August 1

August 1, 2004

DE LIGHTED

Sometime past more than half our summer was gone. Sometime past more than half our lives were gone. We pass midpoints so often, in our education, jobs, skills, strength and lives that we hardly notice the mileposts flashing by. Civilizations pass their midpoints too, most often without being aware, but their midpoints and declines are marked by decadence and loss of moral values and compass. Students of history know this. America may be past her midpoint unless the downward spiral is reversed. Are you doing anything to stem the tide?

Sixty foggy soggy degrees awaited our rising. We fought back with bacon, eggs, coffee and tea and gospel CD music.

We started laying out our clothes, outerwear, shoes, snacks, camera, binoculars, Bible, toilet articles and books hoping not to leave any needed article behind. While the method isn’t foolproof it does work pretty well for us. In a couple of days we will know how well we did today. While Onie folded some items notes went into the laptop.

We reached a stopping point, by mutual consent, and got ready to go to the 100 year Celebration of Gilbert’s Cove Lighthouse.

The lighthouse was constructed in 1904, converted to electricity in 1965 and retired from duty in 1996. Gilbert’s Cove had been de lighted. Ownership now rests in the hands of an association of volunteers dedicated to preserving this important piece of history. When we passed Grosses Coques the sun started to break through the fog and by the time we reached the gravel road leading out to the spit and the celebration we were enjoying the seventy three degrees the sun was producing.

A volunteer directed us to a parking place on the hill looking down on the sound stage set up for the bands that were to perform. We backed in, opened the tailgate and had great seats for the entertainment, three different bands and singers.

Corn, fish and clam chowder were served free, by the volunteers. There was a small bucket provided for donations to support the upkeep of the lighthouse. We dropped in our share. Clam and fish chowders were shared as well as a hot dog, no bun, each.

While we were eating June Melanson came by with some friends of hers’, Art and Shelia. Art is a fellow with a quick wit. He claims he went to New Foundland to find a wife and took the first woman he met otherwise he might have gotten a taller one. Shelia, who is very talented musically, is just a little over five feet tall. Her tolerance of Art’s good natured kidding is much greater.

Al and Shelia were to perform along with a bass player from another band. When their turn came Art got her keyboard and I carried her accordion. Once they were on stage and set up the crowd paid close attention as they played and Al sang Don’t Let Me Die Young, his signature song, a Hank Williams Medley and a few other songs before June joined him on stage for Til a Tear Becomes A Rose.

Shelia accompanied him on the keyboards. When the singing was over Shelia picked up her accordion and Al played backup as her melodies drifted over the hillside.

Later when the music had stopped, it was threatening rain; Shelia invited us to her summer home, in Gilbert’s Cover, when we return from New Foundland. They moved there after spending thirty six years in Dartmouth. We promised her we would keep the date. Music will be played from her Florida, where she and Art winter, repertoire that is used for gigs there. She reminded us she is a Newfie and told us to look to our immediate left upon exiting the ferry and we would see the house where she was born. We promised we would do that, too. If we meet any Hanns while in New Foundland they will be her relatives. She reminded us that she and Art, Al and June winter close to each other and we could visit all four if we chose to make the trip. We took note of that, too. I felt my mental notebook might be getting full so she agreed to remind me of everything on our visit. With the threat of rain turning to reality each couple sought the shelter of their vehicle and headed home.

Onie and I were back in Belle Baie by four thirty. We found wind-whipping fog over the park bringing a very un-summer like chill to the air with the soggy sixty seven degrees.

In the coach our attentions turned back to our upcoming trip to New Foundland. With a little searching we found a weather forecast on the Gander Airport website, cool and wet.

The chowder and wiener had worn off so Onie put some brisket, sausage and broccoli salad on a tray while I pecked. When she was ready we set off for Yvonne’s where she had prepared fricot and rappie pie. Other couples brought fresh bread, finger foods, dip, gumbo, rice, cheese cake and water melon. Thirty folks, including a radio reporter from CBC, attended the potluck supper. The reporter taped interviews with several people from Louisiana as well as some Nova Scotians. Onie and I kept a low profile while she did her recording. We both know how taped interviews are edited and sometimes the interviewee doesn’t even recognize his or her comments. That knowledge plus the fact that the reporter was working for the Canadian equivalent of NPR made us scarce indeed.

While others continued to graze on the remains of the potluck Al, Steve, Danny and Onie played and sang. When Onie had performed, solo, Give Me My Flowers, a crowd favorite we went home at ten thirty. The party continued even though tomorrow is Monday since it is also a government holiday.

Onie had been trekking back and forth to the washateria during supper and the playing. Now we made the trip together and finished up.

We did some folding in the coach before retiring to bed to watch GSN. At a commercial break at twelve thirty we turned off the TV and went to sleep.

August 2, 2004

LOADED

We rose at eight thirty to heavy fog that hung on the clothes line like melting icicles, dripping onto the already sodden grass below. With the outside thermometer registering sixty two coffee and tea were prepared and drank as we listened to the accumulated moisture drip from the roof drains. All was quiet in Belle Baie.

