Journal of Little Chance's Trip to Nova Scotia

No transducer in Saturday's mail in Castine. Still none in Monday's, but the hearing aids came from BL and I can hear again. Lon offers the loan of a complete depth sounder, so I hauled out on the noon high tide. Lou joined me about 3:00 PM, before the boat was all the way out of the water. His parents were a bit disappointed not to get aboard, but pleased in general. Installation went as smoothly as could be expected, and Lou and I left her with the tide coming to get ice and supper in Bucksport. Back on board just after dark and very itchy to get going. Lou slept, I itched.

Finally free about midnight. I pulled her off and powered to the wharf, stowed lines, ladder and gear, laid out a few courses and took off under power. Made my first mark, the Castine bell, in very thick fog, and so quiet that oars would have been no help; I couldn't see the Dices Head lighthouse. I circled the bell a couple of times and decided it just wasn't prudent; reversed course to the wharf and turned in.

At 4:30 AM with daylight it looked a lot better, still pretty thick, but at least you could tell it was fog. Nautilus Is, Harbourside Breakwater, Cape Rosier, Lasell Is, Monroe Is. Al clean bold shores that we could make safely. Cleared a bit in the lower Bay; we could see half a mile. Buoys a mile apart would show the new one just as the old one disappeared. Shut in tight again abeam of Two Bush, but we had no trouble locating the bell way out beyond Vinal Haven, and made for Seal Is. after that. All this was in very light air, and mostly power. At Seal, 2:45 PM, we looked at the great rolling windless swells and turned back into the lee (wave lee - there wasn't a breath of wind.) Since we couldn't possibly power to NS, it was logical to wait for wind where there was shelter and where we knew exactly where we were. Had a drink and cooked our fancy steak, potato salad. Ashore to find and cache a good lot of pot buoys.

2:00 AM. Still no wind, period. 4:00 AM opened a little, but flat. 6:20 AM forecast promised a breeze in the PM, so breakfast and go. 1/2 hour under power to get offshore, then fiddled along with a SE drift making a southey course in preparation for a SW wind. Gradually freshened and veered a bit so that as I write this we are booming along on main and genny, perfect course but the wrong tack! Lou made a shrimp and fresh peas (raw) salad for lunch. Delish.

That wind held all night - thick, thick, thick, but a grand close reach with a long gentle sea. Quieted down gradually after daylight. Breakfast in a near calm with a white wall of fog a hundred beet away from us everywhere. Fitful SE all AM, storage but little more. Early PM fix on Seal Is (in Canada) showed us way up into the bay, two hours of flood to go, so made for Yarmouth under power rather than try to round Cape Sable in darkness and heavy tidal currents. Took a long time to find the entrance bell. It was ringing, but very gently. Under power with many stops to listen. Cape Forchu bell came up on the nose, but we lost out water just after leaving it. Fiddle a bit and found that the intake valve was plugged. Fiddle a bit more and found I couldn't unplug it. It was a globe valve and I couldn't push through with a wire or blow hard enough to dislodge whatever it was, so I hooked the raw water intake to the mechanical bilge pump exhaust and it worked beautifully as long as we were on an even keel.

Daylight fading now and we are within the outer part of Yarmouth Harbour (in Canada the British spelling governs) and have entered properly with a sea chart that shows nothing inside the inner ball. There is a life boat station indicated on the sea chart, but we could find nothing but shoal water there and enough big boulders above the mid-tide to want out. Out we went towards what we felt must be the channel. Three monstrous fisherman went charging out past us through the thick, tossing us about in their wake, but showing us that our guess about the channel was right. Then a Spar - Red, and we were on the wrong side of it, with a suspicious ripple of water between. We backtracked and got to the spar buoy by a great circle, saw an inside light house on the North shoulder of C. Forchu, so we were in the tunnel, could locate two marks showing two sides of the channel, but no idea which way to go for the next one!

