Quidi Vidi Vici.

Fished out.

St. John’s, NL – Fog hangs over the hills, greeting us like an old fisherman’s wool sweater.

Jagged greys blend into greens and browns before falling into the lake, where brightly coloured boathouses dot the landscape like wind-blown flowers.

The breathy fog is our only companion as we hike through the hills overlooking the tiny village of Quidi Vidi and toward the wide open mouth of the ocean. We are kissed by the mist and bathed in the aroma of wild sage.

I want to take as big a bite of the scenery as the wind takes of us.

Each upward stride is a reminder of how glad we are to have had a substantial breakfast at Bagel Café, which included a traditional Newfoundland touton – a pancake-like fried dough accompanied by baked beans, molasses and eggs. Soon, we'll have moose taquitos in the village.

I suppose pot is now legal in Canada.

Rounded rocks smoothed by the ocean are tattooed by fibrous roots – raised scars seeking to snatch our ankles in their grasp. Mine gasp at the exertion as they twist over loose stones and dart around jagged crevices. 

Below, plank pathways shrug into the bog.

Looking down past dabs of colour muted in the light rain, the stone face draws a path toward a small dock peppered by lobster pots. A Union Jack stands stiff.

The silence is interrupted by an angry gull and by the waves, which lower their shoulders into the cliffs, shaping and reshaping the terrain over time.

I am at peace staring into an emptiness that is, at the same time, everything.