The mantra from the crew when heading out for another morning of exploring was – is there another road that we can go along.

Nope.

The province is like this there is one road to where you want to go – well once out of the greater St. John’s area. There is the possibility of making a circular trip but there are no options on what route. Trepassey? Route 10. Corner Brook? The TCH. Woody Point? Route 431.

I also realise that at times it could be quite frustrating, Route 20 to Pouch Cove but the lack of options went without notice. There was a reassurance of marking distance by familiar points passed and their change over time coupled with the amount of roadside attractions – Best Friends Restaurant in Cape Broyle, the Last Supper Mural, the erratics of the Gambo River.

Because of this I wondered why another road was needed when I felt that I hadn’t really seen Route 430 enough, the fishing areas still within the park, the towns along the road, the lobster pot storage area north of Port au Choix. I did note that I hated the trip between Rocky Harbour and Woody Point but this was more from me wanting to get to the turn off rather than anything really wrong with the road. It was the western equivalent of Route 20 – one day I’ll stop along that when not in a hurry to get into town or out to Pouch Cove.

Hitting the States, I noticed this urge to see what the optional routes would be like as I realised that there were options. I am sure that there were options once I left the island especially once off Cape Breton but I only realised this once I saw U.S. 1 in Calais Maine and realised that it was the same road that passed the house where I was born.

Here in the States there is a history of road “improvements” that don’t necessarily widen the existing road but build a new one that more or less parallels it at a reasonable distance. In this case U.S. 1 and I-95. Being more efficient, however, the newer roads are stripped of all things interesting.

Taking State Road 9 from Calais to Bangor, I saw old motels, non chain restaurants, towns. Needs were spaced due to some organic growth rather than some formula for rest stops along the interstate. Maine is particularly telling heading north along I-95 there is a sign warning travellers of the last 24 hour gasbar along the toll road. It takes some time before one realises it doesn’t mean no gasoline will be available - as the warning entering Route 480 to Burgeo states - that it simply means that one will have to leave the road to refuel.

I felt tempted and frustrated playing tag with the US routes – 40, 20, 6. I know that it would have made re-entry back into the States better if I had the time to use them.

-When are you leaving? the CFA asks.
-To-morrow but the ferry really isn’t until 3:30AM Monday. Plan on taking my time down and seeing places on the way so that i don’t have the Halifax hustle equivalent here. Plan on seeing places between here and the ferry. Maybe head back over to the Isle aux Morts area. Any suggestions?

Can’t make it to Hawley?
No retracing of steps, i cannot be tempted with heading away from the ferry as i may never turn around.
Bay of Islands.
Barachois Brook
Port au Port and Cap St. Georges
No no Cape Spear is the eastern most point of the the Island. Cape Anguille is the western most point. I’d do that it has significance it will be something of note and since you cannot do all of them.
Well that blows my romantic idea of the toilet over the Gulf of St Lawrence as being the most western one.

We did all of them - well sped by Barachois Brook.

For some reason the crew were up early and we were well on our way before the designated 10:30 departure time. Dropped the remains of our food with the poor Bayman and the CFA, i headed for a pond in Norris Point to make a snap of the swimming buoys - don’t think it worked as the waves were too rough and it was drizzling.

So not to have to race to the ferry, i gave myself a time limit on each of the diversions done - complicated mathematical equation taking the distance to the ferry dividing that by 80 then adding construction time.

All of the diversions took longer than i had anticipated but none went over the time needed to get to the ferry but this had more to do with me not stopping, how frustrating it was to see all these potential snaps and simply have to hope that there will be a next time. In most places it would be almost useless to drive as it seemed that everything was fitting into place - Lark’s Harbour, The Port au Port peninsula. I now know that i have a definite attraction to places at the end of the road. So much so that not only if there is a next time - but if i can afford it - these places play havoc on budgets - i want to spend time along the west and south coasts. I want to broaden the idea of accessibility so that i won’t only go to places accessible by ferry but those places that seem to have water as the faster means of transport. Cannot help thinking that i could get from Rocky Harbour to Lark Harbour more directly by boat.

Sensing that it was the last day the rain only fell when i wasn’t near anyplace where i want to make a snap. Just north of Cap St Georges there was heavy fog which aided in the distancing i was feeling in these places. Again i wondered why some places on the rock - or just about any place - are sanctioned attractions while others aren’t.

Bay of Islands while i liked Lark Harbour was too built up for me. It seemed to take a lot of time to get out of greater Corner Brook - cannot believe i just wrote this.

Liked Port au Port better even though the scenery is more stunning in the Bay of Islands - there seemed to be an individuality there - more lawn decoration but also more vacant houses.

The plan was to see the sun set at Cape Anguille but the crew was restless and wanted something in their stomach - even though they never stopped grazing. So watching the sun lower in the sky and me in another funk as i saw this as another goal of the trip not being met, sped to Port-aux-Basques to the hotel and dinner.

