Thirty-seven years ago, Lou and I climbed into my gleaming white Camaro and headed off to the East Coast on one of our first road trips together. We had only a vague plan of what to do and where to go. We were going to look up two good friends of ours, who were spending the summer in Halifax, and travel with them for a while, before venturing off on our own to Newfoundland. We were young teachers and had a little money and the summer off for the adventure. We spent some time in Quebec City and the Saguenay region before venturing into Halifax to pick up our friends, Dave and Siri.
Just out of Halifax, we spent a day in the lovely town of Cheticamp for some Acadian culture and food. After dinner, we went on a whale watching cruise and saw some amazing pilot whales in the evening warm light. We were happy with our little cruise, and left the boat for an evening walk on the harbor front, laughing, talking, enjoying life.
As we strolled along the seafront, we encountered an older American couple coming the opposite way, also on a leisurely stroll. We said hello to them and then we all stopped, as strangers in a strange place often do, for a nice conversation. We shared travel stories and asked about our respective home towns. I recall the gentleman looking at me and remarking that I resembled a painting he had seen in some Boston museum of a famous mariner: I guess my dark red beard gave him that impression. We all got a good laugh out of that.
Eventually, it was time to go, so we wished each other well on our travels and said goodnight. And then the lady looked back at us with a wistful smile on her face and said, "be safe … and stay young."
Those words touched me then, and I recall them now with great fondness. We never saw those nice people again, and of course many, many years have gone by. I'd like to think they are still with us in this world.
"Stay young." How do you do that ? Obviously, time will not permit it. It moves relentlessly onwards, for all of us. We all grow old and eventually lose our youth. We can't avoid the physical growing old. But I think I knew what that lady meant. We can always hold on to being young in our hearts and spirits. If we allow our minds and souls to grow old, we truly lose something precious and good. So what if the body slows down and red beards become white ? If the soul is willing, youth remains.
In that spirit, Lou and I decided to retrace our steps back East. It would just be the two of us on this trip: our friends have relocated to the West Coast and we don't see them much anymore. And that older American couple have vanished from our world, at least in terms of seeing them. But those words guided us on this new trip. "Stay young." We will certainly try, ma'am.
Monday, October 21, 2019
DAY 1 WED. SEPT. 4 NEWMARKET - MONTMAGNY
The allure of the road trip is often irresistible. How many novels or movies have we seen where the freedom of the open road calls us to action ? We vicariously experience the exhilleration of heroes who rode motorcycles or cars on long, uncluttered highways with no impediments or restrictions. Wind in the hair, wayfarers on, tunes on the radio, Route 66, Easy Rider, Steppenwolf … ah, life !!
On our first day of this road trip, we left early on an optimistic morning. The sun was shining, the weather moderate, our car stocked and ready for flight. We decided on an early familiar route through the lovely farmland and forest of Durham Region. It was a road I had travelled so many times before, on sunny mornings such as this, during my career. I knew it like the back of my hand. I was ready, a little trip down memory lane, and a gateway to our great new adventure.
And then …. gridlock. Construction down Lakeridge Road brought us to a standstill. Seconds became minutes …. frustration levels rose to vaguely remembered heights. We crawled for an eternity just to get to the 401. I thought this was not what Jack Kerouac wrote about, not what Peter Fonda felt like on his bike, nothing like the Steppenwolf song. We sat …. and waited … we drummed fingers on our dashboard. Oh, it was horrible.
After almost two hours out of Newmarket, we finally made the 401 and …. freedom ! The road opened to us, took us in. Traffic melted away and we gained speed. At last ! The road trip was launched !
Until my back started to spasm. Damn ! What caused this ? I think I looked back in my rear-view mirror. That's what did it ! Never check your rear-view mirror on a road trip ! What good comes from this ?
Thanks to our GPS, we were able to escape the never-ending madness of Montreal road construction. We headed across the wide magnificence of the St. Lawrence River to the south shore and then sprinted east. We actually made up time ! The weather closed in and we drove through depressing grey drizzle interrupted by splashes of brilliant sunshine and even a couple of rainbows. Our spirits picked up. Around Quebec City, the vista to our left cleared to reveal an ancient land. The mighty river glistened like a vital artery: low, rounded mountains to the north and south, once as mighty as Everest, now reduced to geologic old age. And rich farms, rolling in long, narrow patches of green and gold, reminders of centuries-old seigneuries, reaching from the safety and commerce of the river into the dangerous and uncertain hinterland, the domain of the Mohawk and Montaignais. I marveled at the numerous canoe-rivers that took brave men weeks to travel while we sped by on asphalt rivers at more than 100 kph. This is truly the old beating heart of Canada.
