Category Archives: Geography

Water, water, everywhere…

20 Thursday Dec 2012

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That was to be the title of my next book. But researching that particular subject turned out to be an incredibly difficult task. Not that there wasn’t any information available. No, quite the contrary. There was too much. Thanks to a wonderful tool called Google Alerts, I was updated on water news daily. And there was a lot of it. Truth be told – there was too much for me to disseminate. Unlike water, there is no shortage of information about the future of water. Hell, if information was water, we’d all be drowning in the stuff. So unhappily, I put that subject back on the shelf for now. But that does not mean I’ve given up on learning about it. At the same time, I do not want to play the role of a Cassandra either, but this is a serious subject.

As I wrote in my last blog post, I was going to spend some time writing about our planet’s limited resources. And if you haven’t figured it out by now, this one is about water. Globally, we are reaching some tipping points in regards to many of our resources. For the past few decades, much has been written and said about oil and rightfully so. Unless the theory of abiotic oil is correct, and few believe this to be the case, then we are most likely running out of oil. There is no corresponding abiotic theory on water though. It has taken years for people to discover that water is becoming an increasingly more valuable commodity. It is only now that it is beginning to take center stage on the world as a limited resource.

The most obvious, visible impact on water’s availability is drought. Most people can identify with that even if they’ve never experienced it first hand. But beyond failing crops and people going without water, and these are not to be minimized, not much other thought has generally been given to water.

However in the coming years, we can expect to see water politicized as never before, both here and abroad. Water rights are becoming an election issue and a states rights issue. Wars will be fought over water much as they are now over oil. It will become a geopolitical tool used selfishly and perhaps maliciously. Who will become the Saudi Arabia of water? Where will the new speculators come from?… and you know they will be there. There are a lot of questions and not many answers yet.

As we should have learned during the first oil crisis in the early 1970′s, we could not continue to use that particular resource profligately, still we did. The same is equally true of water. Using water to keep golf courses green in the desert flies in the face of good stewardship. In New Mexico, a dusty, dirty car is the sign of someone monitoring their water use carefully. There are not many green lawns there nor should there be. They are coming to grips with it before most of us are because they have to.

There are of course numerous ways for the individual to do their part to help keep consumption down and it is necessary. I am not minimizing that at all either. But, we are facing a new time in history where once again, many may be at the mercy of those who control a resource that they, like so many others, need and are willing to fight for it. Such is the situation when a resource is limited or running out and others play games with it. And that is what the future regarding water will look like. Our politicians need to become aware of this and start preparing. After all, there is nothing wrong with a dusty car and a brown desert.

Menage a Wha?

06 Monday Aug 2012

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(Warning: content addresses adult themes – not really – and no bad photos.)

It’s not like that all. We are still together and in love with each other, still! But for the previous three years, I’d been carrying on an affair, right out in the open, thank you very much, and I was still happily married.

For those out there with some prurient interest in where this is going, check out another blog. It’s not like that at all. I’d fallen in love with Newfoundland the moment I stepped off the plane to start the photography on what was to become Arn? Narn. I carried on this affair in front of my long-suffering wife, subjecting her to stories of wonderful people, incredible land, beautiful seas, marvelous skies, great music, etc. and still she didn’t kick me to the curb. No doubt there were times she probably wanted to, but discretion and propriety saved the day, for me at least.

What’s not to love? (citypictures.net)

This was not your typical sleazy affair. There was no other woman. There was just this land to which I felt strongly attracted. If Newfoundland had been a person, yes, damn straight, I would have moved right in. I still feel that way. Yet, I loved (and still do) my wife. I won’t leave her, but I just might take her with me! Yeah, it’s that cool and my wife is down with that.

So, now as I drive Carla around the province, meeting and talking with locals, even dancing, kicking back to a new, slower tempo, she’s getting it. The land and sea are beginning to speak to her and she is responding. It’s now beginning to make sense. Earlier in this blog, I wrote about Gerard saying Newfoundland was “The Land of Low Anxiety.” It seeps into you. You know in your bones, your soul, it’s right. And now, so does Carla.

