Gros Morne is two landscapes pressed together on the west coast of Newfoundland. One is a freshwater fjord: Western Brook Pond, a long finger of water that glaciers cut out of the Long Range Mountains, walled by cliffs some 600 metres high with waterfalls sliding down their faces. The other is the Tablelands, a bare rust-orange plateau where almost nothing grows and there is no birdsong, so empty that it looks more like Mars than like the green island around it. The reason it is orange and barren is that this is not ordinary ground. It is rock that normally sits kilometres below the ocean floor, shoved up here about 460 million years ago when two ancient continents collided. Geologists come to walk across a boundary that is usually tens of kilometres underground.
Getting onto that fjord means a three-kilometre walk over bog and boardwalk to the boat, and the walk is part of it: the mountains keep the gap hidden until the last moment. Elsewhere the park spreads into mossy bogs, coastal meadows and the deep blue reach of Bonne Bay below the village of Norris Point. Moose are everywhere here, in numbers no island this size should hold, and the forest shows it. Cool summers fill the boardwalks and coastal trails, and by early October the valleys burn gold and copper before the highland weather shuts them down. The bald dome the park is named after stands over all of it, climbable in a long day. It stays one of Canada's quietest wild corners: vast, thinly peopled, and geologically unlike anywhere else in the country.