SHELBURNE

Shelburne is another cruisers delight. The yacht club welcomes visitors with open arms, showers and bar. Nothing is too much trouble for them. The town is steeped in history with buildings to match. Settled in 1783 by British Loyalists fleeing the American Revolution it was ironically named Shelburne after the Prime Minister of England who caved in to the revolutionaries.
Many of the oldest buildings have been restored and in 1993 was further restored so that it could be used as a location for the movie "Scarlet Letter".
The very first people we met said "You must have a meal at "Charlotte Lane" restaurant, the food is superb." We had similar recommendations from everyone else we met that day. It was Sunday and we attended worship at the United Church, with yet another female minister and wonderful music including a hand bell offertory. Then we set off for "Charlotte Lane" only to discover that it is closed on Sunday and Monday, the only two days we felt we could afford to spend in Shelburne. Expressing our disappointment out loud to a local woman we were invited next door to her home. She and her husband moved to Shelburne a few years ago and have set up a workshop where Forbes makes the most beautifully crafted wooden flutes we have ever seen. On their recommendation we headed for the local bakery to enjoy our first "Reuben", (grilled rye bread with Pastrami, sour kraut and Swiss cheese). Bonnie liked it so much that she is determined to add it to her culinary creations. Dinner guests beware.

We loved Shelburne and were tempted to stay longer than two days but the weather pattern was good and we were running out of warm sunny days. Several other boats were leaving to sail to Maine and as one was leaving the dock Bonnie and I sang them off with our Farewell Sea Shanty.
We now faced another formidable passage requiring us to sail overnight around the foot of Nova Scotia, noted for its strong currents, and across the Bay of Fundy where the biggest tidal range in the world occurs. One tidal station records rises exceeding 16 metres several times a year. We needed to get it right.

LUNENBURG

The sailing and navigating to Lunenburg was easy, gentle breezes and smooth seas. Before we arrived in the entrance of the harbour a mist had rolled in and we were greeted by a fleet of schooners. It was the day of the annual schooner race. They presented a wonderful sight. We were able to sail right into the harbour and just as we entered we were greeted by the most famous of all the schooners Bluenose 11 as she left with a load of paying customers. She is a replica of the original Bluenose Schooner whose image graces the Canadian dime. Launched in 1921 as a fishing schooner she was designed to be not only a grand banks fishing boat but also the fastest working schooner the world had ever seen. The America's Cup was regarded as something for sissies and only sailed in light winds. This was a boat for all seasons and out sailed every other working schooner ever built. She was unbeaten in her home waters. She was eventually sold and wrecked on the shoals of Haiti. During her quarter of a century as the Queen of the ocean she had caught the imagination of people around the world. The replica that greeted us was built in Lunenburg at the same shipyard as the original and although it is debated by some of the locals she is as close as possible an exact copy of the original and a truly magnificent sight. We were in Lunenburg for 6 days and every day we went ashore in our dinghy we tied up at a dinghy dock alongside Bluenose 11 and never ceased to lose our awe at the sheer beauty of her lines.


There is more to Lunenburg than the Bluenose 11. When Cornwallis established Halifax as a British harbour in 1749 he decided that the settlers already living there who were not British should be moved so 453 people (about two-thirds German, one third French and Swiss) were transported to Lunenberg so named to honour George II of England who as Elector of Hanover held the Duchy of Lunenburg in Germany.
Many of the buildings hold a charm and character of old Europe, the protestant churches including a large Lutheran church dominate the skyline and the surnames of the residents still contain many straight from a German or French phone directory. Our shaken down motor was checked by a mechanic named Knickle a direct descendant from an original German family.
We enjoyed a lamb barbecue to celebrate the end of the schooner race, visited numerous galleries, cafes and churches including the magnificent Anglican church rebuilt after a fire in the original carpentry Gothic style. There we shared in an hour of pipe organ recital and hymns.
We spent considerable time with Keith and Ann who now had their boat Ketchup II in the boat yard with two big holes in the hull and all the hassles of trying to get the right epoxy bond and plaster work done to repair her ferro cement hull. They had run foul of some uncharted rocks further up the coast. They have created a stir among the Canadian Hydrography Department.
We needed to press on and thought we would sail to Port Mouton so named because Champlain lost a sheep overboard there in 1604. The winds were too good for that so at the last minute we decided to sail straight through to Shelburne. We were hitting 8 knots or more in NW breeze of 20-25 knots and picked up a mooring at the Shelburne Yacht Club just before dark having travelled 85 nautical miles in less than 12 hours.

