It started with a daydream: take my boat, SeaHag, a 1996 Rosborough RF246 LSV, to the southern shore of Newfoundland.

I was only three years into boating, and my experience was limited to the region around my home port of Cape Vincent, New York, where Lake Ontario spills into the St. Lawrence River. The southern shore of Newfoundland is much different. It’s wild and remote. The region is dotted with tiny fishing outports, many of them abandoned since the cod fisheries have died. Better to visit them now, while they are still there. I also wanted to explore the many fjords that abound along this craggy shoreline. There would be no services, so cruising there would have to be a completely self-sufficient adventure.

An opportunity came when my Rosborough Association friend, Bill, decided to complete his Down East loop with his friend, Dick. They were planning a side trip to Newfoundland in their Rosborough RF246 HSV, Salty Paws. Another association member, Otto, was interested in coming along in Vega, his 22-foot Rosborough Sea Skiff.

My three companions are all experienced boaters, and it was hard to ignore the nostalgia with this cruise. Rosborough Boats were built for many years in Nova Scotia (Eastern Boat Works of New Hampshire now builds them), and the Canadian government used them as workboats throughout the Maritime Provinces. Rosboroughs have always been built for the harsh conditions along these coastal waters, and our three examples were going to return to their home waters.

In early August, Otto trailered Vega from Rochester, New York, to Cape Vincent, and we departed with our two boats on a three-day, 1,000-mile drive to St. Peter’s, Nova Scotia. There, we met up with Bill and Dick, and headed out on the Bras d’Or Lake to Baddeck, most notable for being the home of Alexander Graham Bell.

One could spend a month exploring the Bras d’Or Lake area of Cape Breton. This saltwater body is a vast, beautiful tidal estuary. My excitement grew as we cruised out toward the Atlantic Ocean and proceeded north along the highlands to Ingonish Bay. There, we anchored, refueled with jerry cans and waited for our weather window to cross the Cabot Strait.

Fortunately, we didn’t have to wait long, and we enjoyed calm seas for our 96-nautical-mile passage from Ingonish to Harbour Le Cou, Newfoundland. Our next fuel stop would be the Ramea Islands, another 44 nm along the coast. To conserve fuel, I operated on one of my two 90-hp engines, and we all slowed to a miserly 8.6 knots for a 12-hour passage. The calm seas let us view porpoises and countless pilot whales. While idle, I was thrilled when a huge, curious finback whale emerged alongside my gunwale.

At Harbour Le Cou, we anchored in the north basin beyond the shallows. A waterfall roared beside us (they are everywhere) as we held over because of stormy weather. We then made our way to the abandoned outport of Grand Bruit. It was eerie walking along the sidewalks, imagining how life would have been when it was a busy fishing village.

Our next visit to land was at Ramea, a warm and welcoming community. It was here that we first heard about Hurricane Franklin making its way northward. Some residents were anxious about comparisons to Hurricane Fiona, which had caused much destruction the year before. Franklin was due to arrive in less than a week. The Cabot Strait would become impassable for small craft like ours long before its arrival.

So, we hurried eastward, visiting fjords as a highlight of the voyage. Mammoth rock walls rising over 1,000 feet on either side were filled with cascading waterfalls and majestic views. We could have stayed forever. But by the time we arrived in Francois, a still-occupied village nestled at the end of a craggy fjord, and checked the forecast, we realized our last chance at good weather to cross the Cabot Strait would be the following day. After that, it would only get worse.

Early the next morning, we cruised back to the Ramea Islands, 30 nm westward, to refuel with jerry cans. We obtained three separate weather forecasts for the passage, the best of which was at the edge of my personal safety limits. The worst of the weather would be in the dark of night, and I’d spent only three hours night-boating in calm waters on the St. Lawrence.

Other expectations about carrying on also gave me pause. It would be late at night when we arrived in the little port of Alder Harbor, 144 nm to the west. In total, it would be more than 170 nm until we could obtain more fuel in Baddeck. I would need to use both engines for greater control in those rough seas, so fuel economy would be beyond my personal reserve limits. In addition, each boat would have to refuel in the open ocean using our jerry cans, something I’d have to do alone in a tossing, open cockpit.

I remembered what my wife had said before I set off: “Be safe and come home to me.” No matter how much I wanted to stay with my friends and face a new challenge, the choice was obvious.

It was an emotional farewell watching my friends depart Ramea that morning to cross the Cabot Strait. I was in no hurry to get home, but I would need a strategy to protect my boat from the hurricane. Suitable dock space in Ramea was scarce, so I considered chaining SeaHag to a mooring buoy in a nearby fjord. A local captain strongly advised against that. He pointed out that in a strong gale, these fjords create their own “miniature tornadoes.”

There was a solution: Head west another 72 nm to Channel-Port aux Basques, where a ferry departs for Nova Scotia. It would be a long day, more than 11 hours and 100 nm of banging and smashing. Alone, miles from shore, I was startled when a porpoise leapt out of the water within arm’s reach of my open pilot door, looked me in the eye and dove back into the water.

I was weary but safe as I entered Channel-Port aux Basques in the evening hours. The next morning, I hopped the ferry to Sydney to retrieve my truck and trailer, and I returned the following day to prep SeaHag for the journey home. I had one more trip by ferry the next morning back to Sydney with my boat in tow. From there, I made the three-day drive to New York, safe from Hurricane Franklin.

My friends made it across the Cabot Strait and then onto Baddeck and St. Peter’s, but from their description of the voyage, I was thankful I hadn’t joined them. And, although I missed completing my loop back to St. Peter’s, I did make 400 nm on this trip and learned a lot along the way. Growing in self-confidence included making my no-go decision based on the capability of my boat and my abilities as a skipper. Having established my boating limits in advance, including wind, wave conditions and fuel reserves, helped to make that difficult decision easier.

But my choice to attempt the trip in the first place? Also a great one, for sure. 

This article was originally published in the March 2024 issue.