With an energy boost from breakfast we began our last day in the coach, for a while. While Onie made zucchini bread I finished writing last week and then began selecting pictures and placing them in her job folder. Later she would proof my stories, import the pictures, ready the overall product for upload and then send it to our website. The whole process takes at least two hours for each week. Some of the work had been done yesterday and last night but it still took some doing to get the three weeks ready to upload.

When my stint at the laptop was finished Onie took over and I began laying out clothes for our trip. Onie had already been working on her’s. Checking and double checking we went through our selections to be sure we were taking what was needed but not too much. We had checked New Foundland weather last night and were trying to pack accordingly. When I was satisfied that my portion was done my attentions were turned outside.

The bikes were stored under shelter, chairs were folded and put in the basement as well as the rug and table and then a set of keys were given to Yvonne just in case an emergency came up and access was needed to the coach. She could also get ice, as needed, from the ice maker. Next the lawn mower was fetched and pushed about until last weeks growth had been trimmed. Turning my attention to trimming I went to get a weed eater only to find the only one available was out of trimming line and the spool containing extra line had been removed from our storage shed.

A young man of nine saw my predicament and offered his help. He knew where a spool was stored and went off, on his bike, to retrieve it. While he was gone I deciphered the code for opening the empty spool. Soon enough he returned, extra line in hand. While it was being wound on the spool and the spool reinstalled he and I visited. He would be going back to school soon. It was okay and he wasn’t really concerned about it. He had been camping all summer at Belle Baie just like he had for as long as he could remember, a really long time. Summer was a little long and he was missing his friends, no girls in particular but a lot of guys. He was sure I could understand that. Sure enough, I can remember being nine, I just can’t remember what I had for breakfast. His Dad wasn’t camping with them right now but would be in on the weekend. He is a truck driver, driving to St John’s all the time, but home most weekends. The young fella wasn’t quite sure he wanted to be a truck driver. He had ridden with his Dad a few times and it wasn’t that great. Perhaps if he studied hard he could do something else for a living. The thought had occurred to him but he really didn’t like to study all that much. He would have to see about it. With that he was back on his bike, with the extra line, and then he had to find his friends in the park. I thanked him for the help and he replied he was glad he could and then he was gone. He had been very helpful and very polite. I think he will study hard.

The new line cut clean and swift and soon all the edging had been completed. The place looked real nice. When we get back from New Foundland it will be time to do it all over again.

While I had played outside Onie had made progress with the stories for the website. Back inside I watched as she completed the prep, logged on and began the upload. It takes quite a while to load three weeks including the pictures so we talked while the machine did its thing. Shortly Onie announced that it was loaded. She went to our site to be sure everything was there and then logged off. It would be sometime before we were able to upload again.

Onie had been marinating steaks, since yesterday and now she was ready for me to put them on the grill. I lit it up and played a game of Spider while it heated. The meat was put on the grill.

When it started to squirm it was removed, tied to a plate and taken inside to finish off and go with the wonderful salad that was waiting.

While Onie washed the dishes pecking progressed, somewhat.

Steven, Yvonne, Al, June, Tammy Gaudet, her husband Rob and son, Jordan were gathered round the campfire when we got there. Tammy et al are from Shreveport, Louisiana. They all wanted to know if we were ready to roll first thing in the morning. We almost were, just a little last minute packing and we could be off.

We didn’t stay late and were home having raspberries and whipped cream at ten thirty while we watched GSN. Then the last of the packing was done and we headed off to bed thirty minutes after midnight.

August 3, 2004

LONG DAY

A good seven hours in our own bed is better than ten in a strange one. We were up at seven thirty. Outside the sun shone brightly through the sixty degree morning

Onie dressed and headed off to the gym with June while I cleaned the kitchen, vacuumed, packed the cooler with things from the fridge and began counting pills for the coming days; while I was still counting Onie returned. She helped me double check to be sure we had what we needed and then the toad was loaded.

Now all that was left was to pull in the slides, on the Marlin, and turn off our water. With that done we took one last look at the coach and our flowers and headed off to breakfast.

Several service clubs are serving breakfast to those attending the four hundredth Acadian reunion. This may include locals as well as people from around the world. This morning the Belliveau Cove Service Club was hosting the meal. Yvonne had volunteered to work and was there when we stopped for breakfast, all you can eat for five fifty. We went through the service line and then sat down to eat and visit with others at our table, Al and June, Tammy and Rob and their son Jordan. Yvonne visited with us as her work allowed. When breakfast had been eaten we bade them goodbye, hugged and we were on the road to Lunnenburg, at ten thirty.

Bright sunshine turned our transition lens glasses to dark green as we rode along in the fifty five degree morning. When we reached Middleton we left the one oh one.

For the next one hundred miles the road took us through small towns and villages toward the South Shore. In between the population centers farms and woods stood next to the winding road. The vegetation from both covered the undulating hills with dark green and ran right down to the rocky creeks and streams. Halfway to Lunnenburg we passed through a beautiful little town with massive trees lining the streets. Set back, a respectable distance, elegantly aged two storied homes were complemented by manicured lawns and flower gardens. On the far side of town the road was joined by a river that eventually fed into a lake. As we passed we saw a young couple swimming in the clear clean water. When the steam that empties the lake left the roadside we entered Lunnenburg.

