Newfoundland’s Southwest Coast – Majestic Fjords and Dead and Dying Communities

One of our two buddy boats, Vega, at the base of the 1,200-foot waterfall in Aviron Bay fjord.

Our companion boats Vega and Sea Hag in Aviron Bay fjord.

Salty Paws in Deadman's Cove, La Hune Bay fjord.

Looking toward the narrow entrance to the Grey River fjord.

Vega at the entrance to La Hune Bay fjord.

Salty Paws heading up La Hune Bay fjord.

Drying cod on the dock at Ramea, circa 1930s.

I would be remiss if I did not mention the Rosborough Golf Ass'n Open.  More info at end.

I struggle for the right words to describe the southwest coast.  It is a paradox of unparalleled beauty and unyielding harshness.  The majestic fjords with towering cliffs leave me humbled and captivated.  The dead and dying outports are both sobering and a reminder of the strength of the human spirit to survive even when nature says otherwise.

An outport is a fishing village, often nestled in a small bay surrounded by cliffs, and only accessible by boat.  There used to be hundreds of such outposts, and cod fishing is what made them possible.  Cod brought French settlers beginning in the 16th century, and then English, Irish and Scots after Britain was awarded Newfoundland from France in 1763.  Many of the outports started as 1 or 2 family settlements, and grew over time as the common family size was 10 or more children.

Model of early 1900s mothership and
dories on the deck.

For over 200 years into the 1950s Newfoundland fishermen using hand-rowed dories, sometimes part of

Traditional dory in Ramea museum.

a mothership to make a modest living.  Live was hard, often filled with tragedies at sea, but fulfilling as it provided an honest living and the independence that was so treasured.  In the 1960’s, however, foreign fishing fleets began to dominate the cod catch in the rich Grand Bank.  Some Newfoundlanders were able to secure larger fishing boats, but many did not have the means.  The Canadian Government supported the construction of some fish plants along the coast to provide employment.

Model of modern fishing vessel that
made traditional methods obsolete.

While catches remained abundant into the 1970s, signs of the cod stock declining were increasingly apparent as fish size began to decrease from 3-4 feet long to 20-30 inches.  The stocks were collapsing, and in 1992 the Canadian Government closed the cod fishery all together.  Outports that had struggled since the 1960s were now in a death spiral. 

The Canadian Government launched an effort beginning in the 1950s to relocate entire outports and provide stipends to families if over 80% of the townspeople voted for resettlement.  The cost of resettlement made sense to the Government as there would no longer be the need to support schools, medical outposts, electricity, ferries, and telephone service.  The relocated residents would also have more economic opportunities and their children a better education.  The emotional costs for families, though, was often incalculable, and I cannot image the animosities and pressures that would arise from, say, a 75% vote to resettle, that would be under the threshold needed.

We visited the following outports:

Rose Blanche and Harbour Le Cou

The closed fish plant in Rose Blanche.

This community is no longer an outport as it was connected to Port aux Basques by road 50 years ago.  For some time, it was a popular location for resettlement, but the now closed fish plant and the limited fishing opportunities suggest that it has many of the same challenges of the remaining outports. 

Grand Bruit

The waterfall that gave Grand Bruit its name.  The outport was resettled in 2010.  Fiona in 2022 took off the church steeple.

The abandoned town to the west of the waterfall.  Salty Paws is one the pier and Vega and Seahag are on the floating dock.

Grand Bruit to the east of the waterfall.  Note the concrete sidewalk that goes throughout the town.  Also, one can see the
cemetery on the island in the background.  The hurricane Fiona took out the walking bridge that used to connect it to the town.

Allister Billard met us all at the dock.

Our three boats entered the small harbor, complete with a floating dock and two piers separated by a large waterfall that gave Grand Bruit (French for Great Noise) its name over two hundred years ago.  Allister Billard, the only summer resident present, was standing at the dock.  He helped with a line, but was a man of few words. 

Our three boats tied to the pier and dock. 

Allister did answer our questions.  We learned that he grew up in Grand Bruit, one of thirteen children, and he comes back every summer.  The town, however, was officially closed and resettled in 2010 when over 80 % of the town voted to do just that.  Aside from a few summer and lobster season residents, the town is abandoned and slowly decaying.  In another 10-20 years, the docks will no longer be functional. Such is the plight of hundreds of outports throughout remote Atlantic Canada.  Resettlement is likely one of those necessary, but most unfortunate outcomes.

Ramea

Approaching Ramea.  The large boat to the right is the ferry that connects this outport to Burgeo on the mainland.

The top of Salty Paws is lower than the pier at low tide.  In the background is the fish plant soon to close until next spring.
Harvested scallop shells line the shore.

Dick on the left and Otto on the right flank the Harbormaster
and Town Foreman who greeted us on the dock.