Another great monster charging out of the harbour gave us direction and we picked up another spar, then nothing and back to the spar again.. Now what? Presently a GIANT fisherman came charging down on us, this one on the way in, so we cranked her up and followed him. He was probably at Dead Slow, but we were at 2200 RPM and losing him gradually. Now spars a million, and lit buoys, and presently a city showing up through the fog. Wharves, boats and even people. Tied up alongside an unrigged sloop at a derelict wharf. Pleasant chat with a local Scotian who was radarman on a great steel fisherman nearby; joined us in a beer, gave us a monstrous store of information, much of it useless, most of it interesting and a lot of it charming, in dense brogue that might have been fresh out of the Scottish Highlands. Supper ashore wasn't anything much, but bed was very sweet indeed. I shaved this morning while Lou slept; he's still asleep, wonderful to be innocent.

We have been a week from Castine and the thing we've had most of is fog. Yarmouth is a busy fishing port with countless fishing vessels of all sizes -- more big ones than little ones. Clean and well kept, but I don't get the feeling that they are loved like the Grand Manan boats. Spent the AM window shopping and getting the hardware for out mechanical faults -- switch and gate valve. Chatted with several boaty people including a Mr. D'eon who builds in Lower West Pubnico -- he came aboard to look us over, had a coffee, showed us a "sport boat" he had just delivered nearby -- line apparently traditional for the local boats, but built of mahogany or oak, with cabin and fly bridge taken right from "yachting" and interior finished in mahogany and Formica. All the polish and artificiality of a Chriscraft without quite making the grade. He invited us to visit in W. Pubnico. Would we be coming that way? Yes, we intended to, but it was a bit think. He'd look for us at the wharf if it turned fine. He described Schooner Passage for us, but out of such great familiarity that he couldn't remember which side of the channel was red! But we'd have no trouble with it -- plenty of water, just so you carry the fair tide, for it runs rather sprightly.

Sandwich lunch and install our mechanical garbage, then food shopping and a trip to the other end of the harbour for ice, from a lobster dealer -- slack season on NS -- lobster only taken in winter. We looked pretty smart with our white cover up, tied to a rusty dredge while we ferried a generous 80# cake of ice aboard; nearly dropped it getting it over the combing, too. As we left we were hailed by a voice on the wharf -- Joe Doherty, Jr., apparently honeymooning in NS, about to go back to the states on the Blue Nose. We spoke briefly.

Yarmouth is schizophrenic. The young people are busy, happy, and hep. Prosperous fisheries. The elder generation doesn't get it, seems at odds with all that's new, including prosperity. Physically the town is rather ugly, a precious few stately old homes and fewer yet bright modern buildings, an awful lot of shoddy and drab. super markets are much like ours, and we got everything we wanted.

Fried scallops (ashore, of course) for supper. Good fish, poor everything else. Weather bureau (Boston) promised clearing, so we waited it out at our derelict wharf. Sacked in early for an early start.

Up early for the fair tide and found the fog thicker than ever. What could we do in Yarmouth on a Sunday? We decided to push along before we started climbing up the mast. Powered off -- light head wind (we had a chart by now). We made every mark as we ripped through Schooner Passage, which turns out to be a Wood's Hole sort of thing, full of great boils marking deep rocks, but looking very ominous.

NS is full of bells and gas buoys, god knows they need them too. Every bay has a whistle. Rather more generous with aids than we are. Lou navigated, I steered -- saw a few of the rocks, and one bold shore, but the rest of it raced by behind the fog, showing only a dark loom now and then and hiss and tumble of swift water.

Sail up in the clear and a good reach to Pubnico Bell, but down again to enter under power, very gently. Touched to mud once on the way in but no real difficulty. We had passed five lighthouses in the course of the AM and only seen one! The last bit was navigated by the eelgrass - dipping back and forth between deep and shallow water till the structure of the typical Canadian government wharf showed through the murk. All the bays have one or two wharves of two L's leg-to-leg. These make excellent shelter but are sometimes, especially in still moist weather, extremely fishy.

