town dock seemed to be the focal point for the social life of the males on the island.  We were entertained by a constant stream of onlookers during our stay.  The main topic of conversation, of course, was the “broke boat”.  Across the small harbor, the ferry boat running to Grey River and Burgeo came and went 2-3 times/day (depending on which day it was).  Eastern Outdoors, a small hostel at the end of our dock, became our favorite hangout.  Besides providing internet (marginal) for us, cold Black Horse (a St. Johns, NL brew) was readily available.  Darlene, the proprietress, also cooked us up some fish ‘n chips with Cod that one of the local guys brought in for her.  We took some rainy walks on the 2 mile long boardwalk around the south end of the island, and visited the Senior Puffin Museum (run by the high school seniors (of which there are 4 this year)), and learned about the islands’ past and present.  We discovered that the island is energy self-sufficient, generating its’ power with wind and hydrogen powered turbines.  On July 30th, the day before the seas were to lay down, the morning dawned sunny and bright.  Suz and I were getting a bit of a case of “cabin fever”, so we dropped “White Star”, loaded in the fishing tackle, and embarked on a two-pronged mission.  Our goal was to find Puffins and kill Cod.  We had a beautiful, wavy ride along the rocks on the south coast, but alas, no Puffins.  We did better in the Cod department, and I use the term “we” loosely.  I caught 1, the Admiral 3.  After our boat ride, we grabbed B & L, and the 4 of us hiked out to the lighthouse on the boardwalk again, this time in the sun with clear visibility.  Bruce, the lightkeeper of 28 years, graciously unlocked the iron tower which was built in the late 1800’s, and allowed us to climb up.  No snaps, as the plexiglass windows were pretty fogged from U.V. damage.  We had a farewell brew on Eastern Outdoors back porch, and bade adieu to Darlene.  We all agreed that 5 nights in Ramea were more than enough, and planned an early departure for the following morning.

On the 31rst, 05h30 came pretty early with the sun still below the horizon, and the Blue Moon just getting ready to set in the West.  We got B & L off the dock, and were underway within minutes for Harbour Breton, and hopefully, a transmission fix.  I say hopefully, because the cast of characters has kept changing.  As of our departure, several guys were available then became unavailable.  There’s no marine service, per se, on this coast, so we’ve been looking for anybody that has the expertise to do the job.  We’ve heard from the town dock that the parts are there, so worst case, I guess I could pull the trannie and have Scottie and Shay walk me through the process over the phone.  Not the best option as I would have to figure out a way to hold the engine up while dropping the 150# trannie.  We made the 66 nautical mile trip in 11 hours without event.  It was sunny, calm, and 61 degrees.  Along the way, we spotted Atlantic Dolphins, and a couple of seals (which have been noticeably absent compared to last year), while Bill and Lauren reported seeing a Mola Mola and some pilot whales.  The shoreline was spectacular, with several openings to fjords visible, as well as multiple waterfalls cascading hundreds of feet into the sea.  We’re looking forward to exploring these spots on our way back west after Seastar is repaired.  By the time that we pulled into the town dock at Harbour Breton, the temp was up to 64, and the sun was out in all its’ glory (I’ll never take the sun for granted again).  A guy brought the parts down, and reported that he was still working on getting someone who could do the job.  We enjoyed basking in the sun while we watched a line of stratus clouds representing the next Low advancing from the West.  Just after dinner, we got the news that there was a guy over at the fish plant that serviced their boats and was willing to help with the fix.  Our old friend, the rain moved in and the night was as black as the inside of a pocket.

If you want to pass on reading about the transmission debacle, skip this paragraph.  Saturday morning was filled with optimism.  Big Michael (and I mean BIG) was at Seastar by 08h00.  He measured up the distances between the engine and the stringers so that he could weld up some supports to hold the engine when we removed the rear motor mounts which were attached to the transmission.  Before he arrived, he had called a diver to check the prop for line that might have been picked up while underway.  By 10h00, the diver had hacked about 10’ of ½’ polypropylene line that had wound tightly around the shaft.  We now had a reason for the blown seal.  Michael returned around 13h30.  It took him awhile ‘cause he had to locate some steel, then fire up his recalcitrant welder that had lain dormant since before winter.  We got the trannie out, but not without a bit of effort, as there was no way to hook up block and tackle due to the cramped engine room.  Sure enough, the front seal was blown.  New seal in, trans replaced, shaft aligned, new fluid in, startherup, and BAM!  The engine looks like the bull after the fight-red fluid leaking out all over #@!$%!!.  So its 18h00 on Saturday night, Michael’s already missed his Uncles’ surprise party, and our moods are matching the foggy, rainy night.  Now we’re guessin’ it’s the pressure valve-easy to replace, but the new seal’s everted, and the bell housing’s filled with trans. fluid again-trannie has to come out.  Ain’tnobodyhappy.  Mike says he’ll come back tomorrow at 08h00, so I tell him that I’ll have everything set for him when he arrives.  I’m on Seastar in the early A.M.  When Mike arrives, I’ve got the exhaust hoses off, disconnected the oil cooler, have the engine mounts off, the engine up on the temporary mounts, and the shaft disconnected.  Pull the trannie, reset the seal, and suck out the fluid.  The new pressure valve that Bill had airlifted in last week looks different than the one we took out, so we were a little hesitant to use it, but after a night on the internet, and multiple phone calls to any expert who would pick up the phone, we were kinda confident that we could use it.  All back together, start the engine, lookin’ good, and then every orifice is bleeding fluid again.  We weren’t as bummed this time, as our optimism had been damped by the previous days’ experience.  Okay, another call to Sylvester (local VelvetDrive expert who couldn’t work on the boat ‘cause he had just had a heart attack).  Only other possibility was the pump (inside the trannie.)  (This is getting long, but not as long as actually living the drama)  Miraculously, the local “marine center” had a pump that would fit-seems that a lot of the little fishing boats around here use this transmission.  While Mike and Bill took off to get it, Yours Truly broke everything down again-practice makes perfect-I was done by the time they got back.  Off with the trannie, in with the pump.  We cranked ‘er up at 15h30, and guess what Ma?-No leaks!  Whodathunkit? 

