Hiking the East Coast Trail

Trails of the East Coast

On July 31, 2007 I ventured off on an excursion that would test my endurance, strength, stamina and state of mind. I was to embark on a journey of hundreds of kilometers by foot, through what Newfoundlanders call the East Coast Trail.

“In 1994, hiking enthusiasts gathered and discussed the re-opening of the East Coast Trail. A trail that stretches 540km’s along Newfoundland’s coast, capturing the natural beauty that is normally hidden from tourists and Newfoundlanders a like. It passes by towering cliffs, headlands, sea stacks, deep fjords, and vast vegetation. It offers fantastic views of wildlife not normally experienced, including humpback whales, Eagles, Sea Birds, seals, and icebergs. Not only does it offer these fantastic features, it also links to several historic communities.

Currently, the East Coast Trail Association has volunteered to develop and maintain the trail and has completed most of it from Fort Amherst to Cappahayden, which is experienced by not only devoted hikers, but also enthusiasts, and the local community.”

This is a trail which I would travel. In hopes to not only capture the true beauty of the province, but in hopes to find something within myself that would spark a change in my life.

I was sitting in an empty room waiting for D day to arrive. The back pack is crammed with as much as I could fit in it. The seams and zippers looked as they7 are going to burst, however, with my experiences at the spout my dry run, I am fairly confident it will hold up to the abuse. My only real concern is running out o f food along the way. To make up for that concern, I have a few twenties if I have to bail out part way, and even still I am sure other hikers won’t mind sharing.

The anticipation is somewhat overwhelming and I keep thinking to myself that if I were not so foolish, I would probably be better off. What I am about to experience is something left for the coming days and I often wonder what is wrong with me for embarking on this adventure instead of conforming to societies ideals and ethics. Perhaps it is this domestication of society which I am trying to escape.

The thought occurred to me while taking a stop aback and looking at the big picture, that I have in fact, for told my own destiny. In an old journaling website, I described many dreams which could logically be related to this journey, but more prominent is the entry describing how I feel and putting those feelings into a picture, describing loneliness and solitude with a deeply wooded surrounding. These thoughts never left me and the need to get away from life kept growing.

Up to this day I can see how everything is fitting together. I took a plane to Newfoundland, surrounded by vast vegetation, wilderness and forests. I met someone who was hired at Blue on Water, who talked about his travels and hiking, which in turn had me interested. I soon became entangled in th web getting some experiences by geocaching and later made the commitment on hiking, selling everything I had, quitting my job and purchasing the things needed for the hike.

I don’t think I am quite ready, but I do not have much of a choice, now. I am homeless and without a job, but you will not fin d me on the main streets begging for money. There is no backing out now. I must move on.

The morning was perfect. An early rise meant an early start, and something that would be to my advantage. I had spent several months working myself mentally, up to this moment, and several weeks to actually prepare myself the best that I could, working feverishly and exchanging cash for goods. Some wondered why I would do such a thing, and others, excited giving me their support.

The moment arising to this day, wasn’t something that was planned in a normal state of mind. Though, the idea sparked my interest while talking with a co-worker, the real motivation was something I am not too proud of and a decision that should have been thought out properly.

I sat up in my bed, quickly glancing at the equipment I was about to carry with me, while thinking that this was the moment. Everything I have ever known up until know will be faded to grey. I will be leaving everything behind. All the material belongings which I once loafed vanished to new owners. I had no idea what was to become of me and I had no plans afterwards. I was completely focused and feared that thinking about what I would do afterwards; I would lose motivation to complete my journey.

It was about nine in the morning when I headed through the gates of my habitat knowing that it would be the last. I ventured to my usual bus stop, but not before purchasing the usual coffee and treating myself to a number one at McDonalds.

As I stepped on the bus, I asked which route would take me closest to fort Amherst, which the driver politely replied with the correct route to transfer on to. I took my seat near the front row, making sure to reserve the few seats for the physically challenged. I politely waited for the bus to stop at the point where I would transfer to the other.

