Most know of Newfoundland only because the Titanic almost made it there and… well, I guess that was the only time I’d heard of the island before I set off for it, backpack bulging. After hearing it was pretty, I decided I would travel there in an effort to unwind after my harrowing senior year. I wanted to rough it, explore new terrain; I was hopeful for a dose of nature’s rejuvenation after the fluorescent lockdown of high school.

My month-long trip started in central Maine. It took 12 hours to drive into Canada, through quaint New Brunswick and rural Nova Scotia, to the furthest tip of Cape Breton Island where “Lick-a-Chick” fried chicken’s neon billboard came out of the misty night as the only sign of life aside from the ferry terminal. It was a six-hour, overnight ferry ride to Port-aux-Basques, Newfoundland.

The early morning fog did nothing to hinder my high spirits and I immediately took off on the scenic, albeit lonely, Trans-Canada Highway. I stopped at every brown and yellow Provincial Park sign, giddy for the start of my venture. J.T. Cheeseman gave me a chuckle with its goofy name, but the chilly tidepools and sweeping dunes were gorgeous. Little did I know the Newfie place names would only get quirkier as the scenery turned more dramatic.

Barachois Pond Provincial Park provided a first taste of towering, yet serene, virgin forests, Canada’s well-kept network of hiking walkways and my urgent need for a real rain jacket. I returned to my sopping campsite with a muddy backside and bloodied shin, elated by the ruggedness of it all. A granola and Kool-aid supper never tasted so good!

Fast forward to me, snug and smug in my new Newfie-chic rain slicker, as I navigated my next hike through the mist at Blow Me Down Provincial Park, like a seasoned pro. I caught a couple trout with an aged yet cheerful couple, thigh deep in freezing Rocky Harbour, then in Norris Point I held in another giggle of embarrassment when I stopped for supplies at “Hiscock’s Convenience.” The grizzled gent at the counter, with his gentle Irish-like lilt, was so kind (he offered me a tarp from his own garage when he found the shop was out of them!) that I left more enchanted than scandalized by the shopping experience.