We took one last dip, the water temperature deceptive as we dive in head first. A quick check of the bottom paint and running gear – likely the last time for a while, we rinse off before firing up the engine and uncovering the sails.

With the two days of rain and some rest, before we knew it we were sailing two knots out of St George’s harbour, Bermuda with three others in tow who were heading for Halifax. As for us, we were heading for Newfoundland, Canada. Through the cut the winds were light and allowed time for marvelling at the old homes perched against some of the bluest waters we’ve seen, compared to that of the Gulf of Aqaba near Egypt. In stark contrast was Eleanor B, a black Cornish lugger with her varnished wooden spars expanding her reach. We quickly caught wind and the reef furthered our stern as we began to point north. 

Soon we had the asymmetrical spinnaker up, and shortly thereafter it wasn’t helping us move forward. The winds were lighter than forecast with an annoying swell from the previous blow which made for an uncomfortable posture in the water column. Right off the bat we motored – great. However, it wasn’t too long before we got into the groove and set course northeast for two days. We rode the southwest wind along its ridge until inevitably we tacked back west with the new north winds. We went east farther than we would have liked but heard from our Newfie friends – a 70 ft aluminium boat who were more west than us – had turned around directly south due to large, short seas in the northerly. Now on a starboard tack, our configuration a tripled reefed main and working staysail powered us forward. 

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By day three we motored north waiting for the next change in weather. This leg was focused on strategically crossing the meandering and wide footprint of the powerful Gulf Stream. We did not want to have any northern components of wind while crossing, even in the eastward flowing sections. The stream can create rough seas with an unfavourable wind and we did not want to take our chances. (Ironically, both Ben and I happened to be reading accounts/novels of storms at sea). Having weather GRIBs downloaded each day on board was imperative and gave us the confidence to make good choices. 

We aligned with a part of the current veering north and managed to ride it at 10 knots, spitting us out of the stream’s path right before the northerly hit – phew! We motored from one ominous wall of cloud to the other; a precarious position. Now thankful to have the stream to our stern, we began to bash our way against the rigid wind and swell for the next 20 hours. Ben covered most of the exterior activities; living and sleeping in his foul weather gear and life vest ready to make sail changes, meanwhile I stayed horizontal and dry, dealing with the uncomfort like a batting-eyed princess under a pile of warm blankets. Meanwhile, still grateful not to be near the stream. This soon passed and we (I mean just me) woke to easing conditions, clocking to the south with sunny, clear skies. Ben caught up on sleep while I cleaned up and made vegetarian chilli and lopsided cornbread. 

Another aspect about the stream is that it delivers warm waters to the North Atlantic – like that of Europe and its moderate climate. In a day we went from 70 degrees fahrenheit to 45, and like a retiring mentor we were now unprotected from the warmth that had blanketed us for the past six years. Already it had us questioning our life choices but alas, we dug deep into compartments to find the natural fibres of other species who do well outside in non-tropical climates. Wool hats, gloves, long johns, down clothing, gumboots – the works. We do realise this might be normal for the majority of humanity, and it’s recognised that we have some catching up to do. Maybe an endearing novelty but one we might get over real soon. 

The next system brought a decent following sea and 20 knots from our port quarter and sailing in roughly the direction we wanted to go. We had the genoa out on a pole until midnight which proved quite comfortable. I made red Indian curry and rice for supper. Again the short system slowly dying until first light and then having to motor until the wind turned back to the northeast. 

Day 7 log, titled: Glorious. And yes, it was. The following sea remained calm, the sunshine warmed our faces, and we were on one our favourite points of sail; light wind and close hauled (depending on the sea state and likely multiple other factors). Eight knots of true wind, sailing at six in gentle glistening seas. I even said out loud “does it get any better than this?” I soon realised that the culprit for those words may have been due to getting the diesel stove running. Ben had cleaned the clogged regulator on his night shift stating, he had to find a way to get me out from under the pile of blankets to take over. Welcome to the first day of summer! 

The winds died all together and we had a long motor ahead of us. Not fussed with the mind-frame of pure sailing, as we had come a long way and feeling relatively unscathed from the many told stories of what the North Atlantic can throw at you. We were now seeing a good six hours of darkness, with first light by 0430 hrs. Our departure from this first summer’s day led to mirror flat waters, only our wake jostling the surface and that, too, of the shearwaters bobbing along and abruptly finding flight as we passed by. The skies were wispy with cirrus clouds denoting the calm conditions. On the horizon misty clouds laid low with a stunning sunset to our port, likely tainted by the wildfires off of Nova Scotia. You could smell the forest. 

Near the St Pierre bank a fisherman hailed us on the radio to communicate our paths crossing and to chat. It is marked and/or impressive the number of islands the French have scattered all over the globe. I suppose not that unlike the Brits. Locally I’m referring to St Pierre et Miquelon which are a pair of islands not far off the southern coast of Newfoundland. Curiously we’ve been fortunate to have visited a lot of the more tee shirt friendly territories.