This seemingly vibrant island community is 10 miles off the mainland.  We approached the town pier and floating dock and were immediately greeted by several residents including two well-tanned bare-chested older men.  They directed us where to dock and grabbed our lines.  Their hospitality was overwhelming, and I soon felt that if there was any place to live in Newfoundland, Ramea is it.  Arrangements were made for the gas pump to open for us.  They ferreted our gas cans in a truck to the pump and took our trash.  They enthusiastically told us about Ramea, the locations of the grocery store and restaurant, and the boardwalk trail around the island.   Brian made special arrangements for us to get a private 5 pm tour of their museum.

We walked the extensive boardwalk over the peat bog and
tundra to the lighthouse.

We were able to shower, do laundry, and after the museum tour ate dinner in the one restaurant.  Sadly, there were no scallops or cod available.  The food was hearty, and each selection was accompanied by fries and coleslaw.    We had a comfortable night’s sleep on the pier, and before departing mid-morning walked much of the beautiful boardwalk.

All is not well, however, on the island.  The population has dropped from 1,200 to 400, and the fish plant will close for the season in a week, not to reopen until the spring.  Scallop season is over, and the only active fishing at all is some limited crabbing and cod fishing for one’s own family. 

Many of the fisherman on Ramea had their own boats and docks in front of their houses.

Grey River

The outport Grey River.

This small outport of 30 or so residents is located one mile up the fjord.  The mouth of this fjord is so narrow that the Grey River water temperature is 4-5 degrees higher, the salinity lower, and the air temperature, in the summer at least, 5-10 degrees higher than other outports.  As our three boats entered the harbor area, three or four residents immediately came down to the pier to welcome us.  I felt bad that we were unable to stop as our schedule was limited. 

Looking up the Grey River from the harbor.

Francois

Entering Francois.

Our boats docked in Francois.

Moon over Francois.

This was our most easterly stop, and there is not a more stunning entrance to any settlement.  The town is nestled at the end of the short fjord, surrounded by peaks on three sides.  The town floating dock easily accommodated our three boats.  There was also a sailboat at the dock, one of the few other cruisers that we have seen in our travels in Newfoundland.

Rob, Otto and I climbed to an overlook
over Francois while Dick cooked up
a delicious beef stew on Salty Paws.

We spoke with one resident, who is also the ferry boat captain.  Francois is down to 40 residents, and the school now only has 4 students, all teenagers.  The town rejected resettlement 8 years ago, but the captain dejectedly expects that it will be approved in the next three years or so.

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We left Francois at dawn on Friday, August 25th, as this looked like the only reasonable weather window for the next week at least, with Franklin, a possible hurricane, coming north from the Caribbean.  Our first stop was 35 miles away at friendly Ramea to refuel.  As before, the outport greeted us warmly and immediately met our needs.  After refueling, one more stop at the grocery store and further check on the weather, the decisions were made.  Dick and I on Salty Paws and Otto on Vega would do the 165-mile crossing of the Cabot Strait back to Bras d’Or Lake.  Rob on Seahag knew that he was not up for that expected 12-hour passage and decided to go along the coast to Port aux Basques where he could take the ferry back to Cape Breton to retrieve his truck and trailer.

Bonus Pictures from our stay at Culotte Cove:

Salty Paws and Vega anchored in Culotte Cove.  Sea Hag and a sailboat are anchored further out.

We saw two Caribou, one in Grand Bruit and one as we entered Culotte Cove. 
My pictures of them were from too far away, but here are the footprints up close. 

While anchored in Culotte Cove Dick, Otto and I went to a nearby rocky beach for the inaugural
Rosborough Golf Association Open.  No one else showed up, and I was able to best my colleagues
and win the championship with a 1 over par 10 on the three hole tournament.  Dick had the most
miraculous shots including one that ricocheted off two rocks to go within the required club length
of the pin. 

Dick ended up in the tall grass a couple of times.

Otto had great form, true to his PGA golf professional roots, but the rocky beach was a new surface.

My winning form.

Otto was a more than willing partner to bushwhack to the peak.

View of our boats from the peak over Culotte Cove.  The beach in the background is where we had
the golf tournament.

 

 

 

Our Dramatic First Stop in Newfoundland

Our North Basin anchorage for our first 3 nights in Newfoundland.

The entrance of our first fjord.

The passageway was narrow and very few boats other than dinghies have even attempted the ¼-mile passage to upper reaches of the fjord and waterfall.  As I motored slowly around the first curve, Dick was standing at the bow to look for rocks and measure depths with a drop line.  Suddenly Dick shouted “shallow water to starboard” and then “only 1.5 feet!”  As Salty Paws draws 2.5 feet, I quickly put the motor in reverse and redirected the boat more to port.  We continued to move forward with the other two Rosboroughs in a line behind us. 

I wasn't prepared for my first view of
the 200-foot waterfall in North Basin.

Then the waterfall appeared, a stunning 200-foot cascade of water dropping into the small North Basin surrounded by mountains.  Dick yelled “pay attention to steering the boat!”  Of course, I was successfully multi-tasking but returned to focusing exclusively on my primary duties.  We passed over one more shallow area and then were in the 20-foot-deep basin.  Suddenly, the radio boomed with Rob on Seahag shouting “I don’t like this!”  Then, “I have hit ground.”  Fortunately, Rob was able to slide his boat over this, and soon all the boats were safely anchored in the basin, the most beautiful anchorage that any of us have experienced.

