Our French feast over, the next morning loomed with a departure – Chef and Architect had to return to Deer Lake to pick up their car and head on their way.
They had only had a glimpse of Gross Morne, but schedules and car hire companies are unrelenting taskmasters.
Mamma, the architect and I wanted to keep exploring the park, heading in the opposite direction (north) to some places recommended to us, or researched by, Mamma.
Whilst we were all one social group, chef and architect were my charges. I offered the obvious – drive them back to Deer Lake, turn around and catchup with M&B later that evening. The net drive there and back was probably only couple of hours (due to roadworks), so no biggie right?
They wouldn’t hear of it – they figured they could hitchhike back there on their own.
But what if they didn’t and the hire company released their car? Clearly I was feeling a little parental of them by now.
We reached a compromise – I would take them back to the main road, find a suitable spot to drop them off, wait an hour, after which if they had not found a ride, I’d take them back to pick up their hire car.
So we headed out, found a spot, dropped them off and I waited in a nearby 5 spot car park overlooking the lake. And it was a wait. I’ve never hitchhiked, but it seems an exercise in continual rejection to me. We had placed ourselves about a km after one of the road work stops, so that once the cars were released, there would be a block of them in a row.
Block 1 – no takers. Then a wait (no traffic)
Block 2 – no takers. Then a wait (no traffic)
Block 3 – no takers. Then a wait (no traffic)
And so on.
Chef and architect amused themselves during the waits with random photo taking (including what seemed to be a photo of one shoe on the middle of the road – apparently it wasn’t), and just as we got close to the designated hour window, the last guy in block 7 or 8 stopped to pick them up. And it was a local tradie as well – which goes to show you why I think they generally treat strangers better than most white collar folk.
Off they went with a quick wave. We’d already agreed to try and meet up in Fogo island if we could make the timing work, so hopefully this would not be the last time we’d see each other.
For me it was then time to head back north and catchup with Mamma and Builder.
The drive was embracing – mile after mile of beautiful greenery – glades and streams, even Gross Morne’s most famous spot – the land locked Western Brook Pond Fjord. I chose not to stop there – the number of cars iin the carpark and overflow was ridiculous, and on investigation, $60 for a 2 hour boat tour up and down a fjord seemed unnecessary for one who has spent a couple of days on the Hurtigruten ferry from Trondheim to Bergen (home of Slartibartfast’s best work).
Still I admit that I am incredibly spoilt, and that such an attitude smacks a little of arrogance. It’s not meant to – but from a completely practical position, once you’ve seen perfection, it’s hard to cough up for even the very best imitation.
Catching up with M&B ended up being a little problematic. Phone reception (for me at least) was not brilliant, so missed texts and bad timing meant that I ended up about an hour up the road from them (they stopped for ice-cream!) before we finally met up near Cow Head, NL
This was as far north as we intended to go – we were already on the Viking trail, which reaches Newfoundland’s northern most point (just across the way from Labrador), and as I would be returning to complete that path, there seemed little logic in heading further.
Plus we were thinking about catching up with A&C in Fogo if we could make it back in time
We found a pot overlooking the ocean, re-acqiuainted Charlotte and Vanastasia, and settled in for a night gently falling asleep to that magnificent sound of breaking waves and the smell of salt air.
