Clarke's Beach & Woody Island Resort

We arrived at Clarke’s Beach on the 25^th and then drove less than 10 miles to the Canadian Legion Hall. We were fed a sumptuous meal cooked by Ken, a huge man who is a true Newfie. The Mayor greeted us with an uplifting short speech. It was a perfect evening with a wondrous sunset, and we hung around the marina for awhile, soaking in the wonderful weather. Adding to our joy, across the water, was an old Airstream parked near a bright red cottage. It matched the roof of a big, picturesque, local church. Newfies love rich colors; they are not a boring people.

The next day, half of our group--16 couples--drove several miles to Garden Cove to catch a 42-foot cabin cruiser bound for the remote, scenic Woody Island Resort. Our leaders had arranged for two days in a lodge on the Island. The lodge could accommodate only half of us at one time. We were in Group 2, leaving two days later for the island. While the first group was gone, we made the best of a great touring opportunity. We drove about 20 miles to Harbour Grace, home of the old Aerodrome Landing Field, built in 1927. It’s now a National Historic Site, which is now only a shadow (grassy strip) of its former self. It had world-class prominence in the 1930s, as it was used by Amelia Earhart in her successful trans-Atlantic solo flight. She was the first woman to accomplish that feat on May 20, 1932. Just think of how far we have come in only 79 years. The strip is still used by light aircraft; a plaque and sign are there to honor Amelia, along with 40 other pioneer pilots, who flew from that field during the years 1927-1937. Eddie Rickenbacker was one of them. We there alone on silent, hallowed ground. There were only some ponies grazing peacefully nearby.

A few miles from the airstrip on the edge of the harbor stands a lovely statue honoring Earhart. As well, the grand old ship, S.S. Kyle (see top photo), one of the last of the coal burners, came to rest there in 1968 where she is still grounded after all these years. The Kyle was built in England around the time of the Titanic and served primarily as a Newfoundland-Labrador coastal ferry boat for many years. In her prime she was an avant-garde, glorious, speedy vessel, strengthened to cope with icy waters. In 1913 she was described as a “specimen of marine architecture” by the Evening Telegram as she entered the Narrows of St. John’s. We hope that she will one day be restored, but that would take megabucks.

When it was our turn to travel to Woody Island, it was a chilly, gray, foggy morning, so we saw no wildlife. We did see some old stages (fishing huts). Gloria elected to stay in the comfortable lodge to rest and play joker even as the weather had improved. Jerry went with friends, Chuck, Joyce and Larry, on a long hike to the end of the island in bright, warm sunshine. We saw a few tidy. seasonal cottages, but there is no electricity on the island; generators are required for power. Apparently no one winters there. High points of the hike were lovely wildflowers and an old cemetery, but the historic community buildings have not been maintained. The residents of the once-thriving island community of 400 began arriving in the early 1800s from Europe. They were mostly Protestant fisherman who also raised vegetables, sheep, cows, and goats. Most residents were relocated by the Canadian government back in 1968, as it was too costly to provide services to such a remote place. A few people elected to stay on their beloved island for years without government help.

The entrepreneurial owner of the summer resort and boat that carried us there really knows how to please his guests. The rooms are not fancy, but they are clean and utilitarian. The lodge is comfortable and cozy with a fireplace. The friendly, informal kitchen staff members were fabulous. Anytime we wanted a cup of coffee or tea it was available. The meals with hot rolls were superb by Newfoundland standards; not much seasoning is used in this province.

The best activity during the two days at the resort was the evening entertainment. The musician was a quality singer of Irish and Island ballads, and he also played several accordions—a highly popular Newfie instrument. Our group sang and danced until midnight; Gloria demonstrated a huge burst of energy. Our levity was increased significantly by four wild psychiatric nurses-- not a part of our group--but boat mates nevertheless. They were all over one of our bachelors like a cheap suit even though his lady friend was with him. John is a slow-talking, laid back, humorous, Georgian, who did not appear concerned about his old heart. Maybe he knew that his newly found fans were all trained in CPR. At one point the nurses slipped out and put on costumes. They soon returned to pull several men from our group to the dance floor, including our ultra-conservative, mild-mannered friend, Lloyd. He had earlier delighted the group with his rendition of the “ugly stick” beat. We swear he had nothing strong to drink. But you never know what a wacky nurse can bring out in a sane man, who on hobbled knees, bounced to a dance beat he had never before experienced. Wife, Elaine, our Northern Virginia friend for 24 years, just smiled. However, some wondered why Lloyd was found sleeping on a couch in the lodge later that night. We are not sure how Elaine really felt, but it was necessary to confine her for a couple days in order to protect Lloyd.

