“Have you hiked the West Coast Trail?”

It’s a question we often hear, and it always annoys us because the implication is that it’s Canada’s premier backpack trip, which it definitely is not.

It’s revealing that we don’t hear this question from experienced hikers. They know the WCT isn’t stellar, so it doesn’t spring to mind during conversation. The people who eagerly ask about our WCT experience do so primarily so they can tell us about theirs. That’s usually because the WCT is the only backpack trip they’ve ever completed. They chose it because a coastal trail strikes them as exotic and because this one’s been overhyped.

Once they learn we’re not WCT fans, they seem relieved they don’t have to rave about it. They admit it didn’t live up to its billing. “Too crowded, too muddy, too much clearcut forest visible just beyond the narrow margin of mature trees,” they say. “And having to hike the WCT as a one-way through trip,” they add “is an expensive hassle.”

From now on, after our inquisitors admit the WCT was an accomplishment they’re proud of but wasn’t nearly as enjoyable as they’d hoped, we’ll ask if they’ve heard about the East Coast Trail.

If they haven’t, and they’re curious about it, here’s what what we’ll say…

The 260-km ECT is in Newfoundland, along the Atlantic Ocean, north and south of St. John’s. Yesterday was our fourth consecutive day on the trail, and we think it’s vastly superior to the WCT.

The Newfoundland coast is more dramatic than Vancouver Island’s because it’s more consistently vertical. Beaches? They’re rare here. But the plummeting cliffs, towering sea stacks, open headlands, and rocky terraces appear to go on forever. And the trail is always surprisingly close to the edge. Often a single seaward step would land you in the frigid water if you’re not vigilant. It makes for exhilarating hiking.

Yesterday, on the 23-km section between Shoal’s Bay Road and Bay Bulls (our favourite so far), we hiked past a blowhole called “The Spout” that erupted in a 15-m geyser every two minutes. Later, we watched a submarine-sized whale cruise by. In between, we feasted on blueberries.

These weren’t the begrudging, pluck-one-here, pluck-one-there blueberry patches we’re accustomed to in the west. This was a cornucopian profusion of berries in which every casual grasp resulted in a full palm: eight to twelve luscious, purple orbs. “Picking” doesn’t even describe it. We were milking these bushes.

And during that entire, glorious day we encountered no other hikers on “our” section of the ECT. We had it all to ourselves on glorious, September Sunday.

Much of the ECT is in stunted, boreal forest granting frequent views of arches, pinnacles, sheer fissures, deep caverns, and countless waterfalls leaping from land to sea. But long stretches of the ECT cross rolling swaths of “tuckamore”- a melange of tightly-knit, ankle-to-knee-high coastal vegetation allowing you to see to the entire horizon. The 11-km section from Petty Harbour to Cape Spear (North America’s easternmost point) is mostly tuckamore, which gave us the odd but pleasing sensation we where traversing alpine/maritime meadows.

The ECT is extremely varied. The section from Shoal’s Bay Road to Bay Bulls is wild, lonely, rugged. From Petty Harbour to Cape Spear, the trail is less remote, more tame. Near St. John’s, the ECT is downright urban, comprising elaborate catwalks and staircases. One of these sections begins at the harbour city’s north end, in the historic neighbourhood called “the Battery” and climbs to the top of Signal Hill. Another ascends generally north from Quidi Vidi (a tiny bay). Both are invigorating, very scenic, and can be appreciated in a one-hour, out-and-back hike.

Notice we haven’t said anything about “backpacking.” That’s because we’ve been dayhiking the ECT-an option you don’t have on the WCT.

You can backpack the ECT, if you’d prefer. We’ve passed beautiful campsites with spacious tent platforms hidden in the forest. But it’s possible to dayhike the entire ECT, spending each night at a seaside inn or B&B. Or you can stay several nights in the same lodging and pay your host to shuttle you to and from whichever section of the ECT you choose to hike each day.

The ECT is to coastal scenery what the Canadian Rockies are to mountain scenery. Though very different than New Zealand’s world-famous Abel Tasman Track (north coast of the South Island), the ECT is equally rewarding. If you’re an avid hiker, the ECT should rank high on your life list.

Keen hikers should definitely visit Gros Morne National Park. The terrain is vast, wild, exotic.

The Long Range Traverse, a 4- to 6-day backpack trip, across the lake-splashed, fiord-slashed, heart of the park is an exciting adventure for very strong hikers with infallible, cross-country navigation skills. But you can overlook much of the route from 806-m Gros Morne Mountain.