Letting me off just at the crossroads where a bridge intersects to Blackhead Road, I lifted the bulky bag over and onto my shoulders, heading across the bridge. I made my way left at the end of the bridge, only pausing for a moment to make sure I was heading in the right direction. The walk was long and the weight of the bag caused me to constantly stop for a short break and re-adjust. Further down the road, passed several houses, the area became littered with a fishery to my left and construction to my right, where several workers scaled the mountain side, chiseling away at what could have been bedrock. A tourist stood by on the right hand side of the road, snapping a few pictures.

The start of the trail was still a ways ahead so I occupied my time thinking about what is to come and what I would do afterwards. There had been countless times huffing, puffing and struggling, wishing I were at the start of the trail.

Turning around a bend and up a short climb on the road, I saw a sign referring to the East coast trail. I was so relieved I belted out “Yes, finally” to myself. I rested on a large boulder, mixing some ice tea crystals into my water bottle and took several drinks. I then loaded film into my camera and took a picture of the sign.
After my rest period, I continued up to the lighthouse, taking pictures of the coast and then down past a restricted area to grab a shot of the battery which was in disrepair. I then quickly found a geocache which was nearby and returned to the trailhead to start my journey up a path of boulders and rocks which I would assume to have been a dried out river that once used to run down in to the bay.

Ascending the hill was strenuous, but I made it to the top, which had a lovely view of Fort Amherst and signal hill. I continued, stopping to catch another geocache, and again made my way further up\wards. I noticed a fairly large boulder at a certain height and I made a mental note to stop and rest at that point. At a satellite elevation of 525ft. I stopped to take a few pictures of St. John’s. Like many locations, during the trail, it was marvelous.

There were several hurdles I had to accomplish which had me thinking of turning around and going back or waiting. Several streams, after heavy rainfall, had turned into raging rivers, washing out any pathways that may have once been there. For the first several minutes up to about 30 minutes, I tried calculating every possible maneuver imaginable to get to the other side. The goal seemed impossible and at one location I attempted to take apart a walkway that covered the marsh I had previously traveled over, and use it as a bridge that would let me pass. That however did not work out to well. I realized that the process was consuming too much energy that could be used elsewhere. I gave up and decided to make it my all. Bearing down at the heavy flowing water that clashed against rocks, I tossed the bag over, hoping it would not tumble into the currents, sweeping it away into the ocean. Luck was on my side, and I then hurdled myself over, hoping the same for me as I had with my bag.

The plains were blanketed by marshland once again, and mud bogs, making it a very wet excursion. As I wandered forward, I noticed day becoming night and luckily, Cape Spear was within my reach, which then the plan would be to boil up some Mr. Noodles and set up camp. There were several tourists about who mostly grouped together to catch a glimpse of perhaps a whale or two, and one particular female caught my attention as she and her partner strolled onto the gravel paved walkway. They were both dressed as to have come from a special occasion, but the female was wearing what may have been almost a peach colored dress which she held tightly so the wind wouldn’t catch it, making it an embarrassing moment for her. I chuckled lightly to myself, while giving them a smile.

I headed back to my area which was situated by a picnic table just off the lot and next to an R.V inhabitant by two seniors. As I boiled up, I was approached by an aged park warden curious to what I was up to. I stated my intentions and was then corrected that camping on park boundaries wasn’t looked upon as acceptable. He let me finish my meal and directed me to the end of the park boundaries, which I promptly pitched the tent as the sun had already hid itself far beyond the horizon.

Stopping at a geocache, gave me some time to rest. Taking a break was something I felt was impossible to do because I did not want to lose day light and b stuck on the trail at night. I also had a goal to complete which was to reach Cappahayden, but for the most part, either a developed camp site or a piece of land that I could set up camp for the night. My intentions were to take my time and enjoy the experience of the wilderness, but because of the goals, it was something I just could not do.

