Thank you, Annie. On September 10 (Saturday), the crossing from Port-aux-Basques was a wild sleigh ride. We knew the north winds would start at maybe 10 to 15 knots and build during the day. But our course was going to be WSW, so the wind and waves would be on our beam and stern starboard quarter. The fun started right out of the gate as we left the Harbour.
The distance for this crossing was about 110 nm. When we started out, we were well sheltered from the north wind, so the seas were calm and the wind was light. We could run at about 22 knots. As we came around the end of land and entered open water, the picture began to change dramatically.
We still aimed towards a waypoint east of Iles de la Madeleine, indicated by the town's name, Cap aux Meules (translated as Grindstone due to the very fine sand of uniform grain size). You can see that once around the tip of land, we were initially protected because the coast went from east - west to north-north-west - south-south-east. But when we got out far enough into the Gulf of St. Lawrence, we were no longer protected from the north and northeast winds.
Wind speeds went from maybe 10 knots when we left the Harbour to 15 knots as we started heading west into the Gulf to 20 to 25 knots as we became fully exposed. The waves increased from calm to 3- to 5-foot waves to 5- to 7-foot waves.
Brio hit the first 5- to 7-foot waves by almost launching skyward. She did this once before coming out of the Sakonnet River in Rhode Island with "alarming results." That is, several alarms went off, scaring the skipper and crew. This time we slowed down quickly, before becoming airborne.
Instead of running at 22 knots, we slowed to 12 to 14 knots. As Brio labored to climb up the backs of waves, she slowed to 10 knots. Then, once over the top, she quickly accelerated down the face of the wave, skidding faster and faster towards the back of the next wave. At one point, she reached 19 or 20 knots while her engines relaxed, consuming less fuel.
The view out the stern doors was of a field of white caps and windblown stern waves. Forward it was the same whitecaps. Wild.
The glass doors were clouded by salt. But you can get the sense of how wild it was outside.
After 6 or 7 hours of this sleigh ride, we finally reached our waypoint and headed to the southern end of the Islands to Havre Aubert (Harbour Aubert). There was an attractive-sounding marina there that had space for us.
Once in and tied up, we climbed onto the dock. Brio was caked with salt, so we washed her down and sorted out things so we could settle in for a dinner on board. The Marina is situated on a sandy stretch of beaches and shallow coves. The channel to the Marina was well dredged, thank goodness, although the thin-water alarms were alerting us to danger all around.
The area has the appearance of Cape Cod and the Islands. All sand and grasses. Just a few degrees further north! It was mild, but we kept hearing that the temperatures were unusually warm and were going to fall soon. Maybe next week.
This is the view from a nearby hill.
And here's Real, who runs the Marina and has been a huge help.
Back near the Marina, there is a group of buildings that used to be used for drying fish. Today, they have all been reclaimed and are used for little shops and a museum.
There's a resident heron that liked to stand on the dock across from us. He enjoyed the sunset as much as we did!
And the moonrise came in a little while. This is the Puffin Moon. The puffins from northern Newfoundland migrate to the open ocean at the time of this full moon to winter there.
Today (Sunday, 9/11) has been a quiet day of recovery and rest. Our fuel and water tanks are full. We are ready for an early departure tomorrow. Our goal is to reach Riviere au Renard, just north of Gaspe.
Au revoir!
Cheers,
Brio
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