After an exhausting 50 km paddle into building southwest headwinds, I decided to use the waves to enter Lark Harbour and use Murray Mountains as a shield from the onslaught of waves. I crossed Bay of Islands in lively 2 meter waves. Trying to round Tweed Island on the west shore, I was paddling straight into wind and waves that had built from moderate to moderately strong while I rested in the lee of Green Island. I realized that it was too strenuous and surfed these waves to the lee of Tweed Island, a wise choice.

Entering Lark Harbour, near Blow Me Down Provincial Park, I paddled beneath a tall arch. I also sat beside a lacy waterfall trickling over a large, vertical face of grey rock. I had had an exhausting paddle, and here, only a few Kilometers from the town of Lark Harbour, I decided to enjoy the beautiful surroundings.

Blow Me Down Mtn.


It's a relief to be across this windy bay. Thanks to Victor and Peggy Sheppard for the use of the phone and computer.

Last night, I sat on the bridge (deck) of Leonard and Dorothy White's home, watching flashes and flickers of lightning light up the dark sky over the Gulf. We sat watching the approaching storm and eventually, it did arrive and we retreated to the comfort of being dry inside.

Awakening to the sound of pouring rain, I decided to prolong my departure. I'm resting. And I'm enjoying the community of Trout River and its environment. Today, I stayed busy with postal errands, writing, napping and repairing gear.
I also went for a walk to East Point and made a crown from daisies, something I hadn't done for many years. In the evening, I had the opportunity to go for a drive to nearby Woody Point. The fog drifted over the Tablelands with dramatic lighting.

Daisies by Wendy

With increased winds predicted and a chance of thunderstorms, I stayed in Trout River.

I sit on the porch of the White's home, Dorothy and Leonard, in comfort, listening to a brook rush downhill behind me, and gurgle less insistently in front of me. It sounds so different, so soothing, in comparison to the pulsing crescendo of surf smashing rocky shoreline, of cobbles clinking and grating from the ocean's heavy suction. Water sounds are so varied yet are derived from the same liquid; reassuring, soothing, serene, peaceful, calming sounds in sharp contrast with violent, furious, unrelenting, humbling sounds. Pattering, lapping, gurgling, trickling, and roaring, crashing, sucking, dumping sounds, water in its infinite beauty and infinite state of motion. Water sustains us physically and shapes us as we challenge ourselves on or in its aqueous realm.


Today, the Gulf stayed calm, yet building winds had been predicted. I could regret not having paddled, but what would be the point? A secondary goal other than my primary goal, to circumnavigate Newfoundland by kayak, is to enjoy myself. Perhaps, so close to the completion of the journey, I am prolonging completion so I don't have to reintegrate myself back into the demanding city lifestyle. Another secondary goal is to meet the people of Newfoundland. Again, I have given myself ample opporunity to meet these other goals as I paddle "Round the Rock". Finally, this journey is about making healthy choices, physically, emotionally, spiritually and in all encompassing aspects of life.

What a contradictory state; craving adventure to escape routine, yet eventually, adventure itself becomes a routine.

I filled my day by walking to Eastern Point, overlooking Trout River Bay, by writing in my journal with a clear mind and ample energy, and by finding polished stones on the lengthy, curving beach, black, and as smooth as though they were polished in a rock tumbler, which in effect they were with eons of wave action and stones rubbing against each other. I admire perfection in Nature. These are all things I love to do, but paddling has always taken precedence. Today, I enjoyed these other pursuits that make me smile.

What a day!

I awoke, snuggled under the soft feel of cotton sheets and peeked out the window at the crack of dawn. It was a calm day. The water was calling me. I jumped into action, and silently got ready. Thank you to both Stan and Marilyn Butt and Molly and Dustin Spence for all your hospitality.

Upon the water, I paddled out of Rocky Harbour and across Bonne Bay, with partial views of the Tablelands ahead of me. Wisps of clouds floated across the rocky heights with shafts of light illuminating spots on the clouds and cliffs. I noticed a thin, white, vertical streak near Western Head. I aimed the kayak for this white mark in the distance, as Bonne Bay remained placid. I landed at the waterfall and also noticed an arch in the nearby rock.

I continued paddling along the southern portion of Gros Morne National Park, awed by the spectacular scenery. Verdant cliffs plunged to jade green water. Rocks were textured with the appearance of leopard skin. I paddled past at least 3 dozen sheep grazing on remarkably steep meadows. I came across sea stacks and grottoes.
I stopped a few more times for photo opportunities, including a towering waterfall plunging only two meters from water's edge onto a pebble beach. I stood beneath the pummeling shower of water that fell from dizzying heights. How refreshing.

I felt like I was paddling through a Heavenly paradise.

I entered Trout River Bay, where I found Leonard and Dorothy White and their grandson, Mitch Brake. I'm camped facing the Gulf between two vegetable gardens on the edge of Trout River on a luscious lawn. I showered and then explored the community. I found the Seaside Restaurant, a place that is listed in the "Where to Eat" guide for Canada for many years now. In brilliant sunshine and a refreshing breeze, I sat above the wooden promenade that sweeps along the perimeter of the sandy bay. With Quidi Vidi beer, onion rings, a chef's salad and a superlative view, I was feeling the joy of the journey. I hadn't pushed for extra kilometers. I'd stopped after only 4 hours of paddling, and was enjoying the beauty of the moment. I felt great and met Verna, the waitress at the restaurant, a very friendy villager from Trout River.

Back at the White's home, I felt sluggish. The sunshine, early morning departure, and no doubt a beer as well, had me feeling fatigued. The water remains calm, sparkling like a glitter gown under Hollywood's spotlights, but, I'm on land, too tired to move southwards. It was a great day! Thanks to Mitch Brake for the use of his computer.

Glenn here: (well, actually that's Wendy at left...)

Blogger.com is experiencing photo post issues, so I have permission from Wendy to post a few of her more recent pictures on Webshots for folks to enjoy. I suggested "about a dozen", but have to say it was torture narrowing the total down to around 20. They are all so spectacular!
Enjoy, the pics are in the "Wendy and Freya" album, the first few rows.

