Selected articles from the Summer 2003 issue
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FATHOM FIVE NATIONAL MARINE PARK:
Wendy Killoran
Photos by Jim Gear
A stack of towering dolomite soared above my kayak as I paddled the jade green water lapping at its base. Mellow light bathed the flowerpot as the sun sank lower in the western sky, almost obscured by the lofty cliff, which is part of the Niagara escarpment, snaking its way sinuously to Flowerpot Island in the Georgian Bay.
My paddling friend, Jim Gear, and I had intended to paddle across the channel separating the northern tip of the spectacular Bruce Peninsula, renowned for its karst topography, to Manitoulin Island, the world’s largest freshwater island. A route following strategically placed islands such as Cove Island, Lucas Island, Yeo Island and Fitzwilliam Island make this crossing a very do-able route when winds are favourable.
But true to my paddling nickname, "Windy Wendy," and also apparently due to the fact that a full moon would rise into the clear sky that evening, which according to some lunar and weather experts meant increased wind conditions, the crossing would have to wait. But the uncooperative wind conditions weren’t going to affect our paddling opportunity. This stunning area has beguiled my senses since childhood. My hiking boots have clambered over a myriad of trails that penetrate the dense wilderness, including the famed Bruce Trail. Now I would explore this area, Fathom Five National Marine Park, Canada’s first established marine park, from the seat of my kayak.
Loading our kayaks on the wooden dock about thirty centimetres above water level in Little Tub Harbour in Tobermory, I noticed that even in this sheltered refuge for sailboats, fishing boats, tour boats, and the car ferry the Chi-Cheemaun, a stiff wind ruffled the water’s surface. At the slip opposite, I couldn’t help but notice the bright yellow and red "Semi-Submersible Aquaviewer," a homemade floating contraption riddled with plate-sized oval windows at water’s level. In previous years, this oddball boat had given tours of the area, bringing tourists up close and personal with some of the 22 shipwrecks which litter the shallow turquoise water. Apparently the fellow who made this bizarre marine contraption was so obsessed with looking into the depths of the marine world that he’d created a window in the hull of his kayak but people had looked at him oddly as he’d paddled, continuously staring between his legs! Now he dreams of taking his semi-submersible to British Columbia, not on a flatbed of a train or truck, but via the Panama Canal. Hopefully the waters will provide smooth sailing, as I’d hazard to guess a sea kayak is more seaworthy than this homemade contraption.
Departing Little Tub Harbour under mild, sunny skies, I let the stress of a work week wash away. I’d slept well, in a cozy waterfront cottage, kayaks safely stored across the length of the rustic living room floor. The Chi-Cheemaun had left an hour earlier, it’s belly filled with cars, trucks, and RV’s. My belly was filled with a full breakfast from a local, self-serve restaurant, the Crowsnest.
Heading past parked boats and into the bay entrance, I noticed the Big Tub Lighthouse. Beyond, waves rolled towards me. I hovered at the bay’s entrance as I noticed Jim, who’d paddled quite some distance away from me had disappeared all together. I presumed he’d gone to adjust something behind a stone break wall, sheltered from the gusty wind. Several minutes later he re-emerged, struggling with his rudder.
Our trip evolved spontaneously. Hovering momentarily into the wind and one-metre waves, we decided to head out towards Russel Island rather than hug the shore towards Bruce Peninsula National Park. I dug in with vigour as the wind tried to impede my forward momentum. I’d become strong from extensive paddling throughout the summer. The wind in my face delighted me.
Soon we were sheltered from the wind along the southeast shore of Russel Island where Jim landed and fixed the rudder. In a brisk wind like today’s, it was advantageous and beneficial to have the use of a rudder. We paddled northwards with a northwestern wind pushing one-metre waves towards our port bow. Crossing Macgregor Channel to North Otter Island, Jim sometimes dipped into wave troughs with barely his head visible. Looking to my right, Flowerpot Island and Bears Rump Island lay clearly visible several kilometres away as picture postcard clouds filled the sunny sky.
