By Fair Grace

Nova Scotia has definitely sprung some climatic surprises. Having stocked Fair Grace with wood and coal to keep our new stove going , we find ourselves at the begining of September in the middle of Cape Breton Island waiting for Earl, a category 4 Hurricane, to arrive but presently trying to stay cool in between swims.

The fog seemed to disappear once we passed Cape Sable at the south western end of NS and we can tell you that NS looks great. We've been spoiled for choice of quiet scenic anchorages, reminding us of the less populated bits of Scotland, interspersed with quaint fishing ports and attractive historic towns. This is after all one of the first parts of the new world settled by Europeans.
The natives, it seems, are almost universally friendly, helpful and, thankfully rather more genetically diverse than in Yarmouth.

Crossing to Cape Breton, which is still part of NS but like most islands thinks of itself as apart, we met up again with the Aluminium Contingent who we have intermittently encountered along the way up the coast. These are two characterful, attractive, robust and well maintained alloy hulled boats , crewed by couples almost entirely fitting those same adjectives. We are well along the way to being converted to Aluminium for our next boat.

Cape Breton is strong on its Celtic heritage and traditions. I suspect that there is more Gaelic spoken here than in Scotland. We were easily persuaded by John, Jenny, Tony and Coryn (they of the Aluminiums) to attend a "Milling Frolic". How to summarise? We are told that that after weaving cloth, the Scots - and I guess the Cape Bretons too - would shrink the newly woven material by continually pounding it onto a wooden table. It seems that this work was so tedious that they had to invent songs to keep themselves occupied and called it a "frolic" to tempt unwary newcomers to assist.
suffice to say that, although it was not without a certain charm, after the first hour or so we were all feeling somwhat shrunken and pounded and beat a retreat. We can only surmise that entertainment in the Highlands must have been lacking in some fundamental way if this could be considered a frolic.
One of the great charms of Cape Breton from a sailing perspective is that it is possible to sail right through the middle of the island via a series of large lakes. One passes through a lock at the southern end, dropping only half a metre or so, and can exit through a tidal passage at the north.
After a week in the lakes, and nearing the end of August, we decided to make a dash for the south coat of Newfoundland. Hurricane Danielle looked threatening for a while then headed off East into the Atlantic and so, poised to cross and with a fair forecast we woke at 5am only to find that the forecast had entirely changed. This happened for another couple of days which gave the next Hurricane, Earl, a chance to steam up the gulf stream towards us, threatening to make a direct hit on NS before moving on to Newfoundland. We decided that the prudent move was to retreat back into the lakes, where there are plenty of well sheltered spots, and sit it out. One doesn't mess with winds of 100knots gusting 120, even when in harbour.

So here we are, having wound our way up a tiny channel with barely any water under our keel into an almost totally enclosed pond surrounded by cliffs and trees. We are told that it is a sink hole formed when the gypsum rock disolves. We are in complete solitude under a cloudless sky and are entertained by kinfishers, herons, a bald eagle, an otter and hordes of Damsel and Dragon Flies. Tomorrow we will dig out our store of chain and rope, set all of our three anchors and ties ourselves to a tree, but for today we just try to stay comfortably cool.

Later....

Shortly after writing that, a small boat motored into what we were already coming to think of as our harbour. Trying my best to be civil, and to bow to the inevitable fact that we would have to share this perfect hurricane hole, the people approached and ask if I am Peter?.....yeeees... and do I know anyone who likes parmesan cheese sandwiches?....... I am dumbfounded. This can only refer to the crew of Hannah, who we thought we had lost touch with after their trip to Labrador this summer. As I am about to ask where they have been seen, one of Hannah's motley crew pops out of the cabin!
Some things it seems are driven by more than chance. They didn't know we were here and our little harbour is one of the more remote spots in an already pretty remote place. They had anchored about a mile outside, having no idea that it was possible to enter this harbour, as it isn't charted, and only came in when some friendly locals passed with their little day boat which they were planning to tuck away for the duration of the storm.

We then returned to Hannah, still anchored outside, and guided her in to where we spent the next three days anchored together in almost complete calm. Earl passed a little to the west of us and the island had something like 50-60 knot winds. In our spot, we had no more than a few minor gusts, but could see the wind tearing at the trees above the cliffs surrounding us. The deck was littered with leaves. We listened tensely to a mayday call during the height of the storm - a yacht dragging its anchor - but happily it seemed to be resolved without injury.
As another poke in the eye of the god of probability, a long afternoon of chat with George and Lillian (they who initially brought our visitors in) who are not in any sense part of the "cruising community" revealed that their normal home is in South Carolina where they previously had staying with them some friends of ours from the River Guadiana. Rationally, I have to accept that this sort of coincidence must be far more probable than intuition tells us, but I still find it difficult. Perhaps, as the theory goes, we ARE all linked by six degrees of separation, or perhaps our little harbour is just some sort of cosmic connection point.