Noon by the time we'd secured, and Sunday. There was no house or inhabited building in sight of the wharf. We walked nearly a mile north before finding the fire house , and then nobody home. But more presently -- cheerful directions from children, but great reserve usually shown by elders. A ride from a fat Frenchman took us up to the second D'eon house, which turned out to be the wrong D'eon. Mile and a half back to the right one. Nobody walks in these parts except children; we got stares all along. Lower West Pubnico has perhaps a hundred dwellings, two small stores, a PO and an imposing wood church -- Catholic, of course. All the houses are well painted, many in bright colors - neat lawns, a few with shrubs, but no cultivated trees -- almost seems as if the forest was the enemy and is kept back as far as possible. Wild land is never far and heavily wooded second growth. Subsistence farms here and there, a few sheep quite often, and a kitchen garden oftener than not. Some lovely old houses with peaked gabled roofs and vertical flush boarding. The new houses are typical small BHG ranch "homes" mostly finished with pre-dipped shingle -- end up looking much like the individual dwelling in a Lexington cheap development, but of course they are well apart - often even a strip of scrabble woods between.

When we found Leonard D'eon he was most cordial, surprised that we had come through the fog (which I made light of), apologetic that we had had to walk. A couple of hours of boat talk in his shop - saw a fisherman in frame - 70 or 80 feet maybe, from and plank dimensions and fastening are all prescribed by the Steamship Administration (sort of a Dominion USDA, except ships, of course). Mixed hardwoods of all kinds in the frame, galvanized nails and bolts, sturdy rough construction. He's proud of his work, but only expects his work boats to last 20 years. His "sports boats" are make to US specs, usually, even if the owners are Canadian. P.I. mahogany or local oak. Bronze fastened, glass decked, much US hardware - engines are very expensive from the US, as are most manufactured hardware. He uses a Canada-made toilet that looks much simpler and easier to service than most of ours.

D'eon drove us back to the boat in his pickup, piling a gaggle of kids in the back - gay and friendly children speaking French to each other, but English to us. D'eon's English is easy and natural, with very little French in it. Hardly an inflection, full of Scotch and NS mannerisms.

Supper aboard and prelim Navigation to get around Cape Sable. Some difficulty with the time of high tide (Atlantic Daylight Time is two hours added to Boston EDT) and the different manuals using Time of Max Flood some places and Hi and Lo in others. Early start indicated - so about the sack in when D'eon showed in his black Sunday suit to take us for a ride and show us the sights of Lower West Pubnico. We did, and they are many, including a Coop Oil Co., Community meeting house, and a modern school. Even a bootlegger!

Beer as well as hard liquor is a state monopoly here - the stores have short hours, so that many communities have a bootlegger. D'eon is the very soul of rectitude, but didn't question the need for a bootlegger - even a bit proud of his, who won't sell to the kids, and shuts off the drunks. As a substantial citizen and a community leader (he employs a half dozen or so and apparently finances his own work for 6 months at a time - it must involve a working capital of a hundred thousand dollars, even is he pays for materials on completion.) D'eon patronizes the bootlegger rather than the state liquor store. We had a beer in the truck and he took us off to the other side of the peninsula to see the other harbor - another state wharf pushing out to the westward into the fog.

Bed at last. 10:30 What a gay evening! Up at 5:30 for a 6:20 start at 6:45. Fog still, and as thick as ever. Made out spars easily as we left the inner harbour, but couldn't find the bell that we came in by yesterday! Bearings on a horn and Diaphone (can't be very accurate) put us exactly on the bell, but no bell! So struck offshore to the outer whistle under Main and Genny - made it in gentle SE ten or twelve Kn. beat. Wind dying. Power along. Breeze again but lost the main halyard up the mast trying to put sails back and forth - hoisted on the spinnaker halyard and sailed on.

Our HO charts used by USN are not well marked for the inshore aids. Another state wharf jutting out sort of haphazardly from a low wooded shore. No community visible, even in the sudden opening up that blessed our arrival, showing us the target just as we needed to see it from the last inshore spar buoy. Even a few minutes of bright sun, then it shut down again.

