Storm in an outport

I awoke from a deep sleep, the rocking sensation calming a natural sedative. “Rich, I'm worried about the wind. Do you think it might blow the camper over?” Indeed, the fabric sides of our Four Wheel Pop-Up Camper were flapping in the wind. Our perch atop 'The Neck' at Rose Blanche exposed us to the brunt of the elements coming off the open sea. So in the dark, with the rain pelting, I crawled out of the comfort of the camper, made a mad dash for the truck's cab, started up the engine, disengaged the emergency brake, and drove the rig down into the lee of hollow below (amazingly, Anouk did not even budge during my ordeal). Until dawn, I slept restlessly, hoping that our first night in Newfoundland was not an omen....

...Or maybe it is just an introduction to the climatic variations we can expect. Our six-hour crossing on the Newfoundland ferry Caribou on the night of May 7th – 8th was glassy smooth. Upon arrival in Channel-Port aux Basques, we were greeted by a light breeze and moderate temperature. The drive to outport Rose Blanche was uneventful, except for continually being distracted by the incredible scenery. “Natalie, look at that waterfall!” “Natalie, look at that glacial valley!” “Natalie, look at wine red coastal heath!” And, of course, “Natalie, look at that bird!”

That was our introduction to the island province.

The people of Newfoundland are already living up to their reputation as, perhaps, the friendliest people on the planet. A local stopped by our chosen campsite on a pullout at the cul-de-sac that is The Neck, which is also the home of one of the province's two remaining stone lighthouses. Doug (that was his name) pulled over and hailed me from the cab of his pickup. After ten minutes of idle chatting, I knew more about him than I may have gleaned from any similar conversation with a stranger in the states.

Anouk is certainly earning her keep (i.e., she is a great entré to Another local, eighty-something Mary, said she could only walk this road once a day now that she was getting older.

Later, Anouk and I walked through the community. Three kids―probably about seven or eight years old―on bikes saw us from a distance. “Who's that?” one of them asked the others. “I don't know. Go and find out.” “No, you go and find out.” “No, YOU go and find out!” There is strength in numbers, so all three rode toward us...and then continued past, turned around, and came by again. This time I hailed them, “Hello!” They continued bicycling past us several more times. Each time I greeted them. Finally, they stopped and chatted me up. “Did you see my house?” one of them asked, “It's the green one.” The largest of the pack, a blond-haired bespectacled girl (who also seemed to be the leader of the group) said hers was the white one. I said I was from Maine and asked if they knew where that was. No. “Do you know where Nova Scotia is?” “Yes,” they said in unison. Well, Maine is past that.

The next day we drove to the Codroy Valley to look at the sand dunes of J.T. Cheeseman Provincial Park. It was blowing hard, but not so strong that I wasn't bird-watching. A pair of American Wigeons were the first I have seen in years.

That night, our second in the province and our fifth since leaving Bar Harbor, we finally feel like we are working out the systems of our fancy rig. I must confess, having a baby, two laptops, a twenty-some book library, and all of the accouterments of traveling for six months, having a camper (It is NOT an RV!) for a home is already proving a great boon.

Natalie here: Rich neglected an important note in his assessment above about me being worried about the wind...not only where we camped atop an exposed knoll on the south coast of Newfoundland where a lighthouse is the only beacon of safety for wind-tossed mariners, but worse! Our own fancy but flimsy-feeling rig was erected a mere 30 or so kilometers from “The Wreckhouse,” a stretch of road where record winds reportedly can topple 18 wheelers and did indeed topple train cars that neglected to pay attention to the elements. Welcome to Newfoundland, MacSprings, and ya better pay attention!