Newfoundland, chapter 11

Road Trip to Newfoundland

Days 11 through 14 - My Nova Scotia Home

Chapter 11 is the final installment of the Newfoundland blog. This is not like Chapter 11 bankruptcy, though expenses have been draining to cover economy motels, average restaurants, over taxed gas, excursions, trinkets and that ever melting ice for the cooler. This is Chapter 11, the combination of days eleven through fourteen covering the final tour, passing through Nova Scotia on the way to home, Ontario. It has been a wonderful trip and there are still some great sights left to see in Nova Scotia.

After exiting the big boat in North Sydney, we traveled through Cape Breton toward Halifax stopping only once at the Farmer’s Daughter market for lunch supplies. Gas was significantly cheaper in Nova Scotia, and knowing that, I did not fill up before taking the ferry. So I filled up the tank en route to Halifax and continued on to Head of Jeddore, a sleepy town set in the hardwoods at the end of a long inlet. We checked into our cottage and then went to Martinique Beach just twenty minutes away. This was a nice beach, not quite as scenic or pristine as the beach in Newfoundland, but still very nice. There were very few people. We tested the water and to our delight it was dramatically warmer than the waters of Newfoundland. All four of us dove in and swam, then body surfed the waves for a long time. This was the only real attraction I scheduled for this day. We were very close to Halifax and that meant we could easily and quickly cover some chosen sights the next day.

The morning of day twelve arrived with a cool breeze. It was going to be a busy day. We headed straight for Birch Cove, the neighbourhood I grew up in on, what was then, the outskirts of Halifax. Back then that whole area was mostly undeveloped. In fact, I recall walking one mile to school everyday along gravel roads cut through the woods. Yes, it was uphill all the way, there and back. Today, it is all built up. At the crossroads of Kerney Lake Road and Broadholme Lane were big puddles where I used to stop and find tadpoles and frogs. Today this is the site of malls and gas stations. It was unrecognizable. I took the family up the street to point out my old house. It had not changed much, though large trees grew where none had before, and the forest that used to lie in back was now replaced by more homes. We followed the circuitous path from my old home to my old public school, Grosvenor Wentworth. It looked as old and run down as I recalled it looking so long ago. A couple of deer grazed on grass near the back door only metres from the car. This school holds many vivid memories for me. The short, abrasive principal's name was Mrs. Hollyhocket, though we unceremoniously called her Hollyhocker. How I remember that, I don't know. I remember catching snakes and salamanders in the grass and woods nearby. I recall collecting all of my hockey cards during "scrambles" in the school yard. And I remember earning participaction badges at the annual olympic competitions in gym class.

Sentimental moments relived, it was time to press on. We had a short drive to Peggy's cove, that rugged mound of white granite rock that outcrops by the sometimes violent sea. As a kid we came here to get away. Now it's as busy as a city. We arrived to find hundreds of people scattered over the white rocks and cars parked in every spare spot. We did not stay long, just long enough to snap some pictures and see the lighthouse. After being in real coastal fishing towns with real people over the past week, this seemed like an amusement park.

The next stop was a favourite childhood memory of mine; Lunenburg. This is the home to my favourite ships, the Bluenose and the Theresa E. Connor. Though I didn't remember what the Theresa E. Connor looked like, I did remember the smell of tar and timber. When we arrived, this small scenic town appeared much bigger than I thought it was. The museum, a building and several ships to explore, occupied much of the waterfront. We explored the museum and then the ships linked to the museum. On the Cape Sable, a large iron fishing ship, we met the former captain, George Pike, who sailed her back in the mid seventies. He told us stories of ice and storms and fishing back in a time when that was a rugged job in a booming industry.

After touring the Cape Sable and Theresa E. Connor, the Bluenose, which had been out on an excursion, sailed into port and we were able to board. The iconic symbol of Atlantic Canada, and all of Canada for that matter, was as beautiful as ever. Later after eating a seafood dinner from a porch overlooking the harbour, we checked into the stately old Bluenose Lodge and then wandered the streets to find interesting shops.

