Markmas Road Trip - Newfoundland Resettlement.

Before my first solo trip in 2009, to Japan, I was excited about all the new experiences I would have. I envisaged getting lost in small towns and discovering hidden gems with my new Japanese best friends. But with each train booked in advance, and each night's accommodation booked in advance the chances of wandering, adventuring, and spontaneity were slim.

Instead I traveled from backpacker's hostel to backpacker's hostel, from gaijin bar to gaijin bar, from horrendous hangover to horrendous hangover, and from one big city to an even bigger city. It was fun - But not the freedom I was looking for. There were no small towns, there was no nature, and there were limited interactions with local people. I was an outsider looking in.

My style of travel has been evolving ever since. I take weekend or post work hiking trips, hitchhiking trips, or even road trips. What better way to get to know a place than have no plan? To take on Microadventures, camping trips, and generally enjoy the great outdoors whilst interacting with the people that make a place.

And so for my birthday this year (Markmas) I rented a car and drove around my adopted home of Newfoundland. The plan was simple: No plan.

I left work with a hop, skip, and a jump on the Wednesday evening, and raced to the airport. I picked up the Elantra, hit the highways, and drove, drove, drove, until tiredness hit and I could drive no more. I unfurled my sleeping bag, reclined the passenger seat, sent a quick text to Elissa to let her know I was safe, and then kipped on the side of the road in a cabin community just outside Norris Arm.

The next morning I woke up to find the temperatures had hit -9c. I gulped down some cold chilli, ate some trail mix, downed some water, and hit the roads again. Where to? There was a place on the map called Rattling Brook - That sounded a cool place. And so I set off in the direction of Rattling Brook. There I found a cracking little hiking trail, and some great photo opportunities of some stunning scenery en route.

Rattling Brook

Where to next? How's about Gros Morne!?

The weather en route to Gros Morne was wintry to say the least, and made driving challenging. But upon arrival at the Tablelands all worries washed (or should I say, blew?) away. It was stunning! A true winter wonderland! In good weather the journey from the car park to the mountains would probably deemed a walk - not even a hike. However, on a day like today it felt like a trek.

Tablelands, Gros Morne.

With each gust of wind I was faced with near white out conditions caused by drifting off of nearby hills. Underfoot was slippery, and finding the path at times was challenging. However, only 30mins 'trek' from the car I found myself staring in awe at the Earth's mantle rising high above me in a cauldron of snow. I stopped, stared, pondered, eventually took some pictures, and then stared and pondered again. This place was truly wild, yet very accessible. I felt like I was hundreds of miles from civilisation. Yet, on a clear day I may well have been able to see the road. Who knows?

Gros Morne

I decided to leave the Gros Morne area after that with bad weather forecasted. I loved the wildness, but couldn't face the prospect of driving in conditions any worse than those already faced. I decided to head to La Scie. It was at the end of the highway, and you normally have pretty cool things in places at the end of the highway, right?

Upon arriving in La Scie I stocked up on provisions at a small supermarket in town. I got speaking to one of the proprietors about my trip and asked if he could recommend anywhere to camp or park the car for the night. Had he not had guests at his house he said I would have been able to stay with him and his family. As it was, he insisted I jump into his car and he give me a tour of the town in the dark. We talked about the area, and I gained a few ideas on some destinations for the next day. After this, I parked up behind the town's Ice Hockey Arena, and gained a bit of shut eye.

The next morning I headed back to Tilt Cove, having visited on the way to La Scie the night before. It was 6km off the highway, accessed by a steep track. I had decided against spending the previous night here in case a change in the weather prevented me getting out of town. The road looked a tad ominous

Tilt Cove

Tilt Cove

Tilt Cove claims to be Canada's smallest town. It has a population of six, down from a peak of nearly eighteen hundred. Mining has shaped this town, with some retaining walls supporting the cliffs. Houses, some inhabited, some  not, lined either side of the lake. Some houses were in a state of disrepair, some still lovingly cared for. I spent a couple of hours in town exploring in amongst the snow topped trees, down by the copper green infused ocean, sat by the mirrored lake, and atop the cliffs over looking the town. What a calm, quiet, beautiful spot!

