Pirates, Drugs and other hazards....

 The last two weeks have been steady as we sorted out the few problems areas we had and talked about where we might go next. Still no decision on that yet and we probably won't decide until we get there; one way of placating folks who worry we might be overdue...

With this quiet time there has also been the opportunity to think about some of the things we've come across and some of the questions we often asked. Not surprisingly the same or similar questions arise no matter where we are. Well I should qualify that as we've spent the last 4 or 5 years over this side of the water so the questions possibly reflect "national" concerns.

Health: So many folks ask what we do we do about health insurance...the simple answer is nothing. We lead a fairly healthy life-style and rarely get sick. If we do then we'll deal with it then. I'm not sure it's healthy to lead your life expecting the worst to happen, spending huge sums of money in the hope you never have to use it (insurance) or postponing retirement because a reduction in income will mean you're unable to live the consumer orientated life you've become accustomed to. Does it matter? Will those last few moments of consciousness be spent fondly remembering the huge plasma screen and surround sound you bought on credit back in nineteen nought blonk. (and the disappointment when you realised that a huge tv with mega pixels or whatever they are doesn't actually improve the quality of the programme only the picture) Life is short - get out there and live it. We have seen so many folks quoting and agreeing with Sterling Hayden whilst being unable to motivate themselves enough to take the first step. Of course not everybody wants to get out there and live this sort of life but if you do, if the thought crosses your mind and you wonder......
Incidentally this link will take you to background stuff about the man.

Drugs: To be honest drugs are not something we're concerned or even interested in so when we read of drug barons, epidemics and worse it sort of washes over us, rightly or wrongly. But we were once anchored in an idyllic part of the world. The anchorage offered good protection, the houses surrounding the "harbour" looked neat and well cared for. The sun shone over a backdrop of mountains and glistening water and it felt a great place to be. But then we learned of the drugs that had affected so many folks here and in other parts of this area, the devastation they were causing, families breaking up, businesses ruined and we were at a loss.....How could this be? How could something we sort of associated with inner cities and deprivation be so commonplace in a community that had around 1000 inhabitants, had employment and a reasonable standard of living; in short the aspirations of many small communities around the world? We have no idea but I do know we sat on Hannah that evening and looked around the harbour with enormous sadness. Something felt changed, perhaps the "world" had caught up with us?

Pirates. This is asked so many times by folks in this country and is, perhaps, indicative of the "everybody hates us " mentality that exists. No we have never met any pirates although I sometimes glibly reply that "we did once but they were running a marina in Florida...". It came to mind the other week when someone I had just met, hesitatingly said "I shouldn't probably ask this but have you ever met etc" A few days later I came across a blog and was really impressed with the guys response to an alarmist report published by Noonsite, a cruising website. Sure pirates exist but not as much as some fevered imaginations would have you believe. Sailing at night can be alarming, particularly when you're among fishing boats but there are reactions and there is stupidity. Read the article by David here. There is also a link within the article to the original report. And we won't even get into the  nonsense of cruising boats carrying weapons.

On a less fevered note the rice and raisin wine we started 14 days or so ago had reached the point where it needed to be racked off. It had sat gently fermenting in a plastic barrel, stirred once a day for a fortnight and then poured into another container (in our case our cool box aka wood store/bottle store/footrest), and the raisins etc pressed to get as much juice as possible out. The original is then cleaned out and the liquid all poured back in to begin clearing before consumption can begin early next year. The  beetroot takes longer, possibly 3 or 4 months to become dry enough to be enjoyable. By which time we hope to be somewhere where rum is cheap.

In the meantime we'll carry on with our chores - this week we dug out our 100 year old manual Singer. What a joy to use even if has but one stitch, no reverse and would struggle with the width of our sail though not, I think, with the cloth thickness. It is difficult to accept the way goods are disposed of now as technology moves so quickly that repairs are uneconomical when this machine functions so well in its limited fashion. Progress will always move humans forward I guess...

 Lastly. In an effort to combat the belief that this life can only be done in a large, expensive boat I'd urge you to take a look at the following blogs.

Roger Taylor Sails a junk rigged Corribee . He once sailed single-handed to Greenland only to break a rib before he completed his outward leg. He turned around and sailed back to the UK. His journey's rarely, if ever, involve landing on a foreign shore.....but he has a wealth of experience.

Sumara of Falmouth. A 25' Vertue and recent recipient of the Tilman Medal for a journey to the Jan Mayen Islands and subsequent mountain climb. Well  written and funny.