On our way back to Garden Cove, the boat stopped mid-way at a primitive, plastic-covered shelter, where we enjoyed a fire, walk on the beach, and a picnic. The lively nurses continued to entertain. Back at camp, we took time during a rainstorm to get our laundry done and do some shopping. We were late getting back to camp for a game of joker, so our friends sent out a posse to find us; we stopped them at the edge of the campground.

Click on photos to enlarge them. Click back arrow to return to normal view.

Historic Bonavista & Trinity, NL

Ever since we began perusing the Newfoundland travel literature, we have been eager to tour Bonavista where John Cabot allegedly landed in 1497. As soon as we were unhitched, we loaded up with Lloyd and Elaine and headed to Cape Bonavista to see Cabot’s statue, the lighthouse, and a unique seaside rock formation called the Dungeon. At the lighthouse, we talked with the keeper, who gave us a private tour of his station, the fog horn, and the mechanism that makes it work. The latter beams a signal, and when the fog is within four miles, it reflects the signal back, which automatically sounds the loud, haunting horn. Instead of an old kerosene light used by the early keepers of the lighthouse, the modern light uses only a small halogen light bulb. That light is then magnified by big reflectors. We toured the nearby “Dungeon”, which has been carved in rock by Mother Nature. Its large arches overlooking the water look like two big, fierce eyes that would allow no one to circumvent.

From the cape, we drove to Ellison Municipal Park where uniquely beautiful puffins frequent. They stayed out on a little island, but they were close enough to proudly pose for photos. What gorgeous creatures they are with their vibrant black and white coloring and big, yellow, parrot-like bills. They resemble helicopters flying over the water; then they fold up and suddenly dive several feet to capture their prey.

On a gray, foggy day we elected to travel by ourselves to Bonavista and look over the harbor area. We toured a museum housed in several historic buildings which were once the headquarters for the James Ryan Import and Export Company. We learned much about the fishing industry that was so pervasive throughout Newfoundland in its early days. In a tall blue building near the harbor is a replica of the ship John Cabot sailed to North America. We enjoyed a light lunch of the most delicious seafood chowder we have ever eaten at a lovely tearoom. They did everything to perfection, including serving the tea in attractive pots kept warm by an accompanying candle burner. They even had Wi-Fi, which Jerry used after lunch while Gloria walked up the street to a hair salon. She returned neatly cropped; Jerry had to digest that one along with his rocky road cream pie. Our friends have been most complimentary of Gloria’s new look, and it will facilitate hair maintenance.

We then drove around town to capture more photos, as the weather had improved. We met a Newfie, who had once lived in Texas; he told us about a remote sea arch that we should definitely see. We drove 20 miles via quaint King’s Cove, from where several scholars have emanated. Then we moved on to the arch positioned uniquely in picturesque red rock. It was well worth the drive, and we were surprised that there was little signage leading tothe Sea Arch. We knocked on a door to have a lady point us to the path. In the U.S. there would be a ticket window and long line. But here we were completely alone with the lovely red rocks, quiet harbor, and small, peaceful cemetery across the water on a green hillside. After seeing the spectacular arch, we stopped to thank the Lord for such a privilege. It was also a time to allow Gloria a respite after enduring a rather arduous hike over jagged rocks.

On the third day, we again teamed up with Lloyd and Elaine. We drove several miles with them, bouncing along over rough roads in our trusty Tundra, to the historic town of Trinity. If you are seeking beautiful old homes and churches over a century old, Trinity should top your list of attractions. It is a photographer’s paradise. Only a handful of people stay there during the harsh winter season. We joined a 10:00 a.m. walking tour with a local guide who is also a teacher. We literally walked the entire town in two and one-half hours. Our guide occasionally stopped long enough to provide historical facts about certain buildings and well-known citizens from a bygone era, including a few criminals and several entrepreneurs. The old church is the largest wooden Anglican Church building in Newfoundland. Its somewhat eerie cemetery with several downed grave markers is well chronicled with complete records of everyone buried there going back the 1700s. Notably, there was Dr. John Clinch, who offered the first vaccinations for smallpox in North America to hundreds in the area. Our erudite guide provided some of the more humorous records via audio on his CD player, which he carried along in a case with big speakers so everyone could hear. In the afternoon, several of our fellow Airstreamers attended a walking pageant through town with actors in historic dress, but we were glad that we had been with our wonderful guide and a smaller group.

