Man and Dog: Through the Newfoundland Wilderness

By Justin Barbour

One man, one dog, a grand adventure across the Newfoundland wilderness.

In April 2017, Justin Barbour and his Cape Shore water dog, Saku, arrived in Robinsons, on the Rock’s west coast, where they began a quest to experience the province’s woods and waters first-hand. A late winter lingers as they push over the Long Range Mountains to the interior of the island, where they hope thawed lakes and rivers will allow them to continue by inflatable raft. From sunrise to sunset, follow the companions as they battle the dangerous and unforgiving elements to reach Cape Broyle, some 700 kilometres away.

Here you will see the island in a unique way, learn about outdoor life, and gain awareness of Newfoundland’s natural history. Complete with colour photos, maps, and interesting facts about the journey, Man and Dog will offer you the heat of a campfire against your cheeks, the tug of a trout on your line, and the breath of a curious black bear that has wandered into your camp. It’s a journey for nature lovers, explorers, and adventurers of all ages.

“Man and Dog is a must-read for everyone who feels the pulse of the wild, especially Newfoundlanders who love the land and waters. Justin Barbour has that spirit of adventure and self-reliance that is becoming much more rare in modern society. This book gives us all a glimpse into wilderness travel that most of us will never experience ourselves.” — Paul Smith, Educator, Outdoor Writer and Photographer

“Justin and his story are truly the essence of what it means to be an adventurer. His love for Newfoundland and Labrador, his passion for exploration, and his dedication to challenging himself form a recipe for inspiration, and an example for what human beings can achieve.” — Ray Zahab, Adventurer, Explorer: Royal Canadian Geographic Society, Founder: impossible2Possible

• Language: English
• Publisher: Flanker Press
• Release date: Sep 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9781771177566

Justin Barbour

Justin Barbour was born in St. John’s, Newfoundland, and grew up in the rural community of Bauline until his early teens. His family then moved to St. John’s, where he went to school and played hockey competitively until moving away to Miramichi, New Brun

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John’s

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Title: Man and dog : through the Newfoundland wilderness / Justin Barbour ; with a foreword by T.A.

Loeffler.

Names: Barbour, Justin, 1988- author. | Loeffler, T. A., 1965- writer of foreword.

Description: Includes index.

Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20190151102 | Canadiana (ebook) 20190151110 | ISBN 9781771177559

(softcover) | ISBN 9781771177566 (EPUB) | ISBN 9781771177573 (Kindle) | ISBN 9781771177580 (PDF)

Subjects: LCSH: Barbour, Justin, 1988-—Travel—Newfoundland and Labrador. | LCSH: Saku (Dog)—Travel—

Newfoundland and Labrador. | LCSH: Backpacking—Newfoundland and Labrador. | LCSH: Hiking—

Newfoundland and Labrador. | LCSH: Travel with dogs—Newfoundland and Labrador. | LCSH:

Newfoundland and Labrador—Description and travel.

Classification: LCC FC2167.6 .B37 2019 | DDC 917.1804/5—dc23

—————————————————————————————————— ————————————————

© 2019 by Justin Barbour

all rights reserved.

No part of the work covered by the copyright hereon may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means—graphic, electronic or mechanical—without the written permission of the publisher. Any request for photocopying, recording, taping, or information storage and retrieval systems of any part of this book shall be directed to Access Copyright, The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency, 1 Yonge Street, Suite 800, Toronto, ON M5E 1E5. This applies to classroom use as well.

Printed in Canada

Cover design by Graham Blair

Flanker Press Ltd.

PO Box 2522, Station C

St. John’s, NL

Canada

Telephone: [phone] Fax: [phone] Toll-free: 1-866-739-4420

www.flankerpress.com

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

We acknowledge the [financial] support of the Government of Canada. Nous reconnaissons l’appui [financier] du gouvernement du Canada. We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, which last year invested $153 million to bring the arts to Canadians throughout the country. Nous remercions le Conseil des arts du Canada de son soutien. L’an dernier, le Conseil a investi 153 millions de dollars pour mettre de l’art dans la vie des Canadiennes et des Canadiens de tout le pays. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Newfoundland and Labrador, Department of Tourism, Culture and Recreation for our publishing activities.

Contents

Foreword by TA Loeffler

Preface

Introduction

Prologue – Getting to the Gates

Chapter 1 – The First Steps

Chapter 2 – Into the Great Wide Open

Chapter 3 – Through the Bush to Burgeo

Chapter 4 – Spring’s Warning. Peter Strides Pit Stop.