Cheers everyone,
Glenn

These are the days that paddlers dream of. It was a day which reached deep inside me, nourishing my soul.

It poured rain last night, all night long. The tent remained completely dry. I slept well.

When I awoke, I realized that it was a calm morning. I ate the last of the freshly made bakeapple jam. I launched on flat water in Shallow Bay, paddling through very shallow water for several hundred meters, seeing a crab scuttle sideways and seeing sea grass beds.

Rounding Cow Head, swells, gentle, hypnotic ones, shoved me in the direction I was paddling. The rain clouds had lifted and grey skies were slowly opening up to reveal the spectacular Long Range Mountains. Glimpses could be had through windows in the clouds with dramatic back lighting. Passing the lighthouse, brought back memories from 7 years previously when my daughter and I had hiked to the structure on a hot, sunny afternoon.

Crossing to St. Paul's, I had remarkable views of Western Brook Pond's fjord. Steep walls hemmed in brooding clouds. The walls of the mountains were covered in trees almost to the top of the cliff edges. Light shone through the clouds. As I slowly progressed, the view of the fjord became more dramatic, with clouds disappearing and revealing the rocky ramparts that tourists from around the world gaze at in awe. It was like the curtains to a performance had been drawn open. And far to the south, I saw the entire barren Tableland Mountains, a light brown, stark, unvegetated due to the mineral content in the rocks. The vast views were humbling. They seeped into me. It was no doubt, the most spectacular section of the journey. The beauty of Gros Morne is superlative and so incredibly varied.

The swells continued to urge me to race along, covering kilometers easily. I saw a solitary bald eagle sitting in the sun with the Western Brook Pond fjord as the background.

I stopped at Martins Point, about halfway into the paddle that I'd planned for the day. I landed in mild surf onto a cobble beach. I was in Heaven. The rocks were an artist's palette of colours and textures. And such perfection! Many of the stones were almost perfectly spherical or eliptical. I collected numerous rocks.

As the afternoon arrived, the wind increased a bit and swivelled to the southwest. I passed Sally's Cove. I passed Green Point. I continued past Lobster Cove in perky beam waves with a stunning view of the southern end of Gros Morne National Park.

Rounding the lighthouse, I used the waves to push me into Rocky Harbour, an aptly named harbour. Finding only inhospitable rocky shoreline on the northern end, I crossed to the southern end of the harbour. A sliver of yellow and a sliver of blue caught my eyes. There were two kayaks beached on a miniscule curve of beach. When I landed, a keen boy approached me. It was Dustin and he showed me his new kayak. I then met his mother Molly who also just acquired a kayak. I am now camped on their lawn. I showered at the neighbours' house, Stan and Marilyn Butt, who knew of me having seen my CBC interview. I had coffee and laundered my paddling clothes. Ahhh....life is good.

Moderately strong southwest winds are predicted for tomorrow. Perhaps I'll have a rest day.

Today was another fabulous day, with light to moderate tailwinds and overcast skies.

With impending rain and thundershowers, I was invited to sleep in Adelaide and Otto House's home. I slept like a princess, too fatigued to think about anything.

Breakfast was hot, bakeapple sauce on homemade bread. The bakeapples were picked yesterday. Utterly divine. Adelaide, thank you.

I was on calm water before 8, having wheeled the fully loaded kayak downhill on its trusty trolley cart. Grey skies brooded. Inland, along the Long Range Mountains, mist and fog hovered over the flat peaks. I made good distance with a light tailwind starting to blow.

At Portland Creek, I started to see my first sand beaches. The backdrop behind Portland creek was majestic, dark, long mountains, with a bluish cast from the sullen sky, cloaked in mist. Steep, plunging cliffs dropped to u-shaped valleys.

At Arches Provincial Park, a large slab of limestone sits at water's edge on a cobble beach, with four distinct arches in the rock. A few tourists were milling around. It is situated just north of Gros Morne National Park. I'm entering true tourist country now.

I decided to continue past Parson's Pond. I'd paddled the 25 kilometers in 3.5 hours and it felt too early to stop with all the wind and waves urging me to continue.

By now, waves were building to about a meter. It was a fun, lively paddle and I continued to race southwards. The view of the mountains again was stunning inland from Parson's Pond, with a mystical quality as fog veiled the details.

At the northern perimeter of Gros Morne National Park, inaccessible by car, I found smooth limestone cliffs varved with streaks of vertical colours from water seepage reacting chemically with the rock. Streaks of black, muddy brown, yellowy beige and grey painted the rocks in vibrant hues. I ate wild raspberries.

I cut across Shallow Bay, well named as most of the bay was shallow enough for my paddle to touch. Now, I'm camped on the outside edge of Cow Head and the national park in the dunes.

We'll see what tomorrow brings.

It was difficult to sleep last night,listening to revellry from a wedding in Port Saunders.I got up early and was on the water by 8.I'd wheeled the kayak down to the water using my trolley I received from Freya Hoffmeister, my paddling companion for the south shore.(She sells these remarkable trolleys.) When I awoke and noticed that it was a light northeast wind,I couldn't believe my lucky stars.I zoomed into action.

A light breeze assisted me past Spirity Cove, a fishing community but no longer a settled community. I felt in sync with the water as small waves had me making faster than usual progress.Looking over my right shoulder,I saw a ribbon of pale blue sky towards Labrador,no longer visible.I am now in the Gulf of St.Lawrence.Over my left shoulder,I felt the helpful tailwind and noticed brooding,dark clouds over the Long Range mountains.

Passing River of Ponds after only 2 hours of paddling,I noticed a distinctly blue, rounded mountain in the distance under a veneer of grey clouds. Looking on my topographic map,I noticed that it was called "Blue Mountain".

At Point Lafontaine,I beached the kayak on cobbles. Huge boulders covered the strand and there were a half a dozen fishing sheds. I stretched my legs as I'd decided that weather permitting,I was aiming for Daniel's Harbour.