Local friendly lobsterman drove us to the store and back for a few groceries. A hard scrabble country - small houses far apart. Fishermen idle because of the lobster season put gill nets our for whatever they can get - Haddock, Cod, Salmon are sold. No market for trash fish. Some handlining too. Water at the Fish Co. shard - we had to haul it 200 yards and pour it into the funnel and hose to fill our tank.. Took on a deck load too for baths. Had a real two armpit bath for both of us. clean uniforms all around, cabin warm and fry - ample supplies, fuel, water. No mechanical difficulties, best of spirits and plenty of fig. Lou likes to read. [Why not, there's nothing to see but the mast. LB]

No hurry to start - tidal currents from here on are of decreasing importance. So we stopped to explore a harbour Is. Visibility improved to a half mile. Few pot buoys. No clams. Wind SE, but so gentle we couldn't sail.. Power on. Open and shut fog showed us Black Is., a low stony beach backed up by closed ranks of black firs. The spit off it was bare and green. Sheep. Marvelous drift. Collected a dozen choice pot buoys and left thousands. Lunch on board and go - Fog now so thick that we couldn't see the Is from our anchorage. Power on again for an hour or two, then more light SE and Sail - very close reach to pass the Cape Roseway Diaphone, so close it hurt Lou's ears, but we couldn't see it. Whistle properly to port. Breeze improved as we turned into the north around another Diaphone that we could see, to run into Shelbourne under Main and poled Genny.

Again a clearing as we entered, this time quite extensive. We could see hills and countryside, roads and steam trains, trees and houses, all under a bright warm sun with a pleasant following wind. Beds out to sun - not yet soggy, but don't waste the warm. The fog was visible behind us - a great thick bank of it, bounding the mouth of the outer harbour.

Six miles of beautiful run down Shelbourne Harbour. A neat and mildly prosperous looking town at the end of a deep bay. Tremendous concrete government wharf a mile from town. We looked at it and passed by to anchor off the small wooden commercial wharves of the town. Groceries and alcohol (methyl hydrate it is here).

Her Majesty's Coastal Station, Shelbourne (Canadian Navy) advertised an open house so we went the next day. It calls itself a research station, but whatever it researches is very hushed up. We sailed out to it to find that they had no landing at all, sailed part way back to anchor among fishermen in an exposed anchorage next to a tiny protected beach which had a wooden drag rail surface to haul dories out on. We walked a long mile out to the base. "Educational" exhibits showing communication and navigation equipment. Hot dogs and Pop. Tumbling by the station personnel. Train rides for the kids on a mocked up steam engine plywooded up from a riding power mower. Softball against a team from a nearly radar installation. Also Navy. Skits and acts by station personnel. Wrens did a takeoff on Cinderella, lampooning themselves and the Navy, especially the brass, of course.

One marvelous skit by three sailors in very short frock coats that shouldered at the hip, with fake arms hanging loose to their ankles, and cardboard top hats that came down to the armpit, hiding head, arms and shoulders. Painted face on the torso using the belly button as a pursed mouth. They did a bit of a dance to a recording of virtuoso whistling, and a wild encore to induced feedback. It was absolutely marvelous.

High point for the young people was a dance on the tennis court. Hippie music. Lou filled in for a bit for the base guitarist, who was hauled off at the last moment with influenza. I thought very little of either music or dancing, but I suppose that's just old age creeping up. Lou says they are average dancers, but not much on music. They played a strong mixture of feedback and Beatles, as far as I could see. Back on board very late - strawberries and cream and bed - all very good.

Very leisurely start after a good sleep. Fog. Perhaps not quite as dense as the day before yesterday's fog, but plenty of it. Blanche Is - next to the east - is a gold mine of pots. Many almost new. Less heavy drift than I'd expect to find on a similar exposure in Me. Harvested? Restraint was the order of the day. No BIG pots. Only complete and only interesting shapes. Forepeak about loaded by the time we settled down to lunch aboard and close reach in light SE, lifting us gradually till we were running again into Lockeport. Difficult entrance through ledges on both sides but well marked with the usual big bells and gas buoys, whistle at the entrance and two lighthouses in a five mile bay. Made all the markers on our chart and several that weren't, showed in proper positions. We are really getting pretty good - mother of necessity and all that.