At North Otter Island we decided to paddle along the eastern shore of Cove Island, the largest by far of the twenty islands that comprise Fathom Five National Marine Park. Only a few islands within the park boundary are privately owned, by wealthy entrepeneurs such as the family responsible for establishing the London Life insurance company. We paddled across the bay where the Charles P. Minch shipwreck lay close to shore, indicated by a red flag for diving boats. Most shipwrecks in the area occurred between the 1850s and 1888, when schooners laden with supplies or lumber navigated the shallow and treacherous waterways, succumbing to powerful storms. With the erection of the lighthouses at Cove Island (1858), Big Tub Harbour (1885), and Flowerpot Island (1897) along with the first complete survey in 1888 of the Georgian Bay by Captain J.G. Boulton, the frequency of shipwrecks in the vicinity declined. By the 1890s, schooners were being replaced by propeller-driven steamers.
A small fishing boat lay in the sheltered leeward side of Cove Island. A beautiful shoreline of rugged dolomite, cliff-like in areas and flattening out to boulder beaches of white rock rimmed the shore. Dense, dark green cedar trees with a sprinkling of deciduous trees climbed inland. I reveled in the beauty surrounding me, intoxicated by the intense contrast of colours, sublime shades of turquoise and jade on the water, off-white rock, deep, verdant green forest and azure blue sky. The essence of natural beauty enveloped me, seeped into my soul, inspired each paddle stroke.
Far to the north, I clearly saw Lucas Island and Yeo Island, merely seven kilometres north of Cove Island, and beyond, a thin faint streak of pale green on the horizon indicated Fitzwilliam Island. They Beckoned but I’d have to decline. In the shelter of Cove Island’s leeward side, I was fooled into believing a crossing was possible, but carefully gazing over the watery horizon, I saw huge waves travelling from west to east, deceiving in size.
Half way up the eastern shore of Cove Island we paused, re-energizing with a snack and liquids. The late September day was brilliant, warm and sunny with nobody else in sight. The Cove Island lighthouse appeared around a bend and southwards, about a kilometre away, the M.S. Chi-Cheemaun plied the Georgian Bay northwards between Echo Island and Cove Island, enroute to South Baymouth on Manitoulin Island, a link to Ontario’s northland. At 110 metres in length, it is the largest vessel of its kind travelling the Great Lakes with a capacity of 143 vehicles and 638 passengers, making the trip several times daily throughout the spring to the fall. Ojibwa for "Big Canoe," the Chi-Cheemaun’s inaugural sailing occurred in 1974.
At the northern tip of Cove Island, we landed the kayaks along a sheltered rocky shore. Nearby was the colourful red and white lighthouse, now automated. A small community of buildings surrounded the whitewashed lighthouse tower. Gazing upwards, an azure sky dazzled me. A nearby helicopter pad gave evidence to modern improvements from its original construction. I watched carefully as I walked across the shingle rocks, knowing that due to Cove Island’s larger size and closer proximity to nearby islands and the Bruce Peninsula, that it is home to a larger variety of flora and fauna than more remote and smaller Flowerpot Island, and thus home to the endangered, poisonous Massassauga rattle snake as well as black bears. In the warm sunshine, I half expected to encounter a sunbathing snake, but didn’t.
After a leisurely lunch we made an open-water crossing with erratic waves colliding from two different directions to Echo Island. A small cliff plummeted to the turquoise water along the island’s north shore, riddled with caves. Loud echoes of waves colliding against the rock rebounded towards us. Another red flag caught my attention at the northeastern tip of this small island, site of the Arabia shipwreck. Farther to the northeast I saw Snake Island, with a huge tree on the western tip and an unidentifiable structure which appeared to be a manmade structure, perhaps a cottage, on the eastern tip. It looked surreal.
Perky starboard beam waves made for a playful paddle to Flowerpot Island, the jewel of this marine park. By now it was late afternoon. The last tour boat of the day hugged the island’s rocky shoreline, its upper deck filled with colourfully dressed tourists, all gawking at our kayaks paddling on what appeared to be a collision course with the glass-bottomed boat. The first glass-bottomed boat in this area was built in 1975 in Tobermory, used for viewing the well preserved, shallow shipwrecks found in the clearest, most pristine water of the Great Lakes.
