More clouds, more wind. We were thoroughly knackered by the time we got to Sheet Harbour. We wore out our welcome at the local resteraunt after eating matching portions of the special (salt cod and pork scraps with potato, picked greens, and squash) and asked for coffee refills for two hours. A local started up a conversation outside, listened to half an album of his favorite Celtic fiddle music, and heard his lineage dating back to Scotland in 1790. People have a decidedly Scottish tone to their speech out here. We shivered and muscled our way against all the Newfoundland-sent storm had and camped in the quiet (dead quiet) hamlet of Moosehead.
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