LEAVING BADDECK

It seemed strange but we both felt very sad to be leaving Baddeck. We had loved the culture, the people and its scenic beauty. We had made good friends, attended worship at the United Church, attended a choral singing workshop, been visited by Karen, their minister, loaned a private car to tour the Cape Breton trail and received excellent service from everyone. Even strangers would greet us in the street with a cheery, "Hello, you're still here?"
The motor arrived back in the nick of time as there was a gale warning out for the Saturday with winds SE 45 knots. Had we remained on the dock we would have been severely battered against it. The motor was installed on Friday afternoon but we had difficulty starting it. Sparks were seen to be flying out from under the exhaust box. The mechanic lifted the box to discover that the main positive cable to the starting motor had corroded to copper oxide with only two strands of the cable still intact. It had to be replaced and it was 7pm. Bruce sent the two mechanics home and worked until 10pm. to remove the massive batteries, battery box floor and finally the offending cable so that a replacement could be fitted. Saturday morning a new cable was installed, the motor started and we were able to motor up to Herring Cove a wonderfully protected hurricane hole and dropped anchor just before the gale hit.
The next day we motored back, the mechanic checked the motor on Monday and we were off down the lake through Barra Strait to drop anchor in Damien Cove. We were the only boat at anchor in the picturesque cove and as the forecast for the next day was for light winds we were keen to head south. Dense fog prevented an early start but as soon as it lifted we headed for the St Peters Canal and were through and on our way by 1100h. It was almost a dead calm so we had to give our rebuilt motor a good workout. We decided to try to get right through to Halifax by travelling through the night varying engine revs every 20 minutes to run it in. As we approached Halifax the winds picked up from the S and we were able to romp into Halifax Harbour at a boat speed of 7 to 8 knots.
We refuelled and anchored off the Armdale yacht club for 3 nights until a favourable forecast motivated us to leave for Lunenburg.

LOUISBOURG

STRANDED IN BADDECK

We had revelled in this wonderful cruising ground with its numerous perfect anchorages, made some wonderful new yachting friends and met up with another Aussie couple Keith and Ann, cruising the world on their yacht Ketchup II. We were about to leave the Bras D'Or to return to Halifax to undertake some minor repairs on our motor before heading down the coast to the USA. The smell of diesel was very strong so we decided to check what had previously been a minor leak from the injector pump. The minor leak had turned into a fast drip and by hanging a container under the drip to collect the leaking fuel we were able to estimate we were losing about 1 litre an hour into the bilge. We really had no choice. Ketchup II towed us half way to Baddeck and we sailed the rest of the way. Baddeck Marine had the motor promptly removed and sent to Halifax. The diagnosis indicated expensive repairs and a waiting time for parts to arrive from England. We have now been back in Baddeck for 2 weeks but have been promised the motor will be back early next week. Baddeck is a wonderful place to be stranded for three weeks. The town has a permanent population of less than 1000 and everything, including supermarket, restaurants and churches are only a few minutes walk away from the dock. On a foggy rainy morning we set off in a rented car to visit Louisbourg a reconstruction of about a quarter of what was once one of the largest and busiest ports on the eastern seaboard of America. It was French until conquered and destroyed by the British. The reconstruction is so well done and the French speaking period dressed characters so believable we had to keep reminding ourselves that it was only a replica and not the real thing. What a wonderful way to learn some of your history. We have also made good use of our time with other boat maintenance tasks. Unfortunately the loss of time means that it is getting colder, the hurricane season is more advanced and we will be under greater pressure to move south as soon as we can. The first of the autumnal hues are beginning to appear in the surrounding forests.

BRAS D'OR LAKES

NEXT DOOR TO HEAVEN
An elderly story teller told us the other day about the people of Cape Breton Island who are now scattered all over the world. Every one of them says he or she would go back..if only they could find work there etc. Well according to this story teller a man died and went to heaven and walking around saw a huge concrete wall. "What is that for?" he asked. "All the Cape Bretoners are behind that wall. If we didn't have that they'd all go back", came the reply. So according to Cape Bretoners this is next door to heaven.

For a cruising sailor it certainly comes close to perfection. As usual getting here was not easy. On Monday August 6 we were ready to leave Halifax and planned to sail about 10 miles offshore direct to St Peter's canal, a journey of approximately 160 nautical miles. Bruce was still suffering from jet lag and the forecast for the next day included strong winds, rain and fog. The forecast for later in the week looked even worse so we decided to take the risk. We started early in the morning in calm, misty conditions. The mist lifted and the breeze filled in . It was a perfect day and we were romping along at about 7 knots. At that speed we calculated we would arrive in the dark and fog too early on Tuesday for the lock operation at the canal. We did not relish the idea of winding through the narrow channels into the canal without good visibility. We slowed down. Tuesday morning was overcast with a few light showers but without the fog and strong winds that had been forecast. We had no problems navigating into the lock and being lifted about 3 feet to the level of the Bras D'Or lakes. The lakes are huge salt water lakes open to the sea on the north but the difference in tides means there is nearly always a difference in levels at St Peters where a canal was cut through the isthmus and opened in 1869.