Day thirteen would find us tracking back toward Ottawa but with stops at Parsboro and Joggins. Parsboro is known as a rock and fossil collecting site. We dropped by the beach and hiked a short distance, but found nothing of interest. I suppose you have to know where to look. Joggins is a favourite place of mine. It is strewn with fossils along the shore. I'm all about the search. I like to find things. Sadly, a sign indicates that fossils cannot be removed, which for me takes all the fun out of exploration. It seems governments would rather see specimens remain locked in the earth than uncovered and shared. As the day grew on and we were still a thousand kilometres from home, I made the decision to stop at the new and beautiful Hampton Inn, Fredricton NB. With a pool and water slide, a 24 hour free coffee lounge, and free breakfast, I gained a ton of brownie points with the crew. I must admit, I was glad to remain on vacation another night.

The final leg of the journey home, day fourteen, was predictably quiet and mundane, completing the 7,171 km trip. We arrived to the ongoing construction on our street and to the drought ridden lawn suffering neglect and dust from road work. Waiting to greet us at home were cold beers in the fridge and my old familiar bed. As we sat at the dinner table that night, everyone spoke highly of the trip, recalling moments and sights that I know will be etched in the kid's minds for the rest of their lives.

Please note that the sole intention of this blog was to entertain you with my journey through Newfoundland. This information may or may not help direct you towards or away from experiences that I found good or bad. This is in no way an endorsement of anything other than the two brilliant novels which are outlined below. Did I mention they were brilliant? They are. Of course, that is just the opinion of myself, and many, many other smart people who have read and enjoyed them at a very reasonable cost. So, feel free to drift over to Amazon .com/.ca or Kobo.ca, or other online retailer to find an e-book or paperback copy. If you don't see them in your local bookstore, suggest to the manager that their collection is incomplete, and that they should stock them. And remember to say please.

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Newfoundland, chapter 10

Road Trip to Newfoundland

Day 10 - Numb Feet

We are not going far today. In fact, we will start here in Port Aux Basques and end our Newfoundland experience right here in Port Aux Basques. This is where we catch the ferry close to midnight for the night time cruise to Nova Scotia. My plan involved a leisurely drive to a small harbour close by and a hike up the Barachois Falls, and then a relaxed afternoon on the beach. Entering the small town of Rose Blanche Harbour LeCou we noticed stringers of tiny coloured flags everywhere and signs that read 'Welcome Home'. We were told that every town has a come home celebration every five years in which they celebrate the return of people who come back from working abroad. We explored the town, though like many small towns there wasn't much to see.

Driving back toward Port Aux Basques we stopped at a trail that led to Barachois Falls. It was a short hike, about a kilometre. Much of the way was a well built boardwalk. The trail rolled over barren peat and rock laced with a variety of bushes and moss. Somewhat like the northern coast, there were plenty of bake apples, partridge berry, arctic cotton and pitcher plants. The falls were quite impressive, reportedly 50 metres high (160 feet). We stayed a while to soak it in before returning to the car.  I think at that moment we were all feeling a little glum that our Newfoundland expedition would end later today. What we needed was a little excitement to perk us up.

We continued along the highway past Port Aux Basques just a short distance to JT Cheeseman Provincial Park. This was a long expansive white sand beach that looked as beautiful as any beach could. The sand, despite its white colour, was strikingly hot against my delicate feet and I wanted to race into the water to cool off. I grabbed my son and together we ran down to the surf, bounding into the waves. As fast as we entered the shallow water, we turned and exited. Now, when people say "I'd like a cold beer", this is not what they're describing. When people flinch with a brain freeze from ice cream, this is not what they mean. This was glacial. This was Tuktoyaktuk in January. A minute of this water up to my ankles and my feet became numb. For a lark, my son and I actually took a quick dive in and speedy retreat. Funny enough, there were two local teen girls who played and swam out in the waves for half an hour. When they returned to shore, they were stiff and red from the cold. How they could do that, I do not know.

Although swimming was out of the question, we stayed on the beach for hours. Occasionally we walked down the beach to a small river outlet and searched the waters and rocks for shells. A number of small, white birds sailed around near us. I had never seen these before and found out they were called Piping Plovers. Getting hungry, we grudgingly left the beach and headed back to Port Aux Basques. We had a few hours to kill before boarding the ferry, so we grabbed some grub, explored the town, and then roamed the boardwalk, listening to a local band at the amphitheater and then watching the ferry arrive from Nova Scotia and enter the harbour. This would be the boat we would leave on in a while.