Well Dang.  No sense killin’ the rest of a sunny day.  We cast off at 16h00, and headed up to the end of the fjord to anchor in NorthEast Arm outside of Harbour Breton.  Along the way, we passed several aquaculture sites where they were raising Atlantic Salmon.  Numerous waterfalls cascaded down the rocky 600’ verticals to the sea below-pretty good scenery.  After passing through 2 sets of narrows at the head of the fjord, we entered the bay, where we dropped the hook in 15’ of water.  We motored over to Seastar, where Lauren fed us the chili that she and the Admiral had cooked up in the afternoon, and her now-famous, self-described “communion bread”.  (She’s having a bit of trouble with her oven, and it’s anybody’s guess as to how her bread will turn out-this loaf is about 1 ½” thick).  This anchorage marks the farthest East that our travels will take us this year- 55degrees, 43.2 minutes west longitude.  If we travelled due south, the first land we’d hit would be near Paramaribo, in Surinam, South America.

Monday, the 3rd of August. Partly sunny and high 50’s.  Most importantly-no rain.  Our travels were to take us to the harbor village of Grand Bank, on the Burin Peninsula.  Before we can take off Bill has to tie off his port driveshaft, ‘cause he’s only running on the starboard engine for the next 10 hours or so (he wants to make sure that his engine hour meters are the same on both engines).  Along the way, we’re delayed for a half hour or so, while we idle amidst a pod of Minke whales accompanied by several Atlantic Dolphins.  (The Atlantics are different than their southern counterparts, the Spinners and Bottlenoses, in that they are not as likely to swim in the bow wave for as long, but they are much more energetic, often jumping completely clear of the water, spinning around and slamming back on their sides.  Their coloring is also more interesting, as they are white and gray, instead of being homogeneously gray in color.)  The whales are milling around, surfacing within 80’ of the boat at times.  After they sound, the dolphins often indicate where the whales will surface next, and we slowly idle over to that spot.  Arriving in Grand Bank, we find that the man-made harbor’s walls are filled with commercial fishing boats.  The floating pleasure boat docks are pretty full, and our cruising guide tells us that the max size boat that they can accommodate is 35’.  The Admiral brings us in and we tie up at the only wall we can find.  It’s draped with spider-infested tires and bleeding creosote.  Bruce, the Harbormaster that didn’t answer his VHF, meets us, and says that the floaters are deep enough to take us.  Meanwhile, Suz gets creosote all over the sleeve of her favorite white fleecie while handling Seastar’s lines.  Soooo…… we get off the wall and bring the Girl deeper into the harbor.  It sure doesn’t look like there would be enough depth for us as we thread between 2 lines of boats with 3’ to spare on either side, but as we parallel park in the open space, there’s 15’ of water.  Local knowledge is good.  There’s no potable water on the dock, and we have to run 150’ of extension cord to shore to get 15A power (enough to run 1 of our battery chargers), but for $.42/ft., life is good.  The sun’s still out, so we take a 2 mile walk to and through town to get a taste of Grand Bank, NL.  Stops at the hardware and grocery stores get us a little conversation and local color.  On the way home, we toured the fully-restored Harris House, a Queen Anne style home, built for a sea Captain in 1908.  Back at the boats, we haul out the “soccer Mom” chairs for “Docktails”.  We strike up a conversation with a guy who works on one of the shrimp draggers here, and end up with a pile o’ shrimp for the freezer-you’re beginning to get to know these East Coasters.  Bill says that he feels like eating pizza, so we head over to the Mom ‘n Pop joint on Church St. where the kids are working the counter.

This morning was calm and sunny, and we were off the dock at 07h30, headed for St. Pierre (which is actually part of France).  We plan to stay there for a few days eating French cuisine, while the next round of bad weather moves through.  At around 09h30, Suz spotted 2 spouts, so we headed over to watch as 3 pilot whales and their Atlantic Dolphin pals put on a show for us.  Throughout the morning, we have seen patches of frothy water here and there around us.  Moving closer to investigate, we found that the churned up water was caused by Atlantic Dolphins breaching, spinning, and diving-apparently feeding-cool.  About a half an hour ago, the fog banks that we had been watching close in on us finally did.  There’s less than ¼ mile visibility, but we’re only an hour and a half from St. Pierre.  I’m hoping that we’ll have dock space when we arrive-Suz has sent emails in both Anglais and Francais to the Harbor Authority-but no response.  We know that there was a sailboat race from the Madelaine’s to here this week, so hopefully, the harbor won’t be full-we’ll see.

