Newfoundland and the Maritimes
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Journal kept by Susan Hanes during a three-week trip to the Canadian maritime provinces and the US northeastern coastal states, from September 7 to October 1, 2010. Photos by Susan Hanes and George Leonard, copyright 2010.
Newfoundland and the Maritimes I September 7 - October 1, 2010
Man’s long relationship with the sea is nowhere more evident than in the maritime provinces of Canada and the northeastern coastal states. In three weeks, we drove over 6,800 miles through four time zones, six provinces, and ten states, where we witnessed countless examples of this association. From Montreal we traced the St. Lawrence to its mouth. We traveled to Prince Edward Island by bridge and ferry, and drove the curves and crests of the Cabot Trail around the coast in Cape Breton. We crossed the Atlantic by ferry to Newfoundland and learned about the Vikings’ early sailing expeditions to Newfoundland’s Great Northern Peninsula. We took pictures in quaint fishing villages, and passed rich mussel farms and lobster traps piled high. We feasted on Malpeque oysters, Digby scallops, and Maine lobster. We studied the fishing and whaling industries at specialized museums, and at a seaman’s bethel we paid tribute to those lost at sea. We learned how the bounty that the sea has offered, be it shellfish, cod, salmon, or whale, has brought both prosperity and conflict to those whose lives have been inexorably linked to it.
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Tuesday, September 7 Toronto, ON Got away before 6:00; using the iPass to pay tolls made the Skyway passage a lot faster. At 11:30, crossed the Ambassador Bridge to Canada from Detroit to Windsor and joined Hwy. 401 to Toronto. Arrived around 4:00 after a couple of short stops. Slow going down Bloor Street; it seems like the entire city is being torn up and rebuilt. Had to take a series of right turns to get to our hotel that brought us near the University of Toronto. Passed groups of “frosh” wearing colorful tee shirts, and we realized that this was the first day of school. The Hyatt is located across the street from the new addition to the Royal Ontario Museum, a real eyesore. I prefer the old 1920’s
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Romanesque-style building. After settling into our room, walked across to Hazelton Lanes where we discussed getting a Canadian SIM card for our phone with a knowledgeable fellow at Rogers. He talked us out of buying one, explaining that we could talk for an hour on my iPhone before we incurred charges that would approach the cost of the activation of a Canadian SIM. Strolled down flower-lined Yorkville Avenue, peeking into the windows of galleries and cafes along the way. Drinks and a light dinner on the flower-decked patio of the Bradford Academy, an interesting old pub on Prince Arthur Street near the University campus.
Wednesday, September 8 Montreal, QE Slipped around the corner to Second Cup Café for a cheaper breakfast than the hotel buffet. Checked out and were on the road by 7:45. Leaving town, we drove through more pretty neighborhoods and passed yet more construction. After three hundred miles, entered the Province of Quebec, and noted that the signs were exclusively in French. Picked up some rain as we maneuvered toward Montreal. Once in town, found that there too, construction projects were going on everywhere; had to detour around numerous street closings to reach the Hotel Place d’Armes, a group of 1890s buildings in the old town. Checked into our room at 2:30 and set out to explore Vieux Montreal, starting with the Notre-Dame Basilica. Completed in 1829, the Gothic Revival cathedral has a beautifully ornate interior; our eyes were immediately drawn to the white oak statues over the altar that stood against a deep blue background. Walked down to the Place Jacques-Cartier, a sloping cobblestone square lined
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with outdoor cafes and planters overflowing with flowers. Along the way, photographed interesting signs that hung over many of the old stone structures that now house shops and restaurants. Stopped in Quattro, an Italian wine bistro, where we sat at the bar and chatted with Vince, the owner, over our glasses of Pinot Grigio. Returned to the hotel where we discovered that the bar was hosting a group from Brazil with live samba music and caipirinhas, drinks made from simple syrup, fresh lime, and Brazilian Leblon, a sugarcane-derived spirit. Taxied to Au Pied de Cochon for our 7:30 dinner reservations. Had a center table at this lively establishment, famous for it’s foie gras-covered poutine, a calorific combination of French fries, cheese curd, and gravy. While I valiantly tired to order wisely, choosing swordfish and a beet salad, Jake literally went hog-wild, ordering the restaurant’s massive namesake dish, a stuffed pig’s foot topped with a slab of foie gras.
