The Maritimes VIII: Twillingate and Iceberg Alley

We were glad our only contact with a moose was Dave posing with this statue.  Our ferry from St. Pierre docked, on August 21, 2018, at Fortune, Newfoundland, on the southern coast of Newfoundland.  We spent six hours driving due north to Twillingate, on the north coast of the island.

 We drove through gorgeous country, with lakes, dark trees, and wildflowers.

Twillingate lies on the Iceberg Alley from the Arctic, the route that icebergs travel during the spring, until they dissolve in the warmer waters along Newfoundland's south coast.  Twillingate holds an iceberg festival every June, but we were too late to catch that event.

 We heard about the icebergs that floated past town, especially in past colder winters.

Our B'n'B overlooked Twillingate bay.   We sat on chairs on the porch, looking at the ocean and talking with the owners of our B'n'B.  They were born in northern Newfoundland, met each other in high school, drifted away and married others, and came back home to find each other again.

 We ate breakfast in the sunny dining room of our B'n'B.  The other guests were also interesting.  They included a Broadway singer and actor, and his wife, who had taught drama at Yale.

 Yet another whale watching trip?  Dave and I were dubious, but it was the primary tourist attraction of Twillingate, so we went along.

 The town looked quaint, as we swung out to sea.

 We enjoyed talking with our guide.  He was a retired iron worker who had helped to build drilling rigs to be installed off Newfoundland's coast.

 We saw at least six different whales, swimming around Twillingate's bay.

 The rock formations were austere and beautiful.

 There were many, many birds.

The owners of our B'n'B recommended an out-of-the-way lobster pound, down a dirt road ten miles from Twillingate.

 We spent the afternoon touring Twillingate's museums.  This polar bear wandered off the ice and into town.  In the bad old days, the police shot it.

 The dominant crafts in the Maritimes are knitting and quilting.

 Reminders of the sea are everywhere, including this ship's wheel.

I always sigh when I see photos of a town's war dead--fresh-faced boys who never came home from foreign wars.  This boy died in WWI.

 Finally it was night over the bay.

We whiled away the evening listening to a singer tell stories of Newfoundland and its people.  One song I especially enjoyed was about the joy of Newfoundland girls "when the long-liners come sailing in."  "Long-liners" are fishing boats with very long fishing lines trailing behind them.  It was apparently a macho job to work on a "long-liner."