As a pair of spry old farts we usually look for an adventure of some sort over our weekends, be that beach walking or trail hiking but this time we pushed ourselves to the limit and even beyond.
Some while ago I spied on maps a geographical formation in the east of PEI which I felt deserved closer inspection, Boughton Island, which is actually not quite an island but connected to the shore off Cardigan by a one and a half kilometre, grassy sandbank. The island has been uninhabited since the 1930s but was once home to a small community with farmland and lobster canneries, even a school house and post office. Now the only residents are fox, beaver and a variety of birdlife.
The six hundred acre island contains spruce forest, marshland and ponds and is rimmed in most places with red dirt cliffs ranging from ten to fifty feet high. We encountered all these features on a long and exhausting Sunday afternoon.
After a one hour drive to the east of PEI we found the long dirt track, Bruce Point Road, which leads to the shore where access to the sandbank can be had. Until a few months ago a local resident had installed a gate preventing vehicular access to the shore but resistance and government intervention has seen this removed now.
We parked on dune grass and consulted the GPS for walking directions as the island is not apparent from a ground perspective. Satisfied that we were on a southerly path towards the east side of the sandbank we marched off, the smell of rotting seaweed and exposed mudflats harsh in our nostrils. I took a swift jog back to the car for my cap to protect my jutting forehead (and gaping holes behind) from the sun which was still strong in September!
The sand bank is surprisingly high, maybe fifteen feet, and is at least one hundred meters wide. We found firm, damp sand on the east side and strolled south towards the enticing skyline of red cliffs and fir clad slopes. Piping plovers raced to and fro as low waves surged up the sand then retreated. Just as the sandbank joined the island we passed a middle-aged couple sitting outside a tent. I suspect they were camping overnight and enjoying life “off the grid”. It was somewhat irritating to seek out wilderness only to stumble across people straight away (and these folk were doubtless thinking the same!) however they were to be the first and the last humans we would encounter.
We took a clockwise route around the east of the island on lovely deserted beaches with just the sound of breaking waves and wind in the trees for company. Here and there were tangles of fishing nets, buoys and fenders washed ashore but otherwise the scene was pristine. Cliff erosion had left dead grey tree trunks at rakish angles and many more at the base of the low cliffs, weathered to silver and complete with sea-washed roots. The beach was mostly pink sand but strewn in places with boulders.
Our plan was to walk the shoreline but periodically we scrambled up the loose dirt cliffs to explore however the interior looked deep and impenetrable. At one point we spotted a rope ladder and hauled ourselves up this to find someone had built a small camp with benches, supports for tarps and even a latrine off to the side. We doubted anyone had stayed here this summer and maybe not for a couple of years. There was even a holder with plastic cutlery, nailed to a tree by a makeshift table. We tried to strike west, thinking we might be able to cross the island but there was not a chance. The undergrowth was dense and making any progress would have required a machete. Before we moved on, Susan couldn’t resist a go on a homemade swing at the camp and was soon high out over the cliff edge, swinging into the blue sky!
Regular glances at the GPS map on my phone showed that after an hour of hiking we were close to a flat expanse where we might still be able to head west and cut off the southern tip of the island. It turned out to be a deeply marshy area and we soon abandoned our first course. A possible route to one side, through trees looked passable and after a short, five hundred meter trek we were rewarded with views of the western beach.
Clouds were beginning to gather as we headed slowly west and north along the beach and the cliffs rose to the highest we had yet seen. By mid afternoon we would have taken the opportunity to cut north through the island but the cliffs were dangerously precipitous for climbing so we forged on until the beach ran out. Now we were so far around the island that to turn back would have meant a very long hike so, somewhat dubiously we pressed ahead clambering over huge boulders that had tumbled into the sea.
The inevitable happened and my foot was soaked by a rising wave! Soon we both had to take off our shoes and socks as the only way ahead was to wade. We made it around a jutting sandstone headland and almost immediately I fell, protecting my camera as best I could but landing heavily on one knee and both elbows. Some of the fun was beginning to ebb away but we couldn’t turn around now, time would tell whether this was to be a wise decision.
I had studied the tide charts in advance and knew that the tide would still ebb until 5:30pm so despite seeing waves crash directly onto the rocky shore ahead I felt we should still be able to make it back around to the north shoreline. And so we did, eventually. We both fell and our spirits were lowering. At long last the wet and heavy going of the boulder strewn shore gave way to soft sand and we turned north and east and could at last aim for the western side of the sandbank on the horizon.
But there was to be a sting in the tail...
We plodded over a sand and mud beach, avoiding the worst parts until it became clear we were on sticky mudflats. At that point we tried to head for the tree line and higher ground but it was too late. My feet sank in over my shoes to my shins and when I tried to pull one out I felt a slight panic. It wouldn’t come easily but when it did there was a sucking sound before I had to plant it again to avoid falling over. My shoes and socks were dragged off by the deep mud and I stuck my hand in to retrieve them, then staggered and swore my way to firmer ground. Susan was already fifty yards ahead trudging away disconsolately. The sight of a bald eagle swooping from the tree line to the shore was barely sufficient to raise the mood today.
The island would still not release us from misery as we found one more stretch of marshland to negotiate before reaching the sand bank. It was with quite a sigh that we reached the sandbank beach and turned north towards the PEI mainland. We finally reached the car after close to eleven kilometres and three and a half hours of tough trekking, hungry, sore, wet and exhausted.
