THE HEAT HAD BEEN RECORD BREAKING since our arrival on the Rock three days before. The locals kept informing us that it had been one of the most beautiful summers in decades, and that the heatwave of these first days of September 2022 was a little unusual - but a welcomed bonus. St. John’s, the capital city of Newfoundland and Labrador province, is one of the most iconic places in Canada and holds a diverse historical significance. For me, it was my first time ever on the island and I was thrilled to escape to an area so very dear to my wife, Linda. It was just a few hours away from St. John’s that her mom was born in Port de Grave, on the shores of the Atlantic ocean where her ancestors had been present for hundreds of years. Our travelling partners and dearest friends Lesley and Rémi were also visiting for the first time. We had talked about this trip for years and were thrilled that it was finally happening.
 
The first two days had been dedicated to discovering St. John’s and the surrounding area. Luckily, the beautiful weather allowed us to be outside at all times and walk every little street - and of course stop for refreshing drinks and live music! We checked off our list the most known tourist destinations like Signal Hill, Cabot Tower, Jellybean Row, the Terry Fox Memorial, George & Water Streets, and a multitude of restaurants and bars. The once in a lifetime Screech-In ceremony also took place at Christian’s Pub - where the likes of Sting and Anthony Bourdain have hung out.  We even trekked on a trail from the top of Signal Hill to Quidi Vidi (a little ambitious on one of the hottest days the city had experienced), but we were rewarded with cold beers and fish & chips. Quidi Vidi is really a treasure and Linda could not stop taking photos and appreciating the picturesque environment. Since our visit, she follows a renowned photographer who regularly shares pictures (impressively edited) of the village and harbour. From morning to night we enjoyed every minute of discovering the downtown core of the city and meeting the friendliest of people.

​By the time our second full day of visit in St. John’s ended with a late night and more laughs than our bellies could handle, we went to bed excited about what the next day would deliver. We had decided to have St. John’s as our base, but knew that getting lost on the roads and coastlines would be necessary to satisfy our adventurous appetite. With Rémi as the most organised and thoughtful planner we know, Linda and I left all the decisions to him with the confidence that we would see all the best spots, and most likely not get lost. All I had to do was drive the car and listen to instructions - easy! Waking up on the third day with the temperature a little more seasonal, we enjoyed coffees outside on the little balcony of our rented downtown apartment with a sense of excitement. For me, the love of wilderness, water, endless roads, getting lost, and not knowing really what Rémi had planned was the perfect recipe for escape. Once everyone had completed their morning routines we jumped in the car, let’s go!

​ “Turn right at this road. Right here!”  Remi told me with some surprise.
 
 “Wow, I thought it would be further”. I replied as I made the quick move not to miss the small road.
 
We are both so very accustomed to the longer distances and traffic of the large metropolitan areas of Ottawa, Montreal and Toronto, that we had to coach each other to adjust to the scale of our current area (and that there were no traffic lights to slow us down!). This would be a day where we could take our time, not be hesitant to divert from the plan, and just chill.
 
Rémi had planned a full day of discovery which would bring us to the north-east edge of the Avalon Peninsula directly north of St. John’s. The only thing he had shared with us was that the old Cape St. Francis lighthouse would be seen before sundown. The name itself reminded me of a suspense or horror movie. The kind of place at the end of an obscure lane with minimal lighting, dark secrets, and kept by a person only to be seen at night. My curiosity was elevated when Rémi said that the road to reach our destination might not even be accessible without a large off-road vehicle - which we did not have.
 
But for now, he was focused on navigating us to Middle Cove Beach for our first official stop of the day, a place frequently mentioned as a tourist destination. We navigated the small roads and first witnessed the lovely Outer Cove just minutes east of Middle Cove. It was our initial close-up of the rugged unprotected coastlines which line much of the province and make you appreciate the power of the ocean water. The rocks and shoreline were shaped in different angles and colours by the wind and constant pounding of salt water. I could only imagine on this calm day how powerful the wind and water becomes during stormy weather. We also had our first lesson on the definition of beaches on the Rock, there is most likely no sand! 

