Herein lies the unedited history of Anton Von Stefan's path through the great country called:
Canada.
The First Part of the journey across Canada,
from Victoria to St John's
Newfoundland,
has been Completed!
SEE
The Gothic Return of
Anton Von Stefan on the right!
From the Pacific to the Atlantic, The Gothic Journey to St John’s, Newfoundland has been achieved!!!
Read about his Gothic Journey in this section of the "Twisted Biography". However, the "Gothic Return of the Author" is the road back over this province of Newfoundland to his final destination, his manor house on the Pacific Ocean, a journey to end after 16,909.5 kilometres of driving across Canada on different parts of the Trans Canada Highway. See that section of his remakable trek in the days ahead.
Anton Von Stefan is constantly working toward the publishing of his first volume of his Gothic Horror Stories.
The Gothic Journey continues; the publishing of his first book is neigh complete. Yet, if the book is not set for printing by the time he must depart for Europe, he shall work overseas until the Gothic Stories are honed to perfection and are fit to be published!!!
(see: Twisted Biograpy).
Part fourteen - the gothic road to st john's
In the Pacific Ocean - The First Steps
July 3 - 6th
Victoria to Nanimo. The start of each journey starts with the first step. This has indeed occurred with both feet in the Pacific Ocean. B.C.’s capital is one you must walk, from the outer harbour, to the Geogre Waterway to truly experience its grandeur. The Royal BC Museum and Buchart Gardens, which are just outside in Saanich, are two other site visited by the author.
Anton Von Stefan thanks his good friend in Victoria for the many hours of showing him the city as well as the fine accommodations provided.
July 7 – 13th
A wedding and a Christening have drawn the author off of his path in a most joyous intermission of his work.
July 14th
The Fraser Canyon from Yale to Boston Bar, taking in Alexander Bridge and Hell’s Gate in temperatures that rise to +36c. Camping along the Thompson River at Gold Pan Provincial Park.
The Mountains Approach
July 15th
A journey through Kamloops, Salmon Arm and through the Three Valley Gap to Revelstoke and the mountains. A beautiful little town, both in the summer and deep in the winter where Mt Revelstoke grants a winter enthusiast the highest vertical fall line in North America. The KOA Campground is where our author begins his work. “The Thoughts of Johnathan Moor” are on the table.
July 16th
Over the Roger’s Pass and visits to the Tall Redwoods and the Hemlocks board walks. Arrival in Banff, Alberta. Finishes 1st re-draft of 1st tale and starts on “The Incredible Mirror”.
July 17 – 19th
Banff. Bow Falls, Banff Centre, Cascade Gardens, the Banff Administration Building’s grounds, the Upper Hot Springs, Tunnel Mountain Campground and are visited by the author. "The Incredible Mirror" is completed and re-typing begins. His birthday also is celebrated at Magpie and Stumps, for dinner; the Upper Hot Springs, for a full body wrap and aroma therapy; and St. James’ Gate, where a good quantity of Guinness is dispensed for a good cause.
July 19th
Bannf departure & arrival in Calgary. Met old friends and taken in as family in true Cow Town style. Worked on "The Incredible Mirror" from 9 till 11pm.
July 20th
Worked on "The Incredible Mirror" till high noon. Re-printed on new portable laser printer. Off to Calgary Heritage Park. A true working village c/w western town sites, ranches, steam trains, electric street cars, stern wheeler steamer, round house, 1930 vans and trucks rolling down the dirt roads c/w wooden boardwalks beside horse drawn wagons. The bakery, candy store, NWMP, the fort, the hotel and saloon, along with many other full size building are all functioning, and you can get a cold beer, play cards, or have lunches in those same establishments from our past.
July 21st
The early hours saw the re-printing of "The Thoughts of Johnathan Moor".
Heritage Park Calgary: Petrol pumps, pickup trucks, fuel lorries and gas station paraphernalia from days-gone-by are all on site in Gasoline Alley and well worth viewing.
Calgary city, the Bow River, and its island, were strolled with good friends from our author’s past. One really does need locals to show one a town and create the ambience that can only derived from people who care enough to spend some quality time together.
Anton Von Stefan would personally like to thank both the good friends who, in true Cowtown style, handed him the keys to their house and provided his accommodation as well as the friends who took him on a tour of the inner city and bought dinner and refreshments at the Barley Mill along the Bow River.
