Cape Breton called and we answered. Driving via the Confederation Bridge is cheaper but adds two and a half hours to the journey if made by ferry. However we were in no rush and enjoyed spending the cash saved on a slap-up breakfast at the Aulac Big Stop, a great place to eat while people-watching. “Who dressed her today? Does he realise those shorts look ridiculous. She doesn’t need that huge slice of pie!”
The somewhat irritable lady announcer on Susan’s GPS squawked in indignation when we appeared to be yomping though fields near Antigonish but calm was restored when the newly laid section of Highway 104 resumed contact with the old road and her protests subsided.
After five and three quarter hours driving, watching the Nova Scotia scenery slide by, we arrived at the tiny Corney Brook camp site right by the shore of the Northumberland Strait. It’s unmanned and first come first served. Luckily at 4pm we were in time to bag one of the four remaining pitches. My dome tent popped up quickly but there then ensued a twenty minute bout of grappling with the fly. It flapped like a pterodactyl in the stiff on-shore wind and at times we stood either side of the tent holding it and wondering what to do. Those handy little Velcro straps came to the rescue and we tamed the beast.
Who pumps up air mattresses by hand? I do! I had acquired a set of adapters for my portable compressor but none would fit the mattress valve. Four hundred and fifty pumps later we were about to call it ‘job done’ when Susan heard a faint hiss. Oh well, we’ll see what it’s like when we get back from an excursion.
A quick jaunt to the Cape Breton Visitor Centre at Cheticamp and we were relieved of cash for three days of National Park passes and two nights camping – still cheaper than ‘half’ a night in a motel! Onwards next, to the main road through Cheticamp where expensive seafood restaurants have all but cornered the market. We spied Wabo’s Pizza and dived in for anything but pizza. Susan sampled the chicken fingers and fries, I the 12 inch veggie sub.
Energy levels suitably restored, we returned the twelve kilometers to our remote camp and inspected the air mattress. Darn it, a tad soft. Pump, pump. A short boardwalk with steps drops down to the beach of a little cove where we sat on a driftwood log and watched the sun sink into the horizon, a yellow and pink ball crossed with thin black streaks of cloud.
Waking for a pee break during the night revealed the mattress to be so deflated that we were partly resting on the ground. One hundred and ten pumps later, plus a swift pee in or near the bushes, and slumber was resumed but not before I took time to admire the star spangled heavens and the broad sash of the Milky Way.
7:30am, and we took a quick splash-and-dash wash at the toilet block where cold water was the only option. The heads to the hot taps had been removed, presumably in the interests of economy. Ever the careful camper, I had brought a spare queen air mattress with us and pumped that up in place of the other, ready for the next night. Indeed, a scan of my car truck would reveal a spare six-man tent should canvas have become a problem too.
A short drive south took us to the family-run Aucoin bakery for buttered scone (with a knob of butter ‘harder than the knockers of hell’ according to Susan!) and a more dignified apple turnover for me, all washed down with coffee. By 9am we had driven twenty kilometers north on the Cabot Trail and had gained fifteen hundred feet of elevation from sea level. There we parked at the head of the Skyline Trail and set off on foot. There weren’t many other walkers and some of those I saw at least twice as I had to walk back to the car after ten minutes to collect my binoculars. I made the return trip at a light canter, slowing to a respectful stroll as I passed other hikers.
The trail heads steadily downhill until it breaks out of the tree line and rewards the walker with spectacular elevated views over the Northumberland Strait. A stepped boardwalk continues steeply further downward with platforms every hundred feet or so as far as a headland, standing some four hundred feet above sea level. There we sat and drank in the natural beauty of the Strait, the coastline and the towering tree-clad slopes behind.
Every so often a dark dot would appear way down below on the water. Fortunately ‘someone’ had trudged back for the binoculars so we were able to identify the heads of seals and the dorsal fins of a small school of dolphins. Some years ago, I saw whales there and heard their spouting but not today. The uphill walk back is tough until the slope begins to level but the round trip hike of six or seven kilometers is well worth it.
