Deadman's Cove

"Deadman's Cove is only a mile in, while the fiord continues for another four miles. As I turn into the cove, it becomes clear that my expectations will be exceeded as I am stunned by the magnificence and mysterious beauty of the scene before me. I've apparently navigated into another realm, where might roam dragons, elves, trolls, hobbits and the like.

Before me is a deep green valley bordered on the left by a smooth rock wall that gently curves upwards and reaches into the clouds. The valley is U-shaped like it was scooped out of the Earth  by a giant spoon, and a stream runs down the middle and empties into the cove at the beach. Massive grey boulders stand in the dark water around the stream. To the right stands a bright green meadow and rolling hills topped with bare rock leading to a rocky headland overlooking the bay. Behind this is another mountain whose top is obscured by clouds On the mountain are tight clusters of trees and curious grey fields of what looks like gravel, but is probably massive boulders.

To my left, a rock wall of unknown height rises out of the still water and into the clouds, and from the clouds emerges a waterfall that cascades in a jagged white line from top to bottom.....The scene is magical and even more spectacular than I imagined."

So wrote Paul Trammell in his 2023 book "Sailing to Newfoundland" of his arrival at Deadman's Cove in June 2022. I arrived two years and one month later, but my passage from the Bras D'or, the weather, particularly the fog and my experience of arriving at Deadman's Cove, are so similar to his, that his words provide the perfect introduction to my arrival in this magical realm.

Paul's book, "Sailing to Newfoundland" is one of the hundreds of sailing stories I have devoured over the years, but this one grabbed my attention more than most. Not only did it eloquently describe a wonderful sailing adventure and the type of mysterious place that I longed to experience, but, I realised, it was one that perhaps, I actually could.

Ever since arriving in Shelburne, Nova Scotia with Vince in June, I had been teasing myself with the possibility of getting here. However, there was so much of Nova Scotia to see, that rushing past its intriguing coast without stopping after Halifax seemed somehow foolish. But, if I stopped along the way and then also did the Bras D'Or justice, would I have enough time to get to New Foundland and back to Saint Peter's to lay the boat up before flying home on the 18th August?

I only finally decided to minimise my time on the lake and push on to Newfoundland after arriving at St Peter's. The planned  family holiday there next summer, meant I would get another bite of that particular cherry.

The day had started foggy but it quickly dissipated to reveal a cloudless summer day. The one aspect of Paul's experience I was not keen to duplicate was the repeated onslaughts he suffered by squadrons of Blackfly. Unlike him, I remembered to take my veiled hat with me to protect myself against, what were, by his account, truly vicious little devils! I also wore long white light weight trousers and a long sleeved black and white checked shirt. Bugs are it seems, less attracted to light colours. I wore my cheap imitation crocs for wading up the stream and took my walking boots for later I sprayed all my clothing and myself with anti-bug stuff too.

After another fairly late porridge breakfast, I launched the dinghy and rowed over to the little beach onto which the stream that Paul describes, empties. 

On the way I took a short detour to gaze up at the waterfall that yesterday descended from the clouds, but which today, 'only' fell from a near vertical cliff top hundreds of feet above. That was my objective for the day.

I anchored the dinghy off the beach after spending ages working out a means of keeping it afloat whilst also being able to retrieve it on my return. I had come up with one on my cruise to The Isles of Scilly in 2022, but for the life of me could not remember how it worked. Eventually, I came up with a plan.

Then I started my hike up the stream. On either side the ground cover was obviously very deep and would have been extremely difficult to walk through. After about an hour and a half of scrambling up the stream that sometimes ran through gullies, and sometimes over enormous slabs of granite, the stream carved such a deep narrow cleft through the rock that it no longer served as a viable route.

Fortunately, the ground cover now appeared much firmer and was also broken  up by large slabs of granite, so I had a snack and a drink, changed my footwear and took to the dry land.

The ground cover included lots of wild flowers including orchids....

Another hour passed and I was still climbing - working my round the first of what I thought were two major ridges before the cliff/summit over which the waterfall cascaded down into the bay.

The scenery and views were spectacular in every direction.

I looked back into the bay and was shocked to see another two boats entering. I assumed I had exclusive occupancy for the duration of my visit!

