Last night, the eye of Hurricane Larry passed by, as it transitioned to a Post Tropical Cyclone. I was docked in Little Bay, Marystown, and it was interesting.

In the forecast picture, I'm just a little up and to the right of the blue eye (the colors indicate wind speed, as do the arrows).

There was good protection from all directions except north, where there was a couple of miles of fetch. It didn't seem like we would get any north, based on the forecast track, and we didn't.

I had several dock lines tying me to the stout wooden wharf. My boat was tied facing north. The expected winds were East, then West--side winds. East winds pushed the boat away from the dock, and were not a concern.

West winds pushed the boat onto the dock, and were forecast to start shortly after high tide. I was quite concerned about the possibility of being blown on top of the wharf, if there was enough flooding to allow the boat to float on top of the wharf. With some help, I ran a line about 200m across the bay to a rock to help hold the boat away from the dock.

Around midnight, the water level kept rising and went over the wharf, and flooded the road ashore (which was closed). A smaller boat did get pushed onto the wharf, but two people were able to push it off. Fortunately, the line across the bay pulled my boat enough that it couldn't get onto the wharf, and then the water level began falling rapidly, which was a relief to see. At that point, there was just a strong wind pushing me against the wharf, which was handled well by the (many) fenders.

So all was well at the dock, and no boats had any damage. And since the excitement was all around midnight, it was too dark to take pictures :)

Laundry isn't high up there on people's dreams of voyaging. But it has to get done.

This is one way of doing laundry in the wilderness.

This is Grand Bruit, pronounced "grand brit", but from the French phrase for much noise.

The waterfall is right in the middle of the town, and while it isn't super loud, you can definitely hear it all the time.

Grand Bruit is, sadly, now an abandoned community on the south coast of Newfoundland. It was resettled in 2010, so most of the buildings are still in fairly good shape, though the church steeple (the church is on the hill, to the right of the waterfall) has collapsed, with the bell inside.

There are no roads, only footpaths. The ferry no longer stops here, and one can dock at the old ferry dock, which is still in good condition. At that ferry dock is a big sign celebrating the former community's winning of a Tidy Towns award.

Painted on the rocks of the waterfall, in big letters, it proudly says:
Welcome to Grand Bruit

Isle Valen (or Isle Au Valen) is a beautiful, remote island in Placentia Bay, Newfoundland.

This video is the story of sailing to Isle Valen from another island.

I waited for a wind shift to leave on, and that shift came very late in the afternoon. I rowed back, got the dinghy aboard, raised anchor and got underway.

I only had 27 miles to go, there was a tight entrance to pass thru, and no way to make it before dark. The remnants of a hurricane were coming, and if I waited until the next morning to leave, the winds would be less favorable, so I chose to leave in the evening and make an overnight sail.

Newfoundland, and especially Placentia Bay, has many abandoned settlements. Most were abandoned in the 1960s and later, as part of a controversial government resettlement plan.

Oderin, the subject of some of my recent videos, is one of those abandoned communities.

Isle Valen is another once-thriving community in Placentia Bay. Only accessible by boat, there are several rocks and little islands leading to the narrow, steep-sided channel into the totally protected harbor.

This is a scene from Isle Valen. The abandoned house is still standing, but one winter a storm will come and blow it down. The rowing boat in the foreground has mostly rotted away, though the bow and midships sections are still there. Trees have started growing in the field that was once cleared and farmed.

Part 3 of A Sail to Oderin is about the deserted island of Oderin and its once-thriving, now abandoned community.

This video is about how long stuff lasts on a voyaging sailboat.

Part Two of A Sail to Oderin is now online.
Part One was about the sail to Oderin.
Part Two is all about the abandoned community of Oderin.

It's a longer video (19 minutes) than I usually make, and the combination of the length and being in 4k forced me to cut it, so there will be a Part Three coming later.

The story of a spring sail to an abandoned community on the deserted island of Oderin, on the rugged south coast of Newfoundland.

It was my first time entering the snug inner harbor on the deserted island with the abandoned community of Oderin.

It was low tide. We were approaching the harbor entrance slowly, at less than one knot, with the centerboard down (10.5' draft), but unlocked.

We had passed the last of three buoys marking shoals and rocks in the entrance.


I had drawn my route (blue line) on the chart using the most detailed chart that I had. It wasn't a large-scale harbor chart, and I had OverZoomed in to draw the route.

As we approached, I could see that the plot was off, and I needed to keep somewhat farther south (to starboard) as we rounded the rock. But I had more faith in the accuracy of the chart than was justified, and the centerboard grounded on a tongue extending from the rock in the picture.

A low speed grounding in good weather with the centerboard unlocked is not a problem in Issuma, we merely needed to raise the centerboard, reverse away, and then alter course to continue.


I made a satellite image chart (using the OpenCPN VFkaps plugin, https://www.venturefarther.com ) of the entrance to the harbor, which was a larger scale, and more accurate. It showed it was shallow where we grounded, but it wasn't the chart I was using at the time.

If I didn't have a chartplotter, I would have steered farther away from the rock (in the picture) on the inside of the bend, because the water is almost always shallower on the inside of a bend than on the outside. But I was overly trusting to a chart that was not a large-enough scale to justify following it.

Anyway, no harm done, just a reminder of why one wants to approach an unfamiliar port slowly.

Grounding on the entrance to an unfamiliar port with the centerboard down wasn't all that unexpected.

The surprise came later, after my second visit.

I spent over a week anchored in the inner harbor, making a video (coming soon).

Rounding that rock in the other direction, as I left the inner harbor and headed back to sea was when I was surprised--

ALL THREE BUOYS WERE MISSING!

The buoys had been taken away for maintenance. I had my chartplotter tracks that I had used before to follow (avoiding the part where I ran agound), so it was no problem to leave without any buoys. It was just amusing.