2005 Our first trip. NEWFOUNDLAND

      The period of adjusting to boat living was an interesting one. Since I was on the boat by myself in the morning before work, I lived in fear of running out of water or propane to heater the water, midshower. The narrow, deep refrigerator was a challenge as it seemd the food that I needed was always on the bottom. Some meal decisions were made according to whether I felt like emptying the entire refrigerator to get that one item. My most memorable day was when I walked up on deck dressed up for work, and the dock was about four feet below deck level at high tide. I threw my purse and lunch on the dock so I would have two free hands and after several attempts to step over from the scoop or drop down from mid-deck at the point nearest the dock I finally hiked my dress up, sat down and slid down a piece of plywood. Thank God it was 6:30 a.m., still dark with no one around.
     On Mother's Day with our four children, daughter-in-law and three grandchildren present we had our renaming ceremony. Meercat was now completely ours. After a bon voyage party given by our oldest son Duane and his wife Roberta we realized we really had to leave. We quietly pulled away from the dock, and a rush of feelings came over me. Could I stand being away from my family for so long? Could I really learn everything I needed to in order to help Glenn? Would I be physically strong enough to do what was necessary? Would I get seasick as I frequently have in the past? How would I do with night sailing? Strongest of all of my feelings was the excitement of really starting this adventure that we had planned for so long.
      We spent half of May and the month of June sailing up the East Coast. My first real challenge was the four-day, three-night offshore passage from Virginia to Massachusetts. The last 18 hours were spent in solid fog off the New Jersey shore and New York on the Fourth of July weekend. As a Floridian, I wasn't accustomed to sailing in fog so heavy that you couldn't even see the bow of your boat. It was a wonderful learning experience for me at the start of the trip and it helped build my confidence for handling the more adventurous sailing yet to come in Newfoundland. Throughout the trip I found that every new experience I had, every new thing I learned, continued to build my confidence. We left Plymouth, Massachusetts, July 3rd and sailed to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia. July was spent sailing across the southern coast of Nova Scotia, and we left Nova Scotia July 31st and sailed the 70 miles to Port aux Basques, Newfoundland. At 5:30 a.m. on a cool, gorgeous day I was slightly nervous about the sea that we would meet crossing the Cabot Strait with the Labrador currents and a little bit of sea left from Hurricane Franklin. Almost immediately we saw a pod of eight whales. It was a good omen; we only saw an occasional 10-foot wave on an otherwise pleasant trip.
     We sailed into Port aux Basques harbor to the sound of the Sunday choir singing in the band shell. It almost seemed as if they were singing to welcome us. We had arrived during the second week of the Welcome Home celebration, and we were treated to delicious poutine, French fries with gravy and cheese on top. The local fishermen visited us throughout the day, curious about our catamaran. We were frequently asked how fast we could go and gave several tours to prove that there really was room in those hulls to sleep. That evening as we relaxed on the trampoline six local bands and Canadian Idol Star Jason Greeley performed. We had front row seats without leaving the boat.
     Our next stop was a bay near Isle aux Morts, Island of the Dead, so named because of the many shipwrecks that have occurred off its shore. We sailed Meercat through a narrow opening in the rocks into the beautiful bay Squid Hole, but in the process of anchoring we grounded, the rocks making a horrible grinding sound on the bottom. Our first anchorage in Newfoundland and we were stuck. We discussed the logic of calmly waiting for the tide to come up and then immediately started scrambling for a solution. We put an anchor out to the side with the dinghy and tried to kedge off. We pushed with the boat hook, tried to motor off first forward, then backward, tried rocking the boat and kept checking the time to see when that tide was going to rise. Glenn was out in the dinghy with a third anchor when I noticed the line leading to the second anchor loosen. We were off.
     After successfully anchoring in the middle of this beautiful cove we took the dinghy to shore to climb up a hill. This was our initiation into the bog and tundra of Newfoundland. The footing is rough, you never know when you're going to step through the tuckamore plants covering the ground or sink into the bog. (After that all walks on shore were made in our seaboots.) We found a stream with a pond and picked wild bakeapple berry, and then sat on the top of the hill and looked out over the beautiful scenery, with our boat in the middle of it all.
      The next day we sailed the 14 miles to Rose Blanche. This is the second of only three towns on the south coast that are connected by a road. We tied up to one of many free government wharfs that are available throughout Nova Scotia and Newfoundland. We hiked two and a half miles down the road to the recently restored Rose Blanche lighthouse, but when we got there we realized there was a small entrance fee and after weeks of taking hikes into the wilderness Glenn had lost the habit of carrying his wallet. After explaining our situation we were allowed in free.  This is just one of so many examples of the kindness of the Canadians we met, and throughout the trip we often were given rides, homemade jams, fish and friendly conversation. We explored the lighthouse, which had clothing and furnishings arranged as if the keeper had just stepped out. It provided us with the prettiest photos of a lighthouse on our entire trip.
     Many of the towns along the south coast are uninhabited or contain just a few families. In the 1950's the Canadian government began a resettlement of the people in the towns without roads, as it was too difficult to provide services to them. In 1992 the cod fishing moratorium was the final blow to many of these towns. The younger generation has left to find work and the few remaining towns are inhabited by retirees and struggling fishermen. Our next stop was one of those outports, La Poile. Across from it is Gally Boy Harbor, another beautiful cove where we hiked and found wild blueberries, strawberries and bakeapples. There were pitcher plants, sundew plants and many shades of green covered the ground. The scenery is so different from what we were accustomed to in Florida. The winds were due to pick up to 30 knots and there was an underground cable strung across the harbor so we moved over to the town of La Poile and tied up to the public wharf. We were surprised to find another catamaran from Florida, Grab a Chance, the only other catamaran that we saw our entire Canadian trip.
