MIRACULOUS NAVIGATION
omeward bound under gaff sail from New York City many years ago, I wandered into a remote area of Nova Scotia, far from the mainstream of technology. Here, I found myself working for one of the last ‘vernacular’ commercial fishermen of North America. My skipper operated with no electrical assistance of any sort, except an ancient Seafarer echo sounder powered by a big, square Ever Ready battery, and the 12-volt starter motor on the GM petrol engine that propelled his wooden ‘Cape Island’ boat with famous reliability. Many of these craft were home-built. I never asked whether his was, but it ran out at around 35ft (10.7m), with a cuddy up forward and a wide, flat-floored cockpit aft. Fishing was by handline and large hooks, baited with fresh herring bellies and carried into the depths by
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