We found our hotel in Montmagny ahead of schedule. A restful afternoon, some pizza and beer for supper, conversation about the upcoming weather waiting for us perhaps in Halifax … and then, tomorrow's road.
On our first day of this road trip, we left early on an optimistic morning. The sun was shining, the weather moderate, our car stocked and ready for flight. We decided on an early familiar route through the lovely farmland and forest of Durham Region. It was a road I had travelled so many times before, on sunny mornings such as this, during my career. I knew it like the back of my hand. I was ready, a little trip down memory lane, and a gateway to our great new adventure.
And then …. gridlock. Construction down Lakeridge Road brought us to a standstill. Seconds became minutes …. frustration levels rose to vaguely remembered heights. We crawled for an eternity just to get to the 401. I thought this was not what Jack Kerouac wrote about, not what Peter Fonda felt like on his bike, nothing like the Steppenwolf song. We sat …. and waited … we drummed fingers on our dashboard. Oh, it was horrible.
After almost two hours out of Newmarket, we finally made the 401 and …. freedom ! The road opened to us, took us in. Traffic melted away and we gained speed. At last ! The road trip was launched !
Until my back started to spasm. Damn ! What caused this ? I think I looked back in my rear-view mirror. That's what did it ! Never check your rear-view mirror on a road trip ! What good comes from this ?
Thanks to our GPS, we were able to escape the never-ending madness of Montreal road construction. We headed across the wide magnificence of the St. Lawrence River to the south shore and then sprinted east. We actually made up time ! The weather closed in and we drove through depressing grey drizzle interrupted by splashes of brilliant sunshine and even a couple of rainbows. Our spirits picked up. Around Quebec City, the vista to our left cleared to reveal an ancient land. The mighty river glistened like a vital artery: low, rounded mountains to the north and south, once as mighty as Everest, now reduced to geologic old age. And rich farms, rolling in long, narrow patches of green and gold, reminders of centuries-old seigneuries, reaching from the safety and commerce of the river into the dangerous and uncertain hinterland, the domain of the Mohawk and Montaignais. I marveled at the numerous canoe-rivers that took brave men weeks to travel while we sped by on asphalt rivers at more than 100 kph. This is truly the old beating heart of Canada.
We found our hotel in Montmagny ahead of schedule. A restful afternoon, some pizza and beer for supper, conversation about the upcoming weather waiting for us perhaps in Halifax … and then, tomorrow's road.
DAY 2 THURS. SEPT. 5 MONTMAGNY - HALIFAX
A long nine hour drive today. We awoke to cold conditions but brilliant sunshine in Montmagny, a little later than I wanted. Our drive went north along the St. Lawrence, which became visible as we progressed. The wide river is indeed mighty. We saw wonderful vistas of rich farmland and more low rounded mountains.
New Brunswick is a vast rolling forest, immense and evocative of Duncan Campbell Scott's "Height of Land". The drive was excellent in every way: but the seemingly endless trail started to insinuate itself on me. I was tired, but happy. The road through New Brunswick was in good shape and I found that our car wanted to gallop: several times, I had to throttle back from 140 kph, the roads were that good and the Mounties were that scarce: but you never know ! We straddled the border with Maine, and several rivers, lakes and towns few by, nameless and unknown to us. We gained an hour somewhere in New Brunswick, but we didn't care. We wanted Halifax.
Finally, our third province of the day greeted us. Nova Scotia was mostly indistinguishable from New Brunswick at first. Then, as the sunlight glowed warmly into late afternoon, the hills grew smaller, the forest less dense, and some views of ocean at Nova Scotia's narrowest northern point met our gaze. A last sprint into Dartmouth, over the bridge peering down into the busy navy yards, and a climb to our musty, funky hotel. We enjoyed beer and food at the Brown Dog pub, met a lovely barmaid from Richmond Hill, and began to consider the approaching storm.
New Brunswick is a vast rolling forest, immense and evocative of Duncan Campbell Scott's "Height of Land". The drive was excellent in every way: but the seemingly endless trail started to insinuate itself on me. I was tired, but happy. The road through New Brunswick was in good shape and I found that our car wanted to gallop: several times, I had to throttle back from 140 kph, the roads were that good and the Mounties were that scarce: but you never know ! We straddled the border with Maine, and several rivers, lakes and towns few by, nameless and unknown to us. We gained an hour somewhere in New Brunswick, but we didn't care. We wanted Halifax.