Another hour and I was, I thought, scaling the final ridge. But I had become disoriented and the waterfall was still half a mile away. I was actually on higher ground than the waterfall and would have to climb down a steep hillside and across the hanging valley that lay between the summit that I was on - this one....

... and the plateau on which the lake feeding the waterfall sat - this one ...

The plateau ended abruptly at the near vertical cliff edge over which the waterfall slid...

I guessed it would take me another 30 minutes or so to hike over to it and for a moment I wondered if it was worth it. Of course it was - how could I come all this way and miss what I was certain must be a spectacular view? So off I went and it did take about 30 minutes.

Once on the plateau, I checked out the immediate terrain. To my right was the lake.....

.... feeding the fall via a stream that ran with some force over the great swathes of granite that formed the plateau. To my left the stream ran towards the cliff face about 50 feet away. I was too far away from the cliff face to see the three boats below and so needed to get nearer to the edge, without of course slipping off!

I located a spot on the other side of the stream which I thought would provide the view I wanted. I walked upstream a few metres so that I was on more or less horizontal granite and crossed the stream. It was about 10 feet wide with hardly any depth but the water was flowing pretty fast. I wanted to make sure that in the event of slipping I wouldn't slip down the slope and over the edge! 

Crossing across without slipping, I walked carefully and slowly down the granite table towards a spot just to the left of the fall and a few metres in from the edge. To be safe I covered the last few metres on my bum!

Of course I already had a splendid view across the bay...

but I wanted to get all three boats in it too. I inched forwards until at last, there they were hundreds of feet below me floating on the sparkling surface of the fiord.

The whole scene was utterly breathtaking and I could hardly believe my good fortune to not only be one of the very few, lucky enough to visit this enchanted spot, but to be here on such an absolutely gorgeous day as well.

I soaked it all in while I had a light lunch of cereal bars and banana washed down with coffee kept warm in the small flask that Ursula bought for my trip.

I checked the time. It was nearly 3 pm. It had taken me 4 hours to get here. Not for the first time I thanked my lucky stars the fog had stayed away and I looked around, slightly anxiously. There was still a completely clear sky and plenty of daylight left of course, but the fog round here is an ever present possibility and I thought it best to get down while the skies were still blue. I'd got disoriented even in the bright sunshine - having to get down in fog didn't really bear thinking about, so off I set.

I still almost made the same mistake going back - thinking I only had one major ridge to cross/get round rather than two. Fortunately, I realised my mistake shortly after starting the unnecessary and time wasting ascent of the first ridge. If I had carried on I would have faced two steep ascents and descents not just one. Far better to work my way round the first ridge before deciding on how best to tackle the next. The walk was still pretty scrambly though. Once I reached the spine of the second ridge at about half its maximum height, I could see the stream I had walked up a few hundred feet below. I scrambled down the side of the ridge across a mixture of springy underfoot ground cover and granite slabs until I reached the stream. Just before starting the ascent I was taken by surprise when a person hove into view. I'd forgotten about the other boats. She was, it turned out, Inga and her partner David, turned up a few minutes later. The three of us stopped and chatted for a while and agreed to meet up later for drinks, before they continued up and I down. It was a slightly bizarre meeting - a 'Dr Livingstone, I presume' - type of encounter !

Once I reached the stream I changed into swimming trunks and crocs, determined to wash off in at least one of the stream's freshwater pools that I had noticed on the way up.

In the event I had three dips and most enjoyable they were too. The water was surprisingly warm. I guess the plateau's granite bed must act as a bit of a storage heater in the summer months and so warms up the lake water before it leaves via both the fall and the stream!

I got back to the dinghy and almost rowed the couple of miles across the fiord until I noticed it was nearly 6pm.

The sun was still out and a G&T in the cockpit to soak up the ambiance seemed a much better idea.

About an hour and a half later, Inga and David rowed past. They had got to the top and back much more quickly than I had managed!

I invited them over for drinks and they arrived a little later. 

Another couple who have succeeded in combining long term cruising with work. Both recently qualified architects who had met at University a few years ago, they bought their boat, Nashwana (a 38 foot Colin Archer design) in 2022 and started their cruising life interspersed with temporary contracts ashore. They both start work in Lunenberg in September and with accommodation thrown in, will lay the boat up in her home port near Boston, before then.

Tune in again in a day or so, to read about my exploration of the deserted and ruined settlement of La Hune, on the other side of the bay.