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It wasn’t long before the evening fell and the seas a little choppy as we continuously exchanged the motor for the sails, and vice versa, on an anticlimactic ninth and last day at sea. More so was the fact that the miles are sooo much longer when land is near. One is more attentive, and also in anticipation. We pushed on to make it before sunset, however, that wasn’t to be the case. Roughly eight miles out from the harbour we rang Canadian customs to inform them of our arrival. As it were, the town of Trepassey was no longer a point of entry and we had trouble convincing the stern phone border personnel that we could not simply continue 80 nm east or west to another point of entry. And – as remarked – we could not have planned to have good weather heading around Cape Race nine days beforehand. 

In the end, after an hour-long battle, they allowed us to anchor in the bay but ordered us not to go to shore. This suited us fine; flat waters, rest and some internet was all that was immediately desired. We pushed on now after sunset, thankfully the moon fully in our favour and we dropped the hook in Canadian mud after 8 days, 9 hours and 1206 nm. As we had hustled to check weather, currents and timeframes while on hold on the phone, the thought of what could have been added to the euphoria of a calm bay with the anchor well dug in. Our phone call was promptly followed up by two officers both casual and kind, who were making sure we did not need anything and informing there was no need to rush and put ourselves in bad weather. It was a major juxtaposition from the initial phone call and one that they acknowledged likely occurred! It definitely eased us into being okay with staying in the harbour and waiting for weather.

We sat pretty in our new home harbour of Trepassey. We barely moved to be precise. The three days that followed included huddling next to the diesel stove, cleaning up, internet-ing, and calling friends and family. It’s curious how comfortable we are on Caprivi and in a small space with our significant other, thankfully we are cosy and content in our tiny floating home. The bay proved well sheltered, on land only a few cars were seen and the houses spread about but barely any human activity. The 42 degree (Fahrenheit) summer temperatures may have had something to do with that.

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On the Monday evening, we pick up anchor to sail overnight 70 nm north to St John’s, roughly 18 hours away. This was a little momentous as well as a little unnerving. Around the corner of Cape Race would be the first seas that have ice bergs which can float down with the Labrador current from the Arctic. Being close to land, in fog and rigid temperatures, and at night with the potential of ice bergs was just that. Ben pretty much did an all nighter, since that’s all it would be. At noon we pulled into the small channel, locally called the Narrows, in fog as thick as pea soup. We could not see the channel markers nor the cliffside spectacle that welcomes you into the historic harbour. On top of this was commercial traffic with ships unloading towed cargo in the middle of the harbour, of which we couldn’t see. Port authority directed us to a spot on the rugged wharf between fishing boats and the alike. We eagerly pulled alongside, our fenders barely participating with the large tractor tyres that were guarding the pilings and bits of raw steel sticking out from the wharf. The anticipation of land and it’s nuances were somewhat abated as three customs officers pulled up seemingly waiting for us in gusto.

As it happened, a communication glitch in the customs department saw that the marine team in St John’s – who deals with most incoming vessels – did not know anything about us. This meant that the phone calls on arrival were not relayed to them and as a result they had been watching us and taking pictures of the American boat anchored in the remote village of Trepassey, and likely wondering what we were doing illegally in their country. We may have caused a stir but once things aligned they were very welcoming and gracious.

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The wharf is right in the heart of St Johns city, although, does not really cater to small recreational vessels. Along with the commercial territory meant limited facilities like bathrooms, power and water which luckily our systems do not need to rely upon. Thankfully port authority and neighbouring fisherman were welcoming which we soon learnt is well built into the DNA of Newfoundlanders. No later than one hour after docking, we were whisked away by a local named Max who took us out to lunch. A fellow American cruiser whom we met in the Caribbean and again in Bermuda, Steve, suggested we make contact with Max as they had met while in Newfoundland the previous year. As we did, he phoned us while in Trepassey, two hours drive south, and offered to bring us anything we may need. As a retired merchant mariner he calls it his duty to help fellow visitors travelling by boat.

Terry and his son Stephen stopped by to welcome us who were the locals we had met in Bermuda on the aluminium sailboat. Stephen tossed us some brand new warm apparel from his business, knowing that we would be looking for some warmer clothes on arrival. By day two – barely 24 hours since we arrived – a local couple named Clayton and Lisa, sparked a conversation at the dock and by nature, offered to take us 20 minutes drive out of town to pick up our transmission that we’d had sent from Washington, USA. A wonderful thank you and as I type this, a lot more wonderfulness was to come.

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Since we are not usually docked to land and pretty much haven’t since we left Key West almost a year ago, being tied to a city wharf comes with great distinction. At first it feels odd because you’re attached to something and things rub and stretch, then there are strange noises and powerful thrusters creating eddies and varying flows of water around you. Secondly, there is potential for society to observe your habits, for instance the question posed: maybe we should be dressed at normal hours? Next and surely linked to the colder climates, are the local breweries and mere feet from Caprivi at that! My favourite distinction, however, were the yoga facilities. A ten minute walk and a three-in-one: a yoga class, a heated room and land showers. Oh, the land showers. One of those hadn’t occurred since being in Maine last October! Last but not least, there are the walk-abouts; the locals who stop by the boat and ponder amongst themselves about what kind she is and where she came from etc. If it pleases, we pop our head out and have a grand old conversation, likely hearing of their own boating story.

Soon we will sail around the corner into Conception Bay where there is a more accommodating scene. Our goal here is to finish up projects, get some last supplies and pick up Josiah who’s flying in from Alaska to join us as we continue to sail north towards Greenland.

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