Our Newfoundland and Labrador Adventures: Part II

The hardest part of writing about a long road trip is distilling several weeks of travels into a post of manageable length. I know I am way past manageable. But once I started the story of our Newfoundland and Labrador adventures, it quickly acquired a life of its own. It became less of a list of best places to visit and things to do, and more of a collage, a collection of tales, a quilt of memories and emotions inspired by the land, the sea and the people who call it home.

Part I ended with our stay in Gros Morne, the last stop on Newfoundland’s west coast. It felt like a good place to pause and leave our more easterly explorations for Part II. So here we are driving to Dildo Run Provincial Park (yes, that’s what it’s called, although I should probably mention that “dildo” refers to an oar peg in a dory). The park is fairly small but we get a cozy campsite near the water, which we mostly use as a base to visit Twillingate and Fogo Island.

Dildo Run Provincial Park comes with an interesting name and beautiful campsites.

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Our Newfoundland and Labrador Adventures: Part I

Newfoundland and Labrador is the kind of place that stays with you long after you leave its jagged shores behind. It is a place where the expansive and intimate intertwine, where formidable landscapes are sprinkled with small, colourful communities nestled in coves and tucked away in sheltered harbours. It is a place where wind is made visible and fog is as much part of the landscape as the land and sea. It is a place that braids together stories of the Earth’s billion-year-old history and those of people who have called this part of the world home into a unique and distinct identity.

It is known by different names. Mi’kmaq, who have lived across Atlantic Canada long before Europeans “found” this land, call Newfoundland Ktaqmkuk, which could mean either “the larger shore” or “the other shore.” Newfoundland’s Inuktitut name is Ikkarumikluak (ᐃᒃᑲᕈᒥᒃᓗᐊᒃ), “place of many shoals,” while Labrador is called Nunatsuak (ᓄᓇᑦᓱᐊᒃ), meaning “the big land.” With many of its early settlers coming from Ireland, the island also has an Irish Gaelic name – Talamh an Éisc, “the Fishing Grounds” or “the Land of Fish.” The Norse, the first Europeans to reach the shores of North America, referred to it as Vinland, the name that covered Newfoundland as well as Nova Scotia and coastal New Brunswick, while calling Labrador Markland.

People continue to flock to Newfoundland and Labrador’s shores: some in hopes of making a home here, others, like us, just visiting, at least for now. This was our second trip to Canada’s easternmost province. (Read about our first visit here and here). We returned to some familiar places and visited new spots. Three weeks, six ferry crossings, many vibrant communities, numerous challenging trails, and never-ending breathtaking vistas later, we’ve fallen deeper in love with this incredible place.

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Walking in the winter wonderland: Yurt camping at Bruce Peninsula National Park

Winter often gets a bad rap and I can see why: cold, wind chill, snow storms, extra challenges of getting outside that come with slippery roads or impassable snow banks, short days and all-consuming darkness. We often talk about winter as something to get through, huddled at home waiting for the arrival of better days. What we fail to see as we binge through yet another Netflix show is winter’s magic at work: crisp, sparkling air that fills our bodies with vigour and joy, softness of a snowfall that erases the edges and transforms familiar scenes, a promise of newness that comes with a fresh snow cover, mesmerizing creations chiselled out of ice. This past weekend we headed in search of this magic to Bruce Peninsula, a place where Niagara Escarpment’s rugged limestone cliffs and turquoise waters of Georgian Bay work together to create a masterpiece of a landscape. With an extra touch of winter’s artistic genius, the scenes were truly spellbinding.

Bruce Peninsula National Park in the winter
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The Poetry and Prose of Backpacking the Coastal Hiking Trail in Pukaskwa

“This trail has been described as challenging,” says the park ranger flipping through her orientation binder. We stifle a nervous laugh, still trying to embrace the enormity of what we are about to undertake – backpacking the entire 60-kilometre Coastal Hiking Trail in Pukaskwa National Park on the north shore of Lake Superior. There and back, plus a detour to Picture Rock Harbour – totalling 130 kilometres over nine days. A significant distance even on the flattest of terrains, let alone what has been rated as one of the most challenging trails in Canada.