Sensing my funk after dinner i was allowed to back track - St. John’s 850km - to the cape, the sun had set and i cannot really blame it on the Irving Gasbar server who insisted on chatting with her friend or the fact that i was in such a hurry that made the wrong turn out on the TCH. No mean task as it ends not 500m from where i was. I was hoping to catch the afterglow.

Balancing speed and fear of moose we made it when the sky was still red. I preferred this area around Codroy the best. It could have been time of day when so many houses only had one light on. It could have been the lone conveniences still lit but with no one in them, here there seemed to be more a sense of community in the scattered houses than in other places seen to-day. While i liked the place because of its end of the road quality - it being the furthest west on the island didn’t come into play.

I was also somewhat relieved that it was dark as i didn’t see all the potential that was there.

The leisurely ride back to the ferry still left us with five hours to kill.

Good-bye Hello

I decided to make an assault on Woody Point by water. The ferry left at 9AM there would be a coffee at Granite then a walk before returning on the 13:15. Being an early assault Mum stayed behind to prepare for whatever was to be that afternoon.

Eight were in the group including two people from France.

The town was deserted. There was a big breakfast at the Red Mantle Inn that the CBC said was in Woody Point - it’s really in Shoal Brook and the
Wonderful People were there being on the Morning Programme of the CBC.

The people who lived there were just starting to move about.

George Anderson raced by.

Sat out having a leisurely coffee desperately trying to finish off the post cards.

Lou drove up to get something for a big to-do at their place this afternoon. Gordon Pinsent was staying with them and Ian Brown was over learning how to cook something. The summer had been good but they were leaving before the rush.They didn’t want to be there when the place shuts down for the winter just after Labour Day. I could imagine tailbacks of foreign plates heading up the 431.

Pete Roberts walked down the pathway.

Amanda drove up and like her mother almost ploughed into me.

Debbie had just opened the 3T’s. Colleen’s daughter was getting married to-day.

Saw the Sarah Elizabeth pass on the bay and knew that George Anderson was taking people out.

A wonderful person told me where i could get a Globe and Mail.

A figure eight walk around town up past the Parks House through the woods to the Discovery Centre then back down to town via the bay before heading over to Curzon Village.

Baleful the steward begged off the Curzon Village walk wanting ice cream and to sit. It was a nostalgia walk to see what had changed in front of the photographs i had made there.

Crystal outside Granite having a smoke.

The boat was bigger than i remembered.
There was a wood pile in front of the basketball hoop.
The rope into Bonne Bay now had kelp hanging from it.
The “thingy” was in use in fact i don’t remember the pier there with so much activity.
The table was still standing stalwartly on the wooden pier.
There was a lot of activity at Colleen and Edward’s house - machines covered with balloons.

Made snaps of minor domesticity - a building seeming to be held up by a stick, a shovel neatly leaning against a shed.

Back into Woody Point where the people who clued me into the Globe asked if i got one - they were staying at the “Seabreeze” and were part of the writers festival. Asked how it was as i couldn’t understand the choices.

Kathy Reichs?

She was on the board and sort of agreed. An exchange of people we both know.

An double scoop of ice cream at Granite coffee a sit by the wood pile then one last walk around town delaying the inevitable.

Told Amanda not to drive like her mother.
Scolded Debbie for having a town so likeable that i kept wanting to return.

Sat on the pier like waiting for the ferry like other tourists as i suddenly felt in limbo between tourist and resident.

Two Wonderful People hold up the ferry. As it is puling away buddy who seems to take his fashion sense from Jerry Lewis - comes up to the dock with his stroller. We had seen him earlier at Granite Coffee. The ferry docks again only to find that his wife is at the Chicken Coop and coming as fast as she can.

A joke about Marine Atlantic ensues.

Heading to Norris Point i look back at Bonne Bay.

Clyde Rose and his daughter speed by on their boat heading over to Katie’s Cove.

What i stated two entries ago i take back, This area is too pretty too self contained but there is something about precisely that that as me drawn to it.

Remember a debate with people who maintained a studio away from their abode one where they actually had to do some travelling to get to and asking what if a moment of elucidation happens at midnight.

I now realise that their studios are not far enough away from where they live. While i wondered if the self containment of Bonne Bay and Trout River would start to have my snaps turn into recurring clichés, i could see setting up a my lab over here and working the way that i did during the residency. Having a place somewhere on the island, probably the Avalon but coming here to actually finish work, make the books.

Back it seems that the steward wanted to mellow out and my mother wasn’t sure what was left to see - huh? so it was left to me to find entertainment for the afternoon. This meant no stopping at the fishing areas that i had sped past yesterday. was at a loss as all seemed to not want to travel 430.