Following this I inadvertently explored Brent's Cove and Harbour Round in an effort to find the resettled community of Round Harbour. Round Harbour was resettled in 2013 when the last two full time residents of the community voted unanimously to resettle. 20 minutes off the highway, down mining access roads and tracks I found the town.

Like the Mary Celeste, caught in a screenshot of time, the ghost town of Round Harbour defiantly stands proud in stubborn defiance of a myriad assaults. Vandals, weather, nor the ocean can destroy this former town's glory or heart. That's not to say she wasn't just a tad rough round the edges.

Abandoned Round Harbour.

Winds rattled doors and windows of houses and fishing sheds in various stages of decay. I found many places had cable tied doors shut to stop the weather's torrent of abuse going too far. In some cases though the weather  had cheated, and snuck through gaps in the clapboard. Through holes in walls I could see eulogies to Jesus, candles of remembrance and snippets of everyday life now lost.I wonder just how much life is left in this old lady when not only the residents have deserted, but the buildings are slowly saying farewell too.

After Round Harbour I decided to head to Little Bay Islands. This small community, a 30 minute ferry ride from Pilley's Island (reachable on a causeway from the main island) is one threatened with the saber of resettlement, with a recent vote narrowly rejecting the idea. 

The ferry dock was a few hours from Round Harbour and I set off without a delay.

But..

The car didn't want to play ball.

Approaching the junction with the Trans Canada Highway I noticed the car veering, and the handling change. I pulled over to investigate, and noticed my tyre was suffering from a slow puncture. Before I even had the chance to investigate what kind of supplies the rental car had in the boot for such an occasion a van pulled up behind me and the occupants insisted on helping. With their pump and pressure gauge all tyres were checked and when necessary, topped up with air. A few fleeting moments later I was back on the road. With a couple of petrol stations on the way to the dock I regularly checked the troublesome tyre, and it seemed to be holding up well.

With late November as it is, by the time I had arrived in Little Bay Islands it was already dark. I drove the few streets about town and quickly realised there were no restaurants, camp grounds, or even a convenience store. I happened upon a resident cleaning her car and double checked there was nowhere to stock up on food. She confirmed my deduction but insisted on feeding me for the evening.

Mr Plow saving the day on Little Bay Islands.

And so I went in, met her husband, and was treated to a fine meal of bottled moose sandwiches, cheese and crackers, banana bread, and coffee.

By this time I still hadn't showered since I left on Wednesday evening, and was rather conscious of the stench coming from my feet. Wanita was too polite to comment, and before I retired to the car for the evening she insisted on giving me a packed lunch for the next day. Such hospitality. Such warmth. And from a stranger.

I pulled in behind the old redundant fish plant and fell asleep to the sound rain pit pattering on the roof of the car. Come 6am when I woke, the sight was rather different.

Overnight the temperature had plummeted, and the rain changed to snow flakes. On the drive in the night before I had eyed a couple of hiking trails. I decided to take the car to the wharf, park it up, and explore. The road, weather, and rental company conspired however to stop this happening. With a slight incline, and the addition of only all season tyres I had no grip and no way of getting out of town. I parked the car up and walked back into town. Upon coming across another car heading my way I waved him down. He was unable to help. I waited it out for the plowman to clear the roads. Whilst slippery this did thankfully work, All this wasted time though had stopped any chance of hiking.

Once off the island I headed to nearby Triton. It was my birthday, and I met up with Elissa and a few friends.We explored Triton and Brighton, indulged in birthday cake and necked a few beers before falling weary eyed in front of the artificial fire.

The next day and a half was a lesson in patience and gratitude in others. Long story short is that, as always, the local Newfoundland folk were there for me when I needed them. As they always are. The car and rental company were not. After hazardous driving conditions on the Trans Canada Highway I had to bed down on the side of the highway. 24hrs after setting off for home I completed the '6 hour journey' back to St John's.