Chapter 5 – Open Water. Peter Strides to Burnt Pond River.

Chapter 6 – Soft Ground, Hard Work. Burnt River to Granite Lake.

Chapter 7 – Idling. Granite to Meelpaeg.

Chapter 8 – The Waiting Game

Chapter 9 – Mazing Through Meelpaeg Country

Chapter 10 – Cold Spring Pond to St. Alban’s

Chapter 11 – Conne River

Chapter 12 – Conne River to Medonnegonix Lake

Chapter 13 – Medonnegonix Lake to Jubilee. Free Again. Against the Flow.

Chapter 14 – Jubilee Lake to Eastern Meelpaeg. The Spirit of the Mountain.

Chapter 15 – Meta Pond to the Head of Piper’s Hole

Chapter 16 – Down Piper’s Hole River to Swift Current. Deflated.

Chapter 17 – Swift Current to Placentia Junction. Finding the Tracks.

Chapter 18 – Placentia Junction to Salmonier Line. Far from Over.

Chapter 19 – Into the Avalon Wilderness Reserve. Familiar Sights, Familiar Turf.

Chapter 20 – Can You Believe It’s Cape Broyle? One Last Hurrah.

Fun Facts

Acknowledgements

Index

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my other half, Heather. In the last few years throughout my relentless and time-consuming planning, trip executions, and creative endeavours, she has stood firmly by my side. Without her endless support, patience, and helpful criticism, my adventures would not have been possible. For us, separation has strengthened our bond. After this trip we grew closer than ever. I couldn’t be happier to return home from these trips to Heather and our husky, Bear. They are my motivations for this book and everything else I do.

It’s also dedicated to my grandparents, LeGrows, who have both passed. They were blessed to live a wonderful life by the sea. Owing to my superstitious ways, I carried my pop’s old pipe with me on this trek. That’s when I began smoking a pipe. It was glorious by the fire. And I believe I carried some of his good fortune with me, too. Thanks, Pop.

Another dedication goes to Wayne Learning, who will never get to see this. I’m not sure if Wayne was a big reader, but he was certainly a well-respected trapper who became a friend while I was teaching in Cartwright in 2015. He could tell a great story. I spent nights with Wayne in his faraway tilts and in his beloved shed. We had some great conversations. He spent a lot of time in the country over his forty-something years of chasing the fur. He and his passion for the Labrador bush left a lasting impression on me. Wayne’s memory was the final kick I needed to go after my own journey on the land and share some of its fascinating secrets. Ultimately it led to this book. Wayne has passed on, but I will always remember the lessons he taught me in our time together.

I also dedicate this book to the people of my home province, and to those who also get out and experience all the beauty in our own backyard. We are fortunate to call this place our home.

Finally, I dedicate this book to Saku. My friend, sidekick, first mate, and dog. We’ve been through a hell of a lot together. And he has provided me with an indescribable amount of companionship and comfort. I love you, buddy. We are a team, and looking back on this adventure, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

FOREWORD

by TA Loeffler, Ph.D.,

Adventurer and Professor of Outdoor

Recreation

When I think back to teaching Justin Barbour in my winter outdoor activities class at Memorial University of Newfoundland, I recall him as more of a hockey player than outdoor adventurer. In reading Justin’s book, his journey from hockey to outdoor explorer was revealed. I came to see that during his summer outdoor activities course he fell in love with canoeing and camping. I learned that the winter course further challenged him to develop skills in staying warm and safe while skiing, snowshoeing, and winter camping. Justin took all of this learning to heart and put it to work when he accepted his first teaching position in Labrador. There, between teaching classes in physical education, he furthered his outdoor apprenticeship with a local trapper and others in the community, learning traditional travel and survival skills. Labrador invited Justin to dream of longer journeys and expeditions through deep wilderness.

Over the next few years, he had an insatiable appetite for the expedition stories of early explorers of both Newfoundland and Labrador. At the same time, he began to take both short and longer trips into the backwoods of our province to test himself, build his outdoor skill repertoire, and to teach himself the art of filmmaking and photography. Always the teacher, Justin has an innate drive to share his experiences and teach others through them. Justin’s book about traversing the island of Newfoundland is woven on the warp of this wish to inspire and inform others. As you journey across the island with him, Justin shares his process for choosing the equipment he took with him as well as how he decided on which route to take. This is a rare and fascinating inside look at the intense preparation needed for an expedition of this magnitude and remoteness. Justin also details how he trained his mind and emotions for such an undertaking. He introduces the reader to his inner voice and how he calms or amplifies it depending on what the situation needs.