Low anxiety indeed! (citypictures.org)

We fantasize about moving up there. We even casually look at real estate. Financially, it’s in our reach, but if it were to happen, it wouldn’t be in the near future, no, no, not the short term. It’s a dream at this point.

She has met my “mistress” and realized it is not a competition. It is meant for us both to share. And we’re just starting.

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In which I get it right.

02 Thursday Aug 2012

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As I wrote earlier, when we were sitting in the airport, my lovely bride happened upon a postcard for a perfectly wonderful B&B. And as I wrote, I through my infinite wisdom had booked us for three nights in this wonderful place. Am I good or what?

We are now on our way to this wonderful Newfoundland version of Brigadoon, but without bagpipes. Since we are departing from the southern tip of the Avalon Peninsula and driving up to Port Rexton near Trinity, about 260 miles. Not a bad drive, 4-5 hours with stops especially if we can find a Tim Horton’s.

Typical Newfoundland bog. (eoearth.org.)

Newfoundland has been settled almost exclusively on the coast line. It is a very big coast. As we drive from Burin north, we travel mostly inland. Lots of bogs, ponds, no moose sightings, and lots of rocks and birch trees. Since everything revolved around fishing, there is hardly anything resembling a town. This is not to say no one lives out there. We pass small enclaves of homes along the way. Just what they do for employment is something we haven’t been able to determine. Still, I wouldn’t mind living there either.

As we head towards that days destination, we start to see more small towns. They are different from the outports since they are still a ways inland from the water. But it lets us know we’re almost there. And then we crest a hill and a sign for our destination appears. Hot damn! This is where I really start to look like I know what I’m doing on this trip. Fisher’s Loft is even better in real life than the beautiful image on their postcard. The views are spectacular and it’s getting on towards dinner.

We check in to our room (it’s a suite!) with an incredible vista of the bay with some small islands in it. In the distant is a fog partially covering a small mountain/hill(?) – beautiful whatever its nomenclature. We clean up and go downstairs to enjoy a drink on the front porch of the main building. At the bar is a picture of Kevin Spacey and the entire crew of the film The Shipping News. They stayed there. Oh, yes, this is getting better by the minute.

Fisher’s Loft (been-seen.com)

We finish our drinks and head into the dining room. OK, this is getting ridiculous. The dining room is decorated beautifully with hand-made furniture from a local craftsman. His furniture also occupies our room. Wait, it gets even better.

The menus arrive and this is foodie heaven. And locavore heaven. They grow all their own produce. And wine heaven. Oh hell, it’s just heaven! And this is just dinner! We almost can’t wait for breakfast. The food is marvelous.

Breakfast doesn’t disappoint – along with regular fare, there are fresh pastries from the oven and partridgeberry jam. I wrote about partridgeberry jam in an earlier post, but it bears repeating. This jam is incredible.

I don’t want to leave. I wonder if they need a groundskeeper!

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Enter the Wanderer with apologies to Bruce Lee…

22 Thursday Mar 2012

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Sounds sort of like a bad Bruce Lee film, doesn’t it? But, there are no flying fists, no crouching tigers, no leaping lizards, none of that stuff…just good old Newfoundland and its’ people.

I’m now ensconced on the small island of Ramea and have started to walk around the island, it IS small, and photograph. One of the first things I noticed on the ferry on my way in, is a collapsed fish processing plant, a fishery. It collapsed physically, but it is as good as any symbol of what has happened to the fishing industry. I could not have asked for a better opportunity to illustrate what has happened here. But Ramea is so much more than that, though its’ fate remains so tied to it.

Rendering of a fishery.

As  I mentioned earlier, one passes through a beautiful archipelago on the way in. It was so unexpected as to create a disconnect. “Hello, that number you’re calling is no longer in service.” That’s how I felt. In my modest research over the years, I believed that one found archipelagos in Japan, Indonesia, Scotland even. But Newfoundland, really? Oh, yeah. Yes, Toto, this isn’t Kansas anymore.

