Three outboard speeders appear litterally out of the blue and veer towards us as they spot our kayaks. The first one joins us to look at the iceberg with us. Icebergs are rare around here, so late in the season. This one had been caught on some rocks for several days, a few miles South of here, and it broke, seeding smaller pieces that we can see drifting closer to shore. Perry McKinnon "knows" us... He had seen us on the beach in St.Augustine. He'd been fishing for cod with two of his friends earlier this morning. Would we like one? "A small one, thanks - there's just the two of us and our frying pan is not big enough." The small cod weighs a good three pounds and is about 2 feet long... Thanks, Perry!

We pry ourselves away and make our way back to shore. The cod is grilled over a wood fire with some wild rice on the side. "Any fresher and it would have swum away" said Marie.

I interrupt the relaxing afternoon that we had promised ourselves with some bad news. Today is Wednesday and the weather report is issuing a heavy winds advisory for tomorrow (30-40 knots from the South West). We still have about 15-18 miles to go to St.Augustine where we are catching the Nordik at 6 am on Saturday. If we stay put and the weather does not improve on Friday, we won't be able to leave for another week. If, on the other hand, we leave now, we will be closer and sheltered enough to meet our schedule.

This logical argument is countered by the comfort and lethargy resulting from the combination of a warm sun, a heavy meal and three hours on the water this morning. Our mood is somber as we tear down the camp and load the kayaks. We are barely speaking. By 3:30, we're on the water again. It's only once we've left and after paddling hard to cross the small bay against the very gusty southwester pouring into Cumberland Haven from the open sea that we stop, smile and exchange a kiss. We'll make the most of this paddle after all. We agree to keep paddling until sunset.

We make slow progress, staying close to shore in the pass behind Portage Haven Island, seeking protection from the wind blowing in our face. As we pass another exposed point, we are stopped by the totally unexpected sight of two very large, white, windowless buildings just across from us, against the deserted backdrop of smooth rock and low brush. A small fishing boat is anchored a hundred feet from the shore. There is no sound of any activity and no indication of what it could be. Much later, we learn from a passing fisherman that this is a fishing plant built to salt and dry cod many years ago. It was forced to cease operations as the cod stocks dwindled and commercial fishing stopped in the late 80's.

At the end of the sheltered pass, we turned along the exposed shores of Bayfield Island. Blinded by the combination of the lower sun in our eyes and the spray kicked up as our bows crash into the cresting waves, we are forced to stop regularly to check chart and compass. It is easy to lose our way among the multitude of small rocks and islands ahead of us. The wind is showing no sign of letting up and we are surrounded by whitecaps. I glance at Marie's kayak, golden yellow against the dark and cold water, raising its prow proudly over each wave under her powerful stroke. The light has a magnificent quality. A couple of strikingly white cabins appear over the smooth grey and brown rocks, standing against the deep blue North sky. A silhouette emerges from one of the cottages and watches us, one hand raised to shield its eyes from the sun. Suddenly we are surrounded by a cloud of birds. Arctic terns drop into the water like white rocks from the sky. They reappear, flying away, shaking the water from their wings in mid flight, with a small silvery smelt wiggling in their beak. Gulls crash in the water with less elegance but deadly efficiency. How can they spot a fish in the waves in this light?  We're mesmerized by this spectacle!

As the sun disappears behind some islands, we carefully make our way between the Bateman Islands, peppered with small cottages, and hidden rocks grabbing our kayaks. We catch an occasional wift of fragrant wood fire smell. Another fisherman stops by to check that we're ok and offers us crabs for supper. We thankfully decline - it's too late to cook a big supper and all we're looking forward to right now is our traditional bag of corn chips, a beer and restful sleep...

It's dark as we follow the North side of Paul Nadeau's Island and find another beautiful site for the night, with good shelter from tomorow's wind. We've been paddling practically non stop for over 4 hours and my legs are so stiff that it takes me a couple of minutes to stretch before I can stand up and find my balance.