Speedwell of Hong Kong. The only one of this "group" we have met, Shirley singlehands a junk -rigged Vertue. We met her about 5 years ago prior to her crossing to Brazil from the Canaries where, by and large, she has been ever since. A remarkable woman and her cat Sinbad keep an entertaining blog as part of their website and make us want to go to Brazil!

Eileen of Avoca - he of the pirate reply I wrote about a few paragraphs ago. David sails a 23' Yarmouth Gaff cutter, a neat looking boat. I'm still catching up with his blog so can tell you little about him. Go read all of these folks and if you're still thinking about that 45 footer.....consider this. It isn't that long ago that folks sailed these sort of boats round the world, they were the norm. The advent of roller furling and electric winches "enable" 2 people to handle very large boats without the need of additional crew but at huge cost but not necessarily more fun.

All who ponder.........are frost..

It's been a month since we posted and I wish I could say the time has been spent in warm idleness. A month of decadence, deck-chairs and alcohol... For sure we've had an unseasonably warm pre-winter with temps in the 50's, about 10C, but once  Hannah was blocked up we began the thought process of building the "barn". The original height was to be 18' (5.48m) but we took fright at having such a huge "sail" facing the north so cut it down to 15' (4.5m).

The smaller of the two height versions

With a length of 42'(12.8m) and 16'wide (4.8m) it was still a big shed. We toiled on, often in sub 30F temps, ice forming in my beard as we struggled to get it looking straight even if it wasn't. A couple of old pieces of railway line were used to weigh down the front and rear, braces and gussets applied. Friends dropped by with timber, ply and help. The building progressed along with comments about "were we moving in permanently..." and whether we had planning consent.

Bee at work removing ice from the keel

The cold weather has caused some serious ice within Hannah. Working on the shelter we neglected to start the fire until late afternoon and found the thermometer reading 30F or 1C above the bed. The water tank froze, the condensation dripping into the bilge from the hull formed into a solid sheet of ice that took the best part of 3 hours to melt with the much used heat gun and one day we found ice forming on the hull where the ballast sits.

The subject of many, many sleepless nights was how we would get the plastic wrap over the boat. We switched between putting up 3 separate sheets, each 40' wide and cutting the thing into more manageable chunks of walls and roof sections. The joins would be where our masts stood and would involve us in a series of convoluted measurements and tacking one sheet to another with a heat gun. The day we chose to begin the wrapping the wind picked up and the stern section of plastic billowed away from Hannah like an out of control spinnaker. Rapidly conceding defeat we bundled the whole lot up again and retreated. In the end we wisely opted to make the shelter out 7 pieces, 4 individual walls and 3 roof sections

The shelter up and shrinking the roof...

It still caused sleepless nights as we struggled to work out how we would get the wrap neatly around shrouds, masts and chimney. The beauty of the stuff is, of course, that once heat is applied it tightens up and the job looks very professional and, should you get carried away with applying said heat and blow a hole in the stuff a patch can easily be applied. But the real secret is in getting the stuff as tight as possible to reduce the amount of time and energy you'll need to spend shrinking...

Beneath this bland exterior lurks...

We'd built something similiar when we were last back in the UK so had some experience of the benefits. There we'd had the masts removed so it was all much simpler. For the most part the structure doesn't use the boat at all for support and whilst the additional height of the ridge pole would have been welcome as we move along the deck, we had to ensure that our chimney remained above the ridge height to ensure a good draught. The door is hidden away on the back wall. It took a while but we eventually got the whole shelter up, noticing the difference immediately we stepped behind its walls. We used the yard's gun to heat the walls but often used a small heat gun to do much of the roof. Last night we had a strong blow out of the S and, because the plastic is now fairly rigid, it passed almost unnoticed.

The bonfire after a dose of something...

As Christmas approached we visited friends around the town and then spent some of Christmas Day with Steve and Sue at their home. They'd hoped to have a bonfire but the wood was frozen and unwilling to burn, despite liberal doses (on separate occasions) of kero and petrol. Looked nice from the house though. And we needed a warm photo to end on after all that cold.

True to form the Hannah Brewing Company has been in action. An old favourite with 23 litres of Wheat Whiskey and a new one, for us, a 5 litre batch of Beetroot wine. Neither will be ready for some months (or even longer if the cycle of hot evening fire followed by very cold early mornings have anything to do with it) but they'll keep us company on whatever next brings our way.

 

So there it is. Apart from the good times spent with friends over the holiday break, a slightly ignominious end to what has been a great year; from Virginia to Cuba to Labrador and back to Maine, 7,800nm and very rewarding in terms of friendships forged and sights seen. What a life! Happy New Year to all.

