“Let’s drive the Cabot Trail for the fall colours,” chirped Susan, “and ‘swing by’ Peggy’s Cove, as I’ve never been there before!” No matter that Peggy’s Cove is 400kms west of the Cabot Trail, I mused silently and smiled.
I hastily researched accommodation and discovered that the world and his wife had had a similar notion. Eventually I booked the last room at the Aberdeen Motel in Whycocomagh, Cape Breton, 700km from Charlottetown, via The Confederation Bridge, New Brunswick and Peggy’s Cove, NS!
The weather gods smiled benevolently on us as we headed south, stopping at an Irving Big Stop for breakfast. Half a day later and we were negotiating the remarkable rocky outcrop that is Peggy’s Cove, scene of the tragic 1998 Swiss Air disaster. Coach loads of cruise ship tourists from Halifax joined hundreds of car visitors in filling the narrow, twisting lanes of this attractive yet rugged fishing village.
We clambered up the rocks on which the surprisingly small lighthouse stands and admired the natural beauty. We ventured further, onto the flat, blackish slabs. In rough weather these become perilous and many unwary sightseers have been swept into the surging waters never to return. Today the sea was smooth.
We planned a brief trip to Costco at Beyers Lake then spent a frustrating forty-five minutes negotiating a loop of edge-of-town highways, link roads and junctions around Halifax, which afforded brief and distant glimpses of our target before they were snatched repeatedly and cruelly away. Eventually I found the correct lanes, exits, slip roads and ramps and we dashed in to pick up a couple of quick items before joining the queues behind overflowing carts.
With time racing by, the sun fat and low behind us and Whycocomagh still a distant prospect on the map of Cape Breton, we headed east at pace; a brief stop for Subway fare, then ever onwards in fading light, and finally two hours in darkness with oncoming headlights and impatient truckers behind.
Saturday morning dawned grey and cool but the daylight revealed what yesterday's night time drive had not, rolling hills and splendid autumnal shades. We ate at a little coffee shop and diner full of old world charm, local preserves and a range of second hand books.
Suitably refreshed we hit the road.
The Cabot Trail is a 285km road encircling Cape Breton Island, its undulating route repeatedly climbing hundreds of feet then dropping again to sea level. To call it a scenic drive is an understatement of epic proportions. Every turn brings fresh vistas that make you gasp and shake your head. How can so much natural wonder be concentrated in one area. The hills are steep and high, clad in mostly broadleaf trees and ablaze with fall colours. Our day was overcast and at times spitting with rain but even this could not diminish the views. We would climb through towering stands of beech and maple, a riot of orange and scarlet and yellow, stop at breath-taking lookouts then rush downhill towards craggy coastlines and rolling white breakers.
The culture of Cape Breton is a curious blend of Scottish, French and Native American resulting in quaint roadside views of tartan, bagpipes, Acadian flags and trinket shacks and barely pronounceable place names. We completed the loop and spent a second night in our old but comfortable motel.
Next morning we set off on a 200km journey westward for the small port of Caribou to board the ferry back to our Island, where the seventy-five minute crossing is free in the homeward direction. We sat up on deck in the late autumn sun watching the waves slip by, never totally out of sight of land. A relaxing end to a wonderful long weekend.
There are a few more photos here.
There are a few more photos here.
