September 3-4

Two days in a snug enough harbor while it blows 20-30 knots in the wrong direction. Tonight we’ll take off for Nova Scotia while there seems to be a favorable two-day weather window. Two overnights and we’re home, with any luck. But no guarantees, and there are ports of refuge along the way. Finley and Tim glue themselves to multiple sources of weather reports whenever Wi-Fi is available.

Labrador seems far behind. We’re certainly in the same zone — arctic tundra in the highlands, caribou, coastal community, fishing — but there are roads and cellphone service and wi-fi in every gift shop and a public library and even a restaurant where we had supper. Such a different feeling. Too connected! But it’s still Newfoundland, with Newfie friendliness and jokes and accents.

Now that we’re down south we keep running into other sailors, each with a story; a couple from Savannah returning from Greenland, on their way back to Georgia; another couple just now from the Netherlands returning from a trip around Newfoundland on their way back to the Caribbean! Two people running these boats seems pretty light when you’re doing overnights. As Finley asked, where do you find these women? The Savannah couple was great. He was Polish, she was American. They went north in Greenland to see the town where Rockwell Kent (the painter, and Sally Kent’s grandfather) spent the winter. His book, Salamina, describes it. They rowed their zodiac over to visit us, one on each oar.  What a sight.

Gros Morne National Park, which surrounds us here, is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, because the geology is special. Newfoundland is this crazy place: half of it is the American continental plate, the other half is from Africa. Gros Morne in particular has many different kinds and ages of rock all slammed together and dramatically visible. I won’t go into detail, I can’t keep it straight anyway, but it’s fun to try to comprehend. One large set of hills, called Tablelands, is undersea mantle rock (peridotite) that is black but weathers red. It has various toxic heavy metals that suppress most plants so that it’s utterly barren except for a few tolerant species. Not only are they tolerant, they have no competitors here. Pitcher plants in the middle of gravel beds, no bog in sight! Weird. It has that glowing red appearance of the Southwest sandstone but nothing in common geologically.

There are trees here, maybe as much as 20′ tall! Mostly black spruce and balsam fir, with continuous moss beds beneath. It is so green compared to Labrador, but they still work hard for a living. I found a 3″ stump that was 60 years old. Around the houses are some planted broad-leaf trees. Poplars seem happy, maples seem miserable. I heard leaves rustling in the wind for the first time in three weeks. What a gentle, comforting, magical sound! How we take it for granted, even though it goes away for half the year. Listen! Notice! Delight!