The 90% chance of rain never materialized. I paddled under grey clouds or glimpses of sunshine. The low lying limestone was layered in obvious strata. Numerous caves and whimsical sculptures rimmed the shore. I saw lots of perfect circles in the bedrock, kettles, formed by waves swirling a smaller rock into the bedrock.

Later in the afternoon, as to be expected,the wind veered to be southwest,and to be a headwind.It blew moderately,and then swirled again to be easterly or northeasterly.

Exactly 8 hours later and 52 km,I landed on the ramp at Daniel's Harbour. I asked a fisherman about camping possibilities,and I am now camped on the lawn of Winnie Perry,and her son Shawn Perry and her daughter-in-law, Amelia Perry.

I'll need to get to bed early tonight. Last night,I'd gone to bed late and risen early and paddled hard today.I'm feeling the fatigue.

Last night was a hoot! With the beer flowing and a friend of Dorothy and Floyd Lawless visiting, hilarious laughter filled their cozy home. I heard stories about mummering, a Christmas tradition kept alive here in the smaller communities, where singers visit from home to home in costume. And with the pouring rain, I bedded down in their trailer under homemade quilts. The lull of the pattering of rain on the roof sent me into blissful sleep. I slept in quite late, listening to the rain tapping the trailer, and when I awoke, I discovered calm water. I dashed for the kayak, and with assistance from Dorothy and Floyd, who is my "corrosion specialist" having fixed my corroded tripod and tent poles, I had a large number of folks from Eddie's Cove West watch me depart.

I paddled westwards under a hazy sky in calm conditions. Just a light breeze stirred, from the southwest, not the northwest as predicted. The water was clear and various shades of turquoise and green. Low limestone flat rocks and cobble beaches lined the shore. I cut across bays and headed for Point Richie. I could see Port Au Choix, but declined to visit. Passing Port Au Choix Harbour, several fishing boats sped out. A cool mist hit my face. I drank ample fluids as it felt quite humid. As I was approaching Point Richie, I passed a group of archaeologists at work in the Port Au Choix National Historic Park.

The lighthouse stood in a light fog. Swells from the southwest rolled against the low layers of limestone and bounced off creating lively water, and this was a calm day! Rounding Point Richie easily, I now entered a foggy world. I'd seen the shoreline to the south of Spirity Cove and took a compass bearing. I was headed to River of Ponds and would cross Ingornachoix Bay, a 12 kilometer crossing. Side swells rocked the kayak. I paddled vigorously as this was a fair sized crossing, and the winds keep making me a bit nervous. About a third of the way across, the wind kicked in a notch, and the fog shrouded the world so all I could see was watery horizons 360 degrees around me. I saw only water and fog for about an hour.

I quicky decided that I would let the swells and waves push me to Port Saunders rather than risk another battle into building headwinds. I was relieved to have rounded Point Richie but too anxious to aim for River of Ponds.

At Port Saunders, I landed on a rough, miniscule rock beach and am now camped on the lawn of Gloria and Wayne House. How wonderful to have a shower following my sweaty paddle and to share a cup of tea with Gloria, also a school teacher like myself. Thank you to Wayne and Gloria House.

And now, I'm at Bill and Ilene Lowe's home thanks to their daughter Shaunda Lowe, using their computer. Thank you kindly to the Lowe family.

I woke up feeling sad. I think the journey is taking its toll on me. Maybe I'm tired of the strenuous, demanding days, day after day. Maybe I'm feeling lonely. Nobody to share my day with. Nobody to hug me when I'm feeling down and weary. Maybe I'm just fed up with the wind dictating when and how far I can paddle. Maybe I wish that this was just a bit easier. The wind is already letting its presence be known. It was blowing while I cooked breakfast on the dock. It's supposed to be 30 knots from the southwest today. Perhaps this is my final big rest before the big push to the completion of the journey. Or maybe the wind won't relent. During lobster season, it had been calm here for weeks, but apparently the wind causes the lobsters to crawl around.

It feels incredible to be sitting in delicious sunshine with a refreshing, steady wind keeping the bugs and heat at bay. I'm facing the sun in my "bathing suit", black lycra underwear with an Adidas black tank top, like a tankini. I lay on my Thermarest in the flowers, with the sun kissing my skin and the steady wind caressing me. How soothing. A natural reward for the tired body.

The magnitude and enormity of this journey is starting to sink in. I realized it yesterday, when at Point Richie outside of Port Au Choix, I saw a frothy ocean, whitecapping endlessly to the horizon, rolling waves with vehement strength and no regard for a feeble kayaker.

At the Lawless' home in Eddie's Cove West, we discovered that my one remaining 1GB memory card for my Pentax Optio WPI fits into Amanda Maynard's camera which connects to this computer. Images have been downloaded and burnt onto a cd and sent to Glenn's address and mine with...Canada Post. Thanks to Mark Lawless for coming up with the idea. My finger can be trigger happy again. I'll be shooting images rather than popping chocolate covered almonds. Of course, now I could do both:-)

I've been made to feel very at home here with Dorothy and Floyd Lawless, though I'm camped at water's edge. The wind is howling and the trees are dancing a jig in this breeze. Maybe I'll sleep in their trailer tonight. Eventually the wind has got to die down, eh!

A warm, sunny, very windy day was had in Eddie's Cove West today. So, I had an easy day with no paddling. As I lay day dreaming in my tent with a view of the cove and the distant flat topped mountains, a crow landed on the roof of my tent not realizing that I was inside. I reached up and touched its claws. I'd never had that happen before.

Imagine wearing clothes that haven't been laundered since June 1 (1.5 months)! Lucky me, I got an opportunity to wash all my clothing today. Whew, that feels and...smells...so much better. Thanks to Dorothy Lawless and her washing machine.

