The adventures of m/y Anna
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| Cruising reports 2007, page 2 |
The adventures of m/y Anna
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7 August 2007, Makkovik, Labrador (55 deg. 04' N, 059 deg 10' W)
After leaving Battle Harbour, Labrador, I intended to refuel at Black Tickle and continue on toward Makkovik,
but while making tea before shoving off my propane ran out. But on arrival at Black Tickle, I discovered that
the nearest place for propane was Cartwright, about 60 nm off my planned route, and that Makkovik would
not offer propane either. Faced with the choice of either eating cold for multiple days or making a detour, the
decision was obvious. So I went to Cartwright, which is westward in protected, lake-like waters. It being a
sunny day it was a pleasant run, and I saw no other boats, which is normal. Unfortunately on arrival at
Cartwright I found out that it was a holiday, although no one knew exactly what for and referred to it only as
the Civic Holiday. No diesel was being sold, but propane was (at a "hotel", or glorified motel), and a friendly
chap on the wharf (I had to tie up on the outside of a fishing boat and climb and walk across her to get
ashore) took me to the hotel in his truck.
The ferry was in -- it appears similar to a mid-sized cruise ship without as many windows but with a giant ramp
that opens in the stern -- and before too long a fellow walked over from her and introduced himself as the
quartermaster of the ship, or the crewman who handles the steering. I gave him a quick run-through of my
boat and, because he was from Newfoundland (originally from Seldom-Come-By Bay), peppered him with
requests for info about cruising the coast there. Prior to our conversation, I thought I would travel down the
west coast of Newfoundland, but he said -- and this had been my fear -- I would only encounter head seas for
most of it, and bays and harbors are few and great distances apart. He suggested I go east, and I may well
do that if I have the time.
Real towns in Labrador (as opposed to the tourist haunts like Red Bay and Battle Harbour) are dusty due to
the gravel roads (none are paved), and although most people take pride in their homes, there are many
abandoned and neglected buildings since the close of the cod fishery in 1992. Even the Post Office in
Cartwright is poorly maintained. These real towns like Mary's Harbour and Cartwright are very modest, and
remind me in many ways of some Hispanic and Indian towns in the U.S. southwest, except there is much less
litter up here, the houses better maintained, and instead of seeing junked autos one finds junked boats. The
inhabitants are extraordinarily friendly and generous, but also poor and uneducated and seem to know little
of the world beyond Labrador and Newfoundland, the latter of which to them is much like Dallas to people in
Vernon: better shopping, bright lights and lots to see and do. And their food has mostly reverted to the
old-fashioned Maritime Canadian standards: fried or smoked fish, boiled beef, and few vegetables other
than potatoes. Of their local delicacies I have tried caribou in several forms -- steak, roast, burger, meat
cakes (i.e., mixed with potatoes into patties) -- all of which I enjoyed, and fried cod tongues, which had the
texture of fried eggplant but hardly any flavor. In Battle Harbour I also ate a historical dish, known as a Jiggs
Dinner, which was boiled beef, cabbage, carrots, a pea porridge, and turnips which differ remarkably from
ours, being orange and having less of a turnip taste. A Quebecois deployed here for a considerable length
of time might well go mad based on diet alone. But I may be unfair because I ate out little in Labrador due to
the paucity of restaurants.
One important negative aspect of life here in Labrador is the density of carnivorous insects, which makes
going outside an exercise in either putting on netted clothing or spraying oneself from peak of the head to
the ankles with powerful insecticide. I had whelps on me for a week after I ventured out without protection
and flies chomped on my forehead and ankles. There are the black fly, which is large and like our horsefly,
then a much smaller sandfly, also black, and of course the mosquito, not to mention some flea-like creatures
that I have noticed less often.
Other wildlife has been rare. I have seen a black bear foraging around a restaurant but haven't seen any of
the other great mammals, moose and caribou. I have seen puffins, the arctic bird, while at sea but have yet
to get a good photo. And of the whales I have seen I can identify only the minke, a smaller whale and the
most common in these parts at this time of year. Fish other than cod are abundant, especially salmon, char,
sea trout, and capelin, a small thin fish wonderful when smoked.
One thing I like very much about Labrador is the solitude. I was told that Labrador is about half the size of
Texas and has only 30,000 people, so the population density here has to be the lowest I have ever
encountered. At sea, for example, I never encounter another boat of any sort except in the harbors of
populated communities.
All in all, I suppose Labrador is similar to frontier Alaska without the oil money and the majestic mountains,
although there are attractive high hills in the distant west that one sees from about Cartwright on. (They also
are without the survivalists and brash fortune seekers, although here too there is a great deal of prospecting
but by great mining concerns searching with helicopters and other sophisticated equipment for uranium,
nickel and other metals.) In the far north of Labrador mountains stand right on the coast with the highest
peaks in Canada east of the Rockies, but I am not venturing that far. Trees are fairly rare in the coastal
areas as the soil is generally poor, being thin and rocky, and the climatic conditions severe, and as I travel
among the islands generally I see no trees at all on them. Temperature is in the 70s on a sunny afternoon,
which is rare, dropping to the 50s when overcast and to the 40s overnight. There are brief showers every
few days. Employment still centers around fishing, although there are some mining jobs and a few
government posts.
I finally left Cartwright after a three-hour delay in getting my fuel (by tanker truck driven to the wharf). There
was a dense fog and I followed a merchant vessel out to the first big buoy then our paths separated and I
had to wend my way among numerous shoals and islands using only my radar and chartplotter. I saw an
unidentified blip on my radar an hour or so through the winding passage and assumed it was a buoy not
placed on my chartplotter, but as I neared it seemed to move and finally as our paths almost crossed I saw
that it was a sailboat, the first other yacht I've seen since Red Bay. After a couple hours the fog lifted and I
sped along quiet waters to a terrific anchorage, Edwards Harbour, which is almost perfectly protected with an
opening only fifty feet wide and a dogleg just after so that when at anchor no opening is seen. I went for a
long trip in my dinghy, stopping at three different locations and walking around a bit, snapping photos, and
tried unsuccessfully to fish out of my cockpit. The next morning the fog had set in and again I had to use
chartplotter and radar to find my path through islands for a couple of hours. After a 105 nm trip in mostly
protected waters, with uncomfortable head seas when I had no cover, I finally arrived at Makkovik (both sea
and air temperature were 56 deg.) and tied up at the fishing wharf with a crowd of about ten fishery plant
employees (processing crab) observing, a couple of whom took my lines and helped me tie up. I gave a brief
tour to about half a dozen of them and after mentioning that I needed diesel, one said he would contact the
fuel dealer. In about fifteen minutes a tanker truck showed up and I filled up (cost was about $5.10 a gallon).