Lunnenburg is a port town on the South Shore once, no doubt, home to a large fishing fleet. Today the harbor was filled with pleasure craft and tall ships.

The ships have come to be a part of the Acadian celebration. Yesterday, and a few days before, they were in Halifax. Tomorrow they will be sailing further south and will touch at Meteghan, Yarmouth and Digby before moving on to New Brunswick. We are here to photograph the ships, walk the decks, feel the lines and perhaps get a look below decks. We have been discussing a barefoot cruise for many years now and this is a chance for us to see ships approaching the size of the barefoot cruise ships. After today we will be closer to a decision.

Before we could look at the ships we had to find a parking place. Wherever it was possible to park it seemed a car was already there and at least one other waiting, hoping for the parked car to leave. In addition the streets, like those in many old towns, were narrow and crooked. Being a seaport on a steep hill that led down to the wharves only made things more interesting. After a bit of praying and cruising the streets, slowly, we saw a space too small for a full size car but just right for the toad. We slipped in, turned the wheel toward the curb, set the hand brake, locked up and headed for the ships. It was one thirty. We figured we had to leave by three to assure we wouldn’t miss the New Foundland ferry, from North Sydney.

The sun had driven the thermometer to eighty five by the time we had hustled down to the mass of people blocking easy access to the pier.

After paying the piper we waded through the crowd and headed toward the Pride of Baltimore II.

She is a replica of a revolutionary war privateer, complete with deck cannon. It was ships like this, small though she was, that ran British blockades and brought needed supplies to the struggling new nation, The Confederation of States. Rum, sugar and other crucial supplies were brought through the blockade. While at sea the privateers raided British supply ships, capturing them and their stores of food, arms and munitions. The men who sailed these sleek swift ships of prey and commerce risked their all for wallet and country.

Gazella Philadelphia is a barkentine, wood hull vessel built 1883. She is one hundred seventy seven feet long at her deck and a hundred fifty feet at the water line. She has a beam of twenty seven feet and draws seventeen feet of water displacing six hundred thirty six tons. When built her only means of power was her twelve thousand square feet of sail. Today she also has a five hundred forty horsepower Caterpillar diesel engine which acts as an auxiliary.

For sixty five years she served in the Atlantic fishing trade and then more modern ships took her place. She was laid up off and on but in 1971 William Wilkoff Smith, a Philadelphia philanthropist, bought her and took her to Philadelphia where he gave her to The Philadelphia Ship Preservation Guild who now owns and operates her. She now sails in US and Canadian waters ranging from New Foundland in the north to the Caribbean in the south.

Another U.S. ship is the Spirit of Massachusetts. She is modeled after a Gloucester fishing schooner and is used as a teaching platform including the instruction of high school students.

We boarded her, as we had the Baltimore and Gazella, and prowled her decks, looked through open hatches, touched lines, held the wheel and tried to imagine her and these other vessels under sail. We, of course, would be stretched out on the deck, leaning against a mast, relaxed on the foc’sle or otherwise relaxed enjoying the ride. Barefoot cruisers are bigger but as we waked the wooden decks, saw the bare spars above us and smelled the salt air we almost felt the decks heaving as the beauties bounded through the seas. Who knows, I might even take the wheel and steer for some, as yet, undiscovered island and find buried treasure.

Even if I didn’t I would have my treasure with me; she was going along. Just as an unknown island hove into view she broke my dream by telling me it was three fifteen. Taking my hand she led me from my daydream and past the other tall ships, the Unicorn, Fritha, Picton Castle, When & If, Appledore V and Grand Nellie.

Visitation was over for us but we knew that on another day we would be participating in another adventure, a barefoot cruise. Stay tuned.

Striding up the street toward the toad we swayed, still under the trance of the sea and our recent voyage. The smell of fresh ocean air, holystone, oakum, wet lines and damp sails hung in our nostrils. We were old salts.

Onie suggested the oldest salt open the car and drive us to Truro and North Sydney. We did get in the car, left our parking place to another small vehicle and headed toward Halifax before taking the 102 toward Truro.

We had traveled many miles since we last bought fuel and were nearing Indian Territory. Hoping for a safe passage we pulled into their gas bar and bought fuel and snacks before heading on. Apparently our tactic worked because we continued our trip, unmolested. We also saved a little money because the natives don’t have to pay taxes so their prices are a little less.

The toad has traveled the road to Bedeck via the Canso Causeway several times now and barely needed my direction to take us there. Bedeck fell behind us and we headed on to North Sydney arriving at eight o’clock, a tad early.

The ferry was scheduled to leave at eleven thirty. We did have to check in, pay the balance of our fare and get instructions on loading. We paid as we entered the parking area, much as you would at a toll booth, and proceeded to lane four where we parked. We would be instructed by an attendant on boarding. For now we just needed to wait.

We walked to the terminal building where we hoped to get something to eat, having had no supper, as well as just stretch our legs and look around. Even though we had only been up for a little over twelve hours we had spent most of it in the Subaru, almost five hundred miles, and when we weren’t in the Subaru we had been sailing over the bounding main. We were suffering from car fatigue and excess through put.