Finally, our third province of the day greeted us. Nova Scotia was mostly indistinguishable from New Brunswick at first. Then, as the sunlight glowed warmly into late afternoon, the hills grew smaller, the forest less dense, and some views of ocean at Nova Scotia's narrowest northern point met our gaze. A last sprint into Dartmouth, over the bridge peering down into the busy navy yards, and a climb to our musty, funky hotel. We enjoyed beer and food at the Brown Dog pub, met a lovely barmaid from Richmond Hill, and began to consider the approaching storm.
DAY 3 FRI. SEPT. 6 HALIFAX
Not a good night's sleep despite the driver fatigue. Nevertheless, a beautiful, bright, mild day greeted us. Storm ? What storm ?
We walked down steep streets to the old part of Halifax. The beautiful St. Paul's church ( ca. 1750 ) reminded us of Halifax's rich past. The colonial vibe is still present, and I thought of the prosperous merchants and genteel clergy rubbing shoulders with rough farmers, fishers, tradespeople and sailors in this important garrison port. Halifax was on par with Boston, New York and Philadelphia in those days and only a stubborn loyalty kept them from joining the rebellious 13 colonies to the south.
A visit to Pier 21 is a must for all Canadians, since we are ALL immigrants to this country. As we roamed the restored complex and saw the artifacts, we thought of Lou's Aunt Mary and my Dad and his brothers … and me and my Mom. We may not all have come through Pier 21, but we all had a first time on Canadian shores and it must've been a terrifying and awesome experience. I thought of my childhood friends and schoolmates … Ukrainian, German, Poles, Italians. And I thought of many of my former students … Vietnamese, Jamaican, Persian and Afghans. We all have our stories and reason for coming here. And our stories make the Canadian story, one and all.
Garrison beer, delicious scallops and clam chowder were the culinary highlights, enjoyed at water's edge at the busy harbor. The rumours of the hurricane seem crazy on a day like today. Except that cruise ships, the coast guard and the navy seem to be getting out quickly. Hmmm. Our return walk up endless steep streets made us weary and want to turn in early. What will tomorrow bring ?
We walked down steep streets to the old part of Halifax. The beautiful St. Paul's church ( ca. 1750 ) reminded us of Halifax's rich past. The colonial vibe is still present, and I thought of the prosperous merchants and genteel clergy rubbing shoulders with rough farmers, fishers, tradespeople and sailors in this important garrison port. Halifax was on par with Boston, New York and Philadelphia in those days and only a stubborn loyalty kept them from joining the rebellious 13 colonies to the south.
A visit to Pier 21 is a must for all Canadians, since we are ALL immigrants to this country. As we roamed the restored complex and saw the artifacts, we thought of Lou's Aunt Mary and my Dad and his brothers … and me and my Mom. We may not all have come through Pier 21, but we all had a first time on Canadian shores and it must've been a terrifying and awesome experience. I thought of my childhood friends and schoolmates … Ukrainian, German, Poles, Italians. And I thought of many of my former students … Vietnamese, Jamaican, Persian and Afghans. We all have our stories and reason for coming here. And our stories make the Canadian story, one and all.
Garrison beer, delicious scallops and clam chowder were the culinary highlights, enjoyed at water's edge at the busy harbor. The rumours of the hurricane seem crazy on a day like today. Except that cruise ships, the coast guard and the navy seem to be getting out quickly. Hmmm. Our return walk up endless steep streets made us weary and want to turn in early. What will tomorrow bring ?
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| Halifax's famous clock tower |
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| Lou enjoying the sunshine and warmth on Halifax's vibrant waterfront |
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| The old and the new. The red umbrellas are the Bicycle Thief restaurant: great chowder and scallops! |
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| Cruise ship terminal, with Pier 21 the brown brick building in the middle |
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| Pier 21 museum: an absolute MUST VISIT ! |
Sunday, October 20, 2019
DAY 4 SAT. SEPT. 7 HALIFAX
Hurricane ? What hurricane ? Or so we thought when we woke up this morning. We noticed that it had rained a bit through the night and there was a slight breeze under grey skies, but nothing unusual. But we knew something was coming, so did not make elaborate plans. After breakfast, we decided to go for a brief neighbourhood walk. The streets were very quiet. Then, about ten minutes into our walk, the rain started and the wind really kicked up. A quick retreat brought us back to our hotel for a window seat.
