Suddenly a shrill scream echoes faintly through the fog…
Hesitantly, I walk around a bend in the trail. Passing by a rock cliff that obscures my view of what lies before me.
To my surprise, as I round the corner, I see not a person in distress, but rather a very grumpy dog owner with a Golden Labrador Retriever – covered in bog water and mud. The dog was pulling on his leash wanting another go at the bog, much to the owners displeasure. (Plus there is no ‘fresh water’ or hose in the area :P) The dog gives a furious shake as I pass by, thankfully I was out of firing range.
Then like a stage play changing its backgrounds, I pass through another wall of fog to see a guardrail spiraling down the wide gravel path, heading to the ocean. As I descend, the scenery changes to reveal a lush landscape of Spruce, Alder, Birch and Fir trees packed in like sardines, crowding ever closer towards the shore.
As I round the last corner of my walk, I still can’t see the Atlantic ocean- but I can hear the sporadic guttering sound of a large wave clapping against the rocks.
Even though I have walked this way dozens of times, I have a strange feeling approaching the coast that’s covered in ‘pea soup fog’.
Cold. Damp. Mysterious.
Sailors hate it.
The Sirens love it.
My Ode to Newfoundland Fog.