Makkovik is supposed to be the southernmost Inuit (Eskimo) settlement according to my guidebook, with half
the residents Inuit. Perhaps what the authors meant was there is a lot of Inuit genes mixed with European
genes, because mainly all I saw were people of mixed ancestry -- many handsome like our Anglo-Hispanic
hybrids -- although I did see a few pure Inuit people. A very nice man who took me around in his truck,
Selwyn Strangemore, told me there were more Inuit here several years ago, but that many had moved north
to Nain and Hopedale, more thoroughly Inuit communities, and that now just a few pure-blood Inuit live here
(his own wife, Ivy, who invited me for a wonderful meal at their home, is herself of mixed ancestry). White
people are referred to in English as "settlers", and in the Inuit language, Inukitut, as "kallunat" (the initial k
sounding like a German "ch"), which means bushy eyebrows with a fat belly. Selwyn told me the population
of Makkovik was about 300, and that Norwegians form an important part of the ethnic mix. I asked about the
Inuit craft shop I had read about, and he said it had closed a couple of years ago. Makkovik otherwise is just
about like Cartwright or Mary's Harbour, with the same uniform type of newer home, the same gravel roads,
the same sort of grocery/general store. It is the northernmost point I will reach on this trip at a bit over 55
deg. latitude (other than the point I rounded to enter Makkovik Harbour). Unlike the coast, there are some
trees here, as there were in the other towns far from the open sea. There is no insect infestation, however,
although there are some, the solution likely being higher winds. Black bears rummaging around homes is a
problem. Access to Makkovik is by sea and air only -- no roads connect it to the rest of the province. There
are normal vehicles here, but most people prefer four-wheelers, probably due to their fuel efficiency.
I left Makkovik at 4:15 the following morning but about 30 miles out, after starting and stopping to photo
icebergs, started losing RPMs on one of my engines (164 hp turbocharged diesels), although the other
gauges showed normal and a visual inspection of the engine revealed nothing, and so I turned off the engine
and restarted it, thinking there might be a glitch in the electronics and the gauge. The RPMs still showed low,
though, and soon white smoke billowed out behind my boat and the oil pressure alarm sounded. I turned off
the engine and returned to Makkovik on one engine. Local mechanics and fishermen flocked to my boat and
we analyzed the problem and found that the engine oil was shooting out of the exhaust and that the white
smoke was really steam as the hot oil hit the sea. I decided that I needed to get to a bigger place with more
resources and better access for the engine rep, the nearest such town being Goose Bay, 250 nm away, and
so headed off for there the next morning, but just a couple of miles out in Makkovik Bay I noticed that the
house batteries (as opposed to the starting batteries for the engines) that run all my navigational equipment,
refrigerator, etc., were running down and not charging, so I returned to the fishing dock again. It turns out
that the dead engine charged the house batteries, the good engine didn't. So with the help of Dwayne
Russell, the captain of a crabber and a great human being, we rigged up some romex cable (for home
construction and fairly small in diameter) from the starting battery of the good engine to the house batteries,
a distance of 20 feet or so that led under the lip of the engine compartment door across the sole (floor) of my
cockpit, through the rear now cracked-open window of the cabin, across the settee (couch), behind the
mate's (second) chair, down the steps into my stateroom (bedroom), and through a now open hatch to the
batteries. That seemed to help, but the length of the run and the small cable meant I was not getting a full
charge still. There was no shorepower at the fish wharves to connect to and charge my batteries overnight.
So at Dwayne's suggestion I went to the local general store and bought a small two-stroke gas generator, cut
off the head of my shorepower cable and attached a regular three-prong plug to it so that I could plug one
end into the generator and the other into the shorepower receptacle, and after buying and filling a new jerry
can found that this charging setup worked great, although I could only use it when docked or at anchor with
no sea running.
Another problem I faced was fuel. Not only was there no direct way to charge the house batteries from the
good engine, but also there was no line from the almost full fuel tank of the inoperable engine to the fuel tank
for the operating one. I was carrying all that fuel (and weight) but couldn't use it. The nearest fueling port on
the route to Goose Bay was Rigolet, 150 nm away, and after doing some calculating I figured I might just
have enough, but to make certain bought and filled four more jerry cans (I had four already).
So the next morning I set out again, but now my chartplotter -- my main navigational device -- wasn't working
properly, showing no detail such as depths or buoys and even omitting many islands and all shoals along the
way. Again I came back to Makkovik, tail between my legs. It turns out that the card that reads the nav info
was damaged somehow when the engine quit or when the electricity dropped low. Other cards for Nova
Scotia and Maine, etc., worked fine making evident that the chartplotter itself still operated correctly. So tied
up again at the dock, I got out my secondary chartplotter, a handheld Garmin GPS, and started to load it with
nav data for the area from a brand new BlueChart disk that touted on its cover, "New Expanded Coverage of
Newfoundland and Labrador!" To my surprise, however, coverage of Labrador stopped at about Cartwright
so that not an inch of my planned route would be covered. I had tested the system previously, but had not
checked for coverage when I came farther north than I originally planned. I later visited with another crab
boat captain, Dennis Burden, tied up just across from me, who offered me paper charts that he no longer
used since going electronic, but we found he didn't have charts for the most important areas, and neither did
another, Trevor Larkham, who captained a large 65-ft crabber. (Paper charts are difficult to find since the
advent of electronic charts -- the only place in these parts that sells them is in St. John's, the main city of
Newfoundland -- and have been totally unavailable in every port I have been in except Charlottetown in PEI,
where I bought all I could, but they had very limited coverage.) I should have bought charts by mail before I
came, but I thought I could get them along the way.
Another friendly and generous and handy local man, Henry Jacque, who happened to be visiting on the
same crab boat, then offered me his handheld chartplotter if I would send it back from Goose Bay. I
accepted but found on testing it that it had no marine data -- depths, shoals, buoys -- except for the
waypoints Henry himself had input for his fishing trips. So armed with Henry's chartplotter and my own still
functioning sounder I set off again at 5 a.m., expecting about a 3-day trip, concerned about what I would do if
I encountered fog, for although my radar still worked, it draws down amps a good bit, which would require a
stop at some point just to recharge the batteries with the generator in the cockpit. But all finally went fairly
smoothly after I left Makkovik at 5 a.m. and I was doing about 11 knots on only one engine, although I
couldn't operate my refrigerator because of power drain, in light following seas. This was my fourth attempt
to leave Makkovik and I thought this would finally be the charmed trip, although slower and with fewer
conveniences that I had enjoyed so far. Then suddenly near the point where my first engine failed, 35 miles
away, so too did my second engine, doing the exact same thing: losing RPMs and then shooting engine oil
out the exhaust. Adrift with no propulsion except the 8 hp outboard for my dinghy, among islands and
icebergs, I immediately set out my sea anchor which is a parachute-like device that floats underwater and
creates enough resistance that drift is brought down 90%, so that I wouldn't drift down onto nearby bergy bits
(pieces of icebergs). I tried to raise the Canadian Coast Guard on my VHF radio but got no response, so
called them on my satellite telephone. I also called Henry and also Roy Martin, from whom I bought fuel, back
in Makkovik. A rescue operation was thus underway, including two speedboats (fast open craft like what we
use on our lakes) and a 40 ft. trawler-like boat that the local hotel owner, Randy, charters out for sightseeing
and fishing, all members of the local search and rescue team. Aboard my stranded vessel I was quite
comfortable lying to the sea anchor as the weather was calm and all potential collision objects had drifted
away, and so I ate and laid down, trying unsuccessfully to nap, then called my boatbuilder on my satellite
phone with the new bad news. Within about two hours the first speedboat appeared with only one man,
Dean, aboard, and he pulled the float and tripline to the sea anchor, collapsing it, then used that rode (line
or rope used for anchoring) as a towline and off we went into light head-seas, making about six knots just as
the second speedboat, with Roy and another unknown man, arrived on scene to provide support. We
carried on that way for an hour or two -- at one point a RCMP (Royal Canadian Mounted Police) twin-engine
plane buzzed and circled us -- until the bigger trawler with Randy and two others, one a local uniformed
officer for the Inuit political body, showed up and took my towline. The speedboats then zoomed off and I
returned to reading a novel, The Inheritance of Loss, whose title seemed suddenly appropriate. Finally we
tied up again at Makkovik about 12 hours after I first departed that morning, but this time next to Randy's
vessel where, after moving lines to other small open boats and a couple of fishing nets, I could plug into
shorepower and charge my batteries to full strength. I was now able to use my computer again after several
days lapse and also refrigerate my fresh food.
