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Natural selection A place to see how the ice has aged and where the earth has moved By Kari J. Bodnarchuk, Globe Correspondent, 5/11/2003
The berg had grounded on a shoal and would stay there and melt or be pushed out to sea by the wind. As we approached it, I could see blue streaks running through the white ice (formed when melt-water refreezes in cracks); water trickling down one side, giving it a shiny glow; and seagulls perched on a jagged cornice high above us. ''If the birds suddenly take off, it's a good sign the berg is about to calve [or break apart] - they feel the vibration,'' said Ed English, my guide, who owns Explore Newfoundland and runs hiking and sea kayaking trips around the province. A calving berg can let loose an avalanche of ice chunks the size of grand pianos and small houses. If you are too close, even a wave from a block of falling ice can swamp or capsize your boat. There is also the chance the iceberg could roll, and since seven-eighths of a berg lies underwater, you do not want to be nearby when it takes a tumble. This berg had recently calved, and as I followed English around its corner, we found a gray seal sleeping on a floating chunk of ice. The seal lifted its head and watched us quietly slip past. The iceberg had collapsed in the middle, so the walls on our side swept down to sea level. They were covered with thousands of dimples, formed as the berg slowly dissolved. We stopped paddling and listened to the ice as it melted: a crackling, fizzling sound, created as millions of bubbles released air that had been trapped for more than 12,000 years. I had hiked across glaciers in New Zealand and Nepal, kayaked around 80-foot blue whales in the Sea of Cortez, and explored remote sections of the Australian Outback, but I had never seen an iceberg firsthand. It was one of the main reasons I drove 3,000 miles last July - a road trip from Boston to Newfoundland and back, via ferries and the open road. Along the way, I also wanted to explore a less-fleeting relic of the past: a mountain of rock where the earth's mantle was exposed several hundred million years ago. About 90 percent of Newfoundland's icebergs come from the west coast of Greenland, where one of the world's fastest-moving glaciers dumps five cubic miles of ice into the ocean each year. As these cathedrals of ice travel south with the Labrador Current - along a water route dubbed Iceberg Alley - they are carved by the wind and the waves into fantastic shapes. Hundreds, sometimes thousands, survive the 1,800- to 2,400-mile journey, picking up dirt and rocks as they scour the seabed en route. By the time they reach Newfoundland waters - which takes a good year, at least - they average the size of a 15-story building, above and below water. Winds and currents push some icebergs through the Strait of Belle Isle, but the bergs quickly melt in the warmer waters. Others get stuck in bays and inlets along the northern coast, where they ''live'' longer and are easier for kayakers and boaters to reach. A majority of the icebergs drift offshore and then continue south, melting, rolling, and crumbling as they go. One of the best spots to see icebergs in Newfoundland is in its northwestern corner - around the top of the Great Northern Peninsula, a long fingerlike stretch of land that pokes out into the North Atlantic. Only one road leads up the peninsula (Route 430) and it winds along a coastline dotted with small fishing villages, glacial lakes, and forests of tuckamores, trees permanently bent from the strong ocean breezes. There are also open grasslands and tundra, and plenty of wildlife. I saw as many as 16 moose an hour on this four-hour drive. Along this stretch, a town hall is about the size of a two-car garage, speed limits are suggestions not rules (at least, unofficially), and the occasional shops tell the story of ingenuity and survival. The locals at Borealis Crafts in Shoal Cove East tan sealskins and use them to make boots, moccasins and mitts (seals can legally be hunted here). A man at Stagehead Carvings in St. Lunaire-Griquet makes intricate carvings out of whale bone (found on the beach, not hunted). And the couple at Dark Tickle (also in St. Lunaire-Griquet) make jams, jellies, and sauces from wild berries - bakeapples and partridgeberries - that are unique to Newfoundland. There are also fishing and kayaking outfitters, and plenty of outdoor adventures. Once I reached the top of the peninsula, I planned to kayak to Quirpon (pronounced kar-POON) Island, an uninhabited island off