Wednesday, May 5th
One Down.
Now they had not been sailing but a long winter’s night
And part of a short winter’s day,
When he spied a stout lofty ship …,
Come a-bibbing down on them straightway.— Figgy Duff, Henry Martin
The world outside the motel room window looks dry this morning, even though heavy clouds are still looming. After filling up the car, I head back east on the Trans-Canada Highway. A sign shows an exit to Little Heart’s Ease. If only it were so easy as to turn off a road.
At a petrol station, a big yellow construction machine is in the way. That it advertises its slowness with a blue blinking light is somewhat confusing for a visitor from the Old World. Of course, here a single light would never indicate a vehicle with special rights. That needs a battery of flashing lights.
Next exit: Come by Chance. According to Mr. McFadden not worth turning off. After that, the sun wearily is poking through the clouds. Opposing traffic is a pick-up truck with a Coca Cola vending machine loaded. Also a way to keep fresh beverages in your car.
At the exit for Whitbourne I turn off the T.C.H. and it promptly starts to drizzle. I am going north now along a road running through a settled area with speed limits of 50 for endless stretches. And of course here I get stuck behind the only driver in all of Newfoundland to stick to the speed limit with rather Swiss precision. Very, er, commendable. I obviously do the very same all the time.
The first town is Dildo. Folklore has it that it was named by James Cook, who would be excused for this sort of thing given that he had been on board a ship with a bunch of unwashed blokes for quite some time. In some parking lot, a garbage truck and a pick-up are parked back-to-back and some dubious transaction seems to be going on.
Notable is the rather prominent presence of the Salvation Army in this area. Dildo has a meeting hall and most towns seem to have a separate Salvation Army cemetery.
In Whiteway the road returns rather abruptly to the sea in a sweet right turn. About half a mile out in the bay are three big rocks. According to a sign, they are called Shag Rock. Well, I get a bit tired of all the innuendo. The next three villages are Heart’s Delight, Heart’s Desire, Heart’s Content. There. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?
Heart’s Content was chosen as the landing site of the first transatlantic telegraph cable, installed in 1866. If you look at the map, you will see that Heart’s Content is actually on the west side of the peninsula and quite a bit down again. There probably is a very good reason for choosing this site which must have cost another fifty kilometers of cable.
I turn around and take the road to the other side. At the end of which lies the reason for all heart’s delight, desire, and content: Victoria. Too bad I don’t know a Victoria to, pardon, delight with this story. I hope I shall meet one one day.
The next town is Carbonear, as indicated by a large sign showing all the town’s services. Not quite sure what the sign of a knitting kit is supposed to indicate. The highway circumvents the town on a ridge. Turns out, Carbonear is quite big. It even has a large concrete and glass monstrosity downtown. And traffic lights.
After Carbonear I turn off the highway and take the road down to Harbour Grace for a bit more aviation geekery. At the town entrance a battered old sign is pointing to the Harbour Grace Airfield. You follow a road, then a gravel path for about two kilometers and finally reach a place that is quite significant for aviation history. Let’s just quote the plaque:
‘In the year 1927, local interest established on this site Newfoundland’s first aerodrome. Many aviators were to use the pioneer airfield during the next decade in their attempts to conquer the Atlantic Ocean. The first direct non-stop flight to England by the “Pride of Detroit” departed from here in 1927. Both the “Southern Cross” and the “Winnie Mae” in 1930 and 1931, landed at this field on their historic circumnavigation of the world. During 1932, Amelia Earhart departed from this field for Europe and gained distinction as the first woman to fly solo on a non-stop flight across the Atlantic. Between 1927 and 1937 over forty pioneer flights were to utilize this airfield.’
Sacred ground indeed, even though it is nothing more than a flat, wind-swept meadow running down a hill. The place should be a must-be destination for everyone interested in aviation, but by the looks of it, hardly anyone ever comes here. Which, of course, makes the whole thing so much better. You can stand there, alone, and contemplate, undisturbed by souvenir shops and interpretation centres. Just yourself and history. And a rather ghastly wind.
On the road to the airfield, you’ll find the Gorden G. Pike Railway Museum in the terminus of the first railroad on Newfoundland. More history. Railroads are long since gone from the island. Once, there was an extensive network of narrow-gauge lines all over the island. The longest of which, running roughly along the current day Trans-Canada Highway (and having been replaced by it), went by the nickname of Newfie Bullet.
Down in Harbour Grace, yet another town build around the end of a bay, are more historic monuments: S.S. Kyle, the remains of a steam ship built in 1913. Next to her, on terra firma, parks a DC-3 donated by Air Labrador. Quite a lot of transportation history for such a small place.
But time is progressing and I have to head back to St. John’s. Before I return to the airport, there is one more thing I have been ordered to do: Cape Spear, the easternmost point of North America, not counting Greenland. First, though, I have to find the road towards it. What looks like an easy maneuver on the map—take route 2 all the way to the end and then turn into route 11—is quite hard in practice, because route 11 isn’t actually signed as such. So I circle St. John’s for a bit before finding the right road. It goes steep up the mountains east of St. John’s harbour. After maybe five minutes, you find yourself in deep wilderness, the city all but forgotten.
On this day, Cape Spear is mostly one thing: windy. Really windy. But nonetheless do I make my round. And so, on May 5th, 2010, 15:41 UTC, one freezing man is standing bravely to be the easternmost person in all of North America (not counting Greenland).
My flight to Halifax is delayed by thirty minutes. Rumor has it that this is because of a water leak on the airplane earlier today. While I am waiting, an Air Canada 767 is leaving, apparently on her way to London. Later, an Air Transat 320 comes in which is not listed on the timetable. Probably a refueling stop on the way from or to Europe.
Our Embraer E190 finally comes in, is turned around quickly and soon we are in the air. Farewell, Newfoundland. I am sure we will see each other again one day. And maybe even Labrador.
As we approach Halifax the clouds disappear. Nova Scotia from the air looks a lot like the southern coast of Norway. Forests, lakes, and inlets. Towns spreading around the inlets. The white chalk lines of the roads.
At the airport, I pick up my second car, again aptly named: a Dodge Journey. On the road south towards Halifax I notice that it doesn’t have cruise control. Seven thousand kilometers without cruise control? Rather not. I check into a motel in Dartmouth and then phone the rental company. We agree on a vehicle change and I return to the airport. They have a silver Dodge Avenger instead. I have already spent several thousand kilometers in one last autumn. Strangely enough, as I get into the car, I immediately feel at home. The controls, the radio, everything as it should be. Funny, how you can get used to something you only had for a short time.
Back at the motel it is already around eight. I ask the girl at the reception if it is possible to still get a beer at this late hour. She confirms that the local liquor stores are open until ten and kindly describes the way. Most Canadian provinces (with the remarkable exception of Quebec) only sell alcohol for take-away from special stores. In Nova Scotia, this is the Nova Scotia Liquor Commission or NSLC. The store is like a Vinmonopolet only with more friendly opening hours, at lot less stylish and with a rather more dubious clientèle, at least at this late hour. So then:
Beer of the day: Propeller Bitter (I rather wanted the IPA, but they only had that in sixpacks and my discipline is not the best these days).