Confusion

And then we awoke this morning puzzled at the noise the sea was making as it slapped against the float tied off alongside us - (we're working on Hannah of course) only to realise the noise was the sound of the new batch of wine starting to work..... and that's before we start drinking it.

Question: Why are Newfoundlanders happy to die and go to heaven?

                              Answer: ‘cos they’re going home...

And here we are back at Shelburne in the home of the wonderful and generous Forbes and Yola, having had the best summer cruising ever. So much to enthuse about, so many photos to share..

We did say that we were off to the Azores and as we left Trepassey, with its wonderful librarian Patsy, made our way around Cape Race and onto the east coast of Newfie that was certainly our intention. We met up with some Dutch friends in Ferryland, waved them goodbye as they left for St Johns and a day or so later we headed out to sea en route for the Azores. Beset by doubts.... Were we doing the right thing? Should we continue with the plan or use the opportunity to explore more of this wonderful coastline. Luckily the wind was light, we were hardly moving and faced with a first night at sea drifting around we opted to head back to harbour and set off again the following day. But we didn’t leave the next day for the Azores but chose to stay in Newfoundland. A great choice as it happens, and no regrets at all.

                                                                                                                                                                      Up the east coast we sailed toward St Johns. Now we had no interest in the town but felt we needed to check in with the authorities as we’d last assured them we were only here for a couple of weeks.

Through the fog we sailed, marvelling at the hundreds of thousands of auks and puffins we encountered. At times it seemed like the marine equivalent of Trafalgar Square, with pigeons replaced with sea birds. There are a couple breeding grounds, islands that are now nature reserves and here birds rule and humans are spectators to their antics.

 
With the fog around we didn’t see as much as we’d hoped but even so were a little startled to hear us being hailed on the VHF; a nearby tourist whale watching boat asking if we’d spotted any whales in our travels, as he needed to show his punters. We had of course, though several miles back, though they could be anywhere by now. It’s the fine mist the whale exhales that alerts the watchers to their presence, that and the strong fishy smell that accompanies said breathing, but in the fog the mist breath is invisible.  I can tell you that having one of these huge creatures surface about 5metres/15 feet from Hannah and breathing out gives you an enormous shock and certainly stops any day dreaming.

Approaching St Johns we called Coastguard Traffic to warn them of our presence, casually slipping in that we do not have radar.

  Listening to their broadcasts to inbound/outbound ships we pondered on the fact that whilst they warned them of our existence they didn’t feel it necessary to let them know we were blind. About a mile from the harbour the reason became very clear. Literally, as the fog had disappeared and bright sunshine prevailed.

The entrance to this fine harbour is known as “The Narrows” for obvious reasons, very photogenic but it looked at bit crowded as a Canadian CG vessel came out and we opted to hang about outside until they rang us to gently inform us that we were hove to on their route...

St Johns. Well, like Stornaway in the Hebrides, it worked its spell on us. Tied up to a pontoon with our Dutch friends, the town is within walking distance and whilst the charging structure for boats is innovative ($5.99 a day with a minimum of 5 days levied) it represents great value. OK there is no water or electric available but a matter of metres away from the dock head we were entertained by bands and Shakespearean plays. The harbour authorities came down whilst we were visiting Customs, who were happy to let us remain in the country but unable to provide an answer to our question of whether we would be liable to pay tax on any home brewed booze we brought in on board Hannah the next time around, claiming that no one had ever asked that before. I can’t think why.

We spent 5 days in St John’s and made several new friends. There is a tiny harbour to the north called Quidi Vidi which, amongst its attributes is a fine brewery. Chatting to a local tour boat ended up with us meeting Patric and Karin who live aboard a boat at the brewery and they, in turn introduced us to Steve. Sailors all and fine folks. Other visitors included a press photographer, a variety of Brits either on holiday or living there and the husband of Clio Smeeten who is, of course the daughter of Miles and Beryl. And then one afternoon we were below decks when we heard someone fall against one of the lines and went up on deck. Some yards away 3 guys in their early twenties were trying to get photos of themselves with Hannah as a backdrop. They came over to apologise as their enthusiasm or drunkenness had persuaded them that getting on deck would be a neat thing. They turned out to be some of Canada’s finest, serving aboard a recently docked warship. As they were leaving to traverse the North West Passage in a few days and the ship was throwing a party for invited guests they were insistent that we should come on the grounds that if we’d crossed oceans in Hannah we must be proper sailors and they felt sure their captain would/should meet us and “learn how its done.....”  It coincided with a meal we’d arranged for Patric and Karin so we doubted whether we would make it. They took this on board, as only the very drunk can, and duly reappeared several hours later clutching invites meant for some of the nubile women of the city. Alas for all concerned our get together on Hannah went on longer than that of the warship Toronto and we never got to give the long suffering captain the dubious benefits of our experience.

