Here at St. Kyran's, there was a slight clearing behind the church that I might've walked a few feet down regardless, but this morning I was committed to going for a good walk down the path as I knew what lay ahead.

This is the old road which connected St. Kyran's and St. Leonard's, and where the even older St. Kyran's church used to stand halfway between the two communities.

The truly remarkable thing about visiting St. Kyran's is not only the magnificent ruin by the shore, but that there's another magnificent ruin back in the bush. Walking past a couple of headstones, here lay the old stone church that fell into ruin following a 1922 fire.

It was only about 800m (2600 feet) from the start of the path to this church. Moseying along unencumbered by my heavy pack, I was checking out the nearby lake and noticing that there were actual chainsaw'd trees cleared from the path here, when all of a sudden I was already at the cemetery surrounding The Church of the Assumption.

Following the death of Bishop Fleming in 1850, Bishop Mullock took over and set off a period of finishing construction and new construction of churches, convents and schools. One of Bishop Mullock's big projects was the construction of five stone churches outside of the two diocese capitals of St. John's and Harbour Grace.

Around 1860, these five stone churches were constructed in Torbay, Kilbride, Ferryland, Blackhead, and amazingly, the distant St. Kyran's. One St. John's reporter wrote of St. Kyran's, "when you consider that all this was done by the people of a remote parish, limited in numbers, separated from any centre of trade or population, and who have already subscribed thousands of pounds towards the same object, the facts are positively astounding..."

The church at St. Kyran's was constructed mostly of local red granite, but the quoins, windows, door frames, mouldings and water tables were constructed with imported sandstone.

The Terra Nova Advocate sheds additional light on some of the church's other flourishes, "outside the metropolis there was hardly any ecclesiastical edifice to compare with St. Kyran's Church. It was a perfect architectural gem and no expense had been spared by the late Archdeacon Walsh and his generous parishioners." and "The four stained glass windows which adorned the church cost 60 pounds sterling¹ each and the altar was made of Carrara Marble and cost several hundred pounds."

Sadly the church would suffer a fire on December 31st, 1879.

1 - About $16,000 CAD in 2024.

The stone church was repaired and reconstructed following the 1879 fire, and after seven years of fundraising and rebuilding, it was consecrated again by Bishop Power on August 15, 1886.

On June 2, 1922, a second fire would completely gut and leave the Church of the Assumption to ruin. The townspeople believed that the fire was a result of an altar boy not properly disposing of smoldering incense.

As for the other four churches, the stone church in Torbay was closed in 1919 and the last of the its ruins were taken apart around 1962. The Kilbride stone church burned down in 1892. It's unclear when we lost the Blackhead stone church, especially as they're not even sure where it stood. And lastly some good news, as the Ferryland stone church still stands and is still in use.

I've mentioned the population numbers from the nearby communities and it really is remarkable that they built such an impressive church out here. I've sat around and tried to think of all the stone churches in Newfoundland and it's not a big number. As in, a number in the single digits.

While I enjoy that the 1922 St. Kyran's church is far enough removed to stay out of Tik Toks and the range of teenage spraypaint, it really would be nice if this stone church was closer to some settlement where it could be stabilized.

Comparing my photos versus those from a visit by a kayaker in 2015, there's not much change, but the wall in the above photo sure doesn't look too stable.

Hurricane Larry would come through about a week later with enough force to destroy many of the wharves and stages in nearby Great Paradise. I'm left curious what it did to both of the church ruins here and also the "old community paths" that I used to get out here.

I briefly wondered what it would be like to weather Hurricane Larry out here, but obviously, not in this church ruin.

What would you do - go in the cellar back in St. Kyran's? It would be pretty scary if the water started to rise on you, but you're not going in the newer church ruin either with all of that loose wood.

I suppose the cellar across the harbour was built on higher ground, but the obvious and pragmatic answer would be to head back to the abandoned cabin in Clattice Harbour.

After exploring all sides of the stone church I wandered around the cemetery for a while, but also started to think about time passing and needing to make it halfway back to Monkstown today.

The path from the harbour up to this cemetery/church keeps going over to St. Leonard's, but I really was worried about covering kilometers today and I also knew there was nothing left at St. Leonard's.

In hindsight, I wish I would have covered the extra 800m over to St. Leonard's. I insist that I am trying to be better about pushing myself that last extra bit when I find myself in really remote and/or remarkable places. Not to mention, St. Leonard's used to be known as Oliver's Cove but the priest encouraged them to rename it because of Oliver Cromwell - so I could have made so many Irish Blood, English Heart references!

Next time, right?

Speaking of next time, as I came out of the path to the main church at St. Kyran's, this was a case of appreciating the moment and thinking about how I may never be back here again.

I mean, I've tried to convince Rosie that this is a great multi-day hike, but as of 2024 I haven't been back.

I was right to take a few extra minutes to savour things and ensure I didn't miss anything.

Moving with ease along the harbour, it was early enough and I felt good about the amount of time I had to cover the distance to Clattice Harbour. Especially now that I knew the landscape and had an idea of what was involved.

So I took the time to pull my camera back out of my pack and snap some photos of the clearings where it looked like houses or cabins once stood in St. Kyran's. You obviously have to camp at the church if you're here overnight, but some of these old clearings looked like pretty appealing spots as well.

The first four or five km went swimmingly, and while that's to be expected with the old community paths, that distance also includes crossing near those two ponds and making my way up the hill and on to the barrens.

I figured that up on the barrens I could meet up with the Clattice Harbour trail earlier by veering off yesterday's route and keeping to the east, staying away from the smaller ponds to the west and north. Except that suddenly my life was made much harder by bogs, plus a fear put into me as I rustled up another couple of moose, this time a mother who let out a grunt to tell me who's boss.

