Playing the Hand You're Dealt

A long-planned excursion to the town of Twillingate this weekend turned into an object lesson in the difference that attitude can make. The trip was scheduled to take place over the Victoria Day weekend; Victoria Day is a Canadian holiday that is now celebrated on the Monday prior to May 24, the actual anniversary of her birth in 1819. In Newfoundland and Labrador, the holiday has a largely undeserved reputation for bringing what could most generously be called interesting weather, but this year it came through in fine fashion. Snow began falling on Saturday evening, and continued all day Sunday in Central Newfoundland, dumping some 58 cm (roughly 22.8 inches) in the town of Gander. At Twillingate, on the coast, accumulations were not as great, but there was a good coating of slushy snow on the roads and streets, and steady snow in the air.

At the Harbour Lights Inn in Twillingate, a motley crew of travellers from many parts of Canada showed the best possible reaction to an event like this one -- they took it in stride. Laughter filled the air, and all the guests in the nine-room inn carried on with their plans to explore the area. It wasn't just the hardy crowd at the Harbour Lights who showed this kind of moxie, though. Throughout our exploration, many other travellers could be seen taking photos, enjoying a meal at a local restaurant, or taking in the sights.

By the time the storm ended on Sunday, an iceberg had drifted into view on the horizon and there were already groups visiting the viewing area near the lighthouse at Long Point to catch a glimpse of it, and to marvel at the rime of ice that had formed on the nearby tuckamore as a result of the combined wind and icy spray.

According to Environment Canada, this is the first time in over ten years that there's been significant snowfall in Newfoundland on the Victoria Day weekend; we've come to expect wonderful weather at this time of year, but this year we got fooled. When this kind of unexpected event arrives and plans have already been made, we can feel conspired against and cancel, or we can roll with the punches and make the conscious decision to enjoy life as it comes. On an occasion when a few grumbles might have been expected, there wasn't a single complaint to be heard. Full marks to this weekend's visitors to Twillingate for playing the hand that fate -- and the weather -- dealt them.

Weather Signs

In Atlantic Canada, many of us live our lives with an eye turned to the sky. The weather isn't just something that we can ignore, and it doesn't just serve as fodder for a cable channel, it's a living, breathing part of our everyday life. Hurricanes roll up the east coast of North America in late summer and early autumn and strike with varying degrees of force, uprooting trees and creating flooding; winter storms sometimes strike with just as much force, bringing swirling snow instead of driving rain. Just as quickly, though, the sky can clear as a cold front pushes through, turning the heavens to clear, sparkling blue.

The rippling cloud patterns of a "mackerel sky" usually presage a significant change in the weather.

Nor'easters are warm winter storms that bring with them loads of heavy, wet snow that clings to every surface, no matter how unaccommodating.

Sun pillars light up the sky at sunrise and sunset when conditions are just right, creating a brilliant beacon.

Weather.  We watch it, we talk about it, we grumble when it's bad and take great delight when it's good, and we milk every ounce out of summer but breaking out the summer clothes when the first warm breezes blow and refusing to put them away until the snow flies.  Our very best weather advice if you're headed our way is, prepare to dress in layers, and always carry a jacket -- in case!

Days of Sorrow

It's impossible to live in a small, closely-knit coastal community and not feel the effects of harrowing loss. Southwestern Nova Scotia is experiencing such sorrow, with the sudden and tragic loss of the halibut-fishing boat Miss Ally and the five young men on board.  The skipper was Katlin Nickerson of Wood's Harbour, and with him on the voyage were Joel Hopkins, Cole Nickerson, and Tyson Townsend, all of Wood's Harbour as well, and Billy Jack Hatfield from nearby Cape Sable Island.  The five set out in the 14-metre Cape Islander on February 12, 2013 to pursue the winter halibut fishery, which takes place in during the worst of winter's storms and gales. After the boat's emergency beacon was activated on Sunday night, searchers were hampered by sea conditions that included wind, freezing spray and waves of 10 metres or more. Several aircraft, two Coast Guard vessels and various merchant vessels took part in the search, but the search area was broad and the sea conditions far from ideal. The fishing communities of Southwestern Nova Scotia waited, tension thick in the air, while the search continued; nighttime brought a gesture of solidarity throughout the region as homes up and down the shore left a light on through the night to speed the men's safe return. It was all to no avail, though, as the search was called off on Tuesday evening.   In addition to other family members, the captain and crew of the Miss Ally leave behind a total of six children. Hearts are heavy along the shore today.

