Spring in Newfoundland

It's a gentle overnight crossing, but as we roll off the ferry into Port aux Basques the wind and rain buffet us with great determination. We pass several trailers overturned by the force of the wind. 

Ah, spring in Newfoundland.

Now our challenge is to make the 3pm ferry crossing to Fogo Island, some seven hours driving away.

Even with the abysmal weather it's a beautiful drive. I've never seen so many shades of blue as in the lakes here, and the stands of birch along the road gleam white.

We arrive at the Farewell ferry at 2.30pm, having had to brake hard just once to avoid colliding with a moose crossing the road. 

We see familiar faces inside on the one hour crossing to Man O'War cove. Outside, the nearby islands hunker  low on the horizon and are obscured by the driving rain on the windows.

Our first stop is at the Shorefast Premises for a team meeting which sets the pace for what I know will be a hectic work schedule.

That's followed by a wonderful salt cod dinner with friends  - welcome home they say - and it does feel good to be back on Fogo Island again.

The next morning there's still no let up in the weather. The thermometer outside our kitchen window seems to be stuck at zero day and night and the wind is blowing hard from the north. People are disappointed we did not bring better weather with us, but I hurriedly explain we just haven't had time to unpack it yet.

Ellie and Bill are ecstatic to be out of the van and in a house again - they race up and down the stairs. Even better is to be able to run up onto the hill behind us, albeit briefly as the cold wind drives us inside again.

We are startled to look out of our kitchen window in the afternoon to see several caribou casually chomping the grass within arms reach.

Eventually the weather relents and the thermometer climbs to 10'C. We take a walk out onto the rocky Back-Western Shore of Joe Batt's Arm - where construction of the Inn will shortly commence. 

It's going to be another busy year on beautiful Fogo Island.

Danger Starts Automatically

At Antigonish we rejoin the highway eastwards towards Cape Breton, and our night ferry to Newfoundland.

This is lobsterland, and lobster season to boot, so even the Port Hawksbury MacDonalds has an offering. Today is the first day the McLobster is on the menu and our curiosity overcomes our resistance to the ubiquitous arches. The billboard outside proclaims 'McLobster is back $619'. At that price we choose to order only one, and it had better be good! And it turns out to be not fried, and not bad either, although the white bread bun would float away in the wind if it wasn't kept in a plastic case with a rock on top of it.

We approach the ferry terminal at Sydney via Hwy 4 along the pretty south shore of Bras d' Or lake. The terminal is a busy place and the lines are filling up fast. It's good to hear the Newfoundland accents again. Tonight's crossing was the first we could book since entering Canada three nights ago, but it gave us an unexpected opportunity to explore Nova Scotia. 

I'm very taken with a random sign on the building that warns 'Danger Starts Automatically' - good advice to keep in mind I think.

Karen spots an old Dodge GT in line with the license plate 'Codfsh' - now we know we are getting close to Newfoundland.

I cook up a deluxe scallop and smoked fish dinner whilst we wait to board the ferry, prepare some portable cocktail supplies for the crossing, and once on board we retire to our cabin for the evening.

Just how do you say that?

Then it's onwards across the 'down-east' corner of Maine through a land of lakes, forests, moose and spelling challenges. We don't quite make the border that night, but find a great camp site next to a gravel pit. It's another one of those overnight spots that sounds awful, but is our favourite type. We are away from the highway, with lots of space for the dogs to run, no one else about, and it comes with a fabulous sunset and spectacular stars.

Our border crossing the next day across St. Stephen's Third Bridge into Nouveau Brunswick is lengthy but successful. Curiously, we spend time waiting for an immigration officer with Jane Halliwell Green - a rug hooking instructor from Maryland on her way to teach in Truro so our time is filled with interesting conversation at least. We speed through Digdeguash, Nauwigewauk and Quispamsis into Nova Scotia, through woods of white barked birch, struggling pine forests, glittering lakes, beaver dams, and past more and more warning signs about moose on the highway. 

Tonight's camp site is at the Stewiake & Shubenacadie visitor center - not on our top ten list, but we're grateful for a level spot to park. It's a sort of Mastodon-Olympic combo experience. The Olympic sized crowds are courtesy of the next door Tim Horton's, at which there is a constant queue of people and cars. The concrete Mastodon is the visitor center's attraction, along with a concrete Fred Flintstone house, and concrete Barney Rubble car, all viewable only through a tall chain-link fence - just like the Olympic flame in Vancouver.

Fortified with Horton-food in the morning, we take a detour to the South Shore of Nova Scotia to visit Mahone Bay and the UNESCO World Heritage site of Lunenberg, the home of the Bluenose sailing ship.

The architecture is wonderful, lunch at Fleur de Sel is great, but the Bluenose is under blue tarps, being remade, again. There are several Economusee businesses in Mahone Bay and we stop at two - Amos Pewter and Spruce Top Rug Hooking Studio. They are good models for what we could be working towards on Fogo Island. Heritage houses converted to working artist studios.

We turn east again, winding along the eastern shore through small fishing communities and beautiful bays. We pick up some fresh scallops for dinner, and also make a stop at the J. Willy Krauch & Sons fish smokery in Tangier for some of the best smoked mackerel and salmon we've ever had. Sadly they were all out of smoked eel - the eel supply was described to us as 'erotic' (sic) -  but that gives us good reason to go back!

There is a distinct chill in the evening air now we are in the Maritime provinces, but it keeps the voracious blackfly at bay. At Spanish Ship bay the road turns inland and the soil turns red. We drive through Scottish farmland with names like Mackenzie on the mailboxes, and lakes by the name of Lochaber. A big black bear ambles across the road and turns to look at us for a moment before disappearing into the woods as we screech to a halt, fumbling too late, for the camera.

Boston - the Cocktail City

Last night we overnighted near Bushkill in the Pocono's on the eastern border between Pennsylvania and New Jersey alongside the Delaware river. We found a deserted spot next to an old empty house engulfed with wild honeysuckle. The cool air was sweet with its scent, and we rested well in preparation for our highway battle to Boston tomorrow. 

It's a fact that four fifths of the population lives east of the Mississippi and we are really noticing the increasing density as we move east. 

We're back in Boston - the Cocktail City - and manage to navigate our way to friends Ian and Liz without incident. Turning into their driveway from the competitive city driving is like entering an oasis of calm. Hidden behind their building is a private space backed by a forty foot rock wall - a surprising and welcome spot to park for a couple of days. Before they return home we get laundry and showers taken care of so we're presentable, and eager, for cocktail hour at 5pm. It's good not to be moving for a while, and even the dogs get baths although they are less happy about it than we are.

We also catch up with Julie and Roger - whom we knew from Seattle - and all put in a good team effort to deplete our bar supplies prior to crossing the Canadian border. Julie's new ceramic designs are wonderful and we spend time sharing news of friends now scattered across the country.

The bug man cometh - it's a real challenge to keep the windscreen clear, and a long way up to reach the windscreen!