Unlike the journey to Newfoundland, we would have a cabin. We couldn't get a four bunk room, so had to settle for two beds. That meant cramming myself into a small bunk with my active son. I wondered just how much sleep I would get, and how many bruises I would endure. As we did in Nova Scotia, we lined up and waited for the signal to move. All was quiet and behaved and we boarded at about 10:00 pm.

After finding our cabin and dumping a few bags, we headed straight for the bar. It was located right up at the front, a great view as we departed from town. I ordered a fancy drink. I don't know what it was called as I simply asked for a 'fancy drink'. It looked like a Harvey Wall Banger, I think. What I recall feeling as we disappeared into the darkness of the ocean was sadness. Newfoundland represents the best of Canada; vast spruce forests, dramatic mountains, sparkling blue oceans, moose and whales and all that is clean and natural. The people are kind and hospitable. Most of all, it is spaciously uncluttered. There is a lot of room to move, breathe, and explore. I knew when I awoke in the morning I would be one step closer to cluttered. Nova Scotia, my childhood home is dear to my heart and the place I still consider home, but it is en route to the urban madness of Ontario.

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Newfoundland, chapter 9

Road Trip to Newfoundland

Day 9 - Feast of Cod

Tim Horton's was conveniently located a few blocks from the hotel. We were all hungry and stopped to pick up breakfast. Now I have noticed some things about Tim Horton's. Rarely are they neutral or dismal. They are almost always superb or slightly lacking. OK, some are rather neutral. This particular Tim Horton's, in the grand town of Lewisporte was excellent. I, along with my son, ran in to order food and drinks. The boy who served us looked to be 12 years old, but was clean, professional, polite and efficient. I can't say enough about his work. I was then passed to a girl, also looking like she was 12, who, in her clean pressed uniform smiled and thanked me. The food was neatly packaged and hot. I returned to the car to inform the others about the great service only to be met by blank stares and a reply, "Yeah, what did you get?".

We settled in for the long drive back to the west side. We had cod in the cooler and the beach at Pasadena on our mind. Since we were halfway back to Pasadena from Bonavista already, it was a much easier drive. We drifted through Deer Lake and down the shore to Pasadena, easily finding all the back roads. The beach was occupied by many swimmers and sunbathers. The restaurant was even open this time, a fun looking place with a bar and patio. We went down along the beach to a secluded area where I set up the camp stove and sliced the cod into fillets. Mindful of the ever present seagulls, I guarded the meat carefully.

 I dropped piece after succulent piece into a wad of butter in the sizzling pan. It looked good and smelled great. As it fried, we all took some time to enjoy the sandy shoreline. It is quite shallow and people could be seen standing quite a ways out. The weather was warm but we had no plan to swim. The fish browned around the edges after being flipped a few times and eventually I declared it fit to eat. As I doled it out, I dropped more fillets into the pan. We were going to eat it all for lunch; no salad, nor potatoes, nor garnishings of any kind. This was all about the cod. It was, to say the least, fantastic. They say when you order cod at the fish store or restaurant, you might get some other ground fish mislabeled as cod. Well, I guarantee this was the real deal.

Lunch consumed, dishes cleaned and stove packed away, we left the beach and headed for the pretty area around Lark Harbour. This quaint town lies on the ocean at the end of a long, winding, scenic road that follows Humber Arm. Most of these towns are merely fishing villages. That's what makes Newfoundland so special for me. I don't care for tourist towns and all the gimmicky trappings. I just want to see the scenery and meet the people who live there. We stopped several times to take pictures and breathe the warm, clean air. Some locations are calm and warm while some are noticeably cooler with tunneled winds. I imagined each picture I took as a postcard. Everywhere is spectacular in Newfoundland, from the mountains to the sea, the dense forests to the scrubby barrens. Each zone is beautiful in its own particular way. And to think we only saw a part of the province. We missed out on the Avalon, St. Johns, the south coast, Buchans, and a side trip to St. Pierre, the French islands. They will be seen, at a later date.