As the minutes went by, the rain and wind picked up in intensity, but, again, nothing unusual. Then, around noon, the power went out. We lost all connection to the internet, although our phones still worked. Then, Mother Nature really began to rachet up the fury. We hoped that each crazy gust and angry wave of tree branches would signal the height of it, but for the next six hours it would just increase. We genuinely feared for a large chestnut tree in the next door yard, but, like a veteran boxer, its branches bobbed and weaved: it absorbed so much violence, but refused to go down.
Around 4 pm, we realized that a hoped-for end was out of the question. Fortunately we bought some food ( bagels, peanut butter, cookies, trail mix, apples and bananas ) and lots of bottled water. We had enough. But all we could do is hang out in our small, increasingly dark room and watch the show. I ventured outside for about 10 minutes to get some video and was absolutely drenched.
At 6 pm the strangest thing happened. The rain stopped and the wind went from being a screaming banshee to absolute silence. People emerged from houses, probably looking for food, or walking their dogs. We looked at each other and realized that the storm was not over: it was the eye. Surreal calm and quiet.
Then, about 45 minutes later, like someone flipped a switch, the rain and wind came back and roung 2 brought more body blows. Darkness came and Halifax remained a ghost town. So strange. We lost daylight before 8 pm and settled into bed for a long, edgy night. Sleep came, but it was storm-tossed.
We agreed that this was a unique experience in our travels, but not one we would want to duplicate. We later learned that Hurricane Dorion was, when it hit Halifax, was a Category 1 storm …. we had seen the scenes earlier this week when the same hurricane hit the Bahamas as a Category 5 storm. We spent a few silent moments thinking about the poor people whose lives were destroyed by a storm. And we were inconvenienced by rain and wind for a few hours. First world problems.
As the minutes went by, the rain and wind picked up in intensity, but, again, nothing unusual. Then, around noon, the power went out. We lost all connection to the internet, although our phones still worked. Then, Mother Nature really began to rachet up the fury. We hoped that each crazy gust and angry wave of tree branches would signal the height of it, but for the next six hours it would just increase. We genuinely feared for a large chestnut tree in the next door yard, but, like a veteran boxer, its branches bobbed and weaved: it absorbed so much violence, but refused to go down.
Around 4 pm, we realized that a hoped-for end was out of the question. Fortunately we bought some food ( bagels, peanut butter, cookies, trail mix, apples and bananas ) and lots of bottled water. We had enough. But all we could do is hang out in our small, increasingly dark room and watch the show. I ventured outside for about 10 minutes to get some video and was absolutely drenched.
At 6 pm the strangest thing happened. The rain stopped and the wind went from being a screaming banshee to absolute silence. People emerged from houses, probably looking for food, or walking their dogs. We looked at each other and realized that the storm was not over: it was the eye. Surreal calm and quiet.
Then, about 45 minutes later, like someone flipped a switch, the rain and wind came back and roung 2 brought more body blows. Darkness came and Halifax remained a ghost town. So strange. We lost daylight before 8 pm and settled into bed for a long, edgy night. Sleep came, but it was storm-tossed.
We agreed that this was a unique experience in our travels, but not one we would want to duplicate. We later learned that Hurricane Dorion was, when it hit Halifax, was a Category 1 storm …. we had seen the scenes earlier this week when the same hurricane hit the Bahamas as a Category 5 storm. We spent a few silent moments thinking about the poor people whose lives were destroyed by a storm. And we were inconvenienced by rain and wind for a few hours. First world problems.
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| Our Halifax fortress |
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| Rainy Halifax streets … hurricane hasn't happened yet |
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| Stormy weather |
DAY 5 SUN. SEPT. 8 HALIFAX - CHETICAMP
We awoke early to brightness, but not sunshine. Clouds moved quickly overhead, but there was little activity, save for emergency sirens constantly patrolling the streets. Our hotel could not offer breakfast and everything was closed, so we depleted our food supply and pondered our next move, as we learned that Halifax was probably going to be without power until 11 pm at the earliest. We took a short walk to survey the damage and saw a few trees downed by the storm, but there was an eerie silence over the city. Some people were out cleaning up, but mostly it was dead.