The Vast Canadian Heartland
July 22nd
The road east took a turn to the north, and our author arrived in Drumheller, Alberta. A most unique part of Canada where the Royal Tyrrell Museum required many hours of research, and Anton Von Stefan was the last to leave, well after closing. The sun set in the Badlands, for this writer, for the first night.
July 23rd & 24th
The world’s largest dinosaur is recreated on the grounds of Drumheller's Aquapark which sits on the actual location of the discovery of Alberto Saurus in 1884. The region was carved out from the last glacial period, from 20,000 years until about 14,000 years ago. The land was first flattened by the pressure and movement of ice. Then, the melting waters below carved the planes into rivulets and coolies, diverting rivers and exposing sandstone, mudstone and iron rock. This also brought lower tiers of the earth’s strata, dating from over 78 million years ago, near the surface. In 1884, a geologist sent out from Ottawa, found coal seams, dinosaur bones; and, eventually, oil and natural gas, all decompositions of vegetable matter left over by the ever changing climate.
Any reasonable person, such as our demented author, seeing this region, would never, ever entertain the ‘logic’ that man, somehow, ever permanently effects the over-all, long-term, cooling and warming of our planet. The geophysical alterations of this world are, and have always been, a part of our globe’s transition since the beginning of time. Our core’s molten state, and the ever moving continental plates, have changed the physical surface time and again. Through those eons, and helped directly by the extraterrestrial effects of our sun and other objects we know so little of, the mean temperature of the earth has varied without our help at all. These are the impressions this region has etched into the imagination of our author. The Hoodoos, also visited by Anton Von Stefan, throughout this region, are but a recent phenomena of what rain and wind can produce upon exposed soil, of various densities, through a mere 20,000 years of time.
The Atlas Mine, the last of over 150 in the local region known as the Canadian Badlands, is a must see. Here, you can envision the hardships of early Canadians as they toiled below ground to support the industrial expansion, which required coal in the mid 19th to the 20th centuries.
July 24th 25th
Anton Von Stefan left Drumheller and went through the UNESCO World Heritage Site at Dinosaur Park, Alberta. Our author loved it, but will have to return as there was too much to see.
From there the path took our writer to the dam in Brooks Alberta, a hydro electric project dating from 1914. He arrived in Medicine Hat in time for the local stampede. Everything was booked, so he will be heading east.
July 25th
Moose Jaw Saskatchewan has several Western Development Museums. One lies adjacent to Highway 1 in this city. The one viewed by the author is dedicated to methods of human movement throughout the history of Canada. Divided into sections which specifically show airflight, rail, horse and buggy and mechanized travel, it is well worth viewing.
Travelling out of Alberta and entering Saskatchewan at a blistering speed, Swift Current was but a blur on the wide open landscape of this prairie province. Interestingly, there are actually rolling hills and lakes skirting the highway east, not just vast wheat fields.
Anton Von Stefan followed the sun, arrived in Regina, and made his homestead at Buffalo Hills, just east of the city.
July 26th
Anton Von Stefan stood before, and lay his venerable writing hands upon the very table Sir John A McDonald and our Father’s of Confederation sat and signed the Confederation Accord in 1864. He even has several photos to prove this mad declaration. Touring the legislature, he saw marble from Cyprus, renditions of native leaders, and portraits of many of the people that have formed the province of Saskatchewan itself. He walked in the largest gardens surrounding a legislative building anywhere in the world, ambled along the downtown core, and was (secretly) photographed in Canada’s largest grain corporation’s head office on Victoria Avenue, Regina.
Yet, before this adventure began, he toiled from 5:45 am till well after 9:30 am, plowing through only 8 of some 25 pages of "#80 Harrow Street", one of his gruesome Gothic Tales.
He was also later seen popping into the Saskatchewan Sports’ Hall of Fame, where he was awed by the accomplishments of the local athletes.
Progressing some 241 kilometres in precisely 2 hours, he averaged a speed of just over 120 km/hour over that time. Finding himself in Manitoba, he drove madly eastward with the hot sun blistering upon his darkly tanned, bare back. His location is currently unknown. Once we catch up with that devil, we will write more.
July 27th, 2012
Our author squirrelled himself away at Bry-Mar, a location you will never find on any map or automobile club tourist stop catalogue. "The cleanest washrooms east of the Rockies" without a doubt. Here, in the solitude of the clear, cloudless Manitoba skies, he toiled from the first rays of sun until well after checkout time (11:00am) on #80 Harrow Street. Scrutinising each word, phrase, and sentence to insure the graphic images of his intrepid mind are fully reflected in this Gothic Tale!
