Island Park Morning
Island Park Morning, 10x10
I HAVE GOTTEN ahead of myself, and so early in the trip!
We arrive in Channel Port-Aux-Basques Thursday on the ferry (more on this below, and on the blog), and are struck by how utterly foreign the landscape is. It looks like the Shetland Islands, or some place even more distant.
As we drive out of Port-Aux-Basques. the landscape normalizes a little. Trees begin to appear, and the rocks recede a little, or are covered with grass and small hills. It is beautiful, but in a more known way.
Early in the day, we pull into a lovely little provincial park and I make this painting. I am sure it will be one of my favorites of the trip. The sky is quiet, birds sing and fly, the morning air is crisp and the water clear and blue.
After I finish this painting, THEN we head to Gros Morne, the subject of the yesterday's newsletter.
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Weather Watch
IT IS COOL HERE in the mornings, in the upper 50s, and every morning has been cloudy. I watch the weather for Port-Aux-Basques, Twillingate on the north east side of the island, and St. John's, on the southeast, and the temperature and weather can vary wildly.
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The Ferry
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| Jordan |
We cross from Nova Scotia (Cape Breton, really) on the Highlanders, one of four ferries owned by Marine Atlantic. The ship is almost 200 meters long - that's about 600 feet, if I am calculating correctly, which I might not be (more on this soon). It has three restaurants, 96 cabins, 500 reclining chairs, and is fully handicapped-available. If you want to read more about the ferries, click here or go to marineatlantic.ca.
The ferry is huge! I've never been on a boat this big, I think, though I know that in sea-going terms, it's probably not that big. We arrive fairly early, and meet Jordan at a toll-like gate, and he checks us in. He's been working there for three months, and he likes it. But no, he's never been to Newfoundland. Been over on the ferry, yes, but not set foot on the shore. He promises he will go, and soon.
Jordan directs us to Line 11 (my lucky number) and we pull up behind a Prius from California. He’s towing the smallest pop-up I’ve ever seen. We shut off the car and sit, talking. We have hours to wait, of course.
We sit and watch and cars line up behind us. In a while, I get out and stretch, and say hello to the guy behind us, who is cleaning his windshield.
“I have to,” he says, about the windshield. “I just drove to Ontario, and the windshield is filthy.” He tells me he drove there to pick up the Mustang that’s on the trailer behind his truck. He looks at a couple chips in our windshield, from stones spun out by passing trucks, and tells me he thinks it will have to be replaced.
Back in the van, Carol and I watch an older couple walk a really small puppy, and give him a little breakfast. Some kids come over to play with the puppy, and pretty soon, a guy with a brown dogs heads over. too. By the time the couple puts the puppy back in the truck, he’s exhausted.
Then things start to happen, and we watch as yellow driving machines, looking a little like big forklifts, head to the line where the 18-wheelers are parked. In a bit, a yellow driving machine, with a trailer in tow, heads to a tall ramp that ends at an upper door on the ferry.
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| Backing up the ramp. |
The driver turns the rig around, and backs up the ramp. At the curve, he jackknifes the yellow driving machine, pushing the trailer around the curve and directly toward the giant doors. It is absolutely amazing. I remember having trouble backing my Scamp camper - 13.5 feet long - into our driveway. Later, we will find that not only have the drivers backed up the ramp, but in some cases, they have backed the trailers into slots along the wall of the ferry. Wall on one side and posts on the other - only 6 inches clearance on either side. Wow!
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| Arnold |
Then, for a while, nothing happens. We watch people loading and unloading stuff in their car. The guy ahead of us gets out to mess with his stuff. He’s older, and thin, and wearing hiking clothes with an expensive technical look.
We wonder if he is alone, and when he lifts the back of the Prius, we see that he is. And all the way from California.
In time, I get out and wander up to chat. His name is Arnold, and he lives just north of California. He came alone - his wife had things to do, he tells me - and he is camping and walking and seeing the US and Canada. He used to hike a lot - hiked 14,000 feet up Mt. Whitney three times, he says - but now he has bad ankles.
He’s going to Newfoundland, and then up to Labrador. I ask how. I want to go, but I didn’t think there is a ferry. But there is, he says, and shows me on the map. We both say that it would be a shame to be this close and not go to Labrador - so now, that’s on the schedule.
Eventually, it’s time to board, and we do,
Carol suffers from seasickness, and has brought dramamine. I've reserved leather reclining chairs for us, $20 for the seven-hour trip, and they are inside, in a spacious room on the top floor. It is a smooth ride, and we're both thankful. It's cloudy on the way, with patches of rain. We see nothing, really. No whales, no dolphins, not even any gulls.
But when we arrive in Channel Port-Aux-Basques, it is absolutely thrilling. The harbor appears to our left, rocks jutting from the sea, and on them - on a treeless, flowerless expanse, but bright green with tight grass - small houses, all different colors, seemingly pointed in all different directions, and above them all, a church.
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| Channel Port-Aux-Basques |
It is stunningly foreign, stunningly alien. I think maybe it is the total lack of trees?
There are no fishing boats in the harbor. There's what looks like some sort of fish processing plant, or a building that would house some activity like that, but there's no fleet.
Commercial fishing has a long and fascinating history of abundance and greed, food and money, aboriginal and for-profit fishing. The government has set, tightened and loosened limits, quotas, licenses and fishing areas, and has bought back many commercial fishing licenses. To read an interesting piece about the history of the fisheries, click here or look up the history of commercial fisheries on the Canadian encyclopedia:
At any rate, there is a band playing in the bandstand at the foot of the hill beneath our hotel. People are out listening, and maybe shopping in the little cabin-like stores there. Off in the distance, kids are riding bikes in the streets, someone is shooting baskets in a spot where a bunch of small roads converge, and people are walking their dogs. It feels like a magical place, and I think maybe it is.
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Dog of the Day
DOGS ARE ALLOWED on the ferry, but they have to stay in their humans' vehicle. It's a bit hot in the hold, and I worried a little about this guy, who looked worried and lonely. But I saw him when we arrived, and he had made himself at home, curled up on the front seat, so I know he was OK.
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A Final Thought
"People travel to faraway places to watch, in fascination, the people they ignore at home."
- Dagobert D. Runes
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