By the time we had picked up a mooring at St Peters marina which is kept in immaculate condition and run by the local Lions club we had been travelling for 28 hours. One night to recover and we were off to explore the lakes. It seemed strange to be in salt water in huge lakes surrounded by magnificent mountains clad in dense forest of deciduous and evergreen trees. The anchorages are beyond compare. A gale warning was out for the next day so we headed for a tight protected anchorage called Cape George Harbour. The entrance was so narrow that we found it hard to believe that an ocean going yacht the size of ours could enter. The water was deep and led to a totally protected anchorage with just enough swinging room but surrounded by forest. This surely is a cruisers dream. It was the first of many wonderful anchorages, all pristine wilderness spots offering great protection. Although the lakes are large the water is warm and even in strong winds only seems to build to a tolerable chop. After 5 days of heavenly wilderness we headed through the Barra Strait through an opening road bridge to the town of Baddeck (population 1000). It is a picturesque little town hugging the edge of the Great Bras D'Or and offers many delights to the visitor. We attended our first Ceilidh with blazing fiddles, jigs, Gaelic songs, poetry, stories and step dancing. Bonnie and I sat in the front row and were volunteered to learn some of the dance steps. What great fun! As we sailed into Baddeck we spotted a magnificent mansion built on a high point. "Wow" said Bruce, "How would you like the views from there". We later discovered that what we were looking at was Beinn Breagh the home built by Alexander Graham Bell the inventor of the telephone and still used by his descendants. Bell and his wife Mabel were both buried on Beinn Breagh. Every visitor to Baddeck must visit the Bell museum. It is a beautiful monument to a man who not only invented the telephone but pioneered human flight, hydroplanes and light transmitted sound. He is still spoken about with great reverence by the people in the town.
More wonderful protected anchorages inspired conversation like, "Let's sell the boat and buy or build a cottage on one of these bays. Six months a year in Australia and six months a year in the summer in Cape Breton seem like a good way to wind down in life." The thought of leaving and beating back along the coast into the prevailing wind does not have a lot of appeal after this heaven.

A FREE LUNCH

We had been in Halifax once before in our lives, the summer of 1971 but spent most of our time in Dartmouth at a church conference. We could not really remember much of Halifax at all and like all cities it has changed dramatically in the last 36 years. Walking down the main street, Barrington Street one day we noticed a sign in front of an old Anglican Church. It read, "There is such a thing as a free lunch. Meet with the Rector for lunch at 12.00 noon on Wednesday; no sermon; no strings attached." The next day our bus arrived in the city at 1215 and Bonnie said, "Today is Wednesday, I wonder if we are still in time for the free lunch. We almost ran into the church as any yachtie offered a free meal would do. We were welcomed warmly and fed well on freshly made sandwiches and tea. One of the parishioners asked polite questions like, "Where are you from?", "Is this your first visit to Halifax?" Bruce replied vaguely, "I think I've been here before; as a matter of fact I think I was the guest preacher at this church in July 1971." One of them disappeared into the church archives and returned with an ancient looking vestry book. We turned the yellowing pages gently to July 1971 but there was no record of Bruce as preacher. We turned the page again to August 1971 and there on the second Sunday in August at the 11am service of Morning Prayer was the unmistakable scrawl of one K.B. Marriott as preacher. We were flabbergasted. Bruce said, "The building seems right but I was sure it had a road in front of it". "It did",came the reply, "The road was closed a few years ago to create a park between the church and the City Hall." The church was St Paul's; the oldest Anglican Church in Canada built in 1750. We now knew that we were part of history so we decided it should be our spiritual home for the short time we were to remain in Halifax.
Halifax has been the centre of several of the world's greatest civilian disasters (not including Bruce's preaching). It was the rescue centre and morgue for the Titanic disaster and the centre of the biggest man made explosion prior to the atomic bomb. Both are movingly recorded in the Maritime Museum. We knew very little about the Halifax explosion which occurred in 1917 when two ships collided in the harbour. One was a French ship heavily laden with the most powerful explosives then known and heading for the war in Europe. A fire started and she drifted towards the dock before she exploded. More than 2000 people were killed and many thousand more injured. St Paul's church became a morgue with dead bodies literally stacked everywhere.

After a few more touristy things we were ready to leave for the Bras D'Or lakes in Cape Breton Island, when we received an urgent phone call. Bruce's sister Dorothy was fading quickly. We now knew why we had felt compelled to make a rush trip to Newfoundland and were still in Halifax. It was possible for Bruce to fly home leaving Bonnie on the boat securely moored at the Armdale Yacht Cub with great support from some of the club and church members. The nightmare of 10 flights, 12 security checks, preparing and delivering a funeral eulogy for Dorothy and handing over her affairs to her executors; all in 7 days will hopefully fade into a lost file one day. It was all a bit much for the old man and on his return, after standing in line for 2 hours to check in to a hotel at JFK and over 2 hours lined up the airport, he missed his flight from New York to Boston. Fortunately he was able to get on later flights the same day. A few days of recovery and we were sailing into a cruisers heaven; Bras D'Or lakes, Cape Breton Island.

NEWFOUNDLAND

We had barely settled in Halifax when we decided to make a rush trip to Newfoundland. Stories of its rugged people and its rugged environment had always fascinated us and we had intended to sail to its southern coast to visit some of its remote fishing villages with no road access but even if we found time to do that we felt sure we would not have time to visit the rest of the huge island before the end of their short summer. Checking the Internet revealed that all the organized tours were expensive and didn't fit our schedule. For some unknown reasons we felt compelled to make the trip immediately. So in typical style we decided to do our own thing. Having arrived on Thursday July 5, completed our laundry and found our way around Halifax by bus, we attended worship at the Dartmouth Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) then boarded a bus for North Sydney on Sunday July 8. The bus tip was a bit of a milk run calling in to all manner of small towns on and slightly off the route to the top end of Cape Breton Island. The scenery was magnificent especially around the Bras d'Or lakes area and take 8 hours but the trip was too interesting to become a drag. We spent the night in a basic motel room and took an early morning taxi to the ferry at 0630. The ferry trip from North Sydney to Argentia in Newfoundland is a 14 hour journey and the Cabot Strait is famous for its foul weather and fog. We timed our trip to perfection and sailed on smooth seas under crystal clear skies. We had clear view of France as we sailed past St. Pierre & Michelon islands in the Cabot Strait. They have resisted all pressures to become part of Canada and visitors are required to be cleared by customs as entering France.