I went for a drive with Dorothy and Amanda, Dorothy's son's friend, to Port Au Choix. I was excited as I saw shoreline I'll be passing by kayak, but also because I was expecting post at the post office. But, I should know by now how inept Canada Post has been, forgetting to give me mail that was in Twillingate when I asked for my mail, losing a letter sent to a friend, sending back mail to the sender as "Undeliverable" simply because it was general delivery. And now, my 1GB memory card was conveniently missing from the envelope holding it with a perfect tear at the bottom corner to remove it. And try as I might, I was unable to find a San Disk card for my Petax Optio WPI anywhere in Port Au Choix or Port Saunders. Hopefully I'll be able to download my full card in the near future and burn the images to a disk. And feeling so frustrated, I opened the car door ready to jump in, when the driver looked at me inqisitively. I was getting in the wrong vehicle! As Dorothy suggested, I should fill a baggie with my chocolate covered almonds and put it in the pocket of my PFD where I keep my waterproof camera. Every time I see an image, I'll eat a chocolate covered almond instead!

Back at camp I seam sealed my tent. It was the perfect day for this necessary task. I'm looking forward to the next downpour, as hopefully I'll be snug and dry in my tent listening to the pattering on the waterproof fly. While I was busy with the chore, Ross, a local fisherman was chatting with me, and then Marina Plowman from Bartlett's Harbour appeared as she was visiting relatives here.

As I was cooking spaghetti on the dock, a boat broke loose from its knot and the wind was pushing it out to sea it appeared. I scrambled to the nearest house where the fisherman was called. He appeared promptly and made the rescue. Meanwhile, I was enjoying a delicious dessert, homemade squares sent to me by "ckayaker". Thanks very much. They are delicious.

I went for a walk in the cooling air. The water sparkled and I observed the texture of the flat shelves of limestone. I saw coral fossils.

I'm not sure why I check the weather reports!

I slept soundly in my tent on Marina Plowman's lawn. Rain poured and when I get to Port Au Choix, there will be seam seal waiting for me at the post office among other things. A seam has started to leak on my old but favourite tent and I put my rain coat over me when it pours during the night.

I had a leisurely morning, sleeping in as the wind tugged at the tent. I wrote in my journal and waterproofed my Keen hiking boots, sitting on the front porch in the sun. I noticed that the wind had died down. I listened to my VHF radio. Winds would be 15 knots from the southwest veering to 15 knots from the northwest at noon. That would push me southwards. I packed up and departed late in the morning.

The waves were small. The wind was fairly light and refreshing. I was enjoying the spectacular scenery, flat mountains inland with dramatic shadows from the horizontal layers streaking across the length of the mountains. Dreamy cumulus clouds hovered over the summits with clear blue skies.

The wind picked up. I dug in. I'd headed directly across St. John Bay towards Eddie's Cove West. It would be a 25 km paddle and another 15 km I hoped to paddle to Port Au Choix.

By about 2:30, the wind really kicked in. It hadn't swivelled, it had only intensified. I dug in. Waves built in size up to a meter and more. The kayak often climbed vertically up steep waves and plummeted into the troughs with sharp jolts and huge splashes of sea spray whacking me. I put my head down and let the cap take the watery assault.

By now, I was straining to keep up my strength and progress. I didn't want to relent and lose the kilometers gained, but these last 10 kilometers were hard earned distance! I gave every ounce of myself in my strokes. I paddled with all my might. But I was fatiguing. It was arduous. I cried and then instantly stopped. I needed to focus on paddling with strength. Ever so slowly, the details of the mountains crept by and the hamlet of Eddie's Cove approached.

With great relief, I landed the kayak after 5.5 hours of the most strenuous paddling I have done on this circumnavigation. I landed in a sheltered harbour on a small gravel beach. My tent is set up in a small meadow next to a dock filled with stacked lobster traps. Lobster season is over, and this shoreline did well this season compared to other areas of Newfoundland.

After cooking noodles on the beach, I visited Dorothy and Floyd Lawless where I was able to shower, make phone calls and update my blog. Thank you to Dorothy and Floyd.

Without a doubt, I'll sleep well tonight. The day was more strenuous than I'd imagined it would be.

Amazingly, I awoke to mirror calm waters, yet both weather forecasts I'd used had predicted moderate south winds. Needless to say, I hurried to get on the water but had a fairly late start, almost 9 as I'd tried to catch up on sleep.

Joanna and Donna Sheppard have been very kind towards me. Yesterday, arriving in wind and rain in Bird Cove, I felt blessed to meet Donna. Her enthusiasm was greatly appreciated. Her mother has a great sense of humour. When she saw me this morning dressed in my paddling clothes, she quipped, "Oh, I see you're in your business suit!".

When I left Bird Cove, numerous fishing boats were zooming over the placid water, engine noise travelling many kilometers. It was hot. It felt very humid and the sky was very hazy with various gradations of grays for the distant tiers of mountains. The sun shone intensely.

I rounded Ferolle Point easily in calm conditions. I enjoyed Donna's homemade bran muffins and ample fluids. Most of the paddling was over waters shallow enough to see the bottom of the sea floor. Shades of aqua and jade flowed beneath my kayak.

Rounding Ferolle Point, where a lighthouse is situated, I deliberated crossing straight towards Port Au Choix, but quickly decided to hug the shore to Bartlett's Harbour, knowing how swiftly conditions can change. It felt like the calm before the storm.

A moderate south wind kicked up and small waves bounced the kayak. I entered Bartlett's Harbour, and immediately two women approached me. They asked if I'd been on tv! I was invited to camp or stay at their places. Thank you kindly to Lucy Myers and Marina Plowman for greeting me upon arrival, and providing me with a place to set up camp or sleep indoors. Thank you also to Alice Plowman, Lucy Myers, and Marina Plowman for a delicious dinner consisting of local seafood; cod tongues, britches, salmon steaks. But I was thirsty more than hungry. It has been the hottest, most humid day here for this season. I have downed several litres of water and called it quits after paddling only 4.5 hours. I felt wiped.

Wanda Plowman has given me the use of her computer. There are four small kittens nursing next to the computer.

A slightly cooler wind is blowing. What a relief.

