Nova Scotia – Cabot Trail

No idea is an absurd idea
Just over a year ago, I stumbled upon a simple double-page spread about a road trip around the Cabot Trail in Nova Scotia.

I started informing friends and family that I would be embarking on an adventure around Cape Breton Island. After nodding, smiles and ‘wow, I’m so jealous’, I realised that not many people had even heard of it, and to be honest, neither had I until that article. It started to feel a bit like a dream that wasn’t possible, so naturally, I was determined to make it happen. But first I had a number of issues to deal with:

1. I had never driven on the opposite side of the road
2. I had never hired a car
3. It would be uber expensive to do this as a solo budget traveller

I got in touch with my friend, Jeff, in Toronto. Within moments of mentioning my intentions, we’d mapped out a sixteen day tour in his little white MANUAL (British victory fist pump) Mazda 2, complete with camping equipment and an Enrique Iglesias playlist. We would drive across New England, bask in the nature of the Cabot Trail, and stop by Québec City and Montreal on the way back to Toronto. A five thousand kilometre jaunt around two nations.

We began on the East side of the island. At the entrance of the trail, you cross the border into a Cape Breton Highlands National Park. It costs $7.80 per adult per day. We received a map of the park and a ticket to display on the car’s dashboard.

Due to our time constraints and other on-the-road plans, we estimated that two days to wind our way around the coastal road would be ample, but then we opened the map. In the top left corner there are detailed descriptions about all the trails and treks we would find around the island. The explorer in me wanted to do all of them. Each one sounded unique and invited you to a different view of the park; deep forested valleys, lakes that promised moose sightings, cliffs, beaches, ocean, rivers, waterfalls. We had some choices to make.

Starting small, we parked the car and followed the Jigging Cove trail through some dense forest that surrounded a lake; gaps in the foliage teased us with views of the reflecting water. It was a hot day above the trees, and the rocky path looked reasonably undisturbed. Consciously making the effort, we trod carefully so as not to disturb basking snakes or other wildlife. Occasionally, you’d hear the leafy rustle of a fleeing critter, but other than that, the hike was quiet.

Jigging Cove

Before continuing the loop of the lake, we followed a path that opened out onto a coastal pebble beach. The sun was high and the stones lit up like pearls, clean and polished. There was no salty wind, no screeching seagulls, no muddy water, just the blue waves in front and the edge of the forest behind. We were the only people around. I stretched out on a smooth rock and closed my eyes. This was one of those, ‘I’m really doing it’, moments. I was exploring a wilderness that once seemed like an untouchable glossy picture in a magazine.

My travel buddy, Morgan Bear, was with us too

It probably won’t surprise you that my goal was to spot a moose. This meant heading to the Benjie’s Lake trail on the West side of the park, for the description was simply, Moose, boreal forest, birds. They generally appear around dawn and dusk in boggy areas, so we arrived at the trail at five o’clock in the evening. As we carefully inched our way along the path, Jeff spotted tracks. Huge fresh imprints of elongated lily pads in the soft earth. This was it. Our best chance.

My silent excitement was disturbed when we reached the outskirts of the lake and heard a tapping noise in the canopy above. Clinging to the side of a tree and using the sharp of it’s beak, was a woodpecker, chipping away at the trunk, spitting shards of bark all over us. Mesmerised by the rhythm, I watched as it jerked it’s head back and forth, determined to extract the best grub from the depths of the wood.

Woody Woodpecker

At the lake, we sat down and commenced moose-watch. We waited, occasionally whispering to each other and pointing, sharing the odd moment. The tranquility and warmth of the atmosphere drugged my eyelids. As the sun dipped below the forest and the sky dimmed, I let myself drift into what I thought was a light doze; ‘just resting my eyes’. An hour or so later, the temperature dropped and I woke up shivering. We quickly scanned Benjie’s lake. We gave up.

Mooseless, but still smiling at Benjie’s Lake

As far as the Cabot Trail is concerned, the Skyline trail is probably the one that’s on most bucket lists, and I can assure you that it does not disappoint. When the map boasts ‘dramatic headland overlooking the rugged Gulf coast’, you definitely need to add this to your itinerary.

As per usual, we decided to be different and take the path anti-clockwise, which was also the longer route. It seemed that the trail was split up into sections. At some points we were winding our way through woodland, although a lot sparser than I was expecting. Other areas were vast grasslands with bare trees. I pictured a herd charging through the habitat, or a forest fire munching its way through the foliage. But the bark was not scorched and the and the trees remained rooted. Our confusion was answered when we walked through a gated area of land. An information board explained that the wall had been built to keep the destructive moose out. Further along the trail, outside the wall, we passed a bunch of abandoned carrots on a boulder. I doubt they were there for long.

If you take the longer route, the journey to the summit is peaceful, but the paths eventually rejoin and it is quiet no more. I picked up the pace and moved towards the wooden platforms built into the side of the mountain. We had not chosen to tackle this on a clear day, and for this I was grateful. I’m sure the sight would have been just as spectacular if the sun was shining, but we were greeted by low cloud and mild winds.

Skyline summit

I walked off the safety of the platform and scrambled to the edge of a rock to watch the wispy mist as it was sucked into the valley. I stood, rigid, camera poised, waiting for that perfect image of cloud brushing against the land as it seeped back towards the sea. I turned around to find that the platforms, and stairs connecting them, had disappeared behind the fluffy veil. When the valley eventually cleared, I could see cars snaking around the mountain’s edge, the same road we had travelled a couple of hours ago. Birds emerged from their nests, looping and diving, spreading their wings and riding the breeze. The treetops reminded me of a vast green latch-hook rug that you’d want to squish your toes into on a wintery day.