Such genuine and caring people, living in Newfoundland truly is a great experience. And the outdoors life is pretty sweet too.

Thumbing, hiking, springing, slipping and tumbling my way to La Manche Village

I’d slacked off a social engagement with my work friends the night before, in order to gain an early start. But, come 9.30am I was only just raising from my slumber. My hopes of an early morning had been dashed, yet I still resolved to escape the city’s clutches. I quickly dressed, gathered a few essentials, and set off for the bus. I was going make use of St John’s very limited bus system to get on to the highway, and hitch a ride to space, solitude, peace, and quiet; the antithesis of St John’s life.

The buses conspired against me. The first bus didn’t turn up. The second bus was late. But, by midday I was finally on highway 10. I walked for half hour or so to escape the remaining suburban sprawl, and then upon finding a suitable spot, I stuck my thumb aloft. The 2^nd car picked me up.

One hour later, and two rides later, I was at La Manche.

With only a few hours of useable daylight left, La Manche was going to have to do. This was my hiking destination for the day. I raced down the access road, cheerily waved to a local shovelling snow from his driveway, and made my way to the trail head for the short walk in and out to the abandoned settlement at La Manche village.

Daylight kept playing on my mind (I really didn’t want to hitchhike in the dark), but never the less, I had a spring, slip and tumble in my step. Yep, the path was slippery. But I was happy.

 It didn’t matter that I’d hiked and swam in this area before. I was happy I was out doing something. I wasn’t wasting my life on the sofa watching shit on the Tellybox. I was out having fun, creating memories, exploring, seeing new things, making the most of my day off, and embracing the beauty on the island I have called home for the last 16 months. And boy, what beauty there is!

The village was wiped out by a winter storm in 1966 and all that remains is the foundations of a few houses. The suspension bridge beautifully frames the inlet, and the sounds of waterfalls and the Atlantic soothed my previously racing brain. I sat on the chilly earth after kicking some snow away and contemplated the world. I contemplated just how simple things like this can change my frame of mind so much, how I’ll remember the day, the adventure, and the setting for years to come, and how chilling on the sofa, buying a new TV, or such stuff, could never live up to these kind of experiences, or ever bring such happiness as a day like this.

I sprang, slipped and tumbled my way back to the road, and slowly started walking back to St John’s, with my thumb aloft. After a 30-45 minute wait I picked up a ride, but the final icing on the cake was the sunset over the lake on the side of the road. There were such vivid colours, from the dark green of the trees, the whites and blues of the semi-frozen lake, and the blues, reds, greys and oranges of the sky. This natural beauty encapsulated my fantastic day. And now I’m sitting here with an inane grin on my face. What a day.

All photos from today are below;

Building shelters, jumping walls, scrapes, falls, tears, and avoiding streams...

No, not the life of a child in the countryside, but mine this weekend. Who says you have to be grown up to be an adult?

It had been nearly ten years since I’d last hung out with Adam, but a mutual desire for adventure, regaining contact via Facebook, and more importantly, both finding ourselves in the UK at the same time, for the first time in who knows how long, we decided to head off on a weekend microadventure (alastairhumphreys.com/microadventures).

We decided upon Arundel as a starting point. That was the extent of our plan. There was a river, and there were forests. We were both sure we’d be able to find an adventure there.

And so, upon disembarking the train, we walked toward the late first Earl of Arundel’s 1067 home; Arundel Castle. The area is steeped in history, with traces of settlement dating back as far as the Roman period. And today, it was going to gain a new settlement. 

The area is steeped in history

We took many turns at random, and from then on we identified an area we wanted to head to, and we intended to make our way there, as the crow flies.

There were a few streams in the way (only one near fall, resulting in a slightly soggy foot), one river (very fast flowing)one herd of cows (thankfully a lot better behaved than previous encounters with the bovine variety), numerous electric fences (only one shock), and one VERY high flint wall. Well, perfectly scalable from the one side, but quite a drop into sting nettles the other side. But the stings fast dissipated, and we made our way through dense brush to the woodland.