Icebergs and Sun Pillars

On Monday evening a friend called to say that there were a couple of icebergs grounded just outside the "gut" at Quidi Vidi, a small village that's part of St. John's. Would I like to go take a look? I didn't have to be asked twice -- I love the icebergs that work their way south along the Labrador current in spring and early summer, and I wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to see and photograph one, especially in a setting as picturesque as Quidi Vidi. We drove to a point above the village, then walked to the Quidi Vidi Battery, not yet open for the season. The hill gave a commanding view of the bergs in the narrow opening to the small harbour; the two bergs were of completely different

shapes, one flat or tabular and the other pinnacled and looking a bit like a huge white walrus. There were thirty or so people gathered on the point, taking photos or just enjoying the view, but the light was fading fast. We decided to return the following morning to see the bergs in the early light. Serendipity provided the perfect weather conditions for a sun pillar as the day dawned, making for a spectacular scene that was well worth the early start. When an opportunity arose for yet another visit to the bergs that evening, of course I couldn't resist. After a walk to the end of the Barrows Road and a scramble across the rocks, another friend and I joined the watchers on the point and settled in to

enjoy the view and the changing light. We were delighted to see a couple of colourful kayaks head out for an evening paddle, past the bergs and along the coast. While they were gone, the tabular berg shifted on the tide and nearly closed off the opening to the harbour; fortunately there was enough room for them to get past, but the return trip was definitely a bit more challenging than the outbound one. Thanks to those two kayakers for adding extra interest to this beautiful evening!

There is a website that provides location data and background information on icebergs in Newfoundland and Labrador -- www.icebergfinder.com operates during iceberg season and gets its data from both satellite and local observer information.

The Rambles of Spring

It was a great day for a spring ramble in Southwestern Nova Scotia -- it dawned clear and sunny, and the road called out for wandering. The perfect song for the occasion was running through my head: The Rambles of Spring, written by Tommy Makem and performed by Makem and Clancy: "The days are on the mend and I'm on the road again."

As for which way to travel, the options are fairly limited in this part of the country: up the road or down the road. Thanks to the long, narrow shape of Nova Scotia, its southwest/northeast orientation, and the fact

that Shag Harbour is near its southernmost tip, "up" the road is roughly north and "down" the road is roughly east. This quirky geography is also responsible for the fact that the same stretch of coastline is the South Shore on one side of Halifax and the Eastern Shore on the other, the North Shore roughly parallels the Eastern Shore, and Western Shore is a community on the South Shore. Honest. So "up" it was -- through part of Shelburne County, Yarmouth County and into Digby County. This region of Nova Scotia is largely Acadian in heritage, predominantly

French-speaking and with a unique and vibrant culture. The landscape in this part of Nova Scotia consists of rolling hills covered in dense forest, with a broad coastal plain that's often made up of wetlands and saltmarsh. The communities of the Clare District, as it's known, follow the main road through the region, so Nova Scotia's Route 1 is sometimes referred to as the country's longest Main Street. Each community along the road boasts its own distinctive Roman Catholic church, including North America's largest wooden church at Church Point and an impressive stone structure at St. Bernard.

