Yo, Ho, Ho – Avast Me Hearties!

June 12 - 14,2006

Housekeeping duties filled our morning – emptying holding tanks, filling the fresh water tank, lubricating jacks and slides, checking the tires, and so on. It was time to move on and we bid a sad goodbye to Prince Edward Island.

The toll for the Confederation Bridge is paid on leaving PEI. It was $54 for both ways, not much more than for a car, which was $40, and they didn’t charge extra for our tow vehicle. In no time, we were across the bridge to New Brunswick and crossing the border to Nova Scotia. The NS Welcome Centre was a great source of maps and books and it offered free internet access from several stations. I hadn’t had time in PEI to seek out Wifi, so I took advantage to download my email – but I need more than the ten minutes they allotted. I dream of finding a place where I get a strong signal for an entire night.

Truro, a town of 11,000 has a Walmart but for some reason also had big signs out “No Overnight Camping”. We were just starting to take Walmart for granted. No Costco in town so we checked our Passport America catalogue and decided on the Millpond Campground at the head of Cobequid Bay in the historic hamlet of Maitland. But I’d much rather be in Walmart! The ocean water in the bay is blood red – beautiful but weird. A great tidal bore – an extreme high tide ‘roars’ into the bay twice every day; they are the highest tides in the world.

I found one Wifi signal in Maitland but it kept cutting out on me. Publishing this blog with photos is getting very difficult.

The coastal highway on the north side of Nova Scotia was extremely narrow without shoulders and very rough in patches, which made our progress slow. We were thankful that the traffic was so light and we could straddle the centre line. We stopped for an hour near the town of Cheverie at a scenic viewpoint, which gave us a wide vista of the bay. The tide was so far out when we arrived that we couldn’t see where the water started. While we had breakfast at a well-placed picnic table, we watched the tide come in swiftly forming islands and then submerging them.

This is Acadian country and there are several National Parks and Historic Sites that we visited. We are becoming quite the experts in Acadian lore. At Grand Pre, they listed the fifty family names that most Acadians come from. None of Fernie’s family names were listed but one of our brothers-in-law may have Acadian roots – the name Gauthier was one of those listed. I wonder if he knows. While we were strolling around the grounds of Grand Pre Historic Site, loud thunder started crashing but we paid no heed until the drops started and made a mad rush for the building. The skies opened up a floodgate and we were absolutely drenched. The storm passed fairly quickly but another one crossed our path as we drove along highway 101 to Digby and then we were back to puffy white clouds in the cornflower blue sky.

I phoned the Walmart in Digby and asked them if they permit overnight parking for RV’s. “We surely do, dear” the friendly woman who answered the phone replied, “It’s our pleasure to welcome you”. I liked Digby before we got there. I’m sure just about everyone knows what Digby is famous for – scallops. So many times in restaurants, I’ve noticed ‘Digby scallops’ on the menu.

Digby is a charming little fishing village, full of historic homes and seafood restaurants.
As soon as we arrived, we jumped in the Honda and rushed down to Fisherman’s Wharf hoping we’d find a seafood shop still open. We did and we bought a pound of huge bay scallops, stopped at the liquor store for a chilled bottle of white wine, came home, lightly sautéed the delicate shellfish and feasted on them. They were fabulous.

We decided to stay two nights at the Digby Walmart and drive the southern NS peninsula by car. That way, we were able to skulk along the back roads pulling in wherever we had the whim to do so. Highway 1 south of Digby to Yarmouth runs through fishing village after fishing village. The sea mist was quite thick when we started but it would clear and then submerge us again and then lift again. The sun was never far above and even when the mist was at its thickest, the sun’s glow would lend it a cheerful aura. Each little cove seemed more picturesque than the last and we ‘coved’ our way around the peninsula.

The most southerly point in Nova Scotia, “Cape Sable Island” is barren and windswept – it’s battered on both sides from the wild Atlantic storms, sticking out the way it does. The houses are square and practical – little fortresses with small windows, no front porches and high peaked roofs making them look quite impenetrable by water. Their yards were full of lobster pots piled high and mounds of brightly coloured fishing floats and ropes. It was there in Clark’s Harbour that we found a little local café ‘Fisherman’s Cove’ where we dined on a seafood chowder that was full of lobster, scallops, and fish. It was absolutely superb. I wonder if anyone has noticed my descriptions of food are a central theme in my blog…….I guess I just enjoy food too, too much. And I thought I’d lose weight on this journey. Think again!

The waitress’ accent was as broad and musical a maritime accent as it could possibly be – long stretched out a’s. As we slurped down our chowder, the owner arrived – a mn about 45 years old in t-shirt, jeans, boots and a smile as wide as his belly, which his t-shirt so prominently displayed. A lock of greying hair hung over his chuckling eyes.
“Didja bring thet butterfly all the way from British Columbia?” he asked in his broad accent, noticing a large yellow and black butterfly stuck on our license plate and seemingly alive as the wind ruffled its wings.

He was born ‘just down the road’ of Scottish parents. “The west coast is mostly French but there’s a lot of us Scots on the east coast” he said. He poured himself a mug of coffee, sat on the edge of a stool and chattered on about politics, travel and life in general. He was interested in our journey and British Columbia. He’d been there once just after 9/11 with his ‘girlfriend’. A handsome young man with days of unshaved whiskers burst through the door. The waitress, pleased to see him said “You’re home!” and ran to hug him. “Noooo” he said pulling back “ I just got off the boat – been out for eight days and I’m pretty rank”. We paid our bill and left them all prattling away.

Just up the coast a ways, the town of Shellburne has a wonderfully restored historic waterfront. A Tudor style building on stilts, old clapboard structures now housing museums, shops, pubs and yachts bobbing at anchor in the choppy harbour. It was pleasant just ambling around.

Caesar always accompanies us on our ventures. It’s more difficult now with his injury. He’s had a degenerative hip condition for several years and the vet has said theree’s really nothing we can do about it. This is the worst it’s ever been though and I get a lump in my throat as I watch him lumber along clumsily on his three legs, dragging the other. He doesn’t go far and sits down when he can’t go on and we pick him up and carry him. We don’t allow him to jump or try to climb stairs and when we go out in the car for a day, we set him up in his bed in the back seat and take him out for short walks /; hops whenever we find nice grassy areas. At first, Caesar couldn’t turn on three legs and had to hop in a wide arc but today he learned to pivot. Yeah! We spoil him totally now; we give him bits of whatever we’re eating – his favourite is the end of Fernie’s ice cream cone.


Back on the east coast, the hillsides beside the highway were ablaze with masses of wild lupins – pale pink, varying shades of mauve up to deep royal purple. It was a magnificent sight. It was a long day out as we completed the circular route by crossing over on the inland route 8 back to Digby and we were all quite exhausted.