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Notre-Dame Basilica
Thursday, September 9 Quebec, QE An overcast morning with a touch of fall in the air as we walked down the block for lattes and breakfast at Mon Plaisir before we left town. Driving east towards Quebec, encountered patches of rain and drizzle. Passed signs to watch for moose, indicating that we were moving from farmland to forest. Lots of highway construction as we neared Quebec City. Found our way to the Lower Town, established as a fur-trading post in the early seventeenth century, and located the small Saint-Pierre Hotel on the street of the same name. Too early to access our room, we left our bags with the front desk and walked down the cobbled street to the tiny Bistro du Cap where we enjoyed giant steaming cups of tomato soup and fresh green salad and shared a half-bottle of wine. Strolled down Rue St-Paul,
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lined with inviting antiques shops that, unfortunately, were not nearly so interesting once we stepped inside. After checking into our room and making dinner reservations, walked up the street toward the funicular to the Upper Town. As we turned the corner at the Place Royale, found tour groups everywhere: the Queen Mary 2 was in port. The weather was deteriorating as well, and we decided to cut short our rainy walk in the Upper Town and return to our room where Jake took a nap and I made myself of cup of mint tea. Just before 6:30, we walked to L’Eschaude, a bistro just steps from our hotel, delighted that we did not have a taxi or funicular to deal with on such a drizzly evening. Found that we were the only tourists there; enjoyed our corner table and a pleasant meal.
Old Quebec A UNESCO Site
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Friday, September 10 Tadoussac, QE On our way before 8:30 in order to clear town ahead of the Grand Prix of Quebec, a major cycle race that would close main streets in the area. Headed northeast on good road, mainly three-lane, along rolling hills with significant grades. Cloudy sky with occasional points of brightness that only served to get our hopes up, for we continued to encounter patches of rain. Noted that the churches we passed seemed disproportionately large for the small communities they served. Followed the Route de Fleuves through the Cote de Charlevoix. Had planned to stop in the artists’ colony of Baie Saint-Paul but found it touristy-tacky and drove on through. Slowed by roadwork along the way, necessitating several stops for flagmen. Drove through Richelieu Manor, the elegant resort that Em and I saw when we docked there on our Saguenay tour twelve years ago. From Malbaie, continued to Saint-Simeon and then to Chicoutimi under a brighter sky. Crossed over the river and then east toward Tadoussac. Turned off on a short side road to see Saint-Rose-du-Nord, a little village by the water, nestled between precipitous cliffs.
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Saw that an art fair was underway and hoped to find a little treasure. We might have been interested in an unusual beaded necklace but the artist enthusiastically explained her work in such rapid-fire French that we were embarrassed to let her know that we were not Francophones and just edged away from her table. Arrived at the bustling Tadoussac Hotel at 4:00; checked in and confirmed our reservations for a boat tour in the morning; learned that the hours had changed and we could no longer take the tour and connect with our 4:30 ferry reservations tomorrow afternoon. Eventually got it all straightened out by canceling one tour and booking an earlier one at a shop down the street. Drove around the town of Tadoussac, checking on the location of the boat dock, the availability of parking, and a likely place for dinner. Eventually settled on Restaurant La Bolee where we had a meal of salmon and cod in room that resembled Grandma’s parlor. Back at the hotel, things were hopping. (Might the tables of wine set out for patrons of an art show in the lobby have had something to do with it?)
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Saturday, September 11 Rimouski, QE Opened the curtains to the first brilliant morning of the trip; perfect for our whale-watching cruise. Got to the hotel breakfast buffet when it opened at 7:00; checked out and drove down to the dock where we were able to snag one of the few parking places in front. Walked around the boardwalk to take pictures of the harbor and the small red-roofed chapel at the foot of the churchyard hill. Strolled amongst the tombs, some of which dated from the mid-1800s. Many were broken and some headstones were missing. Watched as the zodiacs and larger tour boats loaded and left the harbor. At 9:30, boarded the Cavalier de Fleuve for our 9:45 departure. Were pleased at first when we thought that the end of the season meant more room for us on the boat until we stopped at Baie Saint-Anne to pick up an additional hundred passengers. However, once out in the St. Lawrence, were delighted to see numerous whales, both beluga and humpback. After two hours, turned down the Saguenay Fjord for a half-hour cruise past dramatic sheer-faced cliffs that dropped to the water close to our boat. Returned to Tadoussac just after 1:00 and drove on to Escoumins, where we had ferry reservations across the St. Lawrence to Trois-Pistoles at 4:30. Were
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intrigued by a sign for Le Reve Doux that advertised bread, chocolate, and seafood, and stopped for a light lunch of soup and mussels and fresh bread, accompanied by a couple of icy Stella Artois. Back to the ferry landing, we were first in line for the 90-minute crossing. Arrived at Trois-Pistoles at 6:00, an attractive town with pretty houses and a mammoth church with numerous silver steeples. Drove thirty-eight miles to Rimouski through small farming communities, passing rolling green fields dotted with haystacks. Turned off briefly to Le Bic, where the road wound through a lovely little village with gingerbread houses painted bright colors and trimmed in white. Then into Rimouski on 20 as the sun was setting. There was virtually no traffic on the wide new road. Quickly checked in at the Hotel Rimouski, an immense commercial hotel. Jake gave me five minutes to freshen up before we were off again for our dinner reservations at Chez St-Pierre Bistro. We had an excellent meal and were surprised that the restaurant was not more crowded on a Saturday night. Our server helped us with the menu; we both ordered Omble Chevalier de Gaspe, a local fish, served over fresh wide green beans, accompanied perfectly with an Albarino blend.