After signing the geocaches, log book and rummaging through the container full of trinkets, I headed to Doctors Cove to find another one that was programmed in the Gpsr.
Down the Cliffside, I went, following a well worn path developed by many hikers before me. At the bottom, I was greeted by five ladies who were sitting down on the rocks, in conversation snacking on packed lunches. I greeted them and told them my story of encountering a black bear at Tinkers point. They appeared to be much attuned to my story and it lead to further discussion. Shortly there after, I searched for the geocache, coming out empty handed I climbed my way back up to the trail and headed to the reconstructed suspension bridge at Lamanche village. At that destination a handful of hikers were taking in the scenery, while a few more were bouncing on the bridge. I thought to myself about telling them it shouldn’t be a good idea doing it because that could have been the very reason it broke previously. As I made my way down several wooden steps made from lumber like that of a deck, a group of children passed by guided by a group of adults, whom were on their way to Doctors Cove. One of the adults stopped to inquire about the length of their destination and followed a brief conversation about my hike to Cappahayden. He expressed his excitement and wished me luck.

I continued my way down across the bridge and with each heaving step; the bridge forced its way back into shape, creating the sensation of mild weightlessness just before each step. Crossing the bridge, I glanced at the gpsr to see that another cache was only a couple hundred meters away. I applied the same routine as always with geocaches and again continued along the trail, which followed up the hillside, then back down and again, up a fairly large slanted rock where steps were created to help with the incline.
Through dirt, mud and heavy foliage, I again met up with the same ladies that had taken a break at doctors Cove. They soon followed me down the trail that led through the boundaries of Lamanche Provincial Park where immature pine trees guarded. About an hour later I stopped, took a rest and got my bearings from comparing the topographic maps against the gpsr. Glancing down at the map, I realized that I had traveled well beyond where I wanted to be. I had the intention of stopping at a campsite inside Lamanche Provincial Park, but for some reason I had suspected it to be further from where I was at the time.

I quickly gathered my belongings and back tracked as fast as I could so I wouldn’t be caught at sun down, as that was the habit I got myself into. Passing the ladies who seemed determined to follow my route, I mentioned to them that the trail ahead would take anywhere from 6 to 10 hours to complete, and that it wouldn’t be a good idea for them to continue as it was 3:00pm.

I made my way up steep climbs and cobblestone roadway which then lead to a dirt road inside the provincial park. Even though I was relieved, I still had a ways to walk to get to the gate where I then had to pay 13.00 for the night. The park warden was very nice and gave me a spot close bye, which had been reserved to someone else. That night was luxury for me compared to the locations I had been to previously. Staying at the park gave me some security and a chance to shower and shave my well grown facial hair. The next day, I applied the same routine as always and headed on my way to complete the 10 hour hike down the trail I had to back track from the day before.

Making my way through a small clearing, the sound of rushing water caught my attention. The closer I got, the louder the roaring of the water got. Evidently, it was a water fall with no noticeable way of getting across. Just after that water fall, there was what seemed to be a second one, which was somewhat dried up, but still flowing with a considerable amount of water. I perched myself against a tree, deciding not only on the method I should use to cross the water fall, but more importantly, what direction I would go from there, since there were no markings stating such.

I opened up to the topographic maps once again to find any indication about my location and where I should be heading next. The information was sparse and gave no clue to my dilemma. There was some hesitation and I considered reversing my course to make sure I didn’t take a wrong turn along the trail, but I as sure I was on the correct route. I took a leap of faith and crossed the waterfall over to the next. I took a guess and headed downwards from the second fall, inscribing on a nearby tree, with my knife a symbol marking the direction that should be taken by other hikers that may come this route.

Staying dry was not an option and I do not know why I thought otherwise. As I made my way down to the foot of the waterfall, I could see indications of clearing, and eventually spotted the continuation of the trail. With a sigh of relief, I took the last step down and continued on my way, glancing back for a moment, at what I had accomplished.