the coast with a 19th-century lightkeeper's house that had been renovated and turned into a seasonal inn. I would use this as my base for day trips to see the icebergs. I decided to go with a guide because I had only three days there and wanted to make sure I would find an iceberg. Since it is mountainous and heavily forested along the northern coast, an iceberg could be nestled in a bay or inlet and I would never know it. Most guides talk to local pilots, fishermen, boaters, and each other to find out where the bergs are located. I also hired a guide because I'm not big on kayaking alone, especially in unfamiliar territory where there's little room for error. Water temperatures here may top only 45 degrees midsummer, and it's not unusual to see just a few boats on the water all day. Since it's a maritime region, the weather is unpredictable. The sheltered inlets between Ship Cove and St. Anthony - a 50-mile stretch of waterway along the northern coast - typically offer calm conditions that are ideal for beginner and intermediate paddlers. Areas more exposed to the North Atlantic are more suitable for expert kayakers. When the seas kick up, it's still possible to kayak over to the southern end of Quirpon Island (a half-mile trip) and then hike three miles across bog land to the inn (or you can catch a lift to the island by motorboat). During my stay, conditions ranged from calm, glassy waters to six-foot swells and some choppy seas. It was nothing an intermediate paddler couldn't handle. If you get socked in by fog, as we did the second day, there's plenty to do around the island. Instead of searching for icebergs, we kayaked into several nearby inlets and explored the coastline. Quirpon Island is blanketed in peat bogs and rocks, and ringed by cliffs and coves with a few sandy beaches. You can explore the four-mile-long island on foot - the rolling hills, dramatic sea cliffs, and small historic spots (old foundations from sod huts, which may have belonged to the Vikings, and Quonset huts, which were used by soldiers during World War II) - or climb the hill at Cape Degrat, which offers great views across the island and a large cove with eider ducks, common murres, and bald eagles. The iceberg-viewing season lasts from approximately May to September and coincides with the whale migrations north. Whales and icebergs cross paths all summer long in the Strait of Belle Isle. Here, the ocean plunges hundreds of feet, making it an ideal feeding ground for humpbacks, minkes, orcas, and occasionally belugas, and deep enough for the bergs to slip through. Each night, I sat on the rocks near the water and watched humpbacks and minkes surfacing 10 feet away. Some guests have reported getting sprayed by the spouting whales and being able to touch them, they were so close. During a day paddle around Quirpon, it's not unusual to spot several dozen whales, some breaching just 30 feet away. The white belly of a minke whale passed right under my kayak one morning - an amazing experience - and curious white-sided dolphins followed us out to the icebergs. On the last day, I kayaked up to the dock in the mainland town of Quirpon, and met an enterprising man who has figured out a way to tap into the ancient icebergs. Boyce Roberts, a cod fisherman who lost his livelihood when the fishery collapsed in 1992, harvests ice to make drinking water. When a berg calves, Roberts goes out in his fishing boat and uses a winch to hoist 100-pound chunks of ice into the boat. He brings them back to the wharf, hoses off the saltwater, and then sends them to be melted, bottled, and sold as pure iceberg water. On the southern end of the peninsula, just out of reach of the icebergs, is an area that makes the bergs seem like infants in the timeline of history. Here, an ancient mountain of mustard-colored rock, called peridotite, rises 1,800 feet in a landscape that is otherwise predominantly green. This area, known as the Tablelands and located at the southern end of Gros Morne National Park, is one of the only places on earth where the planet's mantle has surfaced, a result of the shifting and collision of plates of the earth's crust about 450 million years ago. As these plates came together, the mantle rock was thrust up from more than four miles below the ocean floor. It eroded over time and then glaciers reshaped the landscape, scooping out the wide valley and canyons you find here today. It was from studying the ancient rocks here that geologists first confirmed that the earth has tectonic plates. And it is because of the Tablelands, as well as the park's