We departed St Anthonys, Newfoundland at 0500 hrs heading northeast to position our next tack away from land and the bergs that gathered near it. The swell subsided in the strait and the fog crept in. The Strait of Belle Isle is known to be a bit unpredictable so we were cautious in our crossing but were welcomed with calm seas in the 25-30 kts of wind behind us, even if we did happen to be dodging icebergs in the fog – we took it in stride. Approaching the mainland of Labrador we take the inside passage towards our port of call via Caribou Run; charts were minimal and visual markers yet to be installed for the season (they are removed in winter for ice). Our cheeks clench as 33 kts of wind hits us right in the narrowest section of the tickle with a 1ft rock to starboard and land immediately to port. Having to let go of whatever may come; Ben was surely having a blast at the helm.

We weave our way around the small islets using the gusts of wind that came off of the land; some quite toasty and warm. At Battle Harbour we were greeted by a handful of people at the dock with two other sailing boats present and a warm wood-fired loft nearby to gather. The island itself has been revamped into a museum with cabins for lodging, showcasing the importance this old fishing outpost had in its heyday to the communities of Labrador. Large schooners would come into the small harbour to process their catch of cod on the small island and to get anything they needed. We learned of how they processed the cod with salt and have some aboard which we are yet to soak down and taste. 

We stayed two nights, of course enjoying the land shower and meeting the humans aboard Sentijn and Sandpiper. The second evening a Rhodes scholar group arrived to stay on the island and we were invited to listen to their guide’s sit down and musical talents. Tony was a fantastic storyteller and we could have listened for hours. One lady offered a song of sailing to Greenland in the most beautiful harmony which warmed our souls as we were about to embark on just that. Along the docks we were visited by the curious Arctic fox; its mind dabbling in and out of curiosity and the wild animal it was.

Our next hop north, we were unsure exactly of our destination as there were many small coves to seek shelter and one could pick and choose. Upon untying the lines that day, the island caretaker mentioned the abandoned village of Williams Harbour, so that’s where we went. Eventually we motor in the dying breeze and after closely passing the coves and more icebergs, we pull into the quiet circular bay and dock at the only small fishing wharf. We spot one lady on the lone hill peering down from her home. However, before we could check that the lines were good, Cliff comes down on his quad bike in his overalls and somehow an hour goes by in the rain and we’re all soon well acquainted enjoying a rum on his fishing boat. 

The next day we tell Sentijn they can raft with us to check the weather from the Starlink that Josiah brought with him. Now seemingly invaluable as there’s no cell reception to speak of and we’re about to head offshore to Greenland. Our arrival into Williams harbour was timely with July 1st being the beginning of the Atlantic Salmon season and by the time Sentijn arrived midday, we were given wild salmon caught that morning as well as whelks (sea snails) to share. The rest of the day turned out to be a stunner and with the help of Josiah and Dean’s – the six year old crew member aboard Sentijn – enthusiasm, we got the toys out. Paddle boards, pack rafts and dry suits. It was a magical day spent with new friends, both local and come from away, and topped with a divine seafood supper under the warm sun’s rays. ‘Some day on clothes’, locals would say.

Naturally the rum had flowed and the following day’s planned departure didn’t happen. The strategy was to leave first light at 0400 hrs to make the most of daylight and head offshore, due east out from the path of icebergs. They say it’s about a day or so to clear them but this year’s berg season was a good one which took about two days to feel confident that we were past their presence and could then start heading directly north. Instead we enjoyed a relaxing day and take a long walk on Granby Island. The village of Williams Harbour had been ‘resettled’ years ago when the government decided to no longer provide facilities, i.e. schooling, post office, roads. Locals were paid a substantial amount of money to resettle themselves elsewhere but also got to keep their houses, minus the support. Cliff and Mallory are the only ones who spend six months there during the summer fishing its waters and then enjoy the winter off in their house back in civilization. One local named Austin was curious about our trip and by the time the evening was out, handed us a 12 gauge folding shotgun to take with us! We were intending to purchase one in Greenland which are plentiful and can be purchased with a gallon of milk. The reason for this is for the protection against polar bears in the higher latitudes, it had also only been six weeks or so since the abandoned village had signs of the large visitors. 

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On the third of July, we successfully departed the dock at 0600 hrs to catch the southerly wind. At first it was light, enjoying a nice spinnaker run for an hour before the wind piped up to 20 kts for a lovely beam reach. Bound for Nuuk, Greenland roughly six days sail, we were quick to get into our three-hour watch schedules and groove as we began our crossing of the Labrador Sea. 

It’s apparent that fog and icebergs are quite fond of each other; both enjoying one another’s company very much. By the afternoon two more reefs were in the sails and we were moving along nicely in the low visibility. For the first two days the person on watch had their eyes glued to the bow and horizon. The radar would pick up large icebergs within 10nm but would not detect the smaller ones, including bergs the size of cars. The winds became light by dark and we headed a little more east to increase the apparent wind. Day two it had died as predicted and we motored heading northeast in thick fog while making water and taking hot showers. 

The fog still remained as the sun petered in and out from its blanket. Pilot whales became common and the wind turned as we began pinching north in the light breeze and flat seas. By day three the seas had risen and we thought finally, Josiah could see some normal conditions, as opposed to the relatively flat seas that we have had since we left Conception Bay. It didn’t last long and this time the sun came out; the almighty glorious sun, for some excellent sailing with a full main, working staysail and two reefs in the genoa. The sunset spectacular. 

