I'll come back to my chronicle shortly; for the moment I'd like to insert some visual memories of Grand Manan. I didn't record the swish of the water against the yacht's prow, the waves breaking over the pebbly beach, the clink of the metal rings on the masts, the wind flapping lines of washing or flags, the horn of the ferry arriving and departing. You'll just have to imagine those, the smell of the seaweed and the steaming bowls of seafood chowder, too. It was an unpretentious, genuine place, not stage managed for tourists. I hope it will stay that way. Now that visitors from the USA have been largely deterred from going there because of stricter border controls and the recession, it may well. It's still a wild island away from the eastern shore; in fact when our friends were preparing their planes for takeoff on Monday they saw a cougar chasing a deer down the runway.
Anyway, here are the pictures:
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