I called our hotel in Cheticamp, our next stop four hours away on Cape Breton Island. The manager said Cheticamp was not hard hit, still had power and gasoline and that we'd be OK. Off we went, navigating malfunctioning traffic lights and crossing the bridge over the somewhat turbulent waters of the harbor.
Our biggest concern was gasoline and, sure enough, a few towns out of Halifax on the highway had no open stores or power: therefore, no gas stations operating. We had less than half a tank, so I was conservative with my speed, not knowing for sure if we had enough for Cheticamp. Finally, in Antigonish, there was power, so we gassed up, had a Timmies breakfast and resumed.
Crossing into Cape Breton was dramatic. Nova Scotia looked a lot like Southern Ontario, but Cape Breton looked like the Scottish highlands, only with taller trees. We saw many impressive hills and rivers. Then, along the coast, the angry remnants of Dorion, stirring up monster waves crashing madly and angrily on jagged rocks in a fast, wind-driven fury. At one stop, to get some video, the wind drowned out my voice completely and almost toppled me over. Then, after struggling back into the car, we had a final sprint into the Acadian enclave of Cheticamp, where the Gaelic road signs became French. We found our comfortable hotel, had a superb seafood dinner and settled in for a comfortable, calm and quiet night. Good bye Dorion ! And Happy Birthday, Dad !
I called our hotel in Cheticamp, our next stop four hours away on Cape Breton Island. The manager said Cheticamp was not hard hit, still had power and gasoline and that we'd be OK. Off we went, navigating malfunctioning traffic lights and crossing the bridge over the somewhat turbulent waters of the harbor.
Our biggest concern was gasoline and, sure enough, a few towns out of Halifax on the highway had no open stores or power: therefore, no gas stations operating. We had less than half a tank, so I was conservative with my speed, not knowing for sure if we had enough for Cheticamp. Finally, in Antigonish, there was power, so we gassed up, had a Timmies breakfast and resumed.
Crossing into Cape Breton was dramatic. Nova Scotia looked a lot like Southern Ontario, but Cape Breton looked like the Scottish highlands, only with taller trees. We saw many impressive hills and rivers. Then, along the coast, the angry remnants of Dorion, stirring up monster waves crashing madly and angrily on jagged rocks in a fast, wind-driven fury. At one stop, to get some video, the wind drowned out my voice completely and almost toppled me over. Then, after struggling back into the car, we had a final sprint into the Acadian enclave of Cheticamp, where the Gaelic road signs became French. We found our comfortable hotel, had a superb seafood dinner and settled in for a comfortable, calm and quiet night. Good bye Dorion ! And Happy Birthday, Dad !
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| Grey skies out of Halifax and into Cape Breton |
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| Crossing into Cape Breton |
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| The angry Gulf of St. Lawrence near Cheticamp |
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| Stormy seas |
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| Clearing that evening in Cheticamp as we enjoyed a wonderful dinner |
DAY 6 MON. SEPT. 9 CHETICAMP - INGONISH
We drove this magnificent road 37 years ago in my old ( not old then ! ) Camaro, and we remembered it as a beautiful drive. Now, older and wiser (?) we drove it again. And the beauty of it came flooding back to us. Every bend in the road brought a stunning vista. We stopped frequently, walked the beaches, breathed salt air, blinked in the bright light, looked hopefully for whales but saw none, and contemplated the wonders of earth and time. It was magical.
We hoped the small town of Ingonish had power and luck was with us ! A good hearty supper, come cold beer and off to bed !
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| My beautiful girl on a beautiful morning in beautiful Cheticamp |
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| Catholic church in Cheticamp |
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| On the Cabot Trail |
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| Cabot Trail |
Friday, October 18, 2019
DAY 7 TUES. SEPT. 10 INGONISH - NORTH SYDNEY
A pleasant wake up and breakfast and then back into the park: for a whole 200 meters ! We walked a couple of trails for some wonderful views of the ocean, a freshwater lake, and the hills. Also, we were amazed at the number of trees broken by the hurricane. Also strange was the fact that power was out at the park office, but our hotel across the street had power.
After our trail walks, we continued on the Cabot Trail to North Sydney. Again, the road was winding and narrow, up steep rises and around hairpin curves, always serving up some gorgeous views. We go to our North Sydney hotel in good order and used the afternoon to rest up, re-organize our gear, and get ready for tomorrow's ferry crossing to the Rock. Here's hoping for fair weather and calm seas !