When Justin described the intense emotions he felt on the eve of departing on his cross-island odyssey, I was swept back into so many memories of feeling the same way before some of my big expeditions. I’ll try to describe the feeling. It’s like you are perched on the side of a river before some huge rapids. You know that as soon as you finish your scouting and move into the current, there is little chance to turn back. You must ride down the V-wave with your heart pumping massive amounts of adrenaline through your body while putting your paddling plan in action. Your stomach drops, but then you find yourself focused, hitting the line, and under way. There is nothing to do but paddle. You’ve passed from preparation into experience, and instantly, both your life and your relationship to the map have changed.

I often refer to my expeditions as opportunities to live the map. By moving through the land or seascape, I come to know it intimately. The contour lines or shorelines are now handrails to my experiences. Looking at the map brings back the sight of an eagle diving for a catch, a sea stack tilted just so, or a terror-filled moment of staring down a polar bear. Similarly, Justin takes us day by day through his traverse of both living and moving through the map of the island of Newfoundland. Following in the footsteps of both Newfoundland’s original peoples as well as early European explorers, his words lead us on our own voyage of discovery through an area seen by few today. When we look at the map of the island of Newfoundland, we see that there are only a few roads that bisect the interior. We look and wonder as we gaze upon the map, What is there? What would I see if I was there? Justin provides us with the ability to see both what is there and what it feels like to travel through one of the remotest parts of the island. Kept company by Saku, his dog, and by moose, bear, and other wildlife, Justin is never alone but very comfortable with his own company.

I invite you to read this book and live the map of Newfoundland vicariously through Justin! Be cautious about when you start to read this book, as it is tough to put down. You might miss a few appointments. As you turn each page and pass each day with Justin and Saku, you will be drawn into a grand adventure, fraught with danger, delight, and beauty. It is a story, or more accurately sixty-eight stories, of pushing one’s mind and body within a hair of breaking, of torrential soaking rains and sunsets never to be forgotten, of near misses and brushes with eternity, but most of all, this book tells stories of a man and his dog, their growing love for one another as they travel together over many kilometres, and the love Justin Barbour has for the wild and remote parts of our province.

PREFACE

When one man, for whatever reason, has the opportunity to lead an extraordinary life, he has no right to keep it to himself.

— Jacques Cousteau

I love being in the country. It’s something I have always enjoyed. There’s nowhere else in this world I would rather be than deep in the woods. Being free is intoxicating. Passing through areas that you have all to yourself and may never lay eyes on again really makes one appreciate every single moment as well as one’s own insignificance when compared to everything else that exists in the natural world. To slow things down in an era that seems to be always in fast-forward has become a novelty. To me this can only be achieved when moving by the strength of your own power, disconnected from the wires of modern society. You notice the little things that are missed. Fuelled by determination and the drive to move forward, your mind and body are rewarded after each magnificent portage you tackle, lake you paddle across, or campsite you build. Unpredictability is everywhere, too. It keeps you sharp, aware, and engaged. This trip gave me all of this and so much more. If I could, I would do it all over again.

In writing this book for you, I have been fully honest when describing my thoughts and emotions throughout this roller-coaster ride of an expedition. I embarked on this for personal enjoyment and to seek the unknowns of both the Newfoundland wilderness and my physical and mental limitations. In some ways it was like a science experiment on my body. My plan here is not to turn people away from going on a wilderness trip or to give the wrong impression. The Newfoundland wild is a beautiful place, but struggle is the nature of the beast. The work is hard out there, but it pays off when you have that level of freedom. If you prepare, be patient, and look after yourself, you can have a positive experience on your outings, too. Whether they take one day or sixty-eight.

What we embarked on was an incredibly long haul through the woods. Looking back, sometimes it’s hard to believe we did it. Over time, it became difficult, and I always worried about how Saku felt at my side. As the trip went on, I learned his body language: when he was tired, revved up with energy, too cold, or hungry. We were a team at its strongest. He mirrored my every move and carried his own weight. We relied on each other for inspiration, to find motivation to continue on. Trying to dig deep into the tank when I was exhausted and overwhelmed appealed to me. Sometimes that knot of uncertainty balled up so tight in my stomach that it threatened to bring me to my knees.

