Hiking and Camping Trip to Bay of Fundy, Prince Edward Island, and Acadia National Park!

Please see a future post of Photo365 for pictures for this travelogue. I procrastinated writing it, and now I want to get it done and not get slowed down by inserting pics.

We spent a year planning and preparing for a major camping and hiking trip to Glacier NP, Yellowstone NP, Grand Tetons NP, and Badlands NP. We went on trial camping runs to Red River Gorge, Pokagon State Park, Yellow Wood, and my back yard. We had planned various other camping trips but all were cancelled due to flooding. We went on trial hikes with packs. We ordered topographical maps. We purchased high-end boots, socks, and hiking wear. We read guide books, blogs, and magazines. We spent hours at REI. I gave up Fringe so that we could take this three week trip across and into our country. We were both excited and a little stressed about it. It was the biggest, most involved trip we'd ever planned.

A couple of days before our departure date, the west was engulfed in flames and smoke. Experts and residents of Montana advised travelers not to come because the air was too hazardous to breathe, and major roads were closed to non-emergency vehicular traffic. We realized we had to postpone the trip, possibly forfeiting various registration fees at national park campgrounds and leasing fees of homes we'd rented along the way.

Frustrated with looking at maps and trying to figure out where to go instead, we decided to take a bike ride. It was a beautiful day and we rode from my house to Fountain Square, stopping for lunch along the way. On the way home, we rode through grounds of the art museum. On the way back to the canal tow path, we went down a big hill, where I hit an open manhole cover and flipped my bike, landing on my face, then my shoulder, then hip. Things went in slow motion as I went down, and I felt terrified that I would sustain major head trauma.

My eye swelled shut in a matter of minutes, as blood seeped from the road burn on my shoulder and leg. Sharp stabbing pains went through my abdomen. I managed to get up, and pass a few concussion tests. The sun would soon set, and we had to decide what to do. Getting an ambulance to the canal would not be easy as the gates to the museum were locked. My bike was in good condition, and I could see, so I decided it would be quickest to ride home then drive to the ER.

We stuck to the sidewalks on the Michigan Road corridor, and as I had to descend another hill, I braced myself for the mental onslaught. My emotions started swelling and bubbling. An asshole teenager was coming down the opposite side of the hill and refused to give us room so I had to swerve to miss him, which set my nerves off again. If only it would have ended there.

In an attempt to cut about a mile off our route, we turned down a side road that had no trail or sidewalk that led directly to my neighborhood. Following the road laws that bicyclists may ride two abreast. Larry positioned himself next to me in the event that some knucklehead tried to side swipe me, as they often do in Indy.

Indy drivers are horrible to bicyclists because a lot of people from Indiana are fat and miserable and hate people who exercise. I typically ride only on trails or bike lanes, but sometimes lanes and trails are not always available. I've learned the hard way that hugging the line in order to give cars as much space as possible just makes them take unnecessary risks when passing you. You are much safer to claim your space in the lane and let them pass when there is no oncoming traffic. Once in awhile you'll take a horn, middle finger, or various curses.

This time, however, we took the onslaught of threats and physical endangerment by a driver of a truck and his gawdawful wife. They tailgated us and honked incessantly, weaving in and out of traffic, yelling at us and threatening to kill us. I became enraged and yelled right back at them. They saw I was bleeding and told me I deserved it and I lucky they did not finish me off.

Okay, I can't talk about this. It's too much. Larry drove me to the VA Emergency Room, and they took me in immediately. They did vitals and sent me for various X-rays and CT scans. Everything was intact. Nothing broken. Just severely bruised, swelling, and bleeding. They sent me home with Vicodin, which I didn't think I would need, but it turns out I did.

Now we have to push our trip back until I can recover, so the next day we make half-assed plans to go to Acadia National Park in Maine (a trip we had been thinking about for years) and some national parks in Canada. The quick planning was pretty fun. I was on my computer, and Larry was on his tablet, and we'd call out to one another when we had secured campground or hotel reservations.

We packed my car a few days later, and off we went. We took a quick detour to Niagara Falls, which was right on the way. It was spectacular. We stayed in a romantic B&B. My mom and dad had visited the Falls exactly 55 years earlier to the date for their honeymoon. It was the perfect start to our spontaneous trip. There was a full moon (Sturgeon Moon) and fireworks over the falls that night. Beautiful.