Ramea itself is a small, quaint even, little island if not for the oil tank graveyard I was currently photographing. I’ll tell you right now though, there are no photographs of those in this part of this journey. While I tip-toed around the tanks, respectfully trying not to wake them, I came up on a local who in true Newfoundland tradition was more than happy to talk with me. He gave me a little current history of the island and some recommendations: there was an ocean walk to take – check; don’t miss the wind turbine farm – check; Red’s Lounge – check and double check (can’t miss that!); the Anglican Church – check, but on Sunday of course; supermarket – check; and other places that were meaningless to me at the time.

I was into my wandering big time now. As I’ve written earlier, there I was taking pictures of nothing and really loving it.

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Abducted by sea turtles AND the talk of the town.

19 Monday Mar 2012

Posted by in Culture, Geography, History, Humor, Observations, Photography, Travel

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With all apologies to the bard (Ramea, O’ Ramea, where art thou O’ Ramea?), Ramea is a small island off the southern coast of Newfoundland and I arrived safely on the good ship (well, ferry) Gallipoli. For those who may be history minded, Gallipoli is the name of a horrible battle in World War I in which allied soldiers were brutally massacred because of an incredibly dumb decision. It was also a movie starring the then uncontroversial and better-looking actor Mel Gibson. And Gallipoli was the boat of which I just got off! Should I have read something into that? Time enough to ponder as I’ll be getting back on it to return to the Newfoundland mainland in a few days.

Approaching Ramea, one travels though a beautiful though unexpected archipelago. It was a wonderful greeting. The only thing missing were giant sea turtles, but for all I knew they may have been laying in wait to ambush me and make mock-Bruce soup. Hey, it could happen.

This was going to be very cool. Ramea is a very small island, populated by about 600 people. At it’s peak in the early 1970′s, it had about double that, but when the fish were gone, half the populace followed. Yet, it holds on. There is a music festival, like so many other Newfoundland outports, in August. And there are a number of outdoor activities in which one can indulge. The electricity is furnished by a small wind turbine farm. OK, so much for the Chamber of Commerce business.

As I’ve come to learn and appreciate and obsessively seek out, the best activity of all in Newfoundland is talking and partying with Newfoundlanders, everywhere! And that more than anything would define this part of the journey. Oh, the photographs would be taken. And with the certainty of only those of the pure of heart and who sleep like babies, I knew they would be good. I didn’t really, I hoped they would be good. But I’m rambling. The beer would be drunk, but not I, oh, no! Moose what would be eaten. Sorry, Squirrel. More on that later,

I checked into the B&B on Ramea, unpacked, and then started out on which was to be my newest adventure. Without giving too much away, must be frugal with my words here, I was to see clothes-lines, coffins, windmills, hand-painted signs, a bar, so much more and unbeknownst to me at the time, become the talk of the island.

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Look boss, the plane, the plane! No, Tattoo, that’s a boat!

14 Wednesday Mar 2012

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Burgeo, on the southern coast. (From Sailblogs.)

Made it to Burgeo after a gruesomely long drive. The good news is that where I was off to next to photograph was a very small island, Ramea, on which I would be walking almost everywhere. The bad new is that when I got back to Newfoundland proper, I had an even longer trip back to St. John’s, but that’s for another post.

I found my B&B and checked in. Martine, my host was very friendly, showed me to my room, and offered some suggestions as to where I might find dinner. There were two options – both named after their proprietors- Joy’s Place and Sharon’s Diner. Sharon was off somewhere and was closed so it was to Joy’s Place which was closer anyway. Joy wasn’t in either (were Joy and Sharon running errands together?) so I couldn’t send my compliments to the chef, so I left a nice tip instead.

I returned to my B&B and had some wine with Martine. my host. We talked about Burgeo and what had brought me there. She told me that Burgeo was very old, about  500 years, but it was only incorporated in 1950 and was basically a fishing village until 1992 when the moratorium was put into place. Then it too went through all the difficulties the rest of the province did. It’s a sweet place with a couple of restaurants, a school, all the things one would expect to find pretty much anywhere, except they don’t have the view that Burgeo does. Take that world!

