Doug and Dale regularly take time out from their joint post as Port Officers for Camden, Maine, to explore aboard their Tayana 55 cutter Bluewater. Over the past few years Newfoundland has become a particular favourite...

The summer of 2004 was truly magical – it was our third trip sailing to Newfoundland aboard Bluewater, and it was absolutely, positively, our best cruise yet. Not only did we revisit many of the wonderful places and people we’ve grown to love in this unbelievable territory, but we also experienced several new areas and met more fabulous Newfies. In this account we’ll focus on the new bits, and direct you to our article in Flying Fish 2003/1 to learn about other wonderful cruising possibilities along Newfoundland’s remarkable south coast.

There are many reasons why Newfoundland holds a magical sway over us. First, it is truly magnificent – so big and bold and rocky with its huge sculpted mountains and fjords. Second, the people of Newfoundland wrap their hearts around you and make you feel so welcome. They charm you with their accents, their yarns, their playful sense of humour, and before you know it, they’ve become friends for life. Third, you get to witness Mother Nature at her best – showing off her most striking wildflowers and presenting you with incredible species from her animal kingdom, including moose and caribou. Then she surprises you by having huge, magnificent fin-back whales surface around your boat. Last, but hardly least, Newfoundland represents a challenge – she’s a long way from our home in Camden, Maine; she’s a big territory, roughly 1200 miles in circumference; her waters can be rocky, foggy, chilly, windy and rough – so when we reach our destinations and return home safely, we know we’ve accomplished something worthwhile. And had a whale of an adventure along the way.

While our overall trip began in Camden, Maine in early June, our Newfoundland segment began in earnest in mid-July from the Magdalen Islands – a beautiful outpost in the middle of the Gulf of St Lawrence. The 210 mile passage from the Magdalens to Bonne Bay on Newfoundland’s west coast was about as peaceful and pleasant as any offshore voyage we’ve made in recent years. The sun set gracefully, the stars shone down upon us, the moon rose briefly, and then the sun greeted us again with its warming rays. By daylight the snow-capped mountains along Newfoundland’s coastline were visible in the distance, getting closer and bigger as we approached our destination, home to Gros Morne National Park. At nearly 2650 feet Gros Morne is Newfoundland’s highest peak – not huge by some standards, but certainly dramatic in its oceanfront setting.

After anchoring snugly in Bonne Bay’s Neddy’s Harbor and spending a peaceful night, we rowed ashore and started asking about hiking in the area. The second person we met offered us his truck, so we were set for transportation. Newfoundlanders are generous to a fault. This was not the first time we’ve been lent a vehicle with no strings attached, and we expect it won’t be the last. Once at the Park Information Center and loaded with maps and guides, we decided after much debate to attempt to climb Gros Morne itself. It’s listed as a ‘difficult’ trek of six to seven hours, with a particularly steep pitch of scree (loose rocks) in one section. We hiked the trail up to the mountain’s base – a deceivingly easy climb which took only an hour – then made up our minds to proceed to the top.

 Actually, getting to the top wasn’t too bad – it took us just under two more hours, so we thought, ‘no problem, we’re ahead of schedule’. What the trail guide didn’t tell us was that the route down the mountain was much longer and more tortuous than the route up, and far more destructive on our old knees. The path down did have its pleasures, despite the four hour slog – the magnificent scenery over Newfoundland’s rugged inland terrain, plus the abundant bird and animal life. By a stroke of luck we discovered a nearly tame Arctic hare (a bunny rabbit on steroids) nibbling on the sparse vegetation near the summit.

 Well, to cut short this long story about how two old geezers conquered the formidable mountain – we did make it safely to the bottom some seven and a half hours afterwards, but only slowly and in substantial pain. Fortunately it was nothing that a few rums and Ibuprofens couldn’t handle – that and about twelve hours of sound sleep. We did live to walk, and brag to anyone who’d listen, another day.

The anchorage at Bonne Bay and Gros Morne will remain a favourite destination for the crew of Bluewater. The sights from high up on the mountaintops are truly stunning. They do quite take your breath away, yez b’ye. (That’s Newfie-speak, for added emphasis).