freshwater fiords, that the United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization designated Gros Morne National Park a World Heritage Site in 1987. To explore this area, you can walk along a short gravel path that stays in the valley called the Tablelands Trail (it begins at a parking lot two miles down Route 431 from the Discovery Centre in Woody Point). Or hike across the rocks and then up a steep-sided canyon to a plateau, passing large patches of snow that often remain here well into the summer. (To make it a slightly easier uphill climb, head to the left out of the parking lot and scramble up the Tablelands at a 40-degree angle.) I couldn't resist the rocky route, so I hiked up the Trout River Bowl to a huge, melting snow patch that had a 200-foot-long tunnel running through it. I scrambled across the slippery rocks and followed a stream of melt-water up through the tunnel, eventually climbing out the other end. From the top of the mountain, I had a clear view of a landscape that had been scoured and reshaped by glaciers, leaving behind deep valleys, lakes, mountains, and a long bay. Here, on Newfoundland's Northern Peninsula, it's easy to touch and explore remnants of the geological past, from icebergs that were once part of an enormous, old glacier to a mountain of rock that is but a fragment of Earth's ancient crust. Kari J. Bodnarchuk is a freelance writer who lives in Somerville. IF YOU GO ... How to get there By car and ferryMarine Atlantic (www.marine-atlantic.ca; 800-341-7981) runs car ferries from North Sydney, Nova Scotia, to Port aux Basques, Newfoundland, two to four times a day, year round. Prices for the six-hour crossing are approximately $17.25 for adults (13 and older); $8.60 for children 5-12; free for children under 5; and $50 for a car. Then it's a 200-mile drive to the Tablelands in Gros Morne, and another 275 miles to the tip of the Northern Peninsula. By plane
Information
What to do L'Anse aux Meadows National Historic Site
The site of the Vikings' first landing and first North American settlement 1,000 years ago. Artifacts, ruins, and costumed reenactors. Admission (includes entrance to Norstead, a replica of a Viking port of trade): $5.20, adults; $2.60, children 6 to 16; under age 6, free. Northland Discovery
Behind Grenfell Interpretation Centre (Route 430). The company runs 21/2-hour boat tours to see icebergs and whales from late May to early October. Rates: $27.60 for adults (includes tax); $17.25 for children 12-17; $13.80 for 5-12; under age 5, free. Discovery Centre
Exhibits and movies on the geology of the park, and local plant and animal life. Admission included in park fee: $5.20, adults; $2.60 for 6-16; under age 6, free. Centre open May 16 to Oct. 13, 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. (open until 6 June 20 to Sept. 1). Where to stay Tuckamore Lodge
A 20-minute drive from St. Anthony airport and one-hour ride from St. Lunaire-Griquet - but worth the drive. White cedar lodge surrounded by forest and next to a big pond. Hot tub, sauna, and full breakfast included. Twelve rooms (doubles and suites). Rates: $75.90 to $103.50. Quirpon Lighthouse Inn
In the renovated lightkeeper's house on the northern tip of the island. Eleven rooms, one with a Jacuzzi. Traditional Newfoundland foods. Rates: $103.50 to $172.50, include boat transfers and all meals. Middle Brook Cottages and Chalets
New four-star cottages and chalets near swimming area on Bonne Bay and 10 minutes from the Tablelands. Rates: $47.60 to $89. Where to eat The Old Loft
Sit in an old twine loft or on the outdoor balcony. Serves mainly seafood fare, local delicacies, soups, and salads. $6.85 to $15. Northern Delight Restaurant
Diner fare and local favorites, plus a variety of Screech rum drinks. Sandwiches and burgers: $1.90 to $3.10. Platters and other entrees: $7.50 to $13.75. The Norseman Cafe
Go to end of Route 436 and turn right. Open late May to late October. Homemade soups, salads, mainly seafood entrees: $5.50 to $20. This story ran on page M1 of the Boston Globe on
5/11/2003.
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UIRPON ISLAND, Newfoundland - I spotted the iceberg as my guide
and I paddled our kayaks around a granite headland off the northern tip of
Newfoundland. From a few miles away, it looked like a bar of soap floating
in a big bathtub - not quite what I had expected - but as we paddled
closer, I realized it was as tall as a seven-story building and as big
around as a city block. It loomed overhead, and my 16-foot kayak seemed
like a little piece of driftwood floating by.