August 8, 2004
BAKERS BROOK FALLS
We sat down at eight thirty to a breakfast of eggs, bacon, coffee, tea, one slice of toast between us, bakeapple jam and partridgeberry jam. We each had a dab of the two jams on our bite of toast, just to see what the berries taste like. The Bakeapple grows only in Newfoundland and Labrador in Canada. In Alaska it goes by the name, Cloudberry.
After breakfast we played a couple of games of spider before setting off to hike to Bakers Brook Falls, a ten kilometer round trip.
The car trip there took but a few minutes and it was still early in the day but the parking lot held a large number of cars. Apparently this was a popular hike.
Onie donned her tennis shoes and I grabbed the backpack. Onie had packed it again and it carried our lunch, camera, binoculars and ponchos. Well prepared we found the trail head and started our walk on the wild side.
The trail began as a gravel pathway that led right into some heavy bush before breaking out into a large open expanse where the gravel was replaced by a wooden walkway. Half of the trail turned out to be wooden walkway that carried us over wetlands or streamlets that fed the lush vegetation.
If we had been in Texas or Louisiana the area might have been called a swamp since there was shallow water in many places. Along the way were interpretive signs telling us about the flora and fauna. Often times we saw where moose had walked immediately next to the boardwalk and we kept a sharp look out for the track makers.
On one sign we read of and identified carnivore plants, called death traps, which trap and eat small bugs. Some attract by scent and trap their prey with a sticky substance on the inner part of the flower, before closing and digesting them. Others attract by color and when the little creature, soon to be dinner, flies or crawls inside toward the bottom of the flower, a vacuum is created which sucks the victim into the waiting digestive tract and its demise. I thought how much our grandsons, Ryan and Colby, would be intrigued with the plants and insects. By the way, the flowers are quite beautiful. Isn’t it strange how often something very attractive or even beautiful can be so dangerous or even deadly? We have seen waterfalls that are so pretty one could stand and watch them for hours but if one were ever sucked into their currents certain death would follow. Recently a man died here from eating an attractive wild berry. It was poisonous. Even though we live in a “civilized” world danger lurks, waiting on every hand, to destroy the unwary, unsuspecting, uninformed or unbelieving. We should not forget that Satan and his minions are everywhere.
Onie and I walked quietly, patiently, looking, listening, searching for the new, for that not seen at first glance and all around us others scurried past us and the partridge sitting in a tree not three feet off the trail. If they had but taken the time to glance about them as they hurried toward their destination they would have seen the beautiful bird sitting quietly, serenely, unblinking watching them. Onie and I stopped to watch, photograph and listen for his call.
We got two out of three, no call.
Farther along the trail small red berries grew. Close examination revealed that we were among wild raspberries. We stopped to pick and eat a few before resuming our pleasant walk.
Soon the sound of falling water announced the nearness of the falls. Around a bend in the trail and down a small declivity we caught our first glimpse of the tumbling water. At first glance the falls were pretty but as we walked on and saw more of them they became pretty impressive. Still farther along another turn took us to a vista looking back on the falls, four sets of them.
They were truly magnificent and impressive. We stood, watched and listened to them for quite a spell before deciding it was time for a snack break. Once the decision was made it didn’t take us long to open our pack and delve into the goodies Onie had packed.
On the return trip we continued our sauntering pace, stopping whenever and wherever interesting things caught our eye or ear. We had seen no moose thus far but we did walk up on a red squirrel, sitting on the boardwalk, eating a nut. We stopped and watched as he finished his snack before scampering off in search of the next one. Of his path through the flowers next to the trail there was not a trace.
All the while we were taking our time other hikers rushed past, sometimes almost pushing us from the boardwalk, in their haste. We knew the water wouldn’t run out before they got to the falls and if they were returning there was no doubt their rush wouldn’t keep a thief from getting their vehicle if that was the concern. In the meantime they were missing most of what the trail had to offer. We felt sorry for them. Seeing the headlong rush, irregardless of those in their way, of the majority of young folks led me to wonder where this generation’s batch of diplomats is coming from. Diplomacy is all about patience, tact, good manners, observing, listening and being aware in general. This bunch of folks certainly would never qualify. Then a thought occurred to me. Most families who raise successful hunters teach all these qualities to their children. Hunting and fishing require all of these traits so when diplomats are needed we need only to look in our fields and on our streams for those who have gained success there. In addition they will most likely bring honesty, fairness and good sportsmanship to the table. Although, on occasion, I despair thinking patience is a lost virtue it isn’t so for the young in the field and on the stream learn it each time they venture forth.