Newfoundland itself only became part of the Confederation of Canada in 1949. Their quaint accents and blend of Irish folk music and country music suggested to us that prior to that they were and outpost of Ireland, but they would reject such a suggestion with the same rugged independent streak that led them to reject Confederation for more than 80 years.
A local bus took us from Argentia to the Capital, St. John's and we stumbled into bed at 0200 Tuesday morning. St. John's claims to be the oldest settlement in North America but we had allowed ourselves just one day and two nights to explore it. We walked all day, around the town, around the tight deep harbour, around the coast past small cottages perched perilously on the cliff face with attached derelict boat docks loaded with fishing gear, to view the narrow harbour entrance. We then climbed to the top of Signal Hill where we celebrated the fact that we now stood on the spot where Guglielmo Marconi made history by receiving the first trans-Atlantic wireless signal. All he managed to hear was three beeps (Morse code for the letter S). It probably was about as meaningful as some of the stuff we struggle to hear on our HF radio today. Why on earth didn't he put up a satellite and have a decent conversation.

Seal Flipper Pie was out of season so we settled on another traditional meal; a jig dinner, served in a small back room of a local convenience store. It consisted of salted beef (nor corned) mashed potato, turnip, cabbage, carrot and split pea pudding. It certainly filled us up but we wondered if it could be one of the reasons for the lower than average life expectancy in Newfoundland. We ate jig and listened to a jig at the same time (an Irish, Newfoundland type played over the shop speaker system). The next song was one we knew and could sing along with; "We'll rant and we'll roar like true Newfoundlanders" and so we did.

We were keen to get to Gros Morne National Park as soon as possible and traveled by bus to Deer Lake only to find that the local bus company had failed to register our booking and the small mini bus was already crammed full. A local courier agreed to take us along with his packages to the Gros Morne Hostel where we had a firm booking, but when we arrived at the Hostel it was filthy dump of a broken down cottage in the middle of nowhere. The young proprietor flustered about saying that he had nowhere suitable for us to stay. We reminded him that he had accepted our booking for a private room only two days earlier. He said he thought we would be better off staying at the Norris Point Hostel and he had arranged to pay the first night's accommodation for us. We had to pay the driver another $10 each to go back to a place we had passed earlier and when we arrived there the manager of the hostel knew nothing about us and had received no payment from the other hostel. We were now $30 out of pocket. Until 5 years earlier the Norris Point Hostel had been the local hospital so its dormitory was a four bed hospital ward with privacy curtains for each bed and the kitchen, dining and shower facilities were great. We even had access to the back room which still housed an ancient X-ray machine and surgical instruments including forceps that had probably helped many of the local residents into the world. A shelf contained medical text books on anatomy and surgery dating back to 1911. It was a vast improvement on the hostel that had turned us away. The next day we set off to climb the Gros Morne Mountain.

Climbing Gros Morne
Gros Morne is the second highest peak in Newfoundland rising abruptly from the fiords to a height of 806 metres. The Gros Morne National Park has been declared a world heritage area because of its geological features and its outstanding physical beauty.
The park has a number of walking trails and it is also possible to do extended walking away from the trails provided you book ahead of time and undertake a one day orientation/training program. The marked trains vary in difficulty and the highest degree of difficulty is given to the Gros Morne Mountain. The trail is 16km long but we first had to walk about 8km to the start of the trail. Because the climb is very exposed and the weather subject to sudden change we travelled with day packs full of extra clothing and wet weather gear as well as the usual safety essentials. The locals advised us that if you can't see the top of the mountain don't go. It was a fine clear day and bald, almost flat topped tundra dome was clearly visible from sea level so we went.
The first 4km of the climb was comparatively easy as the trail winds through the forest, across a bridge over a fast flowing stream and up some well made steps and boardwalks. It climbs steadily from sea level to 320m. We met three other walkers on this lower section, a retired couple from Vancouver and a young Austrian, and for safety in numbers we agreed to stay together.
The next stage was very exposed and required us to climb very steeply up a scree slope of frost shattered rock. It required the use of both hands and both feet in places and we soon realized that a couple of members of our newly formed party were a bit slower than us. It didn't matter much because in July the days this far north (51 degrees) are long. We had plenty of daylight hours as long as the weather held. The next 400 meters of elevation up the scree slope took us an hour and a half but we did stop to regroup and have lunch. Once we were out of the rock gully the climb became more gradual and more of a true arctic tundra with sparse stunted vegetation. The summit was a sea of rock known as felsenmeer. It made for rough walking. The trail was marked by cairns and edged with rocks. Frequently the top of the mountain is blanketed in cloud but for us it was clear and sunny and while it was cooler than the lower elevations we didn't need the extra clothing we had carried.
The trail continues over the back of the mountain where it is edged with a low stone wall to stop unwary walkers from getting too close to a steep drop into a fiord known as Ten Mile Pond. We stepped over the wall and walked closer to the drop to be rewarded with one of the most stunning views of our walking careers. Far below us cut into a steep ravine was a magnificent fiord type lake surrounded by mountains which continued for as far as the eye could see. We descended past remnant patches of snow drift, through an area called Ferry Gulch with views of hanging lakes, ravines and trickling waterfalls to satiate our desire for things beautiful. It was a long tiring section across a scree slope and down a boulder strewn path to rejoin the lower section of the trail through the forest to the starting point. We had hoped to see some wildlife as the area is populated by moose, caribou, and black bear but while we saw fresh droppings from all three, and Bonnie swears she heard a bear grunting nearby, we did not actually see them. We did see a few birds including a Rock Ptarmigan and her chicks and an American Pipit but we were mostly captivated by the views. It was 7pm by the time we reached the end of the trail and while we were physically tired we did not regard it as an extremely difficult walk. If anyone is planning to follow in our footsteps it is worth noting that the trail is closed from May 1 to June 30 so that the wildlife can do spring things without being disturbed.