In the end i went to finish off some business for Kmack at the Trout River Heritage Society - yes an hour’s drive back to Bonne Bay. Thought that i would also prove to these people that i was born by introducing them to my mother.
Everything settled - Kmack now has an outlet for sales of her prints - and back no photograph made.

A note hanging out of the drying vent of the Cabin.

The bayman and the CFA are at the motel in town and want to meet up.

Thought they were in Steady Brook at some tony resort and had planned to head over an see if they were there but this time has been all about plans.

Headed down to see if they were in. No. left a message then headed out to see if their machine was there. What seemed to be their machine was someone else’s - one of the pitfalls of ding dong ditching - as they had rented an SUV as Ray was headed way off road with for his work.

when you mean scratches... he asked the car rental dealer

Am naturally jealous of Ray as while i think that i am the great explorer, he has walked across Newfoundland while i feel special to have been to Millertown he tells me about Hawley. He and Beth have just finished some work for a job they are working on and are heading up to Labrador while i am heading back to some sorry arsed leaderless department that doesn’t realise that to re-invent there had to be something there to begin with. There is something ironic about the way the word vision is used there. It is akin to someone deaf saying it doesn’t sound right.

It is funny that a bayman would be the one who is tired of Newfoundland outport cuisine and follows Beth’s advice in heading to a non traditional restaurant in Rocky Harbour. The problem is that the CFA confuse Jackie’s good Newfoundland cuisine with Java Jacks new upscale cuisine. I have never seen menus put down so quickly and a race for the door as i did at Jackie’s.

Good thing. i am pretty tolerant in my herbivore ways here, always finding some bad salad to eat or living off omelettes but walking into Java Jacks and having the server mention that the soup was vegetarian friendly...

Then the guilt hit. this is the place that people from St. John’s or worse Ontarians come to eat. In Woody Point it was the Old Loft not the Chicken Coop. Here i feared the same thing. Art on the walls - Spotted an Holownia as soon as i walked in, then the omnipresent Koch and other Great Northerners. These servers had no accents, the menu had a vegan offering. I asked for scrunchions. The food was great and not expensive in an Ontarian sort of way.

Talked cameras, he actually brought one to supper with him. Ah these baymen don’t they know to be a photographic artist you have to incessantly use noun-verbs have sub clauses to your sub clauses when you speak. Talk about what you are planning to do if there weren’t so much other work and don’t forget to mention your salary but never ever be seen with a camera. I think that i actually saw him use it.

The French couple from the Bonne Bay ferry sat at the next table and looked baffled at the specials.

Talked about the province and how it is depicted, talked about his off road and what i should see.

We parted after watching the sun set behind the glow of the Bank of Montréal all of us stopping to make a snap.

So a day of retracing steps to places that require a lot of walking without the fear of senior suffocation. We has hoped for a early start but I had to wait for the bank to open as this was the week-day on the rock. Starting Sunday there would the marathon driving sessions back to the States.

I wasn’t so worried about the time as i was about trying to get into a stopping frame of mind. Road side attractions come up quickly on the 430 by the time one reacts one has to turn around and that may mean a few kilometres before there is a chance.

The usual plan race to the destination of the day then make our way back slowly. We both were allowed two exceptions. I used mine immediately in St. Paul as i wanted to photograph a gospel church. Baleful the steward wasn’t far behind in the use of her exception just down the road in Parson’s Pond

After pit stops at picturesque places - well for me - we were in Port au Choix ahead of schedule.

Made a mistake during the walk as i thought that we would break off and do our own thing whereas the steward thought that we were on this together - i think it had something to do with the bear tracks we saw on a path leading through some deep woods. It was a mistake on my part which had her a bit peeved as it seems that she was racing after me through the park - past a giant majestic caribou - and into town calling my name. i thought that i had heard someone call out but when i looked around there was a person but i didn’t recognise her and thus thought that it was my ego in overdrive.

Supposedly i was tracked through town by her asking people if they had seen a person with a florescent courier bag and a camera - she should be more specific.

Spoke to two men asking if it were quicker to get to the welcome centre of the park by retracing my steps or simply continuing on. It was about even so not liking to retrace steps i continued.

I was in my own world liking the actually working fishing area and while i made some snaps within the park, i was more in my element once i left. Places that are in use and where people cannot be bothered on how they look are more interesting than theme park places. I like that some sheds had bird houses on them.

I liked minor moments of tidiness.

In town i photographed around the fish plant. There were too many machines in front of Wu’s Chinese Canadian Restaurant to do it justice but did get the house with two garages one with a basketball hoop on it the other with three moose antlers.

An ok two hours spent and now it was time to do the random stopping. Well not really on the way up the steward couldn’t find the sea of lobster pots that seemed to clog every dirt road for about a kilometre or so. Obviously it was north of Port au Choix - asked Parks Canada buddy - 30 minutes away.

