Storyline: Atlantic Canada, Take 2
July 4
We only had about two hours to drive to our next destination: Port au Choix. Left the beautiful beaches of Shallow Bay and continued north. If you ever visit the Gros Morne area in the summer, put Shallow Bay on your list.
We stumbled onto it only because when trying to cut a night off Berry Hill, the clerk at the entrance suggested she had an available site there. I wish we had spent a few days there. But we had our itinerary to follow. Drive wasn’t bad, although once one leaves the Gros Morne National Park area, the potholes and chewed road edges are significant. Morning fog was following us all the way to our next campground.
We checked in before noon. Back in April I managed to book an unserviced site. If “park anywhere you find by the water or up here in the parking lot” can be considered a site. For the second night though, there was a serviced site available. Apparently, there are all kinds of caravans (groups of similar RVs travelling together). American. Haven’t seen a Canadian one yet. These were class A RVs (think ‘buses’). A group that travelled together and were from all over US. These rigs are bloody expensive, although we consider ours not cheap.
By the evening, the campground would be full to the brim. Not a single parking spot available. Port au Choix is a popular stop on the way up to L’Anse aux Meadows. It is a small fishing town, on one of the most remote geographic areas in Canada, the Northern Peninsula of Newfoundland.
We parked parallel to the waters, lining Doranya up for the views, fog still present, but light. Winds were picking up. There was a historic wood-fired oven bread baking event in the town at 2pm. We decided to try to make it. Driving north, The Ocean View RV Park is just before the town. It appeared that the oven was at the other end of the town.
We walked in a rush, made it just in time for the demo and the bread tasting.
Although it was very windy, we sat outside to keep away from the crowds. After all was said and done, we walked back home to the campground, this time more slowly.
There around 360 occupied houses in total scattered on the hills and around the water. But the place has a rich history and its peninsula is declared a National Historic Site.
As many as five native peoples with distinct cultures had lived here over millennia. The archaeological digs show that the first people to live here date back 5,000 years.
We visited the reconstructed burial site at the centre of the town, but didn’t manage to walk to the caves. 5,000 years ago, according to the archaeologists, the Port au Choix peninsula was an island. The Maritime Archaic Indians buried their dead on this island in the white sand of a raised beach. According to the signage of the site we visited, this beach is now beneath the grass along the main road.
Back at the campground, the winds were too strong for me. And while we were the only ones on the shore side when we arrived, now there wasn’t a single spot left. I watched the surf from Doranya’s windows as Alex walked to check the rocks along the beach.
These rocks are full of fossil imprints. They are all over the beach and around. One doesn’t have to go far to find them. They just come to you.
The winds were buffeting and shaking our van to the point overnight that I thought we’ll be just blown away. It was way too uncomfortable for me to sleep.
The next morning the buses (the class A RVs) lined up to dump their tanks and leave. We took the first available serviced site. And Doranya’s windows were heavily glazed with salt from the sea spray. Alex watered them down so we could see out, although this exercise would be repeated again the following morning. Despite the winds and clouds, we decided to walk to the National Historic Site Museum, two bays away from our campground. It was a long slog uphill for a little over 3 km against a 35 km/hr wind, gusting to 60 km/hr. At times, it took your breath away. We made it there just before a big tour group was to storm in. The kid at the kiosk was fast to inform us about it and walk us through the significance of the places, the events that are taking place, etc. We missed the live music though.
By the time we walked back downhill, battered by the now tail winds, there was nothing left of me to desire sitting in a pub for the local singer. I just crashed. Our little boat rocked again, but much less. We were somewhat protected and facing the wind, rather than being broadside on as we were the previous night.
See you at L’Anse aux Meadows.
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