When I started to invest more heavily in this lifestyle and began to think about the influences that have shaped me, I needed look no further than my family tree. This included my Barbour and LeGrow lineages. The Barbours of Newtown, Bonavista Bay, were adventurous and brave people whose name was one of the most prominent in Newfoundland’s sealing industry. My mom’s side, the LeGrows, had stationed themselves on the northeast Avalon Peninsula in the small community of Bauline, Conception Bay. Also well-accustomed to life on the water, they risked life and limb on rough seas and worked long hours to procure cod and other edible marine life for their family’s nourishment and financial income.

Another role model is a professor at Memorial University who taught me, the well-known Newfoundland and Labrador adventurer and author TA Loeffler. She got me hyped about expedition life. She was big into adventures, especially mountaineering, and among many other big undertakings, she had climbed six of the Seven Summits. TA made her third attempt to scale Mount Everest in 2016. I’m confident that her time will come, but if it doesn’t, well, she has accomplished more outdoors than most ever will! Today she continues to share her knowledge with students and fellow adventurers around the globe.

In 2015, before I moved to Cartwright, Labrador, to teach, my grandfather Barbour gave me a copy of the book Newfoundland and Its Untrodden Ways by John G. Millais. Millais was a European sportsman and naturalist who came to explore Newfoundland with the aid of native guides and learn more about the culture of our island. His biggest goal was to hunt the prized woodland caribou. He spent a couple years here in the early 1900s and wrote one of the best accounts of our island’s natural history. That book dropped me right into the Newfoundland wilderness every time I picked it up. It got me interested in exploring the interior like him and other explorers, woodsmen, and trappers. He had written about some of them, including James P. Howley, Alexander Murray, William Cormack, and also the Aboriginals of our province, the native Beothuk and Mi’kmaq. Each and every one of them spurred me on.

Back in 2013, a good friend of mine shared with me Dick Proenneke’s video Alone in the Wilderness. The video documents Proenneke’s thirty-odd years at Twin Lakes in Alaska. I must have watched his video ten times in one month! It became my Bible. I was fascinated by everything he had accomplished. He built a log cabin from scratch using his hands and no power tools. I was in no hurry to get up and leave society for thirty years, but I did want to get out, hike, explore, and build like Dick did. It looked so satisfying. My inner childhood adventurer was stirring even more.

Finally, a few years back, as I tried to get a grip on the potential for my own adventures, I began researching trips made by other explorers and adventures around the globe. My main interests at the time were the boreal forest and canoeing. I stumbled across two fascinating outdoorsmen, Norwegian Lars Monsen and South African Mike Horn. These guys were extreme. A journey three years in the making, Monsen had completed and documented an astonishing solo 8,252-kilometre trip dogsledding, canoeing, and hiking across Canada, above the treeline, from Alaska to Goose Bay. Horn had been featured in a video series called Latitude Zero, which detailed his impressive 40,000-kilometre solo circumnavigation of the world at the equator by foot, canoe, bike, and sailboat. It took him through some of the planet’s deadliest and most remote landscapes, including the Amazon jungle. The fellas had taken very different trips, but the theme of movement, with no engine-driven support, was universal. Horn seemed to do things at a fast pace, while Monsen dealt with the more unforgiving northern weather, experiencing delays and stopping often to bask in the natural beauty along the way. Seeing them grind through obstacles and achieve great successes while being free in the beauty of nature was a big inspiration for me.

Going into this trip, I was by no means an expert in expeditions or survival. I had confidence in my understanding of what to do in specific situations and gained some practical know-how in wilderness safety training on top of that before I left. Really, I just wanted to put myself out there, do my best, give what I had, and learn. And that I did.

From reading this book I want people to experience the joys and perils of adventure, the beauty of Newfoundland’s backcountry, the bond of a man and dog, and the strategies that helped me make this trip a success. I took risks along the trail, some of which will amuse and others that will elicit a cringe or two. I want this to be a strong learning experience for the reader. Some risks led to mistakes, as you will see, but hopefully neither you nor I will make the same ones again. Educating others on the dos and don’ts of wilderness travel is what it’s all about. I believe this story will be a valuable tool for teaching generations to come.