The eatery in the terminal specialized in satisfying the wants of carboholics. We decided to pass but did ask a young lady working there what our options were. She told us about some restaurants within walking distance and we set off to find one. Five minutes brought us to a Chinese Café. That seemed just right. We ordered, ate and whiled away the time as we speculated on the coming trip. Near ten we strolled back to the car.

Our conversation continued about our coming adventures. We were on the first day of a car trip, something we have never experienced, together, before. In addition we would be staying in Bed and Breakfast lodgings, for the most part, another thing we have never done before and we would be doing these things in a new province. We could have talked all night but at eleven twenty an attendant came by and picked up our tickets and directed us to pull forward, preparatory to loading. We followed the instructions and soon the toad and we were deep in the bowels of the huge ferry. Sardines aren’t packed any tighter than the cars in front of us and behind us. To our left was an eighteen wheeler.

An on board attendant directed us to a stairway and escalator that took us up to the pursers office which we checked in and inquired about the status of our cabin. We were on standby, ten on a list of twenty.

We were seated in reclining seats; with the backs as far back as they would go, about amidships when the Caribou got underway, after midnight. We were trying to sleep.

August 4, 2004

TEN

On board the MV Caribou, flagship of the Marine Atlantic New Foundland Fleet at twelve thirty in the morning we were trying to relax; reclined, eyes closed, mind working to block out the sound of talking about us and adjust to the slow roll of the ship. Sleep seemed fleeting at best and unattainable at worst. Outside the windows everything was black. Not a star was visible as fog enshrouded the ship. I hoped the radar was functioning.

At least there was no worry about German U Boats. The original Caribou was sunk in 1942, torpedoed by a sub. She went down with a loss of one hundred twenty seven lives, all civilian. If you hadn’t thought about it before that should remind you that we have dealt with thugs before and we won. If we will truthfully identify our enemy and stay the course we will win again. The current batch of scum doesn’t believe Americans have the stomach for war and the will to win. If they are right our grandchildren will be Aramaic speaking Muslims. It is really that simple.

Dozing fitfully we listened as names were read off the cabin waiting list. Each time the announcement came fewer names were read until only two were read for the remaining cabins. It was quite a while before the mike was keyed again and one last name was called, Blomstrom. Ten had been our lucky number this morning. We quickly gathered our things and made our way to the purser’s office where we paid our money and claimed the last berths. Key in hand we made our way forward and down a deck before finding cabin three oh seven. Inside we found we had a porthole, four single beds, bunk bed style and our own bath. A little after one we tucked ourselves into separate lower berths and settled in to try to sleep. Half an hour later the mattresses were dragged to the floor and we had a double bed. Five minutes later we were asleep.

An hour before we reached Port aux Basque, five thirty, an announcement came over the cabin speaker awakening us to the new day. Onie peeked out our porthole before starting her shower. It was still foggy but she could see the waves scooting by as we made our twenty plus knots. After showers and dressing we made our way up to the cafeteria where we had coffee and tea. The menu was still a carb lover’s delight.

The ferry moves so smoothly that we were hardly aware of when she docked but another announcement on the intercom told us to go to our car and prepare to disembark. After a false start Onie’s memory led us to the Subaru. We did a mental check of items we should have with us. Her sweater was missing. Quickly she went back to where we had sat while drinking coffee and tea. A crew member had just discovered her sweater and was going to take it to the lost and found. Onie retrieved it and hurried back to the toad. When she appeared I breathed a sigh of relief just before starting the engine and driving onto New Foundland soil, for the first time.

As we came off the ferry we looked to our left seeking the house where Shelia had been born. Certainly we saw it and a couple of dozen more. We just didn’t know which house and wondered if it had really been just three or four days since we had seen her and Art.

We followed the car in front of us out of the terminal and up to the Trans Canadian Highway, hereinafter referred to as TCH. It seems the Newfies, New Foundlanders, like to abbreviate many things or use initials to identify them as well as having their own vocabulary.

We drove east by north on the TCH looking for a place where we could take the wrinkles out of our tummies. A hundred kilometers and an hour passed before we saw an Atlantic Oil gas bar. In the same building was a restaurant. We pulled in and ordered three egg omelets, coffee and tea. We passed on the Texas toast.

Glad we had been fed, and somewhat rested from our sleep on the deck, we climbed back in the car and headed off toward Stephenville. On the way we made a little detour to a U-Pick strawberry field.

We each picked a quart before driving past a potato patch and heading back to the TCH and going on to a fuel bar in Stephenville.

Wal-Mart seems to attract the toad and today was no different from others. We found ourselves in the parking lot but not before stopping at the grocery and drugstore. We were on a search for Bakenets or as they are known locally, Porkys. We found none at Wally World so went back to the gas bar and bought all they had before heading back to 430 and out to Cape St. George.

Somewhere ahead of us lay Cape St. George Bed and Breakfast. When we got there it would be our first experience with a B&B but before we had that experience we had to negotiate the narrow road that followed the many coves and inlets along the coast. Rain beat down on us as we followed this winding road through one small village after another, despairing of maintaining the eighty kilometer per hour speed limit, and perhaps never finding our shelter for the coming night. The thought of spending the night in the toad, even in sixty four degree weather, was too uncomfortable to contemplate so we pressed on. When it seemed the road would never cease winding we saw a small blue and white sign announcing our revival. Slowing to a crawl we made a one eighty turn and, in low gear, climbed the steep hill to the parking lot. A sigh escaped our lips as we set foot on the parking lot and headed to the house.

