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Posted by Don Johnson on May 27, 2001 at 02:12:02: From the tip of South America northward, there only were two remaining areas of consequence in the Western Hemisphere where I have not set foot at least once - - Labrador and Newfoundland. Those of you who are afflicted with my insatiable thirst for experiencing what exists over distant horizons will understand why I could not leave these two stones unturned. So in 1997 at age 68 that was the key reason I chose Canada’s Atlantic provinces as the focal points for our 31-day 8,640-mile adventure. Somewhat like scaling Mt. Everest, for road warriors like us there are unique and often rather remote places which we feel compelled to personally experience simply because they are there - - and we need no other reason! Our rewards are quite personal in nature - - such as adventure, achievement, knowledge and creating memories which are more precious than gold. Yes, in earlier years we probably would have been sailing uncharted seas with Ferdinand Magellan or perhaps Giovanni Caboto (John Cabot), the Italian-born explorer who commanded the English expedition which in 1497 explored the North American region we will be visiting. People called them crazy, too. However, as T. S. Eliot so astutely observed - - “The end of all of our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know that place for the first time.” ================= 8/30/97 - SAT. Beginning in Quebec City at 9:30 AM, today we will parallel the northern shore of the St. Lawrence Seaway for 270 miles along Highway 138 to Baie Comeau QB. That is where Route 389 heads inland toward central Labrador. Another popular way to get to Baie Comeau is the car ferry from Matane QB on the beautiful Gaspe peninsula - - a 37-mile voyage which takes about 2 1/3 hours - - or from Matane to nearby Godbout. The sky is overcast today with temperatures in the 50’s. Clear weather is forecast for this Labor Day weekend (which Canada celebrates, too) - - but they will be wrong. After a stopping at 272 ft. high Montmorency Falls (higher than Niagara Falls) we soon arrive at Sainte-Anne-de-Beaupre to visit its magnificent cathedral and browse the adjacent quaint downtown area. This certainly is a memorable highlight not to be missed! By 11 AM we are on our way, again. Soon our road changes to a pleasant two-lane route and a dense fog begins to roll in from the Seaway forcing us to slow our pace. However, we move out of this condition within about five minutes. The terrain through which we are passing is rolling and beautiful. On its steeper segments this good road expands to three and even four lanes to facilitate passing. This enables us to move along at about 65 mph but we still are loosing ground to the Quebec crazies. In some areas the fog from the Seaway is drifting up the valleys far below where we are driving. Off to our left we often can see the formidable towers and power lines which provide electricity to the province of Quebec from hydroelectric facilities in remote regions toward the northeast where we will be traveling tomorrow. There is farming in the lower lands but most of this terrain consists of heavily wooded high hills. Off to the right one can catch glimpses of the Gaspe peninsula about 20 miles across the Seaway. About noon we pause for a pit stop at an immaculate service station and now I am feasting on a local delicacy we purchased there - - cheddar cheese curd - - plus my daily fix of cappuccino coffee. By 1:10 PM we reach Saint-Simeon where one can travel by car ferry to and from Riviere-du-Loup on the Gaspe peninsula, a 65-minute voyage. At 2 PM we line up at the free ferry which will transport us about a mile across the beautiful Sagueny River to Tadoussac. There are two ferries operating here and our delay will be a short one. To stretch my legs I take a stroll for a block or so along the line of waiting vehicles and find that about 90% have Quebec plates and 10% have Ontario plates. Nobody other than us is from the USA. As Jacques Cartier observed when he dropped anchor here in 1535, the Tadoussac area is a beautiful setting. Samuel de Champlain concurred and returned to this place on each of his voyages after first passing this way in 1603. In the 17th century this was the site of the first fur-trading post in Canada. Yes, this beautiful coastal region is one of great historical consequence. It also is a fine place to enjoy a whale-watching tour. At 2:30 PM we complete the crossing and are heading north toward Baie Comeau. Again, the highway is two-lane with lots of sweeping hills and curves through pine trees in profusion. There are many places where one can eat and play and stay overnight near the water. Road traffic gradually begins to thin out because the coastline north of Tadoussac is a very popular vacation region to which most of the vehicles we have seen are headed. By 3:15 PM we have covered 170 miles as we pass through Sault-au-Mouton located at the mouth of a lovely river of the same name. After partially clearing for awhile, the weather has reverted to overcast skies, mist and some rain which requires that we again use our windshield wipers. Also, we must slow our pace a bit because the road has become somewhat rough in places. As we approach and pass through towns in this region I notice that most of the homes are located right along Highway 138 rather than on side streets and access roads. I just had to do something which hasn’t been necessary for several months - - slide the control lever over for some heat. We also have noticed smoke curling upwards from some of the fireplace chimneys of the homes. These are subtle weather messages about what we can anticipate as we move farther northward. French Canadians in particular appear to enjoy blowing out the pipes of their little “toy” cars and getting their macho jollies by blatantly tooling along at about 15 mph or more over the posted speed limit. As an experienced road warrior, I do concur with others who view them as among the most discourteous, reckless and ridiculously aggressive drivers one will ever encounter. Furthermore, the highway police appear to overlook speeding. For example, between Windsor ON and Forestville QB (pop. 4,000) we have seen only one driver pulled over by a cop during those 1,100 miles. Although I am not a slow driver by any means, I do not push my luck in another country and I am especially observant of speed limits in urban areas and small towns. For these reasons I have no idea why a policeman in Forestville is signaling me to stop and turn in at their police headquarters. Although he and his superior officer clearly could deduce that we and our van are of USA vintage, as I anticipated they began speaking to me in French. I politely explained that although I do not speak French, we do have two other choices - - Spanish or English. At that point it becomes ever so clear that the officer in charge possesses an impeccable command of the English language as he asks me for my drivers license and proof of vehicle ownership. After a couple of minutes he reveals his reason for stopping us - - we have a radar detector on board! Mine happens to be a permanent installation in the grill area with wires leading to a control module located inside our van below its cluster of instruments. Since 1986 I normally just leave the control knob on at low or no volume and never think about it because when the ignition is off or on, it automatically is, too. He then pointed out that radar detectors are illegal in Quebec, that I should have heeded the sign denoting this fact when we entered Quebec from the USA and that he by law is going to confiscate it. I explained that we entered Canada at Windsor and then entered the province of Quebec at its border with Ontario - - and that I saw no signs whatsoever along the Trans-Canada Highway warning us of this matter. A point of interest is that signs in Quebec are in French only - - and in all of Canada’s other provinces the traffic signs are in both English and French. He told me that ignorance of French and their laws in Quebec is not a valid excuse. I again offer my apologies and explain that the unit was installed in 1986 and is set to automatically activate whenever the ignition key is turned on - - that we actually are not using it because we are retired senior citizens who are in no hurry whatsoever - - that during 70,000 miles of road adventures since 1986 in 49 states plus all of Canada including Quebec nobody has ever stopped us for this or any other traffic violation - - that I have driven since the age of 10 including in New York City, Los Angeles and Buenos Aires, Argentina - - and that in those 58 years I have received only one minor traffic violation ticket at the age of 18 which the judge cancelled! My superb driving dossier and pleas obviously are falling on deaf ears, including a suggestion that we simply cut the wires to disable it. When I showed him that it would be quite difficult to remove, he told me to follow him to a local service garage. I did, and there I discover that they are going to charge me at least $10 to remove my radar detector so I can give this $200 unit to him. No way, I’m thinking! So at this point I get some tools from our van and slowly begin working on removing it. After about 15 minutes which I intentionally filled with futility, he borrowed some tools from the garage and offered to help. He then demanded that I also remove the control module inside our van and give it to him. I did. His next orders are to follow him back to the police station. On the way I let June know that I really am seething inside but would try my best to stay outwardly calm and civil. For me it was turning into a game of words and willpower. There I am ushered inside where he has his assistant write up a rather lengthy report. It was then that he mentioned there would be a fine to pay - - and he ominously warned me that it would be quite large! After awhile I am given a document to sign (no, I didn’t) which designated a fine of $500 plus another $141 called costs for a total of $641 - - the equivalent of almost $500 US - - and with his verbal reminder that payment must be in CASH! Could this be a local money making scheme and/or scam? It certainly did not pass the smell test! After explaining that I don’t even carry that much cash on our trips I tender the proposal that I might consider writing a check. His response was that payment by check would not be acceptable! Of course, both he and I realized that a check would be proof of payment as well as who cashed it - - and that it also would open the door to me placing a stop payment order on it (which I fully intended to do if I wrote it). He then suggested I use a credit card - - but the clever catch is that we would have to go to a local business where they would perform the transaction and give me the cash (and charge me a fee for their services) - - and then I would use this cash to pay him the fine. Again, no way Jose - - and I was beginning to boil inside, again! However, I realized it would be foolhardy for me to become testy and risk being delayed because we have a tightly defined schedule in Labrador which includes catching a ferryliner next Wednesday in Goose Bay to continue our journey in Newfoundland. Furthermore, there probably would be nobody available to whom I could appeal until next Tuesday as this is the Labor Day weekend. After awhile new facets surfaced when he made a telephone call to his superior - - and in French, of course, which meant I could not understand what he and his boss were discussing. It became rather clear, however, that what he was attempting to achieve was not just his own private money-making scheme but, instead, it was a rip-off endorsed by one or more of his superiors! In other words, this officer was another person’s pawn and his tasteless assignment was finding, intimidating and collecting absurd sums of money from unwary victims like me. Sparing the details, at this point I decided to go into a heart-rendering act worthy of an Oscar nomination. John Wayne would have been proud of it! Finally he confided that his superior had agreed that I could mail the cash after I returned home - - but with his stern warning that if I failed to do so I had better never attempt to enter Canada, again! This represented major progress in my favor because I certainly never would have sent the money. However, as a matter of principle I decided to continue my outstanding acting job to see if I could achieve a “full pardon”. What a ham I am - - and it succeeded! At about 1 ½ hours of this soap opera episode he put his hand on my shoulder to calm me, asked me to forget the entire matter, escorted me back to my van and then wished me bon voyage! June was inside our van on pins and needles during this lengthy fiasco. She, too, was relieved because, knowing I am a person of principles, she feared that I might unveil my suppressed feelings about this absurdity and get thrown in jail. Upon stopping to refuel our van, I asked a nearby customer how to get to the Hotel Le Manoir where we have a reservation for tonight. Rather than just provide verbal directions, he said that he would be pleased to personally escort us to our destination - - and he did! This typically very helpful and courteous expression of Canadian hospitality has gone a long way toward relieving the head of steam I had built up as a consequence of our immensely repugnant Forestville encounter. Hotel Le Manoir is a delightful place featuring formidable French manor house ambiance, manicured grounds, a restful interior, richly appointed large rooms and gracious dining facilities. At just $51.92 US for such outstanding amenities plus a generous continental breakfast, I view it as a bargain and a perfect spot for us to unwind, enjoy a delicious dinner and then get a good night’s rest. This was the Saturday evening that Princess Diana died in a Paris automobile crash. We, too, learn of this tragedy on TV and at this hotel. Had our 250-mile drive from Quebec City to Baie Comeau been done under sunny rather than the overcast and drizzle conditions we experienced, I am sure we would have arrived several hours later as a consequence of making frequent stops to take photographs and savor the beautiful scenery. It (and probably the drive farther north along this coast) impresses me as a great area for touring - - including on a Harley or in a Jaguar convertible. Contrary to reports by some tourists, throughout all of Quebec on this trip as well as our much longer Quebec experience in 1986, we never have encountered any situation in which the local people either could not or refused to communicate with us in English. So far we have met only two Canadians who have traversed the wilderness road we will be taking all the way up to Labrador City tomorrow and then onward across Labrador to Churchill Falls and Goose Bay. One works as an assistant manager at the Comfort Inn where we stayed in Ottawa. However, she was born in Labrador City and occasionally had to travel the Route 389 segment to and from Baie Comeau. The other also had no choice because his job was delivering new vehicles to the RCMP - - including in Labrador. Is it possible that few if any Canadians other than locals negotiate this road voluntarily? 