In the morning, we went to Cape Spear, the easternmost point of North America. In order to get there, we had to cross to the Southside of St John's, where the shipyards are, and ascend a hill in the dense fog. We passed the small community of Blackhead, with its one-room schoolhouse, and reached the head of the cape. In addition to the fog, there was a lot of wind. Mom took a picture of me, but then the camera gave out.
Next we went back through St John's up to Cabot Tower on the northern heights of St John's harbor. Here Marconi recieved the first transatlantic wireless message.The fog was so dense that Mom remained in the car while I looked over the site.
After we had descended gingerly and slowly, mowing down no hikers, we headed out of town past a grim industrial "park" called Logy Bay. We soon reached the more scenic outport of Outer Cove, which contended in the St John's Regatta with the men of Bay Bulls. The scenery held up through Middle Cove, and Torbay was also attractive. The outport of Flat Rock had a shrine modeled on Lourdes, a memento of John Paul II's visit to Newfoundland.
We went through at Pouch (pron. 'pooch') Bay. We didn't go berry-picking in Biscayan Cove, although it is known for that.
Evidence of building was rife throughout the ridge between Pouch Cove and Bauline, which lies on Conception Bay, down a steep and winding track, studded with pines.
We lunched at Portugal Cove, looking out at the ferry to Bell Island and the island itself. Bell Island features the longest submarine (=underwater) mines which extend for miles under the ocean. There are also some German subs sunk in WWII.
The drive from Portugal Cove to Holyrood was almost entirely suburban, but Mom did notice the lumpy misshapen bulk of the Butter Pot. Holyrood, at the head of Conception Bay, provided slightly askew of straight view of the bay. We did not return via the TransCanada Highway. but took the road to Witless Bay and Bay Bulls. The route was littered with RV parks and repurposed schoolbuses and more (fishing?) huts.
Saturday, June 2, 2007
Touring Newfoundland: Part II
The next day we took to the road. We went south, past the outport of Bay Bulls to Witless Bay. There we had tea at the recommendation of Vernon, one of the fellow conference attendees. Gull Island was visible from the balcony of the Witless Bay cafe. It was rather chilly outside.
We continued south to Ferryland (which has nothing to do with fairies, Faery, or ferries - English Ferryland came from Portuguese Farilham from French Farillon, akin to California's Farallones). There we first came upon the RC church, currently under repair, and viewed the jagged, treacherous rocks on the north side of the cove. Isle au Bois was free of tree, but presumable made that way by man. Further south, there were several other islands, and to the south of all, the Downs, a massive headland extended from a narrow isthmus. On the north (leeward) side of the Downs, a small cluster of buildings huddled around a harbor, called the Pool.
The church was of much more recent provenance, but the two workman assented (with thick brogues) to let us survey their handiwork. I'd never seen so many statues of saints!
We found the Visitor Center for the Colony of Avalon, the archeological site and original settlement on the lee of the Downs. Our guide was a local young woman named Andrea, who admitted that today was unseasonably cold. We crossed the isthmus onto the Downs. The archeological site was still surrounded by the houses of locals, who, rather surprisingly, were cooperating with the archaeologists. The first Lord Baltimore had founded Avalon (from the Avalon Peninsula derives its name) as a utopian colony comprised of both Protestants and Catholics, with freedom of worship. The site on the lee of the Downs protected it from the worst of the Atlantic winds; there was only one (southern) safe passage into the harbor, and another into the Pool; the isthmus could be blockaded effectively. The admixture of the two sects didn't work. Baltimore's colony was hijacked by David Kirke, sparking a series of lawsuits which extended to the next generation; the second Lord Baltimore prefered his colony of Maryland, but never relinquished his claim on Avalon (look on the Maryland state seal). On a more prosaic note, the colony featured the first working lavaratory, which was tidally powered.
We passed Renews, where the Pilgrims landed to restock. It is striking that the standard histories omit this, prefering to perpetuate the falsehood that the Pilgrims went straight to Plymouth Rock. Renews was also the home of a local Newfoundland hero, who swam twenty-seven times to a wreck, rescuing one person each time.
The road around Chance Cove towards Portugal Cove South (Portugual Cove is north-west) of St John's curved west through barren, boggy landscapes. There were, however, several huts in the midst of this wilderness. There is a track from Portugal Cove South to the ship-wrecking Cape Race and Mistaken Point Ecological Reserve, wherein lie the oldest fossils of North America.
Once we reached Biscay Bay (a town), we had lunch, looking south across the Atlantic, and then moved on to Trepassey. Trepassey's name comes from the use of "tre'passe'" by French fishermen to describe the departed. We climbed up to Trepassey Battery, built by the English. We continued through somewhat hillier country to Peters River (the town, St Stephen's and St Vincent's, where many whale-watching tours depart. The most striking feature of the region, however, is Holyrood Pond. 'Pond' in this dialect means a freshwater lake, but Holyrood Pond is so grand and extended so far into the bulk of the Avalon Peninsula that the town of Path End, which is on it, is the only inland fishing port (although Path End is connected to the outport of St Mary's.
After we had passed through St Mary's, we went north towards St Catherine's and Salmonier. We crossed the forested interion between Salmonier and Hawke Hill Archaeological Reserve, traversed the Butter Pot Barrens, and returned to St John's via Mount Pearl, "the city within a park".
We continued south to Ferryland (which has nothing to do with fairies, Faery, or ferries - English Ferryland came from Portuguese Farilham from French Farillon, akin to California's Farallones). There we first came upon the RC church, currently under repair, and viewed the jagged, treacherous rocks on the north side of the cove. Isle au Bois was free of tree, but presumable made that way by man. Further south, there were several other islands, and to the south of all, the Downs, a massive headland extended from a narrow isthmus. On the north (leeward) side of the Downs, a small cluster of buildings huddled around a harbor, called the Pool.
