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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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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Newfoundland, chapter 6

Road Trip to Newfoundland

Day 6 - Gros Morne

After a surprisingly comfortable sleep in the tent, we were eager to pack up and move to a cabin. Tents are fine, but nothing beats a solid floor and roof.  In between tent and cabin, we had to kill some time. It's Gros Morne. There are bound to be a few things to do.

This was our relaxed day. We didn't have to drive 500 km. We could just see local sights and get some chores done. We set off once more for Rocky Harbour to wash clothes. The scenery throughout Gros Morne is beautiful, and in fact we even saw pockets of snow in the hilltops. We arrived in town after just a few minutes. Luckily, the laundromat was deserted and we were able to fill a couple of machines with our dainties, and my not so dainties. Next door was a very nice gift shop filled with various seal skin wearables and taxidermied animals. My wife spent an inordinate amount of time here, but thankfully not an inordinate amount of money. I pried her away from the pricey trinkets by suggesting we find coffee. That usually works on her. Works on me too.

Next door, on the left, was the Treasure Box, a gift shop. It felt like I was hopping out of the pot and into the fire by entering yet another gift shop, but I did want my coffee and the sign said they had some. It was busy, and cluttered with souvenirs. I asked at the counter for a coffee and the gentleman requested I help myself. He pointed to the corner where a stainless steel machine sat. I went over only to find an empty pot. I corralled the family and we ventured to the other side of the laundromat where Java Jacks, a bright yellow cafe, was located. OK, this has the word java in it, so there must be reasonable coffee here. On the main floor was indeed a small cafe and bakery. I ordered a house blend and it was very good. My normal frame of mind was slowly coming into focus now.

Have I ever mentioned my wife's love of food, eaten at frequent intervals? A small gurgle radiated from her gut and the need for food became paramount. I suggested we look for something fast-foodish, as we had to tend to the laundry soon. We departed the cafe and headed across the street to a chip truck. Here they served burgers, dogs, and an assortment of lunch items. It was quick and it was hot. Those are usually my first and second priorities, as it was at that moment. Cheap is third. This was not so cheap, but then keeping everyone happy is sometimes worth the inflated price. We dropped by the general store and picked up some frozen scallops, sausages and other groceries for the evening and morning. As usual, we purchased a bag of ice for the cooler. We must have spent a fortune on ice so far, but a cold beer at the end of the day is priceless.

Laundry done and lunch eaten, we scurried back to the campground in order to inhabit our cabin and take a break by the lake. As expected, the cabin, though sparse, was clean and comfortable. We set it up and relaxed while my son tried catching trout in the lake. It was shallow near shore, and impractical for fishing. My guess is all the lunkers (if you can call speckled trout in a small lake that) were in a hole out beyond the not so grand banks. It felt as though we were frittering away the day, but perhaps we needed that after the hectic schedule we had been keeping. Chores done and time ticking, I made the executive decision to drive around East Arm, a long fiord pushed inland for some distance. It wasn't a long drive, but scenic.

Woody Point, a pretty town known for its artistic merits, sat below the hills at the edge of the ocean. It was interesting to see the trendy artistic companies juxtaposed against the old traditional buildings. After some sightseeing and a few passes by an old Victorian house sporting a doll in the upper window that scared the kids, we dropped by a small wharf to watch some fellows fish. They seemed adept at jigging and before long were hauling in decent sized blue-silver mackerel. My son and I had so wished we had our rods and tackle with us. Perhaps back at camp we could find a nearby wharf and do the same.

The drive home to camp was no less scenic than the drive there. Some mountains are reddish and desolate while others are carpeted in the dark green of spruce trees. We arrived home and pulled the cold meats out of the cooler and threw them on the large, new barbeque that perched upon our porch. For me it was a treat to be able to cook and relax rather than fork over a wad of dollars and then drive home after dinner. I couldn't wait for the meat to cook. I kept checking and fussing and praying for the moment to come that I could plunge sausage and scallops into my face. That moment did come and was as sweet as I had imagined. I sat back in my camp chair and savoured the succulent tastes.

Later that evening, I suggested we drive to Rocky Harbour and try to get some mackerel ourselves off the long pier. We, of course, did not have the requisite lures for this task. All the lures we had were intended for freshwater inland lakes. But that did not stop us from trying. Casting and retrieving got us nowhere, though we could see those small red Rock Cod swarm the lure near the pier edge. We then tried jigging straight down into the water. No luck was found. Deeper we dropped the lures till they hit bottom. It was then that action struck us. It struck hard, both of our lines. "Got one" we both yelled. "Jinx", we both yelled. "Jinx, Jinx", my son yelled, breaking the competition. We pulled the beasts in out of the water and up on the dock. What the heck was this? The ugliest, scariest monsters sat on the dock before us. I suddenly recognized them; sculpins. I used my pliers to remove the hooks and return the fish to the depths where they belonged. It was exciting to finally reel a fish in. We continued to catch a few more before returning to camp.

The evening was capped by cold beer and a fire that took extreme measures to start. I suspect the firewood was rather green, and with no kindling, other than our toilet paper, it was a chore to get going. But we did it, and we roasted marshmallows long into the dark evening, watching for satellites and shooting stars. It was a pleasant day, capped by clean clothes, full stomachs, and a fun night.

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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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