A new problem surfaced during the tow, however: I raised my outdrives to make the tow easier, but then the
hydraulic pump under the helm started leaking hydraulic fluid as the outdrives, unsupported, banged around.
On dropping them back into the water the problem seemed to end, but I will have to check the fluid level and
realign the outdrives, now pointing in opposite directions. I just hope that it all there is to it.
Several local coast guard auxiliary officials and others met us at the dock and we filed a report so that the
local boats who participated would be compensated. The local boats and crews performed flawlessly,
handling the lines with great skill, and were entirely professional, and I am much indebted to them all. After
consultation with some of them, we decided that the best course now is to load my boat onto a freighter and
ship it to Goose Bay. It so happened that the same freighter came in that very night about ten o'clock on its
way north and Roy, the local wharfinger (besides being the fuel agent and a member of the local search and
rescue team), brought the first mate over to my boat about 1 a.m., after unloading and loading freight, and
they determined hauling the boat onto the freighter is feasible, although I personally cannot go along as the
freighter is not rated for passengers. So, as I am writing this we are planning to load Anna onto the freighter
when she returns to Makkovik on her way south in a few days. I will try to fly to Goose Bay. The engine
representative and mechanic will meet us there.
I think that the engine problems cannot be coincidentally malfunctioning identical engines -- the odds against
that are too great -- and that I must be maintaining them improperly somehow, perhaps adding too much oil
because I don't wait long enough after the engines are turned off to check oil levels, and thus get a faulty
reading from the dipsticks. I can't think of anything else. The second engine to malfunction I checked a day
or two before it went on the blink -- it was long cold when I checked it -- and the dipstick showed just an
eighth of an inch or so over full, and I got sidetracked and did not bring the oil level down underneath the
high mark, which I have done in the past (making a mess of the engine compartment, too).
I can't imagine breaking down in a more hospitable place than Makkovik. They may not have all the material
resources of bigger towns, but they have inestimable human resources. Not only are they kind and happy
and generous people for the most part, but they also have a great deal of experience with boats and
extensive knowledge on how to analyze and fix mechanical problems, and possess the calm patience
required to weather sudden misfortune. One man who was especially nice and helpful to me was Randy Rice.
A bit of drama and stress at last on a what had been an almost perfect trip.
But I expect it will all have a happy ending yet.
18 August 2007, St. John's, Newfoundland
At the conclusion of my last travelogue, I favored sending Anna to Goose Bay by freighter but since that time
I decided to go by tow -- which is more expensive -- instead. It turns out that the freighter that serves
Makkovik does not serve Goose Bay and gets only as close as Cartwright. Thus my boat would have to go
through the following steps: be hauled at Makkovik and put aboard a trailer, then loaded on the deck of
freighter A, taken to Cartwright and unloaded, wait for freighter B (which could be up to a week or more -- no
one was certain, not even the agent for freighter A) and loaded on it, then on to Goose Bay where my boat
would be unloaded and somehow taken off the trailer, perhaps by a large crane, though this too remains
unknown as Goose Bay is over 100 miles from the sea and not considered a port for fishing, which is the
industry all my advisors were employed in. All that moving around of a fiberglass boat on the deck of steel
ships and wharves scared me. So I made a deal with Randy Edmunds, owner of the hotel in Makkovik and
Jason's Pride, the trawler-like boat which took over from the speedboats and towed me in the final distance to
Makkovik.
After a night with huskies howling like coyotes and a fireworks display celebrating Makkovik's Trout Festival
(sea trout), we left at four in the morning and traveled 14 hours averaging a bit over six knots in tame
conditions to the abandoned fishing port of Smokey Tickle which has a wharf with a sturdy enough structure
but whose timber facing is deteriorating and from which protrude an occasional spike and broken plank. (I
have been using fenderboards made of 3 inch PVC my entire stay in Labrador, and even on part of the north
shore of Quebec.) Randy pulled me and I pulled Randy's 14-foot speedboat, which he wants for the return
trip, so we had a little tow train. Although lengthy I enjoyed the trip a great deal as it was much like being in
the cockpit of a sailboat, hearing and smelling the sea, almost within reach of it, and observing the sea and
surrounds without the filter of glass and the constant roar of diesel engines. I sat in my folding chair in the
cockpit like a passenger on a cruiseliner, drinking tea, looking at the hundreds of islands and headlands we
passed, listening to the gulls, and occasionally reading. It made me long for the days cruising on my old
boat, Green-on-Blue.
The towline between Jason's Pride and Anna consisted of three parts: my secondary anchor line from the
cleat on the port bow extended and returned to the cleat on the starboard bow; Randy's line, shorter, but
also attached at two points off his stern; and a steel-belted used tire in between to which both towlines were
attached. The tire provided catenary, weighing down the lines in the middle and preventing constant tension
in the towlines, moderating especially takeoff, as well as some elasticity. Randy's speedboat I also pulled
from the cleats on both sterns of my two hulls with equal length lines, like a bridle. When we arrived it was a
bit of a struggle as my boat drifted past the wharf as Randy and Mike, his crew, tied up the towboat, and we
had to warp (that is, pull with lines) Anna back around a corner. Because the forecast called for a gale we
decided we would be staying at least through the following day, so the first thing we did after securing both
big boats was detach the speedboat and set a gillnet on the other side of the small bay here, giving us
something to do the following day and perhaps a meal or two of fresh salmon. I also turned on my small
generator in the cockpit to charge my batteries. After a tasty supper of caribou cakes Randy brought from
the hotel restaurant and veggies we retired early. My heater not working, I put on long underwear to help
keep me warm, the wind having greatly increased.
Around midnight while deep in sleep, dreaming of some college girlfriends of thirty years ago, I was
awakened by a shout. I clambered out of bed, the wind now howling, and heard Mike shout that a distress
call on the VHF had been received from the sailboat Minke, whose radar was not working and might need a
pilot boat to guide her into the safety of Smokey Tickle harbor as she tried to escape the growing gale. I put
on my foul weather gear and went over to Jason's Pride and waited for confirmation from Minke. Soon it
came and we untied Jason's Pride from the tow, and it was decided that I would stay on Anna and turn on my
searchlight onto the side of the wharf as the two boats approached, illuminating the path through the tickle
(narrow passage).
