off the North shore of the Island by the nor’easter and, being unable 
     
     to beat back to Caraquet, N.B., during the night had run to clear 
     
     North Cape and seek shelter one after the other under West Point. 
     
    
   
   
    
     From one of the schooners that had come in during the night, a 
     
     local trader had obtained a ZOO-lb. halibut and peddled it around the 
     
     homes. Mrs. Stewart loaded my breakfast plate with a huge slab of 
     
     fresh halibut-delicious, (mmhl). Mrs. Stewart, better known as 
     
     Aunt Lucy, told me all about her successful turkey farming. She, I 
     
     found out, was a sister of the famous Father Doyle and with the same 
     
     Irish wit. 
     
    
   
   
    
     From John Stewart I learned about the bake-apples that grow 
     
     near the wharf road and that they were believed to have been brought 
     
     there from Newfoundland by fishermen. It was the first time I had 
     
     seen them and they were most delectable. 
     
    
   
   
    
     After an enforced though most pleasant stay of two days at West 
     
     Point, the storm having blown itself out, after a late start I was once 
     
     more on my way. It was a beautiful day with a light breeze and as 
     
     Tota and I slipped along past Hebron and Dog Cove and Brae 
     
     Harbour we enjoyed it to the full. Somehow, I imagined Tota was as 
     
     glad as l to be once more on the water and headin’ home. From Brae 
     
     Harbour I foolishly decided to by-pass Baptiste Point and short-cut 
     
     across the Estuary of the Percival River in a direct line for Rocky 
     
     Point (St. Chrysostome). By the time we were half-way across it had 
     
     grown quite dark and here we were about three miles from shore with 
     
     the surging tide-roll all around us and scarcely able to see the land. 
     
     However, luck or our sense of direction remained steady and we 
     
     landed at Rocky Point “right on the button”, and in time for “bed 
     
     on the beach". During the trip, I might say here, I developed an 
     
     almost instinctive “feel" for the weather ahead perhaps helped by 
     
     warnings such as “sun-dogs”, but I never developed a real ability to 
     
     navigate without compass after dark and out of sight of land. After- 
     
     dark paddling is not for me. If the moon goes down or the stars 
     
     become clouded over, where are you? — right in the middle of 
     
     nowhere. 
     
    
   
   
    
     Next morning l was pleasantly surprised to have my old friend 
     
     and student Stanley Arsenault appear at the shore. (A barrel of fun, 
     
     this Stanley, and a real entertainer). To his inquiry whether there was 
     
     anything he could get me, I answered, “No Stanley, I have lots of 
     
    
   
   
    
     37