     While cruising, we relied heavily on our chartplotter along with paper charts. As we headed east we found that some of the charts for Newfoundland are based on 1872 British surveys. This causes the interesting phenomenon of seeing our boat's icon go across dry land on the chartplotter. The GPS readings can vary from the charts by three-tenths of a mile in some areas. It was disconcerting to head in toward these magnificent tall rock cliffs, unable to see the opening, knowing that the opening wasn't exactly where the chart said it was. Fog just added to the excitement, and our radar came in very handy.
     In early August we came through a fjord-like opening surrounded by high cliffs and headed for the unique town of Francois, population 164. Walkways and houses crisscross as they climb up the sides of the mountains, and huge overhanging rocks look as if they could fall at any minute. There are no roads and therefore no cars. Travel is by fourwheel ATVs and in the winter by snowmobile. A rushing river cascades down through the middle of town, and we walked up a trail to its source, a lake at the top of an 800-foot mountain with a beautiful view of the ocean in one direction and the town in the other.
      We sailed into La Hune Bay with high cliffs on both sides as eagles soared above us. Tucking into Dead Man's Cove, we anchored in front of a 600-foot bridal veil waterfall. We just couldn't look in enough directions at one time. The cliffs rose straight up out of the water, which makes for gorgeous scenery but prevented us from taking a hike. We spent the night with the wonderful sound of waterfalls surrounding us. The deserted town of La Hune is across the bay.
      Fifteen miles farther east and we came to Hare Bay, our vote for the best waterfall, at Morgan's Arm. We dinghied over and were able to climb the rocks to the top of it. This is the first waterfall this flatlander has ever climbed. I felt like a great explorer. There were several pools supposedly suitable for bathing, but with water temperatures at 45 degrees, this Floridian could barely put her foot in it. It is such a feeling to be in this magnificent place with no one else around. We had sailed for days without seeing another boat. When the winds pickied up, we moved over to Wild Cove for a better anchorage. The next day we walked along a white sand beach and picked enough wild raspberries to make muffins. Something about picking your own berries makes the muffin taste so much better.
      We had reached the farthest eastern point of our trip, and had traveled 2,441 miles. It was time to head back the 137 miles to Port aux Basques, but we didn't want to turn around. It was a long way to go to get south before the cold weather storms would begin, so I resigned myself to leaving.
      At Captain Island near Couteau Bay, we anchored between two islands and the mainland. Captain Island is on four miles long and one mile wide and it's covered with game trails, hills and ponds. With each rise, we came to another pond and another beautiful view. The game trails made the hiking relatively easy and we kept finding signs of caribou, but couldn't see them. Then one young caribou, all by himself, found us. We stopped and he grunted. So Glenn grunted back. The two of them had a great conversation as he slowly came toward us along the game trail. Finally, about 100 yards away, he stopped and turned away. Apparently they have poor eyesight (or he wasn't lonely enough). The next day we kayaked to Duck Island and explored the three fishing camps on it, with the remains of a vegetable garden, a homemade swing set and wildflowers everywhere. A rock by a tidal pool was the perfect place for lunch. After covering the island we kayaked to the mainland for a short walk up a hill to take pictures.
      The trip continued to get better. Grand Bruit, named for the waterfall that roars through the middle of town, was filled with brightly painted houses and gardens. At the top of the waterfall we found a lake with a swimming platform that several children were enjoying. Boardwalks crisscrossed town. We toured a fisherman's old house run by a couple. (In this small town everyone wore different hats. The husband was also in charge of the library and his wife ran a small craft store in their bed and breakfast.) Newfoundlanders must have been small in the old days because I could barely fit between the wall and upstairs banister as I walked along the hallway and we had to duck through the dooorways. It was so much more interesting than a stuffy modern museum. We bought two beautiful home-dyed and loomed wool rugs for Meercat. They warmed the cabin when the temperatures dipped into the 40s. (I was also very grateful for the diesel heater Glenn installed in Ft. Lauderdale.)
      Because we were tied to the ferry dock we enjoyed the bustle of its arrival. The town gathered around and greeted the people arriving on the ferry and the food was offloaded and transported to the grocery store on the back of an ATV.
      Though beautiful, peaceful and crime free, life in these outports has it problems. The price of real estate is down and a four bedroom house was for sale for $16,0000.  The nearest medical facility is by ferry to Port aux Basques on the south coast and then a bus trip to St. John's. This would necessitate an overnight stay at the least. Francois had a helicopter pad for medical emergencies. There would be no such help in Grand Bruit or any of the other outport towns on the southern coast of Newfoundland. There are no property taxes because there are no services. There are a couple of spots for burning garbage, the water is supplied by the waterfall and the fire department is made up of volunteers. There is a small fee charged for the four "streetlights". There are only two eighth-grade students and next year they will take the ferry to Burgeo or Port aux Basques and stay during the week while going to high school and the Grand Bruit school will be closed. We had a wonderful time visiting this town and in some ways it seemed like the perfect life. But, I couldn't imagine myself living there.
      It was a few days before our weather cleared for the crossing to Nova Scotia. As we headed back I realized our dream was so much better than we had hoped for. We still had three months to make our way back home but nothing rivaled those three weeks in Newfoundland. We'll have to work for six more months before moving on to dream No.2.