The sightseeing complete, it was time to bid adieu to Corner Brook, Gros Morne and Deer Lake, and head down to Port Aux Basques to spend a day exploring and finally to leave on the ferry. The two hour drive took us though beautiful mountains with wispy clouds and grassy meadows. At the end of the highway was Port Aux Basques. We had reservations at St. Christopher's Hotel, perhaps the biggest hotel in town, set high upon a hill. We checked in and found our room down the far end of the hall. Conveniently, there was laundry on the same floor and we did two loads. Tired and settled, we decided to eat at the hotel in what looked like an inviting dining room. It felt odd though sitting in this restaurant looking out a back window at a hillocky mound. I expressed my disbelief that they would build a hotel, on a hill overlooking the harbour and face the restaurant out back. Later that evening we overheard the waitress explain to others that when the hotel was built, the plans were created in Japan, and subsequent sections prefabricated. Unfortunately, Japanese plans, like writing I suppose, are reversed, so the hotel was actually built in reverse. This certainly explained why we did not face the ocean. Dinner came. I ordered some kind of wild mushroom and moose pasta. I could barely chew the meat. The pasta was mushy and the sauce was unusual, to say the least. My wife also groaned with displeasure over her roast beef. This was perhaps the worst dinner we had eaten on the trip.

Later that evening, my son announced that the toilet was plugged. I called the front desk and asked, "Could you please send a maintenance worker up with a plunger, the toilet is plugged." I was told, "OK". About ten minutes later I received a call indicating that, "We lent the plunger to someone and it hasn't been returned. We will fix it tomorrow when we get the plunger back." Now if anyone knows my family, and that is mainly me and my son, that is a no go. I went to the front desk and calmly explained that we need the toilet and there must be another plunger. Unlike the great service at Tim Horton's, the desk clerk argued that she didn't know where the plunger was and couldn't help. Now, she obviously doesn't know the limits of my patience, but denying me a working toilet brought out a side of me few would care to see. I mean that figuratively, of course. I suggested she contact a friend who may have a spare plunger and borrow it for the evening. A half hour later, the manager, a very nice lady, knocked on my door sporting a plunger held high in the air like an Olympic torch. I graciously thanked her and went about maintaining the lavatory myself. All were relieved, so to speak. Beers were opened and consumed in celebration without the fear and anxiety that comes with facility restraint.

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Newfoundland, chapter 8

Road Trip to Newfoundland

Day 8 - A Whale of a Time

On morning eight we were in uncharted waters, so to speak. This was a day I had trouble planning. I couldn't find any motels in Grand Falls, or nearby, that were economical and had a vacancy. My plan was to camp, however I was more than open to alternatives, given that I didn't want to setup a tent and there were no scenic campgrounds worthy of staying. I wanted to meander through Terra Nova National Park and then stop at Eastport by the beach for lunch and a dip. Grand Falls merely lies at a midpoint, and so was a convenient layover.

We started out by visiting the pretty town of Trinity right next to Port Rexton. We arrived early and many shops were closed, but we found one that advertised whale watching. I asked and was told that the boat would leave at 11:00 am, however they were unable to reach the captain and couldn't confirm a booking. I, of course, pictured Captain Highliner half passed out from a night of drinking screech at the local pub. Unwilling to waste a day waiting for the hungover skipper to clear the fog from his eyes, we drove off.

I had heard that there was an iceberg off the coast at Kings Cove, which was straight across the peninsula. I, in my great wisdom, found a magical shortcut that traversed the peninsula through a wildlife refuge, aimed at significantly shortening the journey. It started off great and was only 17 km to the other side. We came across a few potholes. We came across quite a few potholes. Then we were moving only slightly faster than the hungover skipper who couldn't find the boat. Only 11 km left to go. There were in fact houses along this route. They likely changed their shocks annually. Eventually we reached the highway, safe and sound, just a bit rattled. We found high ground overlooking the ocean, but alas the ice berg was either hidden or melted. No worries, it was a long shot anyway. On to Terra Nova, only an hour and a half away. I could do that in my sleep, not that I recommend it.

