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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The magic of Gros Morne in two parts – Part II: Journey to the centre of the Earth

We drive through a small fishing village of Trout River, and the paved road turns into packed ground. “Are you sure this is the right way?” asks my husband. “Of course,” I reply trying to sound more confident than I feel. We can’t afford to get lost now. It’s almost six and I know the Tablelands visible from the Trout River campground look best in the late afternoon light. With rain in the forecast for the next two nights, this might be my only chance to witness this sight.

As soon as we check in at the campground, I grab my camera and head down to the Trout River Pond but not without promising to help set up when I come back. I follow a short trail down to a small pebble beach. There are a couple of kids skipping stones, a lone kayaker disturbing the otherwise perfectly smooth pond, and across a long, narrow strip of water rise the golden slopes of the Tablelands. Imposing and otherworldly, they are admiring their reflection. And who can blame them. Bathed in the evening light, they are spectacular.

Tablelands across the Trout River Pond

The Tablelands admiring their reflection in the Trout River Pond

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