Winnipeg beaconed with Pawel’s ghostly voice, and this city spread out before him in its prairie vastness. One really would need a ‘local’ guide to fully appreciate it all. Yet the axiom, "follow the money" brought him into the Royal Canadian Mint where numismatists would kill for the flawed coins destroyed if a die is incorrectly set or runs amok.
Sadness entered Anton Von Stefan’s heart as he stood before the National Historic Site of the Riel House. Here lived a man who founded the Province of Manitoba, fought tirelessly for the rights of a unique part of Canadian society, peacefully, and was elected three times to Canada’s Lower House as a Member of Parliament. Thrice a promise of amnesty was revoked and three times he, and the thousands he represented in his constituencies, were denied that democratically elected seat by "those with the money" (these are the ones who always look after their own interests before the greater good of mankind; and, sadly, are with us still). Louis Riel end up delusional, was exiled, and finally took up arms for his cause, an act for which he was expeditiously tired and executed in Regina, a place our author had also sought out the previous day.
As in a Gothic Story, it took a hundred years before official Canadian Government reconciliation vindicated this great man, and the nefarious acts of an Orangeman, who had been captured, properly tried by the Provisional Government in place, and executed for his own foul acts again the Metis was set straight. May the ghosts of that time continue to haunt those families who denied him his place as a Member of Parliament.
Pawel’s ghost re-appeared at Falcon Lake, Manitoba and a card was written and sent therefrom with its evidence clearly etched in ink!
At the Edge of 'Upper and Lower Canada'
July 28th
Just 14km east of Falcon Lake, Anton Von Stefan entered Ontario. Rolling hills, conifer forests, and lakes on either side announce the end of the prairie. A twisting route, through the Western port of the province takes one to the port city of Thunder Bay.
There is no point in this city which is not dominayed by large, concrete silos, export grain terminals that have been a part of this city's history almost from the start. The south side holds the oldest of the grain terminals. Long abandoned (other than perhaps SWP Terminal 8), the protected waterway and island where these the behemoths stand is quite beautiful
Just north of the old terminals, Viterra's terminals A and B, modern facilites which have worked year round recently, are located. In the city's center juts the famous tilting grain terminal, not yet fallen into the inland sea (also abandoned). Three more large terminals lie further north of that unique facility. Two are modern and sport fresh paint, yet in-between these two sits another derelict, abandoned grain elevator from the past. Unpainted, rusting, bleak and without windows, it is the perfect setting for a gothic tale. Currently, only the southern most of these three facilities is operating, the Richardson Terminal. Viterra's re-furbished terminal C, the northern most, has been idle since 2010.
Just at the east edge of the city, on the Trans Canada Highway, is the Terry Fox memorial site. Now a lookout point where one can see Lake Superior and Thunder Bay in the distance, it is the place that valiant one-legged runner’s quest to cross Canada ended. Few, at that time imagined what the world would think of that labourious attempt to concur that illness, and provide the funding to end its unchecked march through humankind. He whole world embraced that run and, hopefully will never forget it.
July 29th
Thunder Bay also holds a vibrant, inner city core, marina and water park. These, with the protected harbour lying along the shore of Lake Superior make for a remakable setting. A Canadian Navy Pier #3 is also still marked, though yachts and the marina surround the location fully.
Our author, spent a good part of the day enjoying the leisurely ambience of the community before returning to the Trans Canada Highway. From there, he followed the shores of Lake Superior on a journey east not unlike driving up the Sea to Sky Highway on one's way to Whistler. "Remarkably beautiful", were just some of the thoughts expressed by the author.
July 30th
At Wawa, Ontario, our author followed Highway 1 along the shores of Lake Superior into Salt Ste. Marie. At this point one passes onto the shores of Lake Huron. Blind River was lunch; Bruce Mines, the apparent location of Canada’s first ‘copper’ mine, was where Anton Von Stefan took a break to post cards and amble across the street into a roadside antique shop. Lovely set of stores, one on each side of the street (the TCH is not always a freeway, as it has stop signs and lights along the route).
The trek actually by-passed Sudbury where the Trans Canada Highway takes an upper and a lower route into Ottawa. Here, he opted for the more direct route into our capital and left the lower route for another day.
