In A Fog
We sleep like babies and wake to a world of nothing. Seems we are floating on a cloud; can’t see past the rails of the boat and my brain is just as foggy.
I putter at a few small tasks and indulge in some cheese and crackers, beer and ginger ale.
The beer is warm.
Nothing in the fridge is cold and so begins our next challenge. Harald starts troubleshooting: not just the compressor, but also the fan.
He cooks up all the meat we’ve had in the freezer since our stock-up in Havre Saint Pierre and we get other perishables as low in the fridge as possible. (All those days we wanted warmer water and now we have 16’C water but want cold water to keep the hull cool.)
My stomach is settling but I am sore and eventually head back to bed to the smell of frying chicken, pork chops and ground beef.
Sleeping through the night, I wake early Saturday to see just a hint of shoreline, just 300 feet away. It will be stunning. As the fog dissipates, the seabirds begin to appear: more gannets and eider ducks and kittiwakes.
I start up the heater and we spend the day drying the boat, our outerwear, changing the sheets on the bed and cleaning the salt off the deck. I prepare a beef stew with the meat Harald cooked so we have dinner ready for tomorrow, in the hope we will be out of the fog and in another place.
Our attempts at getting a clear weather forecast on the VHF, our only connection with the world, are futile. We have been without cell service since Havre Saint Pierre but at each stop we try to send a beacon from our GEN4 SPOT to our family at home but can’t be certain the signal has even gone. We are concerned as we expect they are too.
But there is nothing we can do.
And did I mention the mosquitoes?
A few moments of sunshine on the bow is luxurious as I wallow in the comfort of my “deck chair”, snapping pics of the water, the rocks and the birds. Shortly I spot the little green runabout near the far shore and within a few moments its handler is along side wanting to chat. His English is very good with a bit of a lilt, not the same French accent we have been hearing in parts further west.
I ask how the fishing was and he shows me a scallop about 6” in diameter. I tell him, “that looks big enough for your dinner” and he proceeds to crawl forward, reaches into a bucket and holds up two lobster, at least 3 lbs each. “Wow!”, I declare as he then shows me a large crab as well.
At that moment we again hear the distant gun shots we’d been hearing off and on during the morning. Harald asks him about them and he says, “It’s the Indians shootin’ small ducks.”……crawls forward again in his small boat and holds up an eider duck by the neck. (So he has more than a fishing rod or lobster hook on board.)
I am speechless.
We are in a rugged and raw territory and I’m not naive to the fact that this has been the way of life here for centuries. It is just the shock of the dead duck after learning about eider ducks just a few short days ago and watching in awe at the seabirds as they dive from great heights for their food or soar so low just skimming the surface of the waves. We have to remember we are in a different place now.
We say our good-byes, thank him for the visit and he is off back down the channel to his home at La Romaine.
The fog returns.
And did I mention the mosquitoes?
Lunch is the shrimp and scallops I bought frozen and kept frozen since Cloridorme. Seafood Alfredo, not our usual lunch but we’d rather indulge than waste it.
At 8:00 Saturday evening, we call the Coast Guard asking for a weather update. Port au Basque Coast Guard is happy to share and also confirms the local time. He mentions nothing of fog but provides the wind speed and direction for tomorrow. We are hopeful we can move further east and make the plans and preparations to leave early before the seas build and wind strengthens.
The fog returns Sunday morning.
And did I mention the mosquitoes?
We lounge in the cockpit in warm sunshine, reading, knitting and keeping a close eye on the channel entrance as fog rolls in and out until noon.
Eventually it seems things are clearing so by 1:15 we are heading back down to the open Gulf, with great anticipation that today will be the day we will round Cape Whittle: a huge milestone in this journey as this is the last point east and where we will turn north toward the last miles of Quebec shoreline and Labrador beyond.
