In just one week, our feet treaded over 500 million years of earth’s history. We climbed over ancient tropical sea floors and touched volcanic coastlines. The mystery of Gros Morne National Park in Newfoundland took our breath away — literally — as we stood high in the clouds on its landmark.
We sleep like the dead until the rays of sun poke through the canopy of trees and warmed the air in our tent. I roll over in my sleeping bag and unzip the canvas door as the chirping of birds, high-pitched hum of pesky mosquitoes and black flies welcome the day.
I’m abuzz with excitement because being out in nature, away from technology and the noise of modern society, is to be close to the heart of everything. And there’s no better way, in my opinion, to experience the spectacular scenery of the East Coast than to ditch the modern world with a wilderness hike.
Hiking is an easy and affordable hobby for anyone to adopt. It’s my passion.
Climbing Gros Morne
This passion kicked off many moons ago with a one-month expedition into the Austrian Alps. I had just turned 18 and joined a group of strangers that would soon become close-knit friends, ready to traverse over glaciers and scale rocky peaks.
I spent my first night, before the expedition launched, lost, alone and sitting on a park bench in a remote village crying. But, at the end of this unforgettable adventure, I would stretch my muscles, open my mind, completely step out of my comfort zone, and be a new and better person for it.
I will never forget the thundering sound of an avalanche on a mountain we had just navigated or the night we shivered to sleep 1,000 metres underground in a cave coated in ice, but that’s another story.
I’m now eager to share this passion for hiking and everything outdoorsy with my husband Terry. He sips his freshly-boiled coffee, half listening to me lay out the plans for the day.
We’re perched at the Trout River campground in Gros Morne National Park, Newfoundland. Our camp overlooks a bone-dry landscape merged with lush vegetation called The Tablelands. This strange landscape is a result of the collision of two continents and considered the best example of exposed mantle material in the world.
“We’re climbing Gros Morne Mountain today,” I say, smoothing the creases on the map and tap at the landmark of the UNESCO World Heritage site.
At 806 metres high, Gros Morne is the second tallest peak on Newfoundland, towered only by The Cabox. Many hikers flock to Gros Morne to stand on the big lone mountain’s summit, in awe of its 360-degree views of glacial valleys and peaks that stretch across the endless sky.
Pulling on our Gore-Tex hiking boots and hugging our packs filled with provisions, we set off. The stillness and quiet is so thick this morning that we can almost touch it, and we whisper as if in an alien land while jaunting into the unknown.
Hiking in the wilderness is about perseverance, resilience and optimism. I’ve seen people cry with sheer frustration because of the difficulty and discomfort of the trek. We feel emotions more when muscles burn, our minds begin to wonder, and the beauty of the natural world tests our willpower and resolve.
Like all married couples, Terry and I bicker and quarrel on occasion, but we always make it work. Hiking is an opportunity to push past limits and grow. And while our feet ache, we feel sticky, and mosquitoes swarm us, Terry and I are in sync along the four-kilometre James Callaghan trail.
Without the clicks of phone notifications or the splashes of social media, the silence — interrupted only by our heavy breathing — and fresh air is magical. I brush beads of sweat off my forehead as a warning sign marks the start of the rocky trail that ascends the mountain.
Pausing to sip on our rationed water — two litres each — we comb the horizon. There are dots resembling one couple slowly scaling the mountain in the distance. Soon, we will catch up and pass them.
Patience and determination
It’s a difficult climb over loose rock with a gusty wind, and I must constantly remind myself to put one foot in front of the other to push on. I chuckle while comparing myself to the black spiders scurrying under the stones. Normally, they would terrify me, but on this occasion, I feel at home with the insects.
There are many bends in the mountain that trick us into thinking we’re almost at the top, and sometimes this anticipation turns into frustration as we reach a false summit. I call to Terry, “We’re almost there,” just to discover there’s more to the trail.
Two words: patience and determination.
The sky is blue and the sun shines beneath our feet when we finally stumble exhausted to the top. Below are views of the Long Range Mountains and the Ten Mile Pond gorge. The wind blows cold, but it feels like there’s nothing else on earth in this moment, with the horizon stretched out before us.
There are more than 100 kilometres of trails in this pristine park. Foxes, moose, black bears, and caribou — to name but a few — can be seen. We complete the trail descending the mountain, which loops around Ferry Gulch and past three primitive campsites. It takes us six hours as we cover 16 kilometres.
After hiking in the wilderness, there’s a whole new appreciation for the things often taken for granted in our everyday life. Sitting down on a porcelain toilet is a fantastic flush of relief. Showering after feeling sweaty and smelly is the life. Beds, pillows, and no pesky flies take on a whole new meaning.
But the memory of the hike; those starry nights, crackling flames while huddled around the fire pit, wafts of freedom, and peace of mind is something you hold onto. These treasured memories outweigh any perceived inconveniences. And, I could not ask for a better partner willing to walk into the wild.