Treat this book like a long weekend camp-out in the woods. Picture yourself going in on a Friday evening, with your gear for the job all selected, grub bag packed, steaming coffee on the way, and a thirst for adventure that is screaming in your veins. The only difference is that you’re not coming back out on Sunday. I wrote this to give the reader a glimpse into our day-to-day life while we were in the thick of it. I want you to learn and go on a journey of your own, deep into the wilderness of Newfoundland, with this book in your hand. Alongside me and Saku or off on your own. To dream, aspire, contemplate, appreciate, and respect the land that surrounds us. I hope you enjoy the adventure as much as we did.

INTRODUCTION

Nothing in the universe is so attractive as the unknown. To the man of imagination it is the great magnet which draws him away to seek fresh worlds to conquer.

— John G. Millais, Newfoundland and Its Untrodden Ways

Newfoundland and Labrador has long been regarded as a great wilderness. Around 1,000 CE, when the Norsemen came sailing by L’Anse aux Meadows, and in 1497, when John Cabot and his crew coasted the shores of Bonavista, the looks in their eyes were likely the same. They probably lit up like saucers after spotting the first land since crossing the Atlantic and drank up the vastness of the rocky shorelines, the empty, far-reaching barrens, and thick forested lands that rolled on into the fog. Then came the Aboriginals, the Beothuk and Mi’kmaq, then the European explorers, and they were all equally stunned by the power and majesty before them.

Over the years Labrador has remained largely untouched, keeping its secrets. Aside from the Churchill Falls hydro system, an odd community or two, and a rare roadway, the place is about as wild as ever. But the island of Newfoundland is a different story. Hydro projects, commercial logging, larger populations, and highways darting north to south and east to west have clogged up much of the coast and many inland areas. It’s hardly the land the Aboriginals lived on and nothing close to what was seen by the likes of Cabot.

But if you look hard enough, parts of the coast and interior portions are still rich with untouched lands. Brilliant rivers, lakes, and ponds that teem with trout, ouananiche, and Atlantic salmon. Moose, caribou, and black bears have a place to roam free. Coyotes and wolves can establish their grounds with ease. And the lynx, fox, pine marten, beaver, otter, eagle, turr, goose, duck, grouse, ptarmigan, rabbit, and all the rest live as they please with little outside pressure.

Newfoundland’s landscape still has much wild space to offer. As I sat over my final campfire and enjoyed fresh morning trout and coffee in the Avalon Wilderness Reserve, a million thoughts ran through my mind. So much had happened. How had time gone so fast? How had we done this? Why did it seem like such a blur? What was next? How long would it take me to miss this exhilarating lifestyle once the novelty of basking in convenience and comfort at home wore off? I couldn’t comprehend that the expedition was coming to an end. By our own power we had travelled directly across the interior of Newfoundland, west to east. I had travelled the Trans-Canada Highway many times by vehicle, but Saku and I had done this ourselves. The thought had terrified me every time I sat in my shed and looked at my map in the months leading up. Now, all of a sudden, it was over.

Besides the Long Range Mountains, which I had tried to familiarize myself with by way of a Hawke Hill excursion on the Avalon Peninsula, I knew all the terrains I would face. Forests, barrens, bogs, marshes, rivers, brooks, ponds, lakes—you name it. I was more anxious about the sheer number of kilometres that separated the start from the finish. About 700, to be exact. Often I would gaze at that weathered map in my shed and compare the size of Newfoundland to the size of the Avalon Peninsula’s interior. I had completed a 120-kilometre trek on the Avalon in the summer of 2015. I could fit that small jaunt across the province’s width about six times! Remembering how long that trek felt at times, my heart would pound wildly. I was really taking a big leap. Small to extra large. Beginner to expert. Easy to strenuous. You get the drift. I was going big or going home. I wanted to up the ante and push myself way outside my comfort zone, where I knew I would truly feel alive. Oddly, part of the stimulation I felt came from feeling comfortable with the discomfort. Knowing I would face foreign and sometimes scary situations caused every cell in my body to vibrate. The euphoria was addictive.

Of course, leading up to the trip many people asked me the million-dollar question: Why would I put myself through this? That answer didn’t always roll off my tongue, but in my mind I knew exactly why. I knew I needed to get out and explore the world. I think the need has always been there. It’s in all of us, innately. But I have always gone on adventures, especially of the outdoor variety, and I have always had a fascination with nature. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always broken free from the walls of society to experience life in the woods at my own pace. At the simplest level. I spent my childhood roaming the outdoors of Bauline, Newfoundland, a small community of a few hundred residents on the northeast Avalon Peninsula. It’s about twenty kilometres outside of our province’s capital city, St. John’s.

