Isbjorn makes a fog-bound entrance into the tiny French outpost of St. Pierre & Miquelon. The crew finds lots of brie and wine ashore, and the battered hull of Oman Sail, the MOD70 trimaran that capsized in the recent Quebec-St. Malo trans-Atlantic race. It was the foggiest passage of Andy & Mia's career.
Finally, around midday, with 40 or so miles to go, the weather changed for good. The fog lifted and stayed lifted and the first chink in the low layer of clouds opened up suddenly to reveal a blue sky filled with the puffy cumulous so common with the onset of fair weather. Almost as suddenly a westerly breeze tickled the water and immediately filled in at a gusty 15 knots, propelling Isbjorn along the coastline at nearly hull speed in the flat, sheltered water along the cliffs.
The rain poured down this morning. Lightning struck in the distance and the thunder rolled on and on through the fog, a deep groaning like a distant freight train, at once a little frightening, but more so overwhelmingly beautiful. We're rounding Cape Race as I write, only a few miles offshore, though we don't yet have land in sight. Birds surround the boat, swooping and diving and swimming.
Well that was the right decision. Sitting out Friday in Louisboug seemed such a tough call while we were still at sea. When I wrote that last blog post about our diversion, the weather was perfect - Isbjorn was broad reaching in 15-20 knots of wind from the SW and a gentle swell lifted the boat as it glided past.