Greenwich NP, PEI - the bungee incident

Saturday, August 15, 2009

The neighbors on both sides showed up last night making our decision to move a lot easier. Lots of people up here leave their trailers at a private campground for the whole summer. Guess they make a long term deal with the owners to keep costs in check. The neighbor on the right was a pleasant chap from Nova Scotia. He came up on weekends aboard the Wood Islands ferry. I didn't get a chance to chat with the other neighbors. They were so intent on whatever they were doing inside that they never came out of their trailer.

Anyway, since I didn't think we'd actually be going far, I had a brilliant idea. This idea was so brilliant it almost ruined our entire vacation. It was that close. From time to time, within national parks, I had bungee corded the boat to the rack on top of the van. Today, I decided to do the same thing only go a little further and a little faster. Carol had a couple of hand mirrors to monitor the boat and I thought all was going well. The speed limit on the island is 50 mph so I figured if I drove a steady 45 nobody would mind too much. After about 10 miles I pulled over to check on the bungee cords and let a few cars go past. Everything seemed in order. I pulled out and resumed our course for Montague.

As I started to ascend a gentle hill I noticed a long line of cars going the opposite direction. Just as I came even with the second to last car, I heard two loud pops in quick succession. I looked in my rear view mirror in time to see the boat slam into the last car in the procession. I quickly pulled over and turned off the engine. I got out of the car and went briskly over to where the driver had stopped. “Are you all right? Is anybody hurt?”, I asked. A young man in his early thirties got out unloading a stream of obscenities at me. “You just about took my windshield out” was the only bit of pertinent information that he could offer, and that I can repeat here. I told him I was sorry, that it was all my fault, and that my insurance will pay the damages. I invited him into the Casita to talk it over. I was quite relieved to learn that no one had been injured. Jack's major gripe was that he was already late getting his girlfriend to a wedding. After a few minutes, he calmed down. He saw we were from Arizona and started to apologize for his language. I replied that I'd have felt and said much the same. I asked what he wanted to do. I could either call Allstate and submit a claim or write him a check for $200. We both agreed that submitting a claim might take months to get approved. He said, “I'll take a check. Since you clearly have enough money to drive all the way here from Arizona, I don't figure your check will bounce”.

After shaking hands he sped off to the wedding and Carol and I deflated the boat, as well as my ego, on the side of the road. We must have looked a curious sight because several people slowed down as they passed, and one lady stopped to ask if we needed assistance. I'm convinced there must be a government plan to be extra nice to Prince Edwards Island visitors. “Tourism is our future... be nice to tourists”. I mean, how do you explain it? Here I am, smashing a guys windshield due to complete and total negligence and by the time the meeting adjourns he's practically willing to guide me personally around the island. I could shrug it off if this was an isolated incident, but it's not. I have yet to find anyone remotely rude or mean here. I don't even bother locking the bikes up anymore. One just gets the feeling that the crime rate here must be extremely low and nonexistent toward tourists. In contrast, last March Carol and I spent the night outside Ventura, California, at a camping area facing the ocean along Highway 1. Every 100 feet there was a sign stating that everything left outside your vehicle, chained or not, will be stolen even if you are inside.

Back on the road to Montague, I was shaken but not stirred... to beat myself any further over the head. I made a stupid mistake and was grateful it had not been worse. If it had hit the lead car it could have been a pileup. . . Nothing for it but to go shopping. Pulling into the parking lot of one of Canada's chain grocery stores, I asked Carol to pick up some happy food. The first thing she did, once we had the groceries stowed away, was to produce a 4-pack of Red Bull. Not exactly designed to calm ones nerves but I was happy to pull the tab nonetheless. I needed to restore my Wu. For me, the best way to accomplish this is to get into water, preferably cold water. Looking over the map, the Greenwich N.P. was the closest candidate. Plunging into that water was the best thing I'd done all day. Not only was I refreshed but my Wu was back. Must be some vestige of an ancient ceremony from a million years ago that still resonates in my DNA.

There were no campgrounds at Greenwich so consulting the map again we saw that the Stanhope campground, in one of PEI's several National Parks, was just another 50 K down the road. We arrived just in time to nab the penultimate available spot. Yeah. Just call me Mr. Wu Hoo.

Seal Cove, PEI - on the water

Friday, August 14, 2009

Thus far Prince Edward Island reminds me of what I imagine life on Cape Cod would've been like in the early 1950's: unspoiled and uncrowded beaches, little traffic and friendly folks. This morning’s excursion only reinforced this opinion. The 3 mile bike ride to Poverty Beach took us past manicured farmhouses and rolling pastures to a deserted little pristine beach. Not sure what it looks like in winter but at the moment it appeared idyllic. After taking Nicky for a good romp, we had a leisurely bike ride home.

