Traveling up the Western Brook Pond Fjord in Gros Morne National Park has been on my bucket list for a long time. As a thirteen year old, I was privileged the go up the Norwegian fjords, and totally loved it. After that, I added every fjord onto my life-list. That was a while ago, but fjords still fully capture my imagination.
I had a bit to get over after all that anticipation, when the weather wasn’t clearer, and we could not see the tops of the mountains and waterfalls, nor was it optimal weather for photography. (They said we missed the upper third.) Our daughter wants to climb the tallest mountain, so we saved the best weather day here for that tomorrow, which was a bit of a sacrifice for me. The weather for today was slated as “partly cloudy,” which at home does not look like this, so I didn’t realize I was giving away as much as I was. What is it about motherhood, which makes you want the best for your progeny, even at the risk of something you’ve always wanted? Anyway, it was a frigid, misty day, but we stationed ourselves on the prow of the boat nonetheless, and still had a great time, although different than my imagination. We postulated that the mystique of this weather also had something to recommend it.
There was a hike to and from this boat ride. This area is very isolated, and not approachable by car. I’m glad it is kept so wild and raw. I love that about it. I also love the steep sides coming right out of the water. I love too, the waterfall which gushes seemingly down from the heavens. Technically, this is apparently no longer defined as a fjord, since more recently it became cut off from the sea, and is now filled with fresh water snow melt. But the feeling was there, that deep resonance in my soul that thrummed a profound gratitude for being there.