I bargain a couple of stops away to be able to photograph that but then leaving town think it stupid i have enough lobster pots even it these go off into infinity away from the gulf and into the mountains. Here was an air field to document, the Foodland was begging to be discovered, the club in Port Saunders would be ignored. I did a take back and instead photographed a bit around the area.

Then i took back my take back and said that if we didn’t see the lobster pots in 30 minutes, i’d turn around and head back for the real part of the now late afternoon.

Twenty eight minutes later....

It was good that i photographed them, it was good as i would have been frustrated in thinking that i had come so far and not done anything but then i would be frustrated about anything - L’Anse aux Meadows, St. Anthony...

It was good as there was this homestead almost lost in the foot hills of the Long Range that was a summing up of the area.

It was bad as i knew that Baleful the steward wanted to go out to the fishing area behind St. Paul’s and while it was only 90 minutes away any sort of real stoppages would mean it would duckish when we arrrived.

So a race through -except for the stop in Hawke’s Bay for the Ball park, oh and Bellburns for a closed convenience on the road through town and Daniel’s Harbour for a seaplane, and Parsons Pond for a Gospel church sign of damnation and the pond park.

Been to St. Paul’s many times - well three like where it is situated on the edge of the gulf as far away from the town as possible but there being only five buildings in the whole place there was some trepidation as to what i might do there while the steward was exploring. i didn’t have a problem with all the racing around, it was nice to be “forced” to come to terms with such a minimal space.i simply had to look with more concentration and ignore the razor sharp weeds that were slicing and dicing my feet.

The return trip seemed promising photographically and wanted to try not to race and make more snaps at the other fishing areas along the way. it was duckish and there was something a tourist has to see when on the Great Northern.

After spotting another moose - cow and two calves - this time there were even more machines on the verge to photograph them an they were much closer, we headed to Western Brook Pond to look up the fjord in the setting sun.

Path was longer than i remember, barely made it Baleful just wanting to get back to the cabin but it was worth it. The change of colour on the rocks, the way light was changing rapidly it was worth fact that i had thought the trek a tenth of what i was.

Some lovely people came up on the trail and said
-if you don’t mind the extra length on the circular trail there is a moose
-there is also one on the road near the ss ethie just now.
Off they raced.


The first night of two of refrigerator clearing leftovers.

Labrador is sighted

or was it Québec.

This was day brings out all my frustrations. It was the day to head up the Great Northern at one time - in the days when i was going to one of the corners of the world in Fogo, or down the Burin Peninsula - to ‘L’Anse aux Meadows. This was curtailed as it was too long for the crew and i didn’t want to do a drive of death three days before three days worth of such drives.

It was to head up to Port au Choix to see the French Coast then slowly head back making snaps on the way. The frustration comes from too many potential areas that no one wants to stop in -oooh Three Mile Rock!!!! - and too little time.

The crew couldn’t get up so again what would have been good light was wasted - it was raining when we finally departed.

It wasn’t raining by the time we were passing Western Brook Pond. the Long Range Mountains rose into the fog, the clouds over the range were beautiful distancing the fjord even more.

Speeding up to a place i make mental notes on what to photograph on the way back hoping that i will remember the spots. it becomes more difficult as at 100k/h it takes some time to realise that there was something. Coming back the markers are wrong they are after what was to be photographed. Worse i was finding too many places to stop and i knew there would be no time for this.

I could rationalise maybe stopping when potential picture spots are found along the road but there were whole towns that i wanted to spend time. It was disheartening.

Reading from the Frommers, Baleful the Steward mentioned an archeological dig in Bird Cove. A mere 70km north.


We zoomed past the off ramp to Port au Choix - a rest stop in River of Ponds where there is a family picnicking in their machine by the gasoline pumps of the Hometown Gasbar, wanting fresh air they had their doors open - and into town trying to find the interpretive centre for the digs.

It seems that this doesn’t get much traffic - well they stopped digging in 2000 - as while the two workers were fine with us helpful, patient as i couldn’t read the map on the wall at all and chatty, when they saw what looked like some ten machines pull up they wanted to lock the doors.

Once again i made sure that the windows were cracked in the machine so that my mother wouldn’t suffocate - i do fear P.E.T.S. People for the Ethical Treatment of Seniors - while we wander off to explore.

It was a perfect example of the two archeologies that are occurring on the navegatio. We wandered the board walk looking for the sites of the digs and when we thought we had gone to far, i drew on my knowledge from the Millertown excursion last year where seeing large, roundish indentations meant most likely a mamateek and thus an aboriginal settlement. i saw a few clearings with blue ribbon taped around trees in the area, that fit the Beothuk encampments and started mentioning this to Baleful the steward.

It was only when we hit the real sites - we knew from the giant plaques telling us what was in front of us - that i had realised that the other clearing was where buddy hangs out for a smoke a couple of Canadians and maybe a hot date.