Our land lady, Jenny, was a pleasant looking woman with a broad smile and pleasing personality. What she lacked in height she made up in warmth. We introduced ourselves and were well on our way to our first B&B experience. Her B&B consisted of two buildings. One was the original house which she and her husband, Peter, had purchased two years ago, modified and turned into the B&B. April of this year they had started construction on a new building that would contain nine new rooms, a new kitchen, dining room and common area. Our room was in the new building. While placing our things in the room we noticed the smell of fresh paint and that the trim was unpainted. We also noted that we had no water. When we went to the house to visit and settle our bill we found out that the power had been out that morning. It had been restored but the prime had been lost in the well pump. Peter was working on it and we would have water later in the day.

We inquired about things to do, locally and then went back to the room where Onie fixed us a salad before laying down to take a nap. What with the banging of hammers, the buzzing of saws, the sounds of dropped and dragged wood and the clomping of work boots over our heads there was no nap for Onie. While Onie tossed and turned I pecked, trying to stay current or at least not get too far behind.

Close to six thirty, supper time, we made our way to the large deck on the front of the house. A small group of guests, as well as Peter, were gathered there looking out onto St. George Bay.

Here the hills are steep and when they reach the shore they continue their downward plunge so that a few hundred yards off shore the clear water is several hundred feet deep. Whales; Fins, Minkes and Humpbacks come near the shoreline in search of their next meal. Over this seascape a few sea birds soared. The calm water held Capelin and now and then a Tern or Gannett would plunge to the surface to pluck one from or near the surface. With the birds feeding there was a good chance we would se one of the world’s largest mammals. Sure enough a spout was soon spotted, marking the location of a Minke, a whale, a small whale but none the less a whale. All eyes watched the area and were soon rewarded with the next sighting. The Minke continued to feed, showing itself from time to time, until it finally dove deep leaving us all searching for it's next appearing. It didn’t appear but Jenny did. She announced supper was on the table.

Most B&BS serve only breakfast. In fact of all the B&BS we had scheduled this was the only one that advertised that supper was included. Glad that we wouldn’t have to go back out for supper Onie and I, quite tired and hungry, were among the first to the table. Places were set, with cloth napkins, in the homey dinning area. Food was served buffet style. On serving platters and food warmers were salmon, pork, potatoes, green salad, and chili and corn soup. For those wanting it, Peter poured a home made red wine. It was full bodied with good legs and good aroma. Onie and I both tried a glass and as the meal progressed, yet another. When we felt we could eat nothing else Jenny set a little cake, topped with mixed berries covered with whipped cream in front of us. We have always been good sports so we did our best to keep her happy, and cleaned the bowls.

With most everyone satisfied the guests lingered at the table visiting, exchanging the day’s happenings with one another, suggesting activities for the morrow and sharing planned itineraries. Jenny is, among other things, a teacher in the public schools. I broached the subject and discussed my theory that boys, at age five or six are too immature, and should not start school until they are nine or ten years of age and then progress at a pace that still has them finish around age eighteen. She fully agreed. She said she has seen case after case of boys getting off to a bad start in school due to nothing other than a lack of maturity which translates into the ability to sit still and concentrate for long periods of time. Since allergies had also been mentioned during dinner she opined as how overly sterile environments and lack of opportunity to play outdoors and be exposed to, and even eat, dirt has led to a generation of people with no natural immunity to disease or allergens. She avowed that studies in Canada bear out her position of this. Makes sense to me.

We were enjoying our first B&B but our bodies reminded us of the short night we had enjoyed so we excused ourselves and headed for our room.

At nine o’clock we locked our door and began to enjoy the solitude. I settled in to write while Onie watched a closed captioned movie. We interrupted these activities to play a little spider before we retired at ten.

August 5, 2004

RESTED

Newfies are hard workers if they are nothing else. At six o’clock, as in A.M., we heard men tromping around upstairs and those sounds were soon followed by the hammering, sawing, dragging and dropping sounds of yesterday evening. At seven we gave up trying to sleep. By eight we resigned ourselves to the noise, dressed and went to breakfast.

Even though our awakening had been a bit unorthodox we had slept well and were much refreshed when we stepped out into the bright morning sunshine. Small waves danced in the sun on the bay sending bright rays up to our eyes making us squint as we made our way to the house, rested and refreshed.

Jenny and Peter had prepared scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, potatoes, toast, coffee and tea. We stuck to the proteins. During and after breakfast we visited with a couple from Halifax. They were both nurse practioners, employed by the Canadian VA. She was teaching four days a week and he was heading up the public relations department. Each spent one day a week seeing patients. It was a second career for both of them and they were very happy in what they were doing. While I continued to visit with the couple Onie talked to Jenny about the noise. Jenny offered to move us into the house. That was what we wanted. She showed us to our new room on the second floor. It was very bright and airy with a window that looked out on the bay. Furnishings were homey and the room had a good warm feeling to it.