Last evening, I visited Wade and Ivy Chamber's home. I fortunately had tried cleaning my MSR Whisperlite again, used new Coleman fuel purchased in Cook's Harbour, and was able to cook my supper. Ironically, everything was just put away and camp was tidied up, when it started to rain. I'd retreated to the comfort of my tent for a while, but visited the Chambers' home to use the phone.

Thanks to Ivy and Wade, I slept very comfortably in the wet weather, but got up early to survey the weather. The water was fairly calm and though it was grey, it wasn't raining, so I departed and was on the water at 6:30, camp disassembled.

But, the predicted southwest wind arrived as well as a deluge of rain. It teemed rain. The entire surface of the water was pocked by raindrops. The wind was moderately strong, but I wondered at the idea of rounding Point Ferolle in inclement weather. I was tired from waking up so early yet again and the paddling conditions were miserable. I got off the water at Bird Cove, a very short paddle from Blue Cove. I should have stayed warm and dry in a spacious bed. But I was chilled, soaked and in Bird Cove where I met Donna Sheppard at the wharf where she purchased some cod from a local fisherman.

Donna took me back to her home in the neighbouring community of Brig Bay to dry out. I'm exploring the area on foot. Presently, I'm at the Big Droke Archaeological Foundation site using the computer thanks to Darlene Mahar. When I'm done typing, I'll go check out the exxhibit on this grey, dreary day.

I feel like having a long nap! And while my hometown of London, Ontario swelters under an intense heatwave, I'm bundled in turtleneck and Goretex.

Rising early paid off. I had a delightful paddle before headwinds arrived!

I started paddling before 6:30 A.M. on calm waters at Green Island Cove. The coast of Labrador was shrouded in fog. Everything was silent. Villagers at Green Island Cove were heading to bed as I departed. Some had partied all night long from the local wedding. Last evening as I went for a walk, I'd seen several seal skins stretched to dry on wooden frames.

For the first hour, I didn't even see or hear a car on the highway that hugs the shore and connects most of the communities on the Northern Peninsula. The land here is as flat as a pancake and barely rises above sea level.

About an hour after launching, fog rolled in. It was dense enough that visibility varied from about 100 to 300 meters. I became a shore hugger. I counted coves and small villages; Savage Cove, Nameless Cove, Flowers Cove, Bear Cove, Deadmans Cove and Anchor Point. It remained calm and the water was placid. The sun shone through the mist and sparkled on the water.

I was relieved that the paddling went smoothly, despite the fog. I use only a compass and a topographic map for navigation. I was also relieved that tidal rips were absent. According to Gerty Larkin from Cook's Harbour, some strong currents have speed boats barely moving forward. All was calm and relaxed as I passed by. This is where Labrador is nearest to Newfoundland in the Strait of Belle Isle.

As I approached Anchor Point, the fog simply disappeared and sunshine warmed the air. I saw the small community of Pigeon Cove across St. Barbe Bay. I had a gentle tailwind urging me southwards. It was an effortless and speedy crossing. In the distance towards Labrador, I heard a fog horn. Later, I saw the ferry emerge from the fog. It crosses from St. Barbe, Newfoundland to Blanc Sablon, Quebec which is right on the Labrador border.

I paddled to Current Island beside Forresters Point and stopped for lunch, sitting on a soft, aromatic carpet of partridge berry plants. I smothered a bagel with molasses. Many Newfoundlanders have molasses in their cupboards as a staple.It was warm and sunny and no wind. It made me nervous. Was it the calm before the storm?

When I departed after a brief lunch, I felt a southwest wind stirring and when I looked over my right shoulder, I had my last glimpse of the Labrador and Quebec coastline. I paddled with vigour across Ste. Genevieve Bay. Winds stayed light and refreshing.

Approaching Blue Cove, I had decided that I'd stop at Bird Cove, but just then a fairly strong headwind blew against me. I decided to not battle the wind and landed at the edge of Blue Cove where I'm camped on a meadow only a few meters from the strait.

I'm at the home of Dwayne Chambers using the computer. I've paddled far enough south, that I can see mountains inland. Here along the shore, it's flat limestone.

My face feels windburnt, but I'm pleased that the last two days went as well as they did.

Glenn here, glad to say I just heard from Wendy. She sounds a little tired but says she feels strong and rested after a great night's sleep at the home of Gerty Larkin in Cook's Harbour. Thanks Gerty, for hosting our Wendy!
Wendy spent 7 1/2 hours in her boat today, taking advantage of the oh-so-welcome tailwinds. After spending the day riding "playful" 1-1.5 meter swells, the beach at Green Island Cove is her campsite this evening, and she reports that the village is almost deserted due to a local wedding celebration. The Labrador coastline is still visible in the distance, but much hazier today.
Green Island Cove marks the beginning of Newfoundland Route 430, which follows the shoreline and will provide Wendy with an extra margin of safety and comfort as she descends the Western shore en route to her expedition's finish at Isle aux Morts.
Go Wendy!

Glenn

Another milestone! I rounded Cape Norman.

I felt lazy and started paddling shortly after 8. There was a good southwest wind blowing, but I figured that the wind would be in my favour until Cape Norman, and then the western shore of the Northern Peninsula would shelter me. Forget it!

Paddling across Cape Norman Bay, a short three kilometer crossing, I heard a "whoosh". Right beside me on my starboard beam, less than a kayak length away, was a minke whale surfacing to breathe. It was so close. I could see into the blow hole. Its curved fin followed and fluidly, within a few seconds, the graceful creature was gone. It reappeared again, parallel to my starboard beam, swimming in the same direction that I was paddling. It was so glossy and shiny in the sun. It reappeared several more times over a ten minute period, mainly on my port side, swimming beside me. My port side was upwind, and I smelled the fishy stench of its mighty breath.

When I approached White Point, it dove under, and it was gone. That's ok as beside the limestone cliffs the water was quite agitated. Northern swells boomed against the cliffs and rolled back. I watched for the multitude of sinkers surrounding these cliffs. The light from the lighthouse had been visible to me yesterday when I'd started my crossing of Pistolet Bay at Cape Onion fifteen kilometers distant.

