Basquing in Red Bay

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The men, dressed in woollen pants and goatskin jackets pulled on the oars as the two canvas sails billowed in the breeze. The traditional 8-meter long Basque whaleboat, a chalupa, and its now well-muscled occupants had just completed a 3,500 km journey from Quebec City to Red Bay on Labrador’s south coast.

This was not a new scene for Red Bay, Basque whalers operated here in the sixteenth century, hunting whales for their highly valued oil. This reconstructed chalupa was based on a similar vessel excavated from the frigid waters of Red Bay. Excavations began in 1978 and took 6 years, followed by meticulous recording, preservation and reassembly. The seven occupants were commemorating a part of their rich history, even though in the sixteenth century they never actually travelled from Quebec City; and even if they did, they would have sailed in their galleons, three of which have been discovered under the waters of Red Bay.

And yes, the gloss of the sailors achievements had been further tarnished by the fact that we had seen them being towed along the Newfoundland coast. A Basques sailor even ‘fessed up in the pub to one of Linley’s colleagues that “we row into and out of the harbours we visit, but then get towed by the zodiac”. But, 3,500 km in an open boat in these waters is still a good effort in my book.

The dozen or so Basque musicians and dancers performing for the assembled crowds enhanced the atmosphere of the occasion. I’d like to say that the speeches by various dignitaries also enhanced the day, but I wont. A guided tour of many of the archaeological sites by Robert Grenier who led the excavations and is a world-renowned underwater archaeologist was a further highlight. Robert also explained how they had to develop special techniques, such as hot water heated wet suits, to work in the 2 degree Celsius water.

But Basques and speeches is not all Labrador has to offer. The scenery is stark and beautiful. Not many trees in sight though. We called into a convenience store and saw amongst the usual paraphernalia, a range of chainsaws. I’m not sure why though as there was not a tree in sight worthy of a chainsaw all along the coast.

It was our intention to camp, despite a colleagues surprise bordering on alarm. When I enquired why he said, “well you know what Labrador is famous for?” Id almost forgotten its legendary bug status, but put this down to the usual distrust of the unfamiliar and an innate ability to exaggerate little problems. As it turned out, he was all too familiar with the place and wasn’t exaggerating. The bugs were perhaps not quite horrendous…ok, maybe they were. (A quick check with Linley has confirmed this.)

Black flies are persistent little buggers in the extreme. They appear almost harmless, just buzzing quietly around. But they creep quietly into any crevice, gap in our clothing, hair, under hats - anywhere. Linley suffered more than me, but now I am not sure this is a good thing. When they bite, they seem to inject some sort of anaesthetic, so that one is unaware of the bite - until the blood starts to trickle! It is not until later that the itching and pain starts. For little bugs, they take a big bite. Mozzies were less plentiful, but still in abundance and unlike black flies - noisy.

Occasionally a good breeze would spring up to keep the bugs at bay. But this was blowing off the Labrador Sea and was bloody cold. The Labrador Current comes down from the Arctic Ocean and as well as icebergs, brings cold water which cools any breeze. Alas there were no icebergs this week.

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