The next day we journeyed across Upstate New York (beautiful!), passing through Massachusetts, and having dinner in Portsmouth, NH, an upscale picturesque seaport dating back to the 1600s. It reminded of the villages I knew in England and how much I loved them. Later that, then got a hotel for the night midway through Maine. That was a fun hotel, actually. Kind of a fixed up retro place, but we had a fantastic room with fireplace and huge comfortable bed and an awesome massaging chair. We swam and used the hot tub, enjoyed the Whoopie Pies that were given to us in reception and fell fast asleep. 

Next morning we were up and at 'em and drover deeper and deeper into the wilderness of Maine, wishing we could stop along the way. No matter--we'd be back after a week or so for Acadia National Park. Late afternoon, we finally crossed into Canada, where we had rented a house on a lake for the night in a seaside resort village called St. Andrews By-The-Sea. It felt we had stepped into Scotland, 100 years ago. We watched the tide go out, had a lobster roll at an outdoor cafe, then went back to our quaint cabin to watch the sun set on the lake and the hummingbirds flock to the feeders. In the morning, we checked out the lake with the telescope to spot loons and moose. The next day we hit the road for our first national park of our two-nation vacation: Fundy National Park in New Brunswick.

Having spent some time in Vancouver and British Columbia, I noticed that Atlantic Canada felt more, well, foreign, than Pacific Canada, I suppose because it was settled so long ago and had retained some of its old world charm. (Vancouver looks as if it was built about ten years in the future, and all in the same day.) I was reminded of the northern desolate yet striking coasts of England and Scotland again and again. Okay, it was whimsical, but not in a Currier & Ives kind of way, and very very very very very remote. At first I was underwhelmed by Fundy NP. I had been studying the mountains and terrain of Glacier, YS, GT, and Badlands for months, and I could see no spectacular geological features that would have made the effort to get there worth it. 

As we drove around a huge park that seemed uninhabited and finally found our campground, I started to appreciate the quiet beauty of towering alpines in the land of Salt & Fir. We immediately fell in awe of the campgrounds. Unlike campgrounds in the U.S. that feel like a parking lot with grass, these sites were thoughtfully selected, nestled in pockets of trees, making it very private. There were other campers in the area, but they respected quiet hours, even talking in whispers at their campsite. At night, all you could hear was crackling fires, and a few low laughs. We set up camp--our wonderful tent (complete with indoor portable toilets) with our cots and lamps, our reading and dining pagoda, and our camp kitchen. Rustic. No electricity. We had a five-gallon cooler for our water supply. Showers and bathrooms were a short walk away. 

We took a few short hikes near the campground and checked out the mysterious Bay of Fundy. I surprised Larry with a turkey dinner our first night in the wilderness. It was delicious! We were finally on vacation! Night descended quickly as we were so far north and so far east, and the smell of fresh air put me to sleep well before 9 pm.

The next day we set out on several trails. Somehow, this unusual parcel of Earth has not graced the covers of many magazines or been the backdrop of any movies. It is a well kept secret! We climbed some chocolate-colored cliffs overlooking the caramel-colored Bay of Fundy. We explored a "spit," a strip of land that is accessible only in low tide. Bay of Fundy is home to the most dramatic tides in the world, with a 55-foot differential between low tide and high tide, and when the high tide rushes in, you better high-tail it to high ground! Larry did not believe me when I informed him of this quick change and nearly had to swim back to shore. Because of these dramatic tidal shifts, the Bay of Fundy has been designated one of the seven natural wonders of the world of North America. 

I really liked our routine. Awake at dawn. Get a hearty breakfast going and a hot cup of coffee, head to the showers to clean up and braid my hair and don a fresh set of hiking clothes. Over breakfast, hold court with the cheeky squirrels who were not too shy to jump on the table and demand treats. Pore over maps and choose our trails. Come "home" late afternoon. Read and rest in pagoda, then start campfire courtesy Larry and a delicious camp meal courtesy Amy. Clean up, get ready for bed, read by lantern-light. Drift off to sleep. On some nights, we removed the fly so we could gaze at the stars. 

