Route Map   Weather Map   Daily Journal         Q & A   Special Reports   Education Section           The Game Click here to send the Viking adventurers your questions Greenland Tourism's Project Leif 2000		Author: Doug Cabot Location: Emily Harbor Weather: Nice Doug's spirit and sonnet were at his brother's wedding Saturday Log Date: September 12, 1998 Coastline as we sailed on Friday, just north of Hamilton Inlet. Two nights and a day. On Thursday night the wind and the damp grew into a nuisance, as wind-blown rain spattered the forward sleepers all night. Ocean swells wrapped into our cove, too, and with all the pitching and the wet, sleep didn't come to me until after 4 AM. We rose at 6:15. Rob and I made a quick muesli breakfast. There was an unusual and welcome moment of pause, after we'd put the dishes away. Most of us had put Mustang suits on, the tarp was still up, and I was sipping cocoa. We contemplated the day ahead, or the night and day before. Rain had tapered to mist, which soon stopped altogether. Then Terry spoke: We would haul - first one anchor, then set the yard across the beam and ship six oars. We had space to fall off to port, but if the wind pulled the bow off to starboard when the second anchor came off the bottom, we'd have to drop it again to avoid the rocks hard by. Both anchor rodes were played all the way out, so I was soon sweating inside my Mustang suit. The second anchor we pulled in over the starboard bow, which swung the boat to port a little, and that proved to be enough. Set the sail quickly, rounded a rock and set off on a beam reach between Dunn and Strawberry Islands. One of our best day sails yet. The swell grew and we crashed around a lot. We took one wave over the bow and one over the port rail while I was making soup - which ended that project. I wasn't feeling so hot at that point anyway, and as I cleaned up I moved very slowly, deliberately, timing every step to the swell and stopping often to look at the horizon and draw a deep breath. Gradually we were able to fall off the wind, and the sailing became positively smooth. We sighted and then overtook another sailboat, "Joshua," made radio contact (sailmakers on a similar route to ours, though headed as far south as the Chesapeake). I undertook dinner, with the very capable assistance of Homer, who stood in for a queasy Rob. Made a very yellow dinner: chicken in a curry sauce (jar and a half of koorma mild, a quart of cream, real onion and garlic), fortified with canned corn and mushrooms, spiced with cayenne pepper and chili paste. All served over giant plates of spaghetti. A hit! - which more than made up for lunch. Darkness fell as Homer and I finished the dishes. I was on bow watch when, a couple of hours later, we approached Brig Harbour Island. Actually, about four of us were clustered at the bow, searching, straining to pick out rocks, shoals, or ice before they might sneak up out of the black water. The idea of running into something was a dismal and frightening one. All the hazards were charted and Terry was looking for them too, so the risk was minimal. But when I saw something white, called out "Ice dead ahead!" and then amended that to "Shoals! Go left!," our margin for evasive action seemed no more than just enough. Soon enough though, the sail came down and we rowed the last couple of hundred yards into our anchorage. Set up the tarp, broke out some Hob Nobs, and Johnnie G. passed around sips of scotch, a nice surprise. I made up quiz questions for the extra cookies (cook's prerogative) and focused them all on the wedding, and names of my brothers, etc. Rob toasted me for being on board even while missing something so important, and I dealt him a big hug. Tonight, Saturday, even as I write, my brother's wedding feast is underway. I wrote a sonnet - my second in two years! - which I emailed to our friend and erstwhile crewmate, Andy Marshall, to read aloud there. It goes like this: Ned and Karen, Karen and Ned, this day Is yours for the keeping, while somewhere colder tonight His dear ship and crew add up to a miserable sight To one who longs to be there too much to say Here on that boat which southward refuses to steer I open my arms to you both all the same, and sigh Wipe the salty wash from under an eye Envy your life in love; that and your beer These separate shows must go on, and separate be But think of each other, imagine, and both of our parts Echo - act, scene, and line - to far away hearts Playing now twice, here and there, and look! -now I see Glimmers of nuptial joy in a sea dark as wine While you might see me as a turkey soaking in brine (In truth, this boat has shown a reassuring tendency to head south of late, and it still feels like a very good place to be.) Top of page