In Bauline, my circle of friends was small. There were about half a dozen of us, both boys and girls, who would spend our carefree days riding bikes, swimming, playing spotlight, sliding, snowmobiling, you name it. My three best buddies lived across the road from me. Three brothers: Dwayne, Charlie, and Michael Hynes. There were times when we would get into arguments that were typically followed by physical and verbal lashings toward each other, like a few young boys would. Usually when one soured at the other for trying to cheat. It was non-stop. But boy, did we ever have fun! We were always on adventures. They were very important to our childhood existence.

I must have been six or seven when Dad built me my first tree house. In my child’s-eye view it was as high as a skyscraper, when in reality it was probably about a dozen feet off the ground. Still, it was a place I could call my own, a hangout where I’d go to leave the house and escape from the watchful eyes of my parents. There was always something up my sleeve. My parents gave me space, which I used to see the world for myself and figure things out on my own. To go at your own pace and improvise along the way to get where you need to go is an important skill to develop.

Shortly after the tree house, I received a tool kit as a gift. It had a hammer, a small saw, and an L-shaped carpenter’s ruler. Any child who grew up in the mid-1990s and who loved to build had one of these kits. The following spring, when most of the snow had melted, I wanted to try my own hand at carpentry, unsupervised. From here I ventured to the shed to find some nails. Kicking around Dad and Pop as they built things, I had some experience swinging a hammer and sawing some wood. Also, I knew where all the good nails were stashed. That was all I needed. In Bauline, our house was surrounded by thick woods. The closest neighbour on either side of us was at least a couple hundred yards away. Off into the sticks I went. I cleared some trees, took some old boards Dad had lying around, and began to construct my own private palace in the woods. Sometimes the brothers would join me, but mostly it was just me. I couldn’t wait around. Once I left the rink, I either practised my hockey skills or went down to the woods palace. I added boards each trip, and the palace grew to two storeys. What a spot it was! My wilderness haven. Often, Mom would call from the patio to get me inside by dark, and without a flashlight I would tramp back along the short trail to the basement door.

One day I felt the need to go outside the boundaries of our property and step outside my small zone of comfort. Off I went through a trail behind the house, down the hill we would slide on in the winter, across the main road, and up behind the long-unused ball field. It was littered with thick alders and long, dense grasses, and it was like crossing a jungle to get to the other side. Behind it was a steep hill that offered a great view of the community. Through the thick spruce and fir trees I could barely see our small yellow house and red patio. Here I constructed my first lean-to. I don’t remember how I learned to build it. Using an axe and no rope, I went to work and soon had a nice little bough shelter. It was just big enough to get out of the elements and have a snack. Going to that camp gave me a feeling of adventure that I will never forget.

I split my time evenly between hockey and some form of outdoors activity. That was until we moved to St. John’s and the former became my main focus in my early teens. I began to drift away from my happy place in the woods. It wasn’t in my backyard anymore. I remember being upset leaving Bauline because I was leaving an environment I loved dearly. But such is life. I would return one day—it was meant to be.

Hockey became my reason for being. I moved away from home to chase my passion. Day in, day out I challenged myself to play at elite levels with the hopes of someday, like many others hoped as well, playing in the National Hockey League. After spending many laborious years at the rink, in the gym, and on the road away from home, despite my best efforts I didn’t reach that goal. It’s not easy. It’s actually extremely difficult! Very few succeed, but that never stopped me or the others from trying. If you fail, will you dare to dream again? I certainly hope so.

With my years playing away behind me, I moved back to Newfoundland and focused on furthering my secondary education. Driven by my love of sports and fitness, I dived into a Physical Education degree at Memorial University in St. John’s. One course, and one particular canoe trip in that degree, changed everything for me and brought me back to my childhood. And new dreams. It stirred up my thirst for exploration and adventure. I rekindled my passion to move through the great outdoors by my own power and with everything I needed to survive within reach. It was a spark that took a long time to return, but I was glad it did.

