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Canada from Armstrong to Cape SpearIt’s pouring with rain on Day 34 of my cross-Canada trip and I’ve just met Nathalie and Philipe, fellow-passengers waiting for the 14-hour ferry to Newfoundland. Nathalie learns I’m car-camping on my 17-week adventure and, in a prime example of the kindness I encounter during my journey, invites me to stay with them near St John’s. I accept immediately, stay for six nights, and move on. The impossibility of my cross-Canada adventure has long-since sunk in. Looking at maps is one thing; the reality of driving it in one summer is entirely different. My Subaru station-wagon is loaded with essentials for active travel: bicycle, repair kit, spare tubes; lifejacket, kayak paddle, dry bags; hiking boots, poles, gaiters, daypack, emergency blankets and first aid kit (although I’d never travel without this, I never need so much as a band-aid). This isn’t a journey of “self-discovery”; at 64 I pretty well know who I am. An ad I saw recently read: “People get old, but life doesn’t. Life never loses its ability to amaze” which nicely sums up my thinking. A lone woman, I have no apprehensions about travelling solo - hiking well-used trails, at night in my tent, in cafes and restaurants where I might be seen as “lonely”. I’m on my own; so what? People are universally friendly and approachable and many of us remain in contact. As for my vehicle, it gets a thorough maintenance check and I’m perfectly capable of remembering oil changes. I anticipate no breakdowns. I have “must-dos” in mind, as I head east from Armstrong, planning to journey each day on a whim, to explore side roads, stop for coffee, cycle, see live theatre. I want to cycle and hike the gentle aspen-covered landscape of Saskatchewan’s Cypress Hills; in Newfoundland, visit L’Anse aux Meadows (mindful of our Arctic tundra), and Gros Morne; cross to PEI and visit friends. I want to understand the fuss made about Nova Scotia, eat lobster, scallops, crab, mussels; try poutin, and sample Canada’s only single malt whiskey. I know little of Acadian or French-Canadian history; this is my chance to fill in some blanks by visiting National Historic Sites. Heading east, I visit Alberta’s Buffalo-Head-Smashed-In-Jump, and world-renowned Royal Tyrell Museum; then Cypress Hills straddling the Alberta/Saskatchewan border, an expansive grassland park with copious wildflowers, pronghorn antelope and well-laid out hiking and cycling trails. I love the Prairies’ every gentle undulation between Cypress Hills and Ontario’s border, on through Ontario (which takes me four days), Quebec, New Brunswick and Nova Scotia to Newfoundland. From Newfoundland’s infamous rocky terrain and unforgiving coastline I cross back through Nova Scotia to PEI, staying with friends’ parents in Souris, cycling old railbeds. Having sussed out Summerside’s Celtic College, and admired Confederation Bridge in the fog, I return to Nova Scotia, to Cape Breton with its magnificent hiking, ubiquitous moose, Mabou (home of the Rankin Family), Kejimkujuak National Park, Lunenburg and Halifax. Then a 7-day kayak trip among tiny islands off Tangier east of Halifax. A second 5-day kayak trip is among the Tusket Islands southwest of Yarmouth; ancient weather-ravaged drumlins left by retreating glaciers make for magnificent kayak camping in outstanding weather. Hustling to Toronto and a city-dwelling friend, I see little of New Brunswick and Quebec. I cycle Manitoulin Island with its hardscrabble farming, and Kakabeka Falls near Thunder Bay. Then I’m back in Manitoba‘s open landscapes where, except for sunflowers, harvesting is over. In Riding Mountain National Park I hike a long easy trail and towards the end, experience a rare timber wolf sighting. In spite of dropping temperatures, with fall fast approaching, I finally enjoy a stretch of 16 rainless sunny days. My final campground is at Fort Qu'Appelle SK. I’d have stayed for a week but it’s here that Park Staff lock “facilities”, leaving only a port-a-potty. That’s it; I have nothing! As a minimalist I don’t have to shower for several days, but the nearest running water is now 12 km away; it’s idiotic! Like it or not, it’s time to head home. I overnight in Revelstoke and bump into Judy, a friend from home; we hike together in snow and sun into a sub-alpine lake, a wonderful end to my journey! |
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