A Newfoundland Road Tripping Adventure

Onto Bonavista and Twillingate

An Early Morning Start

I woke up very early the day I started my road trip to Twillingate, Newfoundland.  I took a little detour through CBS (Conception Bay South for those of you are not familiar with the local lingo) instead of heading straight for the Trans Canada Highway.  I stopped for a coffee and some breakfast at the Tim Horton's in Paradise and parked at Topsail Beach to eat it and enjoy the view.

To say signage is lacking in many areas of Newfoundland is a slight understatement.  Getting turned around at least once on the trip was expected.  I drove and drove on a highway that I thought was the TCH for miles before seeing a sign that confirmed that I was in fact on the right track.  

The Unexpected Detour

I didn't plan on going to Bonavista but, at the last minute, I heard there was some icebergs in the area.  I expected there to be icebergs in Twillingate as the town is known for its spectacular iceberg sightings.  However, I heard nothing about sightings there so I took a detour to Bonavista to see what might be the only iceberg on my trip.  At Clarenville, I left the TCH and followed the signs to Bonavista only to reach a closed road.  Well, that was unexpected.  I backtracked, got lost and had to stop for directions.  The lady I spoke with made a face that told me I was not the first one to come upon this roadblock that day.  Like I said, poor signage.  She gave me an alternate route and I was on my way.

It took a little longer than expected to reach Bonavista.  I drove for a little over an hour when the thought crossed my mind that I should turn around and head back because at this rate, I would be reaching Twillingate at nightfall.  But I kept driving...and driving.  I figured if I drove that far, I might as well keep going and hopefully there would be some icebergs so the extra side trip would be worth it even if I have to drive in moose country at night.

Finally, I made it to the lovely little town of Bonavista.  I didn't have a lot of extra time so I drove straight toward the harbor and lighthouse in search of icebergs.  I did fine one very small one.  All icebergs are impressive but after witnessing some very impressive ones near St. John's over the years, this one didn't really do much for me.  I took a short cut through a gravel road (I saw this gravel road, had no idea where it went, drove down it anyway out of curiosity and it ended up being a shortcut back to the main road), met some friendly horses along the way and stopped at a Robins Donuts to grab a coffee and inquire about icebergs in the area and to get directions to a place called Amherst Cove where there supposedly was an impressive iceberg attracting visitors.

Finally....Some Icebergs!

I only had to drive for about five minutes before passing the sight indicating I found Amherst Cove.  Another few minutes later, the bay came into view and a quick scan  revealed what looked like three icebergs.  I found out later that it was actually one iceberg that first appeared in the bay with an arch going from one point to another but the arch had melted and because much of the berg is submerged under water, it looks like three separate ones. I admired that massive, ancient chunk of ice, took some pictures and went on my way.  By this point, I was way off schedule.  But it didn't matter because the iceberg made it all worth while.

I backtracked to the main highway and took the same way back to the TCH despite knowing that there was an alternate scenic route that I was heard was worth taking.  My reason for going back the same way?  It may not be what I would normally do when the opportunity is there to take another route, but the late hour, the pothole-ridden roads, the unpredictable weather and the fact that I had a room booked at a hostel in Twillingate all contributed to my decision to drive through the exact same scenery I had already seen only a couple of hours before.

On the Road Again

I don't usually speed (mostly because I'm too cheap to pay for a ticket) but even while doing ten over, everyone was blowing by me.  I stepped it up just a little...well, more like 30 over the limit just to keep up with everyone and make up time.  My logic was the person in front of me speeding would be pulled over first.  I don't know if that's the way it works or not.  I blew through Terra Nova National Park hoping all the way through that a moose wouldn't step out in front of me.

By the time I reached the turn off in Gander, the sun was starting to set.  I wanted to keep driving so I would arrive before nightfall but I was too starved to drive anymore.  I grabbed some take out at a truck stop and quickly ate it in the parking lot and was off again.  I has asked someone how much longer to Twillingate and she responded with the usual "oh not that long".  I lived in Newfoundland long enough to know what this meant; not that long usually means long by most standards.  Islanders are used to traveling back and forth between Gander and Clarenville and Gander and Stephenville and St. John's to Corner Brook.  Long drives by most mainlanders' standards.  Just a routine drive for most Newfoundlanders.