We we hiked about 10 miles of rugged and gorgeous trails per day, taking time to bask in the sound and beauty of the tempestuous rivers and turbulent waterfalls ("chutes" in French--the area was bilingual.) We saw nary a soul on our adventures, but when we did, the other hikers were so friendly and so surprised to see another human. The park had an Olympic sized heated salt pool that overlooked the Bay. Okay, they were lying about the "heated" part! Wow! Not fun! (Death Valley National Park had a fantastic spring fed Olympic sized pool that was a steady 100 degrees!)

"Half the Park Happens After Dark."

At night, we walked to the cliffs, and watched Nature's Cinema--that is the heavens! What a view high up on the cliffs overlooking a huge deserted expanse of water. In addition to being one of the wonders of the world, Bay of Fundy is also a Designated Dark Skies area. Without light pollution from surrounding cities, the star gazing is considered some of the best in the world. As we sat silently trying to fathom the constellations, a giant meteor sailed past, its tail must have been miles long, as we literally had to turn our heads left to right to take it all in. It was one of those moments our hearts stood still, and sharing it with Larry was the highlight of the trip. 

We took a day trip to a Provincial Park called Hopewell Rocks, which is famous for its "Flower Pots," giant rock formations, some thirty meters high that become submerged in the high tide. It's best to visit to see the dramatic difference. While waiting for the tide to come in, we headed up to Cape Enrage to check out a lighthouse and more dramatic views. Driving around the Canadian countryside in the middle of nowhere felt like time travel. 

We were having a fantastic time, feeling a million miles away from life, basking in the opportunity to travel somewhere magnificent on a moment's notice. We were sad to leave Fundy after five days but excited to get to our next leg, Prince Edward Island National Park.

I grew up loving Anne of Green Gables books, and when I was a young adult, my grandma and her husband (my stepgrandpa, whom she married when she was in her 70s!) took a bus trip to PEI, and I was mesmerized by the photos. 

It SEEMED like it was a good idea to take a quick jaunt to the island, but in hindsight, there was nothing quick about it, and all in all, we probably wouldn't do it again, or at least, we would not do it the way we did it.

We just assumed that the national park would be the place to go, but it seems we were mistaken. I suppose Canada and England are similar in this way: they don't have beaches. They have the seashore. We are used to a different kind of beach here in the U.S., the kind with soft white sand and warm turquoise waters under a hot sun.

First we got lost. That took a few hours. Then we found PEI National Park and our campground, which was mostly deserted! It was a really nice campground with nice facilities. At night, you could hear the waves crashing on the shore. 

What PEI didn't really have that we were expecting was any sort of establishment that served food. We assumed we'd eat like royalty in PEI, so we didn't buy many provisions, thinking we'd eat out instead after having eaten camp food for five days in Fundy. Evidently, tourist season ends middle of August, and the National Park is quite remote to any cities. We drove for hours down twisty roads, and never found food. I finally talked Larry into going back to the campground where I would scrounge up some dinner. It was after dark, our stomachs were rumbling, and we were both irritable. He finally agreed, tired of driving and getting nowhere.

Back at camp, I donned my head lamp, and Larry helped me get the kitchen set up, and I whipped up some, if I don't say so myself--scrumptious Chicken and Noodles. We ate them in the dark in our pagoda, our bellies full, and convinced we hadn't made a mistake coming all this way.

At dawn, I walked down to the beach and felt so excited to know that we would do nothing but bask in the sun all day and swim in the ocean! We just wanted to find a beach near town so we could have a drink and some lunch and place to stock our cooler and of course one that had real bathrooms.

Now PEI is, as they say, quaint. One thing I liked is that it was not bilingual, not trilingual, but quadralingual! All signs were in English, French, Gaelic, and some were in Chinese. We had a heck of a time figuring out the layout of the National Park, which on the map appeared to be one large parcel. In real life, it is several parcels of land that are not actually connected by any conspicuous thoroughfare, and once again, we found ourselves wondering if we'd ever find the beach that guidebook raved about. 

Beaches in PEI look like pictures of Mars. The water is a deep brown, and the sand is a rocky ochre. The dunes are stunning and otherworldly. Nobody swims. No coolers were allowed on the beach. Thsi is good and bad, probably mostly good, as they don't have the litter problem that American beaches have. We had a pretty mediocre and expensive cheeseburger lunch near the tourist trap of House of Green Gables. I decided against going as they were booked and it looked terribly touristy. So we settled into our beach chairs on Mars and read for hours. I got a bit of a tan, and even if I wasn't mesmerized by the beach scenery, it was at least interesting. I can say without a doubt, it is the most unusual beach I'd ever been to. What the hell...this was fun. Not the same kind of fun we'd had at Tybee Island or Santa Monica or St. John or Cape San Blas, but we were so far from home. 

