Saltmarsh mornings

One of my favorite places to wait for a sunrise is the saltmarsh. The frosted grasses in winter, the rustling of birds and small animals, the hoofprints of deer come to test the salty tang of plants along the shore, the ever-changing tableau of seaweed or eelgrass arranged by the last tide; they all captivate me. There's a stillness here that overrides the noise from the traffic passing just a few yards away. A good pair of boots and a walking stick are essentials, and of course the camera has to come along as well, since the still water can provide a canvas for perfect reflections of a glorious sunrise. The scent of the marsh

is salty too, of course -- fresh seaweed left by the receding tide. Sound carries well over the water, so the cries of a pair of loons or a small flock of mergansers can be heard from the islands in the near distance. A heron's quick lunge for a passing fish makes a quiet splash, and a small stream tumbles over rounded granite rocks as it flows into the cove; a pair of muskrats dabble in the shallows by the brook. As spring approaches, the willet's distinctive "pill-will-willet" call is added to the soundscape. The sunrise seems somehow more accessible here -- not a distant event but an intimate one as the first rays of the sun peep through the trees and begin to cast their golden light

on the marsh grasses. It creeps slowly along, casting long shadows that enhance the delicate lines of the tide-swirled seaweed, sparkling off the frost or shining warmly on the mist that rises gently off the water. With the sun fully risen it's time to tread back across the muddy flats and head back to the house for the first sip of morning coffee, but the marsh will still be here tomorrow, constant, timeless, yet ever-changing and new.

Tickle-aces, Turrs and Noddies

One of the most interesting things about Newfoundland and Labrador is the wonderful variety of expressions and figures of speech that are very much a part of life; archaic words that have fallen into disuse in other parts of North America are alive and well here, and there are local names for most of the seabirds found around the province's shores as well. The bird that's widely known as the black-legged kittiwake, Rissa tridactyla, is called a tickle-ace or tickle-ass here because of its habit of pursuing other birds and pecking at their tail feathers to make them drop the food they're carrying, allowing the kittiwake to swoop in and gather it up. Kittiwake in itself is an interesting enough name, echoing the bird's call, but it pales in comparison to tickle-ace.

The common murre (Uria aalge) nests here by the thousands on the islands along the coast, and is a traditional food source for coastal dwellers; at one time it was such an integral part of the diet that it was sometimes referred to as "salt-water chicken"; there is a hunting season for these birds during the winter months similar to that for ducks or geese. In Newfoundland and Labrador this bird is commonly called a turr, although in Britain it goes by the much more aristocratic "common guillemot", while its close relative the thick-billed murre or Uria lomvia is referred to as Brünnich's guillemot. While not as plentiful as either the kittiwake or the murre in

breeding colonies on the province's shores, the northern fulmar (Fulmarus glacialis) is found here in sufficient numbers to warrant its own nickname, the noddy. Although it is primarily an Arctic breeder, small colonies of fulmars can be found in both Labrador and Newfoundland. The fulmar is a tubenose -- a relative of petrels and albatrosses -- with a highly specialized beak whose function seems to be related to getting directional sensory input to detect food on the open sea. The fulmar has a particularly endearing habit of regurgitating the oily, smelly contents of its crop if alarmed; my advice is to avoid alarming fulmars. If you're planning on birdwatching in Newfoundland and Labrador, bring your field guide but be sure there's room in the back for notes!

The Whales of Summer

Imagine being in the place where the world's largest gathering of humpback whales takes place every summer. The waters off Newfoundland and Labrador are rich in phytoplankton, providing nutrients for zooplankton and in turn huge numbers of caplin, a small member of the smelt family. It's the presence of these caplin that brings the whales from their winter breeding ground off the Dominican Republic to this prime summer feeding ground. The humpback's scientific name, Megaptera novaeangliae, translates to "big-winged New Englander" --

a reference to the massive pectoral flippers that are roughly one-third as long as the whale's body. These fins or flippers are used for steering rather than propulsion; in the North Atlantic both the underside and upper surface of the pectoral flippers are white, making them easy to spot through the water. Humpbacks are baleen whales, filtering their food from the water with massive parallel baleen plates that hang suspended from the palate; the inner surface of this baleen shreds into coarse bristles that make the filter more efficient. The whale takes in a mouthful of water and food