(From Wikipedia)

So, right now, it’s the perfect place to catch my breath before getting on another boat on my way to Ramea. Remind me why I’m doing this.

(Courtesy Newfoundland & Labrador)

Oh yeah, this’ll be fun.

Me and Homer….no, not Simpson!

12 Monday Mar 2012

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Now that I’d returned to the mainland which is Newfoundland proper, I was to head to the southern coast of Newfoundland to catch another ferry to another island. Yeah, yeah, I know…

(Courtesy Terry’s Bayside Getaway)

But, I had a lot a traveling to do in front of me. First south, then west, then southeast, and then finally south again until I reached where I would spend the night before getting on the boat. And that would take the entire day. A very long day. Aw c’mon, this can’t be the way to Burgeo, can it?

Before I proceed with this retelling of Homer’s Odyssey, let me recap some earlier posts for background material. First, Newfoundland is big…damn big. Secondly, much of it is still wild without a lot of settlement on it save for the coasts. Third, there aren’t many places to stop for food, directions, or even meaningless conversations over coffee. When you do find a place, make sure you get some take along food and drink, anything. For me it was chocolate-covered cookies and water. Did I mention it’s big? Fourth, where you can stop will probably have the most bizarre collection of chips available, that you might not want to sample unless you’ll be near a toilet. Fifth, while the maps are quite accurate, nothing prepares you for the enormous space similar to going what Australians call their Outback but here is just out there and out there are absolutely no kangaroos. Sorry, Mate! Hopefully you get the picture. I did mention it’s big, didn’t I?

This is the first time I’d be traveling in Newfoundland without a view of the sea nearby and that’s a bit disconcerting. All my previous travels here have never been far away from water and I’m missing the outports and all their character and stories.

Just brush, bogs, some trees, and a lot of rock. (Courtesy Natural Resources Canada)

While the original intent for my book “Arn? Narn?” was to be an exploration of isolation, nothing had prepared me for this. This part of the island is rugged and almost barren; more rock than brush, some trees, many bogs, few seen moose or caribou, and lonely, very lonely. There was no radio reception out here and I was grateful for the working cd player. And because it was so remote, beyond what the odometer told me, I had no real idea of where I was going. Friends have also told me that, but I digress. And the cookies were running perilously low. If I was going to find my way back, I would probably need them for crumbs to leave a trail.

Onward I drove. From Fogo though Birchy Bay, Norris Arm, to Deer Lake through to Pasadena (no I couldn’t have traveled that far!) then Corner Brook, right hand turn at Barachois Pond Provincial Park into Burgeo, my resting place for the night. Well over 650 miles this day. Resting place indeed. Try crash and burn and wake me next year place. But I won’t need any more cookies for this part of the trip, oh no, – I’m going on another boat! Maybe some Dramamine though.

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‘Scuse me, while I kiss the sky.

01 Thursday Mar 2012

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It’s probably a good bet Jimi Hendrix was not singing about the skies in Newfoundland and more’s the pity.

Nowhere have I seen a more dramatic skyscape than up on The Rock. Now you may be thinking, “It’s a sky. So what? Big deal!” Well, yeah, it is a big deal. It will show you textures, shapes, and tonalities like you’ve never seen and then in a moment vanish only to replaced by something completely different (and not in the Monty Python sense either).

Why is this sky different from all other skies you ask? In one sense, it’s very similar to Big Sky country in Montana. It’s high, it’s enormous, it appears to cover and touch everything you see, it goes on forever, and oftentimes it resembles a time lapse film. The Newfoundland sky is like a living motion picture – something is always going on and like a really good one, you won’t know the ending.

If it’s a sunny day, then the sea takes on an unbelievably rich and dark blue color. All the colors of the island jump out in blazing relief. And even on such a day, there can be fog which will give you a teasing glimpse of something beautiful only to obscure it moments later.