-Later

 

July 29, 2015
Posted by tuck on Wednesday, July 29, 2015 - 12:10

Gooooood Morning!

This whole “cruising the Newfoundland coast” thing has had a big unknown pop up-weather.  Before we came up, we figured a week of weather delays into our plans.  With 4 days in Rose Blanche and another (looks like) 4 where we are now, in Ship Cove on Ramea Island, our weather budget is shot.  Oh well, that’s boatin’.  Lemme back up to our departure from Rose Blanche.

On the morning of the 23rd, the wind finally dropped and the seas calmed to 3’.  We set our course to Grand Bruit (pronounced brit-another Anglicized corruption of an originally French name.  Rose Blanche originated as Roche Blanche, meaning “white rock”.  Bruit (brooey) refers to the sound made by flowing water-a nod to the waterfall that flows through the middle of town here.)  Geez, as long as I’m doing housekeeping, let me get this item out of the way.  Yesterday, I got a compliment on one of the pictures in the gallery-undeserved.  The snappin’ is totally within the purview of the Admiral.  She takes 90% of the shots we put in our gallery.  If I get one worthy of posting, it’s just dumb luck.  As long as we’re talkin’ about the gallery, if you click on the opening pic, it opens up the gallery behind it for that particular date.  We’re in the process of spiffin’ up the site, so things should get easier.  Okay, back to the point (James Joyce got nuthin’ on me-I think he was ADHD too!).

Along the way, we see 2 more Mola Mola’s-Suzanne’s taken to calling me Mola Mola Man-not sure how to take that.  Four hours later, we’re pulling into the beautiful little harbor of Grand Bruit.  Some 60 multicolored houses are clustered around the shore and up the hillside.  Across a tickle (narrow seawater cut) the graveyard filled with white stones covers the side of a small island.  Up at the head of the small bay, a waterfall cascades through the middle of town and into the sea.  Not a person in sight, and there’s a good reason for that.  This is an abandoned outport.  For the next few hours we poke around the town, peeking in windows and entering the few unlocked buildings.  Most are still furnished with curtains on the windows and look like the owners just stepped out to the grocery store (5 years ago).  A dory pulls in to a dock, and the family on it walk up to the church where we had been standing watching them.  They’re out of Rose Blanche and have been Cod fishing.  She walks in to the church and starts pedaling up the pump organ that’s there, and proceeds to play “Amazing Grace” while we’re all standing there with our mouths hanging open.  “HeHeHe”, she laughs, and they’re outta there-back to their boat and home before supper.  We sign the guest register which has been left in the church, and close the door as we leave.  In another house, the owner has left a note on the back of an envelope-“Please take whatever you want, but don’t hurt our house.  We may be back someday”.  We tie the door closed with some twine that we found.  Back at the boats, it’s pretty quiet-I think that we’re all reflecting on what we’ve seen, and the end of the lifestyle that this ghost town represents.  What a special thing to be here as witnesses.

Morning comes.  Time to push on to Burgeo, where the “Sand and Sea Festival” is happening this weekend.  There is a road from the Trans Canada Highway to Burgeo, so we figure that we can pick up some groceries here as well.  Bill and Lauren also need fuel, and apparently there’s a guy in town who will drive out to the gas station on the highway and fill up 55 gallon drums to bring fuel to your boat.  As we get ready to enter the harbor, which looks like a small back creek, I double and triple check our charts, ‘cause it doesn’t look like the Girl will fit in there.  There’s a guy cleaning fish at his broken down dock, and as I tiptoe in, Suz asks him if it’s deep enough for us (‘cause I sure as heck don’t have room to turn around).  “Yep”.  Okay, in we go.  There are rocks sticking out of the water on all sides, but we thread our way in to the wharf, where June, the Harbormistress, catches our lines.  “Got some bad news” she says.  Uh oh.  “We got no water” Just the dock?  “Nope. Whole town.  Been 3 days now.  Might have it fixed tomorrow.”  Well, that’s okay with us, as we had heard that the water was pretty marginal here, and we had been making water.  By festival standards, the Sand and Sea would have to be a 4 on a 1-10 scale.  By significance to the community, a 10.  We went to the Lion’s Club for a potluck dinner put on by the Anglican Church ladies-$8 a head with lots of good food that kept on coming.  I think everybody in town was there.  After the dinner, there was dancing out at the Provincial Park (we were too lazy to ride the 2 miles out, with the ride back in the dark).  Bill’s guys came with their ½  ton barrels of diesel and filled him up.  What a trip!  They were both speaking English, but we couldn’t understand a word they were saying.  They’re asking Bill to get into the truck to come up to the gas station and pay his bill-he’s just standing there grinning and shaking his head.  Too funny.  They finally got things sorted out-everybody happy.  We skipped brunch at the Community Center the next day, and opted for a climb up the rock (80’ tall) outside town for a panoramic view of the bay.  The Burgeo Museum was next.  Lots of local artifacts exemplifying coastal life were on display in this quaint little exhibit, as well as a section on Burgeo’s most (in)famous resident, the Canadian Author, Farley Mowat.  Farley was one of Canada’s most noted authors, the recipient of many awards and recognition.  Two of his books, “Gray Seas Under”, and “The Serpent’s Coil”, are among my favorites.  His sojourn in Burgeo ended after he wrote “A Whale for the Killing”, a scathing account of the villagers killing of a stranded whale.  (I’m pretty sure he was run out of town)  After picking up Bill at the dock (he was taking care of some business on his computer), we rode out to the park for some live music, stopping by Mowat’s old house for a quick snap.  Out at the park, (which, by the way, has one of the few sand beaches in all of Newfoundland), we spent a chilly afternoon listening to lively Newfie music and watching the little kids play carnival games (bean bag toss, basketball throw, etc.).  We capped the day at the Burgeo Fire Hall, where the firemen put on their annual fish ‘n chips dinner.  OMG!  Lotsa fresh Cod and fries.  After our early dinner, the wind died and we put the “soccer Mom” chairs on the dock and sat in the sun.  We put some “Great Big Sea” (Newfie band) on the outside speakers, and tried to dissolve the fatty food rumbling around our bellies with some ethanol (not sure if it’s valid scientifically, but the concept worked for us).