such as caplin, then expels the water through these baleen plates leaving only the food behind. This food must be small, since the whale's throat opening is smaller in diameter than a grapefruit. Humpbacks and other baleen whales have a very informal social structure, unlike many toothed whales like orcas and dolphins; they often travel in company with other whales, but not in highly organized pods or family groups. In areas with high concentrations of food, though, they can often be observed feeding cooperatively, working together to herd the schools of caplin into tighter groups

before lunging up through them with mouths agape to feast at this mobile buffet. Organized whale-watching tours by boat can be found in many parts of Newfoundland and Labrador, but excellent land-based whale watching is possible from spots like Signal Hill in St. John's, the cliffs at Cape St. Mary's, Cape Pine, or Twillingate, the beach at St. Vincent's on St. Mary's Bay, and viewing areas like Fishing Point in St. Anthony, to name just a few. The best time for whale watching in Newfoundland and Labrador stretches from late June until early August, although it's possible to see whales from spring through fall. Individual whales can be identified by the markings on the underside of their tails; more about this identification process can be found at Atlantic Whales.

Seeing the Light

With a combined total of nearly 40,000 kilometres (roughly 25,000 miles) of coastline in the four provinces that make up Atlantic Canada, it's no wonder that an abundance of lighthouses can be found here. Often constructed on high ground, they serve as warnings of rocks, shoals or ledges that might prove deadly to passing vessels. Each beacon or lamp has its own distinct flash pattern, and along with it a distinctive look and a fog alarm that is unlike any other nearby. These three factors allowed mariners to pinpoint their exact location long before the advent of GPS. Canada's first lighthouse was constructed in 1734 at Louisbourg, Nova Scotia; today, of the country's several hundred light stations and lighthouses all but 51 are now unmanned.

While some modern lighthouses can be less than graceful, most of the region's lights are highly photogenic and are often found in areas that are dramatically beautiful. While a few are located on offshore islands and are difficult to reach, many are in highly accessible locations and some are open to the public. The lighthouse at Peggy's Cove, Nova Scotia, even houses a post office with a special cancellation stamp that depicts the building itself; it's a very popular spot during the summer tourism season. It's even possible to stay at a bed & breakfast that's located in a lighthouse or lightkeeper's house, like those that can be found at Quirpon Island, NL; Cape Anguille, NL; Cape d'Or, NS. In Ferryland, just an hour or so south of St. John's, NL, Lighthouse Picnics provides picnic lunches on a coastal headland accessed by a scenic walking trail; icebergs or whales might just add to the ambiance here in June and early July! Lighthouses are a fitting symbol of Atlantic Canada, since so much of our history is closely linked with the sea and seafaring. Depicted here are the lighthouses at Cape Bonavista, Newfoundland (top), Point Amour, Labrador (middle) and Ferryland Head, Newfoundland (below).

Change Islands

Change Islands can be found off the northeast coast of Newfoundland, near the larger and better-known Fogo Island. The community is made up of two principal islands and several outlying islets so closely linked by geography and economy that they are referred to as a unit, so Change Islands is an interesting and intriguing spot to visit. Well-maintained fishing stages with their storage buildings painted in the traditional red ochre make this spot an intriguing one for photographers. It retains not only the look but the feel of "old Newfoundland" with its tidy homes and winding roads.

Its place in Newfoundland and Labrador history is assured, since this is the place where the fishermen gather: it was here that Arthur R. Scammel was born. At 15, Scammel wrote the famous song "The Squid-Jigging Ground" describing a fishing scene in the waters just offshore. When Newfoundland joined Confederation in 1949, this was the song that rang out from Parliament Hill to welcome the Canada's newest province. My favourite way to explore Change Islands is with a combination of car and foot travel, making use of the many walking trails that lead to quiet coves and scenic overlooks. The local museums are definitely worth a visit for a glimpse into the islands' past, and the Interpretation Centre can provide information about island life and the geology of the area. Island life isn't the romantic dream that mainlanders sometimes imagine; the idea of having to take a ferry for all but the most basic errands can lose its polish in a very short time. It's best summed up by a resident of Bell Island, near St. John's, who put it this way: "I live on an island off an island. Seems like I have to cross water to pass water." Travel plans are entirely dependent on the ferry schedule, and weather of course has a huge impact, especially in winter.

For those of us who aren't ready to commit to the idea of full-time residence, though, this is a wonderful place to visit; there are ample options to fill one day or several. Of particular interest is the Newfoundland Pony Refuge, established to carry out a breeding program for the hardy ponies that were once common in Newfoundland but are now found in greatly reduced numbers. There will be more about Newfoundland ponies in a future post. Change Islands is accessed via Newfoundland and Labrador's Provincial Ferry Service from the port of Farewell. There are two restaurants, a small inn, and several shops in the community.