Map of Pukaskwa National Park and Garmin InReach
The Coastal Hiking Trail in Pukakswa National Park is no walk in the park.
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Backpacking in Pukaskwa: Superior Adventure or Why Leave the Comforts of Indoors

“Humans have spent centuries perfecting the indoors,” notes my older son as he moves closer to the campfire. “Only for you to drag us all the way here to battle the elements.”

I know he’s only half-joking. This is the first night of our backpacking trip at Pukaskwa. We’ve just spent half a day hiking in the pouring rain, at times through ankle deep water and a good portion of the trail over slippery rocks. So I can see why our kids are not particularly excited about the whole endeavour. And while our younger son simmers quietly by the fire waiting for food, the older one launches into one of his philosophical arguments.

Once we get some chili into them and dry clothes on them, the mood improves considerably. But I can still feel spoken and unspoken doubts floating around under our green tarp, getting trapped in the criss-cross of clothing lines that spot everything from t-shirts to socks to underwear, wrapped in a dense coat of smoke courtesy of wet firewood. Eventually, we pack our edible stuff into the food locker and retreat into our tents. Maybe not the type of indoors our older son had in mind, but the best shelter for this particular moment. As I fall asleep to the fading beat of raindrops against the nylon, I start wondering what we are searching for on the wildest of Lake Superior’s shores.

sunrise on Lake Superior in Pukaskwa National Park
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The power of Gi chi Gamiing – Lake Superior in every way

We drive around another bend on Highway 17 and my heart cracks open: framed by the green hills, a canvas of the brightest blue stretches all the way to the horizon until it merges with the sky. This is not our first trip to Lake Superior, yet every time we come here, its power strikes me in new, unexpected ways. Every time I feel my brain, my eyes, my heart are too ill-equipped to embrace the immense beauty of Gi chi Gamiing. Everything is exaggerated here: dramatic views, overwhelming rage, fiery sunsets, deep calm painted in cotton candy colours, sudden mood swings. More than anything, Lake Superior is a study in extremes.

dramatic sunset on Agawa Bay on stormy Lake Superior

Lake Superior is a study in extremes: the rage, the calm, the immense beauty – everything is exaggerated here. Continue reading

On change and connection at Point Pelee

I’ve been thinking about change lately. And not only because the world is suspended in a grey space between the fall lushness and the white splendour of winter. Or because we are about to put another decade behind us. Our family is going through a change as well. Not a massive seismic shift. More of a gentle, gradual transformation, like the water reshaping the shore of the lake or the forest constantly redrawing its contours.

southernmost point of mainland Canada at Point Pelee National Park Continue reading

In the Tall Grass: Microadventuring in Windsor

The sound of waves slowly fills up the space around me to the point where nothing else can fit in. I feel my eyelids get heavy under the sun’s gentle kisses. My body sinks into a tree trunk, slowly adjusting to bumps and cracks like a memory-foam mattress, until it merges with the driftwood, polished and white like a bone of a giant prehistoric animal. The sound of waves seeps into my skin, fills up my brain, overflows my body. I imagine myself one of the sand grains tucked into cracks in the wood. After what feels like eternity, I finally open my eyes. Gulls pierce the air with their impossible screeches, clouds of birds covering the sky. I sit up and notice a woman watching me intently not too far away.

driftwood on the beach

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The Best of 2018

2018 had a lot going for it. It started with a magnificent sunrise from a hill-top cabin in Quebec. We travelled to California to spend time with my brother and his family. We visited many new parks, finally making it to Yosemite and Sequoia, and new cities, like San Francisco. We got to explore familiar places and see different sides of them. My essay about gardening appeared in The Globe and Mail connecting me with fellow gardeners and yielding a free bag of compost.

sunrise in the winter fron La Cigale rustic shelter in Parc National d'Aiguebelle Continue reading

Don’t hibernate this winter: Your guide to roofed accommodations in and around Ontario

Not too long ago I came across a post in my Facebook feed. I don’t remember the exact wording but it went along the lines of: if you don’t embrace winter, you will still have the same amount of winter and way more misery. Or maybe it was “embrace snow”? Anyway, the point is: rather than complaining about the weather and waiting for winter to go away, it’s way more fun to get outside and enjoy it.

cabin in Arrowhead provincial park in the winter

A little cabin in the woods is your gateway to enjoying winter Continue reading