The Reason for All that Red

One of the striking features of the Atlantic Canadian landscape is the abundance of red buildings, especially barns, outbuildings and sheds, in the vernacular architecture. There's an excellent reason for this, deeply rooted in the heritage of the region: because of the huge deposits of iron in the area, the iron oxides used for this handsome range of colours occur naturally here. It's ochre (or ocher), which has been used as a pigment for thousands of years.

 Technically, ochre is defined as "any of various natural earths containing ferric oxide, silica, and alumina: used as yellow or red pigments" and the yellow shades show up, too, but it's definitely the reds that dominate. Place-names all over the region reflect this; it's easy to find places called Ochre Pit Cove or Ochre Hill, and there are also place-names that refer to red, signalling the rusty tones that oxidizing iron can give the soil. The naturally-occurring pigment, sometimes treated by burning, was mixed with linseed oil in many places, but here in Atlantic Canada it was almost universally mixed with ingredients that were much more readily available locally: seal oil or fish liver oil. Oral tradition has it that the brighter reds were obtained with seal oil, while fish oils gave a darker, reddish-brown tone.

Use of red ochre in Newfoundland, though, goes back to a time long before the first Europeans arrived; the island's native population, the Beothuks, gathered ochre and used it to paint canoes and other artifacts and even their bodies. The Beothuk culture, ancestrally related to the Mi'kmaq, emerged around AD 1500, ending in 1829 with the death of the last surviving Beothuk, Shanawdithit.

Today, the red paint used often comes from commercial pigments, but the resulting look is very much a part of local tradition and culture.

Iceberg Season Drifts Into View

April, May and June are prime iceberg-watching season in Newfoundland and Labrador,since this is the time of year when these northern giants drift south on the Labrador current after spending the winter frozen into the sea ice.  They'll gradually break free as the ice begins to break up, and move with the current to the shores of Labrador and then the island of Newfoundland. Their pace is slow and stately, befitting to the offspring of glaciers, and like most youngsters they move much more quickly than their parents. They move at the speed of the current, getting the occasional boost from favourable breezes if the berg is tall enough to act as a sail. They come in all shapes and sizes, from growlers the size of a cottage to massive,

floating islands of ice like those that calved from Greenland's Petermann Glacier in 2010 and 2012. They heave into view in the distance and inch to the south each day, but changes in wind direction can play tricks: one berg that had grounded on the south side of Bay Bulls (near St. John's) last spring suddenly freed itself drifted out of sight to the north before abruptly changing direction and moving south, ending up in Ferryland by the next morning. Bergs are often at their most spectacular as they begin to break up; the centre of gravity shifts as a result of erosion from sun, wind and water, and suddenly the massive weight of the berg can no longer support itself and a huge section will crack off, or the entire berg will roll and chunks of ice will fly in arcs to the water. It's important to treat these ice giants with respect, but they can certainly provide some wonderful viewing opportunities.

Orca!

At some point during Newfoundland and Labrador's summer whale watching season, usually late July or August, the word goes out that killer whales, or orcas (Orcinus orca), have been sighted in one of the province's many bays. The call goes out all along the shore -- these big predators are fascinating and exciting to watch. These are transient pods, meat-eaters, and they're on the hunt, often for minke whales. Unlike resident orca pods, these transient pods are dedicated hunters of mammals. Their feeding habits are so ingrained and so markedly different from those of resident pods, that there's actually a move to recognize similar transient whales in the North Pacific as having developed into a separate species, Biggs Killer Whales, named in honour of researcher Micheal Biggs.

Although visits from these whales are relatively rare, they occur regularly enough that they have afforded some opportunity for research and identification. Photographs of the whales' dorsal fins, the pale "saddle" patches on their backs, and their other distinctive markings have shown us that there are at least four distinct groups or pods, designated A through D by observers. While they are most often observed around the coast of the Northern Peninsula and Labrador, they make occasional forays around the entire coast of Newfoundland in search of a likely-looking food source. In the August of 2011, several attacks on prey species were documented around the Avalon Peninsula and there are numerous photographs and video recordings of their kills; the pod involved was D pod, identified by the V-notched dorsal of its lead female and the crinkled, forward-raked dorsal of the pod's largest male.

Orcas are no newcomers to the shores of Newfoundland, as illustrated by the carved-bone orca effigies found at Port au Choix National Historic Site, where evidence of settlement spans some 4000 years. They're still fascinating to residents and visitors alike.

Experiencing the Moment

 For a long time, travel was a popular pastime for those who wanted to see the different, the unusual or the exotic; today, for more and more travellers, it's more about experiencing than just seeing.  Many of us now want to engage all five senses; we don't want the same food, climate or activities we'd find at home, we want something new and different and whenever possible, unique to the place we're visiting. We also like the idea that our travels are benefiting local people in their communities, and that we're meeting and interacting with local residents beyond the rudimentary exchanges found in restaurant or hotel service. 

We're the experiential travellers, and we're the face of travel in the future.  Gone are the "Grand Tour" days when tourists sat removed from their surroundings and simply observed. Today's travellers roll up their sleeves and get involved, both physically and intellectually, with what's around them. It's a new and truly engaged way to travel, and it's had a huge and positive impact on people in the areas we travel to. Perhaps the most interesting aspect of this shift is that it's making the whole process more interesting -- and memorable -- for the people in those destination areas, too. 

Local experts are now engaging with travellers in a way they weren't able to before: there's more time to get to know visitors, and shared experiences can form the basis of genuine interest and friendship. I'm not talking about visitors and local operators singing an endless chorus of "Kumbaya", but there's far more opportunity for them to interact in such a way that encourages long-term contact if it's what both parties want, especially with the ease of communication through email, social networking and Skype.

Travellers today experience the wonders of their destination: the smell of sun-drenched fir trees along a woodland trail; the crisp, cool touch of the breeze blowing past an iceberg; the taste of fresh bread straight from a brick oven, the sound of a foghorn across the water, or the electrifying experience of looking a humpback whale in the eye.