On a cloudy day then, of which there are many, the show really begins. Cloudy days in Newfoundland are not to be confused with a cloudy or overcast day anywhere else. After all, this is Newfoundland. Missing are the drab, plain-jane grey skies in the lower 48. Instead you’ll be witness to high drama. For the person who believes everything is black and white, they should be prepared for disappointment. These skies display some serious greys and a hell of a lot of variations. From light and medium greys to end-of-the-world dark greys. it’s all there. What makes it even that much more spectacular are the many textures. It’s not a flat sky by any stretch of the imagination; no, it’s a roiling, scudding, blustering, opinionated sky with its own intent.

Picture this: you’re out on the coast – the sea is a wind-whipped, nearly black surface complete with whitecaps; nearer than the horizon are brilliant white icebergs sitting in stark contrast to the dark, colorless sea and to the rich, cloud-laden thunder grey sky.This is the stuff of wonderful black & white photography and I’m really there.

So, go ahead and kiss this sky! I have.

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I’m a real nowhere man…

27 Friday Jan 2012

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Let me say it right up front – I like being “nowhere.” No, not just sitting around doing nothing, but being somewhere that doesn’t look or feel like anything else and has no particular name. In other words, nowhere.

In Newfoundland, there is plenty of nowhere and that’s a really good thing. There is so much good stuff there that if it were named or claimed, it wouldn’t be nowhere. That said, what does it mean?

Simply stated, there is so much land between formal towns and/or outports that is not settled or built upon, that is virtually untouched and untrod. It is glorious in it’s natural state. No malls, no convenient stores, nothing. As I said, glorious. And glorious in its isolation.

And where I’m going on this second trip to Newfoundland, I’ll be traveling through a lot of nowhere before I get somewhere and I couldn’t be happier. As a photographer, it’s very rare that we get to visit land unsullied by power lines, billboards, and visitor centers. This is land one doesn’t so much visit as experience. Nothing can prepare you for it. It is not postcard pretty in the traditional sense. Rather, it has a raw, vital beauty. Not the beauty say of a New England fall, but the unyielding beauty of a land defying commerce and compromise.

In the west, there are mountains, lakes, fjords, and caribou. Everywhere, there are bogs, moose, streams, and birches. And everything, every thing is informed by the sea. Oh, the sea. It is the lifeblood of the island even though its bounty has long been gone. It is in the DNA of the people and the culture. It is that that has helped me to decide where to go.

In a song by the Newfoundland group Great Big Sea, they sing: “There is no place quite like this place…”. They got that right.

Newfoundland is an island, about the same size as the state of Tennessee. But where I’ll be going to photograph this time are two islands off the coasts of Newfoundland – Fogo Island and Ramea: two very different islands sharing a similar story but ultimately with dissimilar outcomes: almost nowhere on the map, but home for a few hopeful and determined people.

There’s a fjord in your future.

19 Monday Dec 2011

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There used to be only the Big Three automakers – Ford, GM, and Chrysler. That was it. None of the others that populate our driveways today were in sight back then. Life it seems was much simpler then.

This is a Ford.

So imagine my surprise when I heard about fjords. I was certain some under-educated person misspelled the ever-oh-so-easy name of Ford. Never mind that its usage in the sentence was peculiar, I figured they just spelled it wrong!

But noooo, I was the ignorant fool. Every Norwegian child worth their salt (and much salt is used to keep and preserve cod and other delicacies – don’t even mention Lutefisk to me!) knew what a fjord was. No Ragnar, a fjord doesn’t have four wheels! Yes, Bruce (the teacher said patiently), a fjord is a u-shaped valley carved out by glaciers a long, long time ago. Pay attention!

This is a fjord.

So, right about this time you’re asking yourself what does this have to do with Newfoundland? And my book “Arn? Narn.”? Good questions. As it turns out, a lot. On the western coast of the island is Gros Morne National Park. Gros Morne is French for the less than poetic sounding “large mountain standing alone.” And in this park is the Western Brook Pond fjord. It is your typical, everyday, run-of-the-mill, drop-dead, central casting beautiful fjord.

This is a fjord too. See the difference? – Western Brook Pond fjord.

