To the Island

19-20^th July 2023

On the drive to the Fogo Island ferry terminal, the calm beauty of the Wonder Shore receding in the rearview mirror, we joke that we must be relaxed as we haven’t checked ferry times and we’re not really stressing about it. We arrive at 12.15 to find we’ve just missed a ferry and the next one isn’t until 3.15. So much for winging it. In our defence, you can’t pre-book this crossing, you just turn up, and we didn’t realise there was a huge gap in the middle of the day between sailings. By the time we get to Fogo town at 5pm we’re hot, bothered, and disappointed in the tiny airless apartment we’re staying in. A pint is called for and, in the still-hot evening, we walk to the local bar. It’s closed, and the signs are that it has been that way for some time. Fortunately we have beer in the fridge, and the small outdoor area is now shaded from the heat of the sun. We sip, catching a glimpse of another iceberg out to sea, before venturing into the furnace for dinner and an attempt at sleep. Things can only get better.

They do, a walk up the steep Brimstone Head* trail before the heat of the day assails us resulting in a spot of unscheduled whale watching, a pod just off the coast feeding on caplin, the small fish found in these waters. Multiple spouts fountain pale against the dark blue sea, the occasional tail flipping into sight. Gulls screech around, looking for their own breakfast, dropping into the waves and emerging with struggling fish trapped in their beaks.

Fogo redeems itself somewhat with a decent coffee and very nice muffin from a small take-out-only café before we head across town to the beginning of the Lion’s Den trail. Like the Greenspond it circles a small headland, but it’s longer and more strenuous, some decent hills and little flat. The sky darkens as we climb and cloud descends, obscuring the sea horizon and flattening the low peaks above us. Drizzle turns to light rain and then, just as we get to the top of the hill and the lookout, full-on pings into us and we’re soaked in seconds. Despite the rain we’re warm in just t-shirts and it’s too hot to even think of raincoats. Seeking shelter we pause for a few seconds under low trees but are driven out by a mist of mosquitoes that surrounds us within seconds. I hear their whine and feel their stinging prick as we move on, repellent sliding off our wet skin even though the bitey beasts seem able to grab on easily enough, probably because they have their teeth embedded in my flesh.

Even in the rain the landscape is stunning, rocky cliffs and outcrops glowing in the wet and low light, small ponds shining grey-white against the green. We march along boardwalks over bogs (which probably explains the mosquitoes) where irises and small fluffy white flowers poke through the green. A purple-hooded, green-centred flower faces downwards as though its head is too heavy to hold up: the pitcher plant, Newfoundland’s regional flower, is a predator. Clearly mosquitoes have worked out how to avoid it. By the coast the wind finally beats the little buggers into submission as we pass settlements abandoned in the 1950s, people driven out by the harshness of the terrain and the decline of fishing in the area.

After lunch we drive to Joe Batt’s Arm on the other side of the island and a heritage area of preserved buildings. Unlike the modern multi-coloured style, these are all the same shade, a muted and matt oxblood red, with white accents on doors and windows. Newer buildings are slotted in between, all scattered around a flat harbour of seaweed-strewn rocks and still water. Galleries and craft shops abound here, with some gorgeous local artworks for sale. Growlers ice cream parlour was described as ‘a must-stop’ by the lady at tourist information and it would be rude to disregard her advice, so we slurp and lick our way around huge portions of some of the best ice cream we’ve tasted.

The next day (having checked ferry times) we arrive at the terminal as a boat lifts the vehicle ramp and pulls away. A man hails us: they had to leave so many cars back on the mainland they’re returning to collect them. We should have been so lucky a couple of days ago. It will delay our sailing by half an hour or so and we sit on a bench by the water’s edge to eat our lunch as we wait, a gentle breeze taking the fierce heat from the sun. Fogo isn’t so bad after all.

*purportedly one of the four corners of the earth if you believe it is flat.