Adventures in Photography and Travel

After waiting for three days for a clear weather prediction and having three days of predicted rain turn out clear; I left at 3 in the afternoon for Port Huron.  The plan was motorcycle through Canada to Niagara Falls and on to Rhode Island and Connecticut (the only two of the fifty states that I have never been too).

That was on the 13th of August, and now back home after arriving at 8:00 last night following a twelve hour ride from western New York.

So why did I fail to blog for the entire twelve days until, and why has almost an entire week gone by without a blog?  The short answer – no excuse; more precisely though, I was amazed how much things have changed over the past six years since my last trip to Quebec and the Maritime Islands.  On that last eight week trip in 1913 I had little trouble finding a campsite, and when I did the cost of a site was typically $16 – $18. (only at KOA did I pay more than $30 a night).  Over the twelve days, I never paid less than $32 for a primitive tent site with no electricity, and most sites ranged from 45-55 dollars.

It was indeed surprising tho find that the cost had escalated two – three times in just six years (fortunately, inflation has not been that rampant elsewhere in the economy).  The larger problem though was that campgrounds that allowed tent camping seemed to be harder too find (maybe, I’m just out of practice).

More to the point of the Pictotravel blog; I finished the day at Lakeport State Park north of Port Huron, set up my tent and crashed early (about 10:00 PM) eagerly anticipating visiting Niagara Falls the next day.

• This is just a trial run to see if everything is working on the blog site.  Its been a long time since I have been on the road and even now I’m at all certain it can and will happen.
• Two aspirations:  a short motorcycle trip to Connecticut and Rhode Island and an extended trip via the the motorcycle to circumnavigate the Great Lakes (all 10,000 miles of it).  Realistically, that’s TOTALLY unrealistic and that’s what most inspires me!

• Already, I see a three problems with the blog; first, I’m not sure how to get rid of annoying “bullets” to left of the paragraphs (or even why they are appearing there in the first place), secondly, I’m unable to control margins (should be simple, but I haven’t figured it out).  Finally,  I’m unable to apply a caption to the photo (in case your curious, it’s taken from a street in Quebec City) .

• If anyone out there in cyber space can help me out, I would appreciate it; otherwise, I’ll figure it out in due time.

After ferrying back from Saddle Island, I made the short ride back to the ferry location at Salon Blanc with the intent catching the afternoon ferry to Newfoundland.

The day was not without incident. There was no evidence of a ferryboat ticket office at the landing, so I stopped at the Information Center to inquire as to departure times and where to purchase the tickets.

The young man in charge advised me as to where too purchase ferry tickets, and also informed me that the last ferry for the day (3:00 PM) had already departed. The next ferry was scheduled for tomorrow (Sunday) at 8:00 AM, I departed with a dejected feeling in the pit of my stomach.

My Harley was the sole occupant of the large parking lot adjacent to the Information Center, no fences or posts or signs defined the gravel parking area, the overcast day had been replaced with a slight mist that clouded my windshield and (perhaps) provided an admittedly lame excuse for what was to occur as I proceeded from parking lot.

Believing the area was total open to the roadway, I drove diagonally across the parking lot totally oblivious of the three-foot deep and four foot wide ditch that separated the parking lot from the roadway. Fortunately I was only traveling little more than 5 miles an hour at the time. Unfortunately, I still dropped into the ditch and found myself now precariously perched astride my Harley with both tires buried in opposite sides of the ditch and my feet not able to find solid ground. I remained there for only a second or two before the bike listed to the right and, unable to find Mother Earth in time to support the Harley’s weight, I fell to the ground.

Immediately embarrassed, I looked around expecting to see others bent over in “belly-bursting” laughter. My antics, however, had escaped any viewers; and so, I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself at the whole ridiculous situation. How could I (I asked myself) completely miss the driveway and ride straight into the ditch?

This all took place in a matter seconds, and I now was faced with the task of getting out of my predicament. I knew that there was not any way that I could even pick up the bike, much less than getting back on and then riding out of the ditch.