Thursday passes by slowly. Instead of falling, the wind grew stronger during the night. We take a long hike to expore the island and scope the remainder of our route. The water between each island is covered with white caps and long streaks of wind blown foam. Waves crash against the rocks and the opposite shores are white. In the distance, geysers of white spray rise in slow motion as waves meet a rocky shore 2 miles away. I add more rocks around the tent to make sure it doesn't fly away. The wind has chased all the flies. There are no fishermen out on the water today but we spot boats scooting from island to island: with no flies and nothing else to do, it's a good day to go for berries. I update my journal and we catch up on our reading. We treat ourselves to double rations : two bags of chips and two beers! After all, we need to lighten the kayaks for the return trip...

Friday morning, we're up with the sun at 4:30 am. The wind has stopped during the night. The weather report calls for a risk of rain and the occasional thunderstorm, with the wind shifting to the North West. The flies are back. Where were they hiding?

We leave before having breakfast and detour South hoping to find a more exposed island where we can stop without the persistent company of our little hungry "friends". We meet a couple of porpoises busy looking for their breakfast. We stop at the North East end of Grande Passe Island for a bite. We try to find a short cut shown on the map and end up having to retrace our route. As the wind picks up, we continue westward, just South of Paul Nadeau Island. The wind has shifted and is blowing from the West at about 20 knots. On top of that there's a current against us even though the tide is up and the water should be still.. It must be a wind current. It takes us one hour to cover a distance of 1 1/2 mile. This is about one third of our normal speed. Good thing we left early...

My biorythm must be in a particularly low phase this morning. I misread my compass, make errors calculating our bearing, lose my way on the charts, can't find channel markers where I think they should be, and I'm in a bad mood... I decide to change tactics and we try a succession of small crossings from island to island rather than the proverbial straight line, looking for the entrance to the pass between Conserverie Island and Grosse Ile. After a brief pit stop, I notice the sky darkening suddenly. Farther North a veil of falling rain stretches under the clouds. Marie wants to go but I hold her back so we can pull on our paddling jackets. Three minutes later, without further warning, we are hit by a squall. The wind tears at our kayaks and the rain falls horizontally. Five minutes later we can get going again under a fine rain. The wind is still strong but has settled from the North West.

The tide is now starting to go down and we are facing a strong current coming from St.Augustine Bay. Once again we skirt the shore, looking for each back eddy. We reach the federal wharf in St.Augustine shortly after one. The Nordik has just arrived for its stop on the downstream leg of its trip. We stay away from the busy wharf and aim for the spot where we had camped a few days earlier. The last stretch is particularly hard, fighting against a 3 knot current. The wind is not helping and I pour on everything I've got to push the kayak into the calmer waters of a small bay and to the shore. Marie fights her battle and joins me a few minutes later. We'll be told tomorrow that passengers on the Nordik were enjoying the show and appreciated our efforts!

After a rest and a little bit to eat while we observe the loading and unloading across the water, waiting for the ship to leave and the activity to subside a bit, we ferry across letting wind and current push us to the wharf. Our landing is a little bit hairy as waves try to throw us on the solid concrete boat ramp.

Kevin Bateman, the wharfinger, had spotted us as we were approaching and already knows who we are, having been handed our reservations by the ship's purser a few minutes earlier. We ask for his authorization to camp on or near the wharf, out of his way, to be ready for tomorrow's early departure. In response, he invites us to spend the night inside the passenger terminal where we'll be away from the flies. And have access to a shower! Some offers cannot be refused... We use the rest of the afternoon to reorganize our gear and prepare the kayaks for their return voyage. Everything is unpacked. Wet gear is suspended in the wind to dry. We set apart what we'll need to access on the ship and pack the rest with the kayaks in a 20-ft container. Meanwhile Kevin is busy sorting the freight that has just arrived. All containers must be emptied before the Nordik picks them again in the morning. We take a moment to talk with the native policeman from Pakua Shipi as he stops by on his round. We promise ourselves to come back and take the time to discover more of the Innu life on a future trip.

The evening is spent with Kevin and his wife, Benita, and a friend of theirs whom we had seen earlier on the Nordik and who was catching it again tomorrow, just as if we were all family... Now is our chance to ask all the questions that had been bugging us about local history and some of the sights we'd seen. And they tell us about life in St.Augustine, about the Winter, and fishing... We enjoy the trout they offered us and that I cooked on the stove of the small appartment they use above the terminal.

As we're about to board the Nordik on Saturday morning, it's with a heavy heart that we say goodbye to Benita and Kevin, thanking them for their hospitality, a little bit envious of their life on the Lower North Shore.