Heading back i hit my type of site - an abandoned playing field that couldn’t have been more iconic, hockey goals piled by the volleyball nets with home plate where first base should have been. The ground hasn’t been used in ages guessing from the height of the weeds. It spoke tads about the area. Was so giddy about my find that i forgot to load Ubirajara correctly and had to run back leaving my broasting mum in the machine a bit longer.

I was thinking that Bird Cove like most Newfoundland towns, was losing population and there were so few kids in town that the playing field fell into disuse. I judicially ignored the well appointed play set at the house by the playground. Walking to the machine my thoughts were justified as we met Patrick who was wheeling his wheelbarrow toward his allotment to pick some rhubarb.

I asked him if he were the taxi service in town as my steward was a bit tired and needed a lift to the machine. He told me that a decade ago Bird Cove had 700 people living there now it was down to 100. He also said that if we could wait we could have some rhubarb.

-is that white machine down by the stage yours?
-yep
-we were watching the old lady get out of it for a bit.

It was about now that i noticed that ‘bira was loaded incorrectly and i was trying to remember what photographs i had missed - one for sure a the person of the house with a trampoline, basketball hoop and skidoo with laundry in the background came home and parked in front of my scene.

As i enter the playing field once again buddy - actually Wade - yells out from his ATV watch out for the moose. i say thanks but he comes over anyway. Of course i don’t have the digital which and i have only been using that to photograph people - i look like a real photographer this time cameras dangling from my neck lightmeter in rear pocket it would be hard not to be impressed by my presence.

We chat, he said be careful for the moose was saucy. It seems that it is a bull and a cow and to steer clear. Of course it was the area we had just walked through luckily i always send the steward ahead as a scout.

He then mentions that there is also a brown bear in the same area and we discuss which is worse i think bear he moose, bear tend to stay away from people angry moose charge. He says that this one - the bear - is about 500 pounds and all muscle he’d be on you in no time

-i heard that the best thing to do when a bear attacks is to play dead.
-or climb a tree.
-i hear that bear stink.
-nope they reek.

Walked past Patrick picking rhubarb.

although Wade has ditched his ATV he is walking with me to meet his friends.
-bet you’ll be glad to get out of here as there cannot be much for you to do here.
-don’t wants to ever leave. lived in St. John’s and didn’t like it gave up too much of my freedom. People don’t talk to you. I likes it here and wants to stay.

he had stopped at his place - the place with the trampoline etc - to pick up his bike and headed with me to the machine where i made a snap while his friends watch.

Mum was peckish and dehydrated and Wade suggested the Plum Point Motel for food and away we went getting in just before a busload of O.A.P.’s get down for a potty break and tea and muffins. Luckily mum wasn’t wearing a badge or she would have been swept up in the crowd and loaded on the coach for some destination south.

Heading toward the motel we saw the big land - or maybe Québec.

The motel itself had a floor fan in each room.

The leisurely dinner crept into our photographic time so we high tailed it back to Port au Choix which was the original destination of the day - don’t remember why but it could have been a lighthouse quest or more on dead civilisations.

It was here that we found out that Baleful the steward had somewhat over inflated her skills as a translator

-bon soir ça vå?
-oui ça va
-d’ou venez vous
huh? - well it was more like silence.
we wanted to see the hours a lay out of the place so that we could come back to-morrow but first - a trip to the lighthouse and what could be the western most outhouse on the island - well not really there must be one in St. George further west but the scenery was great.

By now it was getting late, so a beeline back to Rocky Harbour - after stopping at the Arches Provincial Park where the toilets are somewhere hidden in amongst dead sun-blanched trees. Which gave the impression of a terribly leaky septic system.

Then on to the S.S. Ethie, after i astutely noticed the signs of a moose nearby - machines parked every which way along the 430 with point and shoot flashes going off.

By now everyone was hungry and wanting a drink so straight back after stopping at the Lobster Cove Lighthouse and wading through the crowds in town heading for the water to watch the setting sun.

a glitch

it seems that while diverted, i have renamed all my snaps port au choix all 2500 of them. right now am recaptioning them.

the navegatio will resume when the problem is rectified.

geek column be warned

So having made 3000 snaps with the digital camera thus probably damning me to life as an associate professor for being a photographer and not at least someone who uses photography but better still there as someone who thinks about using photography, thought it was time to assess my feelings about the Sony.

While it is doing what i expected and had wanted it to do i pretty much hate the camera. i bought it for the photographing of the people i meet along the way here and for that it has worked better than Ziquinho or Ubaldo but that has to do with the waist level type finder meaning that the camera isn’t constantly at my eye to frame the image. this means i can take more snaps with less inconvenience to the person which means more chance of success.

i find that with Ubaldo and the like, i would make one image then put them away, now with the Sony i make the standard introductory image then put it down to chat and make more from the waist level position. this seems to make them more heroic but also wistful as it seems that they are looking off into the distance. it also means that the snaps can be e-mailed to the recipient as it seems that most people don’t care about a hard copy anymore. I also make more images as there is no film involved so what the hell.