8/31/97 - SUN. I awaken really pumped and ready to begin the first leg of our 680-mile road adventure across one of North America’s vast wilderness regions. A peek out our windows tells us an early morning fog hangs over the bay, the tide is out and the sky is a gorgeous cloudless blue. I can hardly wait - - but first we have breakfast on our hotel’s patio. The distance to Labrador City is 354 miles. By 9 AM we are on our way. Route 389 begins as a good asphalt road winding its way past heavily wooded hills and several small lakes with an occasional cottage along the water’s edge. We easily can move along the curves and inclines at about 50 mph. Far to the west we notice a bank of dark clouds. However, it is difficult to tell whether they are moving this way. My long-sleeved shirt and a light jacket are just right for today’s temperatures. At 12 km our anxiety is heightened by a moose sign - - but we will sight none in Labrador. Soon the road opens up a bit and we are doing 60 mph. We will encounter only five big trucks today, probably because it is the Labor Day holiday weekend. On the other hand, for awhile we will see many vehicles parked just off the road indicating weekend anglers are testing these waters. At 44 km we drop down into a valley where light fog blankets the low-lying areas. A red SOS sign at 47 km indicates that an emergency telephone is located 5 km ahead - - and the telephone site features a street light so one can see it at night. Our remarkably reliable, sturdy and comfortable 1985 Chevy van’s odometer just rolled over to 184,000 miles. We have a pact. I treat her right and she returns the favor. So far this has been a well-maintained asphalt road with a white stripe painted down each side and double yellow lines down the middle clearly indicating where it is safe or unsafe to pass. We have been running comfortably between 45 and 60 mph as I adjust to the varying terrain which this road must traverse. However, at the 78 km marker (46 miles) it’s surface becomes somewhat bumpy and cracked - - but with no pot holes to worry about. The sight of so many unusual and colorful outcroppings near the road has alerted June’s rock collecting interests. Patches of purple, white and yellow wildflowers also catch our eye - - plus subtle hints that leafed trees soon will be displaying their Fall colors. Like in Alaska due to the permafrost, we also encounter a few stretches where the road heaves which can make you feel like you’re riding over ocean swells in a small boat. There is another SOS emergency telephone at about 85 km. At 95 km (57 miles) we stop at L’Etape Manic-Outardes - - a restaurant and small hotel with a bar, fuel, ice and camping supplies, and housed in simple but pleasant and well-kept facilities. It is 10:30 AM. Just as we arrive about 30 motorcyclists from lower Quebec are departing northward. I top off our tank with fuel which translated to $2.32 US per gallon. Although the lady in charge does not speak English, using gestures and courtesy and common sense we encounter no problems whatsoever ordering bowls of delicious hot soup plus coffee. We then strike up a conversation with a pleasant visitor from cosmopolitan Quebec who is here to do some fishing. He says they catch lots of 3 and 4 pound trout and sometimes hook one as large as 12 pounds. As we depart, a sign reminds us it is 114 km (68 miles) to the next fuel. Although not at all threatening, the sky now is about 60% overcast. At 110 km (66 miles) we pause to enjoy and photograph a placid river on our right as it peacefully wanders and winds along against a backdrop of pine-forested banks and hills. The road’s surface improves for awhile and we easily are moving along at the posted 90 km (54 mph) speed limit. Although we still see a few parked fishermen’s cars and campers, we seldom see a vehicle traveling on the road. Our only wildlife encounters are an occasional little squirrel-like creature skittering about with its tail sticking straight up in the air. Even bird sightings are rare. June’s attention has drifted toward doing cross-word puzzles and counting on “old reliable Don” to yelp if he spots something unusually interesting. Another SOS emergency telephone is available at 166 km. At 174 km (104 miles) electric power line towers march southward to our left over a cleared strip which exposes the rugged boulder-strewn surface lurking below a mantle of trees and other ground cover. The sky now is completely overcast and the temperature has dropped about 10 degrees but so far we’ve had no rain. Weather conditions appear to change quite rapidly here. Annoying bumpy segments punctuated by me suddenly swerving to miss what appeared to be a woodchuck have caused June to grudgingly abandon her cross-word puzzles. This results in her noticing nearby rocks worth investigating. She finds some keepers and we snap some photos of wildflowers, too. You probably are unaware that I have TB (tiny bladder), so I use these stops to sneak around our van and mark the territory with my scent. We pass another SOS emergency telephone at 198 km and pull in for a pit stop at 214 km (128 miles) near the world’s largest multiple-arch and buttress dam - - the Daniel-Johnson which overlooks the most powerful hydroelectric generating plant on Quebec’s north shore - - Manic 5. The name is derived from the Manicouagan River and reservoir this dam impounds. Guided tours are available from mid-June to Labor Day. We again relax over soup and coffee and then top off our tank with fuel which translates to $1.87 US per gallon. Here Route 389 becomes a gravel road which in most places is wider, smoother and faster to run on than the previous asphalt. Except for a few short segments of washboard and hilly terrain, we comfortably can move along at 60mph. Often one can see the road stretching endlessly over these rolling hills - - just a relatively narrow swath through millions and millions of pine trees with low scrubby brush along the shoulders - - utterly spectacular in its hypnotic vastness just as most uninhabited wilderness regions are. There’s an SOS phone at 313 km should we human intruders encounter a problem. It’s 3:30 PM at the 316 km marker (190 miles) where we pause for a pit stop at Relais Gabriel. In our leisurely mode we’ve been traveling for 6.5 hours. This is a neat and well-maintained complex set on a huge flat gravel parking area. Services include a restaurant, overnight accommodations and fuel. I top off our tank because the next available fuel is at Fermont which is a 148-mile three-hour trek up the pike. Before moving on we again do our soup, coffee and check-out-the-restrooms routine. I ask a tow truck driver what it would cost to be towed from here to Labrador City - - at least $500 ($360 US). The 30 motorcyclists that we saw at L’Etape Manic-Outardes are departing from this restaurant, too - - but they are headed back to their weekday routines in urbanized sectors of Quebec province. I suggest they come along with us to Labrador City and Goose Bay. A few smiled and negatively shook their heads. How non-adventurous, I am thinking - - or perhaps they know something I don’t? Realizing they are French Canadians, I doubt it. Yes, this caustic thought is fallout from how Forestville’s gendarme tried to rip us off. During 190 miles we only have seen about 10 moving vehicles while tooling up this road. Upon scanning both the AM and FM bands on our van’s radio, there is nothing other than static. Add to this the fact that one encounters some seemingly endless stretches of almost identical wilderness similar to that which we experienced along the Alaska Highway - - awesome and certainly not without beauty, but at the same time rather monotonously mind-numbing. In these instances you can find yourself grasping for ways to maintain some semblance of alertness - - such as counting the cars on a long freight train rumbling across Wyoming or the number of SOS emergency telephones here. June has an aversion to being surrounded on all sides by fast-moving 18 wheelers along USA expressways, and she said it another way today - - “I really liked the idea of getting away from all of those big trucks on this trip, but I certainly didn’t want to leave the universe!” For the next 100 miles to Fire Lake one can make tracks - - 60 to 70 mph comfortably. The surface is very good fine gravel for the first 45 miles to Gagnon and then asphalt pavement for another 55 miles - - and relatively straight all the way. Some of the vistas are stunning in that you can see so very far ahead over rolling wilderness. Of the three concrete bridges you cross, two only accommodate one-lane traffic. However, with plenty of time to spare you can see them as well as any on-coming vehicle, so there is no excuse for a collision. We cross the first of these one-laners at 365 km (219 miles) where it spans a small river. The other one-laner crosses the lovely white-water Hart Jaune River at 374 km (224 miles). This is a major scenic highlight along Route 389 - - a great place to pause, stretch and savor for awhile its beautiful rapids, boulders and densely forested topography. If you are an angler, you may be tempted to wet a line. June added a rock to her collection from here. During our 15-minute respite three vehicles passed by - - which qualifies as a traffic jam in this part of the world! One lady driver stopped just to ask if we are having any problems. Yes, the local people take good care of each other and meandering tourists such as us. At 388 km (232 miles) a gravel spur road leads to a hydroelectric-related facility called Hart Jaune. Ignore it and soon you arrive at Gagnon - - the town which no longer exists except for paved streets, curbs, manhole covers and weeds. It was totally dismantled in 1985 when the mine it served was closed. We drove along a few of its streets and then pressed on. Route 389 now reverts to asphalt pavement for 55 miles to another abandoned mining community named Fire Lake. There is an SOS emergency phone at 398 km (239 miles). At about 412 km (247 miles) carefully watch for stretches where the road heaves because at higher speeds you could be tossed skyward in your vehicle. Along this stretch we begin to observe a marked transition in the topography. Pine trees are much shorter and what at first appear to be exposed beige rock outcroppings turns out to be gravel and sandy loam. Over some of the higher rises there are vistas where one can see for dozens of miles across mildly undulating terrain. Near the 454 km marker (272 miles) we find ourselves moving into a region where there are swampy and bog-type areas. Where the town of Fire Lake used to exist at 478 km (287 miles), the road changes from asphalt to gravel. Heed the 55 km (33 mph) speed limit - - at least until your senses assimilate the abrupt change! Like a roller coaster ride over washboard, the road twists and turns and falls and rises while never providing a good view of how much longer this will last. Furthermore, it’s serpentine course crosses the railroad tracks 12 times by June’s count - - and with a stop sign at each one! Yes, I heed all of them because we still are in the province of Quebec and I have visions of some haughty French Canadian cop using this remote site as another classless trap to snare, fine and piss off English-speaking tourists. This awful stretch of road will go on for 59 km (36 miles) and consume about 1 ¼ tedious hours! At one point June asks if I’m sure we still are on the right road to Labrador City. Our consolation prize is the sun, billowing white clouds and blue skies have reappeared. Finally at 537 km (322 miles) Route 389 swings hard to the right and begins to improve at this juncture where a left turn would take you to Fermont’s airport. To me it appears that the railroad’s construction engineers must have found the best route across this region and road engineers then followed this same general path. I am guessing they did this because the terrain poses road construction problems similar to those encountered along the Alaska Highway - - bogs, “bottomless” quagmires and permafrost complications. Yes, I’m always wondering why and how. Soon we can see the huge Mont-Wright mining operation in the distance and at 549 km (329 miles) the road becomes asphalt for the remaining 25 miles to Labrador City. However, at sunset we decide to visit Fermont and fill up at a neat Esso station - - 52 liters (14 gallons) of gasoline which converts to $1.79 US/gallon. My gage registered half full which is the lowest it ever got today. The five-gallon can of extra fuel I am carrying will continue to be untouched until I unload our van at home. So will my two spare tires. Fermont (pop. 3,360) is a fascinating model of modern adaptation to living conditions in a sub-arctic climate. For example, this mining town has what is referred to as “Le Mur” (the wall), a shield which protects the houses and inhabitants from the prevailing winds. Unique in North America, this building which is 6/10 of a mile long includes 440 dwellings plus just about every service one needs including health, educational, commercial and recreational. All are connected by an air-conditioned indoor promenade. This huge wall-like structure also helps protect 650 residences and about 180 mobile homes from the elements. For the warmer months the town’s neat outdoor layout includes a marina, parks and hiking trails. Nearby Mont-Wright provides all of the iron ore produced in Quebec and is one of the most highly computerized mines in the world. Tours for the public are available. Near Fermont we leave the province of Quebec and enter Labrador. At the border a welcoming sign tells us we are at kilometer 0 of the Trans-Labrador Highway (also known as Highway 500). From here it is 20 km (12 miles) to Labrador City (pop. 11,500 including Wabush). Including all of our stops today, it has taken 10 hours to cover 354 miles and our van performed flawlessly. We only encountered 25 other moving vehicles. For tonight we have reservations at the Two Seasons Inn ($60.43 US) in a lovely room where amenities even include a small refrigerator. To celebrate our accomplishment we treat ourselves to a feast in our motel’s pleasant candlelight-and-linens dining room - - shrimp cocktails, clam chowder soup, a green salad and delicious cordon-blue served with baked potatoes, carrots and peas, iced tea and coffee. Our waitress is talented, talkative and lots of fun. Then it’s off to our quarters where June chooses to soak in a hot tub before retiring and I crash immediately. It has been a very long day! 9/1/97 - MON. When talking to others about this road adventure, I was rather surprised to discover that very few of the people I queried under age 35 have ever heard of Labrador, and that not one could tell me its location! This does not bode well for Labrador’s tourist industry and it sends another negative message about the quality of our educational system. For my generation this would have been common knowledge among grade-school students. Labrador lies far to the north of Maine in the sub-arctic at the eastern extremity of Canada’s mainland. It plus the island of Newfoundland are known as the Province of Newfoundland. Although equal to Arizona in land area, only about 30,000 people live in Labrador. Upon including our forthcoming visit to the Labrador Straits region across the Strait of Belle Isle from Newfoundland, we will pass through communities where 3/4 of its population resides. This is a region rich in mineral resources as well as bounties of the sea. However, cold temperatures and lack of transportation have retarded its economic growth. For example, it was not until 1992 that the general public could travel all the way across central Labrador by road. This is the route we will be following for the next two days and which loosely is labeled as a highway. An allure which beckons me to this place which I never have visited is to behold one of the world’s last great frontiers - - a place where nature still prevails. On this Labor Day Monday of 1997 we are beginning the second week of our 16th great road adventure. While having breakfast we enjoy the company of the manager of our motel’s Terrace Restaurant & Dining Room. He also is associated with promoting Labrador tourism. When I began to tell him my tale about our radar detector being confiscated in Quebec, he broke in and said, “I’ll bet it happened in Forestville!” He, too, has been stopped and harassed several times in Forestville and Nick said that seldom does a week go by that he does not hear similar disconcerting tales from tourists passing this way. He encouraged me to summarize my experience in a letter to a list of officials he promised to provide. My naive friends at home suggested that we carry a cellular telephone on board in case of an emergency in Labrador’s boonies. Being primarily explorers of urban regions, I had to remind them that this device would be as useless as nipples on a boar because in wilderness regions there are no cells with which to connect! Nick McGrath confirmed that this is true. The only exceptions here are the immediate vicinities of Baie Comeau, Labrador City and Goose Bay where lots of people plus standard telephones are readily available to aid us. Before leaving Labrador City we cruise the town including