On Sunday, the 26th, we departed Burgeo for Ramea, a group of islands 10 miles off the coast.  It was overcast, and the seas had a 3’ gentle swell with very little wind-a perfect day for whale watc……Whoa!  A pod of whales appears about a half mile off our starboard bow.  As we edge closer, we I.D. them as pilot whales.  There are around 30 of them within a half mile radius.  Over the next 20 minutes or so, we get the upclose and personal.  There are at least 2 babies in the pod, and we get some good snaps.  Can’t get video up on the site, but you can see a short one on my Facebook page if you’re so inclined.  As Bill & Lauren were pulling up to the dock they discovered that one of their transmissions wasn’t working.  We got some lines across to them and pulled them alongside the Girl.  In the engine room, there was a mess.  Transmission fluid all over the place.  We first thought that the filler tube cap was failing, so we fixed it and refilled the trannie with fluid.  Started her up, and all looked good until fluid started streaming from a weep hole in the starter solenoid and a lug hole in the bell housing.   Hmmm.  It took a few minutes for me to get my pea brain wrapped around these facts, but it seemed like a seal between the trannie and the bell housing had somehow failed, allowing fluid to get into the housing.  I just couldn’t figure out how the fluid moved uphill to get out.  Calls to Scottie, then Shay, our experts in Michigan and Solomon’s got similar answers.  VelvetDrives have an internal hydraulic pump that builds up pressure when running.  This could force fluid through a compromised seal and into the bell housing where it didn’t belong.  Translation-the trannie needed to be rebuilt.  Now we find out just how far we are from support-FAR!  After consulting with the engineer on the ferry that runs out of here, Lauren follows a trail of phone numbers for the next day and a half.  She talks to techs, parts suppliers, and assorted folks from Newfoundland to Ontario to Nova Scotia.  Bottom line is that there is an engineer on the ferry that runs out of Harbor Breton, some 70 nautical miles from here, that is capable of rebuilding the sick trans.  He will be starting his 2 weeks off (he works 2 on, 2 off) on Friday the 31rst, and he’s willing to do the job.  Lauren arranged to have the parts shipped to him.  The seas are supposed to lay down on Friday, so hopefully, we’ll get on down to get the @#$%!! fixed.  In the meantime, we’ll hang here and entertain ourselves.

23 July, 2015
Posted by tuck on Saturday, July 25, 2015 - 07:05

Port Aux Basque (P’aB), part 2

 Next challenge-power.  There were plenty of power outlets on the wall, but, like Canso, they were of a type that we had no adapters for. (For our fellow cruisers that follow us for crumbs of info, they were circular, 3 round prong females rated at 110V, 30A.  You’ll have to make your own adapter by buying parts as I couldn’t find one on the typical marine supply sites).  Anyway, the harbormaster who didn’t return calls was nowhere to be found.  When I went into the fisherman’s chandlery by the pier looking for him, all I got in reply to my query was “Good luck”.  When I related my experienced no return calls, the guy at the counter said that he’d heard that story from a lot of transients.  VERY long story short, I finally tracked Dumbsy (as he is called locally) down, and cajoled a homemade adapter out of him.  Didn’t get a good answer out of him for not returning my calls.  Meanwhile, we had a constant parade of locals driving down to see “the big boats” at the pier.  Our plan was to leave the boats in P’aB for a few days, and take a road trip up the west coast to L’Anse Aux Meadows, a Unesco World heritage Site,  the site of Leif Eiriksson’s  Norse outpost from the 900’s.  Lauren had been working diligently doing the rental car boogie for several days to locate a rental car for us to no avail.  She was not to be denied, and finally she found one at Stephenville Airport, some 200 km away.  Well, there is a trans-Newfoundland bus service from St. John to P’aB that passes through Stephenville twice daily.  Complicated, but doable.  Along comes Mr. Albert White, one in the stream of townies coming by.  We’re rappin’, he’s showing me some videos that he uploaded to YouTube (he bought his first computer when he retired for the second time at age 71), and we get around to “What’re you doing here?”  You’re already 2 steps ahead of me.  You’ve guessed that he’s going to Stephenville in the morning (to take his daughter to the hospital for an MRI)  Said he’d pick us up at 0730.  0724, horn blaring (from a switch hotwired around the steering wheel, ‘cause a new wheel costs $400), the Dodge Caravan rolls in on two wheels and screeches to a stop.  His wife and 32 year old daughter (a very big girl) are wedged into the back seat, middle seat and shotgun reserved for the freeloaders.  In go the bags, off come the sweaters (he’s got the heat set at about 25 C), and we’re off on the big adventure.  Dude.  He’s got a miniature TV monitor hanging from the sunvisor, linked to videocams facing front and back, recording continuously (“Did I mention that I got my first computer when I was 71?”).  For the next 2 hours, the minivan is straining up and screaming down the mountainous highway to Stephenville, but we’re not worried (much), as Albert was a long-haul trucker in one of his previous lives.  What a sweetheart, won’t even let us fill the tank “Just filled her yesterday”, he comes in to the rental office with us to make sure that they have our ride.