Over 900 kilometres had been crossed as darkness fell. A misplaced sign along the highway directed him inland; and, unable to locate the campsite, he chanced upon Canadian Forces Base Petawawa. A quaint little town with a very large military presence As neither the GPS nor two locals could recall the advertized campground, he was helped to another location by a kindly group of leather clad, skin-headed, tattooed bikers ‘loitering’ in a parking lot. Just good-old military boys out for the evening.
Crossing a bridge and turning right, he entering the army facility by the front gates, as instructed. As no one bothered to impede his brazen presence, thus he drove past the two churches mentioned, but he again became lost. This time, two kindly base ladies out on an evening stroll, pointed him to the Black Bear Campsite. Here, he was granted entry and received the best site on the beach (along the shores of Lake Duke). Meeting a retired officer and his family, he was welcomed to the CFB Petawawa just as the sun set in the West. Truly a remarkable location to enjoy, especially the night’s entertainment, which must remain classified.
July the Last
Ottawa. Our great capital city finally arrived on the scene of the Gothic Journey. Parliament Hill, he found is just that, a small knoll which requires about 15 steps to attain, yet its plain stretches across vast grounds encompassing the hallowed halls and aged walls of the structure wherein our federal laws are formed. The building is set far back from the lawns in front, its impressive grandeur dominating the hill. Our author took his time, ambling around the entire perimeter of this ornate central building, taking in the myriads of bronze statues, effigies of past prime ministers which surround it. As well, a summer gazebo is off to the left and near the rear which has been re-constructed and is dedicated to the valiant police who have, over the years, died in the line of duty. At the rear, a grand structure, unique, round and ornate stands alone yet abuts the parliament building. It is the national library. Entrances for the lower and upper houses’ Speakers are on opposite sides of parliament’s front facade. Tours enter on the front, but on the lower right side of the main entrance.
Queen Elizabeth II, who has just celebrated her diamond jubilee, is depicted on horseback to the right while Queen Victoria has her own place and is off to the left.
The main entrance itself and the inner foyer, is a work of art that one must see to truly appreciate.
Once Anton Von Stefan took his tour of the place, he popped in to the Parliament’s Pub, situated just across the street from the government buildings, for a few refreshing beverages. When the thermometer reads just around 30 degrees centigrade, and the humidity is near 90%, the author in known to rest and enjoy a cold drink and a summer salad now and then.
After the brunch, he followed the inner core of the city toward the Rideau Canal. This waterway is just to the right (east) of parliament and is a wonder of its own. Running through a series of wooden locks, still operated by hand winches, smaller vessels are raised or lowered more than 80 feet to gain access to either the river or the canal. A remarkable working piece of Canada’s history, still fully functioning.
La Belle Province of Quebec is just under 100km to the north-east along highway 117 or the Trans Canada Highway, and was an easy mark for our intrepid traveller to attain before nightfall.
The Eastern Townships
August 1st
Virtually flying through Montreal via the freeway, Anton Von Stefan made his way across the St Laurence River following route 10 to Lac Brome. Welcomed by a long time friend, he was whisked off to the Marina for a cool brunch over the water. Beautifully located among the neat houses and quite streets of this Quebec town, it reminded him of the Tiki Bar at the Bayshore Inn in downtown Vancouver. After lunch, he was then taken on a tour of the rolling countryside and into Sutton. This city holds a lot of history for the author’s guide, including the houses of her family, both past and present.
The town is regally decorated in a style set out for the tourist and locals alike, is well kept and reminds one of a vibrant summer town where one could easily forget city life and enjoy a whole, lazy summer in. As it was, he ended up at an open air bar, Café Mocador, a place where all the town folk and many European visitors come to meet and spend their warm summer evenings at.
August 2nd-5th
Lac Brome, Sutton, Bromont, Cowansville, and a number of other small, quaint villages in the Eastern Townships of Quebec were visited, albite very briefly. To truly experience each of the towns, feeling out the local history and ambience, hike, cycle or walk through the diverse area, one would require months of leisure time. Hopefully, a few of the local wineries will be inspected so that Anton Von Stefan may form a personal opinion of the quality of the region’s grapes and the vintners’ labour.
Our author has somehow found time to continue working on his Gothic Tales, reading through the myriads of pages as he proceeds. The final produce, when he is satisfied with his work, will result in the publishing of some of the best English Gothic Fiction of the past 150 years!