going out to one of the huge open pit iron ore mines, the largest of their kind in North America. When we finally are ready to depart on our trek to Churchill Falls we reset our watches from 11:50 AM to 12:50 PM because now we are in the Atlantic rather than the Eastern time zone. At the eastern edge of town a large sign says, “Welcome to the Trans Labrador Highway. Driver’s Alert. Next 240 km is gravel road. Drive with care, caution & control. No fuel for the next 240 km (144 miles).” Our odometer reading is 184,340 miles - - and here we go! Skies are overcast and rain appears to be a possibility. We’ve been told that this summer it has rained more than normal which tends to wash away this gravel road’s topping and cause it to washboard. We notice this condition for awhile as we press along at 50 mph. Like Route 389, this 144-mile segment of the TLH is kept open to traffic 12 months of the year and it bears a Class A maintenance designator. This is not true for the next 180 miles from Churchill Falls to Goose Bay. Marker signs appear every 10 kilometers (6 miles) and denote the distance along Route 500 from kilometer 0 at the border with Quebec province - - not from our Labrador City starting point today. Therefore, the distances on these signs are about 20 kilometers (12 miles) more than the distance we actually have driven today to reach that marker. At the 40 km (24 miles) marker the terrain is wooded, the road is relatively flat and a large lake as well as a railroad track are off to our right. One option for traveling between Labrador City and Sept Iles (which is 82 miles north of Baie Comeau along the coast) is a 10-hour passenger train ride on the Quebec North Shore and Labrador Railway. I scratched any thoughts of utilizing this option upon discovering that one’s vehicle must be transported on a freight train which would be departing a day or two earlier. One of my tourism suggestions to Nick McGrath was that, like in Alaska between Portage and Whittier, one’s vehicle be transported on flat cars attached to the rear of the passenger train. Adding this dimension to touring Labrador definitely would have appealed to me. After the 60 km (36 miles) marker we are moving along in fine shape. There are flat stretches where one can see ahead for several miles. We have been passing several lakes and rivers plus bog areas where one might expect to see moose. Frequently we notice a beautiful yellowish-white lichen growing on the boulders and rock-strewn surface. A fascinating aspect of this landscape is all of the huge boulders one sees sitting all alone and totally exposed on the otherwise very flat terrain. Their size often is that of a single car garage or larger. The trees are considerably shorter than what we had been seeing. Although few cuts were required when building this segment of Route 500, the embankments of those we do see expose sand or a combination of rocks and sand. To avoid jolts and roughness, the trick to driving here at a comfortable clip is to continually study the nuances of the road’s surface just ahead and then gently move a bit to the left or right to ride the smoothest part. There are a few areas where one must play dodge-the-shallow-potholes but in general we can tool along comfortably at 60 mph because the road is one of mild inclines and declines, gentle curves and usually it is relatively straight. For example, by 2 PM we have driven 65 miles in 70 minutes. Local drivers of the few vehicles we have seen pay little heed to the 70 km (42 mph) posted speed limit. Occasional light rain requires that I set our windshield wipers on their slowest intermittent speed. The big plus of a little rain is that we and other vehicles are not creating billowing plumes of dust. At about the 160 km (96 miles) marker near a bridge over Mountain Creek there is a lake to the left where some RV’s and empty boat trailers are parked indicating fishermen are enjoying this holiday weekend, too. Soon we pass another bog-type area where it appears one would sink in up to the knees or farther if you tried to walk there. Like in Alaska’s interior, you don’t see access roads leading off to the left or the right because there are no settlements there to require them - - only a vast untamed wilderness. This is THE road. Near the 210 km (126 miles) marker we encounter today’s first 18-wheeler tooling along toward us. Recalling that this is how we twice cracked our windshield in Alaska, I move far to the right and slow to a crawl to reduce the impact of any gravel flying up from his tires - - but there is none. A few miles farther down the pike I pull over to let an 18-wheeler pass us. He politely indicates his appreciation. After the 230 km marker the road becomes a bit rough, so I drop our speed back to about 40 mph - - but this, too, will pass. Labrador is a geological wonderland for those like June who enjoy viewing a wide variety colorful rocks and their related formations. If we were pulling a trailer I imagine she already would have it filled to the top with samples for her collection. On our first of three rock-gathering stops today I decide to stroll down the roadside to take photographs and leave my scent. These few minutes were enough time for Labrador’s infamous black flies to discover and hone in on us in large numbers. For whatever reason, it soon becomes apparent they prefer June to me by about 100 to 1. In fact, I don’t recall being bitten during our entire journey even though there were occasions when a dozen or more were circling my head. On the other hand, when we got home June still had evidence of where they had bitten her. Our waitress at the Two Season Inn told us the ominous black fly problem has not been very nasty this year because of all the rain plus cooler than normal weather. Near a sign indicating it is 42 km (25 miles) to Churchill Falls the TLH intersects a gravel road which heads westward past Lobstick Lodge (one of many hunting and fishing camps in Labrador) to Esker which is located on the railroad line between Sept Isles and Shefferville QB (pop. 110). While I take some photographs and again leave my scent, necessity finally overcomes June’s inhibitions - - and behind an abandoned trailer she bonds with nature, too. Soon we find ourselves crossing the Churchill River over a cataract area of huge boulders and awesome proportions but that now runs almost dry because these are the waters which have been diverted to generate electricity. Near the 260 km (156 miles) marker we pass the Churchill Falls airport and from a rise in the road we catch our first glimpse of the company town named Churchill Falls (pop. 900). Including all the stops we made during today’s 144 mile journey, it took us less than four leisurely hours. Comfortable accommodations await us at the Churchill Falls Inn ($76 US). It and a restaurant are two of many services located within one large and very modern building. Others include a post office, bank, library, school, grocery store, hairdresser, cinema, gymnasium, swimming pool, curling rink, bowling alley, tourist center and the Town Office. We are scheduled to meet our guide in the lobby at 7 PM for a 2 ½ hour free tour of the hydroelectric power-generating facilities, so we hurry off to the restaurant to enjoy dinner. I made reservations for this tour last January by calling Beryl Ryan of the Town Office. On this quiet Labor Day evening it’s just June and me and our guide - - a well-informed and congenial lady. Soon we have passed through several security check points, donned hard hats and are visiting the 9th largest capacity hydroelectric plant in the world! When the ice finally melted from central Labrador about 4500 BC, the resulting valleys and low areas became lakes and rivers. These served as the canoe highways of early explorers and traders. One of these ice-formed river valleys is the long, deep gorge of the lower Churchill River. It was only 158 years ago in 1839 that John McLean of the Hudson Bay Company became the first recorded white man to visit these mighty falls. A geological survey in 1894 confirmed the huge hydroelectric power potential at Churchill Falls with its natural drop of more than 1,000 feet in less than 20 miles. However, its remote sub-arctic wilderness location and the related lack of regional economic activity precluded utilizing this natural resource until less than 50 years ago when large ore deposits were discovered in Labrador and northeastern Quebec and mining of it commenced. This and demands for more electric power throughout the province of Quebec finally set the stage by the 1960’s for constructing the Churchill Falls hydroelectric complex which was completed in 1971 - - certainly a great engineering achievement and one of Canada’s great success stories. From our visitor’s viewpoint, the most fascinating facet is that this plant is located underground in caverns hewn out of solid rock! Here we find ourselves being transported from level to level in an elevator wherein its shaft is the equivalent of 99 stories high - - and walking a total of about one-half mile in man-made caverns, tunnels and facilities as far as 1,000 feet below the surface. The sights and dimensions are awesome - - including about 10 miles of underground tunneling. Don’t miss taking this tour! Upon arriving in Churchill Falls, June was tired enough to consider not going on this tour. After reminding her that it would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, she decided to go - - and she came away immensely thrilled that she did. However, you can imagine how exhausted June was by the time we got back to our room and crashed for the night. By the way, we never did get to view the Aurora Borealis (northern lights) on this trip. Its appearance would be extremely unlikely until after freezing nighttime temperatures begin to occur. Our waitress in Labrador City told us that, even for local residents who have witnessed this phenomena hundreds of time during their life, they still feel compelled to go outdoors on the bitterest of nights to behold these awesome natural displays. 9/2/97 - TUE. This morning I am outdoors early and looking forward to the challenges of traversing the most foreboding route we have tackled on all our road adventures. The scant amount of information written about this trek includes describing it as a pit gravel road which suggests, among other negatives, that ungraded rock is used to surface it. A dense fog envelops the landscape and the early morning air is so cool and damp that our van emits thick plumes of vapor from its exhaust as the engine warms up. Last night I filled up with fuel that translates to $2.04 US per gallon. When checking the van I discovered we have one broken headlight and the left rear decorative hubcap is missing - - apparently because the bolts securing it vibrated loose. Trivial stuff. Our odometer reads 184,493 miles and all other systems register “Go for it!” By 8:30 AM our gear is loaded and we head for the restaurant to savor a big breakfast. Several Forest Service men at an adjacent table suggest we allow about eight hours for today’s journey to leisurely enjoy it - - but that one can do it in about five hours by pushing hard. They also remind us that recent rains have washed away the smooth topping along some stretches and taken it down close to the original bedrock surface. We are moving along at about 40 mph at the 280 km (168 miles) marker and soon we are down to about 30 to 35 mph taking it easy over this rather rough segment which dips and winds a lot. Furthermore, when you come over these rises there can be turns at the top which aggravate the possibility of suddenly seeing a vehicle coming your way. Yes, here one must constantly remain alert and not let your concentration wander. The sky is overcast and it’s drizzling just enough to require using our wipers on slow speed. On our left and right the landscape is forested with low fir trees punctuated by bogs and lakes and an occasional little waterfall - - just your everyday kind of pit gravel road experience through the wilderness. I love it! Today at Rapids Brook we negotiated our first narrow bridge. The road resembles a narrow ribbon of gravel which has been pasted to rather than engineering across the existing terrain. June is concerned about how we and a large truck will be able to pass should there be such an encounter. Shortly after she made this observation an 18-wheeler suddenly appeared - - and we did pass without incident after all. It’s a talent! Near the 300 km (180 miles) marker we pass over Goose Brook on a bridge which makes one wonder if it will support us - - until you remember that 18-wheelers regularly travel this road. June has asked me to put the windows up because it is a bit chilly outdoors - - quite a contrast with the hot weather they are experience back home in Kansas City. We’ve encountered only three vehicles coming toward us in these first 18 miles. We and most vehicles do keep our headlights on to aid in being noticed by others. After about 25 miles of rattling along we find ourselves on a long and very straight stretch over gently rolling forested hills where the horizon appears to be dozens of miles away. Again, we are seeing countless huge boulders on the surface - - like monstrous forgotten marbles some giant left here in the middle of his game. Surprise! Just before one arrives at the 320 km (192 miles) marker you now will find a brand new building on this road - - the Labrador Wilderness Lodge! It is owned by Labrador Wilderness Outfitters and it opened last week. The intent is that it will be one of their overnight outposts for customers who come to Labrador for the kind of wilderness experiences this company offers. The location is approximately half-way between Labrador City and Goose Bay. This could make it a convenient mid-day stop for those who prefer to make this 330-mile run in one day. It is about 29 miles east of Churchill Falls. They offer meals as well as sleeping accommodations in rather austere hotel-type rooms. Although neat, new and clean the ambiance is neither memorable nor luxurious by any stretch of the imagination. However, it is a convenient way station and potential port in a storm. Of course, they do have nice restrooms and indoor plumbing for the more fastidious who balk at bonding with nature along the roadside. At least for now they do not offer fuel. A generator provides their own electrical power and they use water directly from the lakes and streams. We lingered for about 30 minutes enjoying bowls of vegetable beef soup, coffee and conversation with the pleasant man and woman who run this operation plus a motor grader operator who dropped in for lunch. The road improvements this man is performing and this new lodge represent a couple of mankind’s small but steady steps toward making this rugged wilderness frontier much more tolerable for our species. Soon we find ourselves crossing a fine concrete bridge built in 1992 over the beautiful Metchin River - - a place well worth a stop to savor and photograph this scenic setting - - and perhaps gather a few pretty rocks. It takes only this long for the black flies to sense our presence and begin offering their annoying greetings. Our road now is skirting along a ridge overlooking a beautiful river on our right which is flowing toward the west. It truly is a scene worth remembering. We again find ourselves crossing another one-lane bridge. The surface consists of wooden boards running parallel to our wheels. At 12:45 PM we have traveled only 40 miles in the first two hours. However, almost one of those two hours was consumed by the stops we made. That’s A-Okay with me because at our age it is about a 99.999% certainty that we never will be coming this way, again. Soon we are crossing Middle Brook over a narrow culvert. This gravel road remains an up and down and over and around adventure where many of the curves qualify as blind ones where caution must be exercised. At a road embankment we pass a man who delicately is using a short pick. He appears to be studying and collecting rock specimens - - probably a geologist. Perhaps June would like to receive one of those picks for Christmas. While riding along I begin to hear unusual rubbing and scrubbing noises coming from behind me. Then I realize June is cleaning