“Never let your toast go naked,
Or your bread go bare.
Open up this jar of Marmite.
And spread it everywhere……”

Sad as it may seem the jar of Marmite was empty and we couldn’t spread it anywhere. What was spread in its place, as seems usual for Nova Scotia, was a thick covering of fog. The all encompassing fog obscures everything and gives us the same view no matter which direction we look and no matter which port we end up in.

Iain was heartbroken to run out of Marmite as we sailed from the Bahamas of Nova Scotia, Carters Beach, to the islands off the La Harve river. Only one thing could lift his spirits and that would be a view, any view in fact; this was sadly lacking and replaced with that of the inside of a cloud. Thankfully as we neared the islands surrounded by rocks the fog lifted and we were greeted with a view of a sailor’s paradise. Picturesque islands were everywhere, giving shelter from every direction and endless exploring possibilities.

We anchored just off Mosher Island and were all alone. Views went on forever and were either framed by tree’s, bordered by farmhouses or enhanced by bridges. Pretty hardly goes anywhere to describe how heart stoppingly beautiful our spot was.

As we ventured ashore we sought permission to use a private dock and within minutes, instead of feeling like interlopers we felt like part of the family. The family dog welcomed us and we were given free rein to wander where we liked and so into the forest we ventured. The ground was so soft it was like walking on a big sponge and the greens so green the big green giant wouldn’t have needed any camouflage.

Around the island we romped and the further we went the bigger the mozzies became. These mozzies were joined by their special friends, not just horse flies, but evil green-eyed horse flies. When we left the island we left a big part of ourselves in the bellies and jaws of these critters. Mosher in local Nova Scotain, in our minds, must mean Mozzie.

Next on the list of locations to ‘tick off’ was Lunenburg. Lunenburg is a world heritage town and after braving yet more fog and having the faff tastic time setting 2 anchors we wondered how a whole town could be a heritage site.

It turned out that Lunenburg is the best surviving example of a true British colonial town. In days gone by locals couldn’t select from a set menu for their Chinese take out, instead they could select from a menu of set towns. With the town plan selected the streets were laid out with no consideration of the lay of the land and in Lunenburg the roads seem to go up impossibly steep hills and then down the other side. We loved it and it was British planning at its best.

At the top of the town was the very very scary looking elementary school. For centuries the domineering windows and high towers must have scared the small children to bits and just to ram the message home that this was a scary scary place they set the school right next to an ancient graveyard and we all know that in the minds of small children, graveyards are full of ghosts. We loved it and it was British planning at its best.

With our planning on the Marmite stakes leaving a lot to be desired and taking inspiration from our predecessors in the great job they did in Lunenburg the plan, as usual, will be to push further east and discover more delights in the fog bound islands of Nova Scotia. Fingers crossed we’ll be more successful on both fronts.

If there’s Marmite in there Ian will find it.


The sky is on fire in the La Harve Islands.


And the water is ironed flat.


Beaches, beaches everywhere, but not a bit of swimming.


Colours are so vivid we could be in Scotland.


The path is around here somewhere.


Now this is somewhere we could live (when we can see it).


Ruffian, again, all alone.


Looking forward.


Perfect foraging location for clams, razor shells and anything else seafoodish.


But we can’t eat this little critter.


Just like Arisaig with Ruffian amongst the rocks.


The biggest moon of the year.


Flat flat falt water. Perfect.


Here’s looking at you kid.


Lunenburg, Where primary colours are obligatory.


As are wedding cake churches.


The seas are a dangerous place and fishing the most dangerous of professions.