We went out to pack up and move. On the way out we stopped to play with a young Dalmatian. He had greeted us, on the way to our room, with a stick which he dropped at our feet and then stood and looked with pleading eyes. He quickly won me over and I bent over, got the stick and threw it as far as I could. He was off in a burst of energy and almost caught it before it reached the ground. He rushed back to me with the stick, dropped it at my feet and waited. We repeated this scenario for some time until he stood panting. We thanked him for a nice game and went to the room to pack and move.

The house, sitting on a steep hill, must have originally been built for a large family. It is two stories with a full basement. The kitchen is located in the center of the building on the first floor with the living room to one side and the eating area on the other. One suspects that the eating area may have been a screened in porch not long ago. Access to the second floor, where there are four bedrooms, is up the stairs between the kitchen and living area or outside through a door, on the backside of the house, which is just a couple of steps above ground level.

We toted our things in through the back door and into our room and then gazed out on the blue bay and far away, mountains on the distant shore.

After a short relaxation we put on some walking shoes and set off for Hidden Falls.

This was one of the places that Jenny and Peter had told us about. It was back toward Stephenville, just a bit, and the drive was much more enjoyable than that in the rain of the day before. We managed to notice the many lobster traps stacked by many small houses, small lobster boats with outboard motors, fresh laundry hung on lines, flapping in the fresh breeze, children playing and riding bicycles, men and women working in yards and on houses. All in all the drive was quite pleasant.

When we reached Sheeves Cove we turned seaward and took the gravel road down to the parking area where several fish houses stood and a few boats lay on the gravel shore.

We set off to explore the rocky coast and have a look at the fantastic views. High rock bluffs, rock outcroppings awash in seawater and rock strewn beaches lay to our left, right and in front of us.

The sounds of seabirds, wind, waves and water being flushed through stones rushed at us. The flushing sound drew us to the waters edge where we watched the incoming waves roll stones up the beach and then roll them back down with the receding water. The stones were being rounded and polished. Unseen was the sand making process that continued with each incoming and receding wave. If the world lasts long enough there may be a sandy beach here, someday.

Onie led the way toward a large rock formation where water crashed and boiled with each incoming wave. We climbed and explored, feeling the salt spray in our faces, watching our step, careful not to slip on the sea mosses that covered many rocks.

Tired of rock climbing we set off on the Hidden Falls Trail. It led up past the fish houses to a meadow where tiny flowers were blooming. We stopped to admire and photograph them before moving on to a rest stop.

Moving on we crossed the water in the creek that would soon tumble into the Bay, forming Hidden Falls, so named because one can only see it from one spot on the beach.

The trail grew more narrow and steep as we climbed toward a retired satellite dish that now stood on an iron rod, waist high on me, that announced the Bull’s Eye View Trail.

When I stopped to rest Onie continued on. The trail had become but a path but Onie ventured on. Her stamina has increased with her regular gym visits and she is a very good hiker now. In addition her balance is far better than mine so she dares go where I sometimes dare not. As I stood watching she almost dipped out of sight as she followed the trail to a good vantage point from whence to look into the Bull’s Eye.

One could tell the walk was worth it as you looked at Onie’s face. After enjoying the view she made her way back through the grass and brambles, across the rocks and back to me where we both watched the waves wash in and out of the Bull’s Eye. I believe that would constitute an “eye wash” would it not.

The salt air whipped through Onie’s hair and my beard as we made our way back across Hidden Falls Creek Bridge, past the rest area, fish houses and on to the car. When we reached the car the park custodian, a high school fellow, caught up with us and asked us to sign the guest book. We did and complimented him on the good job he does in maintaining the park. The trail to the Bull’s Eye Trail head had just been trimmed with a weed eater before we took our walk. He had done it. The park maintenance is his summer job, funded by a grant from Parks Canada.

Tired, we decided to go back to the B&B and have a nap before supper.

Jenny served up another great meal, family style, and managed to blend the Atkins diet in with the rest of the offerings so only those of us following the plan knew what was afoot. Once again Peter brought forth some of his good home made wine. Again it was better than many commercial offerings. Dessert was mixed berries topped with whipped cream. Conversation had been lively at supper and outside light was beginning to fail. Since we wanted to do the Botte Park Trail hike we excused ourselves and hurried out the door.

Botte Park Trail head was just about a mile away and we got there quickly, neither passing nor meeting another vehicle. There were a couple of cars parked in the area when we got there as well as a tent set up for the night. Taking only the camera we set out on the trail, at a good pace, in the fast fading light. Once again Onie’s better conditioning came in handy as we set a rapid pace as we climbed the inclined trail hoping to reach the far side of the hill in time to see the sunset. That was the whole purpose of the hike. The fact that we would walk off a little of the big dinner was a bonus. Once the far side of the peninsula is reached the climb steepens quite a bit.

Just as we reached a good vantage point on our climb the sun touched the horizon. Stopping we got out the camera and began taking pictures. In a series of five or six quick snaps we captured the last rays of light.

With the sunset stored on the camera card we continued up the hill where we entered a large stand of fir trees. With the trail becoming more narrow with each step and light growing dimmer our thoughts turned to the moose and bears as well as the coyotes, that recently came over on the winter ice bridge, that live on the slopes. Tests have been done on the coyotes which are multiplying very rapidly and are more aggressive than their stateside cousins. A full fifty percent of their genomes are wolf.

