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Friday, August 9, 2019

Wandering St. Anne's - Bay Trip Part 2

Out in St. Anne's I went wandering in 3 different directions our first day there.

St Anne's to the left from hill above Green Cove -
Little Goat Islands and Presque Harbour to the right

Of course the first order of business was finding out what was behind the hill behind the cabin.  Vader followed me to the top of the hill, but when he saw that Tom wasn't joining us he turned around.


A moose path led up over the notch between two hills, where I struggled to keep ahead of the flies.


Then when it leveled out I found myself on a marsh, or more aptly a wet meadow really.  Why is my backpack on the "mash" so far from where I took the picture?


Because I was wandering around picking a few late bakeapples!  Bakeapples (also known as cloudberry) aren't the sweetest of berries, but I discovered that the overripe stragglers were sweeter than what I was used to sampling.  Prepared for the possibility of berries with a margarine tub in my pack, I got as many as I could for later.


M is for mash,
Or marish or mish,
A wet, grassy spot where your rubbers go squish.
With blackflies and bog
Aunt Bertha will grapple
Whenever she goes there
To pick the bakeapple. 
                                                                          -A Second Newfoundland Folk Alphabet

Green Pond

Just past the bakeapples I pushed through a few more trees to find myself at the edge of a large pond shimmering in the hot sun.  Twenty second video of the pond below:


You know I took off my hiking boots and cooled off my feet!

Nothing like brook water after a hike

After returning to the cabin I filled up a cup of brook water just steps from the door.  I went for a walk around the shoreline toward Anne's Cove but I'll share those tomorrow.  When I returned the men had some concoction on the stove filled with stuff I wasn't fond of, so for me it was a can of Bush's beans and a spoon.

Beans and boots!

And for dessert...warm bakeapples on top of Purity Tee-Vee cookies.  Can't get more Newfie than that!


While the fellas were eating their supper I followed another moose path and climbed the hill above the cabin.  Third walk of the day, talk about a dream excursion!


As I walked along I had great views of the hills on the opposite shore that I had walked before supper.


As well as views of the harbor entrance we had traveled to get there.


My goal was to walk out the point toward Goat Island, and enjoy the early evening light and the cool breeze.


Goat Island is home to St. Anne's departed. Why was a rock in the middle of the water chosen for a cemetery? Can you imagine what a funeral was like when the departed must have arrived by rowboat?  Jim said there wasn't ever a bridge as far as he knows. St. Anne's was never largely populated, (the 1935 census shows 20 dwellings, 4 of which were vacant) and by 1965 the remaining 3 families opted for Resettlement. In 1935 Wayne's father, Jim, was 17 years old and living in his parents' home there in St. Anne's.  I wish he were alive to ask him those questions.


When I got out to the point I turned around and saw Jim peering out at me from the cabin.  Time to head back.


The light was beautiful on the hill, but I sure did wish I had changed out of my rubber boots and back into my hiking boots!  Lesson learned, and new rubber boots bought shortly after we returned, you can be sure. Here's a 46 second video from my perch above the cabin:




If you missed it, here is Getting Across the Bay - Part 1
http://nomadicnewfies.blogspot.com/2019/08/getting-across-bay.html

1 comment:

  1. Hi,
    I just looked at you pictures and videos of St. Anne’s. My father was one one of the family’s that moved in from there. I wasn’t born there but some of my older siblings were I believe. I have never had the chance to step foot on the place. Came close once but the weather forced us to turn around. Thank you, this is the most comprehensive views I have seen of the place. It felt like being there. Some of my relatives are buried on Goat Island. Peter Bennett.

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