There is a time for all seasons, a time to live, a time to die, a time to plant and a time to reap, a time to build and a time to tear down, a time to laugh and a time to cry, a time to flower and a time to go to seed. The time had come for dandelions to go to seed and along the trail we found a few fuzzies. These were so named, for us, by our grandson, Tommy Inman when he was about three years old. He is seventeen now, a good looking young man, who is more properly known as Thomas, a wonderful name. That summer Thomas and his mother and father had gone with us to our cabin in Colorado. Onie and Thomas explored the great outdoors on the western slopes of the Rockies, daily, taking walks. Thomas would ramble and Onie would follow. On one such walk Thomas found some fuzzies and pulled one and gave it to Onie. She gently blew on the seed pods and they floated away on the wind. Enchanted by the sailing seed vessels Tommy pulled another fuzzie and presented it to Onie who once again blew the seed pods away. Much of the rest of the afternoon was spent in repetition of that small act. I watched from a distance. From that day on fuzzies have held a special place in Onie’s heart and mine as they always recall those early days of Tom’s life and ours as grandparents. Now as we saw the fuzzies, once more, we stopped to repeat the fun.
Not once had we seen a moose even though we had been ever watchful and walked quiet as mice. There is that strange English language again. If more than one moose is still moose why shouldn’t more than one mouse be mouse instead of mice or is that meese? Whatever, we didn’t see any but we did see a moose bed and breakfast. That is right! Right next to the trail a lot of moose had bedded down for the night and the imprints in the grass were still very much evident.
In addition there was a nice little pond filled with tender water plants that would have served to break their fast.
Satisfied with our stroll in the woods we continued out to the car where we shed our backpack and hiking shoes before heading for the B&B.
The walk had taken three and a half hours so when we reached our room we lay down for a well earned rest.
The bed and breakfast thing is okay with me and Onie but we sure do miss our own food and cooking. After our rest the thought of sitting in a restaurant was just a bit much so we called Jackie’s, as local eatery, where we ordered take out, fried chicken and coleslaw.
We drove around the harbor to pickup our supper. Back at the B&B we sat at a table on the back porch, with our dinner and a glass of wine, and reviewed our day. When dinner was over we adjourned to our bed where we read until eleven.
August 9, 2004
VIKING TRAIL
It was nice to have a private bath, again. When we rose at seven we put it to good use before appearing at seven forty five for breakfast. We lingered a bit to visit with our host and other guests before packing the Subaru and heading out once again.
It was nine o’clock. We left Gros Morne behind and headed for the Viking Trail and Viking history.
Around 900 AD the lands around the fjords in Denmark, Norway, Sweden and Finland, modern day Scandinavia, had become occupied with farmsteads and forest lands near the coast were being used up in the building of ships. In short the people were running out of available land. With farming technology of the day there was no question of greater production from the land so men, young and old, set out in their ships to find new lands. The Danes went south to England, Scotland, Spain, France and Italy. The Swedes went east into Russia and the Orient including present day Baghdad. The Norwegians went west to the Faeroe Islands, Iceland, Greenland and later to Newfoundland.
The Fins, small in number, may have gone with their brethren from the three other countries. All of the exploration parties had new homeland in mind. In general they were a full foot taller than the peoples they met in their journeys and their metallurgical skills were far advanced from their enemies. With superior size and arms they would have made formidable foes. Those who landed in the British Isles did plunder and burn, leaving behind some of their genes in the process, but did return and settle for a while. Those who went south traded and plundered, going as far as Paris which they held for ransom more than once.
The Norwegians established farmsteads, growing cattle and crops including grapes, on the Faeroes and Greenland. Eric the Red, father of Leif Erickson traveled to Greenland, after being banished for murder, and settled on a farm there, remains of which are still visible today. Around 950AD Leif got the wanderlust and set out to find additional lands. The trip he made to the north cape of what is today Newfoundland was short by their standards and was probably made without great difficulty. Once there he landed at a place that may have resembled his home fjord in Greenland or Norway. Today that place bears the name L’anse aux Meadows. From this base additional trips were made, south, and some historians believe that those trips may actually have taken the Vikings as far south as Florida, or further.
Discovery and exploration of our own waited for us as we headed for route 430 near Deer Lake.
At Port aux Choix we went into town, passing a Foodland, to visit a historic site. The detour wasn’t worth the effort as the site was just a grassy hill with a marker but as sometimes happens the trip proved very fortuitous. Just across from the site was Wu’s Restaurant, the local Chinese eatery. It was lunch time so we went in and ordered. As we ate the owners, man and wife, came over and talked with us. They have three children. Two daughters are attending the university in St. Johns. They are very proud parents. They emigrated here from China seventeen years ago and love the freedom and the weather.
Back on the road again we drove through more rain as we headed toward the cape. Even though we thought conditions were ideal for moose sightings we saw none. We passed the turn off to Gunners Cove and Hillsview B&B and headed on to St Anthony’s to buy fuel then retraced our steps and went on to Hillsview B&B where we checked in.
Our room, with private bath, looked out onto the yard that fell away toward the bay.
In the distance we could see the rain clouds gathering. We were so thankful for the rain might bring cooler weather. The nights had been so warm we had trouble sleeping even though we had a fan running. Tonight we had two windows, for cross ventilation, plus the expected rain cooled air. It should be good sleeping but before bed we had to eat and that meant another adventure.
After a bit of unpacking we left for supper in St Anthony at Leifsburdir.
Leifsburdir is a recreation of what a Viking longhouse may have looked like from the outside.