Pulling into the National Park Visitor Centre at Newman Sound, everyone, except me, rushed into the main building to get WiFi. I wandered around, questioning rangers about the significance of the park, as it wasn't at all apparent to me. I still don't understand why it's a national park. I wandered over to another office and met Harvey, the captain of the zodiac for Happy Adventure Tours. He told me he was available and we could see whales, puffins, caves and catch some cod. I was sold. We would have a private tour and do some fishing. I arranged the trip, informed the others and we were off in less than half an hour. By the way, if you plan to eat lunch at the visitor centre, don't get your hopes up and get your wallets out. They could seriously improve the food and lower the price, unless gouging is part of the National Park mandate.

Much of Newman Sound is a bird sanctuary. These are migratory birds, though not sure exactly what species they are, On a side note, we did see lots of Eagles, but they are all over Newfoundland. Harvey suited us up in yellow and blue life jackets, then set off down the sound toward the open ocean. I could tell that my wife was very apprehensive. Me, rolling over in the bed at night makes her sea sick. But she was a trooper and did not complain. In fact, we were mainly doing this because she said she wanted to see the whales up close. It was a long ride down the sound and Harvey pulled no stops.

We flew across the ocean surface at full tilt. First stop was a set of caves that apparently went hundreds of feet into the cliffs. Here, the water is a brilliant emerald green. At first, the caves looked small, but as we got closer, it was clear that you could boat right on inside. The water looked inviting, like what you might see in Sicily or the Caribbean, however I imagine the temperature difference is rather substantial. I have often wondered what lurks in these cold, clean northern waters. People say they have caught sharks here and it is common to see Orcas. I suppose the lack of swimmers and the style of fishing leads to few encounters with dangerous fish.

We wandered off from there at a slower pace, observing the beach at Eastport, which had been my potential stop off on the preliminary semi-plan. Occasionally we spotted the small Minke whales surfacing. As we hit the end of the sound and entered the open ocean, we could see the backs of Humpback whales and Harvey steered us over to them. They were not jumping, merely surfacing and occasionally deep diving, noted by the big tail rising up and then disappearing beneath the waves. It was a very peaceful sight, and somewhat magical to be in the presence of such a large, seemingly gentle creatures.

They were certainly aware of our presence and yet completely at ease. They were chasing the smallest of prey which come close to shore this time of year. They aren't the only ones hunting. People fish for capelins, and the mackerel and cod follow capelin in as well. This is the annual circle of life off the Grand Banks. This year, they say the cod fish are making a comeback. As such, there is a three week open season for recreational fishing.

Traditional cod fishing in Newfoundland is called jigging. You drop a heavy, well barbed metal plug down to the bottom and jig it up and down. It takes but a matter of seconds to hook a cod. Frankly I'm not sure if the fish were biting or if there were so many they were just being snagged. Harvey would drop the lure down and jig, as soon as a fish was hooked he handed the rod to one of us. I was a bit disappointed that we weren't jigging ourselves, as the hunt is half the challenge and the strike the real excitement, but Harvey was worried the lure would snag bottom and he'd lose it. In any case, he got a strike and handed it to my son who skillfully reeled the cod in. It was a nice size fish. My guess was 12 pounds. Next strike went to my daughter. I could see her struggling to pull it in and the rod tip doubled over. As it breached the water I nearly gasped. It was a beauty, probably in excess of 20 pounds. Finally my turn. Fish on! I took control and handily brought him up. I say handily because I didn't struggle like the other two, and no wonder, it was the smallest fish. As we circled an island, hundreds of puffins, both on the water and in the air lay before us. And all I heard for the next half hour was puffin this and puffin that.

After the long boat ride back to the park office, in and out of rain showers, we resumed our drive west. We didn't have a plan at this point. I certainly wasn't in the mood to setup a tent or blow up air mattresses. We stopped at a government tourist information centre and inquired about motels. I was given the name Britanny Inn at Lewisporte, about twenty minutes away. I called, reserved a room and off we went. We arrived to a rather dull looking hotel on the main road into town. The room was dated and strangely painted a heavy, dark green colour. The room though was large and the beds acceptable. All local restaurants seemed to be closed so we simply grabbed a couple foot long subs and made a night of it. There were a few cold beers in the cooler which provided just the right pairing with subs and so ended a very exciting day.

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