The Gov't wharf makes a big L with an expensive stone breakwater closing the open side. Plenty of space, excellent shelter. Water, Gas, Diesel fuel. Stores pretty limited but ample, simple groceries aplenty. The fishermen sailing out of here at this season are mostly big fellows, but I gather it's thick with smaller boats in Lobster season. Kids were much interested in our "yot" and delighted with our invitation to come aboard, very quickly followed by the fishermen, who were delighted to talk boat, fish, or sea. Most had never been aboard a yacht, let alone a stateside one. We really enjoyed their curiosity and open friendliness. Few yachts call here, although another came in after us, I guess one of the Halifax race, on her way West. Perhaps because of the difficult entrance which was bait for us. Ice is readily available here (and free - "that little bit don't amount to anything"), but is made of pond water and quite yellow - all shaved ice, no block. We went clamming in the inner bay. Clear inside, but the fog bank always in sight. A fine big mess of clams - Lou got big ones, I got lots. We ate steamers till our hands started making clammy motions as the tide rose! it was after 4 PM by the time we roused out of our clammy torpor, so we put into Lockeport again.

The big fisherman whose crew we had been gossiping with was ready to go (Radar troubles) and all hands were hanging around waiting for Capt who was late as usual. The grown men were all a bit tight, and not getting any soberer. The boys had a long visit with Lou, apparently finding much common interest. Much shouting back and forth. Willful confusion enjoyed by all! Capt finally showed, looked the situation over, and rather jovially said that they'd better get going before it got worse. Suddenly a great commotion with more shouting than ever. The bos'n had forgotten his sea bag! Mrs Capt drove him off with a squeal of tires, back in five minutes and the lines were snapped off and she charged off out of the harbour at top speed, disappearing into the fog long before the shouting died out.

An hour and a half later they showed up again, shouting as loud as ever, charged up to the wharf and slammed her into reverse, thumping the wharf a good lick, once when they hit it, again as they backed on the spring and once again for good measure after the forward lines were on and make up, because the Capt didn't bother to take her out of gear! Hilarious shouts and screams with some cursing. It seems the radar still wasn't working right.

Fog again. Patchy tho, and possible clearing so we started to the westward. One bell on vis and it closed in again. Spar to nun to bold shore to bell. Keeping the biggest targets for the longest courses. Calculate the crosstide, two or three times an hour. Itchy but getting to be less so as we find we can make pretty good courses. Still don't try for a silent signal over a mile unless it's the last gasp, but we have made a few at more than two. (And missed some at less than 1, too.)

Into Shelbourne for groceries and official permission to leave Canada. Also iced up at the fish plant - all I could carry for 25 cents! Chased the immigration agent all over town and finally were examined on Main St., standing beside his red convertible! Passed on the spot and wished a happy journey. Last meal ashore at the Loyalist Inn. Broiled salmon for me; Lou had scallops again. Fish excellent, fixin's hardly acceptable. Maybe they don't like to eat!

Charcoal, batteries, alcohol and we were off. Beating out under Main and Genny into the great white blanket that is the non-harbour world. Past the two diaphones again and into Latour - still confusing way inside - passed over a shoal that looked wicked, but didn't touch.

Secured at 9:05 and ate the cottage ham that we'd boiled under way - Lou cooking and navigating. Generously buttered new potatoes and canned string beans. We have one great advantage over the shore cooks - the salt air appetite!

Slept late again since the tide wouldn't be fair to get around Cape Sable Is. till late in the day. Gas at Latour, the last outpost and off at about noon. A bit early for the fair tide; wrong side of a ledge going out a bit hairy, but found our buoy beyond it and were right on the nose for every one, both time and direction from there on.

The inshore buoys are so close on the HO charts the direction is not very certain. We have promised ourselves to get Canadian charts next time. The other next time differents are, in order - More strawberries and cream (we had only six quarts!) More artichoke hearts and lobsters.

No clear indication of any tide at all at Baccaro whistle. Eddy? or slack? or are we wrong altogether? Our prediction did not match the local knowledge of a fisherman at Port Latour, who had "met the ebb at 5:30 PM last night, so it must be fair for you bound west from then on tonight". Careful look at out tide table and reconsideration of the reverse flow around Cape Sable caused by the extremes of the Fundy tides showed him to be right if a bit late on the turn. Which made us too early, so we went into Barrington Bay a little and landed on Cape Sable Is. Whistle to bell to bold rock offshore to "natural landing", which turned out to be a great windrow of stones heaped up by some quirk of the sea to look like a government backwater except it would cover at a little better than 1/2 tide.