When we entered we were seated by a young lady in period costume at one of the roughhewn picnic style tables which line the outside walls. Near where we had entered was a large Viking boat replica holding a buffet. A few feet in front of the buffet line was the Viking King’s chair and to its right, the Truth Stone. When all the guests were seated the King instructed us in Viking table manners; eat with your knife. Alas, we had no knives so we were to eat with spoons, instead. The king then divided the room into three boat crews, one on his left, one in the center and one on his right. With this done he announced that turns at the buffet line would be determined by him and to do so there would be a vote on his comeliness. Vikings vote by pounding on the table with the hilt of their sword but we had no sword so we relied on our hands. When the vote was taken our side thought the least of the King’s appearance so we ate last. The price of truth is not always so high.
When most of the guests were finished eating the King announced that some people in the gathering had been accused of misdeeds and a trial was to be held to determine guilt or innocence. The accused would hear the charge, from the Viking King, and would then be allowed to testify in their own behalf as well as call others to testify for them. Then the accuser would be allowed to testify and call witnesses. Many charges were brought that night for we had, unknowingly, fallen in with an evil lot. The misdeeds of this motley crew are too numerous to detail here as paper has not yet been made to hold all the scandalous charges brought so I will elaborate on just two. From those you can gain a taste of the deeds attributed to this foul crew.
The first charge brought was one of witchcraft, sorcery and other dark deeds, by the wife of the accuser. He stood on the Truth Stone and spoke truthfully and boldly about his woman.
The woman had, on more than one occasion, caused spirits, namely beer, to mysteriously and without explanation disappear from the cooler, a refrigerator. These misdeeds most often took place when the accuser had put in a long day at boat building, or whatever other honest trade he plied, and was trying to relax with a small libation. After he had testified his young son, a rather poorly looking sort, drooped of shoulders, shaggy of hair and a downcast demeanor, came forward, stepped on the Stone and, under threat of loss of allowance, corroborated the story. It seemed at this point the jury, all the diners, would have no choice but to find the accused guilty as charged but we were not allowed to vote yet. The witch came forward. In truth she looked the part, flashing eyes, long hair, red nails, strange shoes and a bit of a cackle in her voice. The trial could well have ended then and there as it was apparent to most she was capable of the deeds charged as well as many other nefarious ones.
She stepped on the Truth Stone and I thought sure it would break asunder when she began to speak, denying all the charges and going so far as to charge her husband with overindulgence and bad memory. She swore, as only a witch can, that her husband unknowingly drank all the beer without realizing he had done so. This was a blatant lie as every man there could attest since it is well known that no man ever loses count of his beer stock no matter how much he imbibes. As she spoke the Stone seemed as though it would be riven asunder by her foul lies but the truth can withstand most anything and the Stone did. When she had finished speaking her unholy words she called her apprentice, her daughter, to testify in her behalf. There was an evil one in the making. Even as she approached the Stone she laughed hysterically at the thought of her honest father being duped by his evil wife. Though she was still quite young it was plain to see that she was a born enchantress.
Her cute little walk; pert smile and saucy talk gave her completely away. Swaying on the Stone, as if in a trance, she recounted how, on many occasions, her father had consumed his last beer without even realizing it. Only from a witch or witch’s apprentice could such a charge so glibly flow as we have already demonstrated. Now the testimony and lying was over and it was time to vote. Votes were taken by boat crew and it is safe to say that the witch would have been found guilty had not the old addlepated Chief granted women the vote. It was still a near thing and the witch won acquittal only by enlisting some diners who obviously belonged to her coven. When the final vote was taken their fiendish laughter echoed from the roof beams and the Stone shook on the floor. It was a sad day for Viking justice.
Next, came a bereaved father who accused a young woman of stealing his only son’s heart. He stood on the Stone and spoke at length of how the woman had woven a spell about his son until his son’s heart was lost and she lured him to a place far from kith and kin. When he could speak no more his son was called. Standing on the Stone he was so stricken by the powers of the young woman he was near mute.
He mumbled and shook as he tried to validate his father’s truth but he had not the heart for it since it had been stolen. The woman was guilty. Ah, but the King called her forth to speak her piece and speak she did, but not a man in the place heard her. Such was her beauty that it closed their ears and they were deaf to the truth.
She rambled on, lips moving but no sound came from them. When at last she finished her sham of a defense she called her mother to come to her aid. She had called a pot to call the kettle black. The woman spoke briefly of how men are weak and often give their hearts; the women don’t steal them, without much thought of what will become of them or their beer. Again it was time to vote and once again it was close but some men, with no heart, it having been stolen, voted with the women and justice was undone.
It was a trying time for honest men as much of the evening followed the same lines, an honest man accused an evil woman of dark deeds and through the collaboration of likeminded wenches the evildoer escaped punishment. The evening stood in memoriam of what happens to justice when cool heads lose their hearts and allow the fairer sex, the vote.
Full of Viking food and Viking justice we drove home in a drizzling rain arriving at ten. By eleven we were asleep.