Reasonably fit, moderately-experienced hikers can easily summit Gros Morne Mtn in a single day (5 to 7 hours hiking time) via an excellent, 16-km circuit trail. The park’s namesake mountain is Newfoundland’s second-highest peak, and it feels like it. The broad, level summit is an island of arctic felsenmeer. Allow yourself an hour or two on top and along the far side of the circuit to fully appreciate the astonishing 360° view.

A trip to Newfoundland is a commitment, no matter how you arrive here. The overnight ferry from North Sydney, Nova Scotia, takes 7 hours to complete the crossing. So as rewarding as Gros Morne Mtn is, don’t let it be your only hike in this unique national park.

We also recommend the Green Gardens circuit. It too is a 16-km dayhike requiring 5 to 8 hours. For about 5 km, the trail follows a spectacular, rugged stretch of coastal cliffs along the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Green Gardens and Gros Morne Mtn will give you a superb, bookend experience.

Expect to see lots of moose. We saw five in one day: two above the trail, and three crossing the highway just past dusk, on the way back.

Both provinces are relatively flat, and that’s how we’re feeling about them so far: no emotional highs or lows. It’s a matter of perspective, of course, so we should explain ours.

While living in western North America-from Arizona to Alberta-we’ve explored it extensively. To us, big mountains, deep canyons and dramatic coastline are the norm. And for the past 15 years, we’ve lived in the embrace of the Canadian Rockies. Our home is on a mountainside. Soaring crags are visible out the window. So it’s understandable that we’re unmoved by the gently rolling, forest-clad expanses of eastern Canada. A sense of obligation, not satisfaction, is what we feel as we near the end of the first week of our journey. And this doesn’t surprise us. We knew the topography here wouldn’t be spectacular. We told ourselves we’d have to appreciate the details of subtler scenery. And we have.

Walking the leafy streets of south Halifax, we found the tidy, colourful homes unpretentiously charming. The vast, granite outcrops surrounding the lighthouse at Peggy’s Cove kept us happily roaming, much like Utah canyon-country slickrock does. The impeccably-preserved fishing-and-shipbuilding town of Lunenburg (a UNESCO World Heritage site) is an artist’s palette: each home a splash of vibrant colour sharply contrasting with its neighbours and making western Canadian communities seem bland and timid. Cape Chignecto, a peninsula in the Bay of Fundy, is a brilliant example of a community provincial park, where despite only modest scenic assets, locals have successfully created and promoted a worthy destination for hikers.

Feasting on fresh lobster and scallops with Canmore friends who have a home on Prince Edward Island has been the social highlight of our journey so far. Visiting Province House, in Charlottetown, has been the heritage highlight. This is the building in which the concept of a united Canada was first proposed. The structure itself is quintessentially Canadian: noble yet humble. No pomp and circumstance. No armed guards. No Plexiglas ticket booth. No entry fee. No lineup. Just a respectable edifice staffed by friendly, knowledgeable experts ready to engage in meaningful discussion about Canadian history. The film they show at Province House is one every Canadian should see. It’s a re-enactment of the birth of Canada. Though it was dutifully informative, we found it deeply moving. Afterward, Kath picked up a Canadian flag in the foyer and proudly wore it tucked into her daypack while we walked the streets of Charlottetown.

So coming here has already been worthwhile, despite all the monotonous motoring. Rarely is the ocean in view. It’s usually walled off by pretty-yet-unremarkable forest. And because there’s so little topographical relief, you have to be alert at each highway sign. There are no geographic reference points by which to gauge your location. In the west, there’s almost always a dominant, impressive landform in sight, so this constant “Where the heck are we?” feeling is strange to us and disheartening.

We thought Nova Scotia’s northern reaches — Cape Breton Island — might lift our spirits. But the vaunted Highlands are neither high nor distinct. They’re bushy, thickly treed, flat topped, rarely rocky. Nothing like the spiny, fearsome ranges of Scotland. And here, as in the rest of the province, the roads veer inland, so the ocean is visible only occasionally and briefly. After hiking the Skyline trail, our strongest memory of it will be the wind: so pugnacious, most people turned back rather than follow the culminating boardwalk along a ridgecrest overlooking the sea on one side and the Cabot Trail highway on the other.

You intend to hike in Nova Scotia? Here are two more Cape Breton suggestions: (1) The disturbingly-named Meat Cove (far north tip, just east of Cape St. Lawrence), where a tiny, remote community welcomes hikers by providing a free trail-map with descriptions of several long footpaths above the Atlantic Ocean. (2) The coast trail at South Point (north of Ingonish, just south of Neils Harbour), where you can wander on fingers of rosy granite above the surging sea.

On to Newfoundland — a seven hour, overnight ferry trip from Sydney, Nova Scotia. Next stop: Gros Morne National Park.