Minke and its crew we were familiar with, as we knew the boat and the people from Makkovik where the boat
had been sitting on the hard since last summer after being stuck in ice for not one or even two, but three full
years during a transit of the Northwest Passage way up in the arctic. Its hull -- several layers of steel
sheeting -- was bent and banged up like nothing I had ever seen except on wrecked vessels. All the fairing
compound had been chewed off by the ice and Minke looked like one step from the scrapyard. It turns out its
owner had been killed just before last Christmas when a car hit him while riding a bike in Nova Scotia, and the
crew -- one of whom participated in the Northwest Passage voyage -- came just two days before the tow
began, whipped her into shape and even painted the mangled bottom including a bootstripe. The crew was
rather brash and loud -- some Aussies I know came to mind -- and fast talking, and were for me an
unwelcome change from the much more laidback Labradorans, but they were highly competent with a great
deal of experience.
After an hour or so of first finding one another then Randy leading the way into Smokey Tickle, the two boats
arrived under the glare of my searchlight. There was no place on our protected side of the wharf for Minke
and so she had to tie to the much less protected weather side, and that took a good bit of time in the raging
winds. Randy and Mike said it had been an uncomfortable trip with much rocking and rolling and the
contents of Randy's boat being tossed around inside, and that his own radar operated only on and off. The
gale, it turned out, had been upgraded to a storm.
The next day was too rough even in our protected harbor to venture out to check the gillnet. I went for a
short walk on the small island to which the wharf is attached to take a few photos, and the wind was so strong
I had to lean into it to keep from being blown over. The crew from Minke said they recorded gusts over 50
knots. I had to run the generator again to revive the batteries that had been sucked down mostly by my
search- and decklights the following evening. Middle Eastern disco from an unknown station and classical
music from a Spanish-language one on my shortwave radio partially filled the long hours sitting inside the
cabin. A whale frolicked in the tickle back and forth for awhile, as did a seal just off my boat, and gulls 20
feet or so off the water, though flapping their wings in flight, remained stationary against the wind. When at
last the wind settled at dusk we went out to check the net and hauled in the biggest load of kelp ("shark
blanket" the locals call it), stirred up by the gale, that a net that size (120 ft. long, about 4.5 ft. wide) could
possibly hold.
Finally we left the next morning under good conditions and saw a half dozen or so minke whales on the way
to Rigolet where we stopped about 4 p.m. to await the changing of the tide to get through a narrows ahead.
A quick supper of bread and butter and what they refer to as "bottled" moose (which would we would call
homemade "canned" moose but is really "jarred" moose) served as our cooked meal for the day. We
decided to push on through the night and reach Goose Bay the following morning. We arrived at
approximately 6:45 a.m. after 25 hours or so, people on the dock streaming by to see our tow train, several
of whom knew Randy. A couple of his relatives showed up and later we spent an amusing evening with one,
eating and drinking. While under tow I had talked on my satphone with the boatbuilder and engine mechanic
and changed plans again: I now determined to have the boat taken by freighter after all to Newfoundland.
So in Goose Bay I contacted the freight office and we called various construction companies and crane
operators but all were away in the field with their equipment or on vacation, so it proved impossible to lift my
boat out of the water. Instead we used a "mafi" which is a low trailer used to load containers of and on
freighters and ferries, broadened it with sixteen 4"X4" timbers to take the beam of my boat and, the next day,
backed the mafi down the loading ramp and, using my inflatable dinghy and its 8 hp outboard to push,
floated Anna onto the mafi like one loads a motorboat on Lake Kemp. Anna was then driven aboard the next
ferry, the Sir Robert Bond, and we began a 36-hour ferry ride to Lewisporte, Newfoundland, all the loading
and departure of the ferry accomplished within a bit more than a day after we arrived by tow.
The ferry had no berth for me so the first night I snuck down to the cargo deck and climbed aboard my boat
and slept there illegally. After a stop the next day in Cartwright, Labrador, a berth opened in the "dorm",
which holds about 20 plywood bunks, and I paid $20 for a berth, but when I went to bed I found my berth
occupied by a teenage boy. I tried to wake him, but he wouldn't get up, so I crawled past the guard post on
the vessel deck and slept aboard Anna again. (The teenager was missing his shoes the next morning.) The
entire ferry ride was in fairly calm waters with some foggy spells, and at one point I watched a pod of orcas
(killer whales) surfacing and diving for several minutes. I met two other men with whom I shared an enjoyable
evening in the bar.
One of the several dozen people who came aboard my boat in Goose, Howard Wellman, gave me the name
of a boatbuilder in the Lewisporte vicinity who could truck my boat back to Portland or otherwise assist me,
and I called him and after some discussion of my options, made arrangements for him to meet me, haul my
boat to his shop, pull the engines and ship them to the manufacturer's rep in Portland for repair or
replacement.
On arrival at Lewisporte I was offloaded on the dock and hauled over to a staging yard a couple of hundred
yards away. I contacted the boatbuilder, George Yates, who brought a road-certified trailer and a boom
truck, and we lifted Anna from the freight company's mafi and placed her on the trailer, then drove three
hours to the Yates Boatbuilders shop in Springdale.
I spent an enjoyable day and half in the Notre Dame Bay part of Newfoundland, and found the people very
pleasant and the scenery some of the prettiest I have seen on the entire trip. Howard had flown back from
Goose and he came by and took me for a tour of the area, then to his attractive and interesting homestead
on the banks of the Salmon River where he and his wife, Valerie, fixed me dinner and drinks while I used their
washer and dryer. Later that evening I accompanied George Yates on his water tanker truck (he has several
businesses) to fill up a coastal ferry. We visited with the ferry's engineer who was an absolute riot, an
old-time Newfoundlander who spoke in a broad brogue, with a mischievous gleam in the eye as he reported
on a go-go club in St. John's. The setting sun and the beautiful wooded hills and escarpments around the
bay contrasted with the somewhat beat-up and rusting steel of the ferry and provided for an interesting and
attractive background to the old engineer's performance. Unfortunately I did not take along my camera. I will
return next summer to pick up my boat and cruise the long coast of Newfoundland, which I am very eager to
do after seeing the little of it I have. The next day I took an eight-hour bus ride to St. John's and the airport.
I had an outstanding time while the boat was operating properly, and still enjoyed myself after both engines
failed, so all in all I can say that I had a great time seeing beautiful places and meeting kind and interesting
people, and look forward to spending a couple of months next summer going around Newfoundland. I love
living on the boat and look forward to a day when I might do so full-time, although undoubtedly I will get a
larger vessel.
Powerboats have their advantages and certainly few sailboats are seen up here -- all the locals in
Newfoundland and Labrador with few exceptions preferring powerboats since boats are for working and not
for simply cruising. But part of the trip I enjoyed best was when I was under tow, and I could smell the sea
and hear the birds, which brought to mind earlier days sailing in the Pacific. Underway in Anna is much like
riding in an RV, with a similar noise level and the same separation from nature, seeing and hearing through
windows, and although the speed and nimbleness is nice, I think I prefer sailing and will definitely switch back.