August 10, 2004
L’ANSE AUX MEADOWS
Our hosts began serving breakfast at seven thirty. We graced them with our presence at nine. Shirley and Victor LeBlanc had seated themselves shortly before and were still eating when we broke our fast. While we were still eating they regaled us with stories of their life. She was a hair stylist and singer while he worked in a paper mill. They were from Ontario, on holiday. They were having a great time of it, thoroughly enjoying themselves as they bed and breakfasted across Newfoundland. They were quite an enchanting and interesting couple but as I write this two weeks past our breakfast with them I can remember nothing about them or their appearances. I do remember that we whiled away our morning visiting and listening.
Outside the sun was trying to break through some clouds that were helping the cool night temps linger on toward noon. Bidding our fellow travelers goodbye we set out for an afternoon of fun and adventure.
Just two kilometers down the road lay L’anse Aux Meadows, a National Historic Site of Canada.
Two Norwegians, Dr. Helge Ingstad and his wife, Anne Stine Ingstad, spent many years and much of their own money in search of the original landing site of Vikings on the shores of North America. When their small sailing vessel landed on these shores in nineteen sixty their search was at an end. A local fisherman and farmer, George Decker, knew of ruins in his hay meadow. They were in the shape of building foundations. He had known about them for years and local children played on and around them. He took the Norwegians to see them. For twelve years the Ingstads, who were later joined by Parks Canada, conducted archeological research on the site. During this time the road connecting L’Anse aux Meadows with the rest of Newfoundland was built. Prior to that all contact had been via boat. Their work supports the supposition that this was the landing place and settlement of Leif Erickson and his group of seventy to ninety followers. In the Viking Sagas the area is referred to as Vinland as the explorers found grapevines, here or else where. They probably stayed for two or three decades while they explored other parts of North America.
A large welcome and information center has been erected near the site and it is here that one buys a park pass, we already had one, looks at dioramas of the area and reads of the Vikings and the Ingstads work and meets a guide if one wants an escorted tour of the ruins. We did. Our guide was a nice well informed, well spoken young man with a perfect head.
The tour starts at the welcome center and follows a wooden walkway down toward the site. On the way we stopped to look at two moose grazing in a far meadow before continuing on to a large artwork, Meeting of Two Worlds.
Two different artists from two different countries worked to create the work. Luben Boykov, a Canadian immigrant, and Richard Brixel of Sweden were inspired by the idea of two cultures coming together and tried to show that commingling through their work and the meeting at the top. The two different styles of work represent the two dissimilar cultures that met, again at the top. The two different parts of the work represent the cultures prior to the meeting. It is an interesting work
Past the art work the trail took a bend and descended down toward a small creek. Here the guide stopped to remind us that a thousand years ago the land was about three feet lower than it is now and where we were standing would have been close to the beach. In the hillside was a small excavation and it was here that the first iron works in America stood. This was where the smithy took small nodules of iron ore, found in the creek, and through a primitive but effective method transformed it into nails which were used to repair the ships. Perhaps no more than two hundred nails were produced but they were sufficient to keep the fleet in repair.
We crossed the small stream and came to the remains of several long houses. Outlines of foundations were clearly seen in the mowed grass.
This was where the Vikings had constructed their homes, longhouses. The houses usually housed a boat crew. The walls were made by cutting timber and constructing a wall within a wall. The space between the two walls was filled with gravel, for insulation, and to promote drainage. The exterior was covered with peat from the nearby bogs, providing more insulation and a maintenance free wall. The roof was built from timber trusses which were then covered by peat. Roofs had smoke holes that could be closed in the winter, to permit better ventilation which was bad at best.
Along the exterior walls large wide branch benches served as seating and sleeping places. The center of the room was reserved for the cooking and heating fires. While one longhouse housed a boat crew not all men slept together. The boat captain or chief had a private room at one end of the house. If he had a family they lived with him, there. At the other end of the house was another separate room which served as a store room.
To date the ruins of eight different longhouses have been discovered and explored. Exploration goes on and new tools similar to an MRI allow the archeologists to see six feet into the ground without touching a spade thus preserving many articles and information that could be lost by digging. In addition the bay is to be surveyed in the near future in hopes of finding wrecked or lost Viking ships.
Only two men had separate housing.
One was the chief or king. His house was almost as large as the other long houses and in it he, his wife and children lived. In addition one room may have served as an armory while another served as a meeting room.
The man who was most protected and revered among the Vikings lived in the other longhouse, not quite so big as the chief’s, and was the blacksmith. With him rested the secret of iron making and working and the welfare and repair of the boats. Without his knowledge and skill in iron working the Vikings would be cut off from their homeland when the boats fell into disrepair due to lack of nails. In order to make the nails he had to know where to gather the iron ore in the bogs. Then he had to heat it to a thousand to twelve hundred degrees to create a bloom. The bloom was hammered to remove as many impurities as possible rendering it possible to make nails. It is also a possibility that he had his own house because when working iron, beating it into nails, sparks flew and could come into contact with the wood and peat walls. Wet peat doesn’t burn but dry peat does, very well. To prevent fires the smithy stood a piece of slate against his wall near his work.
Past the ruins is a fenced area where three longhouses have been recreated. It was to this area we went next.
In the foreground is the reconstructed smithy’s house. Next to it is the house of the chief and behind both of them is a longhouse. The grounds are manned by employees who are schooled in the ways of the Vikings, their history, lore and ways of living.
