[2023 – Newfoundland – 890 km – 16 days – Port Aux Basques to Cape Spear]
The T’Railway Trail is part of the Great Trail,
formerly known as the Trans-Canada Trail.
The trail is closed for the first hundred plus kilometers at Port Aux Basques,
where the ferry from Nova Scotia lands.
I walk the highway and connect to the trail
where it crosses Highway 1.
I see few mosquitoes despite the wet autumn weather.
I pick up a fast pace,
get lost in my thoughts,
only stop to eat,
then right back onto the trail.
I start hiking before the sun rises and walk until dark,
even a little after.
The kilometers go by without my being aware.
Before long, I’m in Cornerbrook,
an oasis of civilization.
I clean myself up in a restaurant washroom,
then order fish and chips.
I say ‘yes’ to an extra piece of fish.
I take a diet Coke instead of a beer.
I head right back out to the highway,
since my app says the trail is closed here.
I pick up the trail again near Pasadena.
I see only a few cyclists on the trail
between Pasadena and Gander.
No other through-hikers or even day hikers.
That long stretch is filled with solitude.
No sound of passing vehicles,
very few people,
just the sound of birds and wind in the trees.
It rains nearly every day,
at least for a bit –
the rhythm of nature.
Everything is green.
There are a few deer and some small critters,
but I see no bears,
no moose.
Still, I’m diligent in hanging my food
well away from my tent –
no need to tempt the bears.
I eat only dry food.
I don’t carry a stove since I’ve had two of them
explode on me over the years,
nearly causing forest fires.
I seem to be inept with camping stoves,
so I eat a bland diet on the trail.
When I arrive in St. John’s,
I stay overnight.
I eat fish and chips for lunch
and then fish and chips again for dinner.
It’s a relatively short walk to Cape Spear,
Canada’s eastern-most point.
I explore the National Historic site,
but speak to no one.
Afterward, I sleep in the woods, although fitfully –
I hear dogs barking in the distance.
Dogs are the biggest threat
to my being discovered when stealth camping.
In the morning, I walk back to St. John’s,
get cleaned up, have another meal of
fish and chips in the afternoon.
This time I have a beer with my meal,
to celebrate.
There is a calm after completing a long,
albeit relatively easy, walk.
The challenge was not the trail itself,
but the distance I set for myself.
Long days on the trail,
but averaged over 55 kilometers a day,
completely focused on walking,
exhausted when I climbed into my sleeping bag,
too tired to journal,
too filthy to care,
and I discover I’ve taken only five photos
on the whole walk.
Despite the long days, the length of the trail,
and plentiful rain,
I escape without a single blister.
And now, a feeling of accomplishment –
contentment,
if not outright happiness.
I talk to a few tourists and they ask me
what I’m doing in St. John’s.
I tell them I’m doing some hiking,
but that I really came for the smell of the sea.
And the east coast music.
The next day, I take the bus back to Port Aux Basques
to pick up my van.
I notice I had accidentally left the doors unlocked,
but there is nothing missing.