waking up to Halifax

Whoever said that hell is a pit of fire was a fool. It is a pit full of water! Violent, unforgiving, disheartening water, with traces of our vomit floating on the surface. And yep, we've gone through it again. 
After a week hiatus in Shédiac, NB we crept slowly but steadily towards Canso Strait and the open Atlantic beyond it. Another work week was approaching, and we still haven't made it anywhere near Halifax. We had no choice but to press on, despite severe weather warnings and poor visibility due to fog on Sunday morning. What's a crew to do? We braced ourselves for a few rough days of sailing, and resigned to the miserable state of relentless seasickness. The sea convulsed with mad determination for over 18 hours, by the end of which, if we weren't sleeping, we were sitting around with vacant expressions on our faces. Having left the remainder of our lunch from the day before overboard, our stomachs felt a bit more settled, but the discomfort of having our brains scrambled in the constant tossing persisted. Time, in a traditional sense, almost ceases to exist when you're under such extreme conditions. Your body and mind fall into a rhythmic pattern of their own, regulated by the frequency and intensity of the waves. Your ability to move, see or even think and speak are determined by the movement of the boat on the water. Sometimes it's hard to do much more than sit still and contemplate the body's ability to withstand such abuse. But it does, sometimes more gracefully than others, but it does. The human spirit has an incredible ability to tolerate adversity, especially when the end of it is scheduled to arrive with the first light of day. Once we cleared the Cape of Canso and turned westerly along the Nova Scotia coast conditions improved. By midday Monday the seas beneath us calmed, winds veered in our favour, and we looked forward to a smooth sail into the night and the following morning. At 3 am, just as the first sign of daylight seeped in from the East, the glow of metropolitan Halifax appeared in the West, like a second sunrise. It seemed like a dream. We reached the harbour around 8 am, and by midday we crossed Bedford Basin, where we pulled into the Bedford Basin Yacht Club, our new home for the summer. 

So far so good

After the last engine hiccup was behind us, and showed no signs of making a comeback, it was smooth sailing. We got some great winds that Friday night and an unforgettable display of northern lights. It was a first for me, and when I saw the iridescent curtain of hazy light I was astounded. Standing there, staring with my mouth wide open I was grateful Randy pulled me out of sleep to see it. With that and the next few great sailing days that followed, I began to forget all about the horrible shake down from days prior. All was right with the world again. My friend Melissa says that sailing is much like raising children. You relish the best and endure the worst of what the experience has to offer, often at the same time. When things are going great, you marvel at the beauty and the magic of it, and when the going gets tough it is overwhelming and scary. But you grow through it all, learning about yourself and your surroundings and take the good with the bad, as it all becomes worth the effort in the end.
We continued to press forward running before favourable winds, with the sails wing on wing at one point. This, according to seasoned sailors, is the epitome of sailing. You get the most out of your sails, the boat runs balanced, and let's face it, it looks damn cool. 
Then just before we slowed our pace and entered Shédiac Bay, where lied our next port of call, we spotted Humpback whales off the starboard side. They surfaced in the distance spewing hissing cascades of water that we heard even before they materialized. It was another beautifully choreographed ballet of giants. Again we watched in awe and anticipation of the next appearance, until they disappeared for good. And that, we felt, was the perfect way to crown this leg of our journey. Next came Shédiac and another parting. 
Shédiac, NB sits at the southwest edge of Shédiac Bay and at the very tip of Chéne Bank, just a few miles outside of Moncton. Since we couldn't make it to Halifax before Monday, we had to stop somewhere along the way, in proximity to it, so that Randy and Brittany could get back to Toronto, and Gabe could get to work. Shédiac was the place to go. One of Gabe's new coworkers lives in Moncton and was able to pick up the crew Monday morning to take them to the Halifax airport. Britt and Randy went home, and Gabe started his first week as an aeronautical engineer for the maintenance crew at the airport. Perfect. But what about me? I was stuck in Shédiac.