Over the next few days, we cover the 700-odd kilometers, mostly coastal road to L’Anse Aux Meadows and back.  We climbed the 750 stair trail up to Blow Me Down rock, hiked the glacial moraine at Westbrook Pond in Gros Morne Park, toured the Viking site at L’Anse Aux Meadows,  checked out the iceberg that had grounded itself in the bay at St. Anthony, drove in to every little fishing hamlet, and stayed at two delightful B & B’s.  Good company, 60’s and 70’s music on the satellite radio (hey, nothing but the best in NL), baguettes and cheese, granola bars, trail mix, and a case of beer (after the anchor was down) kinda made it feel like a road trip from days gone by.  The navigation was stellar, as we only had to execute 14 (but who’s counting?) U-turns.  The driving by Bill was impeccable (no car/moose collisions), while the monologue from the back seat was truly without peer.  At 1900, we caught the bus from St. John after dropping our ride off at the (closed at 1600) Stephenville airport.  A couple hours later, back at P’aB, we all agreed that the way to see the west coast was by road, as the little harbors were nothing to write home about.  Dumbsy had left an envelope on the Girl, requesting payment ($80/ 4 nights), to be slid under the door at his shed.  We slept hard, happy to be back in our own beds.

18th of July.  While we were away, tropical storm Claudette had veered out to sea and became a fish storm.  We had a fair bit of wind, but nothing like predicted.  The sailboats had gone, so we were the only boats on the wharf.  We hit the groceteria in the morning, and were off the dock by 1115 for the short hop to Rose Blanche harbor, where we would overnight before heading to Grand Bruit, an abandoned outport with all of its’ buildings still mostly intact.

22nd of July.  That’s cruising.  We’re sitting on the bait station dock in the harbor over from Rose Blanche.  The breeze has been brisk for the past few days at between 20 and 30 knots out of the East, driving off and on (mostly on) deluges.  The high temperature cracked 50 F (I think) yesterday.  Right now, the temperature is 48 F, its pouring rain, and we’re clocking winds with gusts to 29 knots.  The Girl poked her head out into the ocean this morning, not because we really thought we’d travel, but just to placate ourselves, and affirm our decision to stay another day.  Decision affirmed.  Driving into a 10’ head sea with 5 second intervals against a 24 knot breeze made our decision a no-brainer.  Turning the boat around in these conditions was another story altogether, and certainly entailed quite a “pucker factor”.  When you’re halfway through the turn, broadside to the wind and down in the trough between waves, it can be a real cupboard rearranger.  This one was no exception.  Full power, hard rudder, but flying stabilizers tend to set off alarms, and bow thrusters don’t work all that well when they’re trying to push air-no mean feat on a 62,000 pound vessel.  Anyhow, Lauren and Bill didn’t know what they were missing, but took our word for it as we slinked back to the pier.  So,now I can take this down time to recap the last couple of days in beautiful  Rose Blanche, Newfoundland.