When we entered the fenced area our first encounter was with a young man who was standing next to a work boat, splicing rope.
We watched as he worked, his fingers moving swiftly and deftly as the rope was opened and a piece interwoven to complete the splice. Although Vikings had no computers they did develop the best method for splicing and it is still used today by fishermen around the world. In the picture you will notice the ropes over his boat. They are there to keep it from blowing away. L’Anse Aux Meadows is no stranger to high winds.
Past the splicer we entered the longhouse. The house was indeed long, perhaps fifty feet. Inside were all the accoutrements common to Viking life, clothing, shoes, bedding, animal skins, weapons, shields, fabric making devices, cooking fires, ovens, baskets woven from roots and more. We even saw a live Viking with his shield, helmet, battle ax and his bride under skin.
Near one end of the room a fierce (?) Viking knelt with his wife. Together they were weaving.
We wandered on until we reached the smithy’s house. Here we saw the tools of his trade and the piece of slate leaning against the wall. We also looked at his private quarters and storeroom before going back outside to have another look at the overall reconstruction and try to imagine how the village looked with all eight longhouses standing and the Vikings carrying on their daily activities. It must have been an exciting time to be alive. Some men were off exploring while others tended crops and animals and still others pacified the aboriginals. In that day that probably met fighting. The Indians would have been much smaller and possessed no iron so they would have been at a distinct disadvantage. When the Vikings finally left, for good, they were most likely very happy and believed that no one would ever attack them in their homeland, again.
Let’s see, the British attacked U.S. soil in 1812 and we beat them, after they burned the capitol. Muslims attacked us in 2001 when we thought it would never happen again. The Indians were lucky. No one came back for about 500 years. Our homeland remained inviolate for less than 200. Oh yes, daily activities, the women would be spinning wool and dying it, weaving cloth, tending gardens, cooking, having babies and tending children. They might also be tanning hides and gathering roots and wild berries and nuts. It sounds like it would have been a nice place to live if you liked roughing it and had no allergies, didn’t need dental care or wear eyeglasses and loved hard work. Of course the summers were mild and the winters cold but not as cold as now for then the earth was warmer.
With minds teeming with Viking lore we made our way back to the welcome center, stopping on the way for Onie to look at the bakeapple that grew next to the boardwalk.
Inside the center we looked again at the diorama and other interpretations before passing the gift shop, with wallets intact.
Outside we got in the car and took the short ride to Norstead.
Norstead is a commercial recreation and reenactment of what L’Anse aux Meadows might have looked like had the Vikings chosen to stay on and create a permanent settlement and port of trade for they were tradesmen as well as warriors. Each of the re-enactors were hired a year before Norstead opened and during that year they went to school to learn Viking history and ways as well as to learn important details of Newfoundland and Labrador.
Crossing a bog on a boardwalk we passed the fenced area that held the sheep, raised for their wool and meat. Just down the walk was the common garden, tended by the women and used to feed the towns people in the Chief’s hall where meals were taken and eaten, in common.
Just past these interesting venues we came to the large building housing Snorri, a trading knarr which actually made the trip from Scandinavia to L’Anse aux Meadows in 2000, the millennial celebration of Leif Erickson arrival. In other times it would have continued to ply the North Atlantic, carrying trade goods to and from Scandinavia.
In an area behind her, hung her sail. This would have been put to use in building a temporary shelter for new residents, before their longhouses were completed, in about three to four months, or as shelter for visiting traders.
Farther along we entered a longhouse. Inside we found Hild, a cook and spinner of wool.
We also met Morgan, the chief’s wife. Due to her elevated social status she wasn’t required to perform many of the menial chores the other women are obliged to carry out.
Quietly working on her loom, creating colorful fabric was the wise woman of the village, Asgualt. She told us many things of Viking times and life recounting tales of daring and adventures long forgotten by many but the most sage.
Now we entered the large meeting room where the meals were served and the king and his wife held court, meting out true Viking justice, no women voted, to miscreants large and small.
Having at last found our true position in life, one we always knew we were destined for, we headed to the chapel to give thanks. By now the Vikings had converted to Christianity and had replaced Thor, Odin and their many other gods, with the God of Abraham.
Though rudely made the chapel did have a quiet dignity not found in the rest of the village.
On the way out we stopped by to chat again with Hild. She had just finished cooking some dried salted squid over an outdoor open fire. Earlier we had seen some drying in the sun next to raw clay pots. After she ate some we followed suit. It was really very good. There just wasn’t enough of it to fill what by now were very empty stomachs. We thanked her and left to find something more substantial or at least something with more volume.
Since it was just a little before six we took a little drive out to lands end where we found a cute little house, about a thousand square feet, just waiting for a new owner to spiffy it up a bit before becoming an ideal summer home, away from the hustle and bustle. Then again she was away from everything else too. Past her was just the Atlantic. Quickly thinking about the upkeep we once again decided the marlin is the way to go. Pausing long enough to get some pictures and discuss supper we decided on The Norseman.
