It’s been eight years since I tent camped for six weeks in Newfoundland with my partner. The land captivated me. Even though conditions were harsh — or maybe, because they were! — I didn’t want to leave.
Here’s an image from the trip, and a poem I wrote last month.
Newfoundland
one summer we wandered the land
a tiny tent our home
damp shelter against cold and rain and
constant wind which no matter how strong
could not dispel the bugs that buzzed faces
till eyes puffed from black fly bites
we tramped against the chill wind
on boardwalks over peaty bogs thick with insects
balsamic fragrance rising from thickets
of impenetrable spruce which slanted sideways
and tore skin when touched
on a fog-shrouded black pebble beach
wrapped in our warmest coats
we stood with locals waiting for capelin,
harbingers of whales
mesmerized, we watched shadowy gannets
swirl and plummet through mist
as breakers from the cold Atlantic collapsed at our feet
we rambled over tundra
the spongy ground hugged by tiny white flowers of
partridge berry and bake apple and
dotted with dwarf shrubs and spindly trees
a landscape of rock outcrops crusted with lichen
in hues of orange and pale green
past a cemetery, incongruous
whose crosses splashed white and stark
against the wild barrens
and the grey ocean
these many years later, there are days I wonder—
have I become too used to easy coffee
and how life slips by, without notice?
that summer, we lived on the harsh land
by its terms
clothed ourselves with head nets and toques
rain gear and fleece
presumed nothing
made a barrier for the stove
to keep its tiny blue flame lit against the wind
Witnessing great beauty often comes at a cost – cold, rain, snow, mosquitos etc. – which is often a good thing as it keeps the hordes who don’t like those things away. Great for those who persevere. Joy and I visited the west coast of Newfoundland in the early 1980s and climbed Gros Morne. We were the only ones on the mountain. A glorious day that included Joy having a stare down with a lynx!
Thanks for sharing.
For a reader like me it’s not easy to see which bergs run aground looking aross the sound. A quick glance may even confound casual readers like myself…..coffee downed.
The insects sounded ferocious, lol. That was nice Sarah, thankyou.
Jamez
An evocative poem Sarah! It brought back memories of our own trip to “The Rock” last summer, although the images of bugs and rain makes us glad that we were in our little van instead of under nylon as you and Ken were. The spongy tundra, the birds soaring in the mist, rock, lichen and icebergs; you’ve captured the magic of a wonderful place.
Lovely images and words Sarah.
You inspire me to return to the east coast of Canada for a spell.
I last visited in my mid 20’s…on route to “Europe on Five Dollars a Day”…remember that time?
Guysborrow County…Sherbrooke…Glacé Bay…
Beautiful…
Thank you
Guy Lawrence