On the battlefield if all is not going well the drums are summoned and they sound the retreat. Often these retreats are the best tactical moves, but only hindsight will tell. As we turned tail at Halifax and retreated away from our potential Atlantic crossing there were no drums drumming and no fanfare, but as the forecast has developed and although the ice has receded, we think the tactical decision of not crossing was the right one.

Turning tail from Halifax we were rewarded with our first sail in Nova Scotia where we didn’t have to punch our way through thick fog. As a huge change to the norm we could see the horizon, see the coastline, see the weather and see whales. Suddenly, with the sight of whales, sailing in fog didn’t seem quite so stressful.

Coming straight towards us as full pelt was the rarest of these animals of the deep. With its lack of fin, its huge ‘fishy breath’ v shaped blow and covered in knarly boat scratching calluses we knew we’d sighted the Northern Right Whale. As he got closer we deployed our usual whale scaring strategy, singing at full volume, and as you’d expect for the Ruffians, totally out of tune. Our singing strategy clearly worked as within yards of us he dived down never to be seen again.

In the La Harve river we sought shelter from fog so thick you could lean on it and rain so heavy poor Thug turned into an underutilised swimming pool. You could tell that things were cold and wet as, for the first time since Scotland the magic Eberspacher switch was pulled. Unlike the Scotland experience it fired into life and the rain and fog made the perfect combination to turn Ruffian into a waterbased portable sauna, complete with the therapeutic aroma of smelly Ruffian socks.

Further up the river at Bridgewater we found what all cruisers delight in, free stuff. As we tied up to a free town dock the local marina ‘invited’ us to use their free showers and free laundry. We love free stuff but the use of these free things was above and beyond, and so in celebration, with the sun shining and Larry leading us astray we succumbed to his need of lunchtime beer, which we hoped beyond hope would also be free.

After racing at the local sailing club where Iain managed a complete race without breaking anything Ruffian continued her push west. A horrible sea state with no wind greeted us and quick as you can say ‘This is sick inducing motoring.’ our main Halyard magically got itself wrapped around our radar reflector and Iain resigned himself to going aloft to sort it out.

The sick inducing properties of being on deck were nothing compared to those that Iain experienced half way up the mast. With no horizon to focus on, no clouds to see and Ruffian barely distinguishable below him, the bile was quickly rising. Having the all new amusing experience of projectile vomiting 30ft above the deck quickly passed through his mind, but he then realised that covering Fiona with sick while she was in control of his destiny up the mast was not an altogether smart idea.

The painful miles to McNutts island ticked by and both tide and wind were playing ball for an early start the following morning letting us get around the shipwreck strewn western tip of Nova Scotia. We’d been ‘stuck’ on board for what felt like days and so we needed to make sure our legs still worked, McNutts was calling. Always liking stretch goals and with only 2 hours to sunset we started a walk that the guidebook described as a ‘2 hour one way hike’. Hike was a bit of a misnomer and the word ‘route march’ would have seemed more appropriate if we were ever to get back before dark. To keep us amused on the march a local fisherman who must have moonlighted as a comedian had nailed signs to trees warning about ‘Armed sheep’, ‘Mc(Nutts)Donalds in 2 miles.’ and ‘Beware Panda Crossing’ amongst others.

At the headland and rapidly running out of daylight there was a horror show feeling to the abandoned buildings and decaying lighthouse that keep mariners off this treacherous coastline. Every time we popped our heads inside one of the buildings we expected to see the ghost of a long forgotten lighthouse keeper looking to avenge his passing and looking to sacrifice one last sailor on the shoreline.

With no wind anywhere around Nova Scotia or for 100’s of miles offshore now we’re pleased to find ourselves about to turn the corner towards Maine and not bobbing about the north Atlantic with 1000’s of miles of difficult sailing in front of us. Retreating has been hard and we still hope we’ve made the right decision.

Finally a nice day of sailing.


And Iain is a super happy chappy.


But like all good things it’s got to come to an end.


In Canada, when it rains it pours.


Thug makes waves going up the La Harve river.


Pull on, push off. We’ve pulled on! The first time in 18000 miles.


Ruffian on a dock. Its got to be free.


Larry leads us astray again.


Another club, another boat, another race.


This is why we come to the cold north.


Iain pretends it’s all warm and sunny. Within minutes he’ll be into full winter wear.


Oh the joy and stress and sickness of fog.


If Iain didn’t think he was wet enough after all that rain.


Hopefully the word about armed sheep will not reach Wales.


I squish your lighthouse.


Wow. There is actually a coastline in Nova Scotia.


The ‘maintained’ lighthouse and its less ‘maintained’ outhouses.


Sensational.