Rounding Cape Norman, I felt the excitement that I'm on the homeward stretch, but nothing comes easily. The offshore wind was gusty and the swells rolled with enormous power, crashing against shoals, spindrift flying towards the hazy coast of Labrador. I didn't feel comfortable. Would the wind build? Would I be pushed to Labrador like the spindrift? The first beach I saw, I made a quick landing. It was a steep cobble beach, but I'm camped in an idyllic spot, away from view of the road to Boat Harbour, on a flat shelf of cobbles.

Within minutes, as clouds rolled in, frigid air chilled me and I was grabbing for my wool sweater, Primaloft vest, and fleece pants. Just like that, a summer day transformed into a chilly day.

I walked to Boat Harbour, about 2 km away from my campsite, and thanks to Louise Brown, I have been able to access a computer.

What a great day! I woke up to a crisp morning with heavy dew soaking the tent. You know it's cold when the mosquitoes are in hiding on a calm morning. I was on the water by 6:30. As I was preparing for the day, the water was a silky, soft pink. The landscape slowly was lit by the sun travelling across the land. The sky was cloudless.

Oh, and I saw my first moose last night! It was in the distance foraging, but, I saw a moose.

I retraced the few kilometers I'd paddled yesterday, and enjoyed the jagged coastline. I was happy to have the swells and light wind pushing me northwards.

I paddled past Quirpon, pronounced "Carpoon" here in Newfoundland, and saw an old French bread oven built into a rock. I paddled to L'Anse Aux Meadows and saw the Viking settlement along the shore. I also saw Great Sacred Island in the distance, and it had a huge red rock which I could see from very far away in contrast to the grey rock. It looked like a piece of Ayer's Rock kerplunked randomly at the edge of the island.

Many eider ducks swam and flew near me, including dozens of ducklings. The males are beautiful, with black and white colouration.

I stopped at Cape Onion for a leg stretch and lunch. It was also a great photo opportunity, with a miniature village including a lighthouse, Samuel Hurley's colourful garden with innumerable wooden knick knacks all handmade by him, including a large snake in the actual shape of the wood, and a laundry line filled with half a dozen colourful homemade quilts. The sun was shining and the water was calm. Perfect cumulus clouds floated serenely. I met Kitt Tuckers who had heard about my journey for the first time yesterday, and now I'd landed across the road from her home. She was quite excited about the serendipitous moment.

I decided to cross Pistolet Bay, a 15 km crossing. Conditions were ideal. I paddled with non-stop energy. I know how the weather can change in an instant. And it did! I saw a line of white caps approaching me as I looked over to Labrador. I was thankfully only 2 km from shore, but I dug in with every ounce of my energy. In 60 seconds, the water had gone from flat calm to 1 meter waves bucking the kayak and sending walls of sea spray at me. Who needs hairspray when there's sea spray!? An idyllic day should always end with a good challenge, eh?

I landed on a small beach about 0.5 km from Cook's Harbour. I'm camped in a lovely flower meadow. Here in town, I'm at Deanna Carroll's computer. Thanks kindly, Deanna.

I had a 10 hour day of paddling. I'll sleep well tonight, and weather permitting, I'll round Cape Norman tommorrow and head southwards!

The day started good and early in the pouring rain. I rose shortly before 6, and just as I was getting up, the rain started, but not just a little rain, a soaking downpour. I wheeled the kayak about 200 meters downhill to a ramp and launched on glass smooth water pocked by rain drops. I buried myself deep in my hood. It was cool out. It's like having another round of spring. Lilacs are fresh in bloom here as well as lupines.

The water was silky smooth, and at one point, it resembled liquid silver, so shiny, smooth and metallic in appearance. Just past Great Brehat, I came upon numerous rocky islets with pinnacles of rock spearing the sky, serrated and jagged and dark. There were towering columns next to vertical cliffs. I floated contently betwean these rock gardens.

When I continued on, I noticed that I all of a sudden had a headwind, but not just a breeze, it was like a slap in the face, "hello, I'm here" wind. I slogged northwards, committed to making it to Quirpon at least, but as I rounded White Dog Point, the ocean was wickedly wild. Waves had grown considerably within just a few minutes. I was determined to make headway, but, the wind continued to gain strength, and I am all too aware how powerful and sudden the gusts are here in Newfoundland. For the first time during my circumnavigation, I turned the kayak around and surfed the waves southwards to St. Lunaire Bay.I hugged the shoreline closely to stay out of the wind and arrived at the wharf at St. Lunaire. With the wind blowing and the rain abbated, all my wet gear dried easily.

Thanks to Edith Patey in St. Anthony for providing me with a comfortably flat lawn to camp upon.

With light tailwinds and a wonderful south east swell, I headed farther north, past Fischot Island and into Hare Bay. This bay had instilled a good dose of fear in me as I'd read Ken Campbell's account in his book "Around the Rock", of his wild, bucking crossing. Thankfully, I had fun, easy conditions. The sun was out and it was slightly on the cool side. With such favourable conditions, the almost ten kilometer crossing was accomplished in 1.5 hours. And it was finished with a sigh of relief. Just as I was at the end of the crossing, a fisherman's boat came over with a fellow yelling, "Are ye lost?".

People have shown their hospitable and caring Newfoundland nature both on and off the water. Newfoundlanders have endured a lot over the ages, but their heart and spirit stays strong. I'm glad I don't make judgements through listening through the grapevine. I'm glad I listen to the Nature around me and to the true voices of the people I have been fortunate enough to meet and converse with. It has enriched this experience extraordinarily.

Interestingly, as I was paddling into the harbour at St. Anthony, the fog rolled in and the wind as well. It was a hint to stay put, and so that's what I did. Now I can acquire a few supplies for the continuation to the extreme northern tip before I head southwards.

Winds did die down as predicted, and so I headed northwards.

As I left Conche, I saw a little long liner with several smaller fishing boats hauling in a net of Capelin. About a kilometer south, a team of archaeologists were working at a site at the Fox Peninsula. Evidence of Dorset culture has been discovered in this area.