SURPRISE! A deer jumps out in front of us! For both of us, our first wild British deer!

And then BOOM! Pheasants flying at us from various angles! Another first! 

We decided on our spot, in amongst this natural wonderland, and went about making a shelter; The decaying wood, and autumnal leaves both lending themselves fantastically to an open shelter. Two to three hours, and four tired arms later, we had ourselves a shelter. And just in time – as the heavens opened! We quickly set about covering logs under the roof of our shelter in order to make a fire. And shortly later, there we were, in an ancient forest, doing what people through the ages have been doing through the centuries; Living the simple life! Seeking shelter, building fire, and enjoying the art of conversation. Real life conversation. The simple life rocks!

The Simple life

The following morning, we dried our dewy boots and bags by the yet again roaring fire, before waking the 20 minutes back to modern life, through brush, tall flint walls, and farm fences.

After a refreshing breakfast we were back on the train home, feeling tired yet alive, and ready to plan our next adventures.

Smoke and sunlight in the forest canopy

Country Pub!

Breakfast

Hitchhiking and community in Newfoundland

I set off on a quick trip on Tuesday – Now finding the time to sit down, basking in the sun, in the back garden I have written down my observations, comments, whatever… Forgive the ramblings. Enjoy/endure.

With the news that I am through to the next stage of my visa, and one and a half days off from work, I felt pretty damn good. Add in to the mix one part cold, lonely house, with a girlfriend the other side of the Atlantic, and one part feeling adventurous, the scene was set for a microadventure.

I have taken a few hitchhiking trips in Newfoundland (my home for the previous 9 months, and *touch wood* the next 15 months) before this one, each with varying degrees of success. Few of them have been documented on here.

The weather was reasonable, and the premise was simple; Hitchhike after work to somewhere cool, and sleep under the stars (somewhere equally as cool). I’d then return the next day, in order to make work for 9.45am on the Thursday.

I got off to a great start, with a friend (thanks Valerie!) driving me to a petrol station out of town, on the Trans Canada Highway (TCH). She also allowed me to gorge myself on some of her leftover birthday cake.

Within twenty minutes of setting myself and my bag down, I was on the way along the TCH with a part time man of the cloth/part time hairdresser, providing my wheels! Conversation flowed, and within 30minutes he’d already offered me a job on behalf of his mate – As a stonemason! Furthermore, Derek insisted I take HIS contact details so that when I was next out his way, he could take my girlfriend Elissa and I on a tour of the area. Nice bloke.

However, just before disembarking from Derek’s car, the heavens decided to open. My microadventure under the stars could turn into a washout… But never one to let a little bit of rain put paid to my oft ill conceived plans; I decided to plod on, to my as yet undetermined destination. I sought shelter under a highway flyover, and once again stuck my thumb out.

My next lift was with Cordell, an educator who has recently moved back to Newfoundland. He was en route to Gander to see his mother. Again, the conversation flowed, and after a quick text to my buddy John to find out what to do in the Gander/Twillingate areas I decided, on a whim to head up that way with Cordell.

John came through big time. Bearing in mind the weather, he had already okayed it with his parents for me to stay with them in Lewisporte! Fantastic stuff – No rainy night out in my bivvy!!! Not only that – the welcome I received upon entering their abode was akin to that of a long lost son. Cordell dropped me at their door, and I was welcomed with not just open arms, but opened beers and an open fridge. Boooyah!! The next few hours were spent socialising, not just with them, but also with their daughter Becky (back visiting from outta town) and their friends!  And, before bed, I was invited by Becky to go iceberg hunting with them all in Twillingate the next morning.

After a night under the ceiling, and home cooked food, I woke up in a jovial mood (with obvious good reason), and the lingering blanket of fog did little to dampen that. Passing little towns, hamlets and communities along the way we were welcomed into Twillingate by a big old berg. More followed. And with the aforementioned fog, the views out from the lighthouse were mystical and awe inspiring. And later that day I was treated to the Newfoundland delicacy; cod tongues. It felt as if I was slowly turning into a Newfoundlander.