The church was of much more recent provenance, but the two workman assented (with thick brogues) to let us survey their handiwork. I'd never seen so many statues of saints!
We found the Visitor Center for the Colony of Avalon, the archeological site and original settlement on the lee of the Downs. Our guide was a local young woman named Andrea, who admitted that today was unseasonably cold. We crossed the isthmus onto the Downs. The archeological site was still surrounded by the houses of locals, who, rather surprisingly, were cooperating with the archaeologists. The first Lord Baltimore had founded Avalon (from the Avalon Peninsula derives its name) as a utopian colony comprised of both Protestants and Catholics, with freedom of worship. The site on the lee of the Downs protected it from the worst of the Atlantic winds; there was only one (southern) safe passage into the harbor, and another into the Pool; the isthmus could be blockaded effectively. The admixture of the two sects didn't work. Baltimore's colony was hijacked by David Kirke, sparking a series of lawsuits which extended to the next generation; the second Lord Baltimore prefered his colony of Maryland, but never relinquished his claim on Avalon (look on the Maryland state seal). On a more prosaic note, the colony featured the first working lavaratory, which was tidally powered.
We passed Renews, where the Pilgrims landed to restock. It is striking that the standard histories omit this, prefering to perpetuate the falsehood that the Pilgrims went straight to Plymouth Rock. Renews was also the home of a local Newfoundland hero, who swam twenty-seven times to a wreck, rescuing one person each time.
The road around Chance Cove towards Portugal Cove South (Portugual Cove is north-west) of St John's curved west through barren, boggy landscapes. There were, however, several huts in the midst of this wilderness. There is a track from Portugal Cove South to the ship-wrecking Cape Race and Mistaken Point Ecological Reserve, wherein lie the oldest fossils of North America.
Once we reached Biscay Bay (a town), we had lunch, looking south across the Atlantic, and then moved on to Trepassey. Trepassey's name comes from the use of "tre'passe'" by French fishermen to describe the departed. We climbed up to Trepassey Battery, built by the English. We continued through somewhat hillier country to Peters River (the town, St Stephen's and St Vincent's, where many whale-watching tours depart. The most striking feature of the region, however, is Holyrood Pond. 'Pond' in this dialect means a freshwater lake, but Holyrood Pond is so grand and extended so far into the bulk of the Avalon Peninsula that the town of Path End, which is on it, is the only inland fishing port (although Path End is connected to the outport of St Mary's.
After we had passed through St Mary's, we went north towards St Catherine's and Salmonier. We crossed the forested interion between Salmonier and Hawke Hill Archaeological Reserve, traversed the Butter Pot Barrens, and returned to St John's via Mount Pearl, "the city within a park".
Friday, June 1, 2007
Touring Newfoundland: Part I
I keep forgetting my notes, so I'll do it from memory. The first day of touring (after the conference, where my sparkling wit was absent from the podium) saw Mom and I going to see the puffins in the afternoon. In the morning, we walked around St John's, along the aptly named 'jellybean row' composed of houses, each a different color, and yet not provoking the apocalypse which neighborhood committees so fear. The close packing of the churches was conspicuous, and the names of the two cathedals (Anglican and RC) seemed a sign of silent provocation.
In the afternoon, we boarded a van with several other remnants of the conference and their significant others and headed south to the town of Bay Bulls. This was the first Mom and I had left the confines of St John's. At Bay Bulls, we embarked. Our guide ws Deirdre, a local young woman. We rounded the southern cape, because the destination was directly in front of Witless Bay, the next cove to the south, which possessed its own outport (which means "not St John's" in the Newfoundland dialect). Someone had seen whales off St John's the week before, but these were probably the first of the season.
We arrived at Gull Island, where the puffins resided, rather swiftly. There was no stench, despite the densely packed birds and the puffins' habit of reinforcing their burrows with their own excrement. The puffins were ungainly in flight, but masters of diving, even compared to the other birds in the island. The herring gulls knew the fishing superiority of the puffins, and therefore waited outside puffin burrows to steal the catch. A different species of gull specialized in consuming puffins mid-air; each of these gulls ate six puffins a day. A third species of gull, the kittiwakes, preferred the small ledges of the island to raise their young; even though the kittiwake egg was shaped to guard against calamity, the mothers hatched up to six per season - which raises some doubt about the evolutionary efficacy of egg shape.
In the afternoon, we boarded a van with several other remnants of the conference and their significant others and headed south to the town of Bay Bulls. This was the first Mom and I had left the confines of St John's. At Bay Bulls, we embarked. Our guide ws Deirdre, a local young woman. We rounded the southern cape, because the destination was directly in front of Witless Bay, the next cove to the south, which possessed its own outport (which means "not St John's" in the Newfoundland dialect). Someone had seen whales off St John's the week before, but these were probably the first of the season.
We arrived at Gull Island, where the puffins resided, rather swiftly. There was no stench, despite the densely packed birds and the puffins' habit of reinforcing their burrows with their own excrement. The puffins were ungainly in flight, but masters of diving, even compared to the other birds in the island. The herring gulls knew the fishing superiority of the puffins, and therefore waited outside puffin burrows to steal the catch. A different species of gull specialized in consuming puffins mid-air; each of these gulls ate six puffins a day. A third species of gull, the kittiwakes, preferred the small ledges of the island to raise their young; even though the kittiwake egg was shaped to guard against calamity, the mothers hatched up to six per season - which raises some doubt about the evolutionary efficacy of egg shape.
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