her newly gathered rock specimens and deciding which ones are keepers. They will be marked by her with an indelible ink pen to denote where she found them. After traveling about 46 miles the scenery becomes extraordinary - - truly an exceptional wilderness area to behold. We are impressed! At 50 miles we are awed by a scene across the river to our right - - a huge gently slanting shelf of rock almost entirely covered by a combination of green and chartreuse lichen plus a scattering of pine trees. These wondrous scenes help make this journey worthwhile. Soon we cross the East Wilson River which has been running to our right. My map indicates that Wilson Lake to our left is its headwaters. The forested hills which form the background are quite high here. After 55 miles the sky has brightened considerably and I switch to sun glasses. We can see much farther ahead now because the road is flatter and well graded - - so I comfortably step up our speed to 45 mph. Usually the main factor which has been keeping our speed down in the 30’s range has been the winding nature of the road, not the quality of its surface. It is 1:45 PM as we pass the 370 km (222 miles) marker. Simple math tells us that in our leisurely mode today we have covered only 60 miles in three hours - - an average of just 20 mph. This causes June to sputter something like, “Do you mean to tell me we only have traveled 1/3 of the distance to Goose Bay and that it could take us nine hours at this rate?” She nailed that calculation, didn’t she? Of course, the main reasons are stops to relax at the lodge, to take photographs, to collect rocks and to savor the scenery - - and all have been worthy ways to invest our time. There are many lovely lakes along this route. Rather than go around all of them, the engineers built causeways across some of the narrows which provide us with frequent views of water immediately to our left and right. The odds of meeting anyone on one of the blind curves are very remote, but to race madly along and ignore this possibility would be like playing road warrior Russian roulette. I made the mistake of letting my concentration wander in what appeared to be a no problem area - - and suddenly after rounding a curve we were amongst some large loose rocks on the road which might have done major damage to our undercarriage or fuel tank if I straddled them. So I bit the bullet and passed over one of them with our left front wheel which sent it all the way up to the stops. Upon stopping to inspect our van and gather myself, I was amazed no damage was incurred. Stay alert at all times is the watchword! At 2:30 PM we cross over the Cache River on a fine bridge. Soon we see the 410 km (246 miles) marker. A little math tells us we now have driven 84 miles. In a brief segment which follows, I must take it down to about 25 mph. If there is any mechanical part in our van that is on the brink of coming loose or falling off, it certainly has had reason to do so today! We just passed another sign which says, “Caution! Possible low-flying aircraft in this area.” It strikes me as a rather ludicrous warning because what can we do to exercise “caution” if we see one - - stop, dive for the nearest ditch or perhaps smile and wave to indicate we are not the enemy? Surely they will be flying high enough to clear our van! I appreciate, of course, this really is just to forewarn us of the possibility so people won’t have the crap scared out of them by such a sudden and unusual wilderness encounter. The air base at Goose Bay is used by military pilots from Canada and European countries as a place from which to practice low-level flying. Certainly the odds of noise problems or a crash amongst civilians or something man-made are immensely remote in Labrador. So far we have encountered only six oncoming vehicles today. The last one was an 18-wheeler and on a very narrow stretch of this road. So I wisely pulled to the side and stopped while he slowed down and cautiously passed within a foot or so. Good thinking! In glacial lingo, “drift” is a term describing deposits of clay, gravel, sand and boulders transported and laid down by glaciers. Large sections of continental Europe and North America are covered by drift. It takes many forms including eskers, drumlins and moraines. The ones encountered along this road are eskers - - long (up to many miles) and rather narrow ridges of stratified sand and course gravel which were deposited by streams flowing through and under decaying glacial sheets of ice thousands of years ago. Rather than spend large amounts of time and money to excavate deep cuts across these eskers when the initial objective primarily is to create a passable route (such as the TLH), engineers often will adapt to the serpentine paths of these formidable eskers by building along and on top of them. Of course, the result inevitably is a sinuous route which is not an especially pleasure-laden one for drivers to negotiate - - as well as a road which traverses many more miles to get from A to B than the proverbial crow would fly. Later as funds become available, engineers can return with modern earthmoving machinery to make these cuts and then go about creating a beautifully engineered and efficient modern masterpiece. For the remaining 85 miles of our trek to Goose Bay this is what we will observe, encounter and occasionally get to enjoy after having traveled about 95 miles today. As a former Caterpillar foreign trade field representative who visited many similar projects in Central and South America during the 1960’s, I will find the remaining miles today to be an exhilarating experience reminiscent of those yesteryears. Soon we begin to see the Daniel Boone’s of the 1990’s clearing the land, making the cuts, moving rocks and earth, creating the grade, laying down the sub-base, etc. - - a beehive of activity and progress requiring everything from chain saws to huge tractors, trucks and motor graders - - and most of them flaunting my favorite color - - Caterpillar yellow! As protection against swarms of black flies, many of the workers are wearing gloves, tucked-in trousers and special headwear featuring mosquito netting down to their shoulders. At 3 PM a landmark occasion has occurred. We have traversed exactly 100 miles - - and it took 4.25 hours - - an average of 23.53 miles per hour! Just 72 more miles to go! Soon I notice a sign which warns drivers headed the opposite way that their next 176 km (106 miles) will be a rough row to hoe. I am hoping this implies that the road ahead of us is considerably better. We shall see. Believe it or not, soon we are going 70 mph on a wide and wonderfully engineered segment of brand new gravel road! The posted speed limit is 70 km (42 mph) but if one wanted to push the envelope you could do 85 mph on this stretch. It reminds me of the superb gravel road we experienced last year in Alaska on our way from Tok to Chicken. Good grief and heavens to Betsy, this almost takes all of the adventure and thrill out of this experience! Yes, one can begin to visualize that it won’t be many more years before people will be tooling across this terrain with ease. I, however, am glad that I get to do it now! That’s the kind of a guy I am. Few things worth savoring and remembering come easy. Soon we are passing Popes Hill which is 124 miles east of Churchill Falls. Here one begins to experience a major transition in the topography. From the plateau region we have been traversing our route begins to lead us through forests of tall spruce trees down to a valley far below. Portions of this road still have not received their final surface treatment so I throttle back to 50 mph. An 18-wheeler rumbling along in the opposite direction creates such a thick cloud of dust that I must quickly take us down to 10 mph until the air clears. Soon I must again take us down to 35 mph on another unfinished section. Like in sports, sometimes you just have ease off and adjust to what the other guy is dishing out for awhile. At 138 miles we arrive at a site where men are doing extensive work with lots of CAT units. I wisely elect to follow a supervisor’s truck through deep and very soft dirt topping they are laying down - - no problem for us but a big potential problem were we driving a little “toy” car or riding a Harley. By the way, we will encounter absolutely no instance between Baie Comeau and Goose Bay where we either needed or wished we were driving a four-wheel-drive vehicle! Our comfortable conversion van with its formidable ¾ ton truck frame and plenty of road clearance proves to be an excellent choice for traveling here. By 4:35 PM we bridge a small stream named Upper Brook. After 152 miles of driving today we finally have negotiated all of this road’s current construction areas. Now we comfortably are doing 60 mph past lovely stands of white birch trees. At an overlook we pause to assimilate a great view of wooded bluffs and hills on both sides of the broad valley in which a wide river with a sandy shoreline flows eastward toward Goose Bay. Pressing on, at 157 miles we cross Lower Brook on a wide concrete bridge constructed in 1993. With about 14 miles remaining, the dominate ingredient of this gently rolling terrain becomes sand which is capped by forests of pine trees. Some of the deeper road cuts through these hills resemble the side of a sand dune. What a fascinating variety of topography we have witnessed today! Realizing we are close to the end of today’s unusual journey, June is emitting expressions of relief - - and her sense of humor has resurfaced. She promised herself that on this trip she would try to suppress her compulsion to collect rocks - - but June lost that battle to Labrador’s temptations. I’d estimate that we have at least 200 pounds of rocks on board at this point in time - - and who knows how many more after we spend a week in a very rocky place called the island of Newfoundland - -and then Nova Scotia, and on and on. At its eastern terminus where the gravel surface of the Trans Labrador Highway meets a Goose Bay/Happy Valley asphalt thoroughfare, I pause to photograph this site plus several nearby signs - - and to savor this special moment. We have done it! Yes, I must admit that for a few precious minutes I let my mind wallow about in that exhilarating sensation of adventurous achievement which road warriors crave and seek. It feels so good - - like having been thoroughly seduced and left limp by the queen of all females, Mother Nature! At 5:30 PM we pull into an Ultramar service station in Goose Bay where we race to the rest rooms and then fill our tank. First things first! The price of regular gasoline translates to $2.09 US/gallon. Our odometer shows we have traveled exactly 186 miles today and our watches indicate we spent 6 ¾ hours in doing so. Still feeling the glow of achievement, we set out to find the motel where we have reservations for tonight. After traveling just a few blocks I hear a siren and in my rear view mirror I spot a patrol car behind me with red lights flashing indicating he wants me to pull over. I certainly was not speeding and am aware of no other traffic violation I may have committed - - and God knows it can’t involve my already confiscated radar detector! So what in the world is it this time? Shades of Forestville! After a few minutes of friendly chit-chat which he initiates, the officer courteously explains his concern that I might be driving under the influence of alcohol! Now it all makes sense! Due to a combination of trying to read directions while driving, talking with June, taking in the sights and some fatigue, I inadvertently had wandered onto the right shoulder about three times. He correctly deduces that I am just a tired Trans Labrador Highway traveler searching for the Labrador Inn. Rather than only provide directions, this fine police officer (who deserves a commendation for courtesy) gives us a personal escort right to the door of the Labrador Inn! We thank him and soon are checked in ($60 US) and enjoying delicious dinners in their pleasant dinning room. Afterwards we tour the area and then spend two hours doing all the laundry we have accumulated during nine days of traveling the open road. It has been a most unusual and adventurous day! With a twinkle in my eye, I remind June that if we were to miss the ferry’s departure to Newfoundland tomorrow, then our only other choice would be to retrace our path on the same 680 miles of wilderness road. She paused to weigh this option and then muttered this candid response - - “I’d rather swim!” 9/3/97 - WED. Today is the first one of this journey with no road miles on our schedule. During each of the previous nine days we have driven to a new overnight destination - - an average of 298 miles/day for a grand total of 2,679. Now through Saturday will provide a change of pace in which we must drive just one 250-mile stretch. This four-day respite includes what I hope will be a delightful 37-hour ocean voyage on a ship. However, let us not forget that even the best laid travel plans of road warriors sometimes go awry! I have encouraged June to sleep in and use this morning as she wishes - - including a cryptic hint that she enjoy a good soak in the tub and wash her hair. As she and you will discover, I have reasons for offering this subtle suggestion. By 8 AM I am at a Chevrolet dealership to care for our trusty van. Today in Goose Bay is the ideal place and time for a lube-oil-filter job, to replace our broken headlight and to have them check everything while it is up on the rack. Car wash facilities (drive-through or otherwise) are as rare as hen’s teeth in these northern reaches. However, the Mr. Goodwrench service at Labrador Motors even includes a much needed washing by hand! Upon noticing all of the travel stickers on our van’s windows, they tell me it is the first one they recall servicing which has traveled in Alaska and the Yukon territory, too. Everything checks out fine. At a nearby salvage yard I get lucky and find an exact replacement for our decorative hub cap - - just $13.09 US for it, three new bolts and installation. By the way, a 1997 Chevrolet Cavalier sits in this dealer’s lot awaiting major repairs. About a week ago it and its passengers arrived in Goose Bay on the ferry from Newfoundland with plans to whiz westward across Labrador on the TLH and then down Route 389 to Baie Comeau. However, they only got 30 miles into this journey (the really easy part) before the TLH disemboweled this little vehicle. As few parts for it are available in Canada, they had to be imported from the USA. After six days the owner and the dealer still are waiting for these parts to arrive! Yes, the touted 37 mpg highway fuel economy rating of this little “toy” car quickly became a moot selling point on these roads, didn’t it? My next stop is a bank to get the best exchange rate for buying Canadian dollars. Although we use a credit card for about 99% of our trip purchases, I find it wise to have about $100 of Canadian cash in my billfold, too. Last but certainly not least, I telephone the ferry terminal to let them know we are in town and will be there by the 3 PM check-in time. I now must admit to you and the world that a potentially volatile issue preys upon my conscience - - that our cabin will have no toilet or shower! Yes, I have been aware of this fact ever I made our reservation last January. No, I have not mentioned it to June. She never asked about it or any other details, so I did not bring up this point. Why? Because it might have been enough to flush my entire Labrador wilderness road adventure dream-trip down the proverbial toilet. Selfish? Perhaps - - but this is how a road warrior like me thinks and acts when burning the midnight oil over his maps to create what he perceives as another masterpiece. During my telephone conversation I am told that even the Captain’s cabin does not have a bathroom! This provides me with a little “If everyone else including the Captain does not have one” leverage - - not much, but a toe-hold. Also, by telephone today the understanding ticket agent agrees to reserve a cabin for us which is located directly across the hall from one of the bathrooms for women. The die is cast. I can do no more. By noon I have returned to our motel in one of my jollier moods. June is quite chipper, too, and