Monday, August 14 (Russ says I gotta add dates) we arrived in St. Peter’s and Battery Park, our last stop on Cape Breton before heading west again towards the mainland.

I’m not sure if this is the best view I’ve ever had from a campground, but it would run a close second to the view we had from the East Rim Campground just outside of Cañon City, CO. You decide.

Every hillside here is covered with wild blueberries: on a short hike, I picked enough for both of us to have blueberries in our oatmeal the next morning. Battery Park has a network of well-maintained trails, some of which lead to the ruins of old fortifications from the time of the French and Indian Wars.

We had beautiful weather, and NO BUGS! The campsites were huge, well spaced, and although there were not many trees in the upper campsites, there was plenty of privacy. Also, great clean bathrooms! We found THE local ice cream hot spot, so everyone was happy.

The other highlight of our stay at Cabot Shores (actually, on the day we left) was a boat trip to see Bird Island, just outside of Big Bras d’Or, where puffins, kittiwakes, and razorbills nest, and where gulls, cormorants, eagles, and seals can also be seen.

Alas, I don’t have the equipment to show you pictures of the puffins we saw, but we did see them! It was a bit late in the year, so the razorbills and kittiwakes were already gone, but there were a few puffins and many seals, cormorants, eagles, gulls, and Ruddy Turnstones to keep my binoculars busy. I did manage to get a shot of some of the basking seals.

And pictures of the island, so you can get an idea of the rock faces into which the puffins dig their nests. They dig tunnels several feet into the cliffs, where they lay their eggs and raise their young.

Puffin chicks get a rude introduction to adulthood: after being fed by their parents until they are too fat to exit the narrow opening of their nest, the young are left behind as the parents return to the open ocean. (Puffins are pelagic, meaning they only return to land to breed.) They literally starve until they can leave the nest, upon which they are entirely on their own to learn to fly, hunt fish, and make their way out to the ocean, where they will spend a few years before returning to the very island on which they were born. I will never use ‘bird-brain’ as a pejorative again.

Cabot Shores Wilderness Retreat turned out as Russ had described: a strange amalgam of hippie commune and spa resort. Unfortunately, the owner, who had freely offered us a site for our camper (they don’t usually take campers or RVs, as they offer hotel rooms, yurts, and geodesic dome tree houses, along with a few tent sites) was not there, and it took quite a bit of working our way up through the ranks of the staff until we spoke with someone who could understand what we were talking about and set it up for us.

We finally got squared away, although the promised electricity and water hookups never materialized, and we enjoyed a very nice supper in their dining room. The bugs were again out in force, so after a quick walk out to the ocean shore, we called it a night.

The next morning, after a buffet breakfast, Russ made good on his promise to drive me around Cape Breton on the road he and CK had just bicycled. He even held off on showing me his photos, so that I could “see it first for myself.”

Not even 10,000 words could describe the beauty of Cape Breton, so I’ll let my pictures do it instead:

AND he took me to a seafood restaurant for lunch so I could have a lobster roll! It was a wonderful day.

After two frustrating weeks of waiting for my car to be repaired, I was finally able to leave Laurie Provincial Park and rejoin Russ on Cape Breton. Luckily, he and his friend CK had just finished bicycling around the Cabot Trail, so I caught up with them before CK had to head back south, in Whycocomagh Provincial Park.

(Before continuing, a shoutout to the wonderful staff at Laurie Provincial Park, who allowed me to stay as long as I needed to, gave me the empty camp host site, and even moved my camper for me. They checked in regularly to make sure I was OK, which did wonders for my stress level. It also didn’t hurt that Laurie was located on beautiful Grand Lake, so I kayaked a few times while there—also very calming.)

You would think that a campground situated on the side of a steep mountain would not be so buggy, but the insect population was booming at Whycocomagh. It was so bad that I finally unearthed my screened bug hat (a fashion statement if ever there was one) to protect myself.

Had a great time listening to the boys relate their adventures cycling around the Cape Breton highlands. CK took off the next day and Russ persuaded me to go to Cabot Shores Wilderness Retreat, their least stop on the Cabot Trail, so I could see what he described as “like a hippie commune.” He also promised to drive me around the Cabot Trail so that I could concentrate on the scenery, so I agreed.