We took a nice hike through the wetlands and dunes, and there was some stunning landscape, made all the prettier by the setting sun. Okay, now this was getting romantic. ;)

We figured we'd have some luck this time finding a nice seafood restaurant but we were wrong and finally settled on a giant ice cream cone. We were both happy to get back to camp for a quiet evening under the stars and listening to the tide roll in.

INSTEAD WE RETURNED TO FIND THE CAMPSITE NEXT TO US JAMMED FULL OF FRAT BOYS AND OH-MY-GOD SORORITY GIRLS.

See, in the U.S, even if the campgrounds are like a sodded parking lot, the people who run the parks are rangers who enforce quiet hours and the rules, such as no more than one tent per campsite. These assholes ruined the night. I assumed they were Americans because they were so DUDE and AWESOME and NO-WAY and HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA all damn night. In the U.S. they wouldn't have been allowed to stay one sight, those cheap skates, and their asses would have been kicked out for making so much damn noise.

So the next morning we packed hastily and headed to Maine.

We rented a room on AirBnb in a pretty little town called Blue Hill and had a lovely dinner at a local brewery. That might not seem like such a big deal, but after three days of finding no open restaurants and growing exceedingly tired of trail mix, this was a big damn deal! Could have been on the cover of a magazine it was so cute. Blue Hill, by the way, is the home to Blue Hill fair, where the beloved children's book Charlotte's Web takes place. Even better, the fair was in full swing when we arrived. Turns out E.B. White grew up and wrote his beloved book in Blue Hill.

We loved our hosts, who gave us a tour of their Westfalia VW van. We'd been seeing them all over and started to fantasize about seeing the continent in such fashion. The next day we headed for Acadia National Park, and found it pretty much empty. The only other campers had dogs and were quiet. The campground was unbelievably nice--like Fundy, each site was thoughtfully nestled in between trees and boulders. 

We took rugged hikes everyday. Acadia National Park is packed in the summer and probably in October, but it's not bad in September, especially on weekdays. It is parceled all over MDI--Mount Desert Island, which itself is interspersed by tiny harbor towns that are, sorry, adorable. Oh, this was a happy place! Without time to study the area like we had with Glacier, however, we had to wing it. We enjoyed a ranger walk one morning on the famous or infamous carriage roads built by Rockefellar. 

While Canadian campers (frat brahs from Ontario--I thought NY but was mistaken--notwithstanding!) are more courteous with quiet hours and properly disposing of litter, U.S. national parks have them beat in programming and education. We've always thoroughly enjoyed the ranger hikes we've gone on. You get the insider scoop from a naturalist and preservationist perspective. They are dedicated to keeping the land pristine for time immortal. 

We enjoyed eating at lobster pounds--little outdoor venues where they cook lobsters, crab, clams, and all manner of seafood outdoors over a flame. You eat a picnic tables and can bring your own drinks. The food is on par with upscale restaurants but you eat in shorts and sandals and pay about 1/3 of the price.

One day we decided to hike the Beehive Trail. The trail designations are not like Indiana trail designations, in which Rugged means "not paved." In Maine, Rugged means Kick Your Ass. There was a designation I'd never heard of before called "Ladders." We figured it would be like the ladders in the ravines of Shades and Turkey Run.

We figured wrong.

These were not ladders. These were iron rungs in the side of towering granite cliffs. As we scaled farther and farther I tried to quell my fears. The bike crash had wrecked my confidence, and I was so afraid of this climb, but I felt like I had to fight to get my nerve back. At one point, I turned back to look at Larry who was as white as a ghost. Up to the point I had led the charge, showing him that a person of my stature could maneuver the tricky footing on the boulders and jagged cliffs. As I went up the next level, he stopped and said, "I can't do this." 

For a moment, I wanted to encourage him, but something about the look of terror on his face told me not to. If I were really terrified, I would want my partner to listen to me, not beckon me to keep going. It was a good revelation. We decided to turn back and take the back way up the mountain, which would take longer but would not involve trying to leap from one outcrop to to the next and try to grasp for iron rungs that were just out of eyesight. 