Late that afternoon, back at the campground, several of our caravanners offered a show and tell. There was everything from hand-crafted jewelry to genealogy. It was time for our driver’s meeting at 8:00 p.m. covering the details of the next day’s drive to Clarke’s Beach. We concluded that three days were simply not enough time to tour the Bonavista Area. Several sights eluded us because we lacked time to visit them, even though we were busy every day.

Gander & Eastport, NL

When you hear of Gander, NL think of aircraft and a special bond with the U.S. Airplanes have served to link Gander and the U.S. on many occasions. We once had an airbase here, as this is the nearest point from North America to the British Isles. Many of the earliest flights that crossed the Atlantic started from here. Numerous balloonists have launched from here in an attempt to set records.

The worst plane crash ever in Canada occurred here in 1985. A U.S. military plane with 285 members of the 101^st Airborne Division was heading home to Fort Campbell from Iraq. All personnel aboard perished in a fiery crash on a hillside shortly after takeoff from the Gander Airport. We visited a monument on the crash site which has been erected as a tribute to our warriors. The Masons also have placed a monument there.

On the horrible day of 911 more than 13000 airline passengers were diverted to Canada, thirty eight planes landed in Gander. The airport is small by U.S. standards, but it met a critical need. Nine hundred of the displaced passengers would stay in and around Gander and with local families for several days. Many lasting friendships were formed, and many of the Americans have returned to visit their hosts. On that fateful day, we were leading an Airstream caravan on a remote island in Ontario. We can speak first-hand of the concern, generosity, and outreach of our kind Canadian neighbors.

One of the best things we did was spend a half-day with the Royal Canadian Search and Rescue Squadron stationed here. They have a few helicopters designated and well-equipped to perform their mission. Whenever they get a call from their Halifax headquarters concerning anyone in a life or death situation, they respond, provided that weather permits a safe flight. These guys are fit and tough, and they perform all manner of rescues from icy mountain slopes to burning or sinking ships to stranded fishermen floating on sheets of ice.

We moved on from Gander about 60 miles to Eastport. In that rural area, we spent most of three days with Jerry and Mary, old friends from Tennessee. We were both once in the Northern Virginia Airstream Unit. On the first evening, our leaders provided an excellent dinner at the local Legion Hall.

Our first outing was the picturesque little fishing village of Salvage. There we talked to several locals who love to talk about their experiences. We even returned on the second day for photos when the sun was favorable. We also took a 45-minute ferry ride to the Island of St. Brendan. Only about 140 people live there now, and there are less than 20 students. At one time there were over 5000 inhabitants of the island, but the fishing industry has dwindled, and younger people have moved on to jobs in a more modern place after having gone to college. As well, the Canadian government has sought to relocate citizens who reside in remote areas in order to provide services at a lesser cost. While on the ferry we talked to several passengers who grew up on the island, and they were extremely proud of their heritage. At one time there were no ferries, and people could only get to the mainland via scheduled steamers or they could walk when the harbor was frozen. There is only one church on St. Brendan, as everyone living there is of the Roman Catholic faith. There is only a dirt road and a couple of convenience stores. We elected to stay around the ferry until it returned to the mainland, as we had left our vehicle in the parking lot. Upon our return we drove to the small village of Burnside and took our own tour of lovely St. Auban’s church not far from the ferry dock. The church was open with not a person in sight.

As far as entertainment is concerned, we attended an evening musical presentation by four of the Ray Walsh family at the Eastport Heritage Center. It was a sellout crowd with most of our caravanners attending. The seats were comfortable, and the music was a combination of singing and string instruments resonating to Newfoundland and Irish tunes, some of which were written by the performers.

On our last day, which was Sunday, we drove about eight miles to a provincial park, Newman Sound. There we took a wonderful, quiet walk which was like strolling through an enchanted forest bordering a lovely harbor. We even saw an eagle. Back at the campground that evening, several caravanners opered their rigs to show the rest of us some of the creative things they had added to their Airstreams beyond what had been provided by the manufacturer.