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Sunday, September 12 Perce, QE When we woke up, saw that clouds were creeping over our blue sky again. Good sleep in spite of our strange room that had a definite Eastern European feel. Took advantage of the hotel’s bargain breakfast buffet; got underway close to 9:30, beginning our drive around the Gaspe Peninsula. Entering the village of Sainte-Flavie, stopped to photograph a striking house that we noticed from the road. Learned that it was the home and studio of Marcel Gagnon, a self-taught painter, sculptor, and poet, who had turned a seaside cottage into his artist’s canvas. The house was decorated with colorful mosaics and his poems were posted around the property. Most striking was a series of life-size sculptures of men, women, children, and animals that filled the garden and trailed down to the rocks and into the waters of the St. Lawrence. Drove along the shore at rocky low tide, passing clusters of impossibly small houses along the way.
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At Metis, we visited Reford Gardens, once a fishing camp that in 1926 was transformed by Elsie Reford into an appealing garden. For two hours, we walked along carefully manicured paths, photographing tiny details: bees clustered on sunflowers, ferns creating a veined net over one another, a lady bug nestled in the spikes of a clover. The house had a wide porch with white Adirondack chairs and baskets of flowers. An engaging museum on the upper floor gave the visitor a sense of the life and character of the garden’s creator and her family. The International Festival of Gardens was in an adjacent area of Reford, an
innovative collection of conceptual gardens by designers from all over the world. Finally the clouds had moved away, allowing us to savor the beauty of the place in bright sunlight. At the close of our visit, we bought a guidebook written and signed by Elsie’s grandson, Alexander Reford. Consistent with the French influence in Quebec, the English version of the book was called The Reford Gardens, emphasizing the English family responsible for the garden, while the French version was called Les Jardins de Metis, emphasizing its Quebec location. We were back on the highway a little after noon. 23
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Reford Gardens
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As we drove toward the northeast, we reached the rugged hills of the Chic-Chocs. The road rose and fell and twisted away from the water in places and we could see the striations of the rock in the sheer cliffs. Trees lined the road and we saw signs warning to look out for moose and deer. In Capdes-Rosiers we saw a red lighthouse (1858) high over the road and stopped to take a picture and check out the view from above, noting yet another huge church prominently situated in the village below. Time was getting away from us and we were anxious to get to Perce and photograph its famous rock before we lost the sun. Arriving around 5:30, we were almost too late, as the last rays of sun played on the top of the Gaspe’s most celebrated landmark, the Rocher Perce. Predating the creation of North America, the Rock stood as one piece with two arches until the night of June 17, 1845, when it split with no warning. Perce has remained a tourist haven ever since. After locating our hotel and checking in, went for a long walk though town; Jake noted how much more touristy the place had become since his last visit twelve years ago. However, we found a place on the water for dinner, La Maison du Pecheur, where we had salmon cooked in a maple lemon sauce and local draft beer. And for my birthday, Jake bought me a delicate silver and green gaspeite bangle, a special souvenir of our visit. 27
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Rocher Perce
Monday, September 13 Charlottetown, PEI Woke up at sunrise, hoping to get a better shot of the Rock but alas, overcast skies precluded even a glimpse of the sun. Decided not to breakfast at the hotel when we found that a tour group of little old ladies wearing nametags had taken over the dining room. On the road before 8:00 to complete our circuit of the Gaspe. Stopped outside of Chandler at Le Sieur de Pabos, a roadside café affiliated with a motel where we had a generous breakfast that unfortunately took almost an hour out of our long driving day. Continued to experience frustrating construction delays. As a result of the poor signage that appears to be a major problem in Quebec, missed the turnoff for New Brunswick, resulting in 25 additional miles before we crossed over a bridge and returned to the point where we should have taken the turn. Once in New Brunswick, found the roads and signage vastly superior and we were able to make up a lot of our lost time. At 4:00, crossed
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the nine-mile long Confederation Bridge to Prince Edward Island. From first glance, I could see why it is called “The Gentle Island.” Rolling green fields were dotted with dark pines and accented by neat while clapboard houses. Passed tantalizing signs for antiques shops, arrows pointing across the fields. The smallest of Canadian provinces, PEI is only 140 miles long. It is named for the son of Charles III, who was the father of Queen Victoria. Our drive into Charlottetown took 45 minutes, and we arrived at the Shipwright Inn on Fitzroy Street at 5:00. We were greeted by Trevor, our British host, who pointed out various features of the inn and showed us to the Chart Room where we would be staying for two nights. Walked down Sydney Street to Gahan Brewery for PEIhandcrafted beer and fish and chips served in brown paper bags. On our walk back to the Shipwright, we commented that the temperature was surprisingly moderate.
