Newfoundland, chapter 5

Road Trip to Newfoundland

Day 5 - Vikings

This was a special day. Not many can say they've stood in a thousand year old viking village. Soon I will be one of those who can say such a thing. I looked outside into a pot of pea soup. The drifting grey was thick enough to cut with cutlery. Although we struck out early to see everything in a morning, I decided to stopover at the small cafe around the block and get breakfast. The Dark Tickle was a lovely gift shop with a cafe and museum upstairs. After perusing the seal fur hats and coats, I went upstairs and wandered around looking at relics of long lost fishermen, warriors and explorers. It's amazing the things found in a barren ground; canon balls and musket shot, kettles, jigs and coins. I have a love for artifacts. I've acquired things, but nothing beats the discovery. Breakfast was a rich coffee, thick homemade toast and a selection of local jams; partridge berry. blueberry and bake apple.

The fog slightly lifted and we drove the few kilometres to L'Anse Aux Meadows. After parking the car, reviewing the prerequisite historical data and paying the rather exorbitant federal fee, we followed a trail across the barren land amid small, gnarled spruce trees. We reached a group of people led by a guide who described the outlined area on the ground as a sizable building. It was not impressive to see, only to recognize that it was indeed a domicile of Vikings. There were several other digs nearby. Further along was what appeared to be a recreation of the village, complete with peat buildings, fires, thatched roofs, and actors describing the village. The domiciles looked reasonably comfortable, though can only imagine the life in winter. Why on Earth a Viking, or anyone would choose to live at the northern edge of anywhere is beyond me. I'm more of a palm king.

After viewing the cozy homes of Vikings and their slaves, we walked to the pebbly, grey shore, perhaps in hopes of finding an iron buckle or Icelandic coin. The water was calm with just a few ripples around the boulders cropping out of the shallow cove. My wife bent down and lifted a small white bone. "What's this?" she asked. I gasped and proclaimed we found a vikings bone. A real find! It was an exhilarating moment, until my son pointed out an entire moose skeleton stretched out behind us on the beach. We should be excused for missing a decomposed, thousand pound animal due to the shroud of fog. I suggested we take the hike that looped two kilometres around the shore to the parking lot. I had two yeas and a debatable nay. I say debatable because we knew we could talk her into it, and we did, There were no great hills to climb nor forests to fight through, and the scenery was peaceful. The land held bake apples and partridge berries, dainty wee flowers, ferns and pitcher plants. I was tempted to sit and watch a pitcher plant attack and devour a winged passerby, but we had a schedule to follow.

Along the trail we skipped stones in the ocean and played like kids. I felt a bit like I did long ago when I explored the wilderness from coast to coast. My job was searching for rocks, but when you live on the land, you absorb it all, the sight and sounds and smells and tastes. I imagine this is the way a Viking felt. It's hard to understand from a weekend of camping, but living month after month, far from society, brings an appreciation for the land that few can comprehend. We came upon red Muskoka chairs set along the

path with a view to die for. We each took our turn in the icons of a Canadian National Park and pretended for a moment we were important characters on the Strombo show.

Our tour de L'Anse over and a new destination calling, we drifted down the lane away from this ghostly swath of barren ground. We stopped nearby for lunch before heading south toward the fiords of Gros Morne. The fog was lifting as we ventured south. We only drove about 20 Km when, to my elation I spotted a moose grazing by the road. I yelled "MOOSE!" and pointed back over my shoulder as we passed it. My clear instructions were to get all cameras ready while I turned the car around. We drifted back northward until we sat lateral to her. She looked our way, unconcerned, and continued devouring mouthfuls of grass. This was a sight I had hoped to show my wife and kids, but it's a sight you can never guarantee. For the rest of the drive we kept guard, watching for travelling moose. I informed my wife that she was the keeper of the four way flashers in the event of more sightings. We would call it the 'panic button'. Thankfully we didn't have to use it, though was rather eager to yell out "Hit the panic button!"

By the way, Gros Morne is not gross. Just wanted to make that clear. We ambled into Norris Point at the KOA campground in the evening where our camp site was clean and ready for use. Putting up the tent was far less trouble than expected. All went well. The air mattresses, three in total, were inflated in no time and our beds made. We drove into Rocky Harbour looking for dinner like a pack of hungry wolves. Earle's Restaurant looked inviting so we ventured in for a look. We all ordered moose, in one form or another, and devoured it without much thought of the old gal we had just seen on the drive down.

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