Twillingate Island Coastal Trails, NF

We were delighted to be in the Twillingate Area, located on a northeast peninsula on Notre Dame Bay for four days. We discovered a well-known collage of small, picturesque fishing villages where large icebergs sometimes appear. This was not the time. However, we did not complain, as we had seen plenty of them previously in St. Anthony (see that post for photos). We toured during the day and were entertained and fed in the evenings. When we ran out of things to do, we played evening Joker with our good Virginia friends, Lloyd and Elaine. See their photo at the right.

The first dinner and evening performance were held at the Twillingate Masonic Lodge. Gifted local guitar player and singer, Karren Churchill, had a full repertoire of songs from bluegrass to Newfoundland ballads. She accepted requests and demonstrated her wonderful voice in meeting nearly every preference. She involved her caravanner audience and at one point even enlisted the cooks in a humorous, melodic presentation. In the end she received a standing ovation. During intermission we were privileged to go upstairs and visit the elegant meeting place of the Masons. The building, with its wide plank floors, was constructed by the Masons in the early 1900s and has consistently met their needs since that time. One of the members explained what Masons do and the many good works they support.

We took several drives around the coastline and continued to be enthralled by the beauty of its huge, craggy rocks and hundreds of peaceful little unnamed islands. It truly resembles a large scenic painting by a talented artist. Along the way we stopped to talk with the gracious people who seem to be so happy living on their wonderful, serene island. They pride themselves on being friendly, and they love to share their stories and culture. Most of them are fishermen who come from a long line of angler families. One of our tours was at a fishing stage (small wooden hut), where the owner talked about his fishing, crabbing, and lobster catches. He was entertaining, knowledgeable, and authentic. He demonstrated how to clean and salt a cod and shared many humorous stories. He explained that a commercial fishing license can cost as much as $50,000. His wife runs the attached upscale gift shop and did a hefty business during our tour. As if that were not enough, one of the employees played a guitar and sang as we toured the interesting fishing exhibits.

At the Orange Lodge, a local group of seven ladies (two were missing), the Split Peas, have been providing evening musical performances for 18 years. Our caravan fee covered our tickets, and we were well-entertained once more. At intermission they served huge toutons with various jams and tea. Newfies never indulge in dainty portions. Earlier in the day we visited the charming lighthouse on the outskirts of Twillingate and hiked a long trail up a rocky hillside that included over 100 wooden steps. Both of us were surprised that Gloria could negotiate the climb, but her Parkinson’s seems to allow many good days and others that are less pleasant. On Sunday we were privileged to attend services at historic St. Peter’s Anglican Church, one of the oldest wooden churches in Newfoundland.

Probably the most interesting thing we did in this area was taking Fred and Searcy with us to Fogo Island, a National Historic District. We had a 45-minute early morning drive to the ferry, where our Tundra was quickly and skillfully loaded for the 30 minute ride to the island. After docking we made our way to the small community of Tilting, considered to be the most scenic place on the island. There was little sunshine, but this did not dampen the spirits of our family photographer. The colorful, inviting, little homes and fishing stages were irresistible targets for his lens. Fortunately, we stopped to get a picture of a large fishing house on the dock. Fortuitously, we met Roy Dwyer, a commercial fisherman, published author, and story teller. Gloria purchased an autographed copy of his latest book, A Fisherman’s Legacy. Roy had the biggest catch of cod--two huge tubs full—that we have seen thus far. He demonstrated his ability to quickly clean his catch and extract the “tongue,” actually located on the cod’s “forehead.” It is a Newfie delicacy. Roy also held up two large specimens while posing for a photo with Gloria. Our return to the campground was not as smooth as our getting to Fogo Island. We arrived at the ferry at 1:40 p.m. but we did not get loaded onboard and on the way until after 5:00 p.m. We were on the food committee for the group dinner and were supposed to be at the campground in late afternoon. Fortunately our friends, Chuck and Joyce, had been alerted that we may be late, and they ably filled in for us. The grilled chicken dinner was served at 6:00 p.m. as scheduled; about 20 of us who had been stuck at the ferry didn’t make it until 6:45. By that time, we were famished. Our leaders held a driver’s meeting and did not scold us for being late. Despite the ferry traffic glitch, those of us who made the trip to lovely Fogo Island agreed that it was well worth the inconvenience.