We arrived there about six thirty and while looking at the menu discovered that beginning at seven thirty there would be live entertainment, as well as supper. Of course there was a slight additional charge for the show but we thought it well worth the money. We have decided to avoid a family feud, at a date to be announced, by spending all our money so the kids will have nothing to fight over. Our first step was the show. The second step was a bottle of wine to enjoy on the deck while waiting for supper but before we went to the deck we stopped in the gift shop to check out some real Newfie music.
At seven fifteen we were seated in the restaurant and placing our orders. An order of calamari held us until our plates of seafood arrived. While we ate the entertainment started. Performing was a guitar/accordion player who also sang Newfie songs, of course, a story teller who related tales of old and new Newfoundland and a group of actors who put on various skits. Time went by swiftly and soon supper was over and the entertainment ended with it, perfect timing, on our part. Appetites sated and still chortling over the antics of the entertainers we picked up our CDs and Onie’s new lazy Susan from the gift shop and headed home.
With the little hand on the ten and the big hand on the twelve we pulled into the drive and ducked into the house, to avoid the rain.
August 11, 2004
I GAVE UP
Rested we rose at eight fifteen. While Onie got ready for breakfast a few notes were jotted into the laptop. Then we went to a quick breakfast.
By nine thirty our bags were in the car and we were on the road again, for one kilometer.
We stopped at Vinland Jams, in Gunner’s Cove, which is run by Brittany Burden, an enterprising young lady of fourteen. She and her Dad pick berries, bakeapple, partridge, raspberry, squash berry and blueberry and her Mom makes jellies and jams from them. She sells them, catering to passing motorists, largely tourist, wishing to take home a taste of Newfoundland. Her thriving business helps with school expenses and may one day pay for her college education. While many folks, like us, stop by on route 436, some choose to shop and order on line at: vinlandjams@hotmail,com. The products are very good and Brittany has the best prices around. Give her a try. Call her if you want at 709-623-2269. Tell her Tom and Sylvia, from Texas, the folks who bought a couple of cases, sent you. You won’t be sorry. By the way, her Mom works at Hillsview B&B when she isn’t busy filling jelly and jam jars.
Loaded with goodies we seriously set out to make some time and miles. We motored out to 430 where we turned back south. Just a bit down the road we spotted one of the ever elusive moose, having a bite to eat.
We pressed on leaving the moose to her breakfast and soon turned on to route 432, a scenic detour for us. We would encounter but two towns along the sixty five mile way and they were off the road. We never saw them. What we did see was a dirt side road leading to a pond somewhere over the hill. We took it, looking for the pond and a place to stop for lunch. Along the way we stopped to pick wild raspberries which we saved for dessert. A few dusty miles down the road we found our crystal clear pond and turned in and parked in the shade of a big evergreen where we broke out the vittles.
Food never tastes quite so good as it does in the wilds, even when it is canned meat, onion, cheese, water and raspberries. We finished our meal, rinsed the crumbs off in the pond and resumed our trip.
Before too long we were back on route 430 and headed for Port aux Choix and Foodland. We needed to do a little shopping for supper and breakfast. We were staying in a house keeping cabin tonight and Onie would be cooking, a good meal, and then again at breakfast. My mouth watered just thinking about it. The store was in new large metal building with only a small door and no windows. Large doors and windows create thermal holes, not a good thing to have in Newfoundland winters. The lack of windows and large doors was just and acknowledgement of the cruel winters that visit these climes.
Loaded with goodies we were on the road again, bound for Shallow Bay Motel and Cabins but before we got there we stopped at The Arches. The Arches are made of sandstone that has been sculpted by wind and water, a natural phenomenon and one that attracts a good deal of attention.
With the image stored in the camera we continued our journey.
A couple of times during the day we had stopped and searched fields for bakeapple berries, to no avail. Perhaps the locals had picked all those close to the road or we just didn’t know where to look but in any event we had none. Onie wanted some to make some jam with Splenda so it would be low carb. Now as we neared our night stopping place we were sure we saw some berries. A young girl standing next to the road was holding a plastic bag full. Here were some berries we could pick. We pulled into the turn out she stood next to and asked the price. It was fair and we bought enough to make a pint of jam. Finding the berries brought our day to near perfection. Onie would bring it there with supper.
We checked in to the Shallow Bay Motel and Cabins in CowHead around six o’clock. We quickly put our overnight bag and the groceries in our cabin and Onie began getting ready to cook. Of course I wrote. It was hard to concentrate as the sounds and smells of supper were soon wafting toward me on the warm evening breeze. Soon I gave up and waited for supper to be on the table. It seemed like it was a long time coming but in truth she put the meal together rather quickly and we sat down to a large salad, stir fry with beef, boiled turnip and blueberries with cream for dessert. It was so good I didn’t even mind washing the dishes while Onie took a well deserved break and watched the only channel on TV.
When the dishes were done a little more time was spent with the laptop before we decided to call it a day, at ten.
