Bay of Spirits: A Love Story

Bay of Spirits: A Love Story

Farley Mowat

Language: English

Pages: 320

ISBN: 078671994X

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


This is the story of a love affair with a people and a place, of the summers Farley Mowat spent sailing the Newfoundland coast with his wife Claire. It is an affectionate, unforgettable portrait of a time, a people, and a place, as well as the indomitable spirit of this island province.

Les Jardins d'Auralie

Le chant des nuits heureuses

Le Prix de la vérité (La Fille du Pasteur Cullen, Tome 3)

Mordecai: The Life & Times

Je t'aime, je t'écris

Elephant Winter

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

twentieth century, became famous in New England for sailing small boats across the Atlantic–not once, but twice, and single-handed both times. Moreover, Blackburn had accomplished this feat despite having lost all the fingers from both his hands. It was Blackburn’s fingers that rested in Burgeo’s churchyard. The book, together with excerpts from Blackburn’s own account, provided some graphic descriptions of Grey River just before the turn of the last century. On the bitter winter’s day in

Adventure found her way past it and into Burin Inlet, where we drifted through a grey soup. Somewhere a dog barked and a church bell was ringing. Jack swung the lead from the bows and when he got four fathoms the anchor went over. The heavy chain rattled out and Happy Adventure came to rest. I woke about noon to find the cabin full of sunlight. The fog had gone and the day was brilliant. We were at anchor in the middle of a fleet of trap skiffs and dories. An elderly man wearing his Sunday best

resolutely kept her heading into the breaking seas and, foot by foot, the dory fought her way toward Oregon, which by then was labouring so heavily she seemed to be half-submerged as she tried to prevent herself from being driven onto the roaring reefs and islets at the mouth of Passe du Nord-est. One of the officers clinging to the wing of her bridge spotted the dory when it was only a few hundred feet distant. The cacophony of wind and waves was by then so overwhelming that Théo could not

may be, seems to have vanished. Surprisingly, she was in pretty good shape. There are advantages to having four feet and being low to the ground. But she was so glad to see someone she had hysterics. With difficulty we moved her, cage and all, and now she is snugly settled in a spare First Class cabin. As Harry says, “Who’s to know?” I spent much of today reading a book by Alex Waugh about middle-aged men screwing young women. It’s full of superficialities and viciousness, and almost devoid of

interior dripped moisture and stank of mildew, long-departed fish, and the slime of St. Pierre harbour. Aided by three local boys who nurtured their own dreams of going to sea, we set to work scrubbing and repainting her and attaching two three-hundred-pound bars of iron to the keel to help stiffen her in heavy weather. Then, as a spring tide flooded the landwash, we launched her off and moved aboard. Having no fixed plans, we thought to spend a few weeks cruising the fiords of Bay Despair,

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