Icebergs and Missionaries.
The next morning a couple of young women at the hostel decided they wanted to get to the top end of the island to see icebergs and asked if we would like to share the cost of hiring a car. But there was no local car hire business. They were not deterred and set off to see a local taxi driver and came back a short time later with a borrowed car on the promise of a prompt return by the evening of the next day and payment of an amount the equivalent of hiring a vehicle at the nearest legal car hire business many miles away. (Only in Newfoundland!) The small group of odd bods travelled north;, visited the archaeological site of a Viking settlement dating back 1000 years. Having descended from the Vikings ourselves we were fascinated by the discoveries and the reconstruction of a Viking settlement they have now created. They were great sailors, navigators, boat builders and craftsmen but they died young.
We had made no bookings for overnight accommodation and when we arrived in St Anthony we found everything fully booked. Following suggestions from those who turned us away we finally arranged by phone for a room in a Lodge some distance out of town, but with only vague ideas of price of facilities. When we finally arrived, it was getting dark; the motel looked deserted and we walked into a dimly lit lobby where we were greeted by a gaunt elderly man, who looked a bit like Uncle Fester from the Munsters, seated and peering at us from behind a high reception desk. The ghost spoke slowly and deliberately and held out is pale skinny hand as he squeaked, "Hello, my name is Bruce". The three girls looked as if they were about to run away in fright but Bruce clasped the skin draped bones and said in almost mimicking tones "Hello, my name is Bruce". After a pregnant pause in which the receptionist looked stunned as if someone was making a joke of him, Bruce quickly added, "My name really is Bruce". A flicker of a smile and we were soul mates from opposite ends of the world. We finished up with four people in a huge room with two queen size beds for the price normally charged for two. (Only in Newfoundland!)

It was an exceptional year for icebergs so we decided to go out on a boat tour to visit some. The biggest one just outside the harbour of St Anthony was 180 feet out of the water and was grounded in a depth of over 300 feet. We motored around it in awe and then went off in search of whales but without success.

For us the most significant experience was visiting the Grenfell Centre established in St Anthony to commemorate the work of Sir Wilfred Grenfell, pioneer missionary and Doctor who revolutionized health care for the people in the remote areas of Newfoundland and Labrador in the 1890's. He was a true giant of a human being, physically morally and spiritually and the story of his survival on a piece of disintegrating pack ice still makes for spine chilling reading.

We traveled back to Halifax by bus to Port-aux-Basques, overnight ferry to North Sydney and bus to Halifax but not before sampling many of the home style goods still produced in Newfoundland. Treasures like Partridge Berry Jan, Sweet Mustard Pickles like grandma used to make, and hand knitted cable stitch pure woollen sweaters, came with us or will stay in our memories for ever. It is the only place we have visited where a whole community seems to have retained those wonderful old style values, wrapped in genuine care and helpfulness. Things the rest of the world seems to have lost.