Salty Paws at anchor in the North Basin.

Another view of Salty Paws at anchor.

Sunset in the North Basin.

Sea Hag and Vega shortly after dawn on our 2nd day in Newfoundland.

Otto, Rob and Dick enjoying the view
from the top. 

The day earlier we had used our portable gas cans to fill up our boats at anchor in Ingonish Harbor.  I had wanted to transport to and from the gas station ½ mile away using my wagon but was overruled when Otto was able to find a taxi with the slogan “You Go. I Go!”   Later we dinghied around the harbor to the Mt. Cape Smokey ski area and noticed they had a gondola operating to the top.  I said “Let’s go,” while Rob lamented that he did not bring his wallet.  [From then on, Rob came with everything on our excursions as one never knows what may come up.] 

The beginning of our crossing.

The next morning everyone arose early for the 110-mile passage across the Cabot Strait to the Harbour Le Cou fjord, Newfoundland.  Our three boats left the Harbor at 5:30 am and were soon in open waters averaging 9-10 mph.  The winds were light, and the swells were only a foot and spaced 7 seconds apart.  It was one of the most peaceful open-water crossing I have ever experienced.

A pod of pilot whales.

Enroute, we saw a finback whale, a sunfish, a lonely immature gannet, 10 or so dolphins and over 100 pilot whales.  These small, black whales travel in pods, have a large dorsal fin and a bulbus head.   Surprisingly, we were never out of sight of land given the high coastlines of both Cape Breton and Newfoundland.

After our first night in Newfoundland, I arose early and told a groggy Dick that I was going to row around the basin taking pictures and possibly hiking up the falls a bit.  Otto was already finishing breakfast and was up for joining me.  In short order we were ashore trying to figure out where a trail might be, if any.  There was none.  We ended up hiking along the shore and then much of the way up the left side of the waterfall, alternating between dry and water-covered rocks.  It was slow going, and many times we had to grab shrub branches for support.

 We finally reached a waterfall coming over a 10-foot slab that was impossible to pass without bushwacking through the brush.  After a few scratches on our legs, we came out in the short tundra.  The tree line was now below us.  The main peak was before us, and I said to Otto “let’s go to the top.”  He replied, “you mean that ridge there?”  I responded “no, all the way!”  Otto has not done a lot of hiking, but fortunately, he does adhere the philosophy of taking advantage of every opportunity.   We weaved over the tundra and outcroppings to find at least an acceptable route, if not the best, to the top.  An hour later Otto and I were on the top enjoying stunning views in all directions, including the long lake that feeds our waterfall.

Some views from the our hike -

Harbour Le Cou pier.

Otto and I finally returned to the waterfall base and our boats and had just a brief respite before our next adventure.  In an hour all four of us were in our dinghies for the 2-mile ride to Harbor Le Cou near the mouth of the fjord.  We tied up to the pier, severely damaged by Fiona in 2022, and immediately met a friendly, yet reserved local.  He taught us how to say “Newfoundland.”  We then trekked the two miles to the Rose Blanche Lighthouse.  

Rob, Otto, Dick and me on the way to the Lighthouse with Rose Blanche in the background.

The rebuilt Rose Blanche Lighthouse.  It was also the site of our
first cell service in a few days!

The stone Lighthouse was first built in 1870’s and operated until decommissioned in the 1940’s.  It slowly deteriorated, and each storm destroyed more of the structure, ultimately just leaving the light tower.  A local movement to restore the lighthouse begin in the 1980s.  After much preparation and local training in the traditional Scottish stonework, the lighthouse reopened in 1999.  It is a true restoration with 4-foot think walls and re-creation of the keeper’s quarters. 
 

Rose Blanche from the Lighthouse.

Dick and I hiked the town trail
 along the waterfront.

After a great lunch of perfectly cooked cod from the Grub Shack at the Lighthouse parking lot, Otto and Rob started the trek back to their dinghy while Dick and I went to explore Rose Blanche.  We talked to some locals who mentioned that the local community was severely impacted when the road from Port aux Basque was extended to reach Rose Blanche and Harbour Le Cou in the 1960s.  Soon the grocery store, the hardware store the few restaurants and more closed their doors, unable to compete with what was now available by car.

We hiked to Barachois Falls in light rain.

 
The last local we talked to was James who educated us on how the locals can survive by fishing, crabbing and lobstering on their open 20-foot boats.  A nice local house can be purchased for $25,000 Canadian ($20,000 in US dollars), and everyone helps everyone.  James then insisted that we borrow his car to drive a few miles out of town to see Barachois Falls and a couple of other local sites.  On our return, he drove us to our dinghy as it had begun to rain.  We were ready for dinner and bed upon reaching the boat.

Our last full day in the Northern Basin featured more rain.  It was a relaxing day on our respective boats, and we watched the waterfall get larger.  I baked chocolate chip cookies, and Otto and Rob dinghied over in the rain for cards, drinks and the cookies that Dick and I had not already consumed.