​As we drove at slow speed the winding Marine Drive leading us north on this cloudy late morning, Linda was reminded of her last visits on the shores of Conception Bay where her ancestors lived:
 
“This looks like where my mom was born. Lots of rock and almost no trees”
 
After two days in the vibrant city it was great to witness the rural countryside with colourful houses sporadically located on rock exposures or tucked between the few trees that have survived long enough to grow more than ten feet. The properties are not packed together, but close enough to form a community where people can easily walk to other homes to visit family and friends. There is a mix of older places and larger new modern homes which come with all the amenities of a large city. Lesley could not help herself as we passed beautiful homes overlooking the ocean:
 
“I like this one!. I wonder how much it is. Imagine how special it would be to experience a lifestyle so very different from what we know”.
 
It was amazing really, we had only been gone for less than one hour and already felt like we had been transported to another part of the world. At 48 degrees north latitude, we were a few degrees lower than Dublin, Ireland which sits at 53 degrees north and directly east of Newfoundland. The similarities of the two islands have been well documented with landscape, language and people dominating the list. There is even the famous Irish Loop drive covering over 300 km of the southernmost section of the Avalon Peninsula.
 
Turning into the parking area of Middle Cove Beach, you could have told us we had been dropped thousands of kilometres away on the coast of Ireland and it would have been difficult to notice the difference. The rhythmic sound of the waves on the stony beach created a soothing feeling. And luckily, the sun was starting to break through the clouds and give vibrant colour to everything around us. I was amazed at the different tints of the round-shaped stones on the beach, and how thick it was. I also later learned that in the winter this same beach could be completely overwhelmed by large ice, and surrounded by ice falls on the surrounding cliffs. Icebergs have also been known to make an appearance as they travel with the currents. We walked on the beach, picked up rocks, took shoes off to test the water (cold, very cold!), and appreciated the fresh air. 

​“Let’s go down this little road to the cove.”  I say instinctively to my passengers.
 
We had just entered the town of Torbay and the water was calling us once again. Turning right off the main road, the small and rugged Lower Street weaved between seaside homes and ended in a small parking area next to the rocky Torbay Beach. There was only one other car with its passenger sitting on the park bench looking out at the ocean. He was eating a sandwich in one hand and had a Tim Horton’s coffee in the other. There was no paper, book, or music device to be seen around him. He was just enjoying the scene. Moments after exiting the car, in his usual social way Rémi started a conversation with the man as the ladies went directly towards the water and I headed in the opposite direction to see the pond. As the minutes passed their conversation continued and when the three of us joined them back in the parking area we greeted each other. Luckily for us, the nice gentleman on the bench was a retired professor from Memorial University who lived nearby just north of Torbay. He  shared that if we really wanted to see something special, we should follow him to Flatrock.
 
“Just follow me up the road”. He simply said as we jumped in our vehicles.

​Excitement took hold as we now had our own tour guide, which we quickly nicknamed “The Professor”. At this point we assumed he was just taking us to a location and waving us good luck. We were wrong, he was fully committed. After a few wrong turns by me, we caught up to him at a parking area next to the water and close to the Father Troy’s Trail. This section of the East Coast Trail covers 9 km between Flatrock and Torbay. Looking at the distance markers on the sign we worried that he was expecting us to walk all that distance, but soon realised that the Professor had reasonable intentions as we climbed the barren trail at a good pace. He did not stop talking and shared all types of wonderful details about the area and his life. I trailed at the back of the group but could hear him tell tales of his romantic adventures, travels abroad, and his opinion on all levels of government. To our surprise he was in his seventies but had the energy of a forty year old. At one point once we reached a high point in the trail he turned west and pointed back towards the town and said:
 
“That is my house right there. The one with the clothing line full of clothing at the back”. A nice home completely open to the cove with endless views. Wow!
 