Mystical views at Twillingate lighthouse

Icebergs at Twillingate

Icebergs at Twillingate

After lunch, Becky and her daughter drove me out to Gander. It was going to be hard going to make St John’s in the same good time I made Lewisporte the day before, but I felt the 9-10hrs I allowed myself would be ample time in order to make work the next morning, at 9.45am.

The open road

The lifts back from Gander to (near) Charlottetown were short, but plentiful, encompassing a wide spectrum of society – Managers, security officials, off duty taxi drivers, young, old, male, female, couples. There was another job offer too!! However, due to construction, I was progressing slowly. It was getting dark. Quickly. I was going to have to find somewhere off the road to camp out for the night, ready to start the journey again the next morning, at day break. But I kept telling myself ‘just one more half hour’ – It was now near midnight. No-one was driving past, and who in their right mind would pick up a bedraggled lone hitchhiker along the side of the road in the middle of nowhere? AT night?!?

Then Michelle came along. She was on a night time drive to clear her head. Our conversation was stifled. I wasn’t even sure she liked me. But I was really appreciative of the lift. She could take me 15mins down the road. 15mins down the road is 15mins down the road. 15mins I wouldn’t have to hitch in the morning. But upon getting out the car she then proposed I stay in her spare room for the night – She would set her alarm for 5.30am, and drive me back to the highway. I quickly weighed up my options, and found myself heading back the way I came, to stay in her spare room for the night.

Out of bed by 5.30am, and back on the highway by 5.45am I had some serious hitchhiking to do! And boy did I do it?! One favour (thanks Tessa), one lorry driver, and one newspaper delivery driver later I was at work – only 30mins late. I just hope work don’t read this, and find out the real reason I was late. (Sorry – But I guess this is a kind of car trouble?!)

Sign found on the side of the TCH

Despite the stress of being late for work, despite not achieving a night of camping (thanks weather), and despite the short sleeps, I rocked up to work refreshed, and with a warm glow – Glad to have witnessed and experienced an essence of the Newfoundland outside of St John’s. I’ll be doing it again – So work, be warned.

Red Cliff Radar Station - Newfoundland

Stalked by the infamous Newfoundland winds, lashings of rain, and the onset of a brisk Autumnal evening I was starting to lose hope of ever finding the elusive radar station before dark. Light was fading, and I had no torch or camping equipment with me.

But here I was, keeping to a promise made to myself that I would explore the beautiful province of Newfoundland as and when possible on my days off from work.  After all, what is the point of travelling the world if you are only to continue with the same drudgery and boredom that inspired you to leave? So after a gym session, heavy lunch and a lot of procrastination I found myself setting off for the abandoned radar station at Red Cliff.

A 1950s relic, the radar station is a good 20 minute drive from downtown St John’s. Or, if relying on the ever so efficient public transport system, a 90 minute journey away, by way of bus and foot. Finding a good hitching spot was nigh on impossible, and the walk, along rural residential roads was uninspiring, save for the odd glimpse into the ocean or onto distant cliff edges.

I finally reached the path that lead to the old station, which also serves as a trail head for the East Coast Trail. Unfortunately some parts seemed out of reach, but I was able to still explore a maze of corridors and crumbling step, walls adorned with graffiti, and allowed my mind to imagine life at the station back in the 1950s, searching for intruders above North American skies.

Few pics below;ds, rashing

The earthen track to Cuckmere Haven (Microadventure)

I'd bagged two days holiday from work, and vowed to make the most of my, what I was (probably irritatingly) terming 'midweek bonus weekend' in the sun...

Upon getting off the bus I kicked off my trainers, turned my phone off, hooked my bag over my shoulder, and set off, barefooted down the short, rutted, earth path to my location for the night; Peace, reflection, solitude and 'me time' (or Cuckmere Haven for short).