It has also taken over the role of the point and shoot for the photographing of things but with less success. with the Nikon 5400 i could get within inches of the subject. The Sony is much more stand-offish. The difference in distance changes the photograph considerably.

The Sony has been used for the snapshot camera, the one when i want to remember a place but not use the photograph in my “work’. i’d be more specific if i knew what my work was. They are mainly scenes, snaps made as scouting images to show my mother sitting in the machine. I thought about clogging up sights like Everywhere and JPG with them as they seem to be the places which embrace digital work as uploads are easier than making prints or scans.

It will make this year’s Clarke’s Beach very easy to produce.

They are also fine for posting to weblogs so that those readers who think the sky is falling because of my use of one can see what is going on.

But as i said, i hate the Sony and most digital cameras for the reasons i stated. i cannot simply turn it on and have it at the setting i want, the lens seems to move from the widest angle to some neutral point with the slightest provocation. water - or anything on the lens shows up in the snap something that doesn’t happen with film. The lens feels cheap - the build of a Diana is more substantial. I have to have features that i don’t want - a zoom lens when all i want is a wide angle - admittedly i have used it for the scouting snaps but i would prefer a more compact wider apertured fixes lens. the constant searching for power at the end of the day to recharge the battery and the time it takes to download images on the laptop.

it doesn’t seem well made, and while the Canons and more expensive cameras seem more solid there still seems to be a cynicism in their manufacture to simply let things pass.

And there is the size, i know that this is one of the lightest cameras around i have hefted the advanced amateur models like the Canon D30’s and they are truly back braking - Ubaldo weighs less - but it is the clunkiness of the lens again it really doesn’t fit into my courier bag well it is constantly jabbing me and turning on. Where is the Olympus OM-1 of the digital world?

The Sony will continue to be used during the rest of the Navegatio but will be put to rest at the end. One would think it good for notetaking while marling about but cannot wait to be re-united with the leiquinhas and their compactness, those who want to see snaps will just have to wait.

Up early to head over to Norris Point, wanted to wander the town but wasn’t sure I’d get the chance so after making coffee for the still slumbering crew and leaving a note, took the machine down the road.

First time i also got to listen to the CBC since being over here as although there is a television that can get 15 billion channels - 14.9 billion being from the u.s - there is no wireless in the cottage at all.

Parked overlooking Bonne Bay and Woody Point and started to wander about. Perfect time as nothing had opened yet and thus no machines were parked out in front of shops blocking the façades.

The plan was to walk down to the tall ship - as i am the scouting photographer for my mother - then up away from the water and back toward the road out of town. There seemed to be a lot of closed shops but i also liked the way that objects that i used to find off island are making their way here. These giant inflatable swimming pools are an example.

That was the plan until buddy came to talk. At first i was a bit put off as i was finally having some quiet morning wander time but i went back into my bayman ways and talked a bit with him which as always told me a lot about the place and this time my relationship to it.

-No offence but these tourists are coming over and buying up the place. Prices are rising so that i cannot buy a house and have two jobs to meet rent. He then pointed out three houses and a shed in the area that went for even i think are outrageous amounts. a shed going for C$40 000. i have been sheepishly aware of this soon after i set foot on the island but noticed it more with all the Ontario plates one sees in places like Pouch Cove now. Here the plates are from everywhere and the houses are getting larger and larger.

Know that if i bought something at an outrageous price i would only be adding to the real estate frenzy but now it seems to be everywhere in the province.

The long walk became a short one but was followed by a mid morning early afternoon wander. As usual when something is concluding pieces fit better.

i wanted to head back over to Bonne Bay and Trout River to finish photographing and since Baleful the steward wanted to wander the orange rock of the Tablelands again the plan was to abandon her along the Trout River Gulch someplace, I would head into Trout River then into Woody Point and finally after walking along the road pick her up.

My mother not liking the word “abandon” decided to stay put in the cottage.

Plans changed when i found a path leading from the Trout River Pond to the back of the Tablelands and decided to go against everything i had just stated in the last entry and see what the trail was like.

So after yet another hamburger for Baleful the Carnivore at the Sunset Café, we headed out.

The walk only proved my point, not many snaps made and most of those were again advanced scouting for the evening slide show to my mother. On the walk my interest perked when i found some R.E.I. detritus on a beach and the Trout River Tour Boat came sputtering by.

What made the walk interesting was the thunder ad the dark clouds to the south that accompanied the walk.

Walked two hours where we just made it out of the woods and could see the base of the Tablelands.

A wander around Trout River and the areas where i didn’t manage to make it to yesterday. More clutter, more odd and ironic positioning. if the output on the trail walk was what most full time WGAS faculty and deanettes do. The town walk would be the equivalent to Columbia College faculty - film flowed.