After our trail walks, we continued on the Cabot Trail to North Sydney. Again, the road was winding and narrow, up steep rises and around hairpin curves, always serving up some gorgeous views. We go to our North Sydney hotel in good order and used the afternoon to rest up, re-organize our gear, and get ready for tomorrow's ferry crossing to the Rock. Here's hoping for fair weather and calm seas !
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| Picking our way through tree damage in Cape Breton National Park |
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| More tree damage |
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| Lovely trail walk |
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| Freshwater Lake |
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| Back on the Cabot Trail, heading to North Sydney |
DAY 8 WED. SEPT. 11 NORTH SYDNEY - PORT AUX BASQUES
Early morning and …. hurry up and wait. We got to the ferry terminal with no bother, waited 3 hours until the marvelously efficient loading of the MV Blue Puttees, then settled in for a rainy but mostly smooth crossing of the Gulf of St. Lawrence. The ship is large and comfortable, but there's not much to do except sit, read or sleep. It was too windy and wet to go out on deck to see the view. In fact, there's not much view of anything: because of the wind and rain, only the twenty feet or so around the ship was visible. The rest was a grey infinity.
Port aux Basques was gloomy, dark and rainy when we put in around 7 pm. We disembarked and found our hotel, the St. Christopher Inn, a good name for a hostelry that is both a destination in itself and a jumping off point for a long journey ahead. We found our room, then down to the lounge for some wonderful Newfoundland beer, Iceberg, and good conversation with people from British Columbia, Manitoba, other Ontarians and, of course, Newfoundlanders. Our time in the lounge, drinking and trading travel stories, reminded me of literary taverns, such as the Tabard in the "Cantebury Tales", or the Prancing Pony in the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy. These places are where eager travelers, who have important and possibly long trips ahead of them, relax and get information about the land ahead and where the drink and atmosphere create a heightened sense of anticipation. That was certainly the case for us. While the whole East Coast journey was special, Newfoundland held special attraction simply because it was a bit farther away and a bit more of an effort to get there. And there would be special places to see. It is all in front of us and we enjoyed our short time with our fellow travelers. Afterwards, a lovely fresh fish cake dinner to improve our moods even more. The road beckons tomorrow !
Port aux Basques was gloomy, dark and rainy when we put in around 7 pm. We disembarked and found our hotel, the St. Christopher Inn, a good name for a hostelry that is both a destination in itself and a jumping off point for a long journey ahead. We found our room, then down to the lounge for some wonderful Newfoundland beer, Iceberg, and good conversation with people from British Columbia, Manitoba, other Ontarians and, of course, Newfoundlanders. Our time in the lounge, drinking and trading travel stories, reminded me of literary taverns, such as the Tabard in the "Cantebury Tales", or the Prancing Pony in the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy. These places are where eager travelers, who have important and possibly long trips ahead of them, relax and get information about the land ahead and where the drink and atmosphere create a heightened sense of anticipation. That was certainly the case for us. While the whole East Coast journey was special, Newfoundland held special attraction simply because it was a bit farther away and a bit more of an effort to get there. And there would be special places to see. It is all in front of us and we enjoyed our short time with our fellow travelers. Afterwards, a lovely fresh fish cake dinner to improve our moods even more. The road beckons tomorrow !
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| The MV Blue Puttees, named after the famed Royal Newfoundland Regiment of the First World War |
Thursday, October 17, 2019
DAY 9 THURS. SEPT. 12 PORT AUX BASQUES - ST. ANTHONY
Today was one of those rare days that combined great success and great frustration. The frustration really was just the length of the day. We knew it was going to be a long drive ( 7 hours according to Google ), but it felt much longer. We got off to a late start due to so some inefficient service at breakfast, so that didn't help. But so much driving today made us uneasy: plus the lack of gasoline available with a low tank raised blood pressure. So many of these small coastal villages had no discernable gas supplies. How do the locals cope ?
But the scenery was other-worldly. We were reminded of other great drives we've done before: Iceland, Scotland, the Dempster Highway come to mind. It was all there for us to see today. We passed from the tundra of Port Aux Basque into high table lands, fog-bound cliffs, various forests, fjords and stunning sea coast. Every few kilometers brought a change of environment. We drove in silence for much of the day, taking the immensity and variety. At the north end, a series of small hamlets, all with "Cove" as their descriptors, clung to the coast and forced us to look out to sea to the towering cliffs of Labrador …. so close, but so far. And then the push to St. Anthony on one of the most remote roads we've driven since those other long-past drives. I thought of the ancient Norse who came here a millennium ago and must've felt as alone and uncertain as we did.