BERMUDA TO HALIFAX

Halifax is 740 nautical miles and almost due north of Bermuda and requires another gulf stream crossing. To make the trip safely we needed a 6 day window of good weather. This is difficult at any time of the year. We watched the weather patterns very closely for over a week and kept a daily radio sched with Herb Hilgenberg, who operates a routing and weather service, broadcasting from just outside Toronto, Canada. His advice was to prove invaluable. There always seemed to be strong winds or gale conditions between us and Canada and this associated with the gulf stream did not present an exciting prospect. Finally Herb said, "I think I can see a possible window for you if you can stand one day of squally conditions 20 to 25 knots, but you should leave sooner rather than later." We decided to leave as soon as we could, went ashore to download the weather charts then back to the boat to prepare to leave but when we got back to the boat we couldn't get in. The companionway hatch was jammed tight. By the use of sheer brute force we managed to get it open but now it was jammed even tighter and we could not move it at all. We couldn't risk sailing without being able to close it. It had to be fixed. Fixing it meant almost taking the boat apart and reconstructing it. We frantically removed the life raft sitting on top of the hatch garage only to find that the frame it sits in was bolted right through the deck. We had to remove half the saloon head liner to get to the nuts on the underside. Three hours later we got the cover off but still couldn't get the hatch to slide. Hammers and blocks of wood and a great deal of brute force finally allowed us to disassemble the whole thing and we found that the problem was caused by a sanding disc (used before our time) which had jammed itself tight into the sliding groove. By now it was dark and we decided to leave the reassembly until first light, but had we missed our opportunity? Two other yachties, aware of our plight came over to help as soon as it was light next morning. Another frantic session and it was all back together and working as it should. We went ashore cleared customs, stowed the dinghy and were under way by 11am (Friday June 29). When we talked to Herb that afternoon he was clearly disappointed that we had not left earlier. We didn't feel like burdening him with our problems but his concern worried us. We knew that Sunday would be a tough day as we had to sail through a cold front that now stretched in a huge arc from Florida to England with several low pressure systems threatening to form in it. To avoid the worst of it Herb directed us to sail northwest towards Cape Cod. With southwest winds this gave us two days of great sailing. We romped along. As predicted, we hit the frontal system on Sunday night and sailed through numerous rain squalls. Bonnie seemed to get the worst watches and reported gusts to 35 knots. We were through the messy weather in 12 hours and most of the squalls gave us winds only in the 25 to 30 knot range. We now faced the gulf stream. We cannot over emphasise the significance of that simple statement. Crossing a fast flowing 60 mile wide warm current of water sounds simple but in its flow it creates huge warm eddies and cold eddies. We thought we were through it, the water temperature had dropped and we were sailing close hauled motor assisted into a 15 knot northerly. We were doing 6.5 knots through the water and 3.5 knots over the ground. We were clearly caught in a cold eddy on the far side of the stream. We tacked in an attempt to get out of it and we were now doing 9 knots over the ground but sailing well off our course. To make matters worse Herb in his last sched had asked us to move as quickly as possible as a new low had formed over the great lakes and was moving east. "Winds will reach gale force near Nova Scotia by Thursday night." This was just what we needed. Our delayed departure now looked likely to mean getting hammered just as we arrived in Halifax. We used a lot of motor assistance and then with 20knot winds up our backside we scooted along wing and wing (main and head sails on opposite sides of the boat) to get in before the gale. We entered Halifax Harbour in the dark on Wednesday night and felt our way to a mooring at Royal Nova Scotia Yacht Club at 2am Thursday July 5, just ahead of the gale. Having Herb on board had given us the best passage we have had so far. Knowing the weather you can expect ahead of time takes a lot of stress out of it all. Later Thursday morning we moved up the North West arm to a mooring at the Armdale Yacht club for better protection as the gale was forecast to hit later in the day. Next stop Newfoundland.

BERMUDA

We spent three weeks in Bermuda. Bermuda is a wonderful place to visit but hard to describe. Over 60,000 people crammed on the ancient remnants of a string of subtropical coral atols linked together by bridges and causeways and sitting in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Believed to have been discovered by the Spanish and Portugese sailors as early as 1503, its settlement dates from 1611 and for a number of historic resons it is more British than Britain. After sailing from America it seemed strange to make our first contact through Bermuda radio and hear very British accents. They play cricket, football (soccer) and netball and in spite of the fact that the majority of people are not white anglophiles they speak with a variety of British accents.
"Bermuda is very expensive", everyone told us, but we didn't find it too bad at all. We anchored in St Georges harbour so our accommodation was free. We bought a monthly pass for public transport and travelled on almost every bus route and ferry route they have. With the number of trips we took the average cost per trip was about $1.The roads are very narrow and wind between rows of houses and small inlets crowded with boats rather like ancient English fishing villages. The way the drivers whip the buses around those roads makes you think every ride may be your last.
In spite of the fact that they are constantly invaded by thousands of Tourists, the people are friendly, greet everyone they meet with a "Good Morning" and are very helpful. Among the many highlights were visits to the old British Navy Dockyards built by convict stonemasons in the 18th Century, worship in St Peter's Anglican Church (1612) and snorkelling amongst brilliantly coloured parrot fish in limpid turquoise pools of warm (26C) water.
Perhaps the most unforgettable experience was to be invited to a traditional Sunday Brunch in the home of one of the long term Bermudian residents. Bob Doe picked us up mid morning in his outboard driven sleek dinghy he designed and built himself and took us to his (and Fiona's) magnificently restored home on Smith Island for a wonderful meal of boiled cod fish, vegetables and trimmings. There were several other couples there for brunch and before we left we visited another magnificently restored old two storied mansion owned by another couple.