August 6th,
Anton Von Stefan left the Eastern Townships of ‘La Belle Province’ with some sorrow in his heart as he was leaving a close friend behind. Yet, the time had come and his Gothic Journey could no longer be delayed.
Quebec City: It is the town where the refugee family of our author first set foot on Canadian soil.
The Arosa Star and the Arosa Kulm, two immigrant steamers our author’s family escaped the war torn land of their birth, have long been rendered into scrap. The dock area where Canada Customs and their officers processed the long lines of immigrants each new vessel produced has been converted into a buzzing tourist destination: "don’t forget to visit the old part of the city, if you go" was the cry of myriads of good meaning souls. Yet, this particular town held quite a different meaning for our writer.
It was precisely in Quebec City that the critical decision was made on where a newly landed immigrant was to be sent to. It was from this very town, whose impressive Citadel and fortifications still stand to this day, that Anton Von Stefan’s parents, both fluent in French as well as their native tongue, were sent to Edmonton, a budding city where the only words spoken were English. Yet, it was precisely because of that decision that they found themselves crossing the Rocky Mountains a year later and arriving in Vancouver, a city nearly surround by mountains. Not unlike the Von Trapp Family who left Austria a few years earlier, that journey would be crucial to the Gothic writer’s future. For it was in Vancouver where the first Gothic Intonations began to resound from within the demented mind of our author.
The Planes of Abraham, the Laurent Heritage House, the Legislative Buildings, the Fortification, the Mortello Towers and Le Grande Alle Est were visited and ambled along in leisure. Our author also drove into the old part of town, walked down the myriads of steps bumping into tourist and locals alike. Reaching the river, he negotiated each narrow path to its full extend, possibly treading on the same soil his father may have trod over a half century ago.
Night time found him slumbering peacefully on the banks of the St. Laurence, just a stone’s throw from this grand Canadian city.
Atlantic Canada Heralds
August 7th, Hartt Island, Fredericton, New Brunswick
Just over five hours drive from Quebec’s capital, lies the capital of the province of New Brunswick. With autobahns wherewith a skilled driver like Anton Von Stefan was able to maintain speeds well over 120 kmph, the mere 576 km were easily attainable. This included a car wash and fuel stop, to say nothing of having a siesta along the south shore of the St. Laurence River for a half an hour.
The Trans Canada highway hugs the shore for some 160 km as it takes one east of Quebec City. Then, Canada’s transcontinental road heads south as well as east. In precisely 100 km from that junction, the Quebec boarder is attained and New Brunswick beacons our writer forward. Here ,the speed limit again rises to those of the prairies and the legal limit is set at a reasonable pace of 110 km.
As the city limit of Fredericton is reached, a road sign notes the existence of Hartt Island with promises of palm trees, lounge chairs, a water park with numerous water slides, a wave pool, water fountains and a campground. With these incitements drawing the traveller off the road, the journey forward is set aside for the evening. All is as promised, and an evening swimming, sliding down chutes and frolicking in water wherein one is propelled forward with multiple jets, follows.
August 8th, Moncton New Brunswick
The author worked on the Gothic Horror Stories from 6:40 am untill 10:30, then the diligent writer headed into Fredericton itself. Nestled between St. John River and the south shore lies the city’s old town. Having been settled decades prior to the actual time of Confederation, there are many unique sites.
Anton Von Stefan was provide with unlimited free parking directly in front of the beginning of the historic Garrison District, right on Queen Street. One is not certain if it was that word of his bequeathing time to this city had preceded him and everything had been prearranged or if the parking metre had simply malfunctioned. Unequivocally, as he inserted his first coin, the metre switched itself from zero time remaining to off and a "malfunction" symbol began to display itself on the face of the automaton. Being the honest fellow we all know him to be, he locked up his vehivle and went on a tour of part of this capital city. Upon spending time in the Garrison’s Museum, he chanced upon the central post office. Therein he immediately informed the federal employee, a kindly fellow who sold him stamps, of the inoperative parking device. Upon passing the correct metre number to this able fellow, he was assured that the metre would be repaired and any ticket would be taken care of.