We headed north, tried to anchor in a small cove called Heartbreak before plugging onto a harbour. The fisherman we chatted to as we tied up alongside smiled as he told us that these places have a reason for their names..... His wife gave us a fresh home baked loaf and we headed out the following day for Irelands Eye. Newfoundland abounds with great anchorages, the majority of which are deserted, not just of boats but very often houses as well. Sometimes a smattering of cabins can be seen, small single storey buildings for summer use, often neglected but still usable and all a reminder of an earlier life. Each anchorage had its own characteristic but joined together by this feeling of solitude.

We moved slowly up the east coast, crossing Trinity, Bonavista  and Notra Dame Bays. We by passed Twillingate, apparently known as the Iceberg Capital of the world to anchor in, yet another, Deadmans Cove. It was a warm, sunny August day and to sea could be seen the billowing white sail of a huge ship....but it wasn’t of course just a lonely and large iceberg drifting around gradually melting into the sea. Sadly the only one we were to see this trip.

As we made our way west and north we ventured close to the town of Lewisport and were shaken to see 3 other yachts at the same time which was as many as we’d seen since leaving the French Islands.... An anchorage we slid into had another boat already there and the next day another boat followed us into our choice for the night. In both these spots the Lewisport Yacht Club had felt it necessary put down mooring buoys for visitors...Time to move further north!

One of the major advantages we’ve had on this trip is the American VHF our mate Cary gave us, as this gives access to local weather on very frequent basis. It was on one of these broadcasts that we heard the news that we were soon to experience 40 knot winds, our first warning that Hurricane Bill was on its way. We made our way into a small harbour called Fleur de Lys for a few days until it passed (with a whimper for us, thankfully) and then moved onto the final coast, a long, pointing neck of land that heads up SE toward Greenland and once rounded would set us south and mark the end of this particular bit of the cruise. Firstly though we sailed over to Fourchou, a long, steep sided fiord that house the remains of Newfoundlands last whaling station. We anchored off the old settlement, gravestones reflecting in the setting sun and ate a contemplative meal surrounded by silence. The anchorage is exposed to a slight swell and we’d had to anchor in deepish water to avoid drifting back onto a clearly visible rock garden. Bee, feeling that we stood a chance of seeing the Northern Lights, opted to read after we went to bed whilst I settled down to sleep. A strange bang alerted us and we got up to investigate what we believed to be the chain snagging on an underwater rock. By torch nothing could be seen off the bow and the chain showed no sign of snatching. Stranger still Toots, who had been on deck sleeping under the dinghy had not come out to investigate with us. I wandered back and shone the torch over the stern to see a very frightened Toots, eyes like chapel hat pegs, clinging desperately to the rudder blade of our self-steerer. Her front legs were wrapped in a death squeeze around that slim bit of wood and she was not letting go. Neither of us know how it happened but my call of alarm had Bee from one end of the boat to the other and over the side clinging to the self-steering struts as she made a grab for one very wet, skinny, clearly terrified Toots who showed no resistance to being bundled into a towel and dried off. That water is cold and Bee’s idea that we should have some form of line she can attach to herself so she can fling herself overboard was not met with approval. The only saving grace to this whole episode, aside from Toots still being with us, is the effect upon her coat which is shiny and smooth. Like me her fur had become slightly “dreadlocky” so she hasn’t been at her best!

Further north we sailed to roughly the same latitude as London although much cooler and when, in late August, a local warned us that autumn was arriving we swallowed and thought we should make plans to head south soon. We decided to head in Griquet (pronounced Gricket) to wait out some northerlies that were coming through. The only chart for this place seems to be an old French one that we don’t have. The electronic ones we have show no soundings at all and the only reason we attempted it was the new guide to Newfoundland has a copy of the chart and a line indicating the best way in. It involves rounding an island before picking up the channel. The weather was lumpy outside  and we doused sail at the entrance and made our way intending to leave the island to starb’d. But some memory made me question my decision and we rounded up into the wind whilst Bee went below and found the relevant page and found we should actually leave it to port. The following day a figure appeared on the jetty and entertained us with his story of how, from the veranda of their summer house they had watched with shock as a boat had actually come in from the sea (the waves were pretty impressive from the shore) and their shock had turned to horror as the boat had begun to go the wrong way and then suddenly turned. Their first thought had been we’d lost power; followed very closely by the picking up the phone and about to ring the coastguard.......

