Fare ye well Newfoundland

The Isle aux Morts fades into the distance as Bonny heads south.

It was the 29th of July, the winds were still blowing from the south/south west; time to head back to the Bras D'Or Lake. 

After a couple of days on the island of death, there was a subtle, but all too significant change in the forecast; the wind would now blow from the south for the next 24-36 hours! Perfect (almost) - if we were still in Hare Bay - bang on the nose again from the Isle aux Morts! Still there was no point in complaining, no one would take any notice and anyway it wasn't as if we would have to battle through gales. The wind was due to revert to the south west after a day or so. 

Should I wait or go? A bird in the hand and all that. I decided to go. I'd sail close hauled on the starboard tack until the wind veered to the south west and then go about on to the port tack. With any luck by then we'd be far enough south to lay Sydney or the Great Bras D'Or. It would take us twice as long to cover half the distance we sailed on the way out, but so what, time wasn't that much of an issue - I'd deliberatley built a big cushion into my schedule and still had plenty of time to get to St Peter's for the lay-up and subsequent fly home on the 18th August.

As we left the Isle aux Morts and the rest of Newfoundland's south coast astern, I looked back in wonder at this remarkable land. A land, of which, I had seen only a fraction. A land which hosted one of humankind's worst acts of destruction on the natural world - the near total decimation of the North Atlantic Cod population - yet remains one of the wildest and most beautiful places on the planet. A land with the most treacherous coast imaginable, where a few generations of hardy folk eaked out a living and left as their legacy, some of the most friendly and helpful people I have ever had the pleasure to meet. I hoped very much that I would re-visit their wild atlantic shore one day.

Apart from the wind not listening to the forecast for the first six hours or so, when it blew steadfastly from the south (which made port tack rather than starboard, the more favourable one); things more or less went to plan. The forecast was for winds of 10 to 25 knots over the next couple of days. Normally I'd put a reef in before the wind got to 25 knots (especially with night approaching) because of the risk of the wind increasing further, but with Starlink, I could get almost real-time weather information from Windy. It didn't show any significant increase over 25 knots and so I carried full sail for the entire passage. From time to time things got quite exciting, but we never dragged our lee rail under (which is a good hint that a reef is required). 

The Hydrovane came into its own. I just had to set the wind vane to the optimum angle at the start of each tack and forget about it in the sure knowledge that without any effort on my part, it would take advantage of every temporary change in wind angle and steer Bonny on the optimum course.

It was though, something of a curate's egg of a passge. Sometimes we ambled along at 2 knots, barely with steerage way, at others, we were charged along at 6-7 knots. For the most part we had clear blue skies during the day and starry nights; with the exception that is, of fog for about 6 hours on the first night. Once again, it was comforting to have the radar, although we 'saw' no other vessels until crossing the approaches to Sydney Harbour on our second morning.

The wind veered to the south around 1300 on the second day and so as planned, I tacked to the west. By then we had made sufficient progress south to have the sheets slightly eased whilst heading south of our destination. The wind was due to back to the south west once again that night and the last thing I wanted was to spend even more time beating to windward. A slight detour then, prevented that necessity later.

In the end I got it about right and it wasn't until the last few miles between Sydney and the Great Bras D'Or, that we had to get hard on the wind to lay the approach channel. Once reached, the wind would be dead ahead for the last 15 miles down the Great Bras, to Otter Island, the end of the passage, but I had already decided that I would motor that bit.

The final obstacle was the current in the Great Bras D'Or. Would we be fighting it or would it be with us? The tide would be ebbing and so logically it should be against us. In fact it ran with us through the narrows and then half way between there and the bridge, it ran in the opposite direction; then once through the bridge it ran with us again! Most peculiar. Thankfully, despite dire warnings about it's strength, the most I noticed was two knots and so it didn't really matter that much one way or the other. 

The anchor went down at Otter Island at 0930 on the last day of July. My all too brief excursion to Newfoundland was over. Would I make it back next year?

It had taken 44 hours to cover the straightline distance of 100 nautical miles between the Isle aux Morts and Otter Island, but we had actually sailed 211at an average speed of 4.65 knots. Measured in a straight line, we averaged less than 2.5 knots! I guess that's one reason why 'gentlemen don't sail to windward'!

Bonny's cruise to Newfoundland and back..

The green line is our outward track from Otter Island to Cape La Hune - 178 nautical miles/avg speed 3.4k

The yellow line is our track from Hare Bay to the Isle aux Morts - 83 nautical miles/avg speed 4.5k

The red line is our track from the Isle aux Morts to Otter Island - 211 nautical mile/avg speed 4.65k