From court house to garrison, our intrepid writer also took in the New Brunswick Sports Hall of fame. Then, he visited shops, and ambled down uninhabited narrow alleys. On the other side of the alleys, he found another world of drink, dance and food establishments. Being the curious traveller, he soon discovered an Irish sounding pub where he took refuge from the oppressing heat (+29 + humid). Therein, they all watched the USA loose in men’s indoor volleyball to the Italians at the 2012 London Summer Olympic Games. Throughout the excitement, Anton Von Stefan was advised to taste three pints of good Moncton New Brunswick Blueberry Ale, words he took to heart.
Also taking the advice of a learned and skilled musician or two (in the "Man Cave") in the Eastern Townships of Quebec, the author took his guitar into Tony’s Music Store on Queens. Here the technician calibrated the various heights to fret, bridge, neck, and casing, then using a dial gauge, measured the original bridge and sold Anton Von Stefan a compensating bridge made of tusk. This ultimately will improve the pitch of the instrument's overall tone.
Setting foot inside New Brunswick’s Legislature, his arrival must once again have been foretold. A kindly guard took his documents, and realizing the VIP before him, lead him personally into the rotunda. Summoning a well dressed, single young woman of ample knowledge and beauty and insuring that the building was clear of other intruding visitors, Anton Von Stefan was taken on a ‘personal’ tour of the building, including the old senate and the lower house. As well, each painting, the self-supporting spiral staircase, the private library, the current Premier and the Leader of the Opposition where pointed out along with an in-depth rendition of the entire site’s history. It was all related in a very relaxed atmosphere.
Christ Church Cathedral called out from its neo-gothic arches and our Gothic writer was drawb therein. Here, once more, a young woman awaited his arrival. Again, the only other individual left and a private tour of this beautiful and holy place came to be. If VIP treatment was actually forthcoming, Anton Von Stefan would like to personally thank the good citizens of Fredericton for making his visit seem so special.
Departing in the late afternoon, Moncton New Brunswick became his next point of call. The Gothic Journey moves on.
August 9th & 10th, Nova Scotia and Cape Breton Island
From Moncton, it was less than a 30 minute drive to the Nova Scotia boarder. At the information Centre, our intrepid author met a fellow who directed him to the town of Truro just off the Trans Canada to view the inrush of the tide from the Bay of Fundy some 60 miles downstream. These tides are so extreme that they virtually run over top of the outflow and reverse the river's direction, adding many feet to the water’s depth in just a few minutes time, depending on the rise and fall of the ocean’s tide on any particular day.
From there, Anton Von Stefan cruised the beautiful highway, making his way north-east and crossing the Canso Causeway onto Cape Breton Island. Here the road narrows and winds gently around the many inlets and bays which comprise the coastline. Quite a change from the feel of the road through most of New Brunswick, a section not unlike the Coquihalla Highway in British Columbia, but some three hundred kilometres longer.
Nesting himself away in the town of North Sydney, he found an "Arm of Gold" and pitched his tent for several nights.
As day broke on the 10th, the humidity climbed, and the sun broke out with a wonderful August day on the Atlantic Coast. The Fortress of Louisbourg dates back to the early to mid 18th Century, and the area has virtually been kept as it was back then. A truly remarkable step back through time where you can eat and drink in buildings and on plates dating from that era.
Serenaded to an evening of local music and dance upon his arrival, he was granted the use of the same facility to read one of his Gothic Horror Stories the follow evening. A few locals and a number of other campers gathered round for the evening’s event. As they were on "Island Time", the casual performance commenced when most of the group arrived and took their seats. Anton Von Stefan read 'The Thoughts of Johnathan Moor' ,one of his most gory tales of terror, to the hushed crowd which sat spellbound trough most of the reading. Afterward, a number of people remained and a very enjoyable, casual discussion on the theme, and those of other tales or actual personal experiences, concluded the evening.
We Approach 'The Rock'
August 11th, An Atlantic Crossing
Leaving Little Bras d’Or for the 5 minute drive to the Atlantic Crossing’s ferry terminal, our author boarded just before 10 am. With the sun up on the horizon, the MV Highlanders departed on a most pleasant journey. Taking lunch in one of two bistro-restaurants on board, he then went up to the 10th deck and put himself down in one of the large, bright, white benches facing the stern, and idled the time away. It was a perfect way to spend the late morning and early afternoon of an August day.