As I finished my last drop of coffee and doused the fire, a feeling of great satisfaction came over me. We had done it, and I was proud. Saku, who carried the namesake of my favourite hockey player, Saku Koivu, had impressed the hell out of me. To get this far with him was more than I could have imagined. He was my first dog. I had always wanted one, and now we had fulfilled a dream together. When times were rough and I doubted myself, he was there to lend me his energy. We would move when our bodies and nature allowed and stopped when they didn’t. Everything was positive. There was no room for negativity. Patience was key. When I rushed I got into trouble—I learned that lesson more than once. As civilization approached, I feared the hustle and bustle of it, the complexity. I longed for my next project. I just wanted to move all day. My inner animal had been awakened, and it craved more. And Saku was living the life an active dog was meant to live. As I loaded the raft for the last time and began to paddle up the lake toward the finish line, I knew that one day we would return again.

This is our story.

Maps of Justin and Saku’s Adventure

PROLOGUE

Getting to the Gates

The most effective way to do it is to do it.

— Amelia Earhart, First Female Aviator

to Fly Solo across the Atlantic Ocean

I hardly slept a wink on the night of April 13. My nerves were shaking, splitting, stretching, and stirring. But I wanted this badly. So damn badly. It was finally here. I said my last goodbyes to friends and family on the days leading up to the departure, and on the morning of April 14, which was the Christian holiday Good Friday, I looked out from my patio toward Cabot Tower and the city of St. John’s. The adrenaline had already begun to kick in.

The extensive and meticulous planning had become tiring, but now I felt revived knowing that what was done was done. Although spending the last precious days with my girlfriend and biggest supporter, Heather Oakley, was valuable, instinctively I wanted to skip the drive and everything else to be let loose and be free. These were some of the greatest joys for me.

After 630 kilometres of Trans-Canada Highway driving, we stayed in Deer Lake on the first evening. Along the way I couldn’t help but glance off the side of the highway toward the south. Visions of struggling through the island’s interior floated around in my mind. Knowing that I needed to get back home by my own power gave me a rush of anxiety, fear, and uncertainty. This was of course natural and one of the perks of putting myself in this situation. Seeing what I was really made of and overcoming fear are part of every great challenge.

The following day we continued on to Corner Brook to give my first supply drop to Dean MacDonald, a local outfitter who ran a successful hunting lodge in the interior of the west coast, near where I would eventually cross through. This supply would be the first of three I would receive. These so-called checkpoints were in Peter Strides Pond on the Burgeo Highway, Conne River on the south coast, and the final one about 500 kilometres away, at Swift Current.

After stepping out of the car to meet Dean, I shook his hand and we talked about my undertaking. You’re a month too early, he said to me. Not discouraged by his comment, I was all business and showed him areas of interest on the map. Despite his lack of optimism at first, by the time our conversation came to a close he said, Everything will be fine! This confused me. How was the trek through these mountains going to be? It was the only terrain on which I had not really tested myself, aside from a brief walk through Hawke Hill on the Avalon Peninsula.

Through that consultation, Dean skilfully and generously provided me with a wealth of knowledge and helped sculpt some of my route through the Long Range Mountains. He saw my preparedness and knew that both Saku and I were capable. One thing in particular he warned me of was the infamous snow holes that are created when spring melt runs off the hillsides and pools in little valleys under the softening snow. These areas look frozen, but once you walk on them, they give out, putting an unlucky soul at risk of being swallowed into the pooled water below.

When I left Dean’s house I found myself second-guessing an early departure over the mountains. I think Dean’s words worried Heather, but I reassured her that everything would be okay. My belief was that we would make it, and that was all I needed, regardless if I had faced these types of conditions before or not. After leaving Corner Brook we headed to the small rural community of Robinsons, some 150 kilometres away. We would stay one night at a cabin, and on the following day Heather would leave us to the wild. After one final relaxing evening with her, we awoke to sort out what was coming with us and what was not, and also to get one last civilized rinse in the shower. It was hard to believe we were finally here. On Sunday, April 16, the fun began.

Now left to my own devices, I required some downtime to get in the proper mindset to start something of this magnitude. I had to make sure my gear system was fully functional and that I hadn’t forgotten anything. One trick I had learned from reading up on the Hudson’s Bay voyageurs was not to travel far on the first day of any long expedition. Instead, they would move a couple kilometres before establishing camp. This way they could go through their outfit and figure out if they had forgotten any equipment. It sure beat heading twenty or thirty kilometres into the country only to realize you had forgotten your tent poles or axe.

For three days and nights I relaxed on the banks of the Robinsons River. After leaving the beach, looking west toward the Atlantic Ocean, I staggered two kilometres with my eighty-odd-pound pack to a beautiful site just above the riverbank. It wasn’t far from the old Newfoundland Railway. This