I believe I found the end of the Internet. My living room end table laid strewn with Saline nasal mist, cough syrups, books, magazines, and various boxes that once held medicine. The couch back rest cushions laid on the floor; blankets piled to one side of the couch.
I caught up on the idiot box (television) news which repeats itself every 5 minutes. Shows that repeat what happened before the commerical break; as if viewers had a amnesia episode during the commerical break slowly drove me insane. So sick. If I stayed stoic on that couch one more day I would bludgeon myself to death with one of the 1000 Thomas trains. Which I find embedded in my back, armpit, and face awakening from lucid "all in one" medicine induced sleep.
After pouring over maps, confirming weather and radar data I figured Cape Broyle would make for a nice paddle. Within an hour drive of the city I was unloading on the wharf in quick order. The winds were gusting to 25 knots however the high hills surrounding this quaint beautiful fishing village abated much of the gust inside the inner harbour. Two old skippers came to have a chat as I offloaded my kayak. I cherish any moment to talk to locals. It's there sometimes you learn things you'll never find in the "Official guide book". Their Irish prosody danced on their tongues as we talked about what most men talk about here at home; Weather and fishing. Great guys.
First stop was into a small cove; perpendicular walls etched into grey and purple stone. Purple stone which at one time was a piece of what is today Morroco . Cliffs covered in mussels fed by the constant organic material from the torrant of fresh water.
I decided to cross the harbour to paddle in the shadow of the hills. The sun now sitting very low in the fall afternoon sky. I hoped some cool air would refresh me on this 9 degree day. The swell was minimal once exposed to the Atlantic. Small 1 and 2 m waves pushed slowly into the harbour; crashing slowly upon the rocks. I had hoped to come play around in the caves; I had hoped I would feel a little less under the weather as I went along. Stopping by Gallows cove I drank some juice and water....nothing. Coffee...nothing. As many a man; I was finished at Gallows cove. Luckily for me I would be able to paddle back from this execution site; maybe. Another juice box and reluctantly I was on my way.
As expected the wind had picked up and what was a light 15 knots felt more like 200 to my tired body. I crossed over the harbour again to follow the shoreline back to the take out. Kid's laughed and played on a vat cover in Admirals cove; waving and shouting "hello" as I passed. It was so great to see outport kids doing outport things. Having done the same thing growing up myself; it was real nice to just see kids being kids. No texting. No mall. Just a broken vat cover and some wind waves. It really made my day.
I pulled into a destroyed fishing room onto a slipway constructed of discarded pieces of our British gauge railway that once crossed the country and province of Newfoundland.
The abandoned "Room" held relics of another time in Newfoundland's not so distant past. Skeletons of boats hidden in scurvy grass; evergreens taking over where flakes once laid. The winch which pulled in boats at the end of the season; disintegrating into seasons ends that no longer require it.
A crib and shed which had given in to time and tide hangs on the high tide mark. Its slipway and bridge long ago destroyed. Death or a shift in the markets. Lack of a family member to continue; a family move to a new land to make a living. A cove of inadvertence. A biography. A chronicle of a cove.
A NAFEL 100lb box for salt cod fish sits still among the tools of the trade. Faded and worn.
The sun was setting as I explored; walking over old stone walls and concrete structures. During my convalescent couch time I'd lost over 20 minutes of sunlight from my normal day. I also knew solar noon was at 40 degrees today. In my conquest to "google" everything that crossed my mind in between coughing.......40 degree solar noon stuck in there for some reason...whatever that means. ;0)
While far from a spectacular paddle, it was a afternoon on the water none the less. My nostrils seemed to have cleared from the free "saline spray" of the North Atlantic. My lungs cleared somewhat with the mild exercise. At the take out I really wished I had a expedition crew to carry my kayak and me up the launch and remove my drysuit for me. Alas I was forced to do it myself; after much inner bickering.
Revisiting cape Broyle in the near future is a must. With a plan, some drive, and a clean bill of health.
Hope you enjoyed!