looking forward to our voyage. After I check out, load the van and clean out our cooler, we relax over lunch at the motel’s restaurant. Then we decide to wander over to the tourist center, tour the town and the air base and head for the ferry terminal to buy our tickets. To hold this plus our other Maritime Atlantic ferry reservation (Newfoundland to Nova Scotia) that I made by telephone last January, I only had to deposit $25 dollars using my Visa card. Our ship is the MV Sir Robert Bond. It is scheduled to depart at 5 PM today and arrive in Lewisporte NF about 6 AM Friday morning. In US dollars this voyage costs us $314 (two senior passages at $70 each, $114 to transport our vehicle and $60 for the cabin where we will be sleeping two nights). As vehicles won’t be boarding until 4 PM, we decide to take a drive northwards to see the communities of North West River and Sheshatsheits rather than sit around and twiddle our thumbs. On our way the weather changes drastically - - sheets of rain and gusting winds. Established in 1743 as a fur trading outpost, North West River is central Labrador’s oldest community. All of the other vehicles have been loaded by the time we finally get back at 4:25 PM. Yes, thumb-twiddling would have been the preferred option. From the car deck we take the elevator to our stateroom deck. At the top we discover that on this older ship one must cross an open deck to get from the elevator to the cabins - - and in rain and wind today. The purser gives us our key and, drenched and wind-blown, we insert the key in the door. Yes, even I must admit that “tiny” is an understatement for our quarters - - an upper and lower berth on our right and a narrow pathway straight ahead leading toward a small lavatory - - no closet, no chairs, no lamps, no anything else other than an aluminum ladder for climbing to the upper berth. As June’s eyes survey this sight and begin to search for at least a toilet and perhaps a shower I optimistically pop up with, “Look, we have a porthole!” As anticipated, June is beginning to do a slow burn and emitting awestruck remarks such as - - “Why didn’t you tell me that our cabin would not have a restroom? I’ll bet you knew this all the time! How could you? - - etc. etc.” I readily confess to June that I knew it and why I did not mention it. Then (using male-type logic) I pointed out that, like it or not, the facts of life are that (1) nobody else including the Captain has a private bathroom on this ship, (2) we do have a cabin across from the women’s restroom, (3) it’s only for two nights and (4) it beats having to swim! Of course, I did not mention that in these circumstances some men have been known to resolve their “up in the middle of the night problem” simply by running the water and urinating in the lavatory. In this enlightened era of equal rights and privileges it is another of those irrefutable natural advantages afforded by a male’s convenient “plumbing” - - and about which women do not wish to hear because they can do nothing about changing it. A happy camper June is not - - but this, too, will pass. Realizing that a ship’s departure always is fun to experience, we take a timeout to go on deck while it moves eastward through a narrow channel and into the open waters of Hamilton Inlet. Figuring that food and rubbing shoulders with other passengers may defuse this issue, I suggest we head for dinner and added that I’ll buy - - which sparks a brief but miniscule smile from Junie Babe. All meals on the Bond are served cafeteria-style. Although not fancy, the food is wholesome and served by a courteous staff anxious to please. My choice is a dinner consisting of two large baked chicken thighs and legs, mashed potatoes and gravy, fresh vegetables, rolls and coffee. June selects something comparable. It must be the sea air. When June observes that nobody else is making a big negative deal out of their austere and toiletless quarters, it seems to help snuff out most of her ire. However, embers still are glowing as indicated by the fact that June elects to hole up in our cabin with a book this evening. I believe they call it pouting. My choice is to head for the lounge and watch the movie called Independence Day, write postcards and dictate into my tape recorder. Before dawn our ship will clear Hamilton Inlet and Groswater Bay and we’ll be out in the tempestuous North Atlantic on a course angling south along Labrador’s coastline toward the north shore of Newfoundland. Sometimes the Bond stops at Cartwright, but not on this run. We end up sleeping well tonight to the gentle vibrations and motions of our ship. June toddled across the hall just once. Do you care to guess where I did it while she was gone? 9/4/97 - THU. Hoping against hope for fair weather, I am dressed and out on the open decks by 7 AM to evaluate our chances. For awhile the sun makes a valiant effort to break through and it actually was shining long enough for me to snap some good photographs. For fair weather sailing there are many places where passengers can sit outdoors and watch the world pass by - - and perhaps some whales and icebergs - - but never on this voyage! At breakfast we feast on hearty helpings of eggs, bacon, hash browns, fruit, toast and coffee. Afterwards there’s lots of fun conversation, and later everyone heads for the lounges to enjoy reading, chatting, napping, etc. The Bond has a smoking and a non-smoking lounge, a combination bar and lounge, video poker gambling machines and a game room for children. A few of us go on deck for awhile. However, gusty winds and spitting rain soon chase us indoors. By 10 AM the seas have become quite rough. For rich and poor and those in between, all passengers are dressed comfortably and unpretentiously - - jeans, sweatshirts, Nike-type shoes, etc. In fact, I notice that two touring couples in particular who probably could buy and sell anyone else on board are wearing exactly the same outer clothes as yesterday. During my many conversations during this voyage I never heard anyone complain about the lack of fancy amenities. One of these well-traveled couples lives near Detroit. They were out on the open road headed toward wherever their whims might lead them when the wife noticed there is a road up to and across Labrador. Long story short, in their new Ford van they have been doing almost the same journey as us including this voyage to Newfoundland. The second couple is from Florida. They sold their resort business in the Florida keys and retired a couple of years ago. Since then they have been spending most of their time on the road including journeys to Alaska and into Mexico. They drive a beautiful custom rig featuring every imaginable amenity. He suffers from MS and has considerable difficulty walking, even with a cane - - but he does not let this affliction stop him or diminish his enthusiasm. In fact, he and his wife are two of the most well-traveled, fun, optimistic, enjoyable and adventurous individuals with whom I ever have spoken. Yes, the tourists I have met on this ship appear to be among the more adventurous who take things in stride while enjoying unusual off-the-beaten-path places. For “bonding with nature”, these wives prefer doing it under a bridge. This year the Bond will be making just one more round trip like this one. It then will continue working this route until about November as a freighter. On those forthcoming runs it will accept about 44 passengers. However, it will not be adhering to specific arrival and departure times due to many variables such as the amount and destination of freight and especially the weather conditions. Yes, this is a functional workhorse rather than a luxury ship. Some crew members have told me that whenever the seas get rough they prefer sailing aboard the Bond instead of on the more modern ferryliners in this fleet. On shipboard some doors are designed so they can be fastened in the full open position to keep them from swinging back and forth and hurting someone during rough seas. This is true for the main door to the women’s restroom - - and doing so blocks exit and entry to the first private stall. Someone came along and did this without realizing that a lady is using that first stall. That very surprised occupant was lucky little June as I and others would discover upon hearing a plaintive voice calling - - “Help. Please help me, I can’t get out!” Including June and me, the noon hour finds most passengers ready to wolf down another hearty meal and then sit around over coffee to exchange tall tales about travel adventures or whatever. However, as the afternoon wears on the seas are getting much rougher and there is a noticeable lack of activity as more and more passengers hunker down to ride this out. Many with cabins have returned to them to lie down and nap. Others like me find that the best place to be is in a comfortable lounge chair. I prefer one toward the middle and the center of this ship where both the rolling and the pitching motions are less pronounced. Shipboard personnel quietly are scurrying about comfort the nauseous and mopping up after those who have entered the barfing stage. Then you have a few like June who seem to relish these conditions! In fact, from the lounge chair in which I firmly am planted I can hear June and a spunky lady from Newfoundland having a great time laughing and yippity-yapping with each other. By my watch their frivolity has been going on for well over an hour. Compassionate souls that they are, they drop by to check on my deteriorating condition and color. After their last pass they returned with a motion-sickness pill which the Newfie lady says may help me feel better. I did not turn it down! For awhile the predictions are gale-force winds, but that forecast is cancelled and replaced with one predicting calmer seas. It never happens! Out the windows one can see that rain continues to pelt down upon us and the sea is tumultuous by a landlubber’s standards. Every thirty minutes or so I head for the open deck and breath deeply for awhile. It seems to help. I’m glad that I didn’t mention to the other passengers that I was a navy officer for 3 ½ years! God, will this never cease! For reasons which I look upon as far beyond the call of duty for a husband in my sickened state, June has insisted that we go to the car deck before dinner to get some things she may need. As the elevator does not operate while at sea, we must take a very long and steep flight of stairs all the way down - - and then later back up. Is June just trying to get even for the toilet deal? While she is rummaging around in our van, a vehicle at the front of the line of cars to our left breaks loose from the lashings which secure its front end to the steel deck plates. This causes it to roll backwards and crash into the vehicle behind it each time the prow of the ship rises above a horizontal plane. This occurs about 20 times before the car-deck attendant can get things under control. If June or I or someone else had been walking behind that vehicle when it broke loose, it would have been good-bye legs - - and probably worse. I am glad I did not take June up on her offer to come down here alone. The long climb up that steep flight of stairs, and under very unstable conditions, totally winded June - - and it almost caused me to barf. So rather than return all the way to our cabin, we head directly to the cafeteria to gather ourselves and take on some food. Yes, I must have been a sorry sight as I wobbled my way down the line, ordered the first entree in sight and then lurched to a table with my tray on sea legs which are abandoning me. Observant Miss Perky June says I resembled death warmed over. The entree staring up at me is spaghetti and meat sauce. After four bites my barf alarm is close to red-lighting so I do a quick exit and again re-plant myself in a lounge chair to gather myself. Watching another movie helps pass the time and provide a much needed distraction. However, by 9 PM the ship is pitching and rolling and yawing so much that I decide to retire to my cramped little upper berth and ride out the storm there. Soon I am sound asleep. June hits the sack early, too. Going to bed early is a good idea anyway because our ETA at Lewisporte NF is 6 AM. Tomorrow morning I’ll learn from a ship’s officer that ours has been the Bond’s roughest voyage this year. Upon asking him how often the weather is nice enough on this voyage for passengers to enjoy being out on the decks, his said about 95% of the time. Well, you can’t win them all and, like I said earlier, even the best laid plans sometimes go awry. At least I can report to you that I never did toss my cookies!
My observations are that tourism in this region only has one way to go - - up! So as time goes by it seems logical to assume that ever increasing numbers of adventure seekers will be traversing the 680 miles of wilderness road between Baie Comeau and Goose Bay. Toilet facilities along most of those lonesome miles are non-existent! Common sense and astute deductive reasoning tell me that amongst these tourists there will be blue-blooded females of means from the USA and elsewhere who find the idea of “bonding with nature” along the side of a gravel road as disgustingly unthinkable. By the way, are any of you aware of how testy they tend to get when refusing to heed the call? Furthermore, it certainly doesn’t help matters when they observe how easy it is for males. Just unzip and let it rip! Here is my enterprising solution - - portable toilets on wheels! Initial design sketches call for anchoring them on a small trailer and using a removable U-Haul type of hitch. The rest is simple “trickle down” Reaganomics in its purest form. With facilities in Baie Comeau, Labrador City and Goose Bay for rentals and returns, it’s an uncomplicated business which certainly satisfies an urgent need. Just think about it, guys and gals! When the call of nature screams out for relief, what could be more urgent than the plight of a female who refuses to lower herself behind a bush or tree? - - and perhaps into an insidious swarm of black flies that are seeking tender warm flesh - - or some other ominous nearby creature of the wild with sharp claws and teeth! The nitty-gritty question which remains to be answered is how much will these fastidious females pay for privacy? Big bucks, I’ll bet - - certainly sums of hard cash that she and her husband or sugar daddy can well afford. As we’ll need a catchy name for this venture, I am considering a “Name That Privy Company!” contest to create awareness and excite interest. Yes, this could be a remarkable investment opportunity knocking at your private privy door! I sell bridges, too.