Night and Day

So much for no stopovers. With a storm brewing at our backs, we bounced our way into a marina in Cap a l'Aigle our first night out of Quebec city. Wednesday morning we plugged away for Rimouski to shower, provision, refuel and grab a great old breakfast at a local greasy spoon that dolled out painfully generous portions of eggs, meat pie, toast and fresh fruit. Just what the doctor ordered. Now that we were back in proper seaman shape, we set an ambitious course that would take us into the Gulf of St. Lawrence, pass Gaspé Bay, through the Northumberland Strait and into Shédiac. This could take a while. In fact, it is a 350 nm stretch, that would take us 72 hrs to cross, without stopping. Given our optimistic nature and zeal for the task at hand it didn't seem too unrealistic. But our engine had other plans for us. For the second time now it choked up on water and ceased. It happened around 2 a.m. on Brittany's watch while we were motor sailing through some unfavorable winds. The night was already dreadful and had dulled our spirits long before the engine failed. The confused seas pressed against Rodeo from all directions, shifting everything on board this way then that way. Sounds of strained rigging and sliding contents send reverberating noise throughout the cabin. Rodeo was like a drum and the sounds were unbearable. We were taking 1 hr watch shifts at night and trying very hard to sleep in between them. It was a strenuous and trying night both physically and mentally. I felt trapped. Trapped at sea, trapped on a cold, damp boat and trapped in my own head. My brain and my insides felt like they were in a blender. Nothing could sooth the discomfort except for sleep, which only came briefly and infrequently, violently interrupted by one wave after another. I wanted to die. No, I wanted to go home. I began to wonder why I agreed to partake in this insanity. I also wondered what the appeal of sailing might be, considering the discomforts and dangers. What's so glorious about putting yourself through such an ordeal? I really couldn't figure it out. Though I tried. I reasoned with myself, tortured myself really with reservations and doubts, until sleep finally relieved the trepidation. I'm not sure how the rest of the crew felt. We all suffered in silence, accepting the hardship for what it was, part of the experience.
The light of day came as a relief, though the seas were still rough and my body tormented. The sun hung bright in the sky and it felt good to be outside. While I slept Gabriel and Randy made plans to stop in St. Anne de Mont to take a good look at the motor. Thus we attempted another docking without an engine, and perhaps, due to our extensive experience in the field, this time we eased into our mooring without unnecessary antics. The harbour master in St. Anne de Mont was extremely courteous and helpful, as were other marina residents who helped us with our engine repairs and gave us a ride to a gas station (thanks Vergine) so we could replenish the water-tainted diesel Gabriel drained out of the motor. Once we finished up, cleaned the boat and organized her shambled contents, we treated ourselves to a mound of magnificent roadside poutine and a nap. By 5 p.m. it was time to hit the seas again.

Out of the Blue

It has been a different trip altogether since we said goodbye to Renato (Papa) and Fernando and welcomed Randy and Brittany on board. Upon leaving Quebec city we began to vacate the narrow confines of scenic St. Lawrence and advanced towards more open waters at the river mouth, nearing the ocean. With every nautical mile convenient marinas and anchorages became more scarce and we embraced the idea of moving ahead without stopping overnight. Oh, and did I mention it was getting colder by the minute? 
Gaining ground was still dictated by the tides, which we played to and made the most of the currents that carried us. Some 8 hours outside of Quebec we decided to anchor for a while to wait out the rising tide, which was inhibiting our progress forward. Just as we cozied into a quiet bay, and reveled in the serenity of our surroundings, unassuming and graceful beluga whales began to break the surface of the water, some 100m away from the boat. We freaked, quietly of course. Springing up and out of the water, their snow white backs and fins gleaming in the setting sun granted us with a stunning spectacle. A helpful young man that worked a marine shop in Quebec told us that if we tap on the boat we could entice them to come closer. Beluga whales apparently are curious creatures and would pop out near the boat to check out what was going on. He also told us we're likely to see Humpback whales come up to feed in the rip tides and shallow waters. He demonstrated this by spreading his arms, opening his mouth and with a dull yowl he swept his head right to left, imitating a surfacing whale. Being of a larger stature, the plump man did the sea creatures justice. Or at least we imagined it might look something like that. We remembered the advice and laughing at the precision with which he mocked the whales we tried getting their attention, but to no avail. 
Bobbing gently on the waves in that cove, surrounded by the trappings of a world so distant to us just a few weeks ago, we celebrated embarking on this leg of the journey together. The change of scenery contributed greatly to how we experienced the next leg of the trip. But even more so it was the change of crew that was paramount to our success during our first atlantic passage. With a more focused company we were able to fall into a stoic existence aboard Rodeo, allowing the boat to carry us on, through hell and high water. And boy did we got a taste of both.