St. Anthony seems to be a bustling port and center for the entire region north of Gros Morne National Park. Tomorrow, we will try to reconnect with our Norse forefathers.
But the scenery was other-worldly. We were reminded of other great drives we've done before: Iceland, Scotland, the Dempster Highway come to mind. It was all there for us to see today. We passed from the tundra of Port Aux Basque into high table lands, fog-bound cliffs, various forests, fjords and stunning sea coast. Every few kilometers brought a change of environment. We drove in silence for much of the day, taking the immensity and variety. At the north end, a series of small hamlets, all with "Cove" as their descriptors, clung to the coast and forced us to look out to sea to the towering cliffs of Labrador …. so close, but so far. And then the push to St. Anthony on one of the most remote roads we've driven since those other long-past drives. I thought of the ancient Norse who came here a millennium ago and must've felt as alone and uncertain as we did.
St. Anthony seems to be a bustling port and center for the entire region north of Gros Morne National Park. Tomorrow, we will try to reconnect with our Norse forefathers.
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| tundra near Port aux Basques |
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| Scenes on the north highway to St. Anthony |
Wednesday, October 16, 2019
DAY 10 FRI. SEPT. 13 L'ANSE AUX MEADOWS
This was one of the good days. The weather was perfect and we were able to secure a second night at our hotel, which meant a day fully devoted to the historic site at L'Anse aux Meadows and very little driving. I enjoyed a "Newfoundland" breakfast of fried baloney, eggs, beans and toutons ( deep fried bread dough with a pad of melting butter, drenched in molasses ) and then we were off.
L'Anse aux Meadows is one of those historic sites that fires the imagination. It's hard to get to and remote, which means you have to WANT to be there. The land hasn't changed much in a thousand years, and the sea, the breezes and the sound of the gulls take you back.
The site itself is small. The foundations of the original buildings are there and, like Housteads in northern England, you try to imagine the buildings and people walking and working among them, inside and outside, going about their daily business. Then the imagination gets a boost with the re-created village and costumed re-enactors, all well versed in Norse ways.
They must have been a tough lot, brave to have sailed from Greenland to here. It would've been dangerous to the extreme. But some inner voice commanding their souls to strive and venture forth made them do it …. and for what ? Loneliness, uncertainty, cold and rain, sickness and storms. They were there only 10 years, searching for something bigger and better than what they had back home. And then, they left. No trace of violence or plague or disaster … just gone.
It's clear that L'Anse aux Meadows was simply a way-station, a place to put in for a time to repair their ships, gather fresh food, trade with other Norse, and gather information on the wider world. It reminds me of a pre-medieval space station, just a place to prepare for longer, bigger voyages.
Just outside of L'Anse aux Meadows is the reconstruction site called Norstead. It's a collection of Viking-era reconstructions based on various sites throughout the Norse world. It was built and is staffed by locals in the nearby modern towns, and has nothing to do with the Parks Canada site. I was worried that it would be cheesy, but the locals did a nice job with it. The highlight was the large reconstruction of the ship called the "Snorri", named after the first European baby born in the New World. "Snorri" was built in 1996 and sailed from Greenland to L'Anse aux Meadows to commemorate the thousandth anniversary of the original sailing. It was based on the plans of a Viking ship unearthed in Denmark and was quite impressive. It made me shiver to think of the original Norse sailors who manned similar ships a thousand years ago and made these voyages, and I wondered how many of these glorified rowboats like at the bottom of the North Atlantic.
After a long but enjoyable day at these sites, we drove into a nearby little town to do some souvenir shopping. We met a delightful man who operated the gift shop and talked with him about life in these small villages in northern Newfoundland. He was engaging and had many good stories to tell: we loved listening to him in his broad Newfoundland accent. He was a man of many trades: woodcutter, fisher, artisan, hunter …. he had "eskimo" ancestry in him, and I saw it in his facial features. That and his gift of the gab made us realize that we were indeed in the company of a true Newfoundlander. We drove under the fading sunlight back to St. Anthony and enjoyed a couple of cold beers and a delicious cod dinner.
L'Anse aux Meadows is one of those historic sites that fires the imagination. It's hard to get to and remote, which means you have to WANT to be there. The land hasn't changed much in a thousand years, and the sea, the breezes and the sound of the gulls take you back.