The western coast is the final stretch of the Appalachian mountain range and it alone is worth the trip to Newfoundland. An area of unimaginable beauty, it is home to mountains, fjords, caribou (more on them at a later post), moose and the Tablelands. There was also very fine salmon fishing here, but it too like cod fishing is highly restricted. This is a problem that affects the entire island and it’s been learned a global one as well.

So if you go and I do recommend it, get yourself a Ford. It’ll give you a certain symmetry.

The 50,000 year old Rice Krispy or Snap, Crackle, Pop, (and Hiss).

12 Monday Dec 2011

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Who would have thought that a popular breakfast cereal had anything in common with the Titanic? After all, even a floating case of Rice Krispies would not even be noticed by the mammoth ship as it steamed blissfully and ignorantly by the hapless krispies. It’s not like it was an iceberg or something …right?

One thing Newfoundland and the Titanic have in common though is icebergs – much to the horror of the passengers on the Titanic, but not so much for Leonardo DeCaprio. Newfoundland finds itself smack in the middle of Iceberg Alley. You’re not likely to get mugged in this alley, but the slow moving bergs can do a hell of a lot of damage if you’re not careful. Keep in mind that the pretty part of the iceberg is only 10% of the entire mass. The other 90% lurks silently, waiting to wreak havoc – or to just ground itself in a cove where it melts mostly harmlessly away and its remains wash up on shore.

In season, tourists flock to the area to be see the oftentimes staggering number of bergs making their way down from the Arctic Circle. But for some locals, watching the bergs is not what they’re waiting for. Oh no. They’re waiting to harvest the shards of this frozen flotsam.

Why? Because after the shards are washed off, they remain as frozen pieces of 10,000 to 50,000 year old unbelievably pure water and air. No pollution or industrial waste captured in these. They keep your drinks, soft and adult, really cold and pure. And the prehistoric goodness doesn’t stop there. They entertain. Oh, yeah. As they melt, (very, very slowly), they make sounds – sometimes startlingly loud. They snap, pop, and hiss, releasing age-old air into your drink. (OK, so I lied about the crackle!) And they keep for a long time. One woman who was gathering the ice told me this was the first time in four years she went out to get more. Being so dense, it doesn’t melt quickly. Wash it off, put back in your freezer and use again when ready.

The ultimate recycling effort. Yes, b’y.

Ghosts of the Battery.

26 Saturday Nov 2011

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During my research, I learned about Cape Spear being the eastern-most part of the North American continent. It’s actually closer to Ireland than to other parts of Canada. I think there is a certain Newfoundland pride in that fact.

This is where the sun shines first, (remember 2.5 hours ahead of Central Time), on the continent each day. When it shines. It gets a jump on the day before most of us are even considering getting out of bed. On the other hand, some of us might just be getting in. After all, the night life goes on long and strong in St. John’s. The day I visited was socked in pretty good with fog. Have I mentioned I really love the fog? (11.14.11 post). Down in St. John’s that morning, it was sunny and pleasant. The drive up to Cape Spear (only 9 miles) was different: very foggy and a good deal colder. Arriving, there was a real visual sense of foreboding. The fog changed everything.

It was much colder because of the fog. The sea roar sounded a lot louder as well. And the wind was anything but gentle. But the piece-de-resistance was the optical illusion the fog created. Getting out of the car and approaching the cliff, the sea appeared to rise vertically behind the lighthouse. It was as an actual seawall was towering before me. Coupled with the amplified sound of the sea, a buffeting wind, and the colder temperatures, this was an incredibly sensual yet disconcerting experience.

Sharing geography on Cape Spear is an old World War Two artillery battery housing two ten inch guns constructed to protect St. John’s harbor. The guns have been neutered but still, silently, are on eternal watch duty. Connected by underground tunnels it would be easy to imagine the soldiers huddled against the cold at their posts. The tunnels show the wear and tear of time and weather and are just waiting to be used in the next M. Night Shyamalan film. In the mercurial light and patterns of the fog, one can almost see the ghosts waiting, listening, ready. What tricks of the eye did the fog play then?

