Overcast and very windy today, although no sign of rain … yet.  Drove out to Lobster Cove lighthouse across the bay from Rocky Harbour.  Flags whipping and clanking against the flagpole (wonder how often they need to be replaced?).  Three letter flags spelled out L U N, so of course we asked the friendly Parks guy if they had any special meaning (they change them daily).  Apparently today’s is a local word for ‘a sheltered spot’ . . . appropriate in view of the strong gusts and galloping whitecaps.  The seagulls are loving it, but batten down your hats!  Stunted, weather-leaning trees (Tuckamore) indicate the prevailing winds – but they sure provide welcome shelter as you walk along the cliff tops.  Blankets of golden dandelions cover every grassy meadow and slope . . .  tiny wild strawberry blossoms nestle in protected hollows . . .  red and yellow-hued warblers sing lustily from sheltered branches and tiny (unidentified as yet) titmouse-type birds flip and dip in among the wild heather and blueberry bushes, tick-tick-ticking to each other, but never staying still long enough to photograph.

The light was last manned for 69 years thanks to a father and son combination,

before being automated sometime in the early 70s, but the keeper’s house is open for public viewing and is filled with great stories and artifacts . . . like the old canvas postbag that was used to rescue a baby girl from a shipwreck.  An Ugly Stick and other homemade instruments available to play (if the urge took one) . . . and the old-fashioned stove which was in fact a cleverly disguised modern digital variety!

In need of sustenance (and some warming up) we espied a likely-looking local eatery, advertising moose burgers and lobster, and ordered steaming bowls of creamy fish chowder stuffed with huge chunks of salmon, cod and halibut, and mopped up with a crusty roll.  The wind picked up and the building rattled and creaked . . . the waves in the bay instead of coming into the shore were actually being blown out to sea in a swath of spray, and the white caps further out raced to meet them.  Suddenly Glen leapt out of his seat and ran outside … he’d spotted a solid wooden rubbish bin blown over and start rolling down the incline towards one of the parked cars.  “Gawd love ‘im, and dat’s my carre, too!” exclaimed the restaurant owner as she peered anxiously out the window, while two people were buffeted across the street.

Figuring it was best to pick up the makings of dinner now, rather than battling the wind and rain again later, we drove all of 5 minutes to the fish plant at the end of the street.  The seafood selection was extensive, if frozen – cod, halibut, salmon, prawns, scallops, kippers, shrimp,

flatfish.  The crabs and lobsters, however, were fresh …. and lively.  Four unlucky individuals were selected, their claws securely banded – fortunately, as they were not happy with this sudden change in circumstances.  Transportation was not a problem – a stack of cardboard boxes was available . . .  but did we have a big enough pot to cook them in?  A local in the store suggested his method for cooking …  however boiling for 30 minutes seemed a little excessive.  We went with the Google option of 10 minutes, and it worked out perfectly.

Cooking one at a time and chilling in the fridge until later, to be served with baked potatoes, baby carrots, lemon and butter plus bread to mop up the juices.  Every succulent morsel was savoured fully . . .  and fingers licked!  Cherry cheesecake to finish.  Pure decadence.

I know it was Sunday, but I’m sure we set some sort of record this morning.  A mere 1 hour & 20 minutes from leaving home and here we were, sat at the departure gate, with plenty of time before boarding … not bad for having picked up Kevin along the way, grabbed some outrageously priced airport food for on the plane and navigating the long lines at security.

The 737 Max 800 was a pleasant surprise … despite being full it had ample overhead storage for everyone’s luggage … no need to wander down the aisle, hopelessly searching for space and having to rearrange the usual assortment of overflowing carrier bags, octopus-like garments and someone’s rolled up holiday poster that can’t possibly be crushed. We emerged in Toronto reasonably unscathed, and texted Tim with the pillar number we and our luggage were standing beside, as the flurry of taxis, ubers or family members scurried in to scoop up waiting passengers before airport security shooed them off – it was like watching a busy ant colony.  In a matter of minutes a dark SUV, complete with flashing amber light magnetically affixed to the roof, hove into view … and there was Tim. An ingenious (if perhaps not quite cosher) method of quickly identifying his vehicle from the hundreds of similar cars in a never-ending circuit.

A delicious meal accompanied by Tim’s EXCELLENT freshly baked bread and it was off to bed as we’d need to get up at some ungodly hour before dawn tomorrow.  Alarms went off as scheduled (far too early) and we gathered, groggily, for a quick cup of coffee before being bundled off to the airport.  Once again we made astoundingly good time through security (despite three of us having various articles of luggage sidelined for further inspection).

Fortunately the dire predictions of cold and heavy rain didn’t materialize as we landed on Deer Lake’s

solitary runway under merely overcast skies.  (You know it’s a small airport when the plane taxis a U-turn mid-runway to return to the terminal.)  While Glen sorted the car we three perused the pamphlets.  “There’s lots and lots of icebergs” said the tourist lady enthusiastically from behind the counter, “and a YUGE one … bigger’n the island it’s next to”.  Good news indeed.

Being lunch time we were suitably hungry, so passed up on the Tim Hortons, Wendy’s and local truck stop, and instead tried Mary Brown’s Chicken.  An excellent choice, as it turns out, but strangely no coffee available!  Next door’s drive through provided something akin to coffee … well it was dark brown …. but it was hot and wet, and presumably had some caffeine.

Replete, we set off for Rocky Harbour in the midst of Gros Morne park.  Newly leafed birch trees created huge swathes of pale spring green in the darker evergreens covering the surrounding hills.  Dozens of tumbling, rocky streams  or brooks criss-crossed the area — as can be seen in the place names …. Cornerbrook, Rocky Brook, Middle Brook, Bottom Brook, Dick’s Brook, etc. … we lost count at about eight.

The small, neat fishing village of Woody Point with dramatic backdrop of dark, flat hills known as The Tablelands …. still streaked with stark white snows.  Stacks of logs, being stored for winter use …. two curious amphibious vehicles, their rusted and flat tires evidence of long misuse.  A fishing boat just unloading the day’s catch of lobster … and the inevitable rustic, dilapidated waterfront

shacks on sagging docks strewn with lobsterpots and colourful floats. Such wonderful photographic material.

Rocky Harbour – our home for the next two days – was a quaint, well-kept town of rainbow-coloured houses, local craft shops filled with hand knitting, coastal paintings, glassware and such.  Several handy convenience stores well-stocked with groceries, fishing supplies, tourist gifts, T-shirts, beer and hardware . . . and friendly, helpful staff who drop everything to assist pesky visitors “from away”.  We stocked up on a few basics like milk, bread and cereal.

A rocky shoreline draped in vibrant brown and orange seaweed, multi-coloured Adirondack chairs for those wishing to watch a sunset or two, and a small, windswept graveyard, the headstones white against the grassy headland.

Travel weary and jet lagged we relaxed, napped or read for a couple of hours before heading over to the hotel for dinner.  Monday nights the pub closed at 8:00 pm whereupon a local band – “Anchors Aweigh”  took over for rousing Newfoundland songs, stories and banter.  As suggested we arrived an hour before to partake in dinner, but the place was packed to bursting point.  Still, they found us a table, took our orders and we sat back to enjoy the show.  About an hour in, just as they were really getting into their stride and the audience was doing a stellar job of singing all the choruses … the power suddenly went out, leaving us all in darkness – apart from some cell phones.   We waited a while, bar service continued and nobody seemed to mind, but it became apparent that the outage was not just local and it was unknown when power might return.  By this time our beds were calling quite strongly, so we wended our way through a dark maze of tables and people’s feet out to where the sky was still light, and strolled home.