If I recall right, my latest post was from the outport of McCallum, a wonderful place to visit. I chose to take the rock strewn shortcut out of McCallum. We had seen it at low tide from the hill top while gathering wild blueberries and the rocks all looked to be where the chart had them. And so they were. We were back out and headed west, carrying with us some of Marion’s cinnamon rolls, nut cakes and rye bread. (Rye bread does not exist in elsewhere in Newfoundland.)

We turned back into Hare Bay in our conscientious effort to be thorough judges of the Newfoundland Waterfall Beauty Competition. We did see some nice ones along the way but never made it to the head where the best are reputed to be. The further inland we got, the blacker the sky and more frequent the lightning. I thought it prudent to park ourselves in a lower cove and wait there for a change. Mare Cove has a lovely, broad waterfall but is more than 300 feet deep right up to the shore. Bob Luck Cove looked more promising but had no less than 60 foot depths which are a bit much for my taste. We decided to give up and head for Francois.

When we arrived in Francois Harbour, all the dock space was taken up by fishing boats and one sailboat from Maryland. We rafted up to a fishing boat from St. Johns which was “broke and goin nowhere” for the night.

In the morning we went back up Aviron Bay where we knew there was a very appealing waterfall at the head. Sally took a bath in the one of the shallow pools near the bottom and found it surprisingly warm.

With more thunderstorms in the forecast, we returned to the excellent anchorage in the Northwest Arm of Grey River and anchored just before the driving rain hit us. This is quite possibly the best anchorage in all of Newfoundland, When the rains finally ended we were serenaded by all the new born waterfalls bounding down the rock cliffs.

In the morning our freshly washed decks sailed back down the fjord ahead of a brisk following wind under mostly blue skies. We had planned to stop at Ramea and/or Burgeo but when back out to sea found ourselves making 8 knots over flat water. That’s not the time to think about stopping anywhere.

We made a fast 50 mile run to Grand Bruit and called it a day as the wind died down. We found a number of old timers there, folks who had once called it home but had been resettled out. They come back every summer to pay their respects to the old place they loved and to recall all the good times there. It was great to see old Joe again. He always hosted the post-dinner town get togethers at his fishing shed renamed the Cramalot Inn. Those were memorable evenings. What a shame it is that this delightful village wasn’t allowed to survive.

The talk the evening was that the outpost of La Poile, Grey River, McCallum and Francois are next up for the chopping block. That’s understandable for La Poile and Grey River which have been in decline for years. McCallum and Francois seem much too vibrant and active for a death sentence. But then I would have said the same about GrandBruit a few years ago. As Joe said “When the ferry makes its last run, everybody goes.”

We continued west the next day to Isle aux Morts (Eye La Mort locally) and tied up to the town dock. The town is on the short road to Port aux Basques so is not technically an outport. All the cars buzzing around town told the difference.

From there it's longer than a day sail back to Cape Breton. I got up at 2 am, untied us while Sally slept, and headed out. We were favored by a rare east wind and could sail across the Cabot Strait to Ingonish, an 81 mile passage, arriving before 5 pm. There’s an extremely narrow entrance into Ingonish Harbour, wide enough for only one boat at a time. The opening, and accompanying buoys, keeps moving so I wouldn't want to be doing it at night. Once inside it’s perfectly protected anchorage with excellent holding.

The next morning we faced a southeast wind blowing 20-25, gusting to 30. I wanted to get through the Great Bras d’Or opening before its racing current turned against us so we motor sailed south over very lumpy water to the Bird Islands then caught the last of the flood into the peaceful arm. By 3:00 we were back in Baddeck, home of the extraordinarily sinful rhubarb streusels at the Highwheeler Cafe. It’s a very good thing that I don’t live here but it's a great place to spend four days a year.