Newfoundland, chapter 7

Road Trip to Newfoundland

Day 7 - Puffins

You know what it's like on Monday morning when you have to get up and go to work after a relaxing weekend? Well, day seven was our metaphorical Monday. After lollygagging around Gros Morne for a couple of days, we were back to a grueling schedule. Up and at 'em at 7:00 am sharp. Muffins consumed and the truck packed. Again, coffee-less. Must remember for my next family vacation to bring my own portable coffee machine and coffee. Some of the motels have them in the rooms, but seriously, who knows how clean they are. We had to high-tail it out of Gros Morne and cross-province to the eastern coast, a 600 km trek. That's about six and a half hours, or nine hours if you factor in washrooms, tourist information bureaus with WiFi, souvenir shops and meals.

We gallantly rode out of the campground, waving a goodbye to the manager and the scenic mountains. We would be back near here shortly, so no need to shed a tear yet. This journey would be somewhat monotonous. The interior is a vast, flat forest with no scenic towns to explore. The goal was to hit Grand Falls by lunchtime and then push on after noon. I had already planned lunch at the Fun Ky Vietnamese Restaurant. After following the erroneous instructions on our TomTom GPS and then using my data with Google, we did find it only to see a sign in the window indicating it was closed. Our disappointment was outlived by the delight we got from the sign, which read, "We closed do to cook working injuryness. Sorry." After regaining composure (delirious with hunger), we continued along that same road until we saw KFC and grudgingly stopped. I believe 10 of the 11 herbs and spices on my chicken could fit in a thimble, in contrast to the tenth item, a bucket of salt.  But it kept the crew happy.

The remainder of the drive, though long, was quiet. I asked my wife to take the wheel for an hour which gave me a chance to doze off. The kids vocally shared their dismay. They tend to fret about her somewhat jarring maneuvers. Our motel, the Sherwood Suites, was situated in the small town of Port Rexton. This was a convenient spot for finding whales and puffins, and other pretty towns. We rolled in around five and occupied our very nice, big, two bedroom suite. I immediately shuffled everyone out and into the car for the short drive along the coast to Bonavista. We stopped occasionally to hike a trail or watch for whales. The scenery was spectacular and we did indeed see lots of whales out at sea.

Now, the goal of this side trip was to watch Puffins. The best viewing is at Elliston, near Bonavista. We whizzed along the highway and then turned onto a side road towards shore. The road sign alerted us to possible bumps. That is like saying the moon has possible craters. My kidneys have yet to settle back in their rightful place since that tumultuous ride. Finally, there was an ocean at the end of that rickety tunnel. At the Sealers Memorial, we parked the car and hiked along a trail that cut through treacherous cliffs, eventually arriving at the edge of the continent and a short distance to an island covered in Puffins. I have never heard my wife and son express so much excitement in my life.

We sat by the edge and watched them walk, talk and fly; their pudgy wee bodies adorned by darling orange feet and beaks. I pointed out that along the same northward trajectory was Greenland and over to the right Europe. But all I heard was puffin this and puffin that. Along the shore we also spotted some quaint little stone hideouts set in hillsides which we later learned were old root cellars for storing goods through the winter. I did not venture inside out of respect for preservation and historical importance, though did wonder if there were any deviled eggs, pickles or salt cod. I was eager for a meal.

At the risk of losing our way in the dark on that dangerous trail and plunging over the edge to the rocky ocean below, I insisted we head back to the car. I think I actually said, "For the love of God, can we go now?" It may have sounded brisk, but with all good intentions. We did, and I took us the the few extra kilometres to Bonavista, partly to get dinner and partly to sing 'This Land Is Your Land' while simultaneously entering Bonavista. It's something we should all do in our lives, visit Bonavista, and of course Vancouver Island. I realize this last statement might only have relevancy to Canadian readers, but I consider it culturally meaningful. We were late and many places were closed, so we took out Subway and drove home to Port Rexton. Having a kitchen, living room and bedrooms felt like a home. It was a pleasure to relax at the Sherwood on that cool, breezy night where cold beer bottles awaited us in the large, LG fridge.

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