Skyline

Jeff and I snapped our memories and took one last look at the natural paradise. As we walked back, we discussed what we’d seen, what we planned to research and what we loved about the Cabot Trail; all failed moose sightings were temporarily forgotten. Once we were back on the road, our spirits were high, we sang badly at the top of our voices and we returned to our highly unsuccessful moose-watch.

I love the ease and freedom of travelling on my own, but there are just some experiences that are better shared with company.

This post was written to the sound of Take That’s album III. 

Adam’s Peak

Oh, hello blog, it’s been a while. Twenty-four to be exact. Since then I’ve been to Singapore, Kuala Lumpur and Thailand. So yes, I’m very behind. I do have some pretty good reasons though:

– Hours of overland travel
– A couple of nights of excessive alcohol (because 3 weeks without it was enough…)
– Learning to dive
– Being hooked on diving

Excuses, excuses, excuses.

So 2380km takes us back to Sri Lanka. I’m going to keep us hidden in the hill country for a little longer.

We got off the train at Hatton, and we were instantly badgered by Sri Lankan transport. “Where you going? Tuktuk? Taxitaxitaxi? I own this hotel, nice hot water and comfortable.” As per our usual, we started asking for the bus station. But of course, ‘no’ buses run to Delhouse, you have to take a tuktuk. So the bartering began. Somehow, we managed to get a ride for four hundred rupees. It probably should have cost us one thousand, perhaps more, but the driver did actually stop several times on the way to pick up various tuktuk essentials; a spare tyre, some fuel, some oil. Oh, we did get to see a lake on the way.

“You want pictures?” The driver was already getting out.
“Okay, what’s the lake called?” I asked.
“Sorry?”
“The lake. It’s name?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“Does it have a name? The lake?”
“Ohhhh. No. No name.”

And off we went, although not before having our photos with Mr Driver and his beloved tuktuk.

After a cold shower and an afternoon of chill time, we tucked ourselves into bed and slept until 3am. Some climbers had been awake for an hour already, but word of mouth informed us that it should only take roughly two hours to reach the summit. Plenty of time before sunrise.

On the way to the base, we stopped by the open stalls to stock up on water and bars of sugar. Energy energy energy. After being badgered into a too-early-to-care donation scam, we found the first step at 3:30am. This is where team Sam and Lauren split up. I can’t walk slow due to a knee condition, and Sam can’t walk fast due to asthma.

As I started to ascend, Sri Lankan men, women and children, were already coming down and finishing their pilgrimage. We often exchanged morning pleasantries, but as my breathing became more shallow and the words ‘good morning’ didn’t feel so good anymore, I plugged myself into my iPod and let Maroon 5’s rhythm carry me forward. It felt like I was running on the beach back home, but this was steps, and I didn’t have my wing-dog, Lenny.

The entire path leading to the summit was lit, so I could roughly judge how far I’d walked by studying the number of lights above and below me. I had a system where I would walk up blocks of steps without stopping, and then allow myself a couple of seconds respite at the top of each block. This worked perfectly. I was able to make progress while admiring the activity around me. I was struck by the number of elderly men and women making the pilgrimage, probably for the hundredth+ time in their life. Bare foot, frail, determined, they took it step by step, many women in their nineties were supporting each other, stopping with each other. Sometimes I’d pause my music, just to listen to their native language. It wouldn’t have surprised me if they were gossiping the whole way. Sri Lankan tea plantation workers are well known for their twitterings.

Besides the couple of seconds of breathing time, I did stop once. Big mistake. I knew as soon as I’d perched myself on a railing, I’d be stuck. I felt the muscles spasm in my legs and the cartilage in my knees started to burn. I’d probably walked up four thousand steps by that point. The top seemed so close, but the lights above me never seemed to reach the summit. I checked my iPod. 4:45am. Determined to make the sunrise, I swigged my water and took a bite of the sugar bar. I must have stopped for five minutes. Too much.

Although, it wasn’t soon before too long (see what I did there?) that I turned a corner and the steps became steeper. There was a set of railings on either side of the path, and one straight through the middle. I picked the right hand side and mimicked the pace of the person in front of me. Eventually, the trail of people ahead started to slow down due to a human traffic jam near the top. Sweating and wobbly, we all waited. I checked my watch. It had been one hour and thirty minutes ago that I’d conquered step one. There were about one hundred left and it took me fifteen minutes. I shouldn’t say I’m dissatisfied that I could have reached the summit quicker, but actually, I kind of am. Personal competition and all that.

Anyway, I edged around the temple that sat at the top of the peak, and joined the Western world that had been waiting around for a couple of hours. The early risers were shivering under blankets and jumpers. This would probably be the coldest place I’d visit in Sri Lanka. On went my own two hoodies and a pair of gloves (thank you, Mum, for making me pack winter-wear).

A quarter of an hour later, Sam joined me at the top; just in time for the sunrise. We watched the sky pinwheel through its colour chart of navys, blues, pinks, reds and yellows. As it rose, the mountains below started to come into focus, triangular shadows pointing to the sky.

If I’m honest, that was pretty much it. Although beautiful, the urge to see the sunrise was quickly replaced by an urge for descent.

I won’t bore you with the details of going down, but I will let you know that it hurt. A couple of times I had to move aside for people to be stretchered down the mountain.

But I made it. Tired, sticky and shaking, ready for a shower and some breakfast.

At the bottom, I turned around and looked up, towards the peak, where we’d left people in peace, praying after their long pilgrimage.

They’d be there for a couple of hours, eating, drinking, praying, socialising. This was their way of life, and they’d let us in. Grateful, I turned around and dragged myself back to the hostel.

As I tucked into my toast and runny jam, I thought about how I would climb Adam’s Peak again if I was ever in the area. It’s definitely cheaper than a gym membership.