Time to See the Sea
To the very end, I think, we did our utmost toward the big transatlantic plan.
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To the very end, I think, we did our utmost toward the big transatlantic plan.
Grocery shopping, while always something of a “chore,” is significantly more of a chore to the live-aboard cruiser.
I thought at first I was looking at a boat, a big, white cabin cruiser in the distance, anchored at the base of more green mountains. Then it was closer, our first iceberg, and it was otherworldly.
(Or…our evolution to “Sailor Trash”)
The Zartman family stop in St. Pierre, their last layover before a big jump across the pond.
We’re at 56 degrees latitude and our internal clocks are all messed up by our northward progress. The days continue growing longer despite the passing of the summer solstice.
We had arrived in Canso with a slight feeling of urgency. Originally we had hoped to be sailing across the Laurentian Trough toward St. Pierre and Miquelon, just off the south coast of Newfoundland, on the longest day of the year; instead, several days after the solstice we were still on the wrong side of Cape Breton Island, and there was squirrely weather on the way.
The crew of Asante are hastily heading south for hurricane season safety, but Tropical Storm Chantal is on its way.
The Robertson family heads out on a challenging hike—warnings in the cruising guide be dammned!
The past two days have had us and our buddy boat, s/v Yolo, sailing into 20+ knot headwinds and bashing into very large seas for nine hours a stretch.
These are now the longest days of the year, and up here at 45 degrees north latitude, halfway from equator to pole, there’s daylight in plenty. A good thing, too, since we were trying to make good time east along the coast.
This was seafaring at it’s finest—rising wind, pea-soup fog, some horror called “Bear Rock” under our lee, and closing fast with a rock-bound shore using a chart drawn before the war of 1812.
To the very end, I think, we did our utmost toward the big transatlantic plan.
Grocery shopping, while always something of a “chore,” is significantly more of a chore to the live-aboard cruiser.
I thought at first I was looking at a boat, a big, white cabin cruiser in the distance, anchored at the base of more green mountains. Then it was closer, our first iceberg, and it was otherworldly.
(Or…our evolution to “Sailor Trash”)
The Zartman family stop in St. Pierre, their last layover before a big jump across the pond.
We’re at 56 degrees latitude and our internal clocks are all messed up by our northward progress. The days continue growing longer despite the passing of the summer solstice.
We had arrived in Canso with a slight feeling of urgency. Originally we had hoped to be sailing across the Laurentian Trough toward St. Pierre and Miquelon, just off the south coast of Newfoundland, on the longest day of the year; instead, several days after the solstice we were still on the wrong side of Cape Breton Island, and there was squirrely weather on the way.
The crew of Asante are hastily heading south for hurricane season safety, but Tropical Storm Chantal is on its way.
The Robertson family heads out on a challenging hike—warnings in the cruising guide be dammned!
The past two days have had us and our buddy boat, s/v Yolo, sailing into 20+ knot headwinds and bashing into very large seas for nine hours a stretch.
These are now the longest days of the year, and up here at 45 degrees north latitude, halfway from equator to pole, there’s daylight in plenty. A good thing, too, since we were trying to make good time east along the coast.
This was seafaring at it’s finest—rising wind, pea-soup fog, some horror called “Bear Rock” under our lee, and closing fast with a rock-bound shore using a chart drawn before the war of 1812.
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