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Tuesday, September 14
Charlottetown, PEI
Forgot about the time change and had to scramble to make it to breakfast. After stopping for maps and ferry reservations at the tourist center in town, connected with Hwy. 6, the Green Gables Route, and followed its signs. No visit to PEI is complete without a tour of the house of Anne of Green Gables and we joined the throngs there. Although very touristy, the site is lovely and I found myself swept up in the magic of the island as depicted by Anne’s creator, Lucy Maud Montgomery. In much
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the same way that I could almost see Tom Kitten and Hunca Munca at Beatrix Potter’s Sawdey house, I felt the spirit of Anne in her little bedroom, with her hat and apron laid out on her bed. Such is the power of a writer’s words. In the accompanying gift shop, we marveled at the dolls, books, ornaments, tea, candy, and soda pop, all branded with the Anne of Green Gables name. Visited the site of Montgomery’s home in its setting within a clump of trees.
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Lucy Maud Montgomery creator of Anne of Green Gables 37
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Back on Hwy. 6, drove to Stanley Bridge and stopped briefly to check out an antiques shop and take some photos of lobster traps for sale. Jake wanted to see Malpeque where the famous oysters are harvested. Saw fishermen unloading the day’s catch and burying it in ice. Found interesting things to photograph—lobster traps in an old shed, floats, and baskets. At North London, visited Gallery 18, an intriguing shop that specialized in books and maps. Aubrey Bell showed us maps of PEI and the Maritimes; I saw that he had a large collection of old editions of the Anne books. We bought a colorful label for canned lobster and watched him pack it up as if it were the rarest of documents. When I
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commented on his packing job, he said that it goes with the territory in dealing with paper. After some discussion, drove past Kensington to Richmond on the west side of PEI to see the baskets at Island Treasures. I had wanted to buy a Mi’kmaq potato basket, having seen a video about them online before our trip. The shop had several baskets but I hesitated buying anything, for wanted a truly authentic one. I may be sorry later. Got back to the inn around 5:30 and did some organizing before our 7:00 reservations at Water Prince Corner Shop. Found it more downscale than we expected but it had a fun atmosphere and we enjoyed local mussels, oysters, and lobster.
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This is the label we bought at Gallery 18 in North London. Murray Harbour is nearby.
Wednesday, September 15
Cape Breton, NS
Trevor accommodated us by having breakfast ready 15 minutes early to facilitate our departure to the Wood Islands Terminal for our Northumberland ferry to Nova Scotia. Jake was delighted that by taking the ferry, we would chop 152 miles off our trip. The 37-mile drive to the terminal on Trans Canada Highway 1 took 45 minutes; we were underway on the Holiday Island at 9:40, ten minutes late. Unloaded at 11:00 at Caribou in Nova Scotia under puffy clouds and drove toward Cape Breton on generally good road but again encountered road construction. At 12:30 crossed the small bridge into Cape Breton, the 100-mile-long lobster claw of promontories reaching toward Newfoundland. We joined the Ceilidh (KAYlee) or “Festival” Trail, Hwy. 19 north. Reflecting Nova Scotia’s rich Gaelic heritage, the road signs appear in both English and Gaelic: “Broad Cove” is also identified as “An Camus Leathann;” Gaelic music advertisements were posted along the way; there is a Gaelic University near St. Anne on the other side of the island. Stopped at the Gaelic Interpretive Music Center but made a hasty exit when we saw that the place had been taken over by a large bus tour having tea and snacks. As we
continued north, noted the purple flowers that lined both sides of the road. Above Margaree, the Ceilidh Trail becomes the Cabot Trail, named for the English explorer who reputedly discovered the area in 1497; it is noted by Michelin as one of the most beautiful drives in North America. The road took us first along tranquil farmland, accented with bright red barns off in the distance. Five miles south of Cheticamp, we came across a sign announcing “Joe’s Scarecrows.” Turning in, we discovered an open field of strangely concocted figures dressed in rag-tag costumes and topped with heads of frighteningly weird masks; they had sinister “eyes” behind the eyeholes. Many of the figures had signs attached with their names and stories: “I came home last year to stay. It’s so peaceful-quiethere in the field—the scarecrows are so friendly—I’m Donna.” An old newspaper article was taped to a table that explained that the scarecrows were created in 1984 by Joe Delaney, a retired janitor from St. Joseph du Moine. After vandals destroyed all but one of his scarecrows in 1986, Joe rebuilt and expanded his roadside clan, and it now attracts several thousand visitors a year.
