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“There are probably still places here,” said my guide, as we watched an eagle surfing on the breeze, “where no human has ever been.” I felt a tingle of excitement. Few things are more tantalising than wilderness - the word itself just oozes promise. Trouble is, it also tends to conjure up images of an exhausting journey to some malarial ridden corner of the globe - where you’re then expected to lug around a heavy rucksack and live on beetles. But there are some wild places that are surprisingly accessible. I was staying at the Humber Valley Resort, a new all- season resort in Newfoundland, just 5 hours flight from Gatwick. It’s essentially an upmarket and rapidly expanding activity centre, complete with a restaurant, luxury chalets and special outdoor programmes for kids. But while it’s extremely comfortable – my chalet turns out to be a sleek 3 bedroom, 3 bathroom house with a sundeck and a fridge as big as my car - it’s surrounded by a landscape so unspoilt that sea kayakers frequently catch sight of humpback whales – and golfers often find moose wandering across the pristine greens of the resort’s championship course. Newfoundland is huddled against the eastern coast of Canada; a sea-slashed island where nature still holds the upper hand. On the map it resembles some primeval sea monster, uncertainly craning its neck across the Atlantic. It’s been settled by Europeans for centuries; John Cabot, an English explorer, named it New Founde Isle when he came here in 1497 – blissfully unaware that the Vikings had pipped him to it by several hundred years. And the coastline, dotted with small communities that owe their existence to whaling and fishing, was thoroughly mapped by Captain Cook in the 18th-century. He made such a good job of it that his charts can still be used today. Yet despite this, much of the island is still largely unexplored – a raw assortment of mountains, glacial lakes and dense green forests that’s home to caribou, lynx and bears. The resort’s been built on Newfoundland’s quiet western coast, on the tranquil shores of Deer Lake, just a 20 minute transfer from the airport. Depending on the time of year you can do anything here, from skiing and snowshoeing to caving and sailing. But as I discovered, if you come between May and October, one of the best ways of enjoying the untamed landscape – and of working off the breakfast pancakes with maple syrup - is to go for a walk. I made for Corner Brook first, a former logging community and the nearest town. It’s the starting point for one of a number of short, family friendly, trails close to the resort. An easy amble along forest tracks and I was soon standing above a gorge so steep that stunted trees clung grimly to the rocks, their branches pointing upwards as if they didn’t dare look down. I felt as if I’d stepped into one of those expansive Caspar David Friedrich landscapes. A short walk later and I was back in the comfort zone of Corner Brook raiding Tim Horton’s (the local equivalent of a Krispy Kreme store) for coffee and squidgy doughnuts and marvelling, not for the first time, at the genuine friendliness and warmth of the locals. Newfoundland must be the only place where the standard response to ‘Thank you very much,’ is a relaxed ‘You’re welcome very much’. But it’s not all wilderness-lite. More adventurous walks can be had in Gros-Morne National Park, a UNESCO World Heritage Site an hour’s drive from the resort on the Gulf of St Lawrence. Part of the Park is traversed by Highway 431, a scenic road with forested hills on one side – and bare brown slopes on the other. These are the Tablelands, flat topped mountains forced through the earth’s crust when vast geological plates collided. Made from a rock that’s toxic to most plants, they remain lifeless and forbidding millions of years after they first appeared. I followed the Green Gardens Trail, a lovely walk that took me initially over barren ground dotted only with insectivorous pitcher plants, silently seducing flies with their glossy red leaves. It was silent save for the occasional call of a bird. At one point Jonathan, my guide, bent down and handed me a smooth piece of glossy, chocolate coloured rock: “That’s part of the earth’s mantle,” he said. “This is one of the few places in the world where you can see it.” The trail continued past stunted spruce trees, known locally as tuckamore, and then into thick forest, where a narrow path led steeply down to the sea. This was the eponymous Green Gardens, a stretch of coast where lush meadows line the rocky shore and dramatic sea stacks jut defiantly from the water. We sat down and looked over the Gulf of St Lawrence, stretching our eyes in search of surfacing whales, while a bald eagle soared lazily overhead. All this – and I didn’t even need a rucksack.

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