Passage to Bermuda

We were ready to leave Norfolk for Bermuda on Thursday May 31, but a last minute check of the weather revealed a tropical low developing off the coast of Florida. It looked as if we could only be guaranteed 3 days of light winds and finish up having to beat into a 40 knot south easterly. This was not what we wanted. A quick check with Herb, the weather expert in Toronto, Canada received a curt "not a good weather window" response. We waited while the low developed into tropical storm "Barry". Being the second named low of the season it had to start with "B". Bonnie thought "Bruce" would have been more appropriate.
We finally got away on Monday June 4. "Barry" had travelled up the gulf stream and was now to the north of us. The barometer was rising. We expected some brisk winds for the first two days but they were forecast from the SW and we hoped to finish with lighter winds.
We cleared customs by phone and were away by 1000h local time. The winds were moderate and we were sailing comfortably with full sail until about 1600h. A "Securite, securite" announcement from the North Carolina Coast Guard shook us into action with an announcement that radar had just shown a thunderstorm moving off shore with winds of around 30 knots. They gave coordinates very close to our position. Looking back revealed a black rain squall only a mile or two away. We quickly reduced sail by putting two reefs in the mainsail, furling our genoa and rolling out the stays'l. We were just in time. The worst of the thunderstorm passed just north of us but the winds piped up to 25-30 knots and stayed there. The sea state was still quite disturbed and we were both feeling sick.
An Encounter With the US Navy.
Earlier we had heard an announcement that a US warship was preparing to leave Norfolk on manouvres. We didn't take a lot of notice as Norfolk is a busy Navy establishment and we would be well off shore and clear of the shipping channels before the warship left. At midnight we were sailing under difficult conditions with rain squalls, winds to 30 knots and ugly seas. Bruce had just gone below to sleep when Bonnie called for help. "I think the warship is calling us". Bruce struggled out in a dazed sleepy, sea sick stupor and peered into the misty night to see if he could see the ship. Neither of us could see anything. Then came the call again. "Vessel in position (our exact coordinates) this is US warship 75, over" "US warship this is sailing vessel Freedom Now". "We are conducting flight and retrieval operations and are limited in our ability to manouvre could you please alter course to give us a three mile clearance?" This was not what we needed. Bruce mumbled something like "It may be difficult because we are also limited in our ability to manouvre and are sailing short handed and under reduced sail. Which direction do you wish us to head?" "Could you head further north?" "Freedom Now will change course towards the north
short of jibing and we hope that will give you enough clearance." We changed course from 133M to 80M. It obviously wasn't enough. We couldn't see much but could hear the scream of a jet taking off and the unmistakable clapping sound of a large helicopter nearby. Added to the rain, thunder and lightening it was quite spectacular. "Sailing Vessel Freedom Now, this is US warship 75. We have temporarily suspended flight operations and will steam away." We thanked the commander profusely, and watched her disappear off the radar screen. We now know that US warship 75 is the Harry S Truman, a Nimitz class, nuclear powered aircraft carrier of 101,000 tons and 1100 feet long. She has a crew of 5600, carries 90 aircraft and enough missiles to blow us out of the water a thousand times. She is one of the mightiest war machines in the naval world, and she had given right of way to two geriatric sailors on a small sail boat with a mast that wouldn't even reach her flight deck. What an adrenalin rush.

It was a rugged first night. We entered the gulf stream, which is really like a mighty 60 nautical mile wide river which flows SW to NE but in spite of the fact that our 25 to 3o knot winds were in the same direction as the stream, the seas were very confused. Bonnie seemed to get the worst of the watches and it was during her watch on Tuesday morning that a rain squall hit. It came out of nowhere with teeming rain and winds of 45 knots. With two reefs in the main and a stays'l the boat handled it well but it was a trying time for the crew. In 15 minutes it disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.

After two days we were able to shake out the reefs and sail with full sail in winds of 15-20 knots. A front took the winds from SW through W, NW, to N and NE and we finished up sailing at good speed all the way to Bermuda never being more than 15 nautical miles off the rhumb line. We covered 640miles in almost exactly 4 days, arrived in Bermuda under beautiful sunny skies and a 10- 15 knot NE breeze. We cleared customs, anchored, ate our first decent meal in 4 days and slept.

