Roast Moose for Sunday’s Supper
Having clawed our way across the Cabot Strait between Newfoundland and Nova Scotia we were in need of a little recuperation. We had left Bergeo a little earlier than we planned and the wind shift to the NW and then N came a little later than forecast. The consequence was that we bounced around in contrary seas and winds for half the distance before easing the sails and roaring SW at 8.5 knots.
All this speed and crashing through waves was a severe test for Cyclizine Sally and, unfortunately, it was all a bit too much and poor Sally was poleaxed by seasickness for the first time in ages. We had a minor boat problem too which meant we had to motor the last few miles. The shackle that is built into our main sheet traveller fractured but fortunately didn’t let go of the boom. I noticed that it had snapped and managed to lash it up before dousing the mainsail.
We chose not to sail straight for the Bras D’Or lakes and instead sneaked through the narrow channel into St Anne’s Bay which was guarded by strong tides, a shallow bar, following swells, a minefield of lobster pots and a chain ferry. In retrospect it probably wasn’t the most seamen-like decision but, once in, the anchor gripped in the sand and all was calm and peaceful. So peaceful we stayed for 36 hours!
When the wind had died to nothing and the sea was smooth we dodged out past the cable ferry and threaded our way through the lobster pot mine fields and into the Great Bras D’Or Channel. We entered the tidal race at slack water and had an un-nauseating passage to Baddeck where we berthed on the Government Wharf in the heart of this bustling tourist town.
To Sally’s consternation there were other boats around and, to her, each one was a potential collision to be had. That doesn’t say a lot for my boat driving skills! But we avoided crashes and met some interesting folk from the neighbouring boats. With our prominent position on the town quay we became a tourist attraction and had to answer some pretty dumb questions.
I set to work removing our Wind Pilot which sold via this Blog to a guy in Australia. As I hung off the back of the boat, trying hard not to drop tools and boat bits into the water, an incredibly discordant pair of child buskers sat 4 metres from me and screeched away on their violins. Never have I resented buskers quite so much but I avoided any expensive ‘boat bit overboard’ episodes despite the nerve jangling attempt at extortion going on in my left ear.
After two town centre nights with delicious restaurants and good company we found a wilderness anchorage in Maskell’s Harbour just 6 miles south. There, on a peaceful Sunday evening, Sally roasted up June Hiscock’s Burgeo moose with onions, garlic and swede. Our first Sunday roast in ages and what a treat to eat that wild moose on the day that England won the cricket World Cup and Lewis Hamilton won yet another Grand Prix.