One of the advantages of staying in one place for awhile is that you get to learn more details about the culture of an area. Tonight, for instance (Monday, August 7), when I stopped at a local pizza and ice cream place, I noticed that their sign read “Pizza and Donaires.”

Never heard of a donaire, so I stepped inside the small shop and asked. “Where are you from?” the boss, an older man, asked. “Massachusetts,” I replied, as his teenage worker tried to explain by opening a big tub of mystery meat. After further details, it appeared that a donair was similar to those street vendor pita wraps, where they slice meat off a big hunk on a spit, and add various condiments. He assured me they made a “very good donair,” and the owner warned me of the effects of getting hooked on them. So I ordered one.

Behold the donaire!

It comes with a special “donaire sauce.” I dunno what I was expecting, but this …. wasn’t …. it. The “special sauce” tasted oddly like melted ice cream, and its sweetness was at odds with the spicy meat. Also, it was the messiest thing I’ve ever tried to consume (in retrospect, I should have used utensils). Putting it on a pita wrap was just misleading.

I guess it’s like poutine, or scrapple. Either you were born with a taste for it, or you’re from somewhere else.

Excuse me while I go find the Tums.

A quick update while I catch lunch in Halifax before picking up my rental car. Why a rental car, you ask?

Well, Sunday tho 30th I took the opportunity to unleash myself from the dogs (see what I did there?) and go into Halifax to enjoy some culture. I was a few miles outside of Halifax, on a major highway, when my car made a noise like running over rumble strips and the check engine light went on. Pulled to the side of the road, and that’s when I discovered that my transmission was kaput. It wouldn’t go into park, or reverse, or… You get the idea.

Police came, got a tow, car taken to a nearby Dodge dealership, which was closed (yes, even the sales room. Welcome to Canada.). From a Wendy’s across the street, I managed to book a hotel room and a cab to get me there.

The next morning I spoke with the Dodge dealership, who couldn’t even look at my car for at least a week. Frantic calling around before I had to leave the hotel. Car re-towed to a Mister Transmission nearby, then an equally frantic search for a rental car, which was when I found out that it was a holiday weekend. Couldn’t get a car until Tuesday. Meanwhile, Russ is at the campground with the dogs. No dog food and no bike tools (he forgot to take the tools before I left). I left him to deal with that stuff while I booked ANOTHER hotel, now in downtown Halifax, as I figured if I was gonna be stuck here, I might as well make the best of it.

I did. I saw the Maritime Museum, with its relics from the Halifax Explosion, when a WWI munitions ship collided with another ship, and exploded with a force not seen again until the atomic age. They also have many Titanic artifacts—Halifax is where Titanic victims were brought and buried. I visited the Old Burial Ground, used between the mid-1700s and the mid-1800s, the Public Gardens, which still retain their original Victorian design, features, and plantings, and finally I went to the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia to see the Maud Lewis paintings and house.

Maud Lewis house and paintings (yes, that’s really the house she lived in).

Deanna Fitzpatrick’s hooked wool art works blew me away, as did her quotation on the nature of art. I could not resist buying one of her small rug hooking kits to make my own version of these stunning works!

Now off to pick up my rental car, so I can finally get back to Russ, who is now out of propane! No word on my car yet, but they think I’ll need a whole new transmission….

Something is wrong with my karma.  No sooner had I gotten off the boring trans-Canada Highway and gotten on a more scenic secondary road in Nova Scotia than I drove over a sharp piece of metal the size and approximate shape of a tiger claw. In less than three minutes, my right rear tire was completely flat. 

Not knowing what to do, I called 911. They were most gracious about helping me with what was not really an emergency, and gave me the number for a nearby towing company. He (Matt) attached my spare, unhitched my camper, and sent me to a mechanic ‘guaranteed’ to fix my tire in no time, which they did, despite the fact that their ‘tire guy’ had gone home early. I drove back to reclaim my camper and drove another two hours to Kejimkujik. 

I arrived at Kejimkujik National Park (the locals just call it Keji) tired, grumpy, and hungry, to find Russ equally tired, grumpy, etc., with the added problem of being mentally frazzled.  He’s not enjoying this trip the way he did last year’s trans-America trip. Maybe it’s because there’s no big goal on this trip. It didn’t help that we found our campsite soaking wet, full of animal poop, and steeply sloped. We managed to set up for the night, I cooked food, and we both tried to sleep despite the onslaught of millions of mosquitoes. 

