While riding through town I was amazed when the B&B I photographed last time had their sheets flying in the same spot as if time had stood still. It was imperative that I stop for a duplicate photo.
The town most associated with Gros Morne is Rocky Harbor. Historically a rich fishing and sealing community, the town now thrives on tourism to the park and surrounding ecosystems. The fishery still exists at the end of the road and is a great place for some of the fes hest seafood on the coast. I wish I had a cooler to keep it in and stove to do it justice.
While riding through town I was amazed when the B&B I photographed last time had their sheets flying in the same spot as if time had stood still. It was imperative that I stop for a duplicate photo.
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The Gros Morne National park is one of the gems of the island and should be on any nature lovers bucket list. The distinct geologic formations and exquisite flora and fauna combine to form an unforgettable wonderland quite closer to mainland North America than most exotic eco-destinations.
Gros Morne is nestled in the Long Range Mountains where the oceanic plate meets the continental plate. Their collision combined with glacial erosion and harsh weathering produce a spectacular range of ecosystems. Coastal marine plants transition to a boreal forest, taiga and finally the southernmost extent of a truly arctic ecosystem atop Gros Morne Mountain. Arctic hare, fox, lynx and Ptarmigan survive in this vestige of the last ice age. As the second highest mountain on the island at 806m, it's grandeur is made even more so by the relief from sea level only 20 miles distant. I began the hike in a shirt but the steady grade and warm sunshine compelled me to keep the clothes dry. Green Point, a small fishing community on the sea stands against all odds of time and weather. The sturdy homes and small boat sheds are all but lost to the memories of those who built them with their visions of the sea. Stoves rust away under dripping holes where the absent stovepipes once stood. Old canned goods and utensils rust in a stasis where ghostly fingers placed them in time. The opening and closing of waves on the rocky shore is a timeless sound the residents knew well. That and the howling songs of the wind.
The headland is of geological significance as an internationally recognized stratigraphical bearing for the meeting of Cambrian and Precambrian strata. Once horizontal, tectonic upheaval and weathering has exposed a magnificent example of sedimentary time. The history lesson and time of man is only a slight inch on this scale of hundreds of meters of exposed rock. The age of our earth and the temporary blip of my existence is quite real in the face of such a display. A rain storm passes and briefly a prism of rainbow appears and is gone into the darkness of coming night on the sea. I erect my hammock in the lee of a half built boat shed and read The Shipping News with the salty sea air carrying the cries of gulls overhead. This is Newfoundland. The sun had set and a few drops of rain had started to fall on the darkening coastline. I had begun searching for a place to camp along the water but the dense short trees made it difficult to find a suitable spot to hang my hammock. In Parson's Pond, I pulled in to the picnic area to have a snack when a blue Toyota truck loaded with driftwood pulled in beside me. I had noticed the driver loading it up a few miles back up the Viking Trail (Hwy 430). "Hey me b'y, you's looking fer a place to camp? Follow me!" I had only to warn him my top speed was limited to 70kph and was soon off following the red brake lights into the darkness. Soon we arrived at a garage outside Three Mile Rock where a horse grazed on the shoulder. I stopped to introduce myself to Reuben, a Toyota enthusiast evidenced by his many Toyota tattoos on hands, arm and neck. My kinda guy! He showed me around back near the horse corral where two perfectly spaced spruce trees would provide my hammock a home. Old Ski-Doo's rusted beneath the nearby pine bows and the dim hum of a radio inside the garage mixed with the sound of the surf in the night air. Reuben brought me into his well appointed garage and showed me his mini bike hiding in the back. He led the horses around to the corral as I set up my hammock then bid me a good night. It was all the better to be asleep beside my equine companions as it helped mask my own scent of dirty socks and musty down sleeping bag. Ahhh life on the road. Rain dripped onto my hammock with the first light of morning sifting through damp dandelions. The horse whinnied and in the distance I swore I could hear a rooster crow. What a relaxing night in the rain, dry in my hammock. I packed up and headed inside his home for a cup of coffee, some cookies and crackers - breakfast of champions and many Newfoundlanders I've found! We shared a few stories before heading out to unload the collection of driftwood from the back of one of his many mid 90's Toyota Trucks. He impressed me with the remarkably low cost he paid for each, few more than $500, some as low as $100, yet all showing some age and much potential for future work as a plow truck or grocery getter. The rain picked up so I pushed the scooter into the garage bay and spent the morning being introduced to a variety of friends who stopped by on their way to Corner Brook or farther south. To my surprise he knew both Steve and Ralph, my new friends up near Bartlett`s Harbor and Shoal Cove. It truly is a small world on the coast of Newfoundland!
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Mike SaundersIn May 2014 I quit my job to ride a Honda Ruckus over 69'000 mi and counting. Wild camping most nights and cooking most of my own meals, I keep the costs low and the landscape changing. Archives
April 2018
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