Chesapeake Experience

"Mud, mud glorious mud,
Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood"
and running aground.
We are not hopeless navigators but as the locals say, "Anyone with a 6 foot draft who hasn't been aground in the Chesapeake Bay has not left the dock".
We finally sailed away from Whitehall Marina on Thursday May 3, and after refuelling in Back Creek we sailed across the bay and into the Wye East River (26 n miles). We anchored in the mud in 7 feet of water just inside the entrance of Dividing Creek, not brave enough to proceed further up the creek. Once the anchor has settled in the mud it sets as if in concrete. Wye Island is now a State Park and although much of it was cleared for farming at an earlier time it still has gravel roads and enough remnant vegetation, horse riding trails and nature trails to make it a beautiful spot to visit. We turned to our second love, walking, and explored most of the island including the camping sites and small rustic conference centre. The bird life on the island was outstanding and we even saw a few Canada Geese that seemed to have lost the urge to fly further north.
After two nights we weighed anchor and sailed the tortuous route out of the river, past magnificent mansions, eyes glued to the chart and our new depth sounder to avoid the mud banks. In spite of our care we still nudged the bottom in one spot. We sailed south down the bay, and up into Dun cove (30 n miles). Dun cove is listed as a suitable hurricane hole and the forecast was winds of 30 knots over night. We entered the bay in 15-20 knot winds and it was raining. We went aground again in the entrance. According to the chart we should have been anchored in 8 feet of water at low tide. We shared the anchorage with three other yachts who rafted together in a three boat raft on a single anchor with only a rope rode visible. They obviously wanted a nice social time that night. It blew 35 knots overnight and the next morning. The raft was dragging in our direction. Fortunately the wind swung more to the north east and the boats decided to part company. They probably had an uncomfortable night. We then learned another lesson of the Bay. The tide tables and chart depths are meaningless when you have a strong northerly. It sucks all the water out of the bay. Bonnie looked at the bank and exclaimed "The water looks low". We could see mud flats where there should have been water. We turned on the depth sounder and it showed 4.6 feet. We draw 6 feet and we think the sounder is about 1.5 feet below the water surface. So we were wallowing around in the really soft stuff or barely afloat with 1" or less under the keel. We had let out plenty of chain and had not moved. By the afternoon the winds had dropped and the anchorage was like a mill pond. Offshore conditions were much worse. In the gulf stream which runs south west to north east a strong northerly against the current can make sailing very difficult. The strong north easterlies had created seas up to 60 feet. We heard on the radio that one yacht had disappeared and no survivors had been found. We made a mental note to avoid those conditions at all costs.

Freedom Now needed some minor sail repairs and so we headed for Solomons Island 40 nautical miles away. With north easterly winds of 15-20 knots and blue skies it was a romp with the boat hitting speeds of 8 knots. Bonnie helmed all the way and couldn't get the smile off her face. Solomons is an easy place to get into apart from winding your way through the minefield of cray pots and fish traps at the bay entrance. We had been advised that Zahniser's Marina was a good place to get work done so we arranged for a slip (berth) there. The price of $2 a foot per night plus electricity making it $87 a night for our boat was a bit of a dampener and after we had tied up we discovered they were far too busy to do the work we required within the week we had allowed. We stayed two nights and then tried to sail on. The forecast was for fog to lift about midday. We left late but when it was still early afternoon we could hear other boats but not see them for the fog and we could not see a buoy we knew was only 50 metres away. We turned back and anchored near the Calvert Marine Museum. We finished up staying a week in Solomon's and our favourite spots were the wonderful museum and the excellent Woodburn's supermarket where we could select from about 20 salads add some steamed shrimp or Atlantic Salmon and sit down in the dining area and eat it. That's our sort of living!
We also had an amazing experience of the other America by jumping on the first public bus we saw and asking if we could get to a public library. "Sure", said the driver, "But it will take two bus rides to get to the Leonardtown library." We had the time so we went. An hour later after calling in at several shopping centres, wandering through some rather depressed housing and rural areas and stopping at the detention centre we were dropped off at the Leonardtown library. We used the Internet at the library, wandered around Leonardtown, which didn't seem to have much to commend it except for a fine old mansion "Tudor House" now used as a local history centre. We found our way back to the detention centre and jumped on the first bus to come along. The driver assured us he could get us back to Solomon's but it would require three bus rides this time. The bus dropped a good looking young woman off at the drug and alcohol rehabilitation centre. The driver confided in us that she and her friend seemed to be doing everything they could to get themselves thrown out of the centre. We travelled through more depressed housing areas, picked up a Mennonite or Amish woman with two mentally retarded girls all dressed in full length plain dresses and bonnets and speaking what sounded like German. We drove past farmlets with bib and brace overalled, bearded farmers driving strange horse driven vehicles. Three buses and one and a quarter hours later we arrived back at Solomon's grateful for the education and experience which had cost us a total of $1.50 each in fares!!!
Solomon's is a comparatively small quaint place with a history of fishing including oyster gathering. The stocks of oysters were depleted and now it has become a trendy boating centre.
Our delay allowed us to have a visit from the previous owners of our boat who kindly came down and sailed out into the bay with us to show us how to set up the water maker.

Our next leg took us further down the bay to the entrance of the Great Wicomico River (43 nmiles) We wound our way through the crab pots and entered Mill Creek without running aground. It was a wonderful protected anchorage with comparatively high banks and just the odd house here and there. The winds were fairly strong and southerly for the next couple of days so we sat and enjoyed it, entertaining a couple from another boat anchored nearby just as we were hit by a front briefly bringing 30 knot south westerlies with rain thunder and lightening.

We were keen to get some work done on the boat before heading for Bermuda so we arranged by phone for our life raft to be serviced, sails repaired and bow roller modified in Norfolk. We romped with sails wing and wing 60 nautical miles down the bay to Bay Point Marina in Little Creek, Norfolk. The people here have been wonderful and the work is now virtually complete. We travelled into downtown Norfolk by bus and visited the General Douglas MacArthur memorial. It brought to mind the day the General stood on the Terowie railway station platform in South Australia and said "I have just come out of the Philippines but I shall return." He did return of course and perhaps his greatest contribution was his role in the reconstruction of post war Japan.
Next stop Bermuda.

Bruce and Bonnie are sailing on an Oyster 435 sloop from USA to Australia.