Sometimes discretion is the better part of valor and we thought that little saying applied in this situation. We had a camera and two inch pen knife to stave off the varmints so we reversed course and headed downhill to the car. It had been a good hike, a few miles, and we had been rewarded with a beautiful sunset.

Back at the B&B Onie opted for a little TV viewing while I made notes about our long full day.

Later we slept while cool sea breezes wafted through our open widow.

August 6, 2004

MEESE

Sea breezes were still cooling us when we woke to go down to breakfast.

Steam table type containers kept the pancakes, toast, bacon, sausage and scrambled eggs hot while the coffee and tea pots held steaming beverages. We sat down to eat at eight with the owners, Jenny and Peter Fenwick, as well as a couple from Wales.

The woman from Wales was researching a book on Vikings and was traveling on a Winston Churchill Scholarship. They had been doing their research, i.e.: travel, for two months and had another month left before returning to Wales. What a way to travel; on someone else’s dime.

Northern climes were beckoning so after breakfast we said our goodbyes, thanking Jenny and Peter for being great hosts, then took our bags and headed for the mainland road, in the Subaru. We went past Botte Park and climbed a nine mile long hill before beginning an equally long descent onto the French Coast of the Cape. Small villages dotted the shoreline road. Some were but a few houses boasting not so much as a small store or church while others had both as well as a gas bar. Only rarely did a school heave into sight as like the states a great consolidation of small efficient schools has taken place leaving beauraucracy bloated institutions of low learning.

We enjoyed seeing the locals as they went about their daily tasks, walking from the grocery carrying viands, riding bicycles to see neighbors, painting houses, working in yards or on boats. Everyone seemed busy but not hurried. Seldom did we see cars that were traveling locally. Cars and trucks were reserved for travel between towns or for greater distances. Even women who looked to be in their seventies were seen riding bikes, in skirts. It didn’t seem to be Camelot but it did seem that the people were content with their lot and life in general.

The road followed the coastline curving back towards route four sixty near Stephenville where we turned toward the TCH route one. There we headed west by northwest stopping in Pasadena for fuel before heading on toward Gros Morne National Park. At the park entrance we stopped and purchased a seven day pass for each of us and then proceeded to an information center.

In the information center we picked up brochures and maps of the park as well familiarizing ourselves with park activities for the coming week. Informed of the coming events and somewhat aware of trails and their levels of difficulty we set out for one, The Tablelands Trail, requiring moderate excursion over a four kilometer track.

Scientists, also known as guessers or theorists, think that the tablelands or mesas we were en-route to see were created when two continental plates collided causing one to ride up over the other. A better explanation can be found in Genesis. We hiked along the well marked trail looking here and there at the various flat topped hills as well as the rocks that lay along the trail and in the many brooks we crossed. As the trail turned and started toward the summit of one of the mesas it became less distinct and farther along it disappeared, altogether. We wandered for a few minutes trying to pick up a trace of where the trail might be but soon decided that the effort wouldn’t be worth the reward. We had seen enough of the tablelands. We started back down.

Halfway back to the car we met a gentleman in a state of excitement. Seems he had seen some moose in a grove of trees. He told us where to look. We continued our walk and when we got to the indicated spot we stopped to scan the area with our binoculars. At a distance of about half a mile we spotted a large bull and cow feeding in a small clearing in some trees on a hillside. There was a third moose which never showed enough of itself for us to determine the sex. We watched for a few minutes, the bull was truly a magnificent animal, sharing our binoculars with other tourists who had none. Sated with moose sighting we continued to the car where we had some cool water and snacks waiting. On the way to the car we pondered how more than one goose got to be geese but more than one moose was still moose. We decided the English language is a strange language indeed.

Still talking about the moose (meese) we drove to our next B&B in Rocky Harbor, Gros Morne B&B, where our hosts, Stella and Kevin Pittman waited. Stella greeted us and showed us to our room. We would be sharing a bath this first night. Tomorrow we would move to a room with a private bath. We took in a minimum of luggage so as to have little to move on the morrow. Thus situated we asked for restaurant recommendations but Stella was reluctant to give any and in fact gave none, which I could understand.

We set off for town. We drove down the main drag looking at the six or seven buildings that held eateries as well s their parking lots. We finally decided on one that had a lot of cars in the parking lot and seemed to have folks waiting for a table. We went in and took a number. While we waited we looked at the menu. It didn’t appear that staying on Atkins would be very easy in the establishment but decided to give it a whirl. Without boring you any further I will just say that we can attest to a few things about this restaurant. First, it had a large parking lot, second, a lot of cars were parked there, third, a lot of people were eating there, fourth-they have never heard of Atkins, fifth it is an eatery and sixth, we will eat somewhere else tomorrow night.

Back at the B&B we closed the door to our room and opened the window, hoping for a little cool breeze. The day had been warm and we hoped for lower temps to aid sleep. With but one window there was no hope of cross ventilation or much breeze. I wore my fingernails to bed and hoped to be cool.

Our bedside lamps shone till eleven providing reading light for us. Then we turned them out and prayed for cool, as we drifted off to sleep.