From Griquet we headed north into a lumpy and very uncomfortable sea for a narrow tickle called Quirpon (Carpoon). As so often with these situations the shelter of land changes the nature of the seas and we experienced wonderfully calm water. An outgoing fisherman assured us we could pass either side of the buoy and we entered into a tranquil and lovely area. Unfortunately we needed to push on as the next tropical storm was heading our way and we wanted to use the easterlies to get down the infamous Belle Isle Strait. And so it was. This was to be our first long, serious trip for some time and coupled with a forecasted 30 knots plus had a quite unnecessary effect of turning my bowels to water. But once we got going and settled into our routine it is surprising how calm and clear we become. The journey turned out to be easier than we’d imagined and as each day came along we kept pushing south knowing that soon the wind would switch to the SW, the direction we were heading, and we’d need to seek shelter. We chose to do so in Beach Point, a small summer community that was deserted and arrived about 8am one morning.

 The entrance is narrow, perhaps 15-20 metres and the swell was beginning to run into the entrance. A bar across the harbour cuts down the swell entering but also gave me a bit of a turn as we swept in with wind and following sea and the depth beneath the keel began dropping rapidly to 3 feet (don’t you just love this mixture of imperial and metric we fling about!) Once in we were faced with turning the boat in a very confined space with a gusting wind in order to tie alongside a fishing boat. Took several attempts but we were safe in and we headed for some much needed kip. Only to woken a few hours later by voices – the crew for the fishing boat.....luckily they weren’t going out as the wind and seas had risen but were simply doing a bit of maintenance. We went back to bed.

 
We spent a day or so there and then headed out to make it down to Nova Scotia or as much as possible before the next wind shift. Opting to by-pass the Bras D’Or Lakes we made decent progress passing Cape Breton and onto Nova Scotia. As the wind turned against us we made a rapid decision to pull into a nearby anchorage to wait a more favourable slant. The following evening we headed out into a very lumpy sea left over from the gusty SW wind that had blown. We struggled to get through the channel and spent a couple of hours beating until the  wind, as forecast, switched to the north and we were away. Shelburne was a couple of nights away and the first night slipped by as kept up the speed. But with 40 miles to go the wind speed suddenly increased well beyond the 20 knots forecast and the seas seemed to come from all direction. A very uncomfortable night. Approaching Shelburne we peered anxiously up the harbour expecting/hoping to see a familiar boat but nothing. We anchored and rode ashore having been hailed by Paul Gartside with a “Welcome Home” and met up with Forbes and Yola who instantly put a large and very hot shower at our disposal. Which brings us back to where we were a couple of postings back.

 Robin and Jac, whose boat we expected to see on our arrival, we find are now behind us having to deal with a family problem back in Europe

 So there it is, 3 months and a couple of thousand miles in a few thousand words. Newfoundland is an island of contrasts held together by the people

 It’s been several weeks since I wrote this up and we are now back in Belfast and soon to be heading back down to Portsmouth, Virginia. The trip across from Shelburne proved uneventful although the prospect of strong SE winds had us sliding into a better protected harbour before Belfast. A quick radio call to Kathy, Belfast’s Harbourmaster, had her alerting the Customs and they duly cleared us in without a problem. In fact after he listened to our story about the difficulties of leaving the US in March he granted us an 8 month stay rather than a 6 month one thereby removing one enormous worry about our departure date for next year.

The trip across also gave us a wonderful opportunity with a wind battered kestrel that had been blown out to sea. It alighted on the mizzen sheet and balanced precariously there, inches from my head. Whilst attempting to seek better shelter it was blown backwards and fell into the sea, recovered and flew back onto the sheet but closer to the furled sail where it recovered for several minutes, watching us closely through bright eyes. At some point it must have felt sufficiently recovered to make another attempt at leaving but soon realised its mistake, wheeled and appeared to dive into the side of the boat. We couldn’t see any sign of it in the water and felt it must have hit the hull and gone under. Happily the following morning it hopped out from under the dinghy and flew off having spent a quiet, sheltered night getting its breath back. Thankfully for all concerned Attila the Claw was not on duty that night so the kestrel was left in peace.

And then a few days ok I was below when I heard the murmur of voices followed by a hefty “ Anyone on board” and came up to find Mike and Eilean stood on the jetty with big grins on their faces! We’d last seen them thousands of miles away on another continent – I mean C’mon how many times in your life are you going to be able say - "We haven’t seen you since Senegal"!!