-hey you a photographer? buddy Wayne asks carrying his six pack of Canadian.
-head up Duke Road and on the right photograph my whale bone - which in the photography department of the WGAS would also mean something different.

Wandered down to the Take Out - the steward wandered in. Saw Wade and his daughter, more or less the type of afternoon i was looking for when all of this started - marling about, skitching off and chatting.

went to see the whale bone - the steward photographed it i photographed the woman who was watching Baleful photograph then went back to photograph the boots stuck in the railing that i didn’t see as i was talking to the woman who was...

A great deal of time passes between planning on leaving and actually leaving. Trying to depart Trout River I had to stop to photograph some trousers on a laundry line then chatted with buddy who was a musician, chatted and photograph him as he was the only one between 10 and 30 who stopped to chat.
Then there was this couple who were determined to have a good time sunning themselves on the rocks of the beach off the boardwalk - it looked like a down market version of a British holiday by the sea. Then the giant guitar that we had passed many times now.

-now you both have to be photographed in front of it. buddy says.

This part of the day ended at Granite Coffee sitting watching and not doing much. It is a luxury when in a place for a short period of time to be able to sit and look back at the day.

Marilyn stopped for a chat from her car. Everyone asked if we were going to the Legion for the concert - or at least sit outside. No it is a long way back to Rocky Harbour and we headed out making a bee line around the bay well until we hit a waterfalls that i thought should be seen.

Later that evening supper was served

I hinted at this in an earlier entry

but to-day it became more evident – given the choice of walking on the earth’s mantle in this stunningly beautiful landscape and wandering a town that it barely holding it together I chose the later. I chose it because it really does seem that I need the human. Not the human in theory but humanity. While it is probably manifesting itself more in the snaps that I am taking, and again more in film than in digits, it is not the scene but what is in it. My new cluttered formalism is now less about how lines cut into other surfaces and more about trying to mirror the marvellous clutter I see – again more in Trout River than in Rocky Harbour – I still remember buddy down in Sewanee saying how bleak my snaps of up here are and still am puzzled as – as I have stated – I find them rife with just the opposite. I was here I am still here –as loved our fathers so we love where once they stood we stand – being over here again and looking around the discovery centre for a hint that I was here and finding none – except for Anita and Sandy remembering me from the “daily’s” that Jessica put up – I realised why, 90% of the images i made on the residency weren’t done in the park but in the communities that surround it. One doesn’t find moose guards in Western Brook Pond. Speeding back through the gulch I did want to make some snaps of the Tablelands – those telegraph poles were so cool.

Bipolar Bicoastal

-I can buy Gros Morne passes here?
-yes how may are there?
-three, one senior, one student. Is there a multiday pass?
-not really, you should buy the family plan.
-this is also good for the Trout River Boat Tour?
-yes

We were off to Bonne Bay and the side of Gros Morne that I was familiar with. It would be the first time since the residency in 2005 and I wondered what it would be like. This was the part of the trip that I was looking forward to. I still remember liking down in Bonne Bay so much that we headed out to the highway only once a week for provisions in Corner Brook.

I know that depression hit when I left the Avalon but just as quickly it disappeared again turning off Route 430 at Wiltondale. I tried to be as patient as possible. I kept telling myself that it would take a long time to make it from Rocky Harbour to Bonne Bay but still it seemed like the same curves came up over and over again.

I was so anxious to remember the Tablelands coming down Route 431 that I mistakingly thought that another set of mountains were them. I kept looking for landmarks and they came at intervals that I wasn’t expecting. The sign for the park was further in than I expected, Lomond was farther than Glenburnie but then they all seemed to appear quite quickly. Had been frantically pointing out places to the crew as we passed.

Some things had changed. The bed and breakfast in Glenburnie was for sale, there were newer and bigger houses on the wrong side of the road. The Discovery Centre seemed improved and expanded.

The boat ride along Trout River Pond was at 1PM it was barely 11.

(Some “wonderful people” just entered the launderette here at Gros Morne Cabins where tonight’s posting is being written marvelling at the washers and dryers)

With the time we had I decided to give a tour of Woody Point - the Parks Canada house the new bypass car park that was nothing but rubble and drainage ditch when Kmack and I would take the short cut to the Seabreeze – knew that the Seabreeze was gone. Went through to Curzon Village before coming and stopping at the former half deaf bar maid there.

Her mother was out on the porch having a smoke with her friend who were up from the GTO. She recognised me and called so that the two Elaine’s could meet. I was caught up on all the news – Muriel was on the mainland so no reason to stop at the Trout River Take out Bonnie Brake had sold the Sunset Café, Shirley was in Fort MacMurray, George was still about the Roses were still up and in Shoal Cove. Elaine’s beau may buy the Rusty Jigger. She won $48 000 in satellite bingo.