Laundry flapped on clotheslines at the lighthouse station, now maintained by volunteers who also welcome day visitors. On the cliff adjacent, stood an unspectacular lighthouse that is replacement for the more interesting original structure.
Rounding the next bend, towering jagged spires of rock, sculpted by the percolating action of water which dissolves the calcite in the rock, we came upon the enchanting Castle Rock, the highest point of land, at 44 metres, and an inspiring site. With the sun having dipped lower towards the horizon, this shore was shaded but also free from wind, which seemed to be abating. Along these cliffs some of North America’s oldest surviving vegetation can be found, including a 1860 year old eastern white cedar, untouched by the ravages of lumbering which occurred extensively on the mainland.
Beyond these enchanting cliffs we came upon the flowerpots, two sea stacks caused by differential erosion. In the days of my childhood I can recall water lapping and pounding at their bases. With such tremendous water level fluctuations recently and throughout the history of the Great Lakes, it didn’t surprise me to find these rock pillars now above the water line and noticeably reinforced with mortar and dolomite at the base and capped with concrete. The first flowerpot we paddled along was the taller, at twelve metres, almost double the height of its neighbour at seven metres. The late afternoon sunshine gave wonderful three-dimensional definition to the photos we shot as we paddled by its base.
Nature is full of superlative wonders. Surely these flowerpots are one of the most distinct and easily recognizable natural features in Canada, similar to the incredible Hopewell Rocks which become land bound during low tide in the Bay of Fundy in New Brunswick, yet are surrounded by murky red water during high tide. I’d seen a similar flowerpot near Dyer’s Bay along the Bruce Trail called the Devil’s Pulpit, but it stands high and dry, many metres above the present day water level, testament again to the previous higher water levels following the glacial melting period from the last ice age 12000 years ago. These whitish grey rocks were formed over 400 million years ago when this area was an inland sea at the equator. Calcareous creatures were deposited over eons, creating the limestone reefs. As the inland sea evaporated, magnesium deposits strengthened and metamorphosed the sedimentary limestone to dolomite, creating both softer and harder layers of rock. The softer limestone layers, subjected to millions of years of erosion, have eroded and dissolved to create the grand sea stacks and impressive sea caves and grottoes this area is famous for, including the large cave many metres above the flowerpots which was not visible from our kayaks.
In lambent light and subdued winds we paddled past the intrusive man-made breakwater of jumbled limestone blocks to Beachy Cove, where we beached our kayaks. Not a soul appeared to be on Flowerpot Island, yet it was a celestial Saturday evening. It was hard to imagine as I’ve seen hundreds of day-trippers here on previous trips, including a wedding at the base of the largest flowerpot.
We read interesting interpretive panels as we walked past the six empty campsites to the loading dock. A chattering red squirrel berated me and sat within arm’s reach of the trail. The refreshing cedar-pine scent filled my nostrils. Red squirrels had made the crossing over the winter ice bridge, unlike chipmunks which are distinctively absent, as are bears and massassauga rattle snakes, as they hibernate throughout the winter, thus not utilizing the frozen bridge which during the winter season connects the island to the mainland. Garter snakes are widely prevalent as are an abundance of rare and common orchids and ferns.
Departing Flowerpot Island, in the calm early evening under a glowing amber sky, we aimed our boats just west of Dunk’s Bay, for the shortest crossing, passing near Middle Island, a rounded hump looking like a stationary hedgehog from a distance. Unbeknownst as I paddled here, I was paddling over the submerged Niagara escarpment, where in its geological past, a river plummeted over the edge, creating a falls more powerful and spectacular than the present day Niagara Falls.
A few motorized pleasure boats were benefitting from the calm, idyllic evening. We paddled past some beautifully situated cottages and homes. The peacefulness of the evening’s sunset was resplendent.
Back in the bay entering Little Tub Harbour at Tobermory, I approached the gigantic Chi-Cheemaun. The boat was docked for the evening, with its bow gaping wide open. I paddled right beside its entire length, touching its port side, and as a photographic joke, filled my empty water bottle from the bilge water used to cool the 7000 hp engine, which flowed in a small arc above my kayak.
