It was our first stop after leaving St John’s—a small, crowded harbor, very busy, and full of a most pungent aroma from several quayside fish plants. In the usual Newfoundland way, we tied up to the first available berth among the shrimpers and longliners and had a look around. It is not an attractive harbor visually, since the wharf is shocking dirty and the water thick with fish gurry, but it’s the only harbor for miles along that coast, and welcome enough after a white-knuckle, double-reefed sail past Cape Francis (“She’s always blowing at Cape Francis,” a fisherman told me the next day. “Even if she’s not blowing anywhere else, ther’ll be wind there”). Some other sailors evidently thought the harbor sufficient as well, since four other sailboats came in after we did: the most we’d seen in one place since leaving Sydney. There’s no room to anchor in the basin; if there’s not an open spot, everyone starts rafting up. It’s expected.