The village dock was filled with locals’ boats when we pulled in, so we decided to anchor up under Cain Island.  As we rounded the island, it was plain to see that there was some aquaculture activities going on here, so no go.  The abandoned fish plant back to the west, in Diamond Cove, had a dock, but didn’t look too inviting…..Hmmmmh.  The lobster season had just closed a few days earlier, so we figured that there wouldn’t be a whole lot of traffic at the Newfoundland Bait Depot dock.  Sure enough, the place looked like it was buttoned up for the year.  We eyeballed the fixed, L-shaped dock, and figured that we could put the Girl on the 35’ face, and Seastar on the projection from shore.  After tying up, we paced off the other segment and checked the depths-looked like Seastar had room.  We gave Bill the option of rafting off the Girl, or pulling onto the dock around our hanging-out bow, and he opted for the latter (trusting soul that he is).  No problemo.  He whipped her in with a couple of feet to spare.   A couple was motoring by in their dory just then, so I waved them over to ask them if it was okay to tie up here.  “ Oh yah, fishin’ season’s ower.  Ain’t nobody been ‘ear ‘til Spring.  Ont some Cod?”  “What’s that?”, says I.  “Ont some Cod?”   “Yes, please” is my answer, so he throws a Cod up onto the dock.  “Ose people witcha?”  “Yep”  “Here’s anudder.”  Whap!  “Wont anudder?”  “No thanks, that’s plenty”.  Off they go with their bucket full of Cod.  There’s been no commercial Cod fishing here since 1989 when a moratorium was put in place after Cod were practically fished out, but there is a season for individuals that had opened a few days previously.  Welcome to the East Coast.  There’s no power or water at the dock here, but it’s very secure, and the small bays’ shoreline is dotted with colorful, tiny (maybe 600 sq. ft.) homes.  There’s no cell service, and we’re thinking that we’re really getting out there.  I guess we are.  The following morning, we packed up our rain gear and hiked over to the Rose Blanche Lighthouse, quite possibly the only all-granite lighthouse in Atlantic Canada that’s open to the public.  Built in 1871 by Scot craftsmen, and designed by the engineers at D&T Stevenson (named after father and uncle of Robert Louis) of Edinburgh, it was abandoned in 1941, gradually falling into ruins.  In 1988, a group of locals began the lengthy process of reconstruction, using nothing but hand tools and muscle power, utilizing 90% of the original stones and quarrying the rest from the rocks below the site.  By 1999, the project was completed.  The reconstructed house is furnished with period pieces and local antiques.  The Canadian Coast guard has since dismantled the modern light tower at the site, and employs the restored tower for its’ light.  Our tour of the lighthouse had a bonus courtesy of the crummy weather.  We were just about the only ones there.  The hike out over the barren, windswept rocks with the waves crashing in below was pretty spectacular.  With the exception of our high tech clothes, we could easily envision ourselves traversing these same paths in the late 1800’s.  Oh yeah, there were 3 bars worth of cell service on the highest rock of the point (note to self).  After the lighthouse, we took the “Old Road” over to the outport Harbor La Cou, a couple of miles to the east.  It’s really no more than a path, but it was the only way to travel between the 2 villages before the road was built.  The scenery along the way was simply indescribable-lush greenery speckled with colorful wildflowers, placid ponds, and towering granite ridges, all ending in a deep fjord, the shore of which was home for 20 hearty souls in a outport called La Cou.  We met a couple of ladies there that told us of some paths to good vistas back in Rose Blanche, so after we returned, we hiked them too.  We weren’t disappointed.  After our 10 (or so) miles of hiking, Suzanne treated us to some Beef Stroganoff (20 minutes in the pressure cooker).  We weren’t in a hurry to get up and at ‘em the next morning, as seas were predicted to be 8’ on 4 ½ seconds with wind speeds in the 20 knot range.  I hiked up to the “high rock” spot to download the new GRIB’s on the Ipad.  Whoa! Wind speed was slightly higher than the 20’s, in fact; it felt more like 30-35.  I wished that I had thrown the handheld anemometer in the backpack.  The waves crashing into the rocks below the lighthouse were blasting plumes of spray 40’ into the air, fuel that the wind atomized into a driving mist.  I didn’t need a weather forecast to tell me that we weren’t going anywhere today, just when we might get a crack to slip through.  It looked like our first opportunity would present itself in a couple of days.  That afternoon, we walked the trail back to Rose Blanche and had a late lunch at Madolyn’s Teahouse which was attached to RoseSea’s B&B.  Lynn, the 74 year old proprietor of both establishments is an Ontario native that came into some money a few years back and decided to buy and renovate a couple of run down shacks in R. B.  When she asked her friends in Ontario what they thought, they told her she was crazy, hence the name of her teahouse Mad old Lynn.  The food was less than unremarkable, but the rooms in the B&B were all new and tidy, if somewhat Spartan.  Back at the Girl, Suz and I spent some quiet time reading while the wind whistled overhead.  The morning of the 21rt was another one justliketheotherones-bleak, windy and rainy.  Bill and Lauren were starting to exhibit signs of cabin fever, so we split ‘em up.  Bill and I hiked up to the “high rock” spot so that we could get a new forecast, and he could talk to his son on the phone.  Suz and Lauren had a spot of tea and some Girltime on Alizann.  That brings up to this morning when we poked our nose out.  After we came back to the pier, the skies just opened up.  It’s been pouring rain in sheets all day, so we had B & L over for a “movie day”.  We turned Bill on to the “House of Cards” series a week ago, and gave him the first three seasons on a hard drive.  He’s been binge watching, ‘cause he’s a big Kevin Spacey fan.  Soooo…. The movie choice was a natural as neither he nor Lauren had seen “The Usual Suspects”.  Afterwards, the ladies cooked up some beef stew in the handy pressure cooker.  I wouldn’t say that Bill and Suz stomped us, but Lauren and I are looking forward to some Euchre redemption on a rainy day in the future.

Well, that’s it for now.  I’ll shoot this into space as soon as we have service.

-Later                                                                                                                                                                                            

PS. What is an outport? There are few roads in Newfoundland. Because of the huge Cod fishing industry previous to 1989 many Outports cropped up along the shores of NFL to be close to the fishing Banks. These outports were only accessible by boat. No power, no roads. As the Cod industry began to fail the NFL government was having a difficult time finding resources to provide basic services such as medical care. In the mid 1950’s NFL was almost bankrupt and the Cod industry was collapsing. The government decided to lure residents(resettlement)  of the outports to villages that were accessible. Promises of housing, jobs, etc  did not pan out but the people had left their homes. These abandoned outports dot the southern coast of NFL and are spooky. Houses, churches, wharf all intact just no one home.  Nowadays a few outports(still only accessible by boat) exist but are slowly disappearing. How does it happen? When the population diminishes to a degree that there are not enough inhabitants to justify the cost of running and maintaining the power source, resettlement becomes the only option. The few remaining residents of these isolated ourports vote for resettlement. The diesel –powered generating station is shut down and dismantled and the power and phone lines are taken down. This is how an outport becomes abandoned. After resettlement, residents can rent their old homes from the government for 5 years for $1 a year. A few people return for a few weeks during the summer. Thought you might like to know. -The Admiral