Rounding the southern tip of the Conche Peninsula, I saw towering cliffs of siltstone and shale. I saw the Glass Hole, an arch near the cliff top. I also stopped at a pebble beach beneath a double arch. Cliffs were covered with caves, arches, and nesting gulls.

At the Cape Rouge Peninsula, I saw numerous bald eagles, often sitting regally at the tip of serrated pinnacles of rock. At one point, I saw three bald eagles gliding on thermals next to the cliffs.

Passing the Grey Islands on my right, I saw a small iceberg in the distance. And on my left, close to shore, I encountered a feeding humpback whale in a cove near Grandois. I tapped the kayak and watched it swim with grace and power. It submerged about 50 meters to the port of my kayak, but I never saw it again. The wind had picked up, but in my favour, and I was speeding along northwards.

I searched the cove at Grandois twice to find a suitable landing place. Once I found a sliver of beach, I requested to camp on the front yard of George and Louise Whiteway. My wet gear has dried quickly in the wind, and my ravenous appetite has been filled with a generous meal provided by George and Loiuse. Thank you so much to the Whiteway family. My MSR Whisperlite stove has not been functioning effectively with a colourless flame and limited heat. Thankfully, I have not had to deal with this issue as of late. I have cleaned it repeatedly. Maybe a MSR stove expert can tell me what the problem is?

Conche had two polar bears visit the community in June, but they were chased out to the Grey Islands. Here in Grandois, polar bears have roamed the street about two years ago. Polar bear landings are more frequent than I ever expected. Apparently there are more moose in Newfoundland than people. I have met innumerable people who have enriched my journey, but as of yet I have not seen a single moose! Unbelievable.

Today, there was more wind. Last night, the wind howled and screeched and the walls felt like they were rattling and vibrating. Now, gusts blast by and I again am thankful that I chose to be patient. Gusts are blowing at 72 km/h, almost 40 knots off shore. That's force 8 on the Beaufort Wind Force Scale and would be classified as near gale force.

So, I relaxed. I ate a filling "dinner", which to most would be called lunch, including traditional salted beef and figgy pudding.

Tommorrow the winds are predicted to be favourable. I hope to continue my journey "Round the Rock".

Thanks kindly to Bridget and Gary Carroll for your hospitality here in Conche. I appreciate your generosity very much. Conche is keeping the history alive along the French Shore with a heritage museum which vividly depicts and interprets the human history of this northern area of Newfoundland.

Waves thud against the flat, gently sloping, sedimentary rocks, a continuous pounding. They sculpt the rock, but they also mold me as a person. They help build character as they roll beneath the hull of my kayak. I've felt the serenity of placid moments, the fear of sudden, unexpected gusts, and the thrill of hill-sized swells. I have emerged as a stronger, fuller person by listening to these waves. Their sound and their motion flows through me, like the flow of blood through my veins and arteries. It is like a living, breathing, pulsing being. It is the Atlantic Ocean.


The ocean is a powerful place. The smell of salty brine, the cold feel of splashing waves, the taste of salt upon my lips, it's part of the reason why I'm here. Today, the ocean was too powerful a place for me. I sat beside the ocean, and rock hopped over sedimentary rocks, the symmetrical branching ripples as clearly visible as ripples on a calm day at a sandy beach. I saw brown siltstone with mudcracks filled with debris. These sedimentary rocks are not typical of "The Rock". I have paddled past endless kilometers of volcanic and metamorphic rocks, but here on the Conche Peninsula, a unique geological picture is clearly evident.

Today I saw the finer details of the land I paddle past, day after day, week after week, month after month. I saw the textures of the rock, the ripples and polygonal patterns, the fine layers. I saw the colourful solipsism of yellow and orange lichen blotching these rocks and the hardy plants that have taken root amongst these rocks in summertime bloom including sedums, harebells, sea vetch and others that I couldn't identify.

I watched the wind race over the water, rippling it like the ripples in the rock. I saw the symmetry in Nature, the patterns and textures with open eyes. The exquisite beauty here is almost infinite. I'm glad I could enjoy this beauty as the wind blew over the ocean and kept my kayak resting on a lawn in Conche. I saw it from a different perspective, a land perspective.

Wind is predicted yet again for tomorrow. This is not typical for July in Newfoundland. I've been told that since I arrived here in Conche, the wind has started to blow. It's been settled here for weeks on end. I must wonder. Maybe I should stop telling the people I meet, "Look what the wind blew in!".

Resting at Bridget Carroll's place suits me fine. I'll launch when it's time.

Listening to the wind rattle the window and clang the chimes, I was snuggled with the knowledge that I didn't need to get up in the wee hours of predawn gloom. I slept for ten hours!

Winds have been howling today. Flowers bobbed in the gusts. Clouds scudded across a blue sky. Fishermen stayed ashore. Even this kayaker didn't venture out onto the water.

I went for a walk. Conche is connected to the rest of Newfoundland by dirt road. Crouse is a neighbouring village. It spreads out along a sweeping pebble beach, well sheltered from the Atlantic Ocean. In bygone years, schooners lay anchor here. Even Jacques Cartier mentions the well protected harbour.

Well cared for stages rimmed the shore. Doors all have a cross painted white on them, a tradition carried on from long ago days when only Catholics resided here. Picture perfect clouds created photo opportunities.

I watched a fisherman cut apart his lump fish net, a net 50 fathoms in length, as lump fish season is over, and the net had too many holes to be mended. I walked along a board walk edging the eastern shore of Southwest Crouse Harbour. It leads to an archaeological site. A group of 5 archaeological students and a professor reside next door to Bridget Carroll's for the summer. History continues to be unearthed here.

Sitting on a pebble beach, watching the wind race across the harbour, I wrote my thoughts in my journal, hair being tossed, skin being tickled. How wonderful to enjoy the wind from a different perspective, on land. A boy came and sat with me, talking about how he loved this place, talking about the beauty he is surrounded by. Maurice Lewis is his name, and a very personable young man.

The wind brought rain. I walked back in pouring rain, waves lashing the shore, rain soaking my legs. It felt great, nature's shower.