As a matter of fact as I write I am in negotiations on a contract for a new sailing catamaran, also designed by
Chris White, and hope to not only live aboard her full-time, but also plan on circumnavigating in her.
After leaving Battle Harbour, Labrador, I intended to refuel at Black Tickle and continue on toward Makkovik,
but while making tea before shoving off my propane ran out. But on arrival at Black Tickle, I discovered that
the nearest place for propane was Cartwright, about 60 nm off my planned route, and that Makkovik would
not offer propane either. Faced with the choice of either eating cold for multiple days or making a detour, the
decision was obvious. So I went to Cartwright, which is westward in protected, lake-like waters. It being a
sunny day it was a pleasant run, and I saw no other boats, which is normal. Unfortunately on arrival at
Cartwright I found out that it was a holiday, although no one knew exactly what for and referred to it only as
the Civic Holiday. No diesel was being sold, but propane was (at a "hotel", or glorified motel), and a friendly
chap on the wharf (I had to tie up on the outside of a fishing boat and climb and walk across her to get
ashore) took me to the hotel in his truck.
The ferry was in -- it appears similar to a mid-sized cruise ship without as many windows but with a giant ramp
that opens in the stern -- and before too long a fellow walked over from her and introduced himself as the
quartermaster of the ship, or the crewman who handles the steering. I gave him a quick run-through of my
boat and, because he was from Newfoundland (originally from Seldom-Come-By Bay), peppered him with
requests for info about cruising the coast there. Prior to our conversation, I thought I would travel down the
west coast of Newfoundland, but he said -- and this had been my fear -- I would only encounter head seas for
most of it, and bays and harbors are few and great distances apart. He suggested I go east, and I may well
do that if I have the time.
Real towns in Labrador (as opposed to the tourist haunts like Red Bay and Battle Harbour) are dusty due to
the gravel roads (none are paved), and although most people take pride in their homes, there are many
abandoned and neglected buildings since the close of the cod fishery in 1992. Even the Post Office in
Cartwright is poorly maintained. These real towns like Mary's Harbour and Cartwright are very modest, and
remind me in many ways of some Hispanic and Indian towns in the U.S. southwest, except there is much less
litter up here, the houses better maintained, and instead of seeing junked autos one finds junked boats. The
inhabitants are extraordinarily friendly and generous, but also poor and uneducated and seem to know little
of the world beyond Labrador and Newfoundland, the latter of which to them is much like Dallas to people in
Vernon: better shopping, bright lights and lots to see and do. And their food has mostly reverted to the
old-fashioned Maritime Canadian standards: fried or smoked fish, boiled beef, and few vegetables other
than potatoes. Of their local delicacies I have tried caribou in several forms -- steak, roast, burger, meat
cakes (i.e., mixed with potatoes into patties) -- all of which I enjoyed, and fried cod tongues, which had the
texture of fried eggplant but hardly any flavor. In Battle Harbour I also ate a historical dish, known as a Jiggs
Dinner, which was boiled beef, cabbage, carrots, a pea porridge, and turnips which differ remarkably from
ours, being orange and having less of a turnip taste. A Quebecois deployed here for a considerable length
of time might well go mad based on diet alone. But I may be unfair because I ate out little in Labrador due to
the paucity of restaurants.
One important negative aspect of life here in Labrador is the density of carnivorous insects, which makes
going outside an exercise in either putting on netted clothing or spraying oneself from peak of the head to
the ankles with powerful insecticide. I had whelps on me for a week after I ventured out without protection
and flies chomped on my forehead and ankles. There are the black fly, which is large and like our horsefly,
then a much smaller sandfly, also black, and of course the mosquito, not to mention some flea-like creatures
that I have noticed less often.
Other wildlife has been rare. I have seen a black bear foraging around a restaurant but haven't seen any of
the other great mammals, moose and caribou. I have seen puffins, the arctic bird, while at sea but have yet
to get a good photo. And of the whales I have seen I can identify only the minke, a smaller whale and the
most common in these parts at this time of year. Fish other than cod are abundant, especially salmon, char,
sea trout, and capelin, a small thin fish wonderful when smoked.
One thing I like very much about Labrador is the solitude. I was told that Labrador is about half the size of
Texas and has only 30,000 people, so the population density here has to be the lowest I have ever
encountered. At sea, for example, I never encounter another boat of any sort except in the harbors of
populated communities.
All in all, I suppose Labrador is similar to frontier Alaska without the oil money and the majestic mountains,
although there are attractive high hills in the distant west that one sees from about Cartwright on. (They also
are without the survivalists and brash fortune seekers, although here too there is a great deal of prospecting
but by great mining concerns searching with helicopters and other sophisticated equipment for uranium,
nickel and other metals.) In the far north of Labrador mountains stand right on the coast with the highest
peaks in Canada east of the Rockies, but I am not venturing that far. Trees are fairly rare in the coastal
areas as the soil is generally poor, being thin and rocky, and the climatic conditions severe, and as I travel
among the islands generally I see no trees at all on them. Temperature is in the 70s on a sunny afternoon,
which is rare, dropping to the 50s when overcast and to the 40s overnight. There are brief showers every
few days. Employment still centers around fishing, although there are some mining jobs and a few
government posts.
I finally left Cartwright after a three-hour delay in getting my fuel (by tanker truck driven to the wharf). There
was a dense fog and I followed a merchant vessel out to the first big buoy then our paths separated and I
had to wend my way among numerous shoals and islands using only my radar and chartplotter. I saw an
unidentified blip on my radar an hour or so through the winding passage and assumed it was a buoy not
placed on my chartplotter, but as I neared it seemed to move and finally as our paths almost crossed I saw
that it was a sailboat, the first other yacht I've seen since Red Bay. After a couple hours the fog lifted and I
sped along quiet waters to a terrific anchorage, Edwards Harbour, which is almost perfectly protected with an
opening only fifty feet wide and a dogleg just after so that when at anchor no opening is seen. I went for a
long trip in my dinghy, stopping at three different locations and walking around a bit, snapping photos, and
tried unsuccessfully to fish out of my cockpit. The next morning the fog had set in and again I had to use
chartplotter and radar to find my path through islands for a couple of hours. After a 105 nm trip in mostly
protected waters, with uncomfortable head seas when I had no cover, I finally arrived at Makkovik (both sea
and air temperature were 56 deg.) and tied up at the fishing wharf with a crowd of about ten fishery plant
employees (processing crab) observing, a couple of whom took my lines and helped me tie up. I gave a brief
tour to about half a dozen of them and after mentioning that I needed diesel, one said he would contact the
fuel dealer. In about fifteen minutes a tanker truck showed up and I filled up (cost was about $5.10 a gallon).
