Headin' Up Country: 8/10/15 Into the Wild

Thunder, lightening and sheets of rain against the windows caused by a massive Nor'easter, woke us in preperation for our ride to the ferry and then 6 hours across the Cabot Strait to Newfoundland. Faces ready to meet the elements, we quietly and efficiently garbed ourselves in every piece of waterproof clothing we own. And as we stepped out the door, the storm inched away, and we rode in mist, then intermittent sun. Access to the internet would have relieved some of our worries, but we felt old school and proud for lunging into the elements, technology free.

Boarding the boat was child's play in comparison to our ferry ride to the Baja this winter. Comfortable recliners surrounded numerous screens showing various modes of entertainment. Food and drink was plentiful, but we, as well as most of the other passengers, brought a picnic, because everything was priced over the top. The tail end of the storm blasted across the water, churning up huge waves and many stomachs on board. The Blue Putees, our boat, was named after the Newfoundland soldiers in WWI who wore blue puttees rather than the standard olive drab, due to a fabric shortage.

The first two hours dragged by, but then we collected a lively and eclectic group that sailed us into port. There was a Canadian Colonel who educated us at length and in detail about Newfoundland. Before we left Nova Scotia, we asked numerous people about NL. "There's nothing there", "It's OK if you like potholes" and "Oh, the Granite Planet" were the only responses. This man, a Newfie who clearly loved his Province, spoke about its great beauty and ancient history with such love that we were even more anxious to explore. Also in our group was a German ex-pat, a "professional widow" with a raw and biting sense of humour, whose two twenty- something children spent most of the trip with their faces in the toilet. Rounding out the bunch was a truck driver from Ontario who had seen most of North America behind the windshield of an 18 wheeler. We talked, we laughed, we wished each other well at the end of the trip, but we never even exchanged names. Going our disparate ways, it was unlikely that we would ever meet again, but we were fast friends for three hours and that was more than enough to get us through the storm.

Landing in Port Aux Basques, it was a quick trip to our hotel and shelter from the chilling wind that ripped across the harbor. We had made it onto "The Rock". So pumped for our ride into the land of the Vikings, we plotted the next leg of our journey over a dinner of moose done Newfie style. Safe from the elements, comfortable in our destination, we looked back on the day and toasted each other on another exhilarating chapter in our ongoing story of two for the road.