Next morning looked somehow stormy, in spite of last night's forecast for possible light rain and light wind, increasing later in the day. When I turned on the radio to hear today's forecast, the first words were, "hurricane now centered off Bermuda, moving north..."  I looked at the heavy grey skies, the grey agitated sea that seemed like it was being stirred round and round by a giant hand somewhere offshore. The local forecast was still for light rain and wind, increasing to 20 kts tonight and 30-35 tomorrow with heavy rain. Saturday would be even worse, as the hurricane passed by offshore. This did not sound conducive to a move up to Canso and back. I let those hopes slip away. Given the direction of the swell, it might be quite challenge enough just to get back to Dover Bay. Once again I breakfasted on the run, packed up, and got an early start, as rain began to fall, light at first, then in earnest.



Mosquitoes swarmed around my head, frustrated by the bug net, as I shoved off. Such determined souls, willing to leave their homes and dry land to follow this possible hot buffet breakfast. I'd become so used to them that I didn't mind their company on the trip so much anymore. The entrance to Port Howe was again a strange swirling place. Big tubular surf was rolling in at the base of Dover Island, making heart-stopping crashes, but there was no need to get too close.  Rounding the island, it became still and quiet. A bald eagle flew ahead, re-alighting every hundred yards or so. The mosquitos were still hopefully tagging along, unfazed by the rain.



The exit out of Port Howe had an ominous feel. It wasn't difficult to pop around Black Ledge and into Louse Harbor (such perfect names to match the day!)  Most of the mosquitos were whisked away in the breeze offshore, but a few were hanging out on the brim of my hat, no longer encumbered by the bug net. I paddled around Louse Island and to what I'd suspected would be the biggest challenge of the day: the sheer coast between Louse Head and Black Duck Cove. The good news: there were no shoals or ledges in this stretch to complicate things. The bad news: the swell direction headed directly into this shoreline. It would not be the friendly place it had been on the paddle south. It had the potential to be big, especially on the two promontories midway through.

I paddled out around Louse Head. Sure enough, there was a lot of smashing and crashing going on. This time I couldn't avoid it. Right now would be my best chance to get back to my car for the next three days. I kept thinking I heard dynamite blasts somewhere nearby, only to realize that it was the boom of big waves ramming those promontories. I told the last remaining mosquito to hang onto my hat, because here we go!

Tide flow was outgoing, opposite of my desired direction, so I didn't want to get too far offshore, lest the current be stronger there. But staying near shore was a very not-good idea, as big sets of 6' swell rolled in, stood higher as they hit the shallows, accelerated and exploded on the rocks. I didn't want to get pulled into that, and it was pretty easy to be swept closer and closer by the waves.

Rounding the first point, I found that I was tensing and flailing with the paddle. The mosquito chose this time to fly around my eyes. I told her this was a mighty desperate bid of hers to go see Massachusetts, and if she wanted it to work she'd better settle down. She re-alit on the hat brim.

I was frankly fearful as the second promontory came up. Between the two, the water was very confused, rebounding and sloshing and rolling up massively in big sets. I kept moving farther offshore and it never seemed enough. Reminding myself to paddle with strength and not flail, I made slow but steady progress. At last the swell began to be smaller. I could ride the waves toward the jetty at Black Duck Cove. I was back.



Arriving at the car, there was a frenzied mosquito family reunion. Quickly donning the bug net, I dashed the final hopes of my mosquito friend for a hot morning meal, but thanked her for the company on that last crossing. As I unloaded gear, a black truck pulled up. The same smiling man who had welcomed me at the start of the trip 6 days ago was again smiling from his window through the pouring rain. "It's good to see you're back safe. I was concerned when we had that bad weather!" I bubbled about how beautiful the coastline was, and reminded him I'd intended to be gone a week, and that I'd holed up safely for the storm. I thanked him for his concern though, honestly grateful that someone had been looking out for me. Little did I know, at that point, just how much he had done so....

I was very disappointed that the north section to Canso was not going to happen, but decided I would at least drive up and see if I could see the coastline from the road at the very tip of Canso.

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