We watched the sunset develop and evolve into a deep saturated glowing orange as heavenly rays beamed above the rim-lit cloud, momentarily obscuring the sun. Calmness prevailed. The frisky water that had accompanied us all day long, lay still, as if to enjoy this powerful moment of serenity.
The perfect paddling day was extended with a fresh whitefish dinner at the Lighthouse Restaurant in Tobermory in the solarium, overlooking a clear sky and a white full moon creeping to its zenith, bright like a flashlight. Reminiscing over the beauty of the day’s paddling, I was glad that our intended crossing would have to wait. The Bruce will beckon once again.
Donna Griffin-Smith
Sounds like an old legend doesn’t it? Two giants battle to the finish along a wild and windswept coast. Well, sort of … GOMEX is the nickname given to the Gulf of Maine Expedition, and Gustav was a hurricane. A tale of man versus the elements, with a modern twist.
In September, 2002, Don and I joined the GOMEX team at Beliveau’s Cove, located west of Digby, Nova Scotia at the upper end of Bay St Mary. The team consisted of four paddlers, Sue Hutchins (GLSKA member) and Dan Earle from Chebogue Point, near Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, Natalie Springuel from Bar Harbor, Maine, and Rich McDonald from Lake Placid, New York. They had set out on the 4th of May to paddle the shoreline of the Gulf of Maine. Starting at Cape Cod they paddled by kayak, northward along the coasts of Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Maine to Canada then followed the New Brunswick and Nova Scotia shores around the Bay of Fundy. The 1000-mile journey had taken 4 months and three weeks remained before they would finish the trip at Cape Sable Island at the southwestern tip of Nova Scotia.
The goal of the expedition was to provide a "snap shot" of the ecological and cultural condition of the Gulf of Maine in 2002. In her report about the trip in Qayaq, Spring 2002, Sue wrote: "Our Gulf of Maine Expedition is a sea kayak venture organized to raise awareness and caring about the ecology and cultural legacy of this vast international watershed and to demonstrate low-impact coastal recreational practices and stewardship principles."
Not only did they paddle the coastline: they also gathered information and recorded observations about the natural and human environments along the way. As well as informally meeting with people along the way, there were ten community visits scheduled where the team shared their experiences with local residents through slide shows and presentations about the Gulf of Maine.
Our introduction to the expedition at Belliveau’s Cove was during one of these community visits. We had arrived the day before and "camped" in our van beside the wharf. Saturday morning the GOMEX team was scheduled to arrive at 11:00 a.m. with the high tide from the other side of Bay Saint Mary where they had camped the night before on the spit of land known as Digby Neck. An hour before, a small crowd of locals began to gather and from time to time we squinted as we searched the horizon for signs of paddlers. Finally with the binoculars, we saw the flash of sunlight on paddles, and gradually the tiny specks materialized into three kayaks – Nat and Rich in their singles and Dan and Sue in their double.
Those of us who travel by kayak know all about packing tons of gear into small boats, but these kayaks were "really loaded." In addition to the usual camping gear, the decks were piled with pelican cases, radar reflectors, and other unidentified objects. We knew this was not like any other expedition when Rich unpacked his laptop computer from the hatch of his kayak and headed off to find a power source to recharge the batteries for the cell phones, video and digital cameras, while he checked the e-mails, sent off a report for the web site and loaded new digital photos for the evening slide show.
We soon learned the identity of one of the "unidentified objects" strapped on the back decks of each kayak. Dan gave Don and me a similar grey rectangular plastic box, about the size of a case of beer, which was known affectionately as a "groover." Its purpose was a "potty" for human solid waste disposal, as one of the goals of the expedition was to promote "No Trace" camping ethics. It had a comfy plastic seat, and actually worked quite well, solving the problem of where and how to hide "it" when camping in populated areas. And no one followed you if you were seen taking a walk with the groover in hand. When it was time to empty, the groovers were taken to a sanitary disposal station at a trailer park.
At Belliveau’s Cove festivities had been planned for the paddlers and the community. Beside the wharf was a new outdoor market where local farmers and artisans sold their produce on the weekends throughout the summer. On Sunday the official opening ceremonies were held, with local politicians and the federal Minister of Fisheries there to cut the ribbon. The crowd was entertained by a lively Acadian band and the GOMEX team mingled with the French and English residents.