Shooting without a license or a clue.

18 Friday Nov 2011

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The moment of truth had arrived. Not the result of downing an uncounted number of Jager shots; nor the facing of a mildly enraged bull. No, those pale in comparison. With camera in hand and way too many rolls of film, I venture out to start what I came up here for… taking photographs. But, as I practice my personal conceit of not taking pictures I’ve seen before, I’m faced with a land like I’ve never seen before.

It was not a “dark and stormy night.” It was a cloudy day: the first of many and the type of which I grew quite fond. Cloudy in Newfoundland was not the boring pale grey skies I was accustomed to. Oh, no. These were skies with intent. In a land with so much character, defined largely by the sea, these skies had their own opinion. Shooting in black and white, I came to the realization that here was a brand new palette. Oh yes, this is going to be fun. My real education in Newfoundland was about to begin and it would open my eyes.

Earlier I wrote of the isolation I sought to portray and I found it. But looking back, I came to realize I was imposing my own projection of that onto the landscape. It didn’t need my help. In doing so, it took me quite some time to realize that I was missing the real story here. Really, quite some time. But I pressed on…without a license and without a clue.

He’s leaving home, bye, bye. Welcome home.

23 Sunday Oct 2011

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The day has come and I’m heading north, way north – in the winter no less! For that I grew a full beard and mustache (which in a complete surprise to me my wife loved!) in anticipation of the cold I was certain to experience while outside photographing. It turned out to be a good move. All the planning for clothes, camera bags, and places to stay is really going to be put to the test over the next two weeks.

It should come as no shock to anyone that my flight was an hour late in taking off. Since this was the first of four legs to get to Newfoundland, I was starting to sweat it. But the pilot must have known a shortcut as we got to Detroit with a little time to spare to make the next connection. No time to eat or drink though – maybe at the next stop in Montreal.

The trip overall was uneventful. Landings equaled take-offs and all was well with the world. However, we must have come into St. Johns (capital of Newfoundland Labrador) on the Avalon Peninsula (eastern-most part of Newfoundland) from the west for, in my subsequent trips,  nothing prepared me for what I was to see that early evening. Descending in the growing darkness, we crossed over so many brilliant golden lakes defined by deep black shores as to look like a incredibly rich brocade of geography. It was impossibly beautiful and transcendent. I couldn’t wait until we landed.

We landed. I retrieved my bags and got the rental car and stepped outside for the first time In Newfoundland. My wife has said, “Where you are born is not necessarily where you’re from.” She was right. I felt like for the first time ever I was now home.

Newfoundland is BIG!

03 Monday Oct 2011

Posted by in Culture, Discovery, Geography, Newfoundland, Travel

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Newfoundland is an island… a very big island. At 41,000 square miles, it’s just a little smaller than the state of Tennessee. But where Tennessee is land-locked (with the exception of the Mississippi River), Newfoundland is surrounded by water, is closer to Ireland than to Ontario and is informed by that very same water. OK, that’s enough for today’s geography lesson.

What does that have to do with traveling there? Well, a lot. Since I was going to be traversing the entire province, I needed to get an idea of where I might crash each evening. In David W. McFadden’s book, “An Innocent In Newfoundland”, he writes about driving until dark (remember the moose) with no indication of a place to stay. Resourceful soul that he is, he pulls over to the side of the road and sleeps there. Not bad: cheap, probably no bed bugs, toilet right outside the door, but no running water or a cup of coffee with which to get started. I’ve stayed in worse, but not this go-round.

In the planning stages, I determined that St. Johns, the capitol city, would be my starting and finishing point. From there I would launch out into the unknown. My research had shown a fair amount of hotels and too numerous bed and breakfasts. The B&B’s were more affordable but ran a very wide range.

Who or what to choose was determined by price (of course) and whether or not it was “en suite”. That was a new one to me. Simply put, en suite means you get a bathroom with your room, otherwise, it’s shared. Decisions, decisions. Names in Newfoundland, as I wrote about earlier, tend to the colorful. The B&B’s were no exception. More on this next time.