Various lighthouses and rock features as we sail on
We had a fast run under spinnaker along the coast as it slowly curved southeastward. The winds were forecast to die off quickly to where we would be drifting/ghosting along by midday, but they held all of the way to Rocher Perce, which is the must-see tourist attraction on the eastern side of the peninsula. We had expected to be passing it at night, but our extra speed had us there mid-afternoon, sharing the spot with tour boats making the rounds.
Rocher Perce, or "pierced rock" is a big chunk of rock with a big archway at one end. It's very photogenic and we were lucky enough to have good light for our sail-by.
Rocher Perce, or "pierced rock"
On the other side, the wind shifted to light headwinds, which were enough off the direct line that we were able to sail close-hauled the last few miles to Ste. Therese-Petite-Rivière before sunset. We had made it fifteen hours earlier than our original estimate! Best of all, we had saved ourselves a night at sea.
Siante-Therese-Petite-Rivière, which I'm going to call PR from here in because that other name is longer than the town itself, is less of a town than a big fish processing facility. We chose it because its high breakwalls offer excellent protection, and because it's not too far out of the way for those of us trying to head more due south. It is home to more big commercial fishing boats than houses and, I'm pleased to say, it only smells slightly fishy at the lowest tides.
When we arrived, we went straight from the well-protected outer harbor through a narrow channel between moored fishing boats to the even better-protected inner harbor, with hopes of finding a spot there.
As we crept up to the one candidate spot remaining, our depth sounder's reading dropped far enough to tell me I was about to hit the keel. A man came out to catch our lines. As we were backing away, we apologized for not needing his help. We spun around and returned to the much deeper outer harbor, where we found a spot far away from any foot traffic.
After we were secured, we took a walk to go find the man and thank him. When he saw us wander past, he came out to greet us. It turns out he wasn't a commercial fisherman at all. He was a freelance journalist on vacation with his wife. He was originally from Ontario, but met her, fell in love, and and moved to Quebec City. They were doing a big lap of the Gaspe Peninsula with their RV. They had stopped for the night in PR because it was free and right off the highway. They invited us in and, in the way that happens when cruising, we became fast friends and spent several happy hours together laughing and telling stories.
By the time we emerged the next morning, they had moved on and we only had the dry rectangle on the otherwise wet parking lot to remember them by. It was a shame they weren't on a boat. I wouldn't mind sharing an anchorage with them again someday.
Maryanne and I then went for an explore of the area. There wasn't a whole lot to see. We walked to the local, threadbare gas station/convenience store and occupied ourselves comparing landscaping at the houses along the way. By far, the most interesting 'attraction' was the commercial fishing fleet with all of their robust, ocean-clearing equipment.
Since it was the only place in town, and it was recommended (as the only place in town), we decided to treat ourselves to dinner at the restaurant. It was indeed the best place in town, but may not have been if there had been another. Don't get us wrong, it was perfectly okay, like a clean truck-stop diner, but it had probably been a bit oversold as "amazing".
They did, however, have live entertainment. At first, I was relieved by this, because it meant they turned off the country music. Then it started.
A very elderly lady, who was dressed as a very elderly lady, started belting out tunes. That would have been fine, I guess, but the volume on the sound system was turned up so high - thumping dance club high - that when it first came on, we thought something had exploded. Had Roger Daltrey then jumped out on the stage, that would have made some sense. Instead, we had an octogenarian singing standards. Worse, still, was that there were only three occupied tables in the restaurant. As the singer wandered through the tables, we sat in terror of making eye contact with her for fear that she would take it as an invitation to come to us and do a serenade. Why not? After all, it was too loud for us to be able to converse with one another. We had no choice but to put our heads down and try to finish our plates as quickly as possible. It was soooo cringy. After that, we were happy to return to the familiar comfort of our own home as we waited another day for tailwinds to push us onward.
The harbour was definately NOT a tourist center, but had some charm
Dock location >> On google maps
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