Back in the car we drove further north to Pleasant Bay where we came across the Bean Barn Cafe and enjoyed their lunchtime sandwiches. The nicely furnished and rather homey bathroom was of special note.
There seems to be significant funds available for road repairs in Cape Breton as we came across numerous stretches of road in various stages of remaking: some were milled, some part repaved and other ripped up entirely where we drove in dust clouds on loose sand and gravel for several kilometers (as two stone chips on my new car can testify to). We headed clockwise on the Cabot Trail stopping at lookouts and other exciting spots along the way, including a goat soap farm where appropriate petting was carried out, and the stunning Green Cove where giant, pink granite blocks are strewn in a tumble into the sea. Needless to say, Susan charged straight out, leaping in flip-flops from block to block over yawning chasms until there was nowhere left to leap but the sea. I took the more sensible route and slowed my pace as the crashing waves drew near.
All three hundred kilometers of The Cabot Trail duly driven, we cruised back into camp and took deckchairs down to the beach to watch the sun set again. A seal kept bobbing his little black head up so we played spot the seal head while watching nature’s spectacular end to daylight.
Mattress number two remained trampoline-like all night so we woke refreshed and ready to break camp. We took breakfast once more at the highly recommended Aucoin bakery and began the steady drive home, banging out a long, long playlist through the iPod. We chose to take the ferry back to the island which gave me a more restful day and provided yet more fun for us people-watcher fanatics. Coats on deck when it’s 26C; toupees plastered onto shiny scalps; sandals with socks; gigantic bottoms crammed into miniature latex pants... oh the hilarity!
Apart from one dealer registration plate, ours was the only PEI plate in the queues for the ferry. We saw Pennsylvania, Florida, New Hampshire, as well as all the Canadian Provinces bar Manitoba and Saskatchewan. Holiday season is clearly still in full swing.
Last on made us last of the three hundred-or-so cars off and back onto home territory. In no real hurry, we cruised the hour back to Charlottetown and ate a gorgeous takeout Himalayan curry for dinner before crashing out and dreaming of seals and tents and stars and sunsets.
The somewhat irritable lady announcer on Susan’s GPS squawked in indignation when we appeared to be yomping though fields near Antigonish but calm was restored when the newly laid section of Highway 104 resumed contact with the old road and her protests subsided.
After five and three quarter hours driving, watching the Nova Scotia scenery slide by, we arrived at the tiny Corney Brook camp site right by the shore of the Northumberland Strait. It’s unmanned and first come first served. Luckily at 4pm we were in time to bag one of the four remaining pitches. My dome tent popped up quickly but there then ensued a twenty minute bout of grappling with the fly. It flapped like a pterodactyl in the stiff on-shore wind and at times we stood either side of the tent holding it and wondering what to do. Those handy little Velcro straps came to the rescue and we tamed the beast.
Who pumps up air mattresses by hand? I do! I had acquired a set of adapters for my portable compressor but none would fit the mattress valve. Four hundred and fifty pumps later we were about to call it ‘job done’ when Susan heard a faint hiss. Oh well, we’ll see what it’s like when we get back from an excursion.
A quick jaunt to the Cape Breton Visitor Centre at Cheticamp and we were relieved of cash for three days of National Park passes and two nights camping – still cheaper than ‘half’ a night in a motel! Onwards next, to the main road through Cheticamp where expensive seafood restaurants have all but cornered the market. We spied Wabo’s Pizza and dived in for anything but pizza. Susan sampled the chicken fingers and fries, I the 12 inch veggie sub.
Energy levels suitably restored, we returned the twelve kilometers to our remote camp and inspected the air mattress. Darn it, a tad soft. Pump, pump. A short boardwalk with steps drops down to the beach of a little cove where we sat on a driftwood log and watched the sun sink into the horizon, a yellow and pink ball crossed with thin black streaks of cloud.