I'd been interviewed twice today, by CBC Radio in Cornerbrook, who tracked me down by this blog, and by Adventure Kayak Magazine.

Winds are predicted to continue, strong winds. Could this be another Lumsden scenario? Time will tell.

I'm back! Today I decided to sleep in, until almost 8! Then, I procrastinated about departure from Englee. The winds were favourable but were predicted to gust strongly. I decided to go for it and was on the water fairly late, almost 10:30, but planned a shorter 20 km segment to Conche. I'd camped on the lawn of Raymond and Cavell Lane, a kind couple. I met Roland Castle, a resident from Englee who was cycling past and instantly recognized me from my CBC interview on TV. He made me feel like a celebrity!

My paddle started easy enough, with light tailwinds, yes, tailwinds! But then the wind picked up and then started to gust so that I was wondering about my decision to be out on the water. I hugged the shore. And then in the distance I saw spouting. As I hugged the shore I came quite close to at least 3 humpbacks feeding. Within 100 meters, they were spouting, resting with fin on the surface, and breaching with thunderous splashes. I made sure I tapped my kayak loudly as I sat there amidst their feeding spectacle. It was a moment I'd been anticipating, but with the gusty wind, I continued to focus on my paddling.

I crossed to Conche, a small community along Le Petit Nord, the French Shore. Upon landing, Bernard Gardiner and Wade Carroll came to greet me on the pebbly beach. There I learned from Wade, a retire military employee, that as training in 2003, his group in Kingston trained by circumnavigating P.E.I. by kayak, 18 military personnel and 3 guides. Apparently they were quite the attraction upon landfall on P.E.I.'s shoreline!

I am presently in the comfort of Bridgette Carroll's home in Conche. The community is nestled along a well sheltered cove. As I was walking suited in my drysuit to Bridgette's place, I met Austin, who after hosing me to rinse my Kokatat suit, told me a Newfoundland folklore saying:

Love many, trust a few,
Always paddle your own canoe.

It's a beautiful evening. Winds have calmed and the temperature is quite comfortable. I zoomed from Englee to Conche in just over 3 hours, a 20 km distance. Tailwinds sure can make a difference.

My visit to Great Harbour Deep was quite interesting by learning about the resettlement of the community first hand from former resident Crystal Smith.

Wouldn't you know it, the weather forecast was inaccurate...again! 40 to 60 km/h winds were predictd, so I slept in. When I awoke, it was calm and foggy, yet the prediction was still calling for high wind and thundershowers. And now I sit fretting. It was the perfect morning to cross White Bay, and I hesitated. Meanwhile, I enjoy the friendly hospitality of Marg and Bill Shelley. Marg loves baking and cooking. Needless to say, she's feeding me well.

Tomorrow's weather forecast looks favourable. Let's hope I can make the 25 km crossing safely. I will be relieved. It will be a 50 km paddle, with no stops as it is an open water crossing followed by rugged, steep cliffs until Great Harbour Deep, a resettlement community. Only Bob Pitman remains and he runs a lodge.

For lunch this evening "fish 'n brewis" is planned, a traditional Newfoundland meal.

Last night, I walked the oceanview trail, and saw numerous whales in the far distance, breathing and breaching. Some capelin has been reported in the area. The fishermen are excited that the capelin are arriving.

Well, with a late launch, I paddled on Saturday, July 1, to Fleur de Lys. I'd spent the sunny, hot, windy morning in Pacquet. I'd risen early to listen to the gusty weather report on the VHF and then leisurely napped for 3 more hours.

Once awake, I went for a walk. I met Howard Sacrey and his lovely family and enjoyed tea and homebaked bread. Many of these little communities are slowly fading away. Young people leave the province mostly to find employment. The youngest person residing in Pacquet, population about 250, is 6 years old. There are no babies. The communities typically consist of older people. And what will these small communities on the perimeter of the Rock look like ten years from now I wonder with the demographics the way they are?

I visited the celebrations but it was hot, and not much was really happening, except that the bay looked less loppy, so impulsively, I decided to paddle the 25 km to Fleur de Lys, the northernmost community on the Baie Verte Peninsula. This will be my departure point for crossing White Bay on a calm day to the Northern Peninsula.

It was stifling hot when I departed. A few boats were out enjoying the splendid July 1 weather. I made good progress the first 8 km with cliffs blocking the southwest wind. Once I needed to cross Baie Verte, the wind came at me as port beam waves and partial headwind. In typical fashion, the wind picked up considerably as I had just started the 12 km crossing. Soon, I was paddling lively water, digging in with committed effort in every stroke. I was glad I was paddling with my Epic wing blade. It grabs the water very effectively. I make faster progress with my new paddle that pulls very cleanly and fluidly through any water conditions I've encountered thus far. And the constant splashes and sea spray were a welcome relief from the heatwave as the kayak bucked towards the distant horizon. When I finshed my paddle, my entire face was salt encrusted and wind burnt.

Once approaching Fleur de Lys, I was headed into a blinding trail of light as the sun was descending. I found a speck of beach where I was glad to land. The paddle had been quite tiring, but I was in a new place, making progress. Knocking on the door of the home by the beach, I asked for permission to camp next to the chicken coop. And the only response I got was, "Haul 'er up!", and nothing else has been said to me.

Later, after preparing camp, I visited a couple, Marg and Bill Shelley, at the very end of the road, where I used the phone. In hospitable Newfoundland fashion, I was invited to sit and stay for tea and homemade bread. Upon departing, I was given a container of partridgebeery jam. Bill had picked 100 gallons of partridgeberries last season. And like many Newfoundlanders that I have met who are older, they spend a good part of their year travelling to visit children out of province.

Today, I'll visit the archaeoloigical site here, a soapstone quarry originally used by the Dorset. I'll sit tight for settled weather to cross over White Bay to the Northern Peninsula. I listened to blaring music nearby my camp until 4:30 A.M. and at 5:30, a thunderstorm rolled in. I'm too tired to even think of paddling across White Bay today.