20 July, 2015
Posted by tuck on Friday, July 24, 2015 - 18:53

The ride up to Cheticamp was smooth, with partly cloudy skies and a 3’ sea pushed onto our port bow by a 15 knot winds.  Along the way, we got a hail on the VHF from “transport Canada”.  Turned out to be a border patrol aircraft.  After identifying themselves, they asked our last and next ports of call, and our future itinerary.  It was a first for us in over 25 years of cruising in Canada.  Subsequent to reminding us of the “No Discharge” policies in Canadian waters, he kindly let us know that the destination set in our AIS was Lunenburg-Oops.  As we neared the mouth of the harbor at Cheticamp, we spied a small fishing boat jigging Mackerel.  Having never witnessed this operation, I was amazed.  He had a long line with circle hooks on it, spaced around 2’ apart, draped over a roller on each side of the boat.  As he turned a hand crank, the line came up on one side, went down on the other.  In the middle of the boat was a tub that caught the fish as they were dislodged passing over the rollers.  No bait, just hooks.  As soon as the line was paid out on one side, he’d reel it back in with 2 fish for every 3 hooks.  Crazy.  Cheticamp town dock was pretty “bare bones”, but Paul, the harbormaster was waiting to catch our lines when we arrived.  The 30A power came through a household-type 15A outlet that had been wired by a cruiser who had been here previously, assuring Paul that the wiring could handle the load.  With the help of our 50’ extension cord, an adapter and a 50’ power cord, we were able to feed in to our 30A inlet.  (The Girl came with a standard 50A inlet, but with many years of cruising in rural destinations, our guy Shay, at Boat Works of Charlevoix, in consultation with the engineer at Charles Industries (electric power specialists) wired in a parallel 30A circuit.  We have to watch our loads, but it has been a Godsend, both in the Bahamas and Canada).  Anyway, as Paul left us, he asked if we’d like lobsters.  Oh, Yeah!  The next morning, he took us over to the dock where the fishermen were coming in, and negotiated a $6/lb. price for us with a French-speaking lobsterman.   Now we’ve got (8) 2 pound lobsters that need cooking.  Minor detail-our “big” pot will hold 2 at most.  No worries, says Paul, I’ll just drive home and get my pot.  And, you should really cook them in seawater with a fistful of salt added.  He said not to worry if he wasn’t right back, ‘cause it would take him awhile to drive out to a beach away from town, where he could get clean seawater for us.  Bill gets out his Coleman camp stove, but when Paul returns with the bathtub full of seawater, he says it’s too windy on the dock, so he’ll take the stove in to his office and cook for us.  Are East Coasters awesome, or what?  While he cooked, we got the skinny on the local scene.  He lamented that the local women weren’t interested in a guy unless he had a fishing license.  In his 70’s, retired, and single but still lookin’.  We’ve got a feeling that he was married once, but there wasn’t a “right time” to ask him.  Now we got chores.  Bill & Lauren trek off to the laundromat, while Suz and I string together  150’ of hose to get to the hose bib on shore to fuel our wash O’matic.  When we return home after our errand running, Paul is sitting on the picnic table waiting for 2 more boats to come in.  He doesn’t have a VHF, but his brother lives on the point at the mouth of the harbor, and phones him when he sees a boat approaching.  Using our handheld radio makes his job a bit easier as the boats approach the wharf.  We enjoyed half of our lobsters at dinner, and made our plans to travel up to the Madeline Islands the following day.  Paul came by after dinner to check in on us, and we had some more good conversation.  He told us that he had lots of friends in “The Maggies”, and actually spent several weeks there every summer.  We got some good tips from him on places to go, and things to see there.  In particular, he advised against going into Havre Aubert where we had planned making landfall (as recommended by the cruising guides), and going instead to Cap Aux Meules, which was more centrally located with more services.  He said that he’d be down in the morning at 0600 to help us off the dock, and sure enough, when Suz and I got up, he was already on Seastar, having coffee with Bill & Lauren.  As we pulled out, he said he’d probably see us 2 days hence, as he was hitching a ride over to The Maggies on a friend’s boat.