On Saturday we were among the first to sample a guided historic interpretive tour along a 5-km beach trail and boardwalk known as "Piau’s Walk." Local residents regularly use the trail for exercise, walking and cycling. During the expulsion of the Acadians in 1755, a group of Acadians had taken shelter here. Their descendants later returned to became founding members of the community. Today the area between Digby and Yarmouth, is known as Claire and is home to the majority of Nova Scotia’s French speaking Acadians.
Monday morning we were up at 6:30 in order to be ready to paddle by 10:30 when the tide would be high enough to launch with ease. Tide levels in the Bay of Fundy can rise and fall as much as 50 feet. At low tide the flats in the bay at Belliveau’s Cove extended for about a kilometre from the beach and the fishing boats in the harbour rested on the bottom. To avoid long distance treks with gear and boats we tried to time our launchings and departures according to the tide. Dan and Sue had arisen much earlier to go digging for clams known a "grosse coques" at low tide, and discovered how quickly the tide can flood as it raced them back to the beach.
Our group on Monday grew in size to eight, as we were joined by Pat Hudson from Barrington, N.S., and Hanford, a local kayak tour operator. We followed the coast southward under sunny skies, stopping at Church Point, the location of a French University, for lunch, and then on to Meteghan River, our destination for the night. Sue’s friend, Anne, had offered to let us camp on her lawn and prepared a wonderful ham and scalloped potato dinner for us. The tide was low when we arrived and team work was required to carry boats and gear over not one, but two, gigantic stone breakwaters. However the warm shower and a case of Keith’s eased our pain as we watched the sun set into a hazy ocean.
The next morning we were joined by another local paddler, Larry, making a group of nine that day. We hauled all the boats and gear back over the two stone breakwaters and down the beach, loaded the gear and waited for the tide to float our kayaks. It was a perfect day for paddling, clear skies, warm and sunny and the ocean was calm. Just south of Meteghan, the coastline was lined with high rocky cliffs. At Smuggler’s Cove we stopped for lunch on a small beach tucked in at the base of towering cliffs, and took turns paddling into a large sea cave for photo ops. It was easy to imagine smugglers of old landing at this picturesque little cove and hauling their illegitimate cargo up the cliffs. Little did we realize that the highway, a picnic park and a small village was located at the top of the cliffs.
During the afternoon we continued along the cliffs, paddling here and there between the rocks in small groups. Soon we realized the wind had picked up and a fairly strong swell was developing as we approached Cape Saint Mary. We experienced a few tricky rip tides as we rounded the cape. Ahead we saw our next landing – Mavillette Beach, a provincial park consisting of several kilometres of sand beach and dunes. At high tide, huge waves were pounding in on the beach. The bravest (those with plastic boats) landed first and then assisted the others with the surf landing. Afterwards I thought it was fun, but it’s a skill I need to practise, especially the "getting-the-butt-out-of-the-boat-quickly" part.
At Mavillette, we were camped on the front lawn of a restaurant. How convenient, and tempting! In exchange for washroom privileges we felt compelled to buy a coffee, and supper. When we awoke early the next morning for a weather check, our plans for paddling changed promptly. The wind was howling, waves were pounding against the cliff beside our tent and we were fogged in. After a leisurely two-hour breakfast at the restaurant, we took a long walk on the beach, until the rain drove us back into the tent for an afternoon of reading.
That evening we again experienced local hospitality, when Pat’s cousin invited us to her home near Yarmouth for a traditional Nova Scotia salt cod supper. This was September 11, the anniversary of the disaster in New York City. As we watched the TV, we also learned that a hurricane was approaching and its centre would pass over Nova Scotia during the night. As they drove us back to the campsite, the weather was terrible, but it never occurred to us that perhaps we should not sleep in our tents.
