Author: danleeth

After six nights, we left Gros Morne National Park on the western side of Newfoundland and drove to St. John’s on the eastern side with a night at Terra Nova National Park along the way.  While the sky was as gray as a World War II battleship, we remained dry until about halfway between Terra Nova and St. John’s.

Then the heavens opened and the rain came pounding down.  We bunked at a city park campground in St. Johns and set up camp in the rain.

Like good union campers, we each have our assigned tasks to perform.  Dianne has the inside job of setting up our living quarters.  I get the outside stuff, like turning on gas, connecting the water, electric cords and the gray water tank or sewer connection.  She stayed dry.  I didn’t.

I grew up in Arizona where rain means stay indoors.  My web-footed wife, however, wanted to see the sights of St. John’s, and all of the sights she wanted to see were outdoors.  After setting up camp, we drove up to Cape Spear to see the oldest lighthouse in Newfoundland and to walk to the easternmost point in North America.  The lighthouse was lost in fog and the easternmost point lay at the end of a rain-drenched trail.

Rain fell all night and didn’t let up in the morning when we took off to see more sights.  I pushed for the Johnson Geo Centre, which is an indoor science-oriented museum.  In addition to displays about rocks and oil, they had a section devoted to the sinking of the Titanic.  Dozens of storyboards and photos told the story of the designing, building, sailing and sinking of the famed ocean liner.  It was a perfect subject to study the day before we would set off on a 16-hour ferry ride through Iceberg Alley.  We read every word.

We then went to nearby Signal Hill, a former fortification site overlooking the entrance to St. John’s harbor.  Fantastic views, I suspect, could be had in good weather.  But not in today’s fog.  Then it was off to downtown St. John’s for lunch and a walkabout in a mere drizzle.

The next day, we slept in, packed up and headed out on a two-hour drive to the ferry terminal.  In howling winds and driving mist, we drove onboard, took our bags up to our cabin and raced down to the bar for brews.

And yes, we checked out the lifeboats.

We’re as happy as two cats crawling from a swimming pool.

We were in Newfoundland for 11 days and it rained on 10 of them.  Now in Nova Scotia, we’re finally camping dry.

We downed our morning coffee/tea and pastry outside in the morning sun.  We then donned shorts and Tevas for the first time in a week, and we drove all day without once turning on the windshield wipers.

Best of all, the weather forecast is for nothing but sunshine for our remaining six nights in Canada.  Thank you, Al Roker, for finally coming through for us.

 This homemade rig was crafted by a fellow camper who doesn’t mind sleeping under canvas, but hates to sleep on the ground.

We’ll stick with our A–Frame.

With the arrival of Labor Day, the occupancy of the Canadian campgrounds completely reversed itself.

Prior to the holiday, the campgrounds were rife with families camping in tents and tent trailers.  With the exception of weekends, the post-Labor Day campers were mostly geezers in bigger rigs.

The result is a more peaceful camping environment, but I’ve got to admit, I sort of miss seeing the little rug rats out having fun.

Finally found a Canadian who apparently likes our president.

After Caribou-Munroe Provincial Park in Nova Scotia, it was off to New Brunswick for a three-night stay at Fundy National Park.  The park sits along the shores of the famous bay known for its lofty tides.  Activities here vary by whether the tide is in or out.

On our first day, we drove to Hopewell Rocks, a provincial enclave up the coast where 30-foot tides are the norm.  Along with a hoard of others, we took a short walk out to the flowerpot rocks.  This group of vegetation-topped pillars rise beside the coast.  At high water, they’re small rocky islands.  At low water, visitors like us can walk the ocean floor around them.  We hit it at low tide, so we got to “walk the ocean floor.”

Heading back to camp, we drove along the coast, stopping to photograph a covered bridge and small lighthouse.  The Nissan’s windshield wipers happily enjoyed an entire day of rest.

The next morning, we drove into the little town of Alma, which sits just beyond the park’s boundary.  Dianne said she wanted to do a little souvenir shopping before we returned to the United States in a few days.  While she did buy a souvenir or two, she clearly had an ulterior motive.