Now that we were “clear” from icebergs – at least from the ice charts perspective – near Davis Strait the warmer waters brought north from the Atlantic keeps a relatively ice free area year round near the waters of Nuuk, the capital of Greenland. We were now heading due north to our destination, sometimes veering a little west to gain some apparent wind angle and to where the forecasted wind was located. The asymmetrical came out again and we veered back north and east for a wing-on-wing configuration. In New Zealand it was my birthday so I took the opportunity to milk the dual time-zones and Ben made us all pizza, as well as baking bread for the following morning. 

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On day five we went to hoist the asymmetrical again and found a large tear towards the top so quickly pulled it down and will promptly fix back on land. The genoa proved fine in the still calm seas, patchy fog and overcast skies. On the radar we probably spotted a dozen or so ice bergs all up, always a few miles away. On our fifth night as I was to take over the shift from Ben, we passed one closely which didn’t visually appear til quite close to the boat which was a little disconcerting but we knew it was coming and wanted to see how it felt. Of course this was at 0200 hrs with fog but by this time it wasn’t getting very dark at night with only three hours or so of low light. The issue here is the smaller bergs and growlers that break away from the big guys and that are harder to see. I would say this is our main danger but we have certain systems in place to mitigate these. 

Josiah soon took over from me and I gladly went below, removed my many layers of clothing and squeezed in next to a sleeping Ben under the pile of sleeping bags and lee cloth that kept us in our sea berth. Soon fast asleep and completely mid-dream, I hear Ben repeat Josiah saying in a casual and quite manner from outside in the cockpit “there are hundreds of whales out here”. I wished it away but couldn’t take it lightly and scrambled outside half dressed in the cold and watched as the long-finned pilot whales swam off our stern, a few babies in the mix and seemingly trying to catch up to us even though we were only going about four knots as the wind began to subside. 

By mid morning it had completely died and we gladly fired up the motor. Four days of sailing without much sun and solar power along with both our chartplotters on – one of which takes some juice but left for a good eye on the radar – had drained our batteries, so we wanted to put a charge on them as well as desalinate some water. It was welcomed as were the clear skies and sun as we began to see the long, spectacular stretch of Greenland mountains. We harvested some more ice for cocktails and had a delectable eggs benedict breakfast with smokey bacon provided by Stephen. It would be true that we were high on life: a spectacle right in front of us, a realisation of where we were and the marvel of our excellent sail across the Labrador Sea. The warmth from the sun had it decided that Josiah and I would jump into the polar waters before our much deserved engine heated hot showers. It took a few guts but I stayed near the boat and immediately swam for the ladder, and was up and out before I even knew it was cold. I don’t think this will be the last time and was certainly good practise. 

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We took the south channel, Narssaq Loeb, inland towards Nuuk, the largest city of Greenland with its 18,000 residents. Our ETA was roughly midnight – thanks to our iceberg and polar plunge detours – however, now at 63 degrees north there was no darkness. Small local boats would zoom past and it wasn’t until we heard loud gunshots in the distance, along with our recently acquired knowledge of the fishery*, that we realised they were hunting seals with rifles.

*We’ve each read the ominously titled book, Death on the Ice, thanks to Josiahs thrift find and learnt of the Newfoundland sealing back in the day. Ships would go to the ice pans in the spring and club baby seals, ‘white coats’ for their fat. In 1914, 132 men were left on the ice for two days during a storm; 78 died, each captain thinking they were safe on another boat.

About 25nm south from Nuuk we spotted another sailing vessel on our AIS (automatic identification system), which in itself is miraculous with the large coastline and only handful of sailing vessels that make it here to the largest island in the world. The boat happened to be Jaca, whom we had been in contact with the last couple of months as they had been sailing in the Arctic the previous season. It was a meeting of perfect coincidence, and we arranged to rendezvous with them 6nm away in a small anchorage. Jaca anchored first taking a couple of tries due to the large kelp beds below and we patiently waited while eating our curry dinner. We then rafted to them for the night and exchanged sea stories over a bottle of screech that had been mentioned a moon or two ago. All thoughts of an early departure for Jaca was lost and we did multiple rounds of coffee and a boat tour on Caprivi in the morning. Jaca and her five crew are heading south and eventually to Scotland. Thank you for hosting us Jamie and Lorraine! 

A wonderful ending to a superb day on the water as well as to our 806 nm passage across the Labrador Sea. We continue onwards and arrive in Nuuk in the afternoon, with customs and the harbor master to figure us out the following day. A local Dane living and working on his boat nearby with his feline companion, Tuksan, shakes the locked gate box and finds a key for us to borrow. He also informs Josiah of the best place to get a drink and some grub and we were soon in the barely lit bar of Daddy’s. Cheers!

Back to the boat after some dark beers and a feast of Greenlandic lamb courtesy of Josiah, we’re met with another two boats rafted up to us. The docking situation in these waters are loose and it is normal to pull in and raft to another. Caprivi was now third outwardly, in line of five boats rafted to the dock. A rusty barge, then a large polar dive boat who was luckily out of town; Caprivi then Sentijn, our friends who we left Labrador with and had kept in touch via Iridium text, and then another sailboat Pelagic, with her renowned high latitude sailor and owner Skip Novak. This means that ten people climb back and forth over Caprivi, wipe their feet on the door mat near our v-berth hatch and then hop onto their respective boats. That night – still not cleared in – we all celebrate on Sentijn, the 42’ aluminium boat with whiskey and thousand year old ice and enjoy young Dean’s cake which is a tradition each time they arrive into a new country. 

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