The winds had dropped to light but would become moderate later. On Tuesday, winds were expected to move into the south and increase to force 4-5 by afternoon, with strong southeast winds forecast for Wednesday.  Rather than beat up Lennox Passage and try to round Isle Madame counter-clockwise later in the week, it seemed better to change plans and sail the other way.  The coast exposed to the open Atlantic should be free of swells after this period of northwesterlies. Since most fog comes with southerly winds the coast should be clear till late on Tuesday. 
..

Leaving Green Island and the quiet sailing of the morning I soon encountered different conditions.  As I sailed towards Red Head the breezes were fickle and gusting about pointlessly.  Once clear of Red Head the wind and sea were rough.  Sailing into Chedabucto Bay was such a change.  The wind was a fresh westerly of around 12 knots with stronger gusts.  Waves were unnaturally steep-sided and frequently collapsed in spume. 

Gradually though, Naomi made headway along the coast.  Features of the rugged cliffs slowly changed, and finally the roof-tops of buildings in Petit-de-Grat appeared.  Spying a pair of fishing boats leaving harbour gave me some assurance if something went awry there was help available.  Cape Hogan seemed a fair distance away, and rather than continue beating along the coast to Arichat, I changed course for Petit-de-Grat.  Here I'd rest and warm up as I waited for the wind and sea to drop. 

I sailed Naomi right up to the government wharf near the bridge.  At the wharf  I tied Naomi at a berth marked "Patrol Vessel Only."  The scorched side of the wharf indicated the fate of that vessel.  Over the years, several fisheries patrol vessels have burnt or sunk at wharves in Nova Scotia.  It must be a coincidence. 

Petit-de-Grat got its name from the early days of  the fisheries.  Fishermen left before dawn in their boats.  When they returned in the evening, the fish were salted and prepared for drying.  Sometimes they were fishing too far from their base to return and ready the fish in the same day.  Secondary processing stations were built that could be dismantled and moved along the coast.  The French called these stations "de'grats."  The port is colourful and fishing still its main industry.  Unfortunately the fishing industry is in such disarray. The largest fish plant was closed and looked so lifeless without the boats, birds, and smells always present.  The co-op fish plant and smaller ones were still open though. 

After a walk around Petit-de-Grat and lunch, I decided to continue on to Arichat.  If the southerly winds rose early on Tuesday it could be a miserable passage out of Petit-de-Grat and around Cape Hogan.  The fisherman offered to hand the lines from the wharf cleats which were out of reach above my head.  I thanked him and idly did the last straightening away before sailing off the wharf.  Unexpectedly the lines came dropping into the boat and the breeze caught the mainsail.  Naomi's stern swung out, and she made an unplanned departure after rubbing her nose along the sooty wharf side while tacking instead of clearing the wharf and gybing as planned.  As I sailed from Petit-de-Grat, the two fishing boats were returning, each followed by a host of noisy gulls.  The fishermen must have been checking the gill nets I saw strung off Green Island. 
..

On both days the weather had been fair, and it was only after we left Baddeck the weather worsened.  Our wives look at us with suspicion when the subject of solitary cruises in small boats arises.  One thing Kevin and I learned from the experience was to carry more cash next time.  A charge card leaves an embarrassing paper trail of the costs and locations of the motels, liqueur stores and restaurants visited during our wilderness adventures.

After rowing back across the harbour, I tied Naomi alongside the wharf at the Isle Madame Yacht Club in Robins Cove.  The wharf  is in good shape and there are several mooring buoys nearby.  The club consists of two old fish shacks for storage on a sand spit.  A clubhouse is planned for construction soon.  I rigged the boom tent and cooked supper by the wharf.  A man drove onto the wharf and welcomed me to the club.  He then offered to drive me into Arichat if  I needed supplies.  Finally he suggested if the wharf  lights bothered me during the night to pull the plug on them. 

Where I tied Naomi, I believed there was ample depth so she wouldn't dry out at low tide.  During the night I awoke to find Naomi listing considerably away from the wharf side.  I shifted myself  into a more comfortable position and tried to go back to sleep thinking she must have grounded anyway and since the bottom was mud it didn't matter.  Then the truth came, and I knew quite well what was happening.  Hesitantly, I reached for the stern line - it was taut.  I had not left enough line for the spring tides.  Naomi, with camping gear and myself, was gradually being supported by the mooring lines only to the wharf  while the tide still ebbed.  Quickly I climbed onto the wharf and slacked off the lines.  Dense!