I stopped at Tinkers Point to search for another geocache that was supposed to be in the area, but I did not find it. Using the built in compass, it was telling me the location was beyond the cliff edge, and searching over the cliff was something I was not willing to risk. It was very windy and I had to remove my hat in fear that it may blow away. There was not much time left in the day which left me no choice but to find some relatively flat surface to spend the night. Another concern as factoring in the strong wind gusts that blew violently. I glanced around to determine where I would pitch the tent for the nights sleep, and found a spot only a couple hundred metes from where I was standing. My camp site was on very flat ground near a weathered bush, which surface was worn away, undressed by the lack of sunlight on the northern side. Its base resembled an entranceway which could provide shelter if one did not have a tent, and the branches looked brittle and in places, bark peeled away, exposing the fleshy part of its limbs. It was a perfect location. The bush provided enough aerodynamics that there was next to no wind at all. Paired with the aerodynamics of my tent, the wind would not be a concern.

I pitched my tent and fastened the fly snuggly, ensuring a tight barrier to guard me from the elements. I stored all my belongings inside, with myself to follow. To pass some time, I attempted to write down some of my experiences hiking. I attempted to write from the beginning, which was at Fort Amherst but the entire travel had skipped my memory. In the background a faint lone sailor song could be heard. I had figured it were fishermen out at sea, but taking the darkness into consideration, I ruled that it could not be the case. Perhaps it was the acoustics of the sea below, crashing against numerous jagged foundations, but it was something I wasn’t going to inspect. In either case it was eerie, and my mind made it ghostly. Not too much longer after, chills overcame my concentration and that stage fright feeling traveled from head to toe. My hearing became acute and among the sounds of waves crashing and the wind blowing, I could hear quiet rustling noises just outside my tent. I became more alert and focused my attention to the back of the tent. The moonlight provided enough glow, that at one point I could see a big black object push up against the tent, which I then realized it was a nose. I heard huffing and puffing like an animal trying to catch a scent and it became clear to me that my worse fear was only feet from me, between myself and the very weak barrier of the tent. My body became intensely stiff and I had frozen like a deer in headlights. I could not think of a solution but I had enough courage to take my knife out of its sheath and grab my bear spray.

While rustling about for my items, I heard the beast rush away, brushing through the bushes. I waited a couple of minutes before cautiously poking my head out of the tent to either catch a glimpse of the beast running away, but most importantly to make sure it was no longer in the vicinity of my tent. Though I could not see it, even with the help of my head lamp and another flashlight, I was not satisfied with the results. I stood at the head of my tent panning both lights back and forth, talking aloud to scare it away ifit were still in the area. I must have told my entire life story and confessed and pleaded that the bear would go away and let me sleep. In the background I could once again hear that ghostly singing which left me with an uneasy feeling I swear I must have been loosing my mind and screamed for the singing to stop. It wasn’t until 3am that I submitted to my body’s request to sleep. If the beast were to return, then so be it, but I needed to sleep.

Through what I would consider halfway through my hike, my feet not only became tired, but there was a constant pain in my left foot. The pain emanated all over. The bottom, toes, top, ankle and up towards my calves. The pain felt as if I were walking on broken shards of glass. The lower part of my calf, just above my ankle felt as if it were in vice grips. During the nights inside my tent, I hoped being off my feet would help, but that was not the case. Massaging the area seemed to help, but it was only a temporary solution. I could feel the tenderness and noticed a considerable amount of swelling. The muscles were tight which impaired the mobility of my feet. Despite the condition I was in, I was half way into the East Coast Trail and the only option was to move forward. So forward I did go, through mud bogs, across rivers and over unbalanced rocky terrain.

When I made it to Cape Broyale I was unsuccessful at finding the trail head. Eventually I set up my tent at the end of a roadway were it was supposed to be and made it a night. I woke up sometime in the early morning and started packing up again. During this time, I was able to spot a lone seal, which was sun bathing on the coastline, but by the time I got to my camera it was swimming well off into the distance and eventually made its way underneath the sea. I really wish I was able to snap a picture of it. I spent a little more time searching for the trail head, but again was unsuccessful it was stressing me out and I started cursing the E.C.T. Cape Broyale made me lose all motivation and I decided to give up and head back to a home I did not have.