It does not take long to know why it is called Flatrock. The long narrow treeless piece of land which juts out into the ocean to create Flat Rock Cove is easy to hike with a gradual slope. Unlike the cliffs which dominate the north east coast of Newfoundland, it is very unique. The professor shared with us that icebergs visit the area, whales can sometimes be heard in the early morning, and that this location was used by the army during the second world war. This last fact made me sceptical, was he just sharing all this stuff to innocent tourists who would believe anything? No sooner had these thoughts occurred that he led us to the highest area and pointed:
 
“This is a bunker that was used during the second world war by ally soldiers to monitor the area for German U-Boats”

​Immediately, our cameras and phones came out to capture the historical significance. Never destroyed, the old decaying bunker stands today as a reminder of the important role Newfoundland played in WW2. As we had seen on previous days, I knew that there was a significant allied presence in St. John’s, but never thought it extended to the rural areas. And it was the first time that I realised that Linda’s mom, Irene, was a youth living only kilometres away on the other side of Conception Bay while soldiers defended her community. Most forget that during the second world war, Newfoundland was not part of Canada and stood independent under British rule with even its own currency. It was not until 1949 that it joined Canada to become the tenth province.
 
The Professor was such a special surprise that early afternoon. He also shared with us that he was born in the UK, held definite views on the politics of the day, had continued to teach at Memorial well past the usual retirement date, and enjoyed travelling. For us, he exemplified what we had already been experiencing from many since our arrival, a warm genuine person proud of their home and open to sharing all its stories and beauty with others.
 
“Is there a place to eat close by?”.
 
Rémi was now thinking of our next step as we approached the cars at the end of a wonderful hike.
 
“There might be a food truck open. But we’ll have to check since it is no longer summer season. But first I want to show you a piece of land for sale across the bay since you talked about how great it would be to live here.”  The Professor was not yet done.
 
“Ok!” We replied without wanting to disappoint our generous host.
 
We drove up a steep small road to the top of the opposite side of Flat Rock Cove which overlooked the entire cove and the area where we had been hiking just minutes before. The vacant land was indeed for sale, but we never acted on it and the picture of the sales sign is still stored on my phone.
 
The Professor guided us back to his village, stopped where he thought a food truck might be open, then waved us goodbye after confirming there would be no food in Flatrock for us this afternoon. He never shared his contact information and we most likely will never see him again, but he provided us a memorable few hours. Thank you!  
 
“Alright then, Let’s go to Pouch Cove then. It’s on our way to Cape St. Francis. I think there is some place to eat there called Water Restaurant or something.”
 
My navigator Rémi sounded confident enough so I turned right and headed north. By now it was mid-afternoon so we needed to refuel before directing our energy to our intended destination, the lighthouse at the end of the line. Luckily for us, as we entered Pouch Cove Rémi regained cellular service and confirmed that the little restaurant he had noted was open. It was actually called ‘Water Witch’!  
 
The little red A-Frame house sat next to some homes on Town Cir. It had a white sign above the entrance with Water Witch on it, a picture of an old ship was on the right and the words ‘Take Out’ below. As we arrived, there were two large motorcycles parked in front which gave us confidence that we would find food in this place. Exiting the car, the two motorcyclists came out of the restaurant and lit up smokes. They had full black leather attire with long hair and beards . . . Were they friends with the witch?
 
The little counter inside had a glossy menu on it with a multitude of selections, but we were here for one thing only, cod. We quickly realised that this was a one-person operation with sounds coming from the back, but no one to welcome us or take an order. At one point I even went outside to ask the motorcyclists if they had ordered.
 
“She’ll come. Don’t worry.” One of them declared with a smile.
 
No sooner had I walked back inside that she appeared. Just a little taller than the counter and with a slight frame, she picked up her little order pad and said:
 
“What will you all have?”
 
“Oh good”, I thought, the witch is friendly.
 
Our easy order of four Fish & Chips was completed in seconds and she returned to her witchcraft. Once outside we could not resist chatting with our new friends and discovered that they were on a day-long ride around the Avalon Peninsula, and that one of them had lived in Toronto for many years. When asking what brought them back to Newfoundland, they quickly replied: “Pretty simple. The people and the beautiful quiet landscape”. We shared some details about our journey so far with the Professor, and they confirmed that our next destinations would be worthwhile. By the time they saddled their powerful bikes and made a loud departure, our food was ready.     
 
