After Newfoundland Kiwi Roa’s next destination was to be Greenland, up north-northeast where the ice came from. Heading in that direction, we left St John’s and made a 250 mile coastal passage around to the north of the island, where a small town, Lewisporte, is found. We passed coastal villages, small craft out fishing beyond breakwater harbours. Orcas surfaced beneath roaming seabirds, and exotic forms in ice sailed past southward. Two overnight anchorages surrounded by spruce and pine delivered us to the approach to the town, a maze of grounded bergs, brash and pack ice, islands, rocks, and passes to be navigated.
The Coast and Lewisporte
Out to sea, orcas broke the surface next to the boat.
Visitors from the Arctic, ghost ships of ice, passed by silently.
Signs of civilization do not disappear. In the bays are usually small villages or hamlets, on the headlands often a lighthouse and its colony.
The escapees from the Artic ice decorate the horizon to the north, islands in motion through which a safe course must be navigated.
As at St John’s, they ground at the coast and the entrances to harbours.
We stayed berthed on a pier in Lewisporte, where there is a small and completely protected marina, for a week with a number of other cruising boats. An Irish yacht caught Peter’s attention with a brand new Rocna anchor on the bow.
And friends Les and Ali Parsons on Arctic Tern recuperating after an aborted attempt at the Northwest Passage, with a prototype of Peter’s newly developed Vulcan anchor on theirs. Undeterred by the puzzle of ice to the far north, Arctic Tern would go for a second attempt at the Passage, this time successfully.
We found a final overnight anchorage in a makeshift harbour between low-lying rocks and a gravel beach, in front of a small hamlet of houses where the locals fished for capelin, with hand nets and buckets.
As we left the next morning it was flat calm, and another orca surfaced to escort us away from the coast.
The mainland cliffs and pine ridges receded to the horizon and soon we were left amongst a ring of distant peaks, scattered brash, and the advancing armada of icebergs in front.
The next day, well to sea, we had one final goodbye from Canada, as a Fisheries twin-prop aircraft made a low pass-by, banking overhead. The FISHPATS crew checked in with us via VHF with typical Canadian politeness and then they too were gone.
Toward the far north, Greenland, the midnight sun, and the real ice crept closer.