On the way over to the Maggies, we spotted 9 Minke whales, all traveling solo.  For the 7 ½ hour trip, we had no wind and mercury-flat seas under an overcast sky.  When we arrived at the city harbor at 1430, they weren’t ready for us, so we tied to the wharf with Seastar rafted to us, and waited for a slip to open up for B & L.  The harbor here contains a mix of commercial and pleasure boats, the common denominator being that very few folks speak ANY Anglais.  By the time that we got Seastar situated, it was time for sips and dinner aboard the Girl.  The following morning, the 11th, we headed to the tourist bureau for maps and info, then to Hertz to secure a car rental.  HaHaHa.  All cars were booked through August.  They did, however, have scooters available.  Okay, they weren’t exactly Harleys, but it was the best we could do, so reserved 2 for the 13th, as it was supposed to rain the next day.  We hit the bakery then the ATM (lots of our dockage has been cash only), and were pulling the bikes off the boats by noon.  Our intended ride would take us over a tomolo to Ile du Havre aux Maisons, where we would visit a fromagerie (cheesemaker, Pied-de-Vent), a Fumoir (smokehouse, D’Atan), and a winemaker(BarboCheux) while traveling scenic backroads.  Before we got here, we had pictured the archipelago as being flat and sandy.  Au contraire!  Our 16 mile tour was mostly upanddown.  We scored some great cheese, and got some smoked fish after being treated to a tour of the smokehouse by Felix, the fourth generation of his family, home from university on summer break.  We were pretty whacked, but had to hustle back to the boats to meet Paul for dinner.  Well…..no one at the harbor had seen him, so we headed to his buddy’s Resto d’Italia for dinner.  Five minutes later, there’s Paul and his friend (with the boat), joining us for dinner.  The entertainment was a hoot.  A French speaking guy singing American songs in English (without an accent).   Over dinner, Paul said he’d be at the boats the next morning with his pal’s car to take us on a tour of the islands.  True to form, Paul’s having coffee with B&L when we rouse.  Slight change of plan, he can only be with us until 1400, as he’s meeting a ladyfriend up at the North end later.  We cover all of the archipelago to the south, including Havre Aubert.  We’re happy that we went to Cap Aux Meules, ‘cause Aubert is a little fishing village converted to T shirt shops and galleries.  The harbor is windy and wide open.  So much for the cruising guides.  Returning back to the boat, and anticipating his rejection of “gas money”, we present Paul with a handheld VHF as a token of our friendship.  He gets kinda teary, but is happy, happy, and happy.  For the rest of the afternoon, we just walked around town in Cap Aux Meules, took the shoreline walk, and climbed the rock overlooking the harbor to get some snaps.  We had been watching for a weather window to cruise up to Port Aux Basque, on Newfoundland’s southwest tip, and it looked like tomorrow night was the night.  Tropical storm Claudette had been working up the East coast of the States, and was projected to hit Newfoundland in 36 hours, making the window tight but doable.  Bill and Lauren were excited/apprehensive, as it would be their first overnight crossing, but it was now, or stay in Cap Aux Meules  for the next week.  We all agreed to sleep on it, and make our decision the next day.  By 0830, we were picking up our scooters for our push to the northern end of the archipelago.  Oh, the horrors of frugality (cheapo, cheapo)!  49cc’s of raw power with 2 people onboard saw us traveling at a blistering 30kph (18mph) on the uphill, and (our record) 60kph on the wind-assisted downhills.  Well, the flip side was that we had a good chance to see all the scenery along the way.  And, the scenery was beautiful, from breathtaking vistas across the moors (can’t help it, looked like Scotland) ending abruptly with cliffs dropping into the sea, to quaint little hamlets filled with brightly colored houses.  At our turning point in Grand Entrée, I acknowledged the 900 pound gorilla, and asked for a decision on crossing to Newfoundland that night.  Bill and Lauren were in.  Looked like we were a go.  Suz had checked the GRIB’s before our scooter tour, and suggested that an 1800 departure would be best.  On our way back, we stopped at the seal museum, which had some very good exhibits detailing the natural history of the seals endemic to this area.  In addition to the science, we found the local perspective regarding the seal hunt (which is still legal and takes place annually here) to be quite interesting.  Seal products, including pelts, clothing, and meat are still sold here and in Newfoundland, while being banned in the European Community.  Back on our trusty steeds, we stopped at Captain Jack’s for some unremarkable fish and chips, returned to  the Fumier and the Fromagerie, fed the gerbils at the gas station, and returned to base.  Paul’s waiting at the dock to throw off our lines and bid us “Adieu”.   On our way to the sea buoy 5 miles to the east, we are escorted by a small fishing boat, with Paul on the deck snappin’ away with his Ipad.  I’m a touch concerned, as I have been calling the Harbormaster in Port Aux Basque for the last few days to try to secure dockage at their wharf, leaving messages at his home and office without getting a return call.  With Claudette bearing down, we had some anchorages picked out, but it would’ve been nice to know we had a spot on the dock.  I kept my concerns to myself.  The seas were calm, and I closed my eyes for a few minutes while Suz enjoyed a stunning sunset.  Everyone has a preferred schedule, we like a 5 hour on 5 hour off routine through the night, with nap time available to either of us during the daylight hours as needed.  During the night, we talked with B & L a bit, but for the most part, just enjoyed the solitude of an overnight.  By the time that we reached P’a B, the sun was up and the sky was bright.  As we passed the sea buoy, a twin engine plane circled over us, losing altitude with each pass.  Over the VHF, you guessed it, “Alizann, Canadian patrol aircraft blah, blah, blah, switch and answer channel 10”  Same routine as before-Curious.  In the harbor, the U-shaped wharf had plenty of room on the windward side (not the side you want to be on in the predicted 45 knot winds), with 2 sailboats berthed in such a way that they took up the whole leeward side.  We tied up on the windward dock and I walked over and paced off the space in front, between, and abaft of the sailors-looked like there was enough room for all of us with a bit of juggling.  After a bit of initial reluctance, we moved the boats around so we could all get tucked in. Ready for tropical storm Claudette. Their instant reward for moving was that they were able to score some charts that they didn’t have from Lauren and Bill.  Pay it forward. 

This is getting long, so

-Later 

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