Waking for a pee break during the night revealed the mattress to be so deflated that we were partly resting on the ground. One hundred and ten pumps later, plus a swift pee in or near the bushes, and slumber was resumed but not before I took time to admire the star spangled heavens and the broad sash of the Milky Way.
7:30am, and we took a quick splash-and-dash wash at the toilet block where cold water was the only option. The heads to the hot taps had been removed, presumably in the interests of economy. Ever the careful camper, I had brought a spare queen air mattress with us and pumped that up in place of the other, ready for the next night. Indeed, a scan of my car truck would reveal a spare six-man tent should canvas have become a problem too.
A short drive south took us to the family-run Aucoin bakery for buttered scone (with a knob of butter ‘harder than the knockers of hell’ according to Susan!) and a more dignified apple turnover for me, all washed down with coffee. By 9am we had driven twenty kilometers north on the Cabot Trail and had gained fifteen hundred feet of elevation from sea level. There we parked at the head of the Skyline Trail and set off on foot. There weren’t many other walkers and some of those I saw at least twice as I had to walk back to the car after ten minutes to collect my binoculars. I made the return trip at a light canter, slowing to a respectful stroll as I passed other hikers.
The trail heads steadily downhill until it breaks out of the tree line and rewards the walker with spectacular elevated views over the Northumberland Strait. A stepped boardwalk continues steeply further downward with platforms every hundred feet or so as far as a headland, standing some four hundred feet above sea level. There we sat and drank in the natural beauty of the Strait, the coastline and the towering tree-clad slopes behind.
Every so often a dark dot would appear way down below on the water. Fortunately ‘someone’ had trudged back for the binoculars so we were able to identify the heads of seals and the dorsal fins of a small school of dolphins. Some years ago, I saw whales there and heard their spouting but not today. The uphill walk back is tough until the slope begins to level but the round trip hike of six or seven kilometers is well worth it.
Back in the car we drove further north to Pleasant Bay where we came across the Bean Barn Cafe and enjoyed their lunchtime sandwiches. The nicely furnished and rather homey bathroom was of special note.
There seems to be significant funds available for road repairs in Cape Breton as we came across numerous stretches of road in various stages of remaking: some were milled, some part repaved and other ripped up entirely where we drove in dust clouds on loose sand and gravel for several kilometers (as two stone chips on my new car can testify to). We headed clockwise on the Cabot Trail stopping at lookouts and other exciting spots along the way, including a goat soap farm where appropriate petting was carried out, and the stunning Green Cove where giant, pink granite blocks are strewn in a tumble into the sea. Needless to say, Susan charged straight out, leaping in flip-flops from block to block over yawning chasms until there was nowhere left to leap but the sea. I took the more sensible route and slowed my pace as the crashing waves drew near.
All three hundred kilometers of The Cabot Trail duly driven, we cruised back into camp and took deckchairs down to the beach to watch the sun set again. A seal kept bobbing his little black head up so we played spot the seal head while watching nature’s spectacular end to daylight.
Mattress number two remained trampoline-like all night so we woke refreshed and ready to break camp. We took breakfast once more at the highly recommended Aucoin bakery and began the steady drive home, banging out a long, long playlist through the iPod. We chose to take the ferry back to the island which gave me a more restful day and provided yet more fun for us people-watcher fanatics. Coats on deck when it’s 26C; toupees plastered onto shiny scalps; sandals with socks; gigantic bottoms crammed into miniature latex pants... oh the hilarity!
Apart from one dealer registration plate, ours was the only PEI plate in the queues for the ferry. We saw Pennsylvania, Florida, New Hampshire, as well as all the Canadian Provinces bar Manitoba and Saskatchewan. Holiday season is clearly still in full swing.
Last on made us last of the three hundred-or-so cars off and back onto home territory. In no real hurry, we cruised the hour back to Charlottetown and ate a gorgeous takeout Himalayan curry for dinner before crashing out and dreaming of seals and tents and stars and sunsets.
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