To my good fortune, I was able to get the young man from the Information Center and with the additional help of one of his friends we were able to extricate both myself and my Harley from my – too coin a phrase – “Situational Folly”.

I was now in no mood for any further turmoil, and so, that night for only the second time since leaving Michigan four weeks earlier, I found a hotel (without incident) and got good nights sleep.

Weeks have gone by without my completing the results of my travels throughout Canada. There have been a range of issues leading up to my poor showing, but without further boring you with explanations I will just begin anew..
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It was a cool and overcast day as I broke camp that morning, but I was prepared to make the best of what Labrador had to offer. Red Bay was the end of the paved road and was thus set as my destination.

I had no idea what to expect. I had learned, however, that Red Bay was only recently granted UNESCO world heritage site status in June of 2013, and thus, it became a for me an even more worthy destination.

In the 16th century Red Bay was a Basque whaling port, which continued in that capacity well into the 17th century.

Present day Red Bay is home to a mere 200 residents, which actually serves to complement the site and add to its lore as whaling port.

There are tours conducted in the welcome center, a museum that documents the lore of the Basque whaling days and tours to Saddle Island (located, perhaps, a half mile offshore) once served as both a fishing and whaling village).

My tale of whoa (as previously stated in my last blog) is that I inadvertently deleted approximately a week of photographs documented my time from L’Anse Meadows through Red Bay (from the 17th to the 23rd of July); it has never happened before and hopefully I’ve learned to be more careful in the future and I apologize for my lack of professionalism.

I have become so dependent on my photographs that it is very difficult to produce a meaningful blog without the photographic support (or am I just using this to justify my failure to complete the blog in a timely fashion?). In the way of compensation, here are a couple of links to L’Anse Meadows and Red Bay that are totally worthy of further exploration.

It was mid-afternoon when I left the Arches Provincial Park and I was already thinking ahead to the Labrador ferryboat; perhaps I could still make it in time to catch the last boat crossing for the day.  It seemed foolhardy to waste the better part of another day if I could in fact make it to Labrador yet today.

Despite my best effort I missed the last ferryboat crossing for the day by about an hour.  It was just past 5 PM,  and with over three hours of daylight there was still time enough to make it to Port Anthony (the end of the highway).  Having nothing of interest to do in St. Barbe (the location of the ferry boat crossing) I chose to take the hour and a half long route to Port Anthony.

The short trip to Port Anthony was brutal; had I known the crisp Atlantic breeze would be so bitterly cold and so “scary-strong”  I would have found a campsite in St. Barbe.

As it was, when I arrived in Port Anthony “chilled-to-the-bone” I was in no mood to go looking for a campsite.  Therefore, for the first time since leaving Michigan I found a motel (as well as, a steak and shrimp) for night.   The next day, I went to the information center to find out just what Port Anthony had to offer.  To my surprise I discovered that Port Anthony was just a short drive away from L’Anse Meadows, the site of Leif Erickson’s 11th century Newfoundland settlement (a full 400 years before Columbus “discovered” America).  Of course, I was quickly on the road and heading for L’Anse Meadows.

L’Anse Meadows is a must see sight; declared a UNESCO National Historic Site in 1978, it is like going to a museum (not all that bad) where much or what you see is a reconstruction of what is a well educated guess of the original site looked like in 1000 AD.  There is also a short film “The Vinland Mystery” in the museum that lays out the bare historical facts regarding the Norsemen.

Unfortunately, to my shame and disgust I am now forced to admit that I inadvertently deleted one week of photos from Port Anthony, Labrador and (all points in between) to as far as St. Johns in southern Newfoundland.  After struggling for over a week all I can do now is stop “whining”, pick up my tracks and go forward.  I’m making the confession to explain the lack of photos contained in this blog.     ________________________________________

I left L’Anse Meadows in the early afternoon and returned to St. Barbe in time to catch the day’s last ferry across the Straits of Belle Isle to Labrador.  The crossing is a short 80 minute ride and from the ferry landing at Blanc-Sablon there is another short 82 kilometers of paved road leading to Red Bay, the site of the 16th century Basque whaling settlement.  The pavement ends at Red Bay and from there it is some 1135 kilometers of north-westerly “highway” to Happy Valley-Goose Bay and beyond to Labrador City, all of which is mostly gravel road.

