Nova's Eastern Shore

Unlike Maryland's Eastern Shore, Nova Scotia's Eastern Shore IS remote. It means that the yacht cruiser has to plan carefully to find diesel, for example, or fresh water. What is it about traveling east? "East of Schoodic" is a favorite term for those cruising the Maine coast. Schoodic Point, just east of Bar Harbor and Acadia, marks a dividing line between the populous western coast down to Casco Bay and Portland. To the east of Schoodic, the ratio of characters to townspeople rises fast, as you can see below.

This is the transom of a lobster boat, whose owner Brio befriended last summer. He was a real "card."

So, as we left Halifax the morning of August 24th and headed east, we knew we were entering a new world, apart from the likes of Yarmouth, Shelburne and Lunenburg. Our anchorages were more likely to be remote and we'd be by ourselves. So it was. We have Sandy Weld, distant cousin and cruiser extraordinaire, to thank for his recommendations of anchorages we had to visit. There were many we missed, but these were the ones at the top of his list. Thank you, Sandy!

Our first port of call was Shelter Cove. The chart warns you off with the "1-foot" mark at the entrance to going deeper into the cove. But the Cruising Club of America (CCA) guide explains that you just had to stay away from that one spot, and you could proceed all the way up to the head of the cove. We still had 15 feet of water (we need 5 feet) where we stopped.

From further out.

This is a more detailed picture. Brio's icon is at the head of Shelter Cove. If we took the dinghy further into the cove, we could have landed and walked to the other side to face the Ocean and its waves. There is a beach there. Even from Brio, we could hear the waves washing on the beach, with that soothing sound you hear on one of those white noise machines. We could also hear the Mo (A) horn signal, really sort of a moaning one long blast, which is the letter A in Morse Code.

Our anchor dragged initially and fortunately there was one other boat in the harbor. Our fault was not putting out enough chain, or scope, on the anchor. And as we dragged into deeper water, we were being blown faster and faster. The anchor was hitting the bottom less and less frequently. Yikes! Our neighbor signaled us with their air horn. Thank you! We quickly saw the problem and brought the anchor up so we could motor back up the cove, re-anchor, now with twice the scope.

Here's the view that evening. The fog was moving back in. Legend has it that smugglers (rumrunners most recently) would hang out in the cove in their sail boats. They would tie trees to the tops of their masts so patrol boats would not spot a bare mast standing out from a grove of trees. So, they hid, tied close to the shore, until the police left the area.

The next morning, the sun burned through the fog, giving us a strong reason to enjoy the day and head further east.

Next is the Liscombe Lodge, another cautionary tale of "East of Halifax." Liscombe Lodge provides an important source of diesel fuel and fresh water, so we willingly motored up the narrow river to the Lodge.

Above, we are approaching the Lodge. We are in the woods!!

And below is a traveling sailboat from Quebec on their way to the Bahamas! Incredible faith, I'd say.

We tied up, filled our diesel tanks and water tank. Then showers (nice, hot water!!). But there was no Wi-Fi or 50-amp power, both advertised. Given the condition of the dock and the stories told by Chester, the former employee who now runs a tour boat for Lodge guests, we decided to pay our overnight dockage and leave. Off we went to a little cove to the east, Gegogan. It's at the head of an inlet. We were the only ones there and we had a little bay to ourselves.

As evening set in, a magnificent and threatening thunderhead arose to the north. It showed on radar, passing well north of us, thank goodness.

The next morning, we headed further east towards a Sandy Weld-favorite, Yankee Cove in Whitehead Harbour. It had all of Sandy's fingerprints all over it: remote, solitary and absolute quiet. We ghosted in and just shut off the engines to coast among the fish hatcheries moored in the cove. Incredible peace. No sound.

Now, it is August 26th and the Bras d'Or Lakes call. So, we start the engines (noise!!) and head across the Canso Passage to St. Peter's Bay and then on to St. Peter's Canal. This is our first lock. It is like skiing on the Lord's Prayer at Bromley in the 1950s. It is a baby lock.

In we went, being greeted by well-wishers and the lock staff. Our lines were expertly handled. We even had two kayakers join us. The Canal is tidal, so it is very gentle. As the gates behind us closed, the ones in front of us opened and we rose a couple of feet to the Lake level.

And out we came from the locks, motoring up the Canal to the Lakes and St. Peter's Marina, our home that night for showers, laundry, trash disposal, grocery shopping AND coffee ice cream. It was a full-service marina and town! We had passed the Eastern Shore and made it to the Bras d'Or Lakes.

Cheers.

Brio