The Long Road to Twillingate

I started out on the secondary highway 340 (also known as Road to the Isles) and drove...and drove...and drove.  I drove until I reached the point where "oh not that long" was long past.  I stopped at another service station and was told it would be another hour before I reached Twillingate.  Lovely.  I had already been on that highway almost an hour.  It was like I entered some kind black hole or alternate dimension.  It took everyone else "not that long" to get there.  But me?  It felt like I just kept driving and driving on this never-ending highway.  I knew Twillingate was a coastal village but the ocean was nowhere in sight!

Checking in

Finally, I passed a sign welcoming me to the town of Twillingate and than drove for another twenty minutes until I actually reached what looked like the coastal town I had seen in pictures.  I didn't have any trouble finding my home for the night, Hi-Tides Hostel.  It was right on the main road.  I parked and checked in so I could drop my belongings off and head out to take some pictures before darkness fell and those dark clouds that were moving in opened up.

Walking through the back door of the hostel felt like walking into an old friends home.  Shoes of guests who had already arrived lined against the wall, soft lighting over a kitchen where two guests prepared a late evening snack.  The sound of an acoustic guitar being played in a cozy living area where some young backpackers from across country were hosting an impromptu jam session.  The room where I would be sleeping was dark and quiet with four bunks.  After a brief introduction to the four ladies sharing the room with me, I unpacked some things and tossed them in a locker and headed out with my camera.  It was a good thing I also brought my rain jacket because only seconds after I managed to capture a few lovely shots of the harbour, the sky opened up.  I found myself trapped in a gazebo for about twenty minutes waiting for the worse of it to pass.  It was nice though.  A beautiful scene before me, the sounds of rain drops above me and not a soul around to bother me.

Despite sharing a room with 3 other people, I slept like a baby.  The three other women in the room were quiet and I got to know them a bit better the next morning at breakfast.   All were travelers passing through Newfoundland on cross-country journeys.  I always take an interest in these people making these cross-country journeys.  I've met a lot of them over the years.  They always seem to start the journey in Newfoundland and I meet them onboard one of the ferries or while hiking the East Coast Trail.  I envy those making this journey as it is one I've been wanting to make since I can remember.  I know I will do it one day.

Exploring the Lovely Village of Twillingate

I awoke early that Sunday and realized it was Sunday.  How did I realize it was Sunday?  Everything was closed, including that lovely cafe up the street that I was wanting to visit. I drove around and found another quaint-looking cafe with a "CLOSED" sign on the door.  Breakfast ended up being a muffin and cheese sticks from a local gas station.  I headed towards St. John's but took my time going back.  I noticed some photo-worthy scenes on the way to Twillingate but I was in such a hurry to get to the hostel that I didn't have time to stop.

By early afternoon, I was back on the noisy Trans Canada Highway.  I didn't see any moose on the way back despite everyone telling me they are everywhere this year. For some strange reason, I was drawn to a sign pointing to a place called Arnold's Cove just outside Clarenville.  I turned off onto the off-ramp and found myself in a picturesque little outport village.  Sometimes it's worth it to take a random off ramp once and a while.  This was one of those times.  

Back in the City

I arrived in St. John's in the early evening and checked into the Abba Inn on Queens Rd.  With everything in order for the evening, I drove around looking for something to eat until I happened upon an open Pizza Shop.  I paid a little more than I normally would for a personal size pizza (17 dollars seems a bit much for a very small veggie pizza), but it was quite delicious.  I ate it on top of Signal Hill overlooking that magnificent view of St. John's.  I stayed there until that magnificent view went from a golden, sun-soaked downtown skyline to one drenched in darkness and street lights.  Both equally magnificent in their own way. 

A Long Overdue Return to The Rock

It seems like it was only yesterday that I boarded the ferry to Newfoundland and spent a week visiting old friends and driving around in that pretty blue mustang convertible the rental company so generously allowed me to drive.  It only recently hit me that that trip was actually five years ago.  I always told myself that after I moved away from Newfoundland, I would go back for a visit at least once every two years.  I guess I lost track of time.

Upon realizing that I broke my own promise to myself, I decided that I would return to The Rock in 2018.  After ironing out some issues (such as when the best time to go would be in relation to work/life/weather and what to do with my big sooky-baby of a cat who doesn't like his mom taking vacations), I came to the conclusion that the best time to go would be the first week in June.  This is usually the best time to see the massive icebergs that make an appearance every spring. 