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A short distance north, as we entered the town of Cheticamp, we could immediately see its Acadian influence; the Acadian trifold flag flew above most of the shops in the town. Visited Las Trois Pignons Acadian Culture Center where Yvette showed us around the small museum, rich with beautiful hooked rugs, many of them created by a master of hooking, Elizabeth Le Forte. Yvette demonstrated the way that this historic craft is done using a burlap cloth and a tiny crochet hook, with thin yarn rather than the cloth strips used in American hooking. We left with two locally-produced CDs (one of which was a collection of tracks that appeared to have involved every person in town, from small children to old men), directions to a preferred shop, and a new appreciation of a dying art. A few miles up the road, pulled off at a red house with a sign that said Jean’s Crafts. Owners Annette and Roger welcomed us to their shop, stocked with a dizzying display of hooked rugs, runners, and wall hangings. After seeing the fine
examples at the museum, our eyes had been trained and we spotted a beautiful piece, which Annette told us was made by 80-year old Dora Devean and contained over 32,400 stitches. Poor Dora had made 3,240 stitches for every $1 we paid! From Cheticamp, the road steepened and scenery became more dramatic. We paused at several overlooks and photographed the headlands and the road ahead bending and curving in the distance. As we ascended to North Mountain, we encountered a dense fog that effectively ended our scenic viewing. Passed through a lot of rain and roadwork, but were rewarded by the most brilliant of rainbows that stretched across the headlands at the harbor entrance. After numerous construction delays, steady rain, and a stop for gas, we reached the North Sydney Newfoundland Ferry Terminal at 7:15. Soon we were loaded aboard the MV Joseph & Clara Smallwood for the overnight crossing to Argentia. Dinner in the cafeteria before finding our reserved seats and falling asleep immediately.
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Thursday, September 16
St. John’s, NL
Docked at 12:30 at Argentia, Newfoundland in good weather. Joined T.C.H. 1 to St. John’s. Beautiful road through lowlands cut by ponds and waterways. Newfoundland, called “The Rock” for its craggy profile is, with Labrador, the largest and easternmost of Canada’s provinces. It has 6,000 miles of coastline. We set our watches ahead a half-hour; Newfoundland and Labrador have their own peculiar “halftime” zone. Once in the main commercial center, fortuitously came upon the Crafts Council headquarters and visited their excellent shop where we bought a small, tightly woven grass basket, a Labradorite pendant and earrings, and a small aborigine tea doll made of caribou skin. We were putting the cart before the horse, but we felt there was no better place to shop for local handicrafts. Although St. John’s was founded in the sixteenth century, few old buildings remain after several major fires ravaged the city, the most recent of which was in 1896. Many of the homes are row houses painted bright primary colors and trimmed in white. I made Jake chase up and down the hilly streets so that I could hop out and take pictures. Ascended Signal Hill, a rocky mound overlooking the city’s port narrows, where the French and British fought for control of that strategic harbor. Tried to coordinate our photography with an illusive sun and
sporadic showers. Visited The Rooms, St. John’s art museum and archives, constructed in 2004. The attractive structure consists of a series of interlocking four-storey cubes perched on a hill, with lots of glass that offers views of the city below. Saw Haven of Delight, a collection of installations and paper cutouts by Ed Pien, one of Canada’s foremost contemporary artists. Also visited permanent collections that focused on Newfoundland’s political and natural history. By the time we emerged from the museum, the sky had cleared and we returned to Signal Hill to improve our previous photographs. One-way streets made it challenging to find the Ryan Mansion where we had reservations for the night. The magnificent house was completed in 1911, at the same time as, and by many of the same master craftsmen who constructed, the Titanic. The woodwork, particularly on the grand staircase, was stunning, and the plaster ceilings were works of art. Were greeted at the door by Evan who showed us upstairs to our elegantly furnished room. Every aspect of the place was impeccably restored and every detail immaculate, down to the sparking tub and French L’Occitaine toiletries. Evan brought tea in a Blue Onion pot, and we relaxed in our luxurious surroundings.
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St. John’s
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Just before 9:00, we found George Street, the entertainment district of St. John’s, where bars advertising live music line the way. At Trapper John’s, grabbed seats at the bar and signed up for the traditional Screech-In at 10:00. Struck up a conversation with Glen, a lanky ex-pat who presently lives in Halifax and makes frequent visits home. He gave us CFAs (“Come From Aways”) suggestions for our visit. At 10:00, the bell rang and Laura, the bartender, called those who were to be “screeched in” to assemble. As many as thirty CFAs were lined up at the bar, a shot of the notorious red rum in front of each; Sherman from Belize was next to me. After we shouted out our names, we were instructed to down our shots of Screech and repeat the following lines: “Indeed I is, Me old cock, And long may, Your big jib draw.” After we kissed the backside of a stuffed puffin that was passed down the line, we were presented with certificates proving
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that we were now honorary Newfoundlanders. All was done with lots of ribbing and laughter. Stayed awhile to listen to the music before moving down the street to join a lively crowd at O’Reiley’s for pints of local Quidi Vidi and a set of Irish music. Newfoundland is surprisingly Irish. It is the only region outside Europe to have an Irish Gaelic name, Talamh an Eise (meaning “Land of Fish”); almost half of the modern population is descended from Irish immigrants. A sign above the bar announced that Kilkenny was 6,400 kilometers away; in fact, St. John’s is the nearest North American city to Ireland. When the trio went on break, we made our way to the door. Bought hotdogs from a cart conveniently positioned outside the tavern and chatted with Jacqueline and Andrew, a couple who are to be married in a week. Took several pictures and exchanged emails. Night was becoming morning by the time we returned to the inn.
