You should always leave your best till last and always leave on a high. Our last days in Canada, on the island of Grand Manan have been our best and we are pleased leave this country on a high. We seem to have waved goodbye to the cold and fog; our spirit of exploration has been reinvigorated, the inaccessible countryside is suddenly open for discovery and the people have made the place.

Grand Manan is criss-crossed by trails, which make maps of it look like the island has been doodled on by a toddler. We resolved to walk our little legs off and set of with high expectations. Thug however had different ideas and so after stopping for an emergency carburettor rebuild we finally got ashore and started to explore.

Leaving nothing but footprints, but making sure we left lots of them, we romped along the coastline. Surrounded by nothing but nature and guided by countless footsteps the hiking was sensational. Within mere hours we had high level views of fishing weirs, ancient geology, pristine coves, peregrine falcons, beach coming, waterfalls and bizarrely a working piano in the middle of nowhere. Maybe the locals had heard about our excellent musical abilities and felt we should practice out of earshot of any kind of humanity?

With out legs aching and our feet oozing horrible smells our hearts soured after our hiking to an all new high. There in the anchorage, right next to plucky little British Ruffian was the first British boat we’d seen since the Bahamas. With British boats being a rare breed and with us being shy and retiring souls we had to make an introduction. Quick as a flash we were invited onto Peragrinus, a glamorous BVI registered Amel 54, sailed by a crew from El Salvador, with roots in Miami. Our assumption that they were British was only a teeny weeny tiny bit wrong, but we were right that they were friends we hadn’t met yet.

Not only did we have new water based friends we also had new shorebased friends. Barry & Cheryl, who we’d met the day before, offered to show us the island of Grand Manan and ‘their’ charming off lying island of White Head. Barry knew everything and everyone. Everyone seemed to be related to everyone else in some way and the fingers of business tied together everybody’s fates. We got the lowdown on the fishing industry and how life is lived when your loaf of bread and pint of milk is much more than a ferry ride away. We send our heart felt thanks to Barry & Cheryl.

With dawn we once again we set out on foot and followed the toddlers doodled map. The goal was to see the 400ft cliffs that flank the east side of the island. After some startling navigation by Iain that didn’t see us getting lost once we found ourselves walking along the cliffs just inches away from an inadvertent sky dive. We knew we were high as we couldn’t see the bottom but we knew it was there as the sounds of seals echoed between the crashing of waves.

After all the fog and cold weather we suffered while sailing in Canada, where boots, rompa suits and thick socks were order of the day, the change in the USA was marked. We could sail in shorts and t-shirts and our feet were in their natural state (which after all their hard work was a good job as it was a great way to disperse the smell). Fiona pulled down the Maple leaf flag and replaced with our yellow quarantine flag and we were once again back in the US of A.

There are MASSIVE 80ft colouring pencils on Grand Mahan (used in the fishing weirs apparently).


The coastline goes on forever; when you can see it.


An ancient and hugely effective fishing weir.


‘Hole in the wall.’


Iain finds a new playmate.


Flutterbys everywhere.


And the coastline continues.


A classic ‘grapefruit point’.


Shower au natural.


Harvesting seaweed for food. We could be in Japan.


And then it’s shipped off to the factory.


We change our form of waterborne transport.


Sun, flat water and fair tide. We’ll have a bit of that.


Goodbye Canada. Hello America.


Ahh the sweet coast of Maine.


The calm (just) before the thunder.