Makkovik is supposed to be the southernmost Inuit (Eskimo) settlement according to my guidebook, with half
the residents Inuit. Perhaps what the authors meant was there is a lot of Inuit genes mixed with European
genes, because mainly all I saw were people of mixed ancestry -- many handsome like our Anglo-Hispanic
hybrids -- although I did see a few pure Inuit people. A very nice man who took me around in his truck,
Selwyn Strangemore, told me there were more Inuit here several years ago, but that many had moved north
to Nain and Hopedale, more thoroughly Inuit communities, and that now just a few pure-blood Inuit live here
(his own wife, Ivy, who invited me for a wonderful meal at their home, is herself of mixed ancestry). White
people are referred to in English as "settlers", and in the Inuit language, Inukitut, as "kallunat" (the initial k
sounding like a German "ch"), which means bushy eyebrows with a fat belly. Selwyn told me the population
of Makkovik was about 300, and that Norwegians form an important part of the ethnic mix. I asked about the
Inuit craft shop I had read about, and he said it had closed a couple of years ago. Makkovik otherwise is just
about like Cartwright or Mary's Harbour, with the same uniform type of newer home, the same gravel roads,
the same sort of grocery/general store. It is the northernmost point I will reach on this trip at a bit over 55
deg. latitude (other than the point I rounded to enter Makkovik Harbour). Unlike the coast, there are some
trees here, as there were in the other towns far from the open sea. There is no insect infestation, however,
although there are some, the solution likely being higher winds. Black bears rummaging around homes is a
problem. Access to Makkovik is by sea and air only -- no roads connect it to the rest of the province. There
are normal vehicles here, but most people prefer four-wheelers, probably due to their fuel efficiency.
I left Makkovik at 4:15 the following morning but about 30 miles out, after starting and stopping to photo
icebergs, started losing RPMs on one of my engines (164 hp turbocharged diesels), although the other
gauges showed normal and a visual inspection of the engine revealed nothing, and so I turned off the engine
and restarted it, thinking there might be a glitch in the electronics and the gauge. The RPMs still showed low,
though, and soon white smoke billowed out behind my boat and the oil pressure alarm sounded. I turned off
the engine and returned to Makkovik on one engine. Local mechanics and fishermen flocked to my boat and
we analyzed the problem and found that the engine oil was shooting out of the exhaust and that the white
smoke was really steam as the hot oil hit the sea. I decided that I needed to get to a bigger place with more
resources and better access for the engine rep, the nearest such town being Goose Bay, 250 nm away, and
so headed off for there the next morning, but just a couple of miles out in Makkovik Bay I noticed that the
house batteries (as opposed to the starting batteries for the engines) that run all my navigational equipment,
refrigerator, etc., were running down and not charging, so I returned to the fishing dock again. It turns out
that the dead engine charged the house batteries, the good engine didn't. So with the help of Dwayne
Russell, the captain of a crabber and a great human being, we rigged up some romex cable (for home
construction and fairly small in diameter) from the starting battery of the good engine to the house batteries,
a distance of 20 feet or so that led under the lip of the engine compartment door across the sole (floor) of my
cockpit, through the rear now cracked-open window of the cabin, across the settee (couch), behind the
mate's (second) chair, down the steps into my stateroom (bedroom), and through a now open hatch to the
batteries. That seemed to help, but the length of the run and the small cable meant I was not getting a full
charge still. There was no shorepower at the fish wharves to connect to and charge my batteries overnight.
So at Dwayne's suggestion I went to the local general store and bought a small two-stroke gas generator, cut
off the head of my shorepower cable and attached a regular three-prong plug to it so that I could plug one
end into the generator and the other into the shorepower receptacle, and after buying and filling a new jerry
can found that this charging setup worked great, although I could only use it when docked or at anchor with
no sea running.
Another problem I faced was fuel. Not only was there no direct way to charge the house batteries from the
good engine, but also there was no line from the almost full fuel tank of the inoperable engine to the fuel tank
for the operating one. I was carrying all that fuel (and weight) but couldn't use it. The nearest fueling port on
the route to Goose Bay was Rigolet, 150 nm away, and after doing some calculating I figured I might just
have enough, but to make certain bought and filled four more jerry cans (I had four already).
So the next morning I set out again, but now my chartplotter -- my main navigational device -- wasn't working
properly, showing no detail such as depths or buoys and even omitting many islands and all shoals along the
way. Again I came back to Makkovik, tail between my legs. It turns out that the card that reads the nav info
was damaged somehow when the engine quit or when the electricity dropped low. Other cards for Nova
Scotia and Maine, etc., worked fine making evident that the chartplotter itself still operated correctly. So tied
up again at the dock, I got out my secondary chartplotter, a handheld Garmin GPS, and started to load it with
nav data for the area from a brand new BlueChart disk that touted on its cover, "New Expanded Coverage of
Newfoundland and Labrador!" To my surprise, however, coverage of Labrador stopped at about Cartwright
so that not an inch of my planned route would be covered. I had tested the system previously, but had not
checked for coverage when I came farther north than I originally planned. I later visited with another crab
boat captain, Dennis Burden, tied up just across from me, who offered me paper charts that he no longer
used since going electronic, but we found he didn't have charts for the most important areas, and neither did
another, Trevor Larkham, who captained a large 65-ft crabber. (Paper charts are difficult to find since the
advent of electronic charts -- the only place in these parts that sells them is in St. John's, the main city of
Newfoundland -- and have been totally unavailable in every port I have been in except Charlottetown in PEI,
where I bought all I could, but they had very limited coverage.) I should have bought charts by mail before I
came, but I thought I could get them along the way.
Another friendly and generous and handy local man, Henry Jacque, who happened to be visiting on the
same crab boat, then offered me his handheld chartplotter if I would send it back from Goose Bay. I
accepted but found on testing it that it had no marine data -- depths, shoals, buoys -- except for the
waypoints Henry himself had input for his fishing trips. So armed with Henry's chartplotter and my own still
functioning sounder I set off again at 5 a.m., expecting about a 3-day trip, concerned about what I would do if
I encountered fog, for although my radar still worked, it draws down amps a good bit, which would require a
stop at some point just to recharge the batteries with the generator in the cockpit. But all finally went fairly
smoothly after I left Makkovik at 5 a.m. and I was doing about 11 knots on only one engine, although I
couldn't operate my refrigerator because of power drain, in light following seas. This was my fourth attempt
to leave Makkovik and I thought this would finally be the charmed trip, although slower and with fewer
conveniences that I had enjoyed so far. Then suddenly near the point where my first engine failed, 35 miles
away, so too did my second engine, doing the exact same thing: losing RPMs and then shooting engine oil
out the exhaust. Adrift with no propulsion except the 8 hp outboard for my dinghy, among islands and
icebergs, I immediately set out my sea anchor which is a parachute-like device that floats underwater and
creates enough resistance that drift is brought down 90%, so that I wouldn't drift down onto nearby bergy bits
(pieces of icebergs). I tried to raise the Canadian Coast Guard on my VHF radio but got no response, so
called them on my satellite telephone. I also called Henry and also Roy Martin, from whom I bought fuel, back
in Makkovik. A rescue operation was thus underway, including two speedboats (fast open craft like what we
use on our lakes) and a 40 ft. trawler-like boat that the local hotel owner, Randy, charters out for sightseeing
and fishing, all members of the local search and rescue team. Aboard my stranded vessel I was quite
comfortable lying to the sea anchor as the weather was calm and all potential collision objects had drifted
away, and so I ate and laid down, trying unsuccessfully to nap, then called my boatbuilder on my satellite
phone with the new bad news. Within about two hours the first speedboat appeared with only one man,
Dean, aboard, and he pulled the float and tripline to the sea anchor, collapsing it, then used that rode (line
or rope used for anchoring) as a towline and off we went into light head-seas, making about six knots just as
the second speedboat, with Roy and another unknown man, arrived on scene to provide support. We
carried on that way for an hour or two -- at one point a RCMP (Royal Canadian Mounted Police) twin-engine
plane buzzed and circled us -- until the bigger trawler with Randy and two others, one a local uniformed
officer for the Inuit political body, showed up and took my towline. The speedboats then zoomed off and I
returned to reading a novel, The Inheritance of Loss, whose title seemed suddenly appropriate. Finally we
tied up again at Makkovik about 12 hours after I first departed that morning, but this time next to Randy's
vessel where, after moving lines to other small open boats and a couple of fishing nets, I could plug into
shorepower and charge my batteries to full strength. I was now able to use my computer again after several
days lapse and also refrigerate my fresh food.
