This little whale kept swimming in the vicinity. It was difficult to time the shutter delay on my camera to make it click on cue as I could only guess when it would surface to breathe. Whale sightings are quite common.

Soon, it's time for dinner. In addition to the couple that shared the boat ride with me, we are joined by the sea kayakers, and three friends (2 guys and a girl) traveling together from Switzerland. In all, we have 5 nationalities represented at the table to animate an interesting conversation.

After dinner, I retreat to the living room. There is an extensive bookshelf offering a selection of many books relating to Newfoundland, its history, its culture, and its people. A perfect and appropriate way to wind down an interesting day.

Being out in the North Atlantic Ocean, the weather here can be serious. But that's the beauty of it. As evening wears on, the winds pick up significantly and it begins to rain. In the quiet surroundings of the living room, the raging wind outside is hardly discernible. But you can almost feel the high frequency buffeting as the wind pummels the walls. It quickly becomes clear that there will be no kayaking tomorrow. This is a major system that has moved in.

All is quiet and peaceful in my room while there is fury unleashed just on the other side of the window.

Morning:
I'm up very early, in the faint hope that the weather has improved. It has relented somewhat, but winds are still at a steady 40 to 50mph with frequent, stronger gusts. And the rain is still moderately strong. So there is nothing to do but read for the next hour or so, as I wait for the kitchen to fire up.

There's not much point in staying another day and so, after a fortifying breakfast, I set out for the 50 minute trek back. I'm joined by the three friends from Switzerland. Given the weather this morning, our rendez-vous with the boat will be a little further out.

As opposed to my Swiss companions, who are clearly not dressed nor prepared for this type of weather, my motorcycle gear protects me perfectly. But even with the gale force winds that we fight, often full on, I overheat and sweat profusely. My gear may perform well in wet conditions, but it just isn't designed to deal with persistent levels of exertion as you continually push against an invisible force while trodding on soggy ground and carrying luggage.

At times, it's all I can do to fight the temptation to remove my helmet. I'm just too hot. But my head would be soaked in a minute. I also know full well that the relief would be short-lived as I look at my Swiss friends who are struggling to maintain body heat. What a juxtaposition.

But this exertion also reminds me that I could be in more physically fit. I make a definite mental note.

We get to the appointed pickup location only to realize that the boat has yet to arrive. Nowhere in sight. Our accompanying guide does not seem concerned, so we sit on some rocks amid the wind and rain.

Soon enough we faintly hear what seems like an outboard motor.

Our transport of choice this morning is what looks to me as a row boat, though I do understand that it is a capable, sea worthy craft. Fishermen use it all the time. It's called into action this morning because it allows the easiest and safest way to dock along a rocky shoreline when the weather is bad. And today, that's the prime consideration.

Even so, it takes our skipper several attempts before he safely accosts. And then the challenge is to keep the bobbing boat steady during loading as there is no dock.

There is a lot of auditory fury. We have to shout to be heard above the wind and outboard motor. But through all this, the skipper seems calm and totally in his element.

My Swiss mates can't believe it. This type of weather is totally alien to them and their mood has soured somewhat. This whole thing turns out to be way beyond their expectations. But I suspect that one day they will look back at this with a certain fondness and say, "remember when. . . ."

We all sit facing forward. I'm sitting on the most forward bench. As we head into the clearing it feels like we suddenly hit a solid wall of wind and rain. I'm almost laughing. I love the fury of the elements. But when I turn next to me and look at my Swiss neighbor to share the moment, I notice that he is tightly huddled, eyes squinting, clearly not enjoying any of this. I'm again reminded that how we experience a situation often and to a large extent depends on how we choose to perceive it.

I turn right around and look at our skipper. He is smiling and has that illuminated glimmer in his eye, looking dead ahead amid the fury of wind and thrashing of waves. It's an arresting look. The type of look that conveys that he's in his element doing what he was meant to do. Can anything be more meaningful?