The wide opened path of the Gros Morne scree opens up before me, a river of gravel and boulders angling straight up to the summit. The path slants into the low lying clouds above; to my eight year old eyes, it seems as though this is the entrance to the sky itself.
Enraptured, I jog up the path and run past boulders, my feet causing little waterfalls of gravel down the trail. All around are hikers of every age; the trail is steep enough for a challenge, yet also gentle enough for even the most inexperienced adventurers.
I jog past the multiple couples and families, listening in on conversations. Everyone is in awe of the surrounding beauty, evident even through the encroaching fog. Below us lies a marsh filled valley, boulders looming like monoliths through the mist. A couple I pass chat about the moose they saw on the way in, and sure enough, upon inspection of the valley I could see one roving below, ant sized from my viewpoint. Another group is munching upon wild berries that they picked the day before, they offer me some which I gleefully accept. Newfoundland friendliness is contagious amongst the crowd.
Below I hear my parents calling for me to slow down, but I'm too excited. I bound up the scree as fast as I can, keeping pace with a German couple and an elderly French man, whose is delighted as I prattle on, showing off my limited skills in his language. Looking around, you could see people from all around the world have found their way onto this ancient, isolated mountain range.
As I hear my parents voices grow farther away, the German couple insists I wait for them, sitting with me until they appear. We near the top of the mountain, and my father holds my hand to ensure that I don't bound off to without them. Finally, we arrive. The long, flat summit remains cloudlocked at first, however after a few minutes we see it lighten. As we set up a picnic on the moss we watch the other hikers meander about, eating, talking and laughing. I wave at the ones I recognize with glee.
Suddenly, the sun pierces through the clouds, and we are greeted with the stunning view the valleys below. Fjords run through the low mountains, remnants of an ice age gone by, and we can just make out some waterfalls coming off nearby cliffs. Across from us I spy another moose picking its way across a high field. As the sun stretches its rays across the valleys a silence cuts through the chatter. We all gaze below, at peace with the beauty in this remote and timeworn world.