I was told to head over to Granite Coffee as Crystal only worked until noon.

Walked in and asked if there was a decent coffee shop in town. She wanted to break the camera, Shelly was out front they came to great my mother. Debbie was hiding in 3T’s everything was back to normal.

On the way out to Trout River for another tour before the boat, stopped in at Martin’s garage to say hello to Bruce and tell him how I saw him the St. John’s this time last year.

Some snaps of his uncle his nephew and other workers but forgot to make one of him. Road by the 3T’s again and threatened Debbie with the camera.

Up and through the Trout River Gulch which while awe inspiring to me, seemed not to do much to my mother. Never been to the southwest of the States but this straight road with the Earth’s mantle on one side and the greenness of the other, I drive gobsmacked.

Was going to take the long way around when all of a sudden the crew asked if there is food on this boat. Not sure.

Up to the Sunset Café for two hamburgers that seem to please them with the thickness of the patty – ah this McDonald’s generation.

Of course what was once plenty of time was now a race to the boat as I had forgot how long it took to walk to it and here the food is actually cooked when the person orders it. I mention that it is getting late and my mother goes into States mode and asks them to hurry it up.

Don’t take the long way into town reckoning that I can give the tour later, but for some reason I do stop at the Trout River Boat Tour Office only to find out that the Boat Ride costs $38 each.

Unexpectedly we have a sizeable chunk of time so I drop my mother off at the Discovery Centre so that she can knit and read and listen to chamber music, abandon Baleful the steward at the Tablelands car park and head for a wander down in Trout River.

Met Marlene at a convenience when I was heading out of town and was told that the images there were so popular that people wanted to buy them – unfortunately they were Kmack’s. It was nice to see a manifestation of our time here at the Trout River Interpretive Centre unfortunately I dealt with the park so mine our moulding in a basement.

The walk around Trout River was a mixing of making cluttered photographs and running into people that I knew. But instead of dogs following me there were goats.
Joked with the Crockers as Gilbert’s senior’s wife had had bypass surgery and an heart attack but she was out shovelling gravel while watched – he couldn’t help due to his operation for piles.
-hell I could have cut them out and since I know you I’d use a sharp knife.

Gilbert junior came over. Then there were two elderly friends who being my mother’s age asked if they wanted a date.
-hell I have one now I’m trying to get rid of.
-I take trades.

Patsy and her new sign for her socks
A family from Corner Brook who knew Tom Basha.
Wade Barnes and his Dog.
The owner of the shop with the Santa Claus on it.
Winston down from L’anse aux meadows out having a smoke

I kept being asked if I were from Tidy Towns.

The plan was to walk the boardwalk down to the river then the street back up.

Of course I took too long heading down so had to race back so that I could pick up the crew at the appointed time. Great fun in seeing people choosing rocks as souvenirs then walking by saying you do realise that nothing can be taken from the park and if they catch you are heavily fined. I then watch people try to subtly drop their loot usually by pretending that they are only investigating it closely and now they are done with it.

When living over here I always made the comparison between Woody Point and Trout River to Edinburgh and Glasgow. I preferred Woody Point. I liked the intimacy, how it was nestled in the Bay the compactness even with Curzon Village. Trout River seemed too spread out it was almost three towns. While it was on the Gulf it seemed to ignore it as there was a boardwalk between the main drag and the ocean. There were better views from above.

Now I definitely preferred Trout River. Bonne Bay was way too pretty for me, while I am sure it is great for all the owners of Bonne Bay, I don’t think I could take yet another baffled person at Granite Coffee or looking puzzled outside the Chicken Coop.

Although the most surreal scene to-day happened as a coachload of Quebécois were deposited in downtown Trout River to walk the boardwalk and maybe head out to the beach.

Even though Marlene complained of no tourists this year for the museum, it was nice to see part of the city not devoted to tourism. There were people actually trying to make their living fishing and the fishing community was quite active if not thriving.

Admittedly Trout River is scruffier and I don’t think I would want to drive the Gulch for a drink at the Legion and one thinks twice when on sees a sign -

WHEN FLASHING THE ROAD BETWEEN TROUT RIVER AND WOODY POINT IS CLOSED.

There is only one road.

But still. It could be that romanticism that was manifest by those television programmes Northern Exposure, or Men in Trees being at the edge of nowhere and not simply functioning but thriving. This could also be why Rocky Harbour doesn’t do it for me. There is something about the commitment to go and then the commitment to stay that I still cannot shake.

Headed back to Woody Point for a coffee at Granite Coffee, thinking that it would be outside in the fresh air not forgetting the states penchant for modified air even when it isn’t needed. So we sat indoors looking at a harried Viola instead of the water and people passing by. Saw Marilyn, made some nostalgia images. Looked at my snaps hanging in the legion and headed back to Rocky Harbour.