The paper plates wrapped in aluminium and stuffed inside brown paper bags were very warm. We were happy to finally have food but the presentation gave us some doubt as to the quality of what the witch had prepared for us. We sat at the little blue picnic table behind the building and lifted the aluminium paper to unveil generous portions of food. Without hesitation I plucked a piece of cod with my hands (plastic forks would not do) and took a first bite. Heaven!  The fish was so perfectly cooked and lightly covered with a batter that did not overtake the fresh ocean delicacy. It was evident that the cod was very fresh and most likely delivered to this little treasure of a place earlier in the day. Once my lunch partners had also tasted it, we concluded that it was the best we had had since our arrival on the Rock, and most likely the best we had ever had the pleasure of eating.  Now we knew why this little restaurant in the middle of a small distant community had survived for years. Like the motorcyclists who had been before and made it a regular stop on their adventures, others surely did the same. Another lesson of escape was proven once more: Never judge a place before you experience it!

​With bellies completely satisfied we focused on the most adventurous part of our day, finding the lighthouse. There were warnings on the poor condition of the road with road signs indicating that only ATVs or Trucks should attempt the drive on the small winding road through dense forest and steep hills. That has never stopped me before, so Rémi and I concluded that we would go as far as possible and turn back if required. Our instincts paid off well as we moved slowly north on the gravel road without anything more than some large potholes to impede the drive. We passed by cabins next to the road that seemed abandoned, but sometimes with a car next to it. To our surprise we crossed a few trucks heading south. Where did these people come from? They sure did not look like tourists! Without cellular service for most of the way we could not tell how far away we were until all of a sudden the trees cleared and the view of the ocean opened in front of us. The sky was clear with a warm sun bringing life to everything around us. The landscape returned to rugged shores with rocks and almost no trees. The last stretch of gravel road was a steep uphill just on the edge of a cliff, without any barriers. Some of us did not enjoy the very narrow road next to high cliffs - look the other way! As we crested the top of the road a large fence appeared metres away, confirming that we had reached the end of the line.
 
To our disappointment, the lighthouse was no longer really a lighthouse. Some of the research Remi had done showed photos of a tall white lighthouse with a home attached to it. Much like other traditional structures still present today, we were expecting to see something similar. But it was no more. All that stood was a low white platform (for helicopter landings it seemed) with a lantern atop a one storey fog signal building. Regardless of the lighthouse let-down, the view was incredible and made the journey well worth it. 

Travelling back on the same road is boring. It is with this mindset that we decided to travel southwest on the shores of Conception Bay instead of southeast directly to St. John’s. Once again, my excellent co-pilot had determined that a little place called Portugal Cove would be good to see. We travelled on Pouch Cove Line and the Bauline Line Extension until reaching the Cove and parking at the Wharf just as the sun was starting its descent. The Ferry to Bell Island was busy with dozens of cars lined up awaiting one of the last crossings of the day. As the name implies, this place was founded by the Portuguese and is one of the oldest towns in the province. Interestingly, it has the reputation as being the location where a giant squid or kraken legend was documented. Less than 30 minutes from downtown St. John's, it is an ideal area offering both the comforts of a quiet seaside community with the benefits of an urban centre nearby.
 
Not wanting to end our adventure and appreciating the start of a lovely sunset to the west, we decided to take some time on the deck of the local Seafood House for cocktails. Our day had been more than we ever expected. With the help of the Professor, the Witch, the motorcyclists, and the endless kindness of the local people, we were able to discover and fully absorb the culture with ease.
 
The happiness and generosity of the people was manifested once again late that afternoon with an encounter at Portugal Cove. Just before sitting for cocktails, a small fishing boat arrived in the marina with a single person manoeuvring the outboard. Rémi waved hello and the fisherman reached down in front of him, held up a large cod fish, and said:
 
“Do you want some fish for tonight?”.