Anton Von Stefan spent most of his time onboard simply relaxing in a very light, ocean breeze with the hot sun baking down upon him. Occasionally rising to walk the promenade, snap a few photos or just gaze out into the calm, blue Atlantic Ocean, he would then return to his seat to continue absorbing the warmth of the sun. With the clocks being moved a half hour back upon making shore at Port aux Basques, Newfoundland, the crossing was accomplished in just over 5 and ½ hours.
The ‘Rock", as the island is warmly called, is one of the most beautiful provinces Anton Von Stefan has visited so far. To fully enjoy it, one really does need to drive its full length, a distance of just under 900 kilometres from one end of the Trans Canada Highway to the other in St. John’s.
When you land, you are greeted by the Twin Peaks, the rugged shore, Table Mountain, and miles of beautiful coves and luscious bays that skirt the highway for the first hour. Leaving the coast, one turns inland and forests begin to rise from the windswept shore. These open up with an occasional farm sprinkled sparsely here and there.
The mountains of this province ‘tower’ over anything one sees in the prairies and most of the Maritimes, yet their elevation is a mere 515 metres on the island’s highest point. Their existence sets the land apart form the rest of the Atlantic Provinces and greatly enhances the drive though this region.
Small lakes (ponds) make way for much larger seas, and one has the feeling that one is really never far from the sea or the ocean. The air is no longer humid and hot, but it grants one a most refreshing breath as the atmosphere is tinged with the light smell of salt.
Resting along the shore of Little Pond is a resort aptly called ‘Kona Beach’, a lovely campground where the habit of keeping ones automobile on the left side of the road has been smartly retained. The lake itself is warm and truly fit for swimming, frolicking, fishing or canoeing. It is said to extend for miles and is apparently quite deep. Here, our author was warmly greeted by his camping neighbours, and experienced the ‘Newfie’ dialect in its natural environment. Three locals ‘taukin’is something to hear, "ate tausend keel-omeet-ters, ye doun’t say, Darlin’, dat’ eees a lung whey, ta bee shurr!"
August 12th, Newfoundland
Just before 7 am local time, our author woke to a very lovely, light fog enshrouding the entire campsite. Pulling out his camera, he wandered through the morning mists, snapping photos here and there as he ambled through the rather large, well-kept, grounds. Then, pulling out his Gothic manuscript, he worked non-stop on "#80 Harrow Street" until the last page was turned just after 9:30. The third re-write of that tale being complete, he looked up just in time to see the last wisps of fog dissipating over the lake. "Most beautiful", where the two words that had come to mind.
What is of note, not a single, other camper had risen early to depart from this beautiful location, although the facility was almost fully booked. Even the children, all still on vacation, did not seem to have risen early. It seemed that everyone around had sensed the fog and had sensibly remained within the warmth of their portable abodes.
Packing up, and leaving such a lovely place is difficult, but he booked himself in on his return journey, so the feeling of a loss in that departure was somewhat dampened.
The Trans Canada Highway skirted over hill and through dale, winding through lovely areas, with lakes and ocean interspersed with the land. Arriving at Gander, he pulled into the North Atlantic Aviation Museum, a place where the colourful history of world flight, in particular the first attempts by man to fly over the vast Atlantic Ocean is well documented. Dirigibles made those first successful voyages, then a fixed wing plane with several ships in support, made that same voyage. Yet, in 1909, with a London paper offering a staggering 10,000 pound prize, the race was truly on. Two people, with twin Rolls Royce inline motors of 350 hp each, accomplished this in that same year while many others failed. Winston Churchill, himself, presented that cheque to those two bold aviators. One died in a plane crash several month later, the other never flew again.
St. John’s was reached in sunshine in the late afternoon, with the threat of rain promised on the local radio; yet, luckily, that forecast did not come to fruition.
Anton Von Stefan checked into the Quality Inn, right in the heart of the old part of the city and only one block away from the piers of the inner harbour. As he walked out the doors and into the evening, the sky, now partly covered in cloud, suddenly lit up from Signal Hill to the left. Fireworks, which thundered through the night air, burst somewhere above, but were mostly lost in the mist above. The crowd that soon gathered for the spectacle, only saw the cloud cover changing colours as the fireworks went off. Perched at a prime location, he stood with the others and enjoyed the performance of the evening anyway. Then, as the last explosion from above faded, he wandered into the city to taste the local brews. Apparently, only six or seven establishments were visited, but they were addressed with a true passion. Four of the bar’s names were written on a coaster, two more were caught on film, the rest of the night is a blur which even this personal biographer of Anton Von Stefan could not extol from the author. He did, however, admit to nursing 4 or 5 pints of differing Newfoundland beer in the third public house while watching the closing ceremonies of the 2012 London Olympic Games.
