the same kindly story, “You can’t leave without a lunch”. Each lunch consisted of a sameness and a variety, the sameness being tea the variety being blueberries and cream here, blueberry pie there, blueberry pudding elsewhere, all very tasty but in quantity a bit overwhelming. Courtesy forbade me to refuse even the seventh and eighth portion, tho’ I must confess to a bit of trepidation as to whether the canoe would continue to float with such an overload.

Launching Tota was a bit tricky as the surf was breaking right on shore. However, by keeping her nose straight into the wave and watching my chance, I managed to pull away, continuing straight out at right angles to the surf for about a mile until I managed to get beyond the white breakers. It was then permissible to turn sideways to the waves and proceed West.

After paddling two or three miles, the wind coming up stronger and the waves higher (probably 12 feet or so), I got a bit tired of now perching on top of a big wave and now disappearing out of sight of

land in the trough, so decided to head for shore at the first likely- looking beach.

It has been bad enough going out through the surf, but how to get back in to shore thru’ the white-caps without being swamped? I was a bit uneasy if not scared. (Later, with practice, I became fairly skillful at surf—riding, but this was my first experience). As I approached the first (the outermost) line of white-caps,l did some fast and intense thinking. Realizing that the slightest deviation from the perpendicular would cause the canoe to swing sideways and fill with the next wave, I carefully gauged the angle and as the first breaker caught almost up to the canoe, drove my paddled down as hard and fast as possible and swept shoreward on its crest. Then with redoubled effort I strove to prevent the canoe from losing momen- tum as the first wave receded and was thus carried farther shoreward with the second and each succeeding wave. Close to shore and in about four feet of water the surf was so broken and irregular that I jumped out, grabbed the front of the canoe, and as quickly as possible hauled poor Tota ashore out of reach of the breaking waves, tho’ by this time she was at least half full of sea water. On shore I was quickly surrounded by a family, with several children, living near the rough beach where I had landed. They told me that their name was Anderson, that they had originally come from Newfoundland, and that I was now at “Goose River”. With true Newfoundland

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