Did I mention that the lawn where the tents were pitched was on top of a small cliff with no shelter from the wind that blew at hurricane force directly from the Caribbean? During the night we awoke to find our tent was practically folding in half as the wind alternately twisted and shook it back and forth. We decided to get completely dressed in our rain suits and boots. We lay there, wide-awake, listening to the waves crash against the beach just metres from the tent, waiting for a tent pole to snap. Then above the storm, we heard a small voice.
"Do you have room for one more in there?"
After trying to hold up her collapsed tent for about an hour, Pat had abandoned it to the storm. We brought her in and wrapped her in our fleece blanket to warm her up. She promptly fell asleep. Morning light revealed that the other two tents were still standing, but Pat’s was totally flattened and all her gear lay in a puddle of water in the bottom of the tent. So as soon as the restaurant opened, guess where we headed? More local kindness – the girl who opened the restaurant came in early because she knew we would need shelter and hot coffee.
Later that day the rain stopped and the sky cleared, but the ocean was too rough to paddle. More friends came to the rescue, shuttles were arranged, and kayaks and gear were transported to Yarmouth where we camped on Linda’s front yard for several days. During the five days we spent in Yarmouth we helped the team with several community presentations at the local arts centre and schools. As well we dried the gear, did laundry and met lots of friendly people at a potluck supper in our honour. After a week I think I had only prepared one of our camping meals!
The highlight was our official welcome to Yarmouth. Because of the storm we could not arrive by kayak as scheduled on Saturday morning, so we transported the boats by car to the opposite side of the harbour and paddled across. We were welcomed by a marching band and a colour party of Canadian and American flags lined the boat ramp. The town crier announced our arrival and the two national anthems were sung.
By Tuesday the ocean was calmer and the weather seemed stable, so we shuttled the gear back to Mavillette Beach to resume the trip. This time there were just five of us. Pat had returned home to her family and unexpected problems with their house and cat sitter necessitated that Sue remain on shore, so she became our land support person (more on her duties later). Dan switched to his single kayak for the remainder of the trip.
Two days later we again passed by Yarmouth, this time paddling around Cape Forchu where a historic lighthouse guards the entrance to the harbour. Every day at 11:30 a.m. "the Cat," a high speed catamarine car ferry, arrives from Bar Harbor. Before crossing the harbour entrance we checked our watches and thought we had time before the Cat arrived. We were about half way across, when Don looked back and saw the Cat approaching. We paddled as fast as we could and just made it to the buoys marking the channel as the huge ship passed behind us. Several minutes later we turned and braced as giant waves from it’s wake washed towards us. That was a close call!
Afternoon winds drove us off the water at Kelly’s Cove, just south of Yarmouth. After camp was set up on a beautiful sand beach we hiked several kilometres along the shore to find the remains of a fin whale that had washed ashore a few months previously. A lingering stench told us we were near, and then we came across several vertebrae and rib bones and a large piece of baleen. The power of the ocean waves was evident in the way the remnants of this huge creature were strewn for about a kilometer along the beach. Later that evening Sue performed the first of her land support duties, bringing some liquid refreshment and forgotten items, one of which was my pillow.
The next day we left the populated coast behind, and headed for the Tusket Islands, a small group of about 20 islands located several kilometres from the mainland. The islands were once a thriving fishing community. Today they are occupied by summer residents, a few local fisherman, and herds of sheep that are pastured on some of the treeless islands. Strong tidal currents sweep through the passages between the islands as the tides from the Atlantic meet those of the Bay of Fundy.
We camped on Owl’s Head Island. The ruins of a large fishing lodge and several smaller cabins occupy the island. Built in the 1940s as an exclusive resort for American sport fishermen, the building was never completed because the bottom fell out of the tuna fishery and the clients never came. After 60 years the stone walls and roof remain solidly standing, but exposure to the elements and vandals have taken their toll. Rotting floorboards and supporting beams that had been sawed away made exploration of the building a dangerous affair. We spent two days here, with time to explore the beach, collect driftwood and ponder the amount of debris that is washed ashore by the storms. I must have counted over a hundred lobster crates and buoys on just this one island. One could decorate a lot of rec-rooms in Upper Canada!
After leaving the Tuskets, we spent the next few days paddling in Lobster Bay, named for the fishery it supports. Lobster season in this part of Nova Scotia is open from November to April, so no active lobstering was happening while we were there. However the harbours were packed with boats and equipment, and we spoke with many fishermen who told us all about this prosperous fishery.