King's Point & Grand Falls-Windsor

We were all hitched up in Deer Lake on the evening of August 4^th ready to head to Kings Point. To our great surprise the next morning the engine would not start. There was only the clicking of the starter. Glenn tried “CPR”, but the results were the same—NOTHING. Julian, with his volt meter, administered last rites. Several fellow caravanners offered to stay with us, but what we really needed was a new battery. After many calls, we finally found a large truck service center that informed us that there was no battery in town that would fit our Toyota Tundra. However, they located one in Corner Brook about 35 miles away. Once the new battery arrived, it was a different size, so the bracket had to be modified. After all of that, we had to pick up two new trailer tires at another dealership. That took another hour. We were finally on the road to tiny King’s Point by 4:00 p.m. and made it to our destination in time for the group dinner at the fire station. It was a huge “Newfie” feast with lots of carbs. Following dinner was a lady stand-up comic, who was well padded and made up to look like a scary old woman floozy. She involved many of us in her act—sometimes to our embarrassment. The next evening we were introduced to the comic, Judy, without her guise, and we were all shocked to see that she was a trim, beautiful woman about 45 years old.

Our campground was at the fire house, and we had no electricity, cell service, or water for four nights. However, the volunteer firemen and ladies kept us well-fed and entertained every day. They were a friendly lot, and they had many hugs to offer. We were probably the biggest thing to hit the small community of King’s Point all summer long. One evening they served a mussels dinner along with moose burgers. Another night they provided a huge firepot along with hotdogs and marshmallows for roasting.

We, Lloyd and Elaine, and one other couple attended services on Sunday at the Salvation Army Church.That evening most of us opened our rigs to the locals, who came in mass to see what Airstreams look like on the inside.

We visited a local whale museum and pottery shop, where the owner demonstrated her unique skills. At the whale museum we learned that approximately 2000 whales make their way each summer to Newfoundland from their home in the Caribbean. A calf will drink as much as much as 100 gallons of its mother's milk each day. By the time they finally reach Newfoundland, the mother will have lost from six to eight tons of weight. Herring and krill beware! Big Mama will be very hungry. We also visited quaint Harry’s Harbour and the town of La Scie, located several miles away over rough roads. At Fleur-de-lys was a soapstone quarry that we wanted to visit. Expecting a huge dugout area, we were amused to find that the quarry consisted only of some large rocks with one big “sculptured” wall. The Dorsets used soapstone to make their food vessels from 500 B.C. to 500 A.D.

The best thing about King’s Point was the sweet, friendly people that make up this tightly knit community, especially the firehouse gang. Most of the men in town work in the logging industry. There is only one service station. Not to be forgotten was Mrs. Tom’s General Store with it’s wood-burning stove in nearby Rattling Brook and a small museum that captures much of the town history. When ordering pea soup at one of the two local restaurants, we smiled when the soup was orange and white due to its ingredients of carrots, turnips, and potatoes. There were no peas.

Our final treat at the fire station was a huge send-off breakfast on the morning of the 9^th. During the four days we were there, we grew quite close to the town’s people. It was rather sad to say goodbye to them, knowing that we probably will not ever return. The caravan moved on eastward toward our next stop, Grand Falls-Windsor. We were delighted to arrive at a lovely campground with full hookups. Hooray! Our cell phones were working again as was our Wi-Fi.

Sunshine was scarce in Grand Falls-Windsor, and we received our share of rain. Temperatures hovered in the fifties. We did enjoy the Logging Museum, where we toured a reconstructed early 1900s logging camp. At one point 11 percent of all Newfoundland men worked under harsh conditions in the camps. Each man had to cut at least a cord of wood each day, six days per week. By the time they paid the company for their rations and bunkhouse accommodations, there was little left to take home to their families after months of hard work. The women suffered too, as they had to take care of the children and sometimes cut firewood just to survive. Without government subsistence they could not have survived. Many of the families had 15 or more children.

Another museum that was more upscale was the Mary March Museum. Mary was a Beothuk Indian whose real name was Demasduit. The photo at right is from a painting of her. Soon after delivering a baby in 1819 she was captured by early English settlers. Her husband tried to rescue her, and in the process was shot to death. The baby died a few days later, and Mary was taken to St. Johns. After she contracted tuberculosis in 1820 the English decided to return her to her people. However, she died aboard ship, and her body was left on the shore of her native land. Nine years later, her niece, Shanawdithit, the last of the Beothuks died. This tribe became extinct after 1000 years of existence on this land due to fact that they contracted European diseases, and the English took over their hunting and fishing areas. The museum is picturesque and well organized. It depicts what happens when different cultures collide.