Messing about in boats

There's nothing like a wooden boat built by the hand of a craftsman. Atlantic Canada is full of them -- they're moored just off the shore or tied up at community wharves or private docks, showing off their beautiful, graceful lines to anyone with the eye to appreciate them. They come in all sorts of shapes and sizes: dories, punts, speedboats, rodneys, Gander River boats and so many more. They're built piece by piece in hundreds of boat shops and sheds, fitted together by work-roughened hands; built for fishing or for pleasure or simply for transportation from A to B. There are still places in the Atlantic region where a boat is the only practical means of transport during the summer months, serving the same purpose as the family car. More commonly, in areas where they're far from a necessity wooden boats are valued as a form of transportation that's also a work of art.

I love the lines of these hardy little vessels, and the way that each builder has a distinguishable style that sets his -- or her -- boats apart from those built by others. I love the tidy joints and sweet curves and suent lines that come together into a finished product that's not only pleasing to the eye but intensely practical and above all, seaworthy, for that's what the whole exercise is about. In a well-constructed wooden boat, form and function come together in a perfect marriage; neither takes precedence over the other. It's this inherent grace that appeals to me about them. One of the joys of traveling in Atlantic Canada is the wealth of opportunities to see these great little boats at their best, being used for fishing, gathering seaweed for sale, or being rowed hell-for-leather in races at community celebrations and gatherings, cheered on by enthusiastic crowds.

In addition to the many chances to see wooden boats in their prime, there are boats that have lived out their usefulness and have been abandoned, sinking into the earth that produced the trees they came from. Others have found their way into museums as static displays and tributes to the boatbuilders' skill. In southwestern Nova Scotia, the Dory Shop Museum, Shelburne houses a dynamic display that illustrates the building of these workhorses of the fishing trade. The Wooden Boat Museum of Newfoundland and Labrador at Winterton, NL, has a collection that encompasses a wide variety of boat types used in the area. Both are well worth a visit. "I'm gonna build me a boat with these two hands, it'll be a fair curve from a noble plan; let the chips fall where they will, 'cause I've got boats to build." -- from the song, Boats to Build by Guy Clark and Verlon Thompson.

The Ninja in White

A light snowfall on Monday night turned into a full-blown blizzard on Tuesday -- whiteout conditions brought traffic to a halt on major streets, and even though the snowfall amounted to only 20 cm, or 8 inches, conditions were so miserable that at times it was difficult to see across the street. The storm packed such a punch that it's already being referred to as the "White Ninja", and both schools and businesses started closing as soon as it struck. Snow day! Those words were magical when I was a student because they meant an unexpected holiday, a reprieve from the day-to-day routine of school. In our house, though, they had an even greater impact since both my parents were teachers. When a snow or ice storm arrived, the whole family would be gathered around the radio listing for that sweet announcement: Closed for the day. There were a lot of people around yesterday who know that feeling, since the closing announcements started early in the morning and continued into early afternoon. By that point, though, driving conditions were perfectly miserable. Packed snow covered the streets, and those whiteout conditions were at their peak. Some hardy souls braved the weather while others opted to stay at their offices a bit longer in hopes that things would improve.

By the next morning, streets had been cleared in most neighbourhoods and life was pretty much back to normal, or at least "winter normal". Snow clearing has been a touchy subject at City Hall for several years now, with the City maintaining that sidewalk clearing simply wasn't possible in a climate like ours and the populace maintaining that it was a necessity. For years, a snowfall in St. John's has meant that sidewalks disappeared and pedestrians took to the streets along with the cars. As the number of cars in and around the city increased, there was a corresponding rise in difficulty for those on foot; some actually had the nerve to complain about the near-constant shower of salty slush flying up from the tires of passing cars.

It's taken a long time, but City Hall finally began to listen and a greatly improved system of sidewalk clearing has been implemented. It's going well, up to a point. Sometimes, as you can see, that point is right in the middle of the block, when snow clearing has inexplicably stopped and we're back to the mountains of snow that are best negotiated with the aid of a team of Sherpas; on the whole, though, it's definitely an improvement, and as time goes on I'm sure it will get better and better, both for pedestrians and for the drivers who no longer have to worry about threading their way through the foot traffic. Here's to snow, and to snow clearing, and most of all to snow days.