A steep stony beach backed up by bearded sand dunes that fade into a bright green meadow - looked like salt hay, but sheep were eating it. Two cows tethered and a steer farther along. Pots galore, and bits left of a great old wreck. Crankshaft and flywheels from a tremendous make and break engine. The carburetor must have weighed 50 lb.. Came to the lighthouse and walked past the diaphone - It's loud at sea; it's earthshaking to walk by it ten feet away.

We made ourselves known to the Keeper who was delighted to have company. Come in, sign my guest book, be neighborly a bit. He showed us through his entire plant - beautifully cared for - painted and polished, scoured and clipped. A handsome collection of stones, including a few arrowheads. Foggiest July he can remember, but they expect a lot of it in July and August. Come in June - we have a lot of clear weather then.

Barrington Passage was discussed - not open any more - they built a causeway across it and there's not even a pipe going through! Local people use "the boat passage" right across Cape Sable, but he advised against it. Lots of current and difficult passage - a boat wants speed and real knowledge to do it - even the fishermen get thrown off the channel now and then and put ashore. No place for a slow boat, let alone a deep one!

He walked us back to the boat and said goodbye. After he'd gone we walked the other way, picking a few really choice pot buoys (I got an alligator) and leaving a king's ransom of handsome big sea buoys - many complete with pots! Late lunch aboard and off rigged for deep sea. Exciting few minutes in The Horse Race - a tide rip at the end of C. Sable Is. Damned few minutes too with 5 to 7 kn. of tide under us.

We made our whistle on the nose for direction but well ahead of schedule. Had to decide there whether to go on to sea hoping for wind, or anchor in protection of S. Seal Is. till wind came. The whistle was in a three knot rip of smooth water, 2 1/2 mile offshore, and 10 fathoms deep - that's a lot of water moving. A faint SW drift decided us to get offshore under power and hope.

Good thing too. It freshened steadily to a one reef main and working jib. Very reachy course, sea a little rougher than on the way over, but making very good way. Ten miles in every watch (of two hours) after the first couple. Watch and watch - all fog. We caught glimpses of stars several times that night, but the horizon was never more than 500 yards off. Confusing radio bearings off shore. The Tafrail log and careful DR is more accurate than RDF bearings in fog at night. Ours (log) was right on the nose when we picked up Matinicus diaphone.

Matinicus radio signal leading us in was most reassuring, but not necessary. We were within four miles of our projected course. Would have picked up the whistle, if we hadn't corrected for Matinicus Rock. Circle the rock and take off for Ragged Is. with the light and diaphone dead astern our course. Sixteen minutes and jibe her over for three minutes to the bell at the entrance to Ragged Is. Right on the nose. Four more to the light on the end of the breakwater and drop the hook just beyond in the shelter of Ragged, Tenpound and Matinicus Islands.

Bouncy sleep started about 2:30 AM, but lasted as long as we pleased. I slept till 8 and Lou an hour or so longer. Leisurely breakfast with patchy fog showing us glimpses of the inside of Ragged Is. Harbor (No "u" in stateside) but of course it wasn't patchy once we were out of the lee of the Is. Motor and Genny to Seal Is. where we dug out our caches and filled the forepeak with pots - had to bring the sails back to the cabin to make space. And off the Rockland to enter the US officially as advised by the CG on radio from Seal Is.

Last of the strawberries for breakfast on Ragged Is. Seal Is. fog is so thick we couldn't recognize the caches from the boat! And doubtful even in the fluge. Lou walked the shore and I followed on the water. Missed the bell S. of Vinal Haven and had to back track five or ten minutes to find it. Missed all the buoys and Speed markers but picked off our bell at Monroe Is right on schedule at the first listening stop. Charged into Rockland as if we owned it. Customs cleared me by phone. If they'd had a phone booth on Seal Is. I could have done it there! Charged off in the gathering dusk and fog to thread our way through the islands of West and East Penobscot Bay; Lou navigating and me at helm again. Tricky courses some of them too. Dropped the hook thirty feet beyond Lou's mooring about 9:30 PM.

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