A Quick Trip to Newfoundland - The road north

I get up very early and quickly pack everything while my stove heats up water for coffee. I’m planning to have my “real” breakfast somewhere on the road overlooking Bonne Bay. As I leave the campground, a young moose bolts from a ditch and runs across the road mere inches in front of my bumper.

I stop quickly and hop out to try for a picture but she’s long gone by the time my feet hit the gravel. However, I look down and spot a small snail crossing the road ahead of my front tires so I take his picture instead.

A small picnic park on the north shore of Bonne Bay serves as my breakfast nook.

I also take the opportunity to reorganize the back of the Element so I can more easily get at things I might need during the day (like my rain coat).

The weather alternates between showers and fog so I continue north on Route 430 through Gros Morne and past the various “scenic attractions” announced on roadside signs.

Somewhere around Port au Choix, the rain stops and the clouds lift and I see blue sky ahead. When I reach Saint Barbe, it has become a fine day and wherever the road follows the coast, I peer across the Strait of Belle Isle trying to get a glimpse of Labrador’s coast, 12 miles away. However, the fog lies a few miles offshore and I see nothing. Except, there is something out there. A large sailboat?

I pull over and get out my binoculars. An iceberg!

At Eddies Cove Route 430 head east and leaves the Strait of Belle Isle and the icebergs behind. Along the road I notice many small fenced in areas.


These are Newfoundland gardens plots, planted out here in the relatively rich soils away from the coast and the salt spray.

Unlike the Tablelands, the bedrock underlying this region of Newfoundland is limestone and, where the soil is thick enough, it’s relatively good for growing.

Where the soil isn’t thick and the winds are strong (pretty much everywhere) a number of rare plants still occur, taking advantage of the small, sheltered micro-climates in the cracked limestone barrens.

It’s late afternoon when I reach Pistolet Bay Provincial Park. I set up my tent and have a real meal, my first in three days. The sun is still high in the sky – it doesn’t set until 9:30 at this latitude – so I take a drive out to Cape Onion.

The horizon is dotted with icebergs, though only a few small ones are in the bay.

There’s a small cemetery next to a church on the Cape and as I follow a trail past it I find a lone grave in a sheltered swale a few hundred yards below it:

BABY BOY ANDREWs
Born Sept 21, 1969
Died Sept 29, 1969

As the sun slips behind the fog bank hanging in the Strait, I head back to my tent and wondering about the circumstances of his birth and death and why he’s buried here, outside the churchyard.