9/5/97 - FRI. At 5 AM loudspeakers tell us we will docking at 6 AM in Lewisporte NF - - and that breakfast is being served. Except to go to the bathroom, we have not been up this early in a coon’s age. What a relief it is to not feel our vessel rolling and pitching for a change. By the time we get dressed and make two trips down to the car deck with our gear it is time to drive off. At this pre-dawn hour it is so cool and rainy we use our heater to knock off the chill. Driving south from this mid-point on the north shore, within 10 minutes we reach the Trans Canada Highway and turn east toward St. John’s which is about a 250-mile drive. By the way, we now must set our watches forward another one-half hour as we’ve left the Atlantic Time Zone and have entered the Newfoundland Time Zone. The TCH crosses Newfoundland in a 532-mile east-west arc. St. John’s is at one end and Channel-Port aux Basques is at the other. Below this arc and all the way to the south coast there is a vast wilderness of mountains, lakes, rivers and streams penetrated by a few north-south routes and virtually no side roads. Most Newfies reside along and to the north of this arc - - an accessible region of rugged, complex and beautifully convoluted peninsulas and coastal terrain where countless tiny seaside communities exist. This island’s land area is about that of Pennsylvania and approximately 550,000 people live here. For those choosing not to do our Labrador wilderness trek, the sensible approach to touring this island in your own vehicle is to utilize two different Atlantic Marine ferry routes out of North Sydney NS. One is seasonal and goes to and from Argentia near St. John’s. The other operates year-round to and from Channel-Port aux Basques. By arriving on one and departing on the other, you will save hundreds of miles of retracing your tracks. Our journey’s truly challenging roads are behind us. Now they will be comparable to what one experiences in the USA. We just sighted two huge moose along the edge of the TCH! There are so many moose on this island that it is recommended you not drive at night. Soon we are approaching Gander NF with its famous international airport which dates back to World War II when, like Goose Bay LB, these were vital re-fueling stops for aircraft being flown to Europe to do battle there. My cousin Marty Gomer was one of those ferry pilots. We stop briefly at the air museum where I snap a photograph of a PBY flying boat like the one I flew in from Kwajalein to the Marshall Islands in about 1955 during my navy years when I lived in Hawaii before it became a state. Good memories! After a great breakfast and fun conversations at the Gander Hotel’s fine restaurant we press on. It’s so rainy and overcast that we will make few stops en route to St. John’s. However, after staying there for two nights we will retrace this 250-mile stretch on Sunday when pleasant weather is forecast with highs in the 60’s and lows in the 40’s. By 9:30 AM we are passing through lovely Terra Nova National Park and it has become obvious that the TCH is superbly engineered to negotiate this scenic terrain of high hills blanketed with pine forests. Frequent views of coves and islands are off to our left along this route. The posted speed limit usually is 100 km (60 mph) but everyone is running at about 70 mph. June is using this time to perform a major clean-up project in her area of the van. This includes going through stacks of literature she has collected and moving her rock specimens toward the rear so she can see the floor, again. In doing so, several “missing” treasures have resurfaced such as her address book. I’ve never seen such lush green fairways as those of the wooded golf course we just passed - - a beautiful site which compliments and blends so well into this extraordinary landscape. Standing in stark disruptive contrast are the garish golden arches of a MacDonald’s at the turnoff to Trinity. Yuck! By 10:40 AM we are approaching Deep Bight where a sign invites us to pick our own strawberries. Not today, thank you. Then we pass Johnson’s Fresh Fruits and Vegetables where the owner is holed up in his vehicle knowing that nobody will be stopping during this deluge. At Goobies NF we fill up with fuel ($1.95 US/gallon) and restock our cooler with ice, orange juice, milk and other goodies at a great Irving station - - plus a couple of Cappuccinos. Here I take a photograph of a huge bronze moose with the Canadian flag flying at half mast in the background honoring Princess Diana’s death and funeral. I again am reminded of how the Internet and satellite television have brought these rather remote regions into full contact with what is happening of supposed importance and questionable consequence throughout this world. Motels offer as many or even more channels than we have at home. I saw one which is devoted to country western music, line dancing and special features about the stars who perform this music - - and country western is by far the most popular kind of music on radio stations here and in Labrador. Soon we see the exit sign to Sunnyside and Come By Chance - - and then one to Mosquito Cove. Beginning last Saturday after leaving Quebec City, we have not seen the sun more than a handful of times for a week. Instead, it has been a period dominated by overcast skies plus intervals of mist and rain. For the past 30 minutes the clouds have been releasing a relentless deluge which is being blown across our path by cross-winds gusting to 60 mph. This plus the risk of hydroplaning force me to slow down to 45 mph for awhile. As people used to exclaim when I was a tot, it’s raining pitchforks and nigger babies - - or cats and dogs! June claims she never heard the former saying, but of course she led a rather sheltered life as a youth. Facts are that neither was an expression to be taken literally nor spoken with malice toward a farm tool, black people or pet animals. Yes, sayings and meanings do change with time - - like the word “gay” which used to describe a happy, cheerful and light-hearted person in just one very short complimentary word. But now? Today people are reluctant to mention I am old for fear of hurting my feelings. So instead they tippy-toe around and ask me if I feel chronologically challenged. Why don’t we just go back to calling a spade a spade. Whoops! There I go, again using 1950’s lingo. Newfoundland is known for rapid weather changes - - and by the time we reach the outskirts of St. John’s the rain has ceased. Except for a few hours of inclement weather around St. Anthony NF and Poplar Bluff MO, we will experience fine weather conditions during the remaining 19 days of this road adventure. Hallelujah! By 1:30 PM we are checked into fine accommodations ($65 US) at the Best Western Travelers Inn. Soon we are on our way to the Devon House Craft Center hoping to find a carved wooden bird to add to our collection - - but they have none. Our next stop is one of the most historic sites in all of Canada where in 1583 Sir Humphrey Gilbert claimed Newfoundland for the Queen of England thereby founding the British Empire which became the greatest the world has known. Historic St. John’s lays claim to being North America’s oldest city. Famous Signal Hill is our next stop. It has stood guard over this harbor since the early 18th century. Also, it is on this hill that Guglielmo Marconi made communications history in 1901 with the reception of the first Trans-Atlantic wireless radio signal - - a “Hello” to the Information Age. We then head for and photograph the ZERO marker at the eastern terminus of the Trans Canada Highway. Ten years ago we visited the marker in Victoria on the island of Vancouver at the western terminus of the TCH - - and in the meantime we have traveled the roads of all that lies between these two points. Returning to the delightful old harbor area, we slowly drive by and then have a wonderful time walking amongst its old buildings, narrow streets and bustling dockside area. Tied up near large freighters and many fishing boats there are two “tall” ships. One is the schooner Sherman Zwicker which is here on a visit from Maine. At a refurbished building called The Murray Premises (which is celebrating its 150th year) we shop at the Heritage House where June selects some local preserves and jams. Just across the hall I’ve made dinner reservations for us at one of St. John’s premiere dining establishments named The Hungry Fisherman. For the equivalent of $56 US including tip we relish one of the finest dinners June and I ever have experienced. Enhanced by a bottle of Concha & Toro Chardonnay imported from Chile and fresh green salads, I begin with fresh steamed mussels prepared Mexican style while June savors Newfoundland pea soup. She discovers it is remarkably like the Swedish pea soup she prepares. Our entrees are fresh seafood platters garnished by an edible nasturtium, unusual greens and an assortment of hot vegetables. Our combination platter includes succulent shrimp, cod, scallops, salmon and a local delicacy which troubled June - - cod tongues! Topped off by delicious cups of coffee and with everything delightfully served by the owner and his assistants, it was an occasion to be remembered. As you may have gathered, on this journey our meals focus on enjoying the wonderful seafood for which these seafaring provinces are famous. After more browsing along Water, Harbor and Duckworth streets, the hour has arrived for returning to our motel. By the way, Water Street is the oldest one in North America. Although I found it easy to get down to the old harbor area, I have lost my way trying to leave it. It was explained to me that this is very common for visitors. Here is the reason. The routes leading away from it originally were meandering foot paths created by the early settlers to ascend the rather steep surrounding hills. Later these became cart paths, and then horse-and-wagon lanes and then streets which have no resemblance to the grid layouts with which most of us are accustomed. Utterly confused, I hailed a gentleman on a bicycle. Rather than give directions, he very courteously got back on his bike and told us to follow him. After about a mile or so he stopped, described a couple of more turns to make and wished us a pleasant visit. Exactly the same dilemma will occur tomorrow night but then it will be a police car that I flag down for directions - - and the very courteous patrolman will suggest, as did the bicyclist, that we please just follow him out of this maze. Tired but well fed and feeling grateful for the outstanding courtesies provided to us by everyone we have met here in St. John’s, it is time for a good night of sleep. 9/6/97 - SAT. Today we awaken to sunshine and a cloudless sky! Our first stop is a great breakfast buffet in our motel’s cheery dining room. Yes, things really are looking up as we head for a puffin-and-whale-watching boat excursion ($21 US/adult) for which I have made reservations. We have chosen a highly recommended one offered by Gatherall’s located about 18 miles down the coast at Bay Bulls. Having allowed plenty of time to get there, we can acquaint ourselves with the neighborhoods and communities along the way. Throughout the Atlantic provinces one often finds that residents have painted their homes in very happy colors and combinations. Some examples we notice today are shocking pink with gray trim - - light yellow with green trim - - gray with a purple door and shutters - - powder blue trimmed with turquoise. One features a wooden fence painted green topped with a red decorative wooden sphere about every 3 feet. Most of the homes are rather small by our standards and of a simple, efficient and straightforward linear design known as “salt box”. Also, it is common to see washed clothes hanging outdoors on a clothesline to dry in the fresh breezes. We arrive at Bay Bulls at 11 AM and soon are boarding the Gaffer III with about a dozen other passengers on this lovely day. They include a delightful couple with two precious little daughters. He is a helicopter pilot in the Canadian Air Force assigned to search and rescue. His lovely wife bears such a remarkable resemblance to June’s daughter Ginny that I am compelled to snap three photos of her. The young man who provides us with colorful commentary during the next two hours is clever, fun and really knows his stuff. Calm turquoise waters of the bay soon change to ocean swells as we head toward a couple of off-shore rocky islands for bird-watching. Along the way our vessel passes close to a steep rocky shore with waves crashing against it. Apparently this has caused June’s Viking heritage to prevail because she has scaled the steep ladder to the flying bridge to savor this rugged panorama from a loftier wind-blown perch. And there she stands like Freyja, the Norse goddess of love, marriage and fertility - - proudly hinting that I take her photograph! I elect to sit outdoors toward the middle at the stern, an excellent vantage point - - and one which appears to be the most stable place for avoiding any twinges of seasickness. Better safe than sorry has become my motto after that Bond experience through which I suffered! Each spring more than two million seabirds return to this region after spending eight months out on the harsh Atlantic Ocean. During their four months of nesting and feeding here, it is just about standing room only. As most of these species have departed by this time of the year, our sightings primarily will be one of June’s favorite feathered friends - - puffins! This colorful little creature is known to feast to the point of being unable to fly for awhile. We spot hundreds and get close enough to observe their nesting burrows (about six feet deep) amongst the rocks and mosses, and from which they dart in and out like little shots out of a cannon. Although we did not sight any whales, this was an immensely invigorating and enjoyable cruise on a spectacularly gorgeous day during which we did learn a lot about birds and whales and the history of this special place. We also got an interesting lesson from the skipper explaining why the cod population has reached such low numbers that a fishing moratorium now is in effect for this major industry. This is causing lots of economic hardship in these provinces. Briefly, his professional opinion is that this dire situation has been precipitated primarily by loose fishing rights treaties initiated by ill-informed and greedy government bureaucrats. An example includes not prohibiting the use of nets over locations where the cod are known to spawn. Near the dock we see how cod are being raised in huge netted round pens which extend all the way down to the bottom’s depth of about 45 feet. They feed them food in the form of pellets. Each pen will produce a crop of about 50,000 pounds of fish. They are harvested when each weighs about seven pounds. Our next stop is a nearby crafts shop where June selects a colored glass representation of a puffin. From Bay Bulls we meander northward to the old and fascinating little community of Petty Harbour where we stop at the Petty Harbour Cafe for ice cream, conversation and to savor this quaint place. When John Cabot came to Newfoundland in 1497 there already were fishermen here and along this southern shore from Portugal, Spain and France. They used Petty Harbour as a summer fishing station. Originally named by the French, Petty (Petite) Harbour means little or small. Eventually a town was established about 200 years ago. Today Petty Harbour-Maddox Cove is a community of about 1,000 residents. From here we drive over a winding back road to Cape Spear and soon find ourselves standing on the most easterly point in all of North America! Below us the sea crashes upon huge burgundy boulders, gulls soar overhead and tall ships sail into view. Far in the distance one can see the very narrow entrance to St. John’s harbor and how this town appears to cling to the surrounding hills. Yes, this is a place of incredible rugged beauty! Our wanderings along the pathways take us into empty concrete artillery fortifications and bunkers. These formidable gun emplacements were built during World War II to guard this strategic harbor which was of key importance to convoys of ships carrying supplies and weapons to Europe through the North Atlantic’s then submarine-infested waters. Like steel shavings attracted by a magnet, this early evening hour finds us returning to St. John’s fascinating harbor area for dinner on George Street at Greensleeves - - chicken soup and a tuna sandwich for June and the fisherman’s seafood fettuccini pasta dinner for me. Its ambiance is carefree and casual - - and next door under a large tent a private party featuring dancing to a well-amplified band is cranking up. Afterwards we stroll down to the Sherman Zwicker to watch crewmen lower their flags and replace them with a decorative string of white lights. With a hull identical to the famous “Bluenose”, this 142 ft. vessel is the largest wooden ship in Maine waters. It is one of the sailing ships which participated in the 1986 Operation Sail when our Statue of Liberty was re-opened after extensive renovations. As with most good things, this too must end so we can move on to more adventures in these Maritime provinces. Yes, June’s legs will pay the fiddler for all the climbing and walking she has done today - - but the pleasures derived here in lovely St. John’s will outweigh the temporary pain. On the way back to our motel I stop at a huge Wal-Mart to buy more film plus a pain medication for June - - and on this Saturday evening it is beehive of shopping activity. After dropping her off at our room I fill up our van ($1.88 US/gallon) at a nearby Irving station and will find June already sound asleep when I return. 