A “Screech-In” is a ceremony performed at various pubs and venues for people (“CFA’s”) who visit from other Canadian provinces or anywhere else in the world. It is a way that Newfoundlanders welcome visitors and demonstrate their friendliness and hospitality. Long before any liquor board was created to take alcohol under its benevolent wing, Demerara rum was a mainstay of the Newfoundland diet, with salt fish traded to the West Indies in exchange for the rum. When the Government took control of the traditional liquor business in the early 20th century, it began selling the rum in an unlabeled bottle. The product might have remained permanently nameless except for the influx of American servicemen to the island during World War II. As the story goes, the commanding officer of the original detachment was having his first taste of Newfoundland hospitality and, imitating the custom of his host, downed his drink in one gulp. The American’s blood-curdling howl, when he regained his breath, brought the sympathetic and curious from miles around rushing to the house to find out what was going on. The first to arrive was a garrulous old American sergeant who pounded on the door and demanded, “What the cripes was that ungodly screech?” The taciturn Newfoundlander who had answered the door replied simply, “ The screech? ‘Tis the rum, me son.” Thus was born a legend. As word of the incident spread, the soldiers, determined to try this mysterious “Screech” and finding its effects as devastating as the name implies, adopted it as their favorite. The opportunistic liquor board pounced on the name and reputation and began labeling Newfoundland Screech. 61
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Friday, September 17
Trinity, NL
Enjoyed a delicate egg white frittata in the attractive dining room while a CD of soft guitar played in the background. On the way out of town, stopped at the Jighouse liquor store, “Home of the Original Screech Experience”, where we bought a bottle of Screech and a “Screech-In Kit,” consisting of six shot glasses, special coasters, membership cards, and directions for holding one’s own event. (Unfortunately, once we were 50 miles out of town, discovered that our kit was missing all but the glasses, necessitating a call back to the store.) Had a fun conversation with the staff about the origins of Screech, after which I was certain that my grandfather, Col. John McDowall, commanding officer of Fort Pepperrell from 1944-45, must have been the commanding officer who uttered that shriek that started the whole thing. One of the staff members suggested that I contact St. John’s Memorial University and get a student to take on the project of proving my supposition. Upon hearing that my grandfather was a redhead, the same man exclaimed, “Ah, a Ginger Boy!” a phrase that I will share with Wesley Hanes. Back on T.C.H. 1, retraced the way west to the turnoff for Dildo. I insisted that we needed to take a picture of the sign pointing to the town. Once we had gone the 12 km. to the sign, decided continue to town. Found a little fishing village that appeared unfazed by its name; the Dildo General Store did not even have a postcard. At 1:00 we reached Clarenville where we stopped for lunch at 64
Mary Brown’s Chicken before crossing over to the Bonavista Peninsula. We drove all the way to its northern tip at Cape Bonavista. The sky was much as it had been yesterday: a mixture of thunderheads, puffy cumulus, and high cirrus clouds, with patches of blue. We are noticing that these conditions can make the weather change even from minute to minute. Where the road continued inland, the land was low and rocky, with clusters of pines, many of which were growing at an angle from the effect of the wind. When the road returned to the water, we found small fishing villages where packing operations were evident.
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At the Cape, a lighthouse dating from 1843 sat on a rugged, windswept rock at what appeared to be the end of the world. Below it, on a rocky promontory, stood the figure of John Cabot, gazing out over his “new founde lande.” The landscape there has a distinctive edge-of-the-known-world feel, and it was easy to sense what he might have felt as he beheld much the same scene. Back in the fishing town of Bonavista, we visited the Ryan Premises National Historic Site. (We are finding that the term “premises” is often used in Newfoundland.) Founded in 1871 by James Ryan, the son of an Irish immigrant, the premises consist of several austere white clapboard buildings that housed a thriving cod fishing business as well as Ryan’s attractive home. Mr. Ryan was quite the entrepreneur, selling goods to the fishermen and then buying their cod and exporting it, thus turning a profit on both ends. We 66
drove on to Trinity, a tiny town of no more than 400 residents, considered by some as one of the bestpreserved villages in Atlantic Canada. Trying to make the most of the fading light, we drove through town, stopping to take photos along the way, before checking into the Artisan Inn, a blue clapboard house near the water. Marieke Gow, sommelier/innkeeper, showed us to a simple room with lace curtains where we could hear the wind blowing outside our windows. Dinner at the Twine Loft, a red building directly behind the inn on the water. Pine paneling and simple place settings lent a casual French-country flair to our dinner of fresh local cod and garden vegetables. Still raining when we returned to our room; I hope that tomorrow brings better weather but we are lear ning that in Newfoundland, the one thing one does not count on is the weather.