We could have spent a week in Bonne Bay exploring the many coves, arms, anchorages and other towns, but we told ourselves and our guests that we also wanted to check out the Bay of Islands. So when a favourable weather window opened up the next day, we skidaddled to the southwest while the sailing was comfortable. Being only 40 miles away, the short trip to Bay of Islands was an easy day sail. The scenery along our route was as dramatic as any we’ve seen along the Newfoundland coast. For those who’ve been to Somes Sound on Mt Desert, Maine, think taller – much taller – and much steeper.

The place we chose for an anchorage in Bay of Islands was the one relatively low and flat landmass. Woods Island Harbor was, until the 1960s, a thriving fishing and agricultural outport. Then the citizens were coerced to ‘resettle’ in nearby Corner Brook, where the Canadian government could more affordably provide the kind of social services which have become the hallmark of our good neighbours to the north. While everything in Woods Island pretty much went to ruin over the next few decades, the children and grandchildren of the original island families have returned to build get-away cabins, often at the site of the old family homestead.

After a peaceful night in the well-protected anchorage, the Bluewater crew set out for a hike along the old island roads, now largely overgrown. Following our hike, which proved to be far less daunting than the ‘schlep’ up Gros Morne, we met an islander who befriended us. Gord Hackett was born on Woods Island, but moved to the mainland as a young lad during the resettlement. He now weekends on the island – reaching it by dory in summer and snowmobile in winter. Gord came for a quick visit to see our boat, but that visit got extended into lunch plus a few drinks plus a nice long yarn afterwards, to hear stories of his youth on this beautiful island which has now become a major force in his life. As often happens in Newfoundland, we all became fast friends and promised to exchange e-mails, letters and photos.

After our peaceful day ashore, we spent the next 40 hours hunkered down at Woods Island while the winds blew pretty solidly from the exact direction of our next destination – Port aux Basques on Newfoundland’s south coast. In our opinion it makes absolutely no sense to beat into 30+ knots of wind (with higher gusts offshore), when the alternative is to sit peacefully at anchor reading good books and having great meals prepared for you by guests who love to cook. Now that’s a no-brainer, and we’ve become pretty smart when it comes to no-brainers!

Bay of Islands appears to offer many other superb anchorages, including a well-protected basin and wharf at the yacht club near Corner Brook, where virtually all essential supplies can be obtained, but we elected to move on to the south coast. There we could release our crew to the Nova Scotia-bound ferry at Port aux Basques, and continue cruising with other friends along a path which has now become very familiar to a pair of ‘Newfie-wannabees’.

One of the most scenic – and therefore with us most popular – anchorages along Newfoundland’s south coast is the dramatic Hare Bay, shaped on the chart like a pair of rabbit ears. The passage into the bay takes one up a breathtaking five mile fjord with 1000 foot cliffs on either side to an anchorage just off the magnificent waterfall at Morgan’s Arm. Here the scenery overwhelms the visitor. Hiking alongside the roaring waterfall, a path leads you up into the hills where trails cut by moose and caribou take the visitor ever upwards, ultimately reaching the summit of a 1200 foot mountain. Our knees said, ‘stop, you fool,’ but our egos said, ‘no problem – just do it!’. From the peak one can see the entire bay, including the narrow passage out to the ocean – out into the fog that often persists in the colder waters – making the effort all seem worthwhile. Thank goodness, again, for the large supply of rum and Ibuprofen aboard Bluewater.

Hare Bay looking down the channel towards the ocean from the 1200ft mountain nearby
 

Some new friends we’d just met in the town of Grand Bank, where we tied to the local wharf for several relaxing days, told us about this area near Harbour Breton. As we’d not been before we could not resist their invitation to cruise in company and explore several of the resettled communities in this stunningly beautiful body of water. The entry to our first anchorage took Bluewater through a narrow cut in two huge boulders, known locally as Tickle Head. Here we spent a peaceful night before another vigorous hike and tour conducted by Randell and Joan Pope, who are writing a history of the people and communities of this territory. Their commentary added immensely to the interest of the area.