9/7/97 - SUN. Gloryosky and leapin’ lizards! Old “sleep-in-late-at-home” (me) is up and showering at 6 AM. It’s a bit foggy outdoors but this will dissipate when the sun decides to get up, too. Yesterday we enjoyed our motel’s breakfast buffet and ambiance so much that we have decided to savor it, again. The clerk at this motel who checked us out this morning won a prize - - my congratulatory handshake for being the first Canadian I have met who voluntarily has traveled the Trans Labrador Highway! Today will be one of driving westward across Newfoundland on the TCH to Deer Lake - - about 410 miles. The plan is to position ourselves for embarking tomorrow on several days of new adventures on this island’s northwestern peninsula. The tourist literature I received implies that this is the most scenic part of the island. We soon shall see. While tooling down the road, June suddenly exclaimed that she just saw a goose with antlers putting its head under the water to feed! That certainly would be a unique cross-breeding of species, wouldn’t it? Of course, I immediately realized she meant a moose. However, when she overheard me dictating this sighting into my tape recorder as being a goose, she firmly reminded me that some things in life do not need to be recorded for posterity! Frankly, I believe it is absolutely wonderful that a person gets so utterly thrilled by something like this that words can’t come fast enough to describe it. I’ll bet you agree. At 2:30 PM after covering 275 miles we fill up at Grand Falls-Windsor ($2.15 US/gallon). At this station here in the middle of Newfoundland they have the first brushless automatic carwash I have seen since we entered Canada two weeks ago! After using it, we decide to relax and have some lunch at a very popular food operation chain in Canada called Tim Horton’s. Although one goes to the counter and orders from a menu board plus other items on display, the kind of food they serve is very much like one would find in a true restaurant type of operation - - good soups, sandwiches, hot entrees plus lots of other things like donuts, bagels, special coffees, etc. In other words, the focus is not on hamburgers, French fries, soft drinks and simplistic variations thereof. I rather like it and could accept this approach to getting a quick meal once in awhile By the way, in Canada one should be aware that a 15% tax is added to what you buy which bumps the total considerably. A few short sections of the TCH west of Windsor are not as good as the excellent conditions normally encountered, but they do not slow us down. It has become an exceptionally nice day for driving and enjoying the scenery - - heavily forested hills, many pretty lakes, shallow ponds with lots of boulders protruding from their surfaces, and inlets which appear to extend for miles before they will reach the ocean. The temperature is about 60 degrees with little wind. At this level the local people are outdoors wearing tank tops and shorts like we would do when it reaches the 80’s and 90’s. They are a hearty lot. As far as our moose-sighting luck is concerned, we are beginning to think that we could stroll down the main street of Mooseville NF and they all would be inside watching TV or napping so we would spot nary a one! To be fair, they say the best times are early in the morning around sunrise and at dusk in the evening - - time frames in which we seldom have been moving through areas where sightings would be likely. We notice a sign indicating there is a ski area nearby. Soon we are paralleling a long, narrow body of water called Birchy Lake on our right. At Birchy Narrows where it crosses under the TCH we pause to take some photographs before circling around the north end of Sandy Lake on our left. Since leaving Baie Comeau it has been eight days since we have seen anything we could call a farm - - a few cattle here and there, yes - - but no farms. By 6:30 PM we are checked in at the Deer Lake Motel ($59 US) where June remarks that our room is so lovely and convenient that she would be willing to stay for several days. In addition to its interior amenities, we conveniently can back right up to its exterior door and there is another interior door which opens to a hallway leading to the lobby, restaurant, gift shop and an ice machine. We had the same kind of two-door arrangement at the Best Western in St. John’s. Two couples from South Carolina traveling in a new F350 Ford diesel pickup truck with a fifth wheel attachment in its cargo bed have noticed all the stickers on our van’s windows. They, too, are road warriors. They left their RV trailer parked in Nova Scotia, took the ferry from North Sydney NS to Argentia (the ferry lost one engine during that crossing), toured the St. John’s region and today crossed the island as we just did. After touring this westerly region, they will return to Nova Scotia on the ferry departing from Channel-Port aux Basques, re-attach their trailer and press on. They have been just about everywhere and appear to be enjoying it immensely. We had fun exchanging travel tales. For dinner tonight in this motel’s pleasant dining room both June and I have jumbo shrimp cocktails along with a bowl of Newfoundland pea soup and iced tea for her, and for me it’s a bowl of seafood chowder and coffee. It has been a rather long but a very good day! 9/8/97 - MON. We have a granola bar and orange juice from our cooler, pick up a couple of Cappuccinos at a nearby Irving station and will stop later for a seaside breakfast along Highway 430. Defined for tourists as the Viking Trail, it is a 265-mile drive from Deer Lake to St. Anthony near the northern tip of this peninsula - - and which averages about 45 miles in width. The interior is a seldom penetrated wilderness of low mountains, lakes and rivers. There is no complete north-south road route other than Highway 430. After meandering through Gros Morne National Park we pass Rocky Harbour by 10 AM. From here northward, this good two-lane asphalt highway will be quite flat as it hugs the rugged sand and stone beaches along the Gulf of St. Lawrence to our left. At the tiny coastal community of St. Paul we pause for breakfast at a new motel. Our objective today is to assimilate the sights along the way and make steady headway for 190 miles past quaint coastal communities so we will arrive at St. Barb’s ferry landing by 2 PM - - and we do. Here we board the MS Northern Princess for its 90-minute voyage across the Strait of Belle Isle to Blanc Sablon QB. This 225 ft. vessel can accommodate 240 passengers and 55 vehicles. Its seasonal operating schedule begins May 1st and ends sometime after December 25th depending upon weather and ice conditions. I made our motel and round-trip ferry reservations by telephone last January. One of the couples making this crossing lives in Jefferson City MO. The wife is from a town near Wichita KS, taught for awhile at my Wyandotte High School in the 1960’s and owned her own dress shop in the 1980’s. The two couples we met at Deer Lake driving the F350 also are on board. Small world! Westward from Blanc Sablon the road soon peters out. However, we are here to head eastward to visit several historic Labrador fishing villages (their total population is about 2,300) with origins dating as far back as the 1500’s. They are linked by this good asphalt road known as Highway 510 which ends at Red Bay LB just 50 miles up the pike. This area is known as the Labrador Straits. Do you gather that this is a rather isolated region to which I have been attracted? Would you have expected anything less? Soon we are in Labrador and at L’Anse au Clair (Clair’s Cove) we pause to check in at the Northern Lights Inn ($57 US). This community dates back to 1702. Its first church has been restored as a Visitors Center. Climate in this region is characterized by short cool summers and long cold winters during which these coves and harbors become ice-bound. Annual snowfall averages 15 ft. The ground usually is white from late November to early May. Frost is possible at any time of the year. The sky is overcast but not threatening and I’m comfortable in a long sleeve shirt and jacket as we head toward Red Bay. After passing Forteau and English Point we can see Atlantic Canada’s tallest lighthouse (109 ft.) at Point Amour - - one of three built in the 1850’s to guide shipping through the Strait of Belle Isle. Its lighting apparatus has evolved from one which originally burned whale oil, and then kerosene, and finally to the present electrical system. Near L’Anse Amour a rock-covered burial mound was discovered. It was the grave of a young Indian boy who lived here about 7,500 years ago. His body was found wrapped in a shroud of bark or hide and placed face down with his head toward the west - - North America’s oldest funeral monument. There is a museum nearby containing artifacts plus other interesting items used by early European settlers. Soon we are wandering through L’Anse au Loup which is this regions largest community (population 650). After the end of the last Ice Age about 9,000 years ago and to the present, Indian and then European residents of this region have depended upon the rich resources of the sea. During the past 400 years Basque, French, English and Jersey fishermen harvested fish, seals and whales for export to world markets. The ancestors of today’s residents primarily were settlers from Newfoundland and Great Britain. The dominate feature of this landscape is the vast expanse of treeless barrens mixed with dwarfed evergreen forests know as “tuckamore”. This is a Newfoundland term for the stunted balsam fir and spruce trees growing in alpine areas along this coast. Frost and wind nip back the growing tips of the branches, and their ground-hugging profile is molded by the wind. On these exposed sites, tuckamore can form impenetrable elfin forests. The most evident roadside wild flowers are fireweed, buttercups, yarrow and cow parsnip. In sandy areas near beaches one may see wild irises, beach peas, silverweed, harebells, purple vetch, oyster-leaf and a yellow sunflower-like plant called beachside senecio. Edible wild berries such as bakeapple (cloudberry) and partridgeberry grow here, too. For typical tourists from afar, bleak and lonesome and forlorn are words they might use to describe this landscape. However, as one approaches and then crosses the beautiful whitewater Pinware River the scenery becomes absolutely gorgeous as interpreted by our eyes - - forests of pine trees, lakes, ponds and stunning rocks. In her trip log June describes the rocky embankments along this part of the road as being among the most interesting and colorful she has seen - - and we stop so she can collect several beauties. Soon we arrive at the top of a gentle hill where a sign says “Welcome to Red Bay - - World Whaling Capital - - AD 1550 to 1600”. Yes, Red Bay can be thought of as Canada’s first industrial complex. In the early 1500’s the Basques discovered the rich sea mammal resources of the Labrador Straits. By about 1550 they had established numerous stations along this coast for the production of whale oil. The largest and busiest port was Red Bay where thousands of Basque whalers made it their seasonal home while hunting Bowhead and Right whales and refining the valuable oil for European markets. More than 15 years of archaeological research has uncovered the remains of some 20 whaling stations at Red Bay. Underwater explorations in the harbor have led to the discovery of three Basque galleons and several small boats which are the best preserved examples of 16th century vessels of the New World. Yes, this little village we now are entering is a unique North American historical landmark. It is dusk and we are ready for a hearty dinner at the Whaler’s Restaurant and Gift Shop overlooking the bay. A small freighter enters and then ties up at Red Bay’s dock as we arrive. Lo and behold - - we’ve just noticed there is an iceberg right outside the harbor’s entrance! Later June is delighted to discover that the ice in the glass of tea she is drinking was chipped from an iceberg! In the winter they go out and get large chunks, rinse the salt water off of them, chip them into cube size, put them in plastic bags and then store these in their freezer for use throughout the year. The icebergs which pass this region originate in Greenland. It takes each one an average of three years to get here on its 1,800 mile journey. On the other hand, it took them an average of about 12,000 years to form before they embarked on their voyage. They are the purest natural form of water on earth. Our dinners are delicious and feature deep-fried cod for June and scallops for me - - plus baked potatoes, thick slices of homemade bread and a piece of fresh bakeapple pie for the road. This restaurant is owned and operated by a delightful family. Tonight the wife is doing the cooking, the husband is providing us with interesting facts and conversation and, upon discovering that June loves to collect rocks, their young daughter Amy has retrieved some that she has collected so she can show them to June. The wife says that during the peak season she has at least three other people helping her and they hardly can keep up. What a wonderful time we have together! Yes, we as visitors certainly are enjoying the friendly and hospitable nature of all the delightful local people we have been meeting. Rather fittingly, we and the little freighter are departing from Red Bay at the same time. I noticed the owner chuckled as I unlocked our van to climb aboard - - and I asked him why. He pointed to his truck parked nearby and told me that since he bought it five years ago the key never has been out of the ignition - - and that around here they don’t lock their doors at home, either. I told him that’s pretty much how it was in our neighborhood when I was a youngster back in the 30’s and 40’s - - but unfortunately our trusting habits had to change. I asked him (as well as several others along the Labrador Straits) how often they cross over to the other side each year to go shopping or whatever. The typical response was a couple of times. I’d take that as indicative they love and prefer their way of life here. Interesting? The owner also has told us not to worry about running into a moose on tonight’s 50-mile drive in the dark back to our motel as he never has seen one along that route in 17 years - - night or day. In the higher elevations we encounter some fog but it dissipates by the time we descend into L’Anse au Loup. By 9:45 PM we safely are settling into our very pleasant room #106 at the Northern Lights Inn where its many amenities include satellite TV. So here we are on a Monday night many thousands of miles from home in an immensely remote area of Labrador and holed up in a motel facing 50 miles of road which peters out and connects to nowhere at both ends. What can we do to pass some time? Watch Monday night football, of course (and featuring our Kansas City Chiefs and the Oakland Raiders) - - just like our far less adventurous friends back home plus millions of others are doing! The only difference is that when KC wins this game by one point on an 80 yard drive in the last 57 seconds, it is 2 AM here due to the time differential. But so what! We can sleep in late tomorrow because our ferry does not depart until noon. 9/9/97 - TUE. After breakfast at our motel we use our time this morning to visit nearby places of interest including the Labrador Museum before boarding our ferry. With sunny weather and satin seas our crossing is delightful. At St. Barb we head north on Highway 430 toward St. Anthony which is about a 75-mile drive. At Flower’s Cove we top off our tank and then enjoy lunch at the Silver Spoon Restaurant - - peach linens, chandeliers, spotlessly clean, a seaside view and a wonderful waitress who is studying geology. After passing through several tiny fishing communities such as Nameless Cove and Savage Cove, the highway turns inland at Eddies Cove and then re-emerges along rugged bays at the northern tip of this peninsula. Along the highway between St. Barbe and Eddies Cove the Strait of Belle Isle ranges from 9 to 17 miles in width and one easily can see across it. In the far distance along the Labrador side we spotted two more icebergs. Although we try, by 5 PM the site of the Viking ruins is closed for the day. However, in doing so we do get a good overview of what this region is like - - its tiny villages on the water, craft shops, neat little homes and the topography. Meanwhile, the weather has become unsettled, misty and windy. So we do the wise thing and head for the pleasant Vinland Motel ($51 US), check in and have dinner in their dining room. Although downstairs they have an exercise room, sauna and Laundromat facilities for guests, we opt for a good night of rest in our very comfortable quarters. 