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Trinity
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Saturday, September 18
Rocky Harbour, NL
During the night, the wind whipped around the cottage and rain spattered the windows. At around 4:30, woke up to a muffled beeping sound and thought that the people in the next room had set an early alarm. It kept going off and on again; Jake suddenly realized that it was our car. Apparently the wind had buffeted it to the point that the motion had set off the car’s security system. Poor man had to get dressed and brave the elements. I watched from the window as he crawled in on the passenger side in order to avoid a giant puddle (he later dubbed it “Trinity Pond”) and move the car around to the other side of the building, out of the wind. After the excitement, we managed to get back to sleep for a couple of hours. Had quiche and coffee at the Twine Loft and departed at 9:30, driving through a steady rain to catch the T.C.H. west again. Continued to experience Newfoundland’s “R-DF” (Rain-Drizzle-Fog). Crossed into the Central Region towards Gander, a great land of trees and streams where logging and mining have long been economic mainstays. Saw frequent moose warning signs; according to one, there have been 660 moosevehicle collisions so far this year. The rain finally let up and we enjoyed panoramic views of lakes and inlets (or “ponds” as the “Newfies” say) fingering among the trees. At Deer Lake, we reached the Western Region and turned on to the Viking Trail (Hwy. 430) toward the South Arm of Bonne Bay (rhymes with “Bombay”). Delighted that the clouds had disbursed and the sun had returned when we entered Gros Morne National Park. Named a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1987, the park is 697 square miles along the western coast of the Great Northern 74
Peninsula. It contains rock that is more than a billion years old and is one of Canada’s greatest natural treasures. The park’s status as a UNESCO site is due in substantial part to the Tablelands, a geological quirk that occurred when a portion of the earth’s mantle broke loose and erupted on the surface. Much of the magnesium-rich rock is from 15 miles below. We took a short hike though the rocks at the base of these rust-colored formations that looked far more Martian than terrestrial. Took photos of the serpentine rocks and hearty little plants that grew among them, paying particular attention to the pitcher plants, brown bellshaped members of the orchid family that are the official flower of Newfoundland. At Trout River we watched two little boys fishing on the pier and overheard men talking with such a thick accent that I could not understand a word. Pretty drive back to Wiltondale and then around the Eastern Arm of Bonne Bay to Rocky Harbour where we had reservations at the Wildflowers B&B. (Our confirmatory letter cutely thanked us for “picking Wildflowers.”) Our room, one of five in the inn, was simple and immaculate. Asked Lurley, our host, where we might sample some local dishes, and she suggested Earle’s, a combination general store, video rental center, and diner. We had moose soup, brewis (pronounced “brooze” and consisting of cod, salt pork and hardtack) and fish cakes. Were going to share a piece of bakeapple (raspberry-like local fruit) pie but there was no more left. Thought about listening to music later at the Ocean View Hotel but the group did not start until 10:00 and we’d had a long day so just settled for pints of QV Iceberg beer and called it quits.
Gros Morne National Park A UNESCO Site
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Tablelands
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Sunday, September 19 Cape Onion, NL Real steel-cut oatmeal and grainy toast got us started for the day and we left at 9:00, heading north on the Viking Trail. The sky was grey and cast an evocative light that seemed to look the way Newfoundland should look. Took pictures around an abandoned fish camp—ropes and traps and weathered shacks. Stopped at the wreck of the S. S. Ethie, run aground on Dec. 11, 1919; today only scraps of its boiler and hull remain. At Western Brook Pond, determined where the trailhead was for our hike tomorrow, wishing that we could do it today while the weather still held. Driving up the coastal road of the Great Northern Peninsula, passed untouched rocky shores bordered by tuckamore forests. (I learned that “tuckamore” is a mingling of various coniferous trees.) The surrounding hills were strikingly grey and barren. At Forrest Cove, made a loop through several fishing villages. Things looked pretty quiet; did
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not see anyone around the small churches although it was a Sunday morning. Noticed piles of firewood stacked near the road and were impressed that these could be left out with no fear of poaching. People have planted gardens along the road as well, and these, too, are safe from thieves. The Labrador ferry arrived as we passed Anchor Point. Drove inland toward St. Anthony’s, home of British missionary Sir Wilfred Grenfell, who, in the early twentieth century, brought medical care to an area where there had been virtually none. However, our visit was anything but successful, as our guidebook had incorrectly indicated that the Grenfell Museum and House were open on weekends. Had a look at the outside of the house and took a picture of his statue and were on our way along road that became long and lonely with a few small villages scattered in the low, scrubby landscape.