la belle vie

Following a night at anchor in Batiscan, we closed in on Quebec by early afternoon on Sunday, June 4. Long before the city came in site the steep shore lines became peppered with arresting cottages, churches and waterfront resorts. Then the approach to Port de Quebec granted us spectacular views of the Citadel and Chateau Frontenac. We were enchanted. Rodeo had a spot waiting in the well sheltered Marina Port de Quebec and we eased into it in awe of our surroundings. 
The old Quebec lay at our feet and we wasted no time getting on land. We strolled through the narrow, cobble stone streets for a while, peering into windows of shops and galleries, now closed for the night. Then for a pit stop, Chateau Frontenac. Spending a little time taking in the intricate decor of the hotel interior, we made our way through the lobby and into the lounge, where Fernando treated us to a bottle of Champagne. How awfully civilized. We sipped on the bubbly and glanced out the full height windows overlooking the river. And though this gesture was in stark contrast to our simple boat life, the moment was something to be savoured and we toasted it. We were proud of ourselves and applauded each other for good work and great team effort. The celebration was bitter sweet, as our time with the transient crew members Renato (aka Papa) and Fernando was drawing near. But what a time it has been. These two colourful characters had brought heaps of energy and laughs into our daily lives. The week and a half we spent together seems more like months, we've grown together so much. We will miss having them around. 
To give us a hand in absence of the old crew, our friends Randy and Michelle offered to fly down to complete the open ocean part of our journey. Michelle was unfortunately unable to make it, but we were lucky enough to get our friend Brittany on board. She and Randy flew in on Monday and after spending the day picking up supplies and provisioning we prepared to part ways with Gabriel's dad and Fernando. They were set to leave on Tuesday, June 6 to go back to Brazil, but they wouldn't go quietly. As a final gesture of their inexhaustible generosity and appetite, the boys threw a BBQ of Brazilian proportions. There were racks of ribs, sausages, steak and wine, lots and lots of wine. We had so much food the neighbouring party of boaters got in on the feast. 
The festivities continued aboard Rodeo as we slowly settled in for the night. We had 6 crew for the night and only 5 bunks, which meant someone had to sleep outside. That arguable pleasure was all Randy's, who nearly froze to death in the cockpit. Poor guy. I did offer him a heater, but he decided to tough it out, at least until early morning, when Papa and Fernando bid us farewell. The rest of us were ready to depart Quebec shortly after as well, and so back with the river we rolled. 

Kicking Around

We never made it to Montreal. We docked at a yacht club across the river, in a small town called Longueuil. It was late when we came in, there was nothing to do but rest and wait to see if the weather improved in the morning. It didn't, so we left the boat for the day and ventured into Old Montreal via metro. Towards the end of the day we killed some time at the Casino, though neither Gabe, his dad, nor I are very enthusiastic gamblers. But it was something Fernando was looking forward to, so we indulged him and mulled about between slot machines while he tried his luck at Roulette and Black Jack. Big spender had some wins then suffered a few unlucky hands, reluctantly cut his losses and we made our way back to the boat. We planned to set across to the other side in the morning. Once again, easier said than done. Even though the winds had died down and we only had the river currents to contend with, those proved to be too strong for our Rodeo. We couldn't get her moving against them so we turned back towards the east shore and stayed in Longueuil for another day. The little town turned out to have big character, and we enjoyed a perfectly sunny day exploring it. Gabe and I grabbed lunch at Chez Parra, a french bistro with impeccable service and a mouthwatering menu. A liter of Sangria later we were ready to go provision shopping for the next leg of the trip: port of call Quebec. 

Locked and Loaded

Next stop Montreal. Or is it? Despite our best efforts to keep the events of our sailing day to day on the down low, steering clear of sticky situations continues to be an uphill battle. Perhaps that's a perpetual state of existence for a crew. Weather conditions, as well as moods can change abruptly, and these shifts can sometimes catch us off guard. Getting used to changing weather conditions as well as each other took some time, but now, in the wake of our last stretch before Montreal, we feel like we have become a part of a well oiled machine. 
After spending a quiet night in Saleberry de Valleyfield, a quaint little waterfront community, we set out for the second set of locks on Wednesday June 1. There were warnings of gale winds for that day, which got pushed back to the evening, so we decided to set out early and make our way down the river to get through the locks as quickly as possible. We should know better by know than to count on things to go smoothly. We had to wait nearly 3 hours at Beauharnois Locks to allow a slew of commercial carriers to pass through before us. These guys pay big bucks to move back and forth across the locks, therefore get the right of way. So we waited. Once on the other side we were on Lake St.Louis. We got lots of open water and increasing winds to play with so we let out the small genoa and sailed. It was great. The wind came from behind and despite choppy waters we enjoyed a smooth ride. Gabriel was teaching me that because of the wind coming from astern, we got what's called "following seas". The waves came running after the boat pushing the stern of the boat to the side. This made the bow swing in the opposite direction, so whoever was steering the boat had to compensate for the movement. This is hard to do, because you have to make sure that the boat doesn't tack from side to side as you're fighting the waves. But that's exactly what happened to me. The wind gusted, filled the sail, and before I knew it the boat went with it. It turned fast and hard, heeling right over and made a 360 turn around, nearly dunking poor Gabriel in the water. The boys hassled to roll the sail in before I could wreak any more havoc and we continued on our way, motoring through the rest of the lake. 
We had one more lock to go through and the winds kept picking up. So much so that when we got to the waiting dock of the next lock, we could hardly tie off Rodeo. The gales have come untimely and unwelcome. On top of that we were set back hours waiting at this and the following lock, as they resolved technical problems. Night had fallen, and though we were just across the river from Old Montreal, St.Helen's Island stood in our way. In order to get to Montreal Marina we would have to round the island and approach the city against the river current and against the gusty wind. We had no chance of making it over there under such conditions...