9/10/97 - WED. Today’s weather has begun very much as it left off last evening - - potentially tempestuous. After fortifying ourselves with breakfast at our motel we bundle up and head for one of the highlights to visit in this area called Grenfell House Museum. Among the early pioneers and heroes of this region, Dr. Wilfred Grenfell and his wife Anne are the most revered. In 1892 Grenfell went to Newfoundland on a Mission ship and was so appalled by the poverty and conditions he encountered that he returned the following year with two other doctors and two nurses. During the forty years which followed, he and his wife devoted their lives to medical and missionary work here, and which gradually resulted in the formation of a system of health care delivery and related services renowned the world over. Completed in 1910, their lovely home has been restored to authentically present and takes its visitors back to that bygone era. Our primary reason for coming to this remote corner of the Western Hemisphere is to see where June’s and my Viking ancestors landed and lived almost 1,000 years ago - - a site known as L’Anse aux Meadows. The story begins in the year 986 when Bjarni Herjolfsson, a Viking trader, was blown off course on a voyage from Iceland to Greenland. Upon finally making port in Greenland, he reported seeing three new lands now believed to be northern and southern Labrador and Newfoundland. Other Vikings followed around the year 1000 such as Leif and Thorvald Eirksson and Thorfinn Karlsefni with their own expeditions. Although recorded in Norse Sagas, it was not until 1960 that Norwegian historian Helge Instad met a fisherman here named George Decker who showed him what local residents thought might be an ancient aboriginal camp. Helge and his wife Anne then excavated the site and instead found remnants of Viking sod huts! Subsequent excavations by the Ingstads and Parks Canada uncovered artifacts which prove conclusively that the Vikings established a settlement in North America and lived here for awhile five centuries before the voyages of Christopher Columbus, John Cabot and other 15th century explorers! In wind and mist, June and I have a brisk time learning about and strolling this site. With bushy beard and all the appropriate trappings, a local historian plays the role of Bjorn the Beautiful along with two women who depict his wife and their slave girl. When we enter their sod house, a crackling fire greets us, and over which the women are preparing soup in an iron pot. With Viking-age tales plus replicas of tools and weapons, they provide a real life interpretation which adds fun and knowledge to our total experience. By the way, evidence of a Viking forge at this site indicates this probably was the first place in the New World where iron was smelted. This visit ranks as one of the major highlights of our trip. After collecting several rocks, June purchases some pins at the Stagehead Carving Shop where the owner Norm Young specializes in carvings made from whale bone. It must age for at least 50 years to be useable, and it is becoming much more difficult to find because, due to the moratorium on fishing for cod, more local people are entering this craft. At 2 PM we begin heading south on Highway 430 to retrace our 225-mile path to Rocky Harbour. I notice that St. Anthony’s airport is 30 miles away from the city - - apparently because this is the nearest suitable terrain for building it. Except when passing through small communities, we can chug along comfortably at 65 mph on our journey today. In the ditch along either side of this highway and usually miles from the nearest home, one often will see a private vegetable garden growing in the soil. Especially toward the northern end of this peninsula it appears that soil for growing crops is quite rare, so the local residents efficiently utilize any soil which does exist - - including along the roadside. Also, here the natural vegetation appears far more stressed than farther south toward Rocky Harbour. By watching closely, one will notice a gradual transition to much taller and denser stands of pine trees as well as occasional ponds and streams. We also see countless wooden lobster traps in large stacks of a hundred or more near the road. Bleached driftwood in profusion lies all along the rocky beaches to our right. As evening approaches we notice many people are out taking a brisk stroll. Interestingly, at least 90% of them are women and I have not seen a slim one yet - - or a chubby one. Instead, I’d describe them as fit, formidable and probably lots of fun. Another of my observations involves wondering why almost 100% of the homes are built of wood when there is so much rock in this region for building a very formidable one requiring little exterior maintenance. I never get a definitive answer, but it must relate to economics. How fortunate we are! Upon tuning our radio to the evening newscast out of Corner Brook we learn that the Northern Princess ferry broke down today with steering plus other mechanical and electrical problems - - and that tourists, tour busses and locals are stranded on both sides of the strait! Although they have effected repairs and are on a test run, the news is that the Coast Guard will not allow them to transport passengers until they are absolutely convinced all is well. The newscast went on to say that during this season the Northern Princess has suffered a rash of mechanical problems resulting in delayed service. The sky has continued to clear as we have been heading southward today. At Lobster Cove just north of Rocky Harbour we pause to relish one of the most gorgeous sunsets either of us has ever witnessed - - simply awesome in it magnificence! During its final crescendo the rays of the sun make the bottom of a continuous layer of rippling clouds resemble a blanket of bubbles of countless hues - - orange, peach, cerise, turquoise, lavender and purple - - and below this extravaganza a sailboat and two trawlers are passing by on totally tranquil waters near the point of land where the lighthouse at Lobster Cove stands guard. As also is true of the life each of us lives, no two sunsets ever turn out to be exactly the same. This one certainly rates a perfect 10! My first question when we arrive at the Ocean View Motel ($46 US) at 8:15 PM is whether their lovely dining room still is serving. Thank goodness the answer is yes! Located on the second floor with a magnificent view of the harbor, this is a very special setting. Here we splurge on one of the nicest dining experiences of our trip ($40 US including tip) and it is worth every penny. June’s choice is a glass of white wine, Caesar salad and deep-fried fresh jumbo shrimp. For me it’s steamed mussels in garlic butter followed by a succulent platter of seafood and plenty of their good coffee. We have fun comparing notes and chatting with the couple from Jefferson City MO that we met on the ferry to Blanc Sablon. They, too, are having a wonderful time and tonight will continue on to Deer Lake where their fifth-wheel RV trailer is parked. Our room is lovely with conveniences which include an outside and an inside entry door - - and our picture window provides, like the hotel’s name suggests, a beautiful view of the water. Yes, it has been another good day! 9/11/97 - THU. A quick peek out our window this morning provides a beautiful sight - - sunshine, a cloudless sky, no wind, and colorfully-painted fishing boats docked nearby that are transposing their images onto the mirror-like waters of the bay. After orange juice and checking out, we head next door to the Fisherman’s Restaurant for a good breakfast. Yes, we like to try many different places. Next, we fill up at Esso with fuel which translates to $1.96 US/gallon. Today’s destination is Channel-Port aux Basques 180 miles southward. Our first stop is the Gros Morne Visitors Center a short drive south of Rocky Harbour. Here we spend about an hour enjoying it descriptive displays and slide presentations about this national park which now is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Our original plan for this morning was to take the 10 AM boat tour of Western Brook Pond where I’ve heard that the scenic wilderness views rival those of Norway’s fjords. We scratched this plan for three reasons. First, there is no morning tour being offered this late in the season - - and taking the afternoon tour would not allow us to move on until very late in the day. Second, it is about a 45-minute walk from the road to where one boards the boat for this tour, and this is not a good idea upon considering June’s still rather sore leg. Third, our good camera no longer is working so we need to shop for a new one - - and Corner Brook is recommended as the best place to find a good selection. Anyway, to me it appears that this park is best enjoyed by and suited for those who are into hiking and camping - - which we are not. Combined with the fact that circumstances precluded us from doing the highly touted Western Brook Pond tour, we came away not immensely awed and impressed by Gros Morne. At Deer Lake we switch to the TCH and soon arrive at Corner Brook which is Newfoundland’s second largest city. Here we head for a large indoor shopping mall where Sears and K-Mart are two of the anchor stores. While June has her glasses adjusted, I check out places that sell cameras. The camera we decide upon is a Canon Sure Shot 60 Zoom at West Coast Photo for the equivalent of $145 US excluding tax. It will serve our needs quite well. One can buy the same camera in the USA for $100 excluding tax. June also purchased a good looking and very practical yellow windbreaker with a hood. The remaining jaunt on the TCH to Channel-Port aux Basques is an unusually pleasant one. The surface of this highway usually is silky smooth and very courteous drivers are tooling along at 65 to 70 mph. Most of the landscape is rolling, semi-mountainous terrain covered by dense spruce forests and an occasional dark blue lake. Some of the vistas convey the impression that you are looking at a lofty horizon perhaps 50 or so miles away. What a piece of cake this route is compared to our road warrior adventure up to and across central Labrador! In retrospect and with compassion, I can not recommend that Labrador acid test to either the faint of heart or to har-har-Harley riders. Just before arriving in Channel-Port aux Basques I notice a sign which says, “This is your last stop to pick up a treat for your voyage - - at SUBWAY!” A treat? In jest they surely speak! They make it sound like we will be boarding a wooden raft where one must gnaw on salt pork and beef jerky for sustenance. I think not! By the way, in this region where the term “Basques” often is used it seems that nobody is clear about its meaning. Many tell me it’s probably just another word for Spanish people. If so, why don’t they just write or say “Spaniards” instead of “Basques” - - such as Channel-Port Aux Spaniards? Being curious by nature, my reference books tell me that Basques are a people of unknown origin inhabiting the western Pyrenees mountains and the Bay of Biscay in France and Spain - - and presently they number about two million. They are believed to be the oldest ethnic group in Europe, and since Paleolithic times the Basques have been genetically and culturally distinct. In other words, it appears that Basques date back to eras before there was a Spain or a France. Interesting - - at least to me. Our first stop is the ferry terminal to purchase our confirmed tickets for the 8 AM departure of the MV Caribou to North Sydney in Nova Scotia tomorrow morning. From this terminal it is just a three-minute drive to the St. Christopher’s Hotel ($50 US) where we are staying tonight and which overlooks the harbor. Simultaneous with our arrival, from its parking lot we watch and photograph the MV Smallwood as she comes into port, turns on a dime and prepares to offload. This is the other huge Atlantic Marine ferry which makes the run between here and North Sydney. Then it’s off to dinner in the motel’s restaurant where for entrees I chose pork chops and June selects cordon bleu. Could this be indicative that we are tiring of seafood? No way! Just as we finish dining and enter the lobby the desk clerk calls out and says we have a telephone call. What an exciting relief to discover it is June’s son Steve calling all the way from Denver! He just returned from a week in Nantucket to meet his girlfriend’s family, and he wants to hear how things are going. How thoughtful! We talked for quite awhile! The desk clerk checked for us and found that the local laundramat closed tonight at 6 PM. So instead of washing clothes we cruise the town , shop for some basics and return with the impression that it is not especially attractive - - so let’s just substitute “quaint”. To be fresh for tomorrow we retire early. I have requested a wakeup call and set my wrist alarm for 6:15 AM as we have been instructed to be at the terminal by 7 AM. 9/12/97 - FRI. On a trip to use the bathroom at 4:30 AM, I take a peek out the window and see another tourist already is loading gear into his car. Good grief! Unable to go back to sleep, at 5:30 AM I quietly get up, shower, shave and dress and soon am outdoors taking photographs before the dawn breaks - - most unusual for me, but exhilarating. By now others are loading their vehicles and walking their dogs. The temperature is about 45 degrees and early indications are it will be a very nice day. The emphasis on all passengers and vehicles being at the terminal by no later than 7 AM does not seem to correlate with the fact that only one of the four gates is open to check everyone through. Finally they do open a second gate. Of course, they know exactly what they are doing because all vehicles and passengers are on board in plenty of time for our ship to pull away from the dock at 8 AM sharp. Soon we are topside and sitting down in this vessel’s huge dining room after selecting breakfast from an enormous variety of tempting items - - cafeteria style. Take along a treat from Subway? They must be kidding! The MV Caribou was designed and built in 1986 especially for Marine Atlantic ferry service on the run we are making today. Some of its vital statistics are length 587 ft., width 82 ft., passengers 1,200, vehicles 370 (or 77 tractor trailers), four main engines rated at 7,000 horsepower each, crew of 112 (summer) or 73 (winter). One of its unique features is a bow which opens and raises hydraulically (plus the normal loading ramps and doors found at the stern of most ferries) so vehicles can load at or depart from either end. While having lunch we struck up an interesting conversation with a pleasant shipboard employee named Eric who works in food service and is taking his break. Shortly before arriving in port he took us in tow to show us the best places to enjoy watching and photographing the docking procedure - - and then he escorted us all the way down to the car deck where we took photographs and wished each other cheerful good-byes. We have a silky smooth five-hour crossing on this gorgeous sunny day. The cost was $68 US ($13/per person plus $42 to transport our van). Like I have said before, taking car ferries can add wonderful min-cruise dimensions to one’s road adventures. On this journey we will do a total of six of these voyages. As we wait to rumble off the MV Caribou and begin the next phase of this great road journey I notice our odometer now registers 186,410 miles. A little math tells us that we already have driven 4,410 miles since leaving Kansas City. Furthermore, we have spent 45 hours aboard ferries which translate to approximately 800 miles by water - - a total of 5,115 miles - - and still there remains so much more for us to see. Adelante! ================ This year of 2001? North to Yellowknife, NWT! |
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