Before you leave the driveway

Book earlier than your optimism.

The gulf has a calendar and a personality. Tickets for a seat and a spot for the car are not the same scramble. I book the vehicle the week I know I am going. I do not wait for a mood.

When the wind wins

Winter crossings get cancelled. Not as a rumour, as a Tuesday. Southwest wind on this coast is not a postcard. If your plan is a same-day drive off the boat to a wedding, give yourself a spare night on one side or the other. Storm delays are part of the crossing. Being angry at the ocean has a perfect record of changing nothing.

Summer is kinder and fuller. The boat goes, and so does everybody else. That is when the vehicle deck disappears first, and when the loading queue at the terminal feels longer than the trip. Bring a patient face. The line moves when the ship is ready, not when your playlist ends.

Seasickness, said plainly

The seven-hour run can be a pond or a washing machine. The sixteen-hour run has more time to find a rhythm, and more time to regret skipping the pill you meant to take while still on land. If you get sick, take something before you smell the cafeteria, not after. Sit where you can see the horizon if you can get the spot. Staring at a phone in an inside chair is how I once lost a perfectly good sandwich.

What I actually pack

• A layer warmer than the parking lot suggested. The deck wind is its own climate.
• The charger. I am writing this because I forget it.
• Something plain to eat if your stomach is proud.
• Any paper the vehicle reservation asked for. Glovebox, not “I think it’s in the email.”
• Patience for the load. The queue is the job.

The food on board is all right. I would call it ok and mean it as a compliment and a limit. Do not build the day around the menu. Build it around arriving in Newfoundland with your car still reserved and your temper still in the car.