After we got his heart to start beating again, we got into a nice pace and hiked some stunning scenery of glacial ponds and lakes and flat outcroppings overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. Oh, I can't even begin to describe the beauty.

When we finally reached the top, we just...BEHELD the beauty. We were only up about 525 feet but it felt like  a mile. Just then a couple speaking French came up the other side, the iron rung side, and they exclaimed in broken English:

"This trail. This cannot be. In Quebec, this would be...this would be lawsuit. This is so dangerous!"

We eventually made our way back down and considered hitting the Precipice Trail but then decided that we'd had a wonderful day and not to tempt fate. We laughed all the way back down the mountain. 

These are my favorite moments on trips with Larry. When we're working out trails together, helping each other along, and making fun of ourselves, yet so happy to be there! When we finally reached the bottom, we did something we didn't think to do when we started the trail: Look up.

We looked up and saw The Beehive looking the set of an action movie. It did not look real! It was straight up and down 500 foot granite cliffs! We also noticed the Warning sign for the first time, which basically said, "People have died on this trail."

We had a couple more days of less terrifying hikes. On our second to last day, we were exhausted. I'd been taking the Vicodin once or twice a day, and my hip, eye, and shoulder were still terribly sore. We were on a hike called the Flying Mountain, and I felt spent. I asked if he'd mind terribly if we bagged the hike, and instead picked up some Tarnation Beer (local beer) and sat in the pagoda and read and relaxed. The next thing I knew he's hightailing it back! I guess he agreed that we had earned a day of relaxing, something we had not done in the two weeks we had been gone.

Once back at our peaceful campsite, he opened his weather app and noted a nasty storm brewing, which would hit us that evening. You can expect weather when you camp, but it would be especially sucky to have to tear down camp in a storm. Our stuff would be muddy and soaking wet, and we'd be in foul spirits. 

Larry made a quick call and got us a hotel in Portland for the night. We managed to tear down camp and get packed in record time, everything neat as a pin in the car, haha. We were sad as we packed up, because this had been such a beautiful place, but we were also excited to spend an extra day in Portland.

We arrived pretty late, but enjoyed a bit of the Maine coastline on the drive back to civilization. The next day we enjoyed all the amenities of the indoor pool. We swam laps, then hit the jacuzzi and sauna. Later that afternoon, Larry surprised me with a lighthouse tour! We boarded a passenger boat, and hit the harbors and open waters, getting a fascinating commentary of the history, from its settling by Europeans to conflicts with Native Americans to its role in WWII and subverting German ships. 

We had a final seafood dinner in a basement restaurant that was a church in the 1700s then walked around the cobbled streets. Portland is defiantly NOT gentrified yet has maintained a real port-town feel. Its charm was its authenticity. It was the perfect romantic end to a whirlwind trip!

The next night we stayed with my best friend from high school, Jessica, in Syracuse,NY. We hadn't seen each other in over twenty years, and at first I was a bit nervous, but after a few minutes, it was like no time had gone by. Yet another fantastic surprise to this trip.

We originally talked about getting a cabin in Adirondacks or Finger Lakes to complete our trip, but we were having difficulty finding affordable lodging, and we were getting saturated. We decided to save the money and vacation days on a more spectacular place when we felt refreshed.

I was happy to come home to my Abby kitty, whom my friend Lisa had been caring for daily. I loved taking Abby with us the previous year to Cape San Blas. She's become like a pet dog instead of a cat since Primo died, and I've become so attached to her. I love my kitty! She was so happy to see us!

I always like this part of these multi-leg journeys: For at least a week after returning home, you wake up in the middle of the night and cannot for the life of you figure out where you are. To me, it just extends the trip. You get up, thinking you're in a tent somewhere, then all of a sudden feel carpeting, and you're so confused, and finally you realize you are in your own bed. Then one night, you sleep you through the night. The sharp edges of reality start to hog your resources and imagination. And you realize once again that you live in Indiana. And you feel depressed.

Then you get your bearings again. You remember the comforts of home. You settle into your life again. And soon, you'll begin dreaming of your next trip.

This was a good one. It wasn't what we had been planning for the previous year, and some of it fell short of expectations, but it sure was spontaneous, and it sure reeled us in. 

It's just another chapter in the book of us.