I spent the first hour or so exploring, attempting to skim unskimmable stones, and testing my courage as to how near the notoriously fast flowing waters of the River Cuckmere I could get, without falling in and getting sucked out to sea.

After that, I found a location on the grassy cliff to bed down for the night, in my sleeping bag (no bivvy needed on these dry, summer nights) - It was a majestic location near the cliff edge (though with my hatred for heights, not TOO near the cliff edge), over looking the famous chalk cliffs of the Seven Sisters, and the mouth of the River Cuckmere, almost framed by what I would describe as a 'mini valley' ON the cliff.

I lay down, undertook some basic breathing exercises, pondered a few ponderings, and after reading a couple of chapters from the book I'd brought with me, I dozed off into a light, dreamless sleep. I woke a few times, and on one occasion was fortunate enough to witness a streaking shooting star fleet across the night sky before the clouds rolled in. Obviously I took time to wish on it! When I awoke for the last time (a couple of feet away from where I had actually bedded down, having rolled slightly down hill) I witnessed the wondrous site of day break over the still majestic Seven Sisters Cliffs.

My sleep may have been disturbed, but the opportunity to sleep under the stars, hear only squeaks of nearby rabbits, and quiet mutterings of distant sheep and cows, wake up to the peaceful Cuckmere Haven, ponder my ponderings and forget all of the troubles of every day living, made this whole microadventure on my 'bonus weekend' totally worth it.

I glugged some water, brushed my teeth, packed up my bag, and set back down the rutted earthy path to pick up my bus back to content, excited and and slightly tired (or home for short) - I was back for breakfast time too!!


...photos to follow once the film has been developed.

The Micro-est of Adventures on The South Downs

There’s nothing more liberating than a backpack and no plan. Or in the case of last night, a backpack and a rough plan. A very rough plan. I had promised myself I would do a microadventure – And this is the microest of microadventures. 

The premise was simple – Walk off onto the South Downs, into the darkness and find somewhere to camp, from where I could watch the sun rise over Brighton. I had all I needed; Warm clothes, head torch,  bivvy bag, sleeping bag, some homemade chilli wraps, water, a hip flask full of Jagermeister, and a steely determination to withstand a sudden and unexpected dumping of snow (IN APRIL!!!!!), and the ghosts, vampires, and doggers I had been warned about.

Supplies for the micro-est of microadventures

I have lived in this area of Sussex for the last year, since returning from nearly a year in New Zealand. But, purely down to bone idleness I had yet explored the area. This made navigating the Downs by torch light rather difficult. Navigate rabbit holes – Check. Avoid electric fences – Check. Avoid getting attacked (or nearly attacked) by cows again – Check. Avoid falling down a steep slope – Check. Avoid setting up camp in a bed of stingy nettles – Oh. I got off lightly, my left hand taking the brunt of it. To ease the itching I left my hand dangling out into the cold night through the hole intentionally left open for my mouth and nose (I’m not such a fan of condensation and tend to get a little claustrophobic in a fully zipped bivvy) and set out about getting merry on jager, full on chilli wraps and watching the bright stars of the night sky in between intermittent cloud cover. It was bliss. I slowly nodded off, and aside from the occasional stir (fear of the doggers/vampires/ghosts of course), slept through until sunrise.

A rather blurry view of Brighton

Another view from my night's 'bed'

I woke, cleared camp, and sat down on Maria (my backpack), sipping water, waiting for that elusive bright orange glow in the east to take over from the bright crescent moon which had accompanied me all night long. I wasn’t disappointed. There’s something greatly invigorating about welcoming in the sun on a crisp spring (Who am I trying to kid? It’s still winter!) morning. I surveyed the scene and imagined everyone waking up for a day of work after a cosy night in bed. They may have been less tired than I was, but I doubt they were as invigorated as I was.

And so I made the 2hour walk back home, avoiding all of last night’s hazards and made it home in time for breakfast. Pan au chocolate and orange juice accompanied by The Naked and Famous on the stereo– Just what the doctor ordered!

Until next time (With better photos, I promise) :)