Cornerbrook, NFLD

Cornerbrook

An hour long stopover in Halifax was just long enough to grab a bowl of chowder and a bottle of Keiths at the restaurant in the airport and then I boarded the sixteen seat turbo prop for the 90 min flight to Deer Lake in NFLD. The smaller planes fly lower than the jetliners and with a clear sky most of the way I got a great view of Bay of Fundy and the mountains of NFLD. I had been developing a cold over the day or so and as we started to descend the pressure changes in my ears was extremely painful. The woman next to me must have thought I was nuts as I alternated sticking my fingers in my ears and plugging my nose and blowing as hard as I could to try to release the pressure. I looked at her and said ‘I hab a stubbed up nose’. She didn’t respond.

We bounced down into Deer Lake and walked across the tarmac in the start of a blizzard that would dump almost a meter of snow overnight and I would fight the wind throughout the 90 minute drive from Deer Lake to Cornerbrook as the road wove though the Marble Mountains. The single lane snow covered highway with steep climbs really made me wish I had upgraded my car to something larger... like a tank.

The scenery was breathtaking as I drove through the mountains, absolutely incredible, mindblowingly beautiful... this I was told after the fact. Snow and fog obscured any view that extended beyond a few meters in front of the car and I had white knuckled the steering wheel for the whole drive, thankful that the few other cars on the road were driving as cautiously as I wanted to.

I did make it to the hotel in Cornerbrook eventually, and to the Glynmill Inn, an almost 100 year old building that had been built to service the forestry industry at the turn of the last century. Rumours (the Inn's website) told of haunting of some of the rooms as well as the bar in the lower basement. I experienced no evidence of these haunting unless you count the wailing voice from the room next door that sounded ominously like Rita McNeil.

The restaurant at the hotel was certainly reminiscent of the last century, with ornate chandeliers, velvet-covered chairs and oil paint murals of hunting parties on the walls but the food was excellent. Lobster bisque followed by maple glazed salmon steak.

(Several bottles of wine were also on the tab, which the newest member of our team is now hoping her expense report is approved.)

Day Two is typically the day for exploring and this trip was no exception. I had about four hours to kill in town before I was due at work and I decided to do what I’ve come to refer to as ‘the blind tour.’ The blind tour means I just get in the car and start driving without goggling local interests or knowing what I might find. Today’s drive took me through town down narrow winding and hilly streets. It seemed that most streets were one way but the town had decided not to use signs to indicate this and my tour almost stopped (abruptly by way of collision with snow plow) before it started. In some places the snowbanks rose seven or eight feet at the side of the road making navigating even trickier. I picked my way through a residential area of what seemed to be mostly simple pre-fab housing and saw many roofs being shovelled off from last night’s snow. I pulled off the road at a public area that had trail signs but, as per usual, didn’t have the right footwear to explore further. (My parents have been suggesting to me for years to buy boots.. why don't I do this? ) I did have a good view of the town and realized that the town of Cornerbrook is nestled in a valley dominated by mountains on three sides with The Humber River running west eventually to the Gulf of St Lawrence. Back in the car I continued to drive the streets, mostly aimlessly but generally heading towards the water. The river was dominated for several kilometres by industrial buildings, lumber yards and abandoned buildings, very reminiscent of some of the Northern Ontario towns I’ve travelled to over the last few years. Eventually the area opened up and I found a driveway that let me get close to the river, which was definitely the coldest looking water I’d ever seen. Icy, slushy grey blue waves surged against the concrete pier against a backdrop of mountains and a waterway that opened up into the bay beyond. The view was quite amazing and I could imagine how stunning it would be in the summer or fall. My exploring continued as I drove along the coast for a half hour and passed signs for places named Indian Cove, Trout River, and Bonne Bay. The area was getting snowier as the road started looping back and up into the mountains that surround the area and as much as I wanted to continue I was worried about the rental car getting stuck somewhere so I turned around and let my GPS to take me back to town.

Coming back into Cornerbrook from the east this time I drove through what must have been the older area of town, it definitely had the feel of a fishing village with weather beaten wood buildings housing tackle shops, diners, and local craft shops. I spent my last free hour wandering (with a massive Newfoundlander dog constantly padding next me and drooling as I browsed) in an antique/thrift/book store called, most appropriately, Barnacles and Drift. Knickknacks relating to whaling and fishing mixed with locally knitted ‘sea-sweaters’ and iconic yellow rainhats.

Work took up most of the remainder of my time in Cornerbrook and with winter storm warnings getting more urgent and snow continuing to fall, the likelihood of getting stuck in town was increasing. I started the drive back through the mountains to the local airport in Deer Lake, this time in the company of two colleagues also heading back to Toronto. Shut out of a standby flight we gathered in the airport diner and sat watching the number of flight delays and cancellations get more frequent by the minute. After a few hours but we were boarded with a connection in Halifax for home. Although it was probably the roughest flight I’ve ever taken we bounced down in Halifax safely and raced to catch our connection. After a surprisingly brief delay we were airborne again and headed home.

Seated across the aisle from me was a quiet, bald, round headed guy that looked just like Carl Pilkington (from ‘The Ricky Gervais Show’). I smiled to myself at the likeness and forgot about it until he spoke to the stewardess later and I heard that familiar soft British voice. I was quite sure it was him. I decided to ask him and got up my nerve.

‘Is your name Carl?’ I asked leaning across the aisle.

‘No’

‘Are you sure?’ I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He sort of cleared his throat and went back to looking at the back of the seat in front of him fairly intently. I’m pretty sure he was lying, or mistaken.

Two hours later and we land in Toronto, unfortunately my luggage didn’t. My suitcase takes another three days to finish the trip. I wonder if Carl got his.