Fleeting Capture: Gros Morne

I am at a loss for the right word - just the right word.

There are really no words to express this amazing UNESCO Heritage site that Gros Morne National Park is. Stunning? - It has that capacity to stun. Breathtaking? Indeed, it can, but it is really more than that. And the two days we remained in the park is not adequate to truly understand this place.

Wrapped around Bonne Bay, an arm off the Gulf of St, Lawrence, it is a place that rises to lofty cloud borne heights seemingly right from the ocean. These mountains are more like the Appalachians, wide, rolling green capped hilltops rather that rocky caps, with the exception of the Tablelands, a massive dome of exposed yellowish peridotite, the result of a geologic uplifting of the earths mantle - and a rock hounds dream!

Tablelands and the predominant yellow peridotite

Following our "mummer" experience, we all decided that Woody Point is just the right town from which to visit Gros Morne. Rich and I spent the day atop Tablelands, climbing to a high promontory, and exhausting all possible photographic options - or so it seemed until we saw yet another picture. We arranged our cab back to Woody Point to await the water taxi to take us across Bonne Bay to our next stop in Rocky Harbor, on the east side of the bay, requiring a hilly ramble to our next motel.

Water Taxi

Reunited with Clara, who spent the day riding in search of a beach (and never having actually found one) we all shared a room for the next two nights to fully explore the park. But as the evening was young, we visited a local pub for dinner and a "kitchen party" as it was called. This, a single musician sort of orchestrates audience participation in songs, stories and such, even handing out all manner of banging sticks and rattles to have the audience participate in the music, mostly Newfie tunes. It was a fun evening again, of dancing and drumming.

The next morning, Clara was hoping to summit Gros Morne, but the weather was not in any way cooperative, greeting us in singular liquid fashion. We decided to take a taxi to the trailhead for Western Brook Pond, having made a reservation for the tour boat that circles this long, narrow fjord. We arrived in dense fog, and waited for several hours in which we talked of life forward, only to have the tour cancelled - logically - because of the fog, even though it showed signs of starting to lift. So instead, we walked a trail for a short distance and sat by Western Brook that drains the lake, sitting on a rock, and gradually taking in the theater which was the mountains unveiling before us. What a magnificent sight! The clouds gradually lifted, revealing the immense height and steepness that is this canyon in late afternoon sunshine, however briefly it lasted. It was actually a fun, mellow and serene way to spend the late afternoon before walking out and catching our cab back to town. Most of the day washed out, but the best part was saved for last - dessert!

At the "theater" that is clouds lifting . . .

. . . to a perfect backdrop.

Following an excellent meal at Earl's Restaurant (where several had suggested the best moose in town - for me Moose Stew), we retired early, a bit spent. But the next morning, packing up and catching some pancakes, we parted ways with Clara, our enthusiastic, delightful, energetic, funny and charming travel companion of the past several days. It was like travelling with my daughter Laura, who has a similar wanderlust and enthusiasm for exploration (but NOT on a bike). Such fun, but a certain sweet sorrow. Ride on Clara, as I know you will read this, and say hi to your Mum! [Ed: And we later learned that Clara achieved her goal of summiting Gros Morne peak (a 7 hour hike) while we were on the lake.]

Inside the fjord

Rich and I headed north for the upper peninsula of Newfoundland, but on the way managed to get the last two seats on the same tour ferry we missed the day before, as the cloud ceiling was high and no rain. It was a stunning two hour excursion up the fjord, taking in sheer walls of rock plummeting into the fjord, graced with frequent and high waterfalls. But the ferry was a bit crowded, and with a high cloud deck and a grey cast to the light, we both agreed the visual magic was not the same as the day before, as we watched this same canyon evolve, bathed in late afternoon sun. That will be my memory.

And the word? Magical. I think it fits. Enjoy the scenery: