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.
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