Trout River lays just outside the Gros Morne national Park. Instead of turning left to the campground, at the retail store that is also a grocer’s, restaurant, lounge and tackle shop, I turn right and head towards the community of Trout River via a dirt road. Arriving at the end of the road, I pull into the first parking space I find and and get out. The air is briney but quiet, the gulls float on the water, resting. I look left and right, It seems pretty simple to navigate – one main road, no more than a kilometer in length. A few bed and breakfasts and rental cottages, a restaurant and bar, post office, a few tourist craft shops, a museum and a historical property named the Jason Crocker home, circa.-1898. The boardwalk hugs the length of the shore, and stairs give access to the beach. I begin here. I instantly like this town and I wonder how busy it gets on a normal summer without COVID restrictions. The sand is hard-packed and sticks to the soles of my feet, as I carry my shoes leaving a trail of prints for the tide to smooth away.
Back up on the the wooden boardwalk shoes go back on and, I cover both ends, stopping to read the signage stating this is a caplan spawning beach and an a series of interpretive plaques tell of a whale that was beached onshore. in the cove
I leave the boardwalk and exit through a driveway to the main road where I see a young man standing out on the porch. He is close and it seems awkward as he looks my way, so I greet him. “Good afternoon!” He lifts his head up with a big smile and says, “Good morning, I just got up.” He winks a blue eye while still holding onto his smile that fills his cheeks. His charm is infectious and I return it and say, “That kind of night eh?” “Yup.” He chuckles, his eyes all twinkly and adds, “Hope you have just as good a one.” I pivot around walking backward and say,” Oh I’m not sure I can match yours, but thank you, I will try.” I turn back around.
I wonder if he is still watching me walk. From what I have seen on my walk-about, It would be generous to say there are five hundred people that reside here. Divide that by males and females, then take a snapshot of every age brackets, assuming there are seniors in this community too, he must be one of very few males in their late-teen early-twenties. I would bet money that he is the town flirt and his charming wink and smile towards me, a stranger, probably works well with the young ladies in these parts. Good on him.
Newfoundlanders are so authentic in this idyllic place, but the sad truth is that the prospects of making a decent living here, outside of fishing, guiding or tourism in this small town would be tough unless you join a family business or get on with the National Park. Heck I don’t even have cell service here.
Living here a lifetime maybe not but a few days, or a week for sure. I am tempted to knock on the door of one of the rental cottage offices, and see if there have any vacancies. A little anthropology of the area would be interesting. Sadly for me I have plans. I drive up the road and take some photos of the little town from above and hope one turns out to do it justice. So long Trout River. Until next time.
Please join me on my next leg of my Newfoundland and Labrador adventure
Happy travels Maritimemac
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