August 12, 2004
RIVER HOUSE INN
When you come to Newfoundland check the weather before you arrive. If it is going to be warm you might want to look into staying in air conditioned facilities. We have seen them advertised but haven’t been in any. Most of the stores are not air conditioned and none of the restaurants we have eaten in have been. Cool air is scarce right now. Thoughts of Newfoundland conjure up rugged mountains and coasts, blowing winds, harsh weather and cold or at least cool temps. So far we have found the rugged mountains and coasts, blowing winds and evidence of harsh weather but to date we have found no really cool or cold temps. Last night was no exception. The warm air woke us at eight.
While Onie prepared breakfast some notes were quickly put into the laptop’s memory. After we ate I washed dishes while Onie wrote a few notes home, to friends and family. When the dishes were done more stuff went into the laptop.
Near eleven we packed up and checked out.
Two hours later we were nearing the River House Inn in Shady Brook.
We hadn’t looked to see when check in was. It was three o’clock. Our room wasn’t ready. Our hosts directed us down the road to Corner Brook for a little sight seeing and perhaps shopping.
Six miles later we were sitting in front of Wally World. With a little time to kill we decided to see what was new with the Waltons, parked and went inside. Life is still full of new things for us and inside we found another one, a dollar sale. This was not just any dollar sale; this was clothes, new clothes, mostly one of a kind I think but new none the less. The crowd of women swarming around the racks was like something out of the movies but it didn’t deter me or Onie. We weaseled our ways in and began looking. Half an hour later we had two pair of pants for Onie as well as a shirt. On the three dollar rack we had found a second shirt for her and one for me. We felt like we had done well, five new garments for nine dollars. That was better than Frenchy’s.
All the digging had made us hungry so we shopped for some snacks before checking out.
It was time to go back to the B&B but if we went we would have to come out later to eat supper. Even though it was a little early we decided to get something and eat before going back. We opted for what is billed as the best legs in Newfoundland, chicken from Mary Brown’s. We found the store, bought the chicken and some slaw and then went looking for a picnic spot. After driving in circles a bit we found a nice park adjacent to a school yard. There were picnic tables and trash barrels for later, so we stopped and ate. Hungry gulls from the nearby bay kept us company, begging for a morsel but the chicken was too good. We ate it all. Now we were ready to go back to the B&B and settle in for the night.
We checked in and I visited with the host, about hunting and fishing, before we squared up for our stay. Onie was busy unpacking in our lovely room and then she turned to getting a shower.
The whole place was very elegant, getting a four and a half star rating, out of a possible five but it wasn’t air conditioned.
After her shower Onie repaired to our private deck, for some quiet time and relaxation, watching the birds, bees, flowers, clouds and river.
When the bill was paid and the visit with the host was done I joined her. The quiet peace was wonderful. We had been traveling for days and here we were just relaxing, watching the river and the world go by. We lingered on the porch, snacking on some almonds and having a sip of wine, watching the day draw to a close, discussing our possible bedroom addition. When the sun eased behind the mountains mosquitoes appeared and began their own snacking. We left the deck to them.
We piled ourselves on the comfortable spacious bed and turned on the TV. There was one channel. That made it easy to decide what to watch, the local news and then the news from Edmonton and then a game show. Then we were tired of the selection and decided to read a bit before calling it a day.
When ten o’clock rolled around we opened the patio door, to admit the breeze, no AC, remember, turned out the lights and went to sleep.
August 13, 2004
LEIF ERICKSON
The day started early, for us, when we rose at six and had our breakfast of eggs benedict, orange juice, coffee and tea at seven. We had a reservation on the nine thirty ferry and had to be at Port aux Basque an hour before that. We left at seven thirty.
Our host had assured us we had plenty of time and we need not rush. Trying to heed his advice we drove the speed limit and tried not to worry. We had our ferry ticket in hand by nine twenty and pulled in to line to load.
These ferries have scheduled departure times and I do believe they mean as much as the posted speed limits, they are advisory only. The things leave whenever the crew feels like it, never early but often late. We have talked to folks whose ferry was five or six hours late. We only loaded an hour late, in the fog.
We were on board the Leif Erickson, a much smaller ferry than the Caribou, with an open car deck on the aft end of the ship. This was an advantage when loading and unloading as carbon monoxide accumulation wasn’t a problem. At noon she finally got under way, leaving Port aux Basque behind.
Although we had left an hour late we hoped we could make up some time on the crossing. We would regain the half hour we lost when we came over. That would help.
On board Onie found her a comfortable seat and settled in to read. I located myself next to an electrical outlet so the laptop would run during the five or six hour trip. Next to me was one of Gerry Penton’s large speakers. He is a Newfoundland musician and had been retained by the line to serenade the clientele during the passage. His renditions of Newfie and State side songs blasted in my left ear the whole three hours he played. Fortunately he took breaks now and then and his singing and playing was pretty good.
Onie read until she grew hungry, the same time I did. She found me pecking away and suggested lunch, a very pregnant idea, I thought. We fund a table and spread out some more of the best legs in Newfoundland along with some boiled turnip slices. We finished up with a candy bar.
Leaving the laptop and other paraphernalia in Gerry’s care, I had watched his tapes and CDs while he lunched with the crew, Onie and I went on deck for a while. She read again while I roamed around seeing what I could see.