A new problem surfaced during the tow, however: I raised my outdrives to make the tow easier, but then the
hydraulic pump under the helm started leaking hydraulic fluid as the outdrives, unsupported, banged around.
On dropping them back into the water the problem seemed to end, but I will have to check the fluid level and
realign the outdrives, now pointing in opposite directions. I just hope that it all there is to it.
Several local coast guard auxiliary officials and others met us at the dock and we filed a report so that the
local boats who participated would be compensated. The local boats and crews performed flawlessly,
handling the lines with great skill, and were entirely professional, and I am much indebted to them all. After
consultation with some of them, we decided that the best course now is to load my boat onto a freighter and
ship it to Goose Bay. It so happened that the same freighter came in that very night about ten o'clock on its
way north and Roy, the local wharfinger (besides being the fuel agent and a member of the local search and
rescue team), brought the first mate over to my boat about 1 a.m., after unloading and loading freight, and
they determined hauling the boat onto the freighter is feasible, although I personally cannot go along as the
freighter is not rated for passengers. So, as I am writing this we are planning to load Anna onto the freighter
when she returns to Makkovik on her way south in a few days. I will try to fly to Goose Bay. The engine
representative and mechanic will meet us there.
I think that the engine problems cannot be coincidentally malfunctioning identical engines -- the odds against
that are too great -- and that I must be maintaining them improperly somehow, perhaps adding too much oil
because I don't wait long enough after the engines are turned off to check oil levels, and thus get a faulty
reading from the dipsticks. I can't think of anything else. The second engine to malfunction I checked a day
or two before it went on the blink -- it was long cold when I checked it -- and the dipstick showed just an
eighth of an inch or so over full, and I got sidetracked and did not bring the oil level down underneath the
high mark, which I have done in the past (making a mess of the engine compartment, too).
I can't imagine breaking down in a more hospitable place than Makkovik. They may not have all the material
resources of bigger towns, but they have inestimable human resources. Not only are they kind and happy
and generous people for the most part, but they also have a great deal of experience with boats and
extensive knowledge on how to analyze and fix mechanical problems, and possess the calm patience
required to weather sudden misfortune. One man who was especially nice and helpful to me was Randy Rice.
A bit of drama and stress at last on a what had been an almost perfect trip.
But I expect it will all have a happy ending yet.
18 August 2007, St. John's, Newfoundland
At the conclusion of my last travelogue, I favored sending Anna to Goose Bay by freighter but since that time
I decided to go by tow -- which is more expensive -- instead. It turns out that the freighter that serves
Makkovik does not serve Goose Bay and gets only as close as Cartwright. Thus my boat would have to go
through the following steps: be hauled at Makkovik and put aboard a trailer, then loaded on the deck of
freighter A, taken to Cartwright and unloaded, wait for freighter B (which could be up to a week or more -- no
one was certain, not even the agent for freighter A) and loaded on it, then on to Goose Bay where my boat
would be unloaded and somehow taken off the trailer, perhaps by a large crane, though this too remains
unknown as Goose Bay is over 100 miles from the sea and not considered a port for fishing, which is the
industry all my advisors were employed in. All that moving around of a fiberglass boat on the deck of steel
ships and wharves scared me. So I made a deal with Randy Edmunds, owner of the hotel in Makkovik and
Jason's Pride, the trawler-like boat which took over from the speedboats and towed me in the final distance to
Makkovik.
After a night with huskies howling like coyotes and a fireworks display celebrating Makkovik's Trout Festival
(sea trout), we left at four in the morning and traveled 14 hours averaging a bit over six knots in tame
conditions to the abandoned fishing port of Smokey Tickle which has a wharf with a sturdy enough structure
but whose timber facing is deteriorating and from which protrude an occasional spike and broken plank. (I
have been using fenderboards made of 3 inch PVC my entire stay in Labrador, and even on part of the north
shore of Quebec.) Randy pulled me and I pulled Randy's 14-foot speedboat, which he wants for the return
trip, so we had a little tow train. Although lengthy I enjoyed the trip a great deal as it was much like being in
the cockpit of a sailboat, hearing and smelling the sea, almost within reach of it, and observing the sea and
surrounds without the filter of glass and the constant roar of diesel engines. I sat in my folding chair in the
cockpit like a passenger on a cruiseliner, drinking tea, looking at the hundreds of islands and headlands we
passed, listening to the gulls, and occasionally reading. It made me long for the days cruising on my old
boat, Green-on-Blue.
The towline between Jason's Pride and Anna consisted of three parts: my secondary anchor line from the
cleat on the port bow extended and returned to the cleat on the starboard bow; Randy's line, shorter, but
also attached at two points off his stern; and a steel-belted used tire in between to which both towlines were
attached. The tire provided catenary, weighing down the lines in the middle and preventing constant tension
in the towlines, moderating especially takeoff, as well as some elasticity. Randy's speedboat I also pulled
from the cleats on both sterns of my two hulls with equal length lines, like a bridle. When we arrived it was a
bit of a struggle as my boat drifted past the wharf as Randy and Mike, his crew, tied up the towboat, and we
had to warp (that is, pull with lines) Anna back around a corner. Because the forecast called for a gale we
decided we would be staying at least through the following day, so the first thing we did after securing both
big boats was detach the speedboat and set a gillnet on the other side of the small bay here, giving us
something to do the following day and perhaps a meal or two of fresh salmon. I also turned on my small
generator in the cockpit to charge my batteries. After a tasty supper of caribou cakes Randy brought from
the hotel restaurant and veggies we retired early. My heater not working, I put on long underwear to help
keep me warm, the wind having greatly increased.
Around midnight while deep in sleep, dreaming of some college girlfriends of thirty years ago, I was
awakened by a shout. I clambered out of bed, the wind now howling, and heard Mike shout that a distress
call on the VHF had been received from the sailboat Minke, whose radar was not working and might need a
pilot boat to guide her into the safety of Smokey Tickle harbor as she tried to escape the growing gale. I put
on my foul weather gear and went over to Jason's Pride and waited for confirmation from Minke. Soon it
came and we untied Jason's Pride from the tow, and it was decided that I would stay on Anna and turn on my
searchlight onto the side of the wharf as the two boats approached, illuminating the path through the tickle
(narrow passage).