The next morning, I appealed to camp staff and was able to relocate to a flatter, drier, and altogether more enjoyable site. Good thing, too—we were both about ready to call it quits on this trip. 

After re-setting up, I took the boys on the trail around Kejimkujik Lake and then booked ourselves on a free guided hike to some ancient petroglyphs tomorrow. Keji has the distinction of being the only National park in Canada that is both a park and a national historic site, as it was and still is an area with deep significance to the Mi’kmaq people. I’m looking forward to the petroglyphs (something to warm the heart of a long-ago anthropology major) and to getting my kayak into the lake, with its many islands and coves. I understand Nancy Cove 😁 is a good place for a lunch break. 

Fundy is renowned for its huge tidal surges, but that wasn’t the only ups and downs I experienced there.  After sending Russ on his way to the ferry across to Nova Scotia, I headed up the coast to Fundy National Park. I don’t know what it is about Apple Maps—I like it, but it is always WAY OFF in its time estimates. What it called a five hour trip took closer to eight. 

Of course, Apple Maps wasn’t entirely to blame for the difference.  On entering Fundy National Park, I decided to stop and stretch my legs, enjoy the view of Wolfe Lake, and let the dogs pee. I loaded them back on the passenger side, closed the door, walked around to the driver’s side, and just as my hand reached for the door handle, I heard it. “Click.” There was Moe’s grinning face looking out the window, his foot firmly on the door lock button. 

I won’t repeat what I said, but more than a few heads turned. The keys were inside, along with my phone, my purse—in short, everything. Fortunately (thank you, Canada, for adequately staffing your park visitor centers) there were park staff inside who were able to figure out who  to call in such a circumstance, and the Alma fire chief drove 20 kilometers at what was probably his supper time to get my car unlocked. Took him quite a while, the whole time assuring me “In 20 years, there’s never been been a car I couldn’t get into.” I think he was afraid of ruining his perfect record when the lock finally gave way and I was on my way again. 

My second ‘surprise’ of the Canadian trip: the cost of gas! (Sure, $120 Canadian is only $  American, but still!)

I only stayed two nights at Fundy: just time enough to take in the tides, some hikes, and a lobster roll before heading out early on Monday for Nova Scotia. It deserved more time, as the scenery was lovely (and the weather was finally sunny). 

I was a bit nervous facing my first border crossing. Yes, it was just Canada, but I’d never faced one before, and didn’t know quite what to expect. Forms to fill out, lists of questions to answer. Nothing like the conversation I actually had. 

“Do you have a passport?”

“Yes.” I handed it over. 

The mid-thirties gentleman in the toll-booth sized customs stop examined it. 

“Are you carrying any weapons?”

“No.”

“Are you carrying pepper spray, Mace, or bear spray?”

“No.” (In the interests of full disclosure, Russ informed me later that I DID have the bear spray.  I thought he had it. I’m probably a felon.)

A glance at Moe and Scooby. “Do your dogs have their vaccinations?”

“Yes.  Do you need to see their rabies certificates?”

“No. Just be sure you have them.”

“What is the purpose of your visit?”

I mulled over the simplest answer. “Tourism,” I said. 

“How long do you plan to stay?”

“About two months.”

This seemed to concern him. “Do you have a place here?”

“No.”

“Will you be staying in one place the whole time?”

“No.”

“So you’ll just be gallivanting about, then?”

I wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. Yes seemed flippant, but no was clearly not correct. “Yes,” I said. “We’re going to Nova Scotia and Newfoundland, and maybe Labrador if we have time. My husband took the ferry from Bar Harbor and he is bicycling, but I’m driving over to Nova Scotia and will meet him there.”

In then middle of this, an alarm bell went off in the back of my mind. TOO MUCH INFORMATION! TOO MUCH INFORMATION!  I decided to shut up, as the gentleman had developed a slight frown.  

“Are you retired?”

“Yes,” I replied, with what I hoped was a reassuring smile. 

He sighed and returned my passport.  “Enjoy your visit to Canada,” he said without smiling. 

Moe barked at him as I pulled away. 

You would expect that after so much rain, there would be a plethora of mushrooms, and you would be right. Big and little, brightly colored or well hidden, they are everywhere!

Bright red and orange mushrooms are everywhere, standing out sharply against the green moss.