Two weeks ago, Celtic Cross made landfall in Nova Scotia after a two-day crossing of the Gulf of Maine. Shelburne was our first port of call—the first practical landfall for many sailors arriving from the United States—and it was a fitting welcome to Canada. After days offshore, it was nice to drop the anchor, stretch our legs, and spend a couple of days exploring the quiet waterfront with the crew.

One evening we wandered over to the Shelburne Yacht Club, where the members welcomed us with hamburgers, hot dogs, and cold beer while we watched a soccer match. Partway through the evening, a few armed Canadian border officers walked into the clubhouse and asked the bartender if anyone from Celtic Cross was present. Considering there were only five of us in the room—and several of us were wearing crew shirts—we weren't exactly difficult to identify.

We had already cleared Canadian customs and immigration by phone immediately after arriving and anchoring, so I wasn't particularly concerned. The officers explained that a group of student interns monitoring arriving vessels had noticed the registration number associated with Celtic Cross didn't match the boat's current name. A previous owner had changed the name, but apparently one of their databases hadn't caught up. I showed them the clearance number I'd been issued over the phone, they made a quick call back to the office, and within a few minutes everything checked out. The entire interaction was friendly and professional, but it was a reminder that even in a quiet little harbor, someone is paying attention to who's arriving from offshore.

From Shelburne, we continued northeast toward Lunenburg. The sailing, however, never quite cooperated. The winds seemed determined to come from exactly the direction we wanted to go, so much of the trip became a motorboat cruise rather than a sailing passage. Fortunately, I had topped off the fuel tanks before departing the U.S. and added a little more in Shelburne, so range was never a concern.

If there's one thing Nova Scotia has delivered exactly as promised, it's the weather. That's one of the main reasons I planned to spend the summer this far north. The temperatures have been a welcome relief after the heat farther south, with cool mornings, comfortable afternoons, and long stretches of sunshine. There have been a couple of stormy days mixed in, but for nearly two weeks now the weather has been everything I had hoped for.

The passage eventually brought us to Halifax, where the crew began heading home. Three departed last Thursday, and the last crew member flew out Sunday morning. After weeks of sharing watches, meals, and conversations at sea, Celtic Cross is quiet once again. I'm back to single-handing the boat, anchored in the Northwest Arm near the Armdale Yacht Club. It's a peaceful place to spend the summer—sheltered, scenic, and just a short dinghy ride from one of Canada's great maritime cities. From here, I'll continue exploring Nova Scotia at a slower pace before pointing the bow toward the next destination.

📝Harbor Notes

The Northwest Arm is exactly what its name suggests—a long, narrow inlet that branches off just west of Halifax Harbour and stretches about a mile north inland. It's one of the most protected anchorages in the area and, for anyone visiting Halifax by boat, it's hard to imagine a better place to spend a few weeks.

Last summer I stayed here tied up at the Armdale Yacht Club. This year I decided to anchor instead. The holding is excellent, with a soft mud bottom that lets you sleep soundly when the wind pipes up. It's the kind of anchorage where, once the anchor is set, you don't spend the night wondering if you're dragging.

The dockmaster at Armdale Yacht Club kindly gave me permission to land my dinghy there. I suspect my stay with them last summer helped, but it's also a reflection of the club itself. They've always been welcoming to visiting sailors and have made me feel at home. On the opposite shore there's also a public dinghy dock that's even closer to town, making it an easy walk to grocery stores, restaurants, and everything else Halifax has to offer. I've been making use of both, depending on where I'm headed that day.

The Arm itself is busy, but in a pleasant way. Most of the traffic is sailboats, and there seems to be a youth sailing program in full swing, with kids learning the ropes every day. Wednesday evenings bring an entirely different energy as the Armdale Yacht Club hosts its weekly races. I had to laugh when dozens of boats began gathering around the starting area, sailing surprisingly close to Celtic Cross while I sat quietly at anchor. It looked far more chaotic than it actually was. The racers knew exactly what they were were doing, and before long the fleet disappeared down the Arm.

I've also met several other cruising crews who have chosen to anchor here, including a couple from Boston aboard a 32-foot sailboat. That's one of the things I enjoy most about places like this. Before long, familiar faces begin appearing in the anchorage, conversations start at the dinghy dock, and a temporary little community forms around the shared experience of exploring the coast by boat.

For now, the Northwest Arm is proving to be exactly what I was looking for: a quiet, secure place to anchor while enjoying one of Canada's great maritime cities.

One of the things I enjoy most about arriving in a new city is wandering without much of a plan. Thursday evening, I followed Quinpool Road away from the Northwest Arm, and before long I heard live music spilling out onto the sidewalk from a place called The Beaver Den.

Inside, they were hosting an open mic night. The organizer asked if I played, and I admitted that I did—but I also explained that my guitar was back aboard Celtic Cross. He just smiled and pointed toward a well-worn house guitar that everyone had been sharing. "No problem," he said. "Put your name on the list."

About an hour later, my turn came. Everyone else had been playing four songs, so I figured I'd do the same. There's something equal parts terrifying and exhilarating about walking into a room full of strangers, picking up an unfamiliar guitar, and hoping your fingers remember where to go.

One of the songs I played was "Paradise" by John Prine. I've mentioned it in this newsletter before because it was a staple of the repertoire my old band played back in Austin. This time, though, it was just me and an acoustic guitar. As I worked through the verses, I noticed a few people quietly singing along, and when the song ended, it was met with warm applause from the crowd.

It was one of those unexpected evenings that reminds me why I love traveling this way. Sometimes all it takes is following the sound of music to find yourself sharing songs with a room full of people you've never met.

This week's selection is "Paradise" by John Prine. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed playing it in Halifax.