A visit to this area wouldn't be complete without a stop at the Roadside Grill in Belliveau's Cove, a tiny, unassuming place that serves up heaping portions of succulent deep-fried clams gathered on the local flats, burgers, turkey dinners and a delicious Acadian dish called Rappie Pie or Rapure that's made from grated potatoes and chicken, beef or clams. There's no pastry crust involved; the potatoes crisp on the edges to form a crispy shell. There are two schools of thought on this

delicacy -- I'm one of those who consider it a plateful of pure bliss, but there are others who run screaming into the night at the very mention of its name. The service at the Roadside Grill is friendly and efficient, and there's a real sense of neighbourhood here; the waitresses know most of the customers by name and sometimes don't even bring menus since the customers know the offering here as well as the staffers do. Next to the restaurant there is a tidy little row of tourist cabins that are available for rental, in a perfect 50s flashback. After a great, hearty meal at the Grill it was time to head for home. The day definitely qualified as a great spring ramble!

A Night to Remember

Coming up in just over two weeks is an extremely poignant anniversary; on the evening of April 14, 1912, the luxury liner Titanic struck an iceberg some 365 miles from St. John's, Newfoundland. The liner, built by Harland and Wolff in Belfast for the prestigious White Star Line, was launched on May 31, 1911. She was fitted out with state-of-the-art technology, including a series of sixteen watertight compartments that could be closed by the captain's mere flipping of a switch on the bridge. By Monday, April 1, of 1912 she came under the command of Captain Edward John Smith, who had served with the White Star Line for some thirty-two years. By April 10 she began to take on junior crew members, passengers, and the all-important coal to fire her massive boilers. Among the passengers were Thomas Andrews, Harland and Wolff's managing director, and White Star chairman Bruce Ismay, there to oversee the great ship's maiden voyage.

During her travel from Southampton, Titanic's two radio operators, Jack Phillips and Harold Bride, received a number of warnings of a huge field of ice ahead of them, some of those warnings arriving as early as April 11. Standard procedure was that these warnings would have been logged as received and passed along to the officers on the bridge. Neither Phillips nor Bride was an employee of White Star; instead, they were employed by the Marconi Company and their function on board was primarily to send and receive private messages for paying passengers. On the night of April 14 as warnings continued to arrive, Phillips was busy sending messages to the Marconi station at Cape Race, Newfoundland. Out of frustration at being interrupted at his task by the wireless operator on the SS Californian sending yet another ice warning, he replied via Morse Code, "Shut up, shut up! I am busy; I am working Cape Race!" This message would be quoted later as an example of one of the factors that led to the Titanic disaster -- just fifteen minutes after Phillips sent it, Titanic struck an iceberg in that great icefield. Within hours, Titanic had slipped below the surface taking more than 1500 of her passengers and crew to a watery grave. Incompetence, unpreparedness, and arrogance had combined to create a tragedy that ranks among the worst marine disasters in history and arguably the most famous.

A number of events are planned to commemorate this landmark event; information about those taking place in Newfoundland can be found through Receiving Titanic; events begin on April 1st and carry on through the evening of April 14th, 2012.

Waiting for the Sunrise -- Doctor's Cove, NS

Just a few kilometres down the road (toward Barrington Passage, not up the road toward Shag Harbour), the road bends wide around a broad cove that makes a perfect reflective surface for some pretty dramatic sunrises. The community is Doctor's Cove, and of course so is the body of water. The causeway to Cape Sable Island lies to the east just below the horizon, and provides definition for it. The land that encircles the cove almost completely helps to shelter it from the breeze, so the water is often glassy calm, and there are ledges of rock in the cove that make it difficult to

navigate in anything other than a very small boat, but certainly make interesting accents against the reflected colours of the sky. There's a nice, wide shoulder on the road through Doctor's Cove and a couple of places to park; all these factors add up to a great place to wait for the sunrise, and to enjoy its full scope over the water. Cold mornings even have the added attraction of mist or "seasmoke" rising from the still water.

In 2009, my sister Sally Van Natta rented a cottage in Doctor's Cove -- check out her image of the village with morning sun peeping through the fog here, and while you're at it, stay around long enough to explore her wonderful photos.