The only problem with the first week of June was the ferry that I usually take from North Sydney to Argentia wasn't due to start running until late June.  The other ferry from Port aux Basques was running but I would have to drive 12 hours across the island to St. John's and there are no rental car places in the little village.  So I flew, something I only did once in all my years traveling back and forth between the two provinces.  I was disappointed about this.  As much as I like to complain about the ferry service between Nova Scotia and Newfoundland, I also have fond memories of crossing the gulf.  The people I met, the stories I heard, the storms, the delays the memories made (good and bad and funny now) on those crossings are something I hold dear to my heart.  I've always had a love/hate relationship with Marine Atlantic and those sometimes rough crossings that saw me so seasick that, at times, I was unable to walk.  Flying meant avoiding all those hateful things about the ferry but also forgoing a traditional part of that journey.

I always book my flights with Westjet when possible and this time, it was possible.  I boarded in Sydney, landed in Halifax and boarded again for the last leg of the trip to St. John's.  Besides a bit of turbulence, the flight was uneventful.  Actually, it was quite good.  On the first leg, I had a row all to myself and on the second leg, I was seated in the very front row (which I think is a higher class of seating on West Jet planes) with tons of leg room.

Because I didn't check any baggage, I walked off the plane and marched straight to the budget rental car kiosk to pick up my rental.  It didn't take long to sign the paperwork and get the keys to my small economy car.  I arrived at the rental parking area to discover that my small economy car was actually a giant, white Dodge Grand Caravan.  A gas guzzler.  I sat in it for a few minutes contemplating what to do.  After imagining myself trying to maneuver that thing through the steep, narrow streets of St. John's and having to stop every hour to fill it up with gas, I decided to make my way back to the desk in search of the car I booked.  It took some convincing.  My argument of having booked and confirmed an economy car sent the booking agent in search of something that she first said wouldn't be available until the next morning.  I stood my ground and told her that was not acceptable.  Within thirty seconds, a smaller (but still slightly gas guzzling) Chevy Impala was suddenly available.  I think she sensed a confrontation brewing and just gave in.  I will say though, it was a very nice car.

If you have ever driven around the city of St. John's, you know it's not the easiest city to get around.  Lots of narrow, one-way streets and roundabouts that cause you to be hopelessly lost if you miss your turn-off.  Missing a turn-off usually means going around in circles and getting more lost while you try to find where you are supposed to be.  The new roundabout that I hit immediately upon leaving the airport did just that to me.  I eventually spotted some familiar landmarks and made my way downtown to find some food and coffee.  I settled on a bagel with cream cheese and small coffee at the Tim Horton's on Harvey Road just around the corner from my old apartment.  I noticed the landlord is finally doing repairs on the deathtrap of an outdoor staircase leading up to that apartment.  Only took him 15 years.  I drove to Topsail Beach, which was one of my favourite places to go when I lived in St. John's.  I ended up driving further than that while I enjoyed my coffee and tested the Impala.  By the time I returned to the city, I needed to stretch my legs so I drove down to Quidi Vidi Lake and walked around it just like I did every morning in years past.

I moved away from the city in 2011 and have taken up residence in a quieter, smaller, more remote area with little traffic.  Traffic moves quite slow and no one is in a hurry to get anywhere.  During my travels that day, I realized that I've become used to a slower pace of life as cars passed me with horns blaring and middle fingers flying.  I was consistently doing between 10 and 20 km's over the limit while cars blew by me.  Not a cop in site.  Doing 30 over the limit back home would net me a stunting fine of about 2400 bucks.  In St. John's, doing 30 or 40 over the limit on city streets is considered slow.

By the time I reached my friend's house where I would be staying the next few nights, I was exhausted.  After catching up after five years apart and watching some TV, we both turned in for the night.  Him to prepare for work the next day, me to prepare for more exploring and visiting old haunts.

I awoke early and headed out to do much of the same I did the day before.  I visited all of my old favourite places.  I went for my morning walk and than grabbed my morning coffee and drank it at one of my favourite places, Cuckold's Cove near Quidi Vidi Village.  Portugal Cove, Middle Cove, Torbay, Flat Rock, Fort Amherst, Cape Spear and Petty Harbour were among my stops over those 3 days.  One evening, just before sunset, I made the last minute decision to hike partially around Signal Hill and I was glad I did.  It was cool but just right for a refreshing hike.  I ventured downtown to Water St. and Duckworth and checked out another one of my old neighborhoods.  Surprisingly, not much changed in this area of the city.  It's the old area, the area with the colorful row houses you see on postcards and tourism commercials.  I love that neighborhood and I'm happy to see that it never really changes.