Today was a most memorable day. In the morning I was out on the water in glorious sunshine chasing icebergs. And in the evening I was facing a mountain of fresh lobster for dinner. 

And that's before I even mention that Karen arrived back on Fogo Island just a few days ago as well.  

It's now late May and the icebergs are numerous and huge. Many stand over three hundred feet high, but move surprisingly quickly in the frigid Labrador current.

Pete takes us out in his speedboat to get a closer look at one shaped like the tip of the Matterhorn. We keep a respectful distance away in case it rolls over - it is a spectacular sight.

The surface is worn by the waves, and the jagged edges show where slabs have sheared off.

On a much smaller chunk of ice - technically called a 'bergy bit' - we see a stranded arctic fox that looks as if he's been adrift for a while. With the wind now blowing onshore, we can only hope he's lucky enough to hit land soon.

The crab and lobster season should be well under way by now, but the abundance of ice is hampering fishing. Luckily Winston has acquired some lobster and we're invited to dinner.  What a beautiful sight - bright red crustaceans covering the table.

Soon we must leave and head back home to Washington for the summer. This week we begin preparing the Sprinter for another road trip. But first perhaps some gourmet ice cream from Growlers - a newly opened enterprise serving delicious ice cream, and located at the bottom of our driveway!

Iceberg Excursion

Return to Fogo Island

After a trip to England in late April I'm now back in Canada - with an official work permit no less.

My next hurdle was getting to Fogo Island once I had landed in Gander.

The ice on and around Fogo Island has almost all melted, but it's been replaced by thick winter pack ice from the Labrador.

This ice broke the propeller off the regular ferry last week, then disabled the replacement ferry, and trapped even the icebreaker sent to relieve the small ferry. Now we have to wait until the wind changes and the ice moves along its way.

Since the ferry service is deemed an 'essential Government service' they are required to run air craft service to the Island - for the same cost as the ferry. That would be free to get on the Island, and $2.50 for a foot passenger to leave the Island!

So there's a small plane running from Gander, and a helicopter running from Farewell, an hours drive closer to the Island and where the ferry departs from. I opted to drive to Farewell thinking my car would at least then be easier to retrieve when the ferry starts to run again. 

Bad idea. The helicopter can only hold four people, and make three runs - two to Fogo Is and one to Change Is - before it must return to Gander to refuel which takes two hours. Many people had been waiting in Farewell for 36 hours so I was way at the back of the line. Having wasted five hours on that option, I drove back to Gander, hoping to catch the last plane that day.

Lucky me. I was the only passenger on the 7pm plane and was treated to a view of the ice, the trapped icebreaker, and the Island from the air.

So now I'm back with the happy dogs, and trying to catch up with all that has happened in my absence.

The Island looks really different having shed its winter coat - I even found some Partridgeberries up on the hill which were delicious!

Spring Tries to Arrive

We are now officially into Spring, and winter is slowly relaxing its grip.

As I walk the dogs up the snow choked droke, my boots plunge down uncertainly through the soft snow.

Rocks and the tops of berry bushes are emerging, and the smell of dank earth is in the air.

There is even birdsong once again.

Pausing to turn and view the frozen white harbour behind me, the tinkling of unseen trickling water is beneath me.

Onshore winds keep the harbour ice mostly intact, although there are blue holes appearing every day. 

It's already too unstable to walk out on.

Around the shore, thick jagged pans of ice lie broken, the slabs jutting up where rocks have finally cracked them with the rising and falling tides.

The caribou now stay off the ice on the ponds, although it takes the first skidoo to sink through the ice before people grow wary of it. 

I watch a hockey game played on the wharf, the puck now replaced with a ball, and skates hung in the shed for another season.

Fishermen are readying their boats for the crabbing season, already started further south where the harbour ice is gone. Concern for the ice is now focused on the huge rafts of saltwater pack ice drifting past offshore, some miles long. They tear away fishing gear and trap longliners until the icebreaker can smash a path to them.

Giant ancient icebergs drift by offshore, weathered into fantastical shapes.

Winter Pictures

Here's some recent pictures of the way winter looks on Fogo Island.

Now That's a Winter!

Winter has really moved in here to stay. I was shocked, returning from England where a few inches shut down the Old Country.
I arrived in Gander at 2am, and it took over an hour to free the car - digging out, de-icing, and freeing the wheels frozen into the thick ice on the ground.
Luckily I had a bag of salt, and a shovel stashed in the back, once I freed the door and de-iced the lock.
And it was snowing. Cold too.
On the ferry, we are surrounded by thick white lily-pads of ice ten feet across, slowly subduing the waves as they grow larger and larger, eventually coalescing in a jagged patchwork, pushing out from the shore.
On Fogo Island the wind is blowing the snow around; I can barely make out the caribou crossing the icy highway; can't see the house from the road. Ice obscures the faint center line on the road.
Light from bright headlights, shining on the horizontally hurtling snow, is thrown back in a disorienting reflection of white specks. Slowly and dimly is best.
Luckily Dave has plowed the driveway, using a giant pickup with a snow blade on the front, scraping the snow down to the ice layer. Charging the mound, piling it up high, wheels hissing and spinning on the ice as the snowbank compacts.
Now I just have to scale the berm to get to the house.
I took the pictures the next day. In places sinking into snow up to my hip, and also, I noticed, well over the top of my boots. Gasping in the wind - iit's like that feeling when you stick your head out of a train window and the rushing wind makes it feel like you can't catch a breath for a moment. Fingers quickly numbing, fumbling with the camera.
The local Weather Station TV channel - and it's a really good idea to check the weather before going out - says the temperature is -15C, and feels like -30C with the wind chill.
Yikes. Even the dogs are reluctant to venture far, looking up hesitantly as the wind makes the power-lines wail.
Ice crystals grow on the windows like fractals, obscuring the storm.
And today the sun shone and the wind was still - a thermometer in the brightness even crept up above freezing.
Stumbling through deep snow on the hills behind the house my breath instantly freezes in my beard, a hardening mask. The dogs lurch after each other, Ruby's short legs ploughing through, Bill and Ellie leaping like frogs across the snowbanks.
The harbour ice stretches out to sea in a hundred shades of blue, merging into the bruised grey clouds.
White houses, trimmed in red, stand boldly against the blue sky.
It's mesmerising.
In the middle of the harbour sits a pig-pen, blown out in the storm, now gripped in the ice. The pig long since in the freezer.
More snow forecast this weekend.
Luckily I can walk to the Cafe in just about any weather, with my snowshoes.
Jonathan

www.shorefast.org
http://www.releases.gov.nl.ca/releases/2009/intrd/0123n03.htm