Back at the Casita, Carol got out the big binoculars and trained them on Seal Island. Now that the tide was low the seals were running wild. There must have been fifty or more of them having a grand old time. They were squawking and sunning themselves as if they were at a seal resort. By the time we got the boat in the water and rowed over to it, the seals had departed. We walked and swam along the now deserted island and marveled at all the seal tracks and wondered where they'd gone. Pushing off from the island we crossed to the campground side of the bay. Once we got into deeper water we noticed the usual suspects following at a discreet distance. Technology, I'm sure, will someday allow us to communicate directly with whales, porpoises and other intelligent aquatic mammals. I hope they crack the seal code as well. I'd like to go back one day and have a chat with the rascal that breeched the surface just behind Carol's head.

Anyway, I tried rowing further away from our beach to test the currents. Yesterday we were able to ride them back toward the campground and I was hoping to find something similar today so I could sit back and listen to Carol read from The Kybalion. Unfortunately, the currents were running in the opposite direction this time. After my Kouchibouguac experience, I was not about to take a St. Lawrence current lightly. Instead, we found a quiet marsh where we could relax without any danger of getting swept out to sea. The last thing I'd want to read is a headline stating that two tourists and a dog were plucked out of a rubber dinghy in the middle of the Newfoundland shipping lanes. How embarrassing would that be?

Now, however, in the calm marsh waters, Carol was able to get The Kybalion out and we could float around in the mystical world of the unseen. Someday, I'm sure, everything will all make sense and I'll be a wiser man but until that day, all I seem to have is more questions and fewer answers. It was getting on towards evening when we pulled the boat up onto the beach in front of the Casita. After a refreshing cup of tea and a stroll around the park, we were treated to another magnificent sunset.

Later that evening I finished A Feast for Crows, the last installment of George R. R. Martin's cult classic. All I can say is that he'd better be busy writing another book. For such an incredible series to end so inconclusively is unconscionable. In the June 2005 Afterword he claims to be working on the final installment “A Dance with Dragons”, but as far as I know this has never been published. I hope the guy hasn't died, or some such inconvenience.

Seal Cove, Prince Edward Island - Seals!

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Finally got the boat inflated. However, before we set sail, we drove into Montague, the nearest large-ish town, to send another fax. The one room library did not have wireless so I signed up to use one of 6 desktops. Once I printed out my documents I walked into another room which was City Hall. There, for the princely sum of $2.50, the mayor sent my fax.

Back at the campsite, the boat was ready to go. Carol loaded up with the usual provisions and we carried down to the beach. Nicky hopped in and off we went. The first thing we saw was a bald eagle fly directly over us. That was awe inspiring. Carol, knowing she had the choice of either scrambling for the camera and photographing it or simply watching it, she chose the latter. Once past the hundreds of buoy markers indicating a mussel farm below, we were in deep water. The tide was rising but enough of Seal Island was exposed. And there were; seals, everywhere. They bobbed up all around us like little jack-in-the boxes. We saw so many seals that for awhile we were virtually surrounded. I soon got somewhat concerned about their motives. When one broke the surface just a couple feet behind Carol, I thought a hasty retreat was in order. When you see one up close and personal, it can take your breath away, and this one must've weighed at least three hundred pounds. Not being familiar with seal behavior, I didn't know if they would look upon Ulysses as a threat. The last thing I wanted was to have the boat upended by a group of fun loving seals. In the water, what would Nicky appear to them? A meal? A plaything? Not wanting to find out, I hastily made our retreat. When we were a couple hundred yards out of their domain I felt more comfortable. They followed us but not quite so many. That, I felt, was a good sign. Even better was the second bald eagle that passed directly over us. This time Carol tried to get the camera out but it happened way too fast. Still, we both have those images embedded in our minds. Not only the eagles but the seals, as well. As we pulled the boat out of the water we were both exhilarated. Seeing wildlife like that does not happen often. We talked about it all evening, resolving to go back the next day.

Seal Cove, PEI - Golf day

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

I like to wake up in new places, open the door, and step out into a new reality. I can see how some people turn into permanent travelers. It helps to have an inquisitive nature and a desire to explore one's surroundings, attributes which Carol, Nicky and I share.

Usually, the first order of business is to unfasten the bikes from their carrier and take a quick look around. Today, however, we decided to walk along the beach out to the tree covered spit that beckoned to us from the Casita. When the tide is out, directly across from the spit, a remarkable island emerges from the depths. Seal Island, as we came to call it, truly lived up to its name.

