Ocean
The Crossing
The ferry creaked and groaned as it maintained a slow but steady course westward towards Nova Scotia from Newfoundland. The sun was bright and most passengers of the Caribou sought out the upper deck to soak up the warmth, a relatively rare thing for early spring in the Atlantic provinces. Despite the sunshine it only stopped the worry all passengers had about the days crossing, what was supposed to be a routine run was impeded by the thick pack ice created from the shifting tide and a increased northerly wind.
The captain announced that arrival was delayed and further updates would come, in Classic Newfie style the passengers made the best of it and enjoyed the opportunity to be on the water, it didn’t hurt that the bar was opened and myself and my father had found a comfortable seat near the giant glass windows overlooking the ocean and the mess of ice crowding the hull.
It was beautiful, the water was a dark blue near the ship and got progressively brighter as you looked to the horizon. It looked freezing cold and that was without adding the ice to the equation. As the ship crawled it’s way through the ice it formed large ice pans, looking out across the ice and now open water trailing behind the ship we could see seals sliding out of the water to sunbathe.
The ice was bright and hurt the eyes the longer you looked at it. Watching the seals helped, and we needed as much distraction as we could get as the ships progression through the pack ice was stopped. The Captains voice came over the Intercom informing us of the delay but adding the good news that an ice breaker was making its way into port to open up the way for us. We grabbed another beer and resumed our spying of the seals.
An hour had passed and with it another beer before the ship continued it’s voyage, this time at a slightly faster speed than it’s previous drift like rate. Nova Scotia rose beyond the ice showing that our arrival was nearing, we switched from beer to water but maintained a watchful eye on the iced patched ocean.
From this distance from land we started spotting small fishing boats amongst the ice pans, “seal hunt” my father said. They seemed so fragile amongst the massive blocks of ice but it was a living and they needed to risk it if they were to make it to fishing season. Now we could see scattered blood stained patches of ice, you could see it for miles off. Shots rang out and echoed over the ice as another sealer shot at a seal, we could not tell the outcome but with the ice coming in again it was probably in favour of the seal.
The horn sounded and north Sydney ferry terminal awaited our docking. So long was our journey and so badly we wanted to get on the road, yet the ocean required one moment more of my time. This was a oneway crossing for me, I was moving away for work like so many Newfoundlanders have to. I looked for a long moment over the ice and the water, past the sealers and along the path of open ice and up to the horizon, there was no sign of the rock, no sign of my home, it had disappeared into the ocean not wanting to say goodbye. Walking to the car I knew one thing, no matter where I lived or where I worked there would be only one place I could call home, and it waited deep in the Atlantic for my return.
Far from Shore
Tis far outda sea
dat we fishermen go
ta catch da big fish
nd face da winds bold
Ders no sight ofda shore
nda suns sinkin low
nar bit closer Ta quota
wer soaked and wer cold
Ders a long trip ahead
far back toda docks
da stars arnt shining
wer hittin da rocks
Death takes us dis night
we greet em wit a smile
time to give up the fight
now we’ll rest for awhile
Great Big Canada 