Our next-door neighbors at the campground told Dianne that they had made a special trip back to Fundy just so they could have another meal at the Alma Lobster Shop, a combination seafood market and restaurant.  They thought it was that good.

“Let’s just take a look,” Dianne suggested as we walked through town at lunchtime.

Within minutes, Dianne was sitting on their outside dining deck with a dead crustacean in front of her.  Fortunately for those of us who don’t want to crack shells to get our food, the Lobster Shop offers pretty good fish ’n’ chips.

After lunch, we drove the park’s coastal road, photographed yet another covered bridge, hiked past a waterfall and down to a rocky bay where the remains of pillars from a long lost pier stick up from the rocky seabed when the tide is out.  Then it was back to camp.

“No, Dianne, we’re not going back to the Lobster Shop for dinner.”

From Fundy, we drove along New Brunswick’s coastline toward St. John.  Our one detour was for the Fundy Trail Parkway, a 12-mile toll-road drive along the coastline.  While things looked good at the entry kiosk where we paid our toll, most of the scenery beyond was cloaked in dense coastal fog.

At least it wasn’t raining.

We spent our last Canadian night at a provincial park along the coastline.  The following morning, we packed up the trailer and drove down the highway to the border crossing at Calais, Maine, for our reentry into the United States.

There were seven vehicles ahead of us in line for the only open entrance station.  The line moved agonizingly slow as the border official checked documents and asked questions.  Automobile trunks were opened and trailer and motor homes entered.

Our turn finally came.  We handed over our passports and answered a barrage of questions about where we’d been and what we were bringing back.  I expected we’d have to open the trailer so he could check the refrigerator for contraband vegies, but with the hint of a smile, he simply handed back our passports and let us go with a “Welcome back to the United States.”

“Looks like a mouse has tried to nest in your air filter,” the service advisor at the Nissan dealer told me.  “Do you want us to replace it?”

I guess this is what happens when you spend 84 nights camping in Canada’s national and provincial parks.

The very first thing we did after reentering the United States was to find the closest washrooms.  (Oops make that restrooms.  We’re back in America now.)

The next thing was to get some good ol’ American food.  And by good ol’ American food, of course I mean burritos and margaritas.  We found a Mexican restaurant in a small Maine town and ordered away.

What a mistake.  The margaritas tasted like Kool-Aid and my burrito was about as tasteless as hospital food.

“We should have learned by now not to order Mexican food anywhere east of Texas,” my all-knowing wife reminded me.

It was then on to visit my brother and his wife at their camp in Maine.  What they call a “camp” is what we out West would call a “cabin.”  The two-bedroom structure sits on a peninsula jutting out into a “pond,” which is what we out West would call a “lake.”  For three nights, we drank bottled, not boxed, wine, listened to the loons and slept in a bed that didn’t require one to crawl over her partner to get to the bathroom.

Unfortunately, my brother and sister-in-law still have to work for a living at places with real bosses.  When they had to return to their jobs, Dianne and I drove off to Vermont in the hopes of seeing some of its famed fall color.

We were too early.  Most of the leaves were still green and those which had lost their chlorophyll were mostly dried and curled up because of a late-season New England drought.  While too early for the flaming foliage, we did have an enjoyable time exploring the countryside and vowed to return in a future fall.

When it comes time for trips to end, Dianne and I see things differently.  I almost always look forward to returning to reality.  She, on the other hand, normally wants to stay gone forever.  But not this time.

“I’m eager to get home,” she confessed.

Our original return plan was to take a week to meander from Vermont to Colorado, covering a maximum of 300 miles a day mostly on two-lane roads.  With both of us ready to return, we decided to hit the freeways.

We dropped down to Pennsylvania our first night, crossed into Ohio for our second night, cruise-controlled off to Illinois on the third and spent our final night at a Corps of Engineers site in Kansas on our fourth.  We saw nothing of interest along the way but miles of divided highway and a myriad of trucks.

Finally back home, we unloaded the vitals, showered in our own bathroom and set out to do the one thing we hadn’t been able to do for the 3+ months we were gone.

We went out for real Mexican food.