Five and half hours after the ship whistle announced our departure from Port aux Basque we eased into port at North Sydney. The passage had been quick and uneventful. We were now ready to place tire and shoe back on Nova Scotia pavement and soil.
Once on dry land our first stop was the lost and found at the terminal. Onie had left a favorite nightie in the cabin on the trip over. We hoped to retrieve it. Alas, the lost and found was closed when we arrived. We would need to call back at a future date to check on it. At least when we got back in the car and headed for Bedeck the ferry traffic had gone.
Just a little mist attended our drive to Bedeck. Once there we quickly found Mother Gaelic’s B&B on Water St. Our room, upstairs, shared a bath with three others. We figured that could be interesting and exciting for old folks but only time would tell. Looking out our front window we could see a tall ship laying along side the quay. Many other smaller sailing vessels were tied up or rode at anchor in the small harbor. A cabin cruiser of moderate size slipped out of the harbor on an evening cruise.
Coming in to town we had passed a Chinese restaurant. Now we set out on the four block walk to get some supper, there.
Looking at the menu and trying to decide what would go best after a long day our thoughts were interrupted by our waitress who told us that a bus load of travelers had just been seated. If we wanted a meal anytime soon we should order, now, as once those orders hit the kitchen it would be a long time before anything else came out. We ordered, then. Even though she had warned us that we might get our soup with our entrée’s that didn’t happen as she worked hard in our behalf to be sure our meal was pleasant. When it came time to pay the bill we remembered her hard work and rewarded her accordingly.
Reservations had been made, before we left Belle Baie, for the Spirit of the Island show. Now we walked the two blocks to the Masonic Hall where the production was taking place. It was cooling off nicely and we hoped the trend would continue as the room had no air conditioning.
We were a few minutes early but that was alright. We paid for our tickets and were escorted to our seats, front row, and center aisle. We were five feet from the stage.
The show started a little late. Perhaps a ferry boat captain is the producer. We saw this show two years ago and it had changed some but was still a lively fast paced production with lots of singing and a little dancing. The intermission came and went and then the second half was over. Of the five performers from two years ago four of them were back and the one new one was really better than the one she replaced but in truth I liked the first show better.
We had been fed and entertained. Now it was time to go to the B&B. We walked the five blocks in a little blowing mist. The night promised to be a cool one.
At the B&B we took our turns in the bathroom before retiring to our room where we opened both windows in the old house. Sounds from the waterfront drifted in as we dozed off. Outside the rain that had been in the offing, fell.
August 14, 2004
HOME AGAIN
Our requests for a no carb or low carb breakfast were still being honored, kind of. Our hostess served eggs, fruit, juice and coffee and tea. We skipped the juice but went for the rest of it.
The rain was still falling when we left at nine thirty but we didn’t go far before we stopped for a paper and to pick up some deli ham and Swiss cheese.
The paper was of interest to us since we had heard the federal park employees had gone on strike. In addition they were blocking tourists from entering some national parks. That was particularly thoughtful of them given the fact that so many people, perhaps the most all summer, were in Canada at the time. On reflection I realized how smart the parks employees are. By striking now, for higher wages which they will surely get from a weak government, they are sure to alienate some tourists. These tourists may never return and may keep others from coming. That will mean less work for the parks employees and more money for doing it. In addition the roads will carry fewer cars and RVs so they will need less repair and the highway crews will do less work for their money.
Then there is the hotel/motel industry where those employees will have fewer rooms to clean and make up. Soon everyone will be getting more money for less work until-until the smaller cash flow starts affecting everyone and then jobs will be lost for most businesses except-the parks employees. In retrospect the government should just fire the lot, issue a public apology to the tourists and take away government employees right to strike. Strikes are no longer necessary where everything is negotiable, according to those in Ottawa.
While these thoughts had been churning around in my head we had reached Roy’s Fuel Stop where gas was ONLY 87.9 per liter, the cheapest around. We stopped and had the attendant, full service mind you; fill it up before we continued on in the rain.
In Truro we stopped at the Wal-Mart to have the tires rotated and balanced. Our timing was perfect and in less than an hour we were on the road again.
We were on the last leg of the trip home and less than four hours away. The further south we went the warmer it got and soon the temp topped out at eighty three. By now, rolling south on the one oh one, the rain had become mist.
At Digby we got off to grocery shop and replenish our wine cellar. We both hurried as we were anxious to be home.
Closer to Belle Baie the temperature began to fall as clouds gathered. By the time we exited at Weymouth it had cooled off to seventy and at Belle Baie it dropped to sixty five in the dense fog. We were home.
Leaving the car loaded for a few more minutes we went to say hello to everyone and then returned to unload and unpack.
Venison sausage and salad were a quick and easy supper filling us while making us even more glad to be back.
After supper we venture out to Ann and Dan’s where Joan was playing and singing. Audrey, Louie, Steven and Yvonne, Paul and Phyllis, Brian and Yvette, Craig and Georgina, Guy and Lorraine, Darin and Tina and some Cajuns were all there, too. Guitars and players came and went but the singing went on. Sometime after ten Onie called it a night. I hung on until twelve thirty and then turned in.