August 13th, St John's
The Quality Hotel of St John’s may be noted for their amicable and considerate check-out time, 2:00 pm to be exact! When a person is able to indulge in demon alcohol until the sun almost rises, two in the afternoon is a very sensible time to rise and vacate the premises.
When you stand in the centre of the oldest city in North America, there is so much history around that a simple walk to the ‘War Memorial’ in St John’s will open one’s eyes.
The English owned it, the Dutch took it by sea, the British re-acquired it, and then the Dutch again attacked by land. The French wanted it and the Dutch tried once more, and it seems that the town, at least, was sacked and destroyed each time, regardless of the outcome of the conflict. If war could not pull it down, four great fires did at least as much to shape this old city. Thus, this beautiful, little, sheltered harbour, the closest to the old world of Europe, has a very colourful history, indeed.
In the inner harbour, beside the blue Port Authority building, one follows the white, painted footsteps of Terry Fox down to the beginning of his journey, Mile 0 of the Trans Canada Highway on the east coast. A beautiful location at which now stands another memorial to this great Canadian.
As one leaves the shore and turns to the right, you follow the road upward past Deadman’s Pond and George’s Pond until you reach the apex, Signal Hill. It served as a fortification for centuries, but is currently most famous for Georgani Marconi receiving the first Trans-Atlantic radio signal ever in December of 1901. Yet, the day after this historic feat, Marconi was served papers to "Cease and Desist" from the established Atlantic Cable Company, whose monopoly on cable communication was about to end. Remarkably, it is very similar to the current situation in Canada in the cell phone business. The established firms resisting new technology or firms as the struggle for open competition and cheaper rates continues! Marconi simply packed and left Newfoundland Christmas Day, 1901; but, luckily, his steamer stopped in Nova Scotia before travelling to New York and was met at dockside by its Premier and several ministers who wisely intervened. He went on to Ottawa and the Marconi Company became a part of our history, building many communications towers along the coasts of both Nova Scotia and Newfoundland.
Our author, having been warned NOT to drive on the highways at night due to the common occurrence of finding wild moose on the open roads, was not fully convinced of this threat and set out the find the best location of stepping into the Atlantic with both feet as the sun began to set on Signal Hill. Finding the Trans Canada Highway just as twilight began fading into total darkness, he jovially motored along until he found a Provincial Campground just east of the capital city and bedded down for the night, not a single moose in sight.
August 14th - The Gothic Journey to St John’s is Complete
Many of you readers will now be wondering why this Gothic Journey did not end last night. You see, the local seas around the harbour of St John’s have had so much foreign matter inserted into its waters that if one does set foot (or other body parts) into the ocean, it is highly reccomended that you receive four or five shots to keep you imune system up to snuff. Thus, a one legged runner can, with impunity, set his bionic leg into this cesspool created by man and fully function, whereas a person with two good legs is not advised to attempt any such foolish behavior, and access into the sea is blocked by a high wire fence. Thus, on the good advice of the local port authority, he drove out to the point where the waters are pure enough for the conclusion of his quest.
As the point where Leaf Ericson first stepped onto Canada’s soil well over a thousand years ago is in L' Anse aux Meadows on the Northern Peninsula some thousand seventy-four kilometres North, he opted for the place where John Cabot landed in 1497, the east coast of Bonavista Peninsula, or Trinity Bay.
The drive from St John’s on a beautiful, clear, August day, following that first jut of land to the North of the city is one that each Canadian ought to acieve at least once in their lives. Anton Von Stefan could almost not be stopped from talking (a rare feat in any case) over the spectacular small coves and villages that strut this ancient route. In Trinity (East), he came upon a location where he states that, "no fewer than nine artists, working at differing locations, in various media, toiled leisurely away at their stations, capturing the beauty of the area with their skills."
It was here in the town of Trinity, before master artist or novice painter alike, with two other fellow travellers from Nanaimo, British Columbia to photograph this monumental event, at a pristine sandy shore, with the restful Atlantic gently lapping the fine silica at the water’s edge, that Anton Von Stefan completed his Gothic Journey to St John’s at just past 13:00 hours Newfoundland Daylight Time on the 14th of August in the Year of Our Lord, 2012.
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