With my late departure, however, I knew that there would not be enough time to make it to Red Bay (especially if I wanted to take any pictures along the way).

Again with my late departure I knew that I would be pressed to find a campsite and set up before nightfall.  Fortunately, a shipmate had advised of the location of the Pinware River Provincial Park.  Unfortunately, when I arrived at the park it was closed – almost!

There was no one at the gate, but there was also no one to stop me from entering.  I proceeded into the park (knowing that I could pay for the site in the morning), found what I thought was an available campsite and began to set up my tent when a park ranger “magically” appeared.  He was courteous, but told that site I had selected was not an approved tent site; and directed me to proper location, advising me (as expected) that I could pay for the site in the morning.  In my experience park rangers are always a friend to campers in need.

 

 This journey began (just as all my travels begin) out of a sincere desire to see what’s on the other side; and when I return home it will be (as always) with a few small regrets for what I may have missed, but a treasure trove of sights seen, people met and the memories “recorded” via hundreds of photographs.

When contrasted with my travels in Argentina the experience has been vastly different.  In South America my mobility was limited by dependency on public transportation; but in Canada onboard my motorcycle, I have been free to control my own destiny.

While this freedom has obvious advantages, it also can lead one to bypass many sights that might that would have better observed by a foot-bound traveler “dropped” (as was the case in Argentina) in an quasi-isolated spot to explore at will.

The tendency (that one must try diligently to avoid when riding a motorcycle) is to “observe as you go” and only stop when inspired by a particularly captivating sight.

In Newfoundland especially the sights were many and frequent, but in truth if your alert their are many (sometimes, too many) photographic opportunities available.

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When I awoke the next morning at my campsite north of Cold Brook the sky was overcast, but quickly turned to rain as I rode the to town for breakfast.  Hoping to burn some time until the rain stopped, I looked for either a McDonald’s or a Tim Horton’s (both of which were certain to have Wi-Fi available).

Although WiFi was in fact available, my computer battery was dead and no plug in was available.  Without the computer option, I suited up in anticipation of more rain and hit the road for Deer Lake.  The rain never produced, but a heavy fog did, and visibility was so greatly reduced that it was almost impossible to photograph anything.

I had been eager to see what I had been told were spectacular views along the road that wound its way thru the picturesque Gros Morne Provincial Park, but with the fog there was nothing picturesque about it.

Disappointed, I continued northward for Labrador, knowing that I would have a second chance capture pictures on the return back to Deer Lake (the west coast highway was the only north-south route available).

Bound for the ferry to Labrador I was not anticipating any stops along way.  According to my map the entire coast from north of Gros Morne to the ferry crossing appeared to be sparsely settled; but Newfoundland had one more surprise.  The Arches Provincial Park lies only a few hundred meters off the highway.

The Arches (at what assume was low tide) fully expose themselves, and to the delight of tourist, provide an opportunity to scramble atop and thru the arches.  They would perhaps provide some spectacular photos with the backdrop of the setting sun, but perhaps I’ll never to know – I didn’t wait to find out.

 

It is a mere 168 kilometers (105 miles) from the provincial campground to Deer Lake (the starting point for the long coastal drive to the ferryboat to Labrador).  However, for me it was a two day trip; there was just too much to see and too many pictures to take.

The main problem (if it can be called a problem) was Cape St. George outside of Stephenville.  Earlier in the day, at the Cape Anguille Lighthouse I had talked to couple of young girls who told me that if I could afford the time, Cape St. George was well worth the hour or so of time that it would take to circumnavigate the Cape.

And so Cape St. George was added to my unscheduled “plan”; but I traveled (or more correctly shot photographs) for more than two hours before even reaching the starting point for the route around the peninsula.  It was clear that there was not enough time left for me to traverse the peninsula.  Questioning my wisdom, I reluctantly turned back for the Trans Canada Highway.