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S. S. Ethie 1919
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Arrived at L’Anse aux Meadows around 2:00. This UNESCO designated site at the northernmost tip of the peninsula was an ancient Norse encampment and the oldest European settlement in North America. In 1960, the site was discovered by Helge and Anne Ingstad, and has been thoroughly excavated. Walked along the boardwalk path though fragrant tangles of tuckamore spruce and wildflowers. Part of the site consists of archeological remains and part is a village of reconstructed sod houses, made to look just at they had looked 1100 years ago. Two men dressed in period costume were carving wood around a fire, and added to the atmosphere and to our understanding of life at that time. Interestingly, no bones have been found at the site, indicating that there was no animal husbandry and that the settlement may have been abandoned. Had to do a bit of backtracking to get to the Tickle Inn, although it was only about 4 km. away as the crow flies.
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L’Anse aux Meadows A UNESCO Site
On an isolated patch of Atlantic shore, this fisherman’s house is owned by David Adams, whose great-grandfather built the original structure in 1890, making it the oldest surviving structure on the French Shore of the peninsula. It was subsequently enlarged by David’s grandfather and father; in 1990, David and his wife refurbished it and established it as an inn. Staying there was a unique experience, for David greeted us and treated us as his personal guests, introducing us to the other guests, Bruce and Tracy from Halifax. As the afternoon light was still good, David encouraged us to take a walk. It was a beautiful hike along the black sand tidal pools, through a pine forest, and up the hillside covered with a matting of spongy undergrowth. Later, we joined Bruce and Tracy for wine in the Victorian parlor; dinner was served at
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the communal table with David leading us in the blessing. Sophie, the cook, served us crab au gratin in the shell, chicken Wellington with partridgeberry and Screech sauce and accompanied by locally grown root vegetables, and a dessert of Figgy Duff (steamed pudding from a sixteenth century recipe.) After dinner, we retired to the parlor and shared stories and photos of our travels. David topped off the evening by singing the national (now provincial) anthem of Newfoundland. His sweet voice brought to mind “Hobo Jim” Varsos singing I am Alaska at the bar in Seward last year, and Charles McGregor’s moving rendition of I Love Africa by the hearth at his home in Parson’s Green. David’s obvious love of Newfoundland and his pride in his heritage were contagious.
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Cape Onion, Sunday Evening 6:45—I am sitting in a white Adirondack chair within the white-picket fenced lawn of the Tickle Inn, proclaimed by David, the innkeeper, to be the northernmost residence in Newfoundland. The setting sun illuminates my view as the rocky shore of the Atlantic plays before me, and these short minutes of Alpenglow bring the ruggedness around me to golden life. I delight in this time in this most solitary of places in this most solitary of locations in this most solitary part of the world. It astonishes me that dramatic scenery like this can be experienced amid the gentlest of breezes, the most temperate of evenings, the most soothing of sounds as waves grumble against the black stones that line the beach. The sand, too, is black, and its darkness combines with distant storm clouds to offer a stark contrast to breaking waves made brighter by touches of fading sunlight. Jake and I arrived here early enough to take the coastal path that led us along the shore, through a small pine scented forest, and up a fern-covered hill for views of “the Onion” and breaking waves below. This was a Moment. In our busy travels there are perhaps too few of these precious times but that makes them all the more treasured. Following the path behind my Jake, watching him stop to take photos of the vista before us (while I concentrate on the details—miniature flowers, a peculiar rock, a piece of driftwood) makes me feel close to him. Sometimes we don’t walk hand in hand like other lovers might; we explore together and apart, and by being apart we are somehow more together. Yes, in this remotest of places I have this gift of a Moment that I will add to the necklace of such Moments we have shared.
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Ode to Newfoundland (1902) When sunrays crown thy pine-clad hills, And summer spreads her hand, When silver voices tune thy rills, We love Thee, smiling land. When spreads thy cloak of shimmering white, At winter’s stern command, Tho’ shortened day and starlit night, We love Thee, frozen land. When blinding storm gusts fret thy shore, And wild waves lash thy strand, Tho’ spindrift swirl and tempest roar, We love Thee, windswept land. As loved our fathers, so we love, Where once they stood, we stand, Their prayer we raise to heaven above, God guard Thee, Newfoundland! 93
Cover: Trinity, Newfoundland Michelin 1907 map of the Maritimes
Volume 1