Meanwhile, back at the Casita, I was about to make good on one of my promises to Carol.
Ever since we've been married we've spent at least two weeks each year at my father's Florida home at Mariner Sands. He lived on a golf course. Although he had been an avid player he was forced, for health reasons, to give the game up at 82, shortly before Carol and I met. Subsequently, these visits no longer included playing a round or two. This did not deter Carol from developing an enthusiasm for golf, since we always watched The Masters there, and it turns out she was an avid putt-putt player in her youth. Every night we were at Mariner Sands we'd go out the back door and walk for miles over the moonlit course, luxuriating in the night fragrances peculiar to Florida. With Nicky scurrying all around to track down an interesting smell, these were happy times indeed; so much so that Carol now wanted to actually play the game.

A fine 9-hole course called Eagles View was just a few miles down the road. I waited as long as I could for tee time and around 5pm we started out. The reason I wanted to play so late in the day was because I thought there would be fewer players on the course and we could take our time. (This should read more like, “so as not to hold up players while we missed shots and searched for lost balls, etc”.)

Anyway, we rented some clubs, paid the green fees and off we went. Carol had never actually played before and I, though far more experienced, was wild, inaccurate and downright crummy. This is not a good combination. The first few holes went really bad. I wasn't much help to Carol because I barely knew what I was doing myself. In spite of the late hour we had to let 4 or 5 groups play past us. By the time we got to the fifth hole things began to improve. Carol discovered two clubs that she could hit more consistently with and I regained some of my old form. By the time we reached the ninth green we were both feeling and playing a lot better. Instead of thinking, “I'll never do this again”, I'm now of the opinion there's hope for us. If we find a driving range on this trip I plan to pull over and we'll hit a bucket or two. Who knows? Maybe golf will play a role in our future.

By the time we got back to the Casita we were pretty tired. Pulling our own carts and walking a couple miles up and down the fairways took its toll. Instead of our customary evening stroll we plopped down in the bed and watched another film Carol had acquired along the way. This time it was Dream Girls, the thinly veiled story of Diana Ross and the Supremes. I really liked it. One can't help from admiring the contributions as well as the struggles of black artists. I just hope, with the election of Barack Obama, that America can come to terms with its slavery heritage and finish the healing process.

Ah, Prince Edward Island

Tuesday August 11, 2009

The PEI natives are apparently golf fanatics. The island is quite literally littered with both 9 and 18 hole golf courses. You can't drive 10 miles in any direction without seeing a sign for one. Carol located a campground on Seal Cove that had one on site. It is quite picturesque here, so we crossed the island on a scenic drive to Cavendish, the setting for Anne of Green Gables and home of its author (the island milks it to the bone). On the way we stopped into a local museum that we thought was devoted to ships and their industry but once inside we realized it was more about the town's local accomplishments. Housed inside an old church, the exhibits were the run of the mill kinds of old things that you put on display once you no longer can figure out what to do with them. However, the docent, was a young fiddle player and he told us more about the island's musical traditions than anything else. To cap things off he played us a few entertaining reels. Good lad.

By late afternoon, we pulled into the Seal Cove Campground. We got a terrific site overlooking the bay with an unobstructed view. Unfortunately, they neglected to mention that they had closed the golf course until after we'd paid for a three nights stay. Since there was one down the road, we didn't feel so bad. After getting the Casita electrified and leveled, We sat out surveying our new backyard until the sun went down. Then we settled in to watch “Lucky You”, a film that Carol had purchased somewhere along the way. We both enjoyed it. Two thumbs up.

Gloomy travel day, entered Prince Edward Island

Monday, August 10, 2009

What made this a memorable moving day was that we did it in the rain. Fortunately, it wasn't a downpour but was a tricky and unpleasant business nonetheless. The wicked weather made leaving this park a lot easier. Not that I like driving in the rain but I'd rather be moving than sitting in the Casita and hear it pounding on the roof, although that does have its moments.

Back in Richibucto the computer chap turned out to be a capital fellow and my fax was soon on its way. We spent another hour in the library parking lot using the wireless connection to send off some emails and watch the world go by behind the rain splattered windshield. I'm still in awe of the capabilities and breadth and scope of how technology has changed our lives. If sitting in my van in the parking lot of a small library in a small town in New Brunswick wirelessly connected to the world is any indication of things to come, I can't wait. If we can avoid global conflict, the next decade could very well usher in the long sought and awaited golden age. Things from here on should get very interesting indeed.