August 7, 2004

GROS MORNE

At eight o’clock Stella was kind enough to accommodate us at breakfast with a special order of eggs and bacon, no toast, jam or cereal thank you. We did accept the proffered tea and coffee. We lingered at the breakfast table just long enough to appear only slightly rude before rushing off to the trail head to Western Brook Pond.

Our boat tour of the pond was leaving at eleven. Our reserved tickets were at the Ocean View Motel in Rocky Harbor and we had to pick those up before making the twenty minute drive to the trail head. Once at the trail head it was a four kilometer walk to the park office and boat dock. We had no time to kill.

By nine thirty we were in the parking lot of the trail head and gathering our gear, a pre-packed back pack which included rain ponchos, binoculars, jackets, lunch, mosquito repellant and sunscreen as well as the camera. Thus equipped we set off on our walk which was over rocky terrain with a gradual downward slope.

For two kilometers we walked on the broad, rock and gravel trail while overhead clouds gathered. What had been a gray morning at the B&B had begun to take on ominous tones. Wind velocity increased with almost every step that took us closer to the pier and our waiting boat. What we didn’t know was that while the clouds overhead only occur every other day the wind is almost constant in its increasing strength as one nears Western Brook Pond and Gros Morne. This is caused by the structure of the mountains that creates a funnel effect on the air causing a natural increase in wind velocity as the air is allowed to decompress as it rushes down and out of the mountain gorges. Today it seemed the wind was blowing at twenty to thirty miles an hour but it can reach up to fifty when conditions are right. Even in the sixty five degree weather we felt cool and pulled our jackets a little closer.

Perhaps half the people, who were scheduled to take an eleven o’clock boat ride, were already waiting on the deck adjacent to the ticket office and souvenir shop when we got there. We found a bench and sat down to wait for the boarding call. Mist swept across the area dampening everyone and everything but no one put up an umbrella or donned rain gear, yet.

A few minutes before we were to board the crew got the boats ready, warming the engines and moving one to a more favorable position for boarding, in the high wind. When they were ready for passengers the boarding began. We selected the smaller of the two boats thinking perhaps others would prefer the larger boat due to the high winds, rough water and threatening skies. As it turned out both boats were pretty full so our decision really made no difference and we ended up sitting on benches with no roof over us. After a briefing on the safety features of the boat and proper use of the PFDs lines were cast off and we were underway, two boats. The larger of the two, not the one we were on, led the way.

The boats headed into the land locked fjord that is Western Brook Pond. As they progressed the wind increased as did the size of the waves but the crews pressed the boats on. We were riding into a gathering fog and farther along, rain.

Gros Morne, lonely morose mountain, is world renown for its rugged beauty, sheer cliffs, waterfalls and bird life. Today as we floated on top of its five hundred forty feet deep water many of its sights were hidden from view but we did get to see some of them, peeking out from under our rain ponchos to do so.

As the boats made their way into the head of the fjord we passed numerous falls where water tumbled hundreds of feet before finally finding its way into the Pond. Perhaps one of the most spectacular was the last. It had a most unusual name “Mare Pissing on a Rock”. Here the boats turned around and began their journey back to the dock. On the way we passed a bald eagle perched high on a rocky crag.

Back at the dock we congratulated each other on how smart we were to bring the ponchos. We had gotten them on the Maid of the Mist when we rode under Niagara Falls a couple of years ago. Since they were compact and lightweight we had saved them. They had served us well, many times, and here we were again, dry thanks to them.

We found a little ledge under the cover of the ticket office and opened out backpack and got out our lunch. It was well passed two. Onie brought out water, coke, sausage, cucumber, cheese, onion and a candy bar for dessert. The meal was especially good in the dry shelter out of the wind and rain.

By the time lunch was over the rain had become a drizzle so we packed our ponchos and started the walk out. Once or twice the drizzle turned to rain but not enough to make us don the ponchos again. Even though we kept a sharp lookout we couldn’t spot any moose but by walking quietly we did manage to walk up on a red squirrel as it sat in the pathway, eating a nut. We waited until he finished and scampered off, looking for another, before continuing to the car.

Our walk and cold wet boat ride had tired us enough so that when we got to the B&B we opted for a rest before getting ready for supper.

We had checked the menu at the Ocean View Restaurant and decided to give them a try for supper. There we seated ourselves next to a window where we could look out on the small bay, harbor, anchored boats and the setting sun behind the mountains; all in all a very pretty picture.

Our waitress was one who enjoyed her job and went the extra mile to see that we enjoyed our meal and got what we wanted. She arranged for the cook to prepare vegetables for us, with our meat dishes, in lieu of the baked potato or fries that normally are served. While she made her pleadings in the kitchen on our behalf we enjoyed a glass of red wine and some crab au gratin, a very good combination. When the crab had disappeared she brought our salads and the entrees, fisherman’s platters. The dessert menu was very tempting but we passed and went back to the B&B where we had Onie’s zucchini bread for dessert.

With the computer on my laptop I pecked away for a while. Onie lay on the bed and read until we both called it a day. It was ten and time for a rest for the weary. We turned out the lights and lay under the open window hoping for some cool breeze.