Stormbound in Nain, Labrador
There was a storm brewing off Labrador—one that quickly grew into back-to-back systems, nearly hurricane strength. We pushed One Ocean hard to reach shelter, aiming for the most northern settlement on Labrador Island: Nain, an Inuit community nestled in the wilderness. Storms of that size were not something we wanted to ride out in the open Labrador Sea.
It was late when we arrived—2330, another time zone crossed, our third in just a couple of weeks. In darkness, everything looks different, unfamiliar, and the bay felt unsettlingly vast. Creeping forward, searching for 35 feet of depth, something suddenly caught someone's eye—a round, glistening object rising from the black water off the starboard side.
“Rocks! All hands on deck!”
Sure enough, the spotlight revealed massive boulders lurking just beneath the surface. My heart pounded as we drifted back. Did I mention how much I hate coming into unknown ports at night? At last, Mark set the anchor. After ten days at sea, dodging icebergs and wrestling heavy weather, we were utterly spent.
But exhaustion gave way to relief the next morning. The town of Nain revealed itself in daylight. It was smaller than it had loomed in the dark, hugged by mountains, dotted with brightly painted houses and late-summer wildflowers and especially exciting to the crew…trees! Our first in months! Our anchor had been set perilously close to a boulder field—visible now, unnervingly near. But we were safe. Tied up, sheltered, and grateful to be ashore before the storm hit.
The day quickly filled with chores. Top of the list - the water maker. It had been over 10 days since a shower and we…or I was desperate. Mike got to work on that right away. I took to town to find a source for diesel and quickly spotted the fuel truck. Rod, the local fuel guy said he could squeeze us in later that afternoon! It was a stroke of luck—remote villages don’t always have supplies to spare. By the time I returned from a walk through town, tools were scattered everywhere on One Ocean and Mike was covered in grease, but he was smiling! Good news: he knew the problem and could fix it. A huge victory.
While Mike finished up the water maker the rest of us scrubbed down One Ocean. We were daring to dream that we could shower before dinner at the local hotel, and that prospect was looking good! But as the day wore on, the wind rose. Waves hammered the dock where we’d planned to tie up for fuel. Our only hope was the ferry, that was scheduled to come in, might serve as a breakwater.
And then, the ferry was spotted steaming up through the channel toward Nain! As it tied to the dock over half of the hull hung off and would provide the shield we'd hoped for. We moved One Ocean hastily to the dock and finished tying up just as Rod rolled in with the fuel truck. Luck again. Mike also had just finished the water maker and it was working! Things were really looking up! While fueling, we rotated through the shower, Tess brought in laundry—just a couple of items, per Mike’s cautious nod. Water still felt precious, but she was in desperate need for socks.
By late afternoon we’d ticked off much of our 'to do' list: water, diesel, boat cleaned and even a tiny bit of laundry! Spirits soared. Dinner was another bonus! The tiny restaurant was packed with people stranded due to the storm. Like the grocery store, the restaurant was short on stock—common in these remote places—but what they did serve was excellent. Even wine appeared, a rarity after months of “dry” villages. We clinked glasses, grateful for a successful day.
When we stepped outside, the world had changed. Rain pelted sideways, wind howled through the darkness, and back at the dock, One Ocean was taking a beating. The wind had clocked around and the ferry was no longer a shield.
Within minutes the crew was in foul weather gear, scrambling in the storm. Fenders flattened against the dock. We scavenged more from a nearby fishing boat but our lines on board were strained. Mark and I walked to the car deck on the ferry which was wide open. There the captain, a warm Newfoundlander from St. John’s, and his crew didn’t hesitate to help.
I watched in awe as his crew worked with calm precision: hand-tossing a line across a mighty gap from one dock to another in the gale, threading it through another vessel, and winching us gently off the dock. Seamanship at its finest. I thanked them all as we stood completely soaked in the driving rain. The captain asked if we needed anything else—food, laundry, a place to dry off and hang out? It had to have been after 2100 and as tempting as laundry was, I was spent. But Tess, however, lit up and soon disappeared with her laundry bag in hand onto the ferry.
By night’s end we were safe, sheltered, and immeasurably grateful. Nain had not been on our itinerary, but it left a lasting impression. The town was as beautiful as it was remote—surrounded in mountains and where people were quick to lend a hand.
Travel has always reminded me that people are kind, generous, and ready to help, despite what the news or social media might focus on. The storm may have battered us, but it also brought us to a place where kindness shone through.
Cheers to Nain, and to the captain and crew of the Kamutik W. Thank you. I hope to see you again—next time under calmer conditions.
Over!
Jenn Dalton