Lobster Bay was pretty quiet at this time of year. Most of the summer sailors had put their boats away for the season and the lobster season had not begun. We did see a few fishermen collecting rockweed, which is sold to pharmaceutical companies for use in cosmetics and toothpaste. It looked like hard labour to me, as the men stood in their dingys and used large rakes to collect and haul the seaweed into the boats.
The bay is a paddler’s paradise with numerous islands and passages to explore. We camped at three different places, one of which was on a point of land called McKinnon’s Neck, owned by friends of Dan and Sue. When Sue visited us we were treated to a box of Tim Horton’s, a case of beer and fresh lettuce (three essentials after a week or more at sea). Later she took us on a tour of the century old house and farm on the property and related its history. But what really caught my attention was the garden hose. The next morning we enjoyed an outdoor shower, cold but not salty, and hoped that the gate to the highway really was locked!
Our next stop at Argyle brought a day of pouring rain. No paddling but an opportunity to visit the Acadian Museum at Pubnico and sample Acadian cuisine, rappi pie (made from potatoes and clams) and scallops, at the local restaurant. Here we were joined by a sixth paddler, Tom Teller, from Massachusetts who had paddled with the GOMEX team earlier in the summer.
The next day the weather cleared so we paddled on to John Island. That evening I was exploring an abandoned farm near our campsite when I unexpectedly met four men walking through the undergrowth. Unsure of their identity, I quickly invited them back to meet the others. It turned out they knew Pat, who was with us earlier in the trip, and had read about GOMEX in the local newspaper. Terry and his brothers, who owned a hunt camp on the island, were lobster fishermen from nearby Woods Harbour. The next morning, we hiked around the entire island and enjoyed a visit with Terry and the boys at their cabin. We learned that this island had lots of deer and rabbits, and that soon they would be "gunning" for ducks.
Later that afternoon, we saw a fishing boat approach the island and enter the bay near our camp. Over the back end of the boat we saw a kayak being lowered into the water, and soon the paddler approached. As she drew near we saw it was our friend Pat. Terry had brought her out for a visit as it was too windy for her to paddle out from the harbour. As she unloaded her kayak, we again experienced Nova Scotia hospitality – a box of Tim’s finest, a case of brown bottles and two huge fresh salmon filets. We quickly threw together some vegetables to accompany the fish, and enjoyed one of the best meals on the trip. By 8:30 when Terry returned to pick up Pat it was almost dark. We couldn’t see, but somehow they hauled Pat and her kayak aboard and soon the lights receded into the darkness as they returned to the mainland.
The next morning we awoke to rain and a strong easterly wind, and the weather forecast prompted a change in our plans. We decided to paddle on to Clark’s Harbour a day earlier than planned. We crossed over to the mainland and proceeded southward along the lee shore. As the morning passed we became wetter and colder, but as we rounded the point and headed towards the east the full force of the wind hit us head on. Fortunately a small harbour with a breakwater offered a little shelter and a place to land. We decided to call it a day, and went ashore to phone Sue. The manager of a lobster pound at the wharf offered us their lunch room for shelter while we waited for the cars to shuttle us the rest of the way to Clarks Harbour, where cozy cabins had been reserved for the end of trip celebrations.
Saturday dawned bright and sunny but very gusty, as the storm (a second hurricane according to some) blew itself out. That did not stop the celebrations, planned by our intrepid paddler friend Pat. In the afternoon, a reception at the harbour included, a town crier, speeches, live entertainment, politicians and presentations (and all the Tim Horton’s you could eat). The local Coast Guard cruiser was on hand for tours. In the evening we enjoyed an old-fashioned community supper of baked beans, ham and scalloped potatoes, followed by the GOMEX slide show presentation.
Although we had only been with the expedition for a month we shared their sense of triumph in their accomplishments – five months and 1000 miles of journey by kayak. For Don and me it was a wonderful opportunity to experience another piece of Canada’s coastline.
For more pictures of the GOMEX Expedition, visit Dan Earle’s web-site.
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