Minke and its crew we were familiar with, as we knew the boat and the people from Makkovik where the boat
had been sitting on the hard since last summer after being stuck in ice for not one or even two, but three full
years during a transit of the Northwest Passage way up in the arctic. Its hull -- several layers of steel
sheeting -- was bent and banged up like nothing I had ever seen except on wrecked vessels. All the fairing
compound had been chewed off by the ice and Minke looked like one step from the scrapyard. It turns out its
owner had been killed just before last Christmas when a car hit him while riding a bike in Nova Scotia, and the
crew -- one of whom participated in the Northwest Passage voyage -- came just two days before the tow
began, whipped her into shape and even painted the mangled bottom including a bootstripe. The crew was
rather brash and loud -- some Aussies I know came to mind -- and fast talking, and were for me an
unwelcome change from the much more laidback Labradorans, but they were highly competent with a great
deal of experience.
After an hour or so of first finding one another then Randy leading the way into Smokey Tickle, the two boats
arrived under the glare of my searchlight. There was no place on our protected side of the wharf for Minke
and so she had to tie to the much less protected weather side, and that took a good bit of time in the raging
winds. Randy and Mike said it had been an uncomfortable trip with much rocking and rolling and the
contents of Randy's boat being tossed around inside, and that his own radar operated only on and off. The
gale, it turned out, had been upgraded to a storm.
The next day was too rough even in our protected harbor to venture out to check the gillnet. I went for a
short walk on the small island to which the wharf is attached to take a few photos, and the wind was so strong
I had to lean into it to keep from being blown over. The crew from Minke said they recorded gusts over 50
knots. I had to run the generator again to revive the batteries that had been sucked down mostly by my
search- and decklights the following evening. Middle Eastern disco from an unknown station and classical
music from a Spanish-language one on my shortwave radio partially filled the long hours sitting inside the
cabin. A whale frolicked in the tickle back and forth for awhile, as did a seal just off my boat, and gulls 20
feet or so off the water, though flapping their wings in flight, remained stationary against the wind. When at
last the wind settled at dusk we went out to check the net and hauled in the biggest load of kelp ("shark
blanket" the locals call it), stirred up by the gale, that a net that size (120 ft. long, about 4.5 ft. wide) could
possibly hold.
Finally we left the next morning under good conditions and saw a half dozen or so minke whales on the way
to Rigolet where we stopped about 4 p.m. to await the changing of the tide to get through a narrows ahead.
A quick supper of bread and butter and what they refer to as "bottled" moose (which would we would call
homemade "canned" moose but is really "jarred" moose) served as our cooked meal for the day. We
decided to push on through the night and reach Goose Bay the following morning. We arrived at
approximately 6:45 a.m. after 25 hours or so, people on the dock streaming by to see our tow train, several
of whom knew Randy. A couple of his relatives showed up and later we spent an amusing evening with one,
eating and drinking. While under tow I had talked on my satphone with the boatbuilder and engine mechanic
and changed plans again: I now determined to have the boat taken by freighter after all to Newfoundland.
So in Goose Bay I contacted the freight office and we called various construction companies and crane
operators but all were away in the field with their equipment or on vacation, so it proved impossible to lift my
boat out of the water. Instead we used a "mafi" which is a low trailer used to load containers of and on
freighters and ferries, broadened it with sixteen 4"X4" timbers to take the beam of my boat and, the next day,
backed the mafi down the loading ramp and, using my inflatable dinghy and its 8 hp outboard to push,
floated Anna onto the mafi like one loads a motorboat on Lake Kemp. Anna was then driven aboard the next
ferry, the Sir Robert Bond, and we began a 36-hour ferry ride to Lewisporte, Newfoundland, all the loading
and departure of the ferry accomplished within a bit more than a day after we arrived by tow.
The ferry had no berth for me so the first night I snuck down to the cargo deck and climbed aboard my boat
and slept there illegally. After a stop the next day in Cartwright, Labrador, a berth opened in the "dorm",
which holds about 20 plywood bunks, and I paid $20 for a berth, but when I went to bed I found my berth
occupied by a teenage boy. I tried to wake him, but he wouldn't get up, so I crawled past the guard post on
the vessel deck and slept aboard Anna again. (The teenager was missing his shoes the next morning.) The
entire ferry ride was in fairly calm waters with some foggy spells, and at one point I watched a pod of orcas
(killer whales) surfacing and diving for several minutes. I met two other men with whom I shared an enjoyable
evening in the bar.
One of the several dozen people who came aboard my boat in Goose, Howard Wellman, gave me the name
of a boatbuilder in the Lewisporte vicinity who could truck my boat back to Portland or otherwise assist me,
and I called him and after some discussion of my options, made arrangements for him to meet me, haul my
boat to his shop, pull the engines and ship them to the manufacturer's rep in Portland for repair or
replacement.
On arrival at Lewisporte I was offloaded on the dock and hauled over to a staging yard a couple of hundred
yards away. I contacted the boatbuilder, George Yates, who brought a road-certified trailer and a boom
truck, and we lifted Anna from the freight company's mafi and placed her on the trailer, then drove three
hours to the Yates Boatbuilders shop in Springdale.
I spent an enjoyable day and half in the Notre Dame Bay part of Newfoundland, and found the people very
pleasant and the scenery some of the prettiest I have seen on the entire trip. Howard had flown back from
Goose and he came by and took me for a tour of the area, then to his attractive and interesting homestead
on the banks of the Salmon River where he and his wife, Valerie, fixed me dinner and drinks while I used their
washer and dryer. Later that evening I accompanied George Yates on his water tanker truck (he has several
businesses) to fill up a coastal ferry. We visited with the ferry's engineer who was an absolute riot, an
old-time Newfoundlander who spoke in a broad brogue, with a mischievous gleam in the eye as he reported
on a go-go club in St. John's. The setting sun and the beautiful wooded hills and escarpments around the
bay contrasted with the somewhat beat-up and rusting steel of the ferry and provided for an interesting and
attractive background to the old engineer's performance. Unfortunately I did not take along my camera. I will
return next summer to pick up my boat and cruise the long coast of Newfoundland, which I am very eager to
do after seeing the little of it I have. The next day I took an eight-hour bus ride to St. John's and the airport.
I had an outstanding time while the boat was operating properly, and still enjoyed myself after both engines
failed, so all in all I can say that I had a great time seeing beautiful places and meeting kind and interesting
people, and look forward to spending a couple of months next summer going around Newfoundland. I love
living on the boat and look forward to a day when I might do so full-time, although undoubtedly I will get a
larger vessel.
Powerboats have their advantages and certainly few sailboats are seen up here -- all the locals in
Newfoundland and Labrador with few exceptions preferring powerboats since boats are for working and not
for simply cruising. But part of the trip I enjoyed best was when I was under tow, and I could smell the sea
and hear the birds, which brought to mind earlier days sailing in the Pacific. Underway in Anna is much like
riding in an RV, with a similar noise level and the same separation from nature, seeing and hearing through
windows, and although the speed and nimbleness is nice, I think I prefer sailing and will definitely switch back.
As a matter of fact as I write I am in negotiations on a contract for a new sailing catamaran, also designed by
Chris White, and hope to not only live aboard her full-time, but also plan on circumnavigating in her.
See also: