The first three pictures are the view from Witless Bay. We stopped at its Ecological centre and ventured into the village. In the village we stopped into an art gallery that housed some very intricate but over priced pulled rugs. The two folks in there were very helpful and convinced us to continue through the village to some popular vantage points. The Red house and tree that overlooks the ocean is a popular post card and tourist promo shot of the area. After that we were told to make our way to Ferryland. We stopped at the visitor centre which you will see from afar in photo number 4. Ferryland was all but a ghost town closed for the season. The visitor centre patron told us we would find a restaurant or two in Trepassey. Before we took off for Trepassey we found the first beach front setting since we landed and took the opportunity to put our hands in the ocean. The beach front was stone, and I took a few for the girls. Although I am not sure, I think this must have been Renews or Cappahayden.
Before we could get to Trepassey we found a tourist welcoming centre for the touristy Cape Race. I think this was technically in Portugal's Cove South. The seemingly lonely lady that stood shop here was helpful but insistent that I take a quick walkthrough the modest museum. While I sacrificed myself feigning as much interest as I could, Jason found the ship wreck map that would become the catalyst to our wedding gift to Ian.
In Trepassey, finding the restaurant was a breeze. It was the only place that showed any form of life. That life came in the form of one car in the parking lot. Inside we found the owner of that car. The sole diner that accompanied Jason and I was a retiree named John. John was a St. Stephens native who just a few years ago had returned to his birthplace after 40 years of working for Ontario Hydro. He would not stop talking. We found out that he was very familiar with our neck of the woods and like all Newfoundlanders he was well versed in all the OHL hockey lore. He was a proud community member of the Avalon Peninsula. He lamented the areas decline from prosperity with us and told us stories of the Portuguese fishing raiders. Although you could tell his history left an indelible mark on him, he harboured no resentment for those that contributed to the decline of his homeland. Not the sailors and even not the federal government that betrayed these folks with botched politics. When John returned to the area he purchased a house for next to nothing and while remodelling over a period of a few years he dined at that restaurant three times a day, every day. Talk about loyalty. When the owner emerged with his full garbage bag of partridge berries you could sense they were like family. With the Partridge berries came another sad story of how breakfast food chains from the US had devoured that berries once fertile market for the production of pancake topping syrups. John was our personal glimpse into the heritage and history of the area. He, like all of Newfoundland's people is (along with the scenery) the last of the area's great standing treasures and a highlight of our trip. After a great meal, another highlight, we headed off to St. Vincent. Or so we thought.
Before we came to St. Vincent we travelled through St. Stephen's (John's hometown). Although there was nothing more than a corner store/gas station to see here, we took special notice due to our fondness for John. John told us with a few expletives how that very morning he was forced to drive into Trepassey as the aforementioned store was out of F'n bread. Incidentally this store is another casualty of the area’s economics, as the ex-school teacher and her daughter who lived there and ran the operations were packing up and moving onto more prosperous pastures.
Before we could find St. Vincent we crossed a long man-made road that cut through an inlet of water which must have been Harboured Pond. Very soon after, we finally fell upon St. Vincent which proved to be another stretch of vacant looking houses stuck together like a bland oasis in the middle of a vast desert. This scape fancied a vast shoreline of tiny stones that crescented the most southerly point of a blotch of glued together houses. That's Jason and I (in separate pics) standing at the edge of where the roads would no longer take us. We were followed by a curious four wheeling female, who without even a wave or word of welcome roared as close as she could to investigate; as would some species of wildlife, who the spun around kicking up gravel and disappeared into the distance as quickly as she came.
From here there were not many highlights of note. We passed through St. Mary's without incident, after which we traversed 30 or so kilometres of interior land on Hwy 90. The land was beautifully scenic and cut though some small bodies of water with forested cliffs. We ran into our first signs of ominous looking and tormented skies. We kept our eyes peeled for the moose that typically ventured onto the roads at this time of day. We passed a family fishing off the side of the road with what looked like a very large catch. We would have loved to stop and take pictures but it felt too intrusive. One last highlight came as a lucky break when I caught out of the corner of my eye a small pond on a road side property that boasted a man-made miniature village built around it. It was quite fascinating and intricate. See the picture above.
The tail end of the trek was uneventful and soon we hit the TCH that took as back to St. John's with a promising night on the town.
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