The site itself is small. The foundations of the original buildings are there and, like Housteads in northern England, you try to imagine the buildings and people walking and working among them, inside and outside, going about their daily business. Then the imagination gets a boost with the re-created village and costumed re-enactors, all well versed in Norse ways.
They must have been a tough lot, brave to have sailed from Greenland to here. It would've been dangerous to the extreme. But some inner voice commanding their souls to strive and venture forth made them do it …. and for what ? Loneliness, uncertainty, cold and rain, sickness and storms. They were there only 10 years, searching for something bigger and better than what they had back home. And then, they left. No trace of violence or plague or disaster … just gone.
It's clear that L'Anse aux Meadows was simply a way-station, a place to put in for a time to repair their ships, gather fresh food, trade with other Norse, and gather information on the wider world. It reminds me of a pre-medieval space station, just a place to prepare for longer, bigger voyages.
Just outside of L'Anse aux Meadows is the reconstruction site called Norstead. It's a collection of Viking-era reconstructions based on various sites throughout the Norse world. It was built and is staffed by locals in the nearby modern towns, and has nothing to do with the Parks Canada site. I was worried that it would be cheesy, but the locals did a nice job with it. The highlight was the large reconstruction of the ship called the "Snorri", named after the first European baby born in the New World. "Snorri" was built in 1996 and sailed from Greenland to L'Anse aux Meadows to commemorate the thousandth anniversary of the original sailing. It was based on the plans of a Viking ship unearthed in Denmark and was quite impressive. It made me shiver to think of the original Norse sailors who manned similar ships a thousand years ago and made these voyages, and I wondered how many of these glorified rowboats like at the bottom of the North Atlantic.
After a long but enjoyable day at these sites, we drove into a nearby little town to do some souvenir shopping. We met a delightful man who operated the gift shop and talked with him about life in these small villages in northern Newfoundland. He was engaging and had many good stories to tell: we loved listening to him in his broad Newfoundland accent. He was a man of many trades: woodcutter, fisher, artisan, hunter …. he had "eskimo" ancestry in him, and I saw it in his facial features. That and his gift of the gab made us realize that we were indeed in the company of a true Newfoundlander. We drove under the fading sunlight back to St. Anthony and enjoyed a couple of cold beers and a delicious cod dinner.
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| Replica of the "Snorri" |
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| Lagertha |
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| Interior of reconstructed longhouse with Viking interpreter at left |
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| Reconstructed longhouse |
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| Ragnar |
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| Parks Canada guide at the site of a smithy just outside the main village |
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| Coastline off L'Anse aux Meadows |
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| Reconstructed site at L'Anse aux Meadows |
Saturday, October 12, 2019
DAY 11 SAT. SEPT. 14 ST. ANTHONY - ROCKY HARBOUR
Cool but sunny this morning. A quick Timmies breakfast and refuel and we said goodbye to St. Anthony, our furthest point north. Back down the 430 we headed. Today was the start of moose season and we encountered many local lads clad in cammo and orange vests in their pickups plying the highway. We have absolutely no problem with these guys hunting: moose are not endangered in Newfoundland and what these men kill will fill many a freezer in local homes and restaurants. We didn't see any kills, but heard of a couple of guys who "got their moose today."
The drive back to Gros Morne National Park is speactular, as described earlier. Today, though, we had time to stop and photograph many wonderful sights. We did an hour and a half hike at the Western Brook Trail to see the most iconic part of Gros Morne, a place where a glacier lived and died eons ago. Such beauty in a windswept place.
Tonight, we holed up in Rocky Harbour, enjoyed another sea food feast ( cod and scallop ) and plotted our next moves. We are tired but game !!
The drive back to Gros Morne National Park is speactular, as described earlier. Today, though, we had time to stop and photograph many wonderful sights. We did an hour and a half hike at the Western Brook Trail to see the most iconic part of Gros Morne, a place where a glacier lived and died eons ago. Such beauty in a windswept place.
Tonight, we holed up in Rocky Harbour, enjoyed another sea food feast ( cod and scallop ) and plotted our next moves. We are tired but game !!
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| Gros Morne Mountain |
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| Ready for the hike at Western Brook |
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| Windswept ? |
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| Beautiful day for a hike, even with the wind ! |
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| Part of the Western Brook |
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| Western Brook |
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| Western Brook |
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| Gros Morne National Park |
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