An hour later, despite my days early start, I found myself (at dusk) searching for a campground and then trying to set up my tent before, what was now a light rain, became really intense.

Kindly the rain obliged me and actually fully didn’t develop until the middle of the night when I was long gone.

After completing the Cabot Trail circuit I continued on to North Sydney to catch the ferry.  It was still early enough to possible catch the 8:00 PM ferry, but I had no desire to make the crossing at night and arrive at 7:00 AM, too tired to begin traveling.

 In retrospect this was a mistake; I could taken my sleeping bag on board and slept comfortably (without appearing out of place), saved the expense and effort of a campsite and arrived fresh in the morning with a full day ahead for travel.

There are two ferries routes that make the crossing from Nova Scotia to Newfoundland.  The short route is a nine hour crossing that drops off at the southeastern tip of Newfoundland (the starting point for exploring the western shoreline all the way to Labrador); the second route is a hearty seventeen hour “cruise” that ends in Argentia, Newfoundland, on the tip of the Avalon Peninsula the site of the US Naval Base (that my brother Don, remembers well).

I chose to take the short route to Port Aux Basques and proceed up the west coast to Labrador.  It was nearly 8:00 PM when I disembarked the ship and I new that I would have to quickly find a campground.  The Canadians are leaps and bounds ahead of America with respect to the free travel assistance that they provide.  At the entry point of every province (as well as in many cities) they provide free maps, travel brochures and knowledgeable travel assistance symbolized by the easily recognizable (?).

After stopping at the travel office and being given the much needed information regarding a provincial campgrounds, a mere seven kilometers to the north, I still managed to ride ten minutes past the site before realizing that I had surely GOOFED.

Not wanting to turnaround, I instead turned down a gravel toward what resembled an Indian reservation (it wasn’t), and was able to find an elderly woman who advised me of another campgrounds a mere 5 kilometers up the road and proceeded to inform me that I was about 20 km past the provincial park.

A simple decision, I proceeded north and found the expected campground; what was not expected was that the lady in charge would advise that the campground was full!  I needed a less than fifteen square foot piece of ground on which to place my tent (surely she was jesting!).

Back on the road, I proceeded north in search of the next available campground which the lady had (Kindly?) advised was less than ten kilometers to the north.  I never found it!

I finally arrived (some 30 kilometers to the south) at the provincial campgrounds I had, not so, innocently passed more than an hour ago.  I was cold and weary, but happy to have not fallen victim (my biggest fear) to a wandering moose on the highway at night.

With a bit of reluctance I left Prince Edward Island about midmorning; my reluctance was the thing that happens with all peaceful and tranquil that I have ever visited.  It’s just hard to leave knowing that it is very possible you will never return.  There is just too many places to go, too many countries still to visit; and time is now both an enemy and a friend.

My computer has been a big problem; for a period of time it was either shutting down prematurely or not starting up at all.  Due to this fact, I’ll fill in the gaps as best I can, but my blogs will be heavy on photo and light on text.

The game plan was to make into Nova Scotia by days and then make a decision as to whether to head east towards Newfoundland or stay explore around Nova Scotia; but I already new the answer.  I was eager to get to Newfoundland (and hopefully even up to Labrador) and I had a nagging fear that spend too much time in Nova Scotia and have to pass up Newfoundland all together.  It was a risk that I was not willing to take.

In searching my road map for my route of travel (the options are limited), I discovered to my surprise that Nova Scotia is not an island at all.  At least not all of it; the entire western part of the country is in fact a totally connected land mass with New Brunswick and it is only when you pass onto Cape Breton that Nova Scotia becomes Cape Breton Island.

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After an all day ride at a leisurely pace I arrived in Amherst, Nova Scotia (on the New Brunswick border), found a campsite, did my laundry and tried fire-up my computer (without success).

The next day (unable to blog or post photos) I headed out for Cape Breton Island and the much heralded Cabot Trail.

The Cabot Trail was well worth the experience, but quite frankly was less than

I had expected given all the hype that the Cabot is given.  I left the trail feeling that I must have missed something (a strong possibility); although, I was giving my all not to leave a stone unturned.