Letting that moose have more than enough room as I waited for the hair on my arms to sit back down, I then kept going along a lakeside hill of tough shrubs, but it was all leading me the wrong way and not going anywhere good.

Abandoning that plan and heading more directly for the cabin from day 2, I found a marvellous path that led from the barrens up here right down to the two cabins at Clattice Harbour Northwest. It really was unbelievable how well it was cleared and I have no idea what it went to out in the barrens.

The funny thing is that this left me getting to the abandoned cabin at Clattice Harbour with five hours of daylight still left to go - but with that caribou coming within feet of the tent last night, I wasn't about to go camping up into the barrens between here and Monkstown.

My ass was sleeping in the safety of a cabin tonight, and so, it was time to spend an afternoon at the ol' cabin.

Plopping down my pack, I even took my hair down, resulting in a whole mess of branches and needles falling to the floor.

I still didn't want to go explore and run into anyone who would tell me not to sleep in this cabin. I also hadn't charged Isy's battery pack enough to listen to many podcasts.

Instead I broke out The Old Man and the Sea, reading about how the old man had an arthritic and cramped hand that hindered fishing. I thought to my own worries of my cold, cramped, and maybe arthritic knee during this hike. It was doing pretty good though, and save for some chafing, there wasn't much else to complain about physically.

Some mice had been here at some point, evidenced by their droppings. I wasn't worried about living mice though since there wasn't any unsealed, rotten food in the cabin, but rather, I was worried about Hantavirus from their droppings.

I'd come to learn from my friend Bruce that Hantavirus isn't really a thing in Newfoundland as it relies on a hotter, dryer climate where the dust can become airborne. I didn't have that knowledge here though, and as I slept I actually woke myself up in the night because I was clenching my jaw so hard with worry, lol.

Another worry was the nighttime low, so I worked to close the door even though the cabin had shifted and the frame was no longer the shape of the door. I removed a rope that prevented the door from opening all the way, then used some battery cables to extend the rope enough to wrap it around a random nail sticking out of the wall.

Amidst all this, I also magically got one bar of 3G service after not having cell service since about 2km into the hike out of Monkstown two days ago. I took the opportunity to let Isy know I was okay (no response, lol) and also Shelloo (quick response, also provided weather update).

It was almost time to light some candles for reading light when I heard an unexpected boat motor. Peering outside, there was a big fishing vessel almost right outside the cabin and I was happy I didn't pop out of the front door.

They would come again just as I was about to go to sleep. They then headed off to the other corner of the harbour to anchor off for the night. (You can see them as the blue speck near centre of the above photo.)

Shelloo told me the rain was supposed to start at 8am, but I decided I'd rather walk in the rain than get an alpine start. I asked her the sunrise time and set my alarm clock for a half hour earlier (617am), but waking up, there was already more than enough light that I could have been already gone.

Hearing the fishing boat roar to life, I had almost everything packed as I slipped back into my hiking shoes that were still damp from yesterday. Making short work of the rough path between this cabin and the "romance movie road" that first led me down to Clattice Harbour Northwest, I happily turned on to that road with its tree canopy and its easy rise up into the barrens.

I was so focused on getting to Monkstown before the thick of this rain event that I passed a dead hawk along the way and didn't even stop to take a picture for Shelloo to identify it. That's focus on my part.

Meteorologist Eddie Sheerr had been talking about Hurricane Larry for so long now that I wondered if this rain was the start of the approaching hurricane/tropical storm. Surely Shelloo would have told me that, right? Anyway, all this worry about Larry led me to sing "hush, hush, this is Larry" in the Voices Carry tone to pass the time and ward off animals.

Anyway, day 1 with all of the hills and bogs wasn't the easiest and I was open to other options. Trying to follow the middle of the peninsula and avoid the eastern hills, I looked over at the hydro line and saw what looked like the promising ease of a rough quad path.

Fighting off a ridge through dead trees and rocky drops, it wasn't easy, but the eventual hydro line had a mix of what looked like a quad trail, bogs and game trail. The bogs meant I just accepted my feet getting wet, so I don't know if this route is what I'd pick to go back to St. Kyran's, but I was moving along at a decent pace.

And oh yeah, the rain had started. I was hoping it would hold off like it does in Corner Brook, but the rain predicted for 8am started at 747am. It wasn't too bad to start though.

One worry I had with this new route was all of the rivers I could see on my topographic map, emptying out from the lakes I was avoiding. They weren't named rivers, so they could be more like creeks, but I had no idea until I was fully invested in going this route.

Thankfully they were all easily stepped across, save for one where I had to take a look around for a good option and then make a bit of a jump.

Going up and down just slightly with the hydro line, the land up ahead all seemed to climb to an elevation that I would need to summit. I was instantly rewarded though, as up ahead I could see the finish line in Monkstown.

It was good too, as the wind had picked up now and I was very thankful that it was a south wind. Even when I would make slight turns to the east or the west, the sustained wind speed made me think that I may have had to spend another night in Clattice Harbour if it had been a north wind. Making mistakes and having to turn around, I knew I'd have been storm-stayed if I had to walk into this wind all day.

It's around here that I changed to singing the Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald with the wind in the wires making a tattle-tale sound.

I skipped out on that celebratory dip in the falls I saw on day one, but then again, I probably could have just jumped in fully clothed as I was completely soaked.

It was much more glorious to just get back to the car, trotting down the quad path and celebrating with a jelly-legged catch of myself on the car to signify making it out to St. Kyran's and back.

Driving back to the main Burin Highway, I was only on the Monkstown/Davis Cove Road for a few minutes before it started to downpour. My wipers went to the high-speed setting and I was more than happy that I was off the barrens and into a dry shirt in my car.

I also couldn't wait to get to Marystown and into a warm shower.

Continue to Part 4...