This morning was exceptionally mild for March, the second day in a row when southwestern Nova Scotia awoke to clear skies and temperatures well above freezing, a combination not usually seen until sometime in May. The air was filled with birdsong, and light clouds formed a delicate tracery in the eastern sky.

As the light intensified they began to glow orange; I waited in a likely spot overlooking the cove and the sunrise began to shape up into an especially nice one. The trees on a small point of land jutting out into the cove were perfectly reflected in the still water, and the sun burnished its calm surface. With a beautiful spring day on its way, I'm off to explore more of the South Shore and enjoy this wonderful weather!

Silver Thaw or Shelagh's Brush?

It's all in the timing, I suppose. In Newfoundland and Labrador, there's a belief that St. Patrick's Day brings with it a storm, usually one of the last significant storms of the winter. It's a deep-rooted tradition within the Irish-descended population in particular. The occurrence of a storm within a day or two of March 17 was so common that the storm came to be known as "St. Patrick's Storm". A lighter, less snow-laden storm occurring soon after the St. Patrick's storm soon became "Shelagh's Brush" -- the identity of Shelagh (or Sheila) has become a bit murky over the years, with some people referring to her as St. Patrick's wife while others think of her as his mother or even his housekeeper. The light snow of Shelagh's Brush was said to be the result of Shelagh taking a birch broom to the corners of the heavens in a spring-cleaning frenzy. Somehow, through the passing years, the two storms have merged in the collective psyche of Newfoundland and Labrador and now, the big storm on or about St. Patrick's Day has taken on the name of the later, less severe storm. This year, whether it belongs

to Shelagh or to the Saint himself, has packed a punch and created havoc with airline schedules. Instead of a few hours of snow, St. John's received several hours of freezing rain that glazed every surface in sight. Streets, sidewalks and parking lots became skating rinks early this morning, and the city echoed with the sound of windshields being scraped clean of their thick coatings of ice. The streets are clear now, and as the temperature rises the glittering burdens of trees and shrubs are clattering to the ground. One of the most common sights around town at this stage is a throng of intrepid

photographers bundled against the cold and rain, capturing the effects of the storm before they melt away. Whether it's the work of St. Patrick or Shelagh, whoever she might be, or just a "silver thaw" provided by Mother Nature, it's certainly beautiful in its own way; and in a place where the weather is often the first topic of conversation, it's certainly given everyone something to talk about!

Loving the Light

Winter can seem to last forever here in Atlantic Canada, but it brings with it an unexpected beauty; the angle of the sun at this time of year can create beautiful golden light in the early morning and late afternoon. It can give depth and definition to a scene that's otherwise fairly mundane, like a scrap of icy snow on the timbers of a wharf.

St. Patrick's Church, located at the western end of downtown St. John's, is situated in a spot that catches the light -- no tall buildings overshadow it, so the last rays of the winter sun find the church's tall spire and highlight it with rich, warm tones.

Late afternoon sun enriches the terracotta color of the Yellowbelly Brewery on George Street, and sparkles on a row of icicles on the railing.

The colourful name of this business harkens back to the times when Irish immigrants from the counties of Waterford and Wexford were arriving in St. John's. The Wexford men were nicknamed "Yellowbellies" after a hurling team from that county sported yellow sashes when they soundly defeated a team from Cornwall in a challenge match. The nickname followed them to Newfoundland; since Wexford men gathered in this area, the intersection of Water and George Streets became known as Yellowbelly Corner, a St. John's landmark.

Peggy's Cove -- Off Season

March decided to come in like a lion in some parts Nova Scotia, bringing with it a nor'easter that made travel conditions miserable and dumped the winter's first real load of snow on the southwestern corner of the province. Typically, the northeasterly winds that give these storms their name bring with them temperatures close to the freezing point; ironically these relatively mild temperatures are what can make a nor'easter deadlier than a storm that brings colder conditions. When it's near the freezing point, snow is heavy and wet. It doesn't stop at coating the ground in slippery white, it

clings to vertical surfaces obscuring road signs, weighing down power lines and trees, and it's so wet that it can saturate clothing instead of falling away as dry snow would. It's heavy and treacherous to walk through, it reduces visibility, and it's difficult to shovel, too -- emergency room workers call it "heart-attack snow".