I walked along route 10 for what seemed endless. A road sign which gave the distance to the nearest communities, one which was St. john’s I was left a little puzzled while reading the distance listed as 32km. I reset the odometer on my gpsr and let it keep track of the distance traveled. In either respect, I knew taking the highway would take considerably less time than hiking along the coast. The kilometers added up and so did the time.
I stopped at a couple communities to relieve the pressure imposed upon my feet, but it wasn’t nearly enough pampering that was needed. I stopped several times along the roadway not only to take a break, but to boil up some Mr. Noodles. It wasn’t long before I ran out of water, and with the exhaustion came dehydration. I found myself scouring the sides of the roadway for discarded beverages. It was something I wasn’t too keen on, but it was certainly surprising what one would do to survive. Night fell before me and the only source of light came from my flash light and the misty headlights of the sparse traffic.

It started to rain while approaching a familiar town weeks before, when leaving the spout trail along shoal bay road. This just made my night. Not only was I walking on broken feet, exhausted and dehydrated, but I was about to be soaked with the waters from the sky.

Just over 60kms, more than what the road sign had stated, I came to a bus shelter that welcomed my visit. I made myself as comfortable as one could, and waited for the typhoon like weather to dissipate so I could work my way to the Tim Horton’s that kept me going for so long

After the coffee which I had purchased with loose change, all that I had, I made my way back to the shelter, sitting with my back perched up against my bag, trying to get some sleep as it was 3am.

Suffice to say, I didn’t get much sleep, so around 5am, or there after, I started to make my way slowly and painfully to the village mall, which was still several hours away. Go figure, I was more than double the distance than the sign had stated, and I still hadn’t arrived in St. john’s.

Wandering around the mall wasn’t any fun either. The morning was just as wet as the night before. I suppose I was looking for a place to rest without being kicked out, but what I really wanted was the comfort of my bed. The mist grew heavy over town, showered by rains which constantly switched from light rain to heavy. I eventually made my way to the Avalon mall, where the weather wasn’t much different. I plumped myself down on one of the benches, fighting to stay awake, but nodding in and out of sleep. An aged fellow sat next to me, curious about my being, I was in denial, but he gave me 4.00 for some coffee, without me asking, before heading on his way. Afterwards, I did just that and got myself a donut and coffee, then headed to a familiar place.

I stopped at church hill square at a picnic table which by this time the bad weather subsided, and began to cook more Mr. Noodles, using the heavy chlorinated water obtained from the mall, which tasted like water from a urinal. After eating, and setting some clothes out to dry, I decided to wander downtown, where I was met by Kevin, who set me up for the night and fed me like he were Italian.

The next day, we made a few calls and I was checked in at Choices for Youth, which is a shelter for young men. I still feel like I am imposing and don’t quite think I should be here. As of now, the shelter is housing 8 people with 8 different reasons for being here. I know they have it worse than I do.

The residences and the staff are great and being here, despite how I feel about my presence, relived all concerns and stereotypes that I had. I will only admit it here, but it makes me feel like I am part of a family, despite my age, and perhaps something I have never had before, it is like living a childhood that I wish I had long ago.

*****

March 29, 2009

It’s been a couple years now. Time has flown by quite quickly, almost too quick, since I was last on the E.C.T. Feeling beat by my hike back in 2007, which ended at Cape Broyle, I made it a plan that some day, I would finish what I had started.

I just started planning the route and realized that I have 70.7Km of trail to finish, which consists of 7 more trail heads. Hiking these trails is not the only thing that is going to prove difficult, but trying to build up my hiking gear that was stolen from me will be a feat to accomplish as well. The fist time I believed that I had well over packed, so this time I think I will try to be as minimalistic as I can be, only bringing the essentials, which won’t be very much. For your convenience, i provided a picture of what I have left to tackle.