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Few Excerpts From The Book "Exploring The Rock"
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We stopped to pick up the rental car, “Where in the world am I, who has time to pick up a car on their way to baggage claim?” Well we could watch from the rental desk for our bags to arrive on the carousel as we asked the attendant about upgrades. None were available so we had to take a 2014 Dodge Dart soon-to-be-discovered piece of crap from National. The choose any car in your aisle ad was apparently a little shy of the promised variety |
The Western Brook Pond boat cruise is a must in Gros Morne although I will spend the rest of my life trying to understand the significance of Brook and Pond in the whole scenario. The landlocked fjord was a rare sight, especially to us being from Ontari-ari-ario. The fjord was glacially carved, part of the Long Range Mountains, the northernmost extent of the Appalachians. Therein lay Western Brook Pond, a 16 kilometre lake with a depth of 165 metres … no matter what they call it. |
 It was a majestic creature indeed and both Karen and I were saddened when we thought how many of these animals were killed on the highways, particularly at dusk and at night. The warning signs are many and people, especially local people, know the moose are abundant, yet still, dozens are killed every year. Please be aware, the life you save may be your own. |
It’s hard to describe my feeling upon seeing it, our first real iceberg. It was massive, a virtual building floating in the water just off shore but what made it even more mind boggling was the realization that 90% of it was unseen beneath the water. It also took a great deal of time to come to grips with the fact that I was looking at a 10,000-year-old piece of glacial ice. This truly was a miracle of nature and at that moment the entire trip was suddenly a monstrous success. Any cold or discomfort we might suffer from the rain was justified and rewarded by this amazing vision. |
A short distance along the trail we answered the age old question, “Does a bear shit in the woods?” The answer is yes and it was very fresh and somewhat more elongated than the tons of moose poop we had been seeing all along. Karen once again pointed out that she was carrying food so we decided to turn around and head back.
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 On our way “home” from the theatre we stopped at St. Paul’s Anglican Church, a place of quiet and gothic beauty. As always, Karen was intrigued by the burial ground and I must admit falling to its spell as well this time. There you will find the oldest headstone (Francis Squibb, 1763), a member of the first church congregation and one of the first Justices of the Peace. While I was photographing the stones a gentleman apologetically walked up to me and said, “No matter where you go in the world someone will always walk into your picture.”
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The evening just about came to a close with the appearance of the mummers. We had never heard of this before but basically it is a tradition whereby people dress up at Christmas, covering their faces as a disguise, wear long johns, pajamas, flannel robes and the like then go out and knock on doors of their neighbours. The neighbours then let them in, give them food and drink, mostly drink, and try to guess who they are.
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 There is a local legend about why all the houses were different colours. When they were first built (there weren’t as many then as there are now) most of the people who lived in them were fishermen and when they returned from a voyage at sea they could easily spot their house as they entered the harbour. That’s the legend, whether it’s true or not has been the subject of great debate for centuries.
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 After about seven hours of dodging potholes we made it to St. Bride’s which is at Cape St. Mary, right where we wanted to be, however, once we saw it we had no idea why we wanted to be there. As far as accommodations were concerned there appeared to be three possibilities. The first one, the Bird Island Resort, looked like a Duck Dynasty sort of place, a redneck special.
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 Before too long the smoke alarm started wailing with smoke billowing from every orifice in the cabin. After we cleared the smoke (breaking a window blind in the process) and the alarm stopped I picked up the near flaming frying pan and threw it, complete with bacon, out into the grass off our deck. We had enough bacon left for another attempt but maybe we’d just wait and see what tomorrow would bring, I really didn’t want to burn the cabin to the ground before we left.
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