This early March nor'easter was followed by a warm front -- again, typical -- that brought with it lashing rains and high wind. A spur-of-the-moment side trip to Peggy's Cove revealed a whole new side of the village's personality. On a soft summer day, the winding road into the village is busy with cars, and

curious visitors walk along the roadside taking photos or visiting the gift shops. On a day in early March when it's barely above freezing and raining sideways, there's a bit more elbow room. There are still a few hardy souls who make their way to the Sou'Wester Restaurant for a bowl of chowder or some warm gingerbread; the restaurant is open every day except Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and there are almost always cars in the parking lot. That soft summer day certainly has its appeal, but there's definitely something to be said for a visit on a bracing day in March when you can see the bones of the place -- the simple, stark beauty that made this such a popular tourist attraction.

Raindrops and Dewdrops and Dull, Drizzly Days

Living in a part of the world where any season can be marked by rain, drizzle and fog, it's vital to develop an understanding that the weather outside doesn't necessarily have to set the tone for the day. There's much to be said for a foggy day in winter, since it usually means that the weather's taken a mild turn and the snowbanks are about to disappear, or at least show a significant reduction in size. The sun may not be splitting the rocks, but mild weather has its advantages. In spring and fall, the fog can make for some interesting photo opportunities as it seems to soften the edges of the landscape. In June, it's a sure sign that summer's on its way since it's a contrast between the warm temperature of the land the the cold water that create the condition.

In the spirit of embracing the moment, I often take the camera out for a walk on a foggy day to capture its subtle charms. I love the way water droplets collect on lichens and mosses, and the way the moisture darkens the bark of trees and shrubs to provide extra contrast with soft green leaves or bright autumn tones.

I can be just as put off by a downpour as anyone; it's challenging to get as much enjoyment out of a day when the rain's pouring down, but a little light drizzle can be taken in stride.

I have to admit that I love it when tour guests take bad weather in stride. It's what we're getting, we can't change it, so we may as well enjoy what we've got. For that reason I have some very happy memories of those out-of-the-ordinary touring days over the past thirty years or so, when weather could have spoiled our fun but didn't -- days that were enjoyed despite the weather's most determined efforts. Thanks, all you rollers-with-the-punches. You know who you are; you make my job a heck of a lot easier, and you're great fun to be with!

Embracing the Fog

A lifetime of Atlantic Canadian summers have taught me a very important lesson: sometimes there's fog. The scientific explanation, of course, is that the fog is created by the temperature differential between the warm land and the cold sea water. As the summer progresses, foggy days become less frequent because the water is warming up; June, though, is a time when an occasional foggy day just has to be expected. Since it's a natural phenomenon that just can't be controlled by the likes of me, the only thing to do is to find a way to embrace it and appreciate it. I know it can be a disappointment to encounter fog at a vacation destination, and I don't particularly want to sound like Pollyanna, but accepting the fact that fog happens can help to take some of the sting out of reduced visibility. In other words, it's good to find some Zen. To me, fog is almost like a living thing; it swirls and sweeps and eddies, forming almost instantly on a changing breeze and disappearing almost as quickly. It creates an air of mystery and seems to change the contours of the familiar. It can form an all-encompassing blanket or drift in wisps on a sunlit shore. It's perhaps at is most playful around icebergs, forming and dissipating almost on a whim. My camera is almost always at hand, and foggy days are often the ones when the camera gets the most use. There's something so fleeting and elusive about a bank of fog flowing like a wave over a headland or softening the contours of a rocky outcrop that it's hard to resist the urge to capture its unique and arresting beauty. The fog really is part of the adventure!