Somewhere along the line we decided to take a new detour. Studying the map, we saw that Prince Edward Island, a fairly substantial chunk of real estate, was located just 10 miles off the New Brunswick coast. It is a maritime province all its own. Since we were in the neighborhood, we took that road. The drive over Constitution Bridge was awesome. From the New Brunswick side, since we could not see the island on the other side, the bridge appeared to simply jut out into the Atlantic with no apparent destination. Once we got up onto the bridge's arches we could see for miles in every direction. Carol mentioned that there are tall ship races around the island, the last one being in July. That would have been a sight to see. Anyway, at 10 miles long it's got to be one of the longest bridges in the world. It's also got to be one of the most expensive. The toll, payable upon leaving, is a staggering $50.

Turning into the parking lot of the rather large visitor center we got our first glimpse of Prince Edward Island's hospitality. Everyone we spoke with was super friendly and maybe even overly helpful. They have made a concerted effort to welcome tourists and in that they have certainly succeeded. The bridge wasn't built until the mid-nineties and has opened up a whole new world here.

We strolled around the little town, got a few post cards and brochures. Being late and tired, Carol found a Subway, picked up a couple sandwiches and returned to the Casita to an appreciative husband and a salivating petite chen (little dog).

Kouchibouguac, NB - on the water

Sunday, August 9, 2009

Fully recovered from yesterday's arduous ride, we strapped the boat to the top of the van and drove over to Callanders. The beach is fronted by a long, thin sand dune of an island that protects the beach from the heavier waves and stronger currents of the Gulf of St Lawrence. Rowing due north toward the river that forms the northern boundary of the park, we listened to the birds flying overhead, flowed with the current, day dreamers... each in own own separate reverie. This idyllic moment soon passed with the arrival of the shark fin. I'd been attempting to land the boat on the protective island when Jaws made its appearance. For a moment it was semi-surrealistic or just plain freaky. I don't know what the score card is on sharks versus rubber boats but I don't imagine it favors boats. As I tried to maneuver away from the intruder, I realized it was not moving, I was. Regaining my courage I moved in closer only to find it was a piece of wood masquerading as a shark fin. A very good impression, as you can tell by the picture. After this fiasco we walked around on this deserted part of the island hoping to find treasure but the only thing we took away were some funny memories.

Pushing off from the island we resumed our northerly trek. It was so shallow in some places that we had to portage several times. It gave us a real sense of connection with the earth and elements, wading through the water in this tranquil setting. We finally reached a point where the current picked up and we moved along at a brisk pace without much input from me. We passed under a walking bridge and entered the main estuary, or so we thought. Here things got dicey. In front of us was an island dune presenting a fork in the channel. To the left was the estuary, whereas the right went out to sea. I tried to go left but the current had other plans. The tide was now rushing out the channel, sweeping us along with it. I told Carol I couldn't out row against the current. The only thing to prevent a rescue at sea was to row as hard as I could across the current like a swimmer would when facing a rip current. When I finally pulled onto the island separating the channel, I was dripping with sweat. It had taken nearly all my strength but after a refreshing swim we were back in the boat again. At this point, I realized there was little to no chance of rowing back the way we came, so I figured if we continued up the estuary we would eventually arrive at one of the beaches near our campsite. In spite of my best efforts, we were passed by a family in kayaks. If only I had a rudder and a sail... then we'd really go places.

Anyway, once we found the access point that was only a short walk from our campsite, we could relax. I rowed a little further up river so that Carol could read from The Kybalion while I enjoyed the ride down stream. Everything was fine until Nicky decided to suddenly jump into the water. This was a first. We were fairly close to land but it was a marshy stretch with reeds, bogginess, and God only knows what might be lurking below. Carol tried to grab her tail and pull her back but the Nicster was off and paddling, no doubt trying to get to shore for a pee. I was worried she might get entangled in the reeds so I went in after her. It took a few strokes but I caught up to her and soon had her back on board, a little muddy but none the worse for it. Another funny memory made.

The rescue sort of put an end to any further reading so we decided to call it a day. Besides, Nicky needed to get to shore. We got Ulysses out of the water and carried the boat through the campground and back to the campsite. Nicky had relieved herself, Carol was dry, so all were feeling good except for me. I was wet, cold, and tired, but somebody had to go back for the van. Carol offered, but I knew she'd have trouble getting her bicycle into the back, so there was nothing for it. I hopped onto my bike and pedaled as fast as my weary body would allow. Carol didn't have it much better, since the keys to the Casita were in the van, but she got some outdoor chores in while waiting. Anyway, four and a half miles later I reached Callanders beach. I put the bike in the back of the van and drove back to Carol. I think I fell asleep before she even finished making dinner.