A marvellous site for a dune dance
YARMOUTH, N.S. — Perhaps one of the greatest perks of my odyssey to see all 46 of Canada’s national parks has been the serendipity of the unexpected.
That was certainly the case during my 14-day driving expedition through Atlantic Canada.
While I managed to visit eight parks in five provinces, it was often en route that I got my biggest surprise — or laugh!
Quebec’s fabled Route 132 that hugs the entire south shore of the St. Lawrence River and then circles around the Gaspé Peninsula provided the first.
As you head out from Quebec City, the north shore of the St. Lawrence grows dimmer and dimmer until it disappears entirely well past Rimouski. By the time you reach Canada’s tallest lighthouse in Capdes-Rosiers in the heart of Forillon National Park, the river is more than 100 kilometres wide.
At this point, the Gulf of St. Lawrence, the world’s largest river estuary. officially begins. I later discover this demarcation was done by Royal Proclamation in 1763.
But it was the final segment of the drive along Gaspé’s north shore that stopped me cold. The towering extreme cliffs arising straight out of the river and the smashing waves pounding a road desperately under repair to fight the erosion all made for a breathtaking experience. This is a drive not to be missed.
Later, coming into the picturesque hamlet of Perce and suddenly seeing its famous rock emerge from the sea was also a moment to savour.
Next in New Brunswick, I discovered that cottagers along the Gulf of St. Lawrence delight in walking on emerging sand dunes. A rather sizable tide makes this eminently feasible, a thought new for those of us who cottage on a lake.
While the tide wasn’t right for a dune stride in Kouchibouguac National Park, it was ideal at P.E.I. National Park, which also faces the Gulf of St. Lawrence.
Created in 1937 to protect the island’s signature mud-red beaches, sand dunes and adjoining wetlands, this 60-kilometre-long sliver of a park provides multiple magnificent places to swim. And if you are a devotee of Anne of Green Gables, the memorabilia, houses and landmarks are all just a step away.
When it comes to tides, the world’s highest are on the Bay of Fundy, providing up to a 15-metre rise or drop in water level.
Fundy National Park is on the New Brunswick side of the bay and its wooded trails, manicured golf course and rustic stone buildings all provide a charming ole home feeling.
But it was the red painted bridge in the park and a century-old covered bridge just outside that provided the surprises. Both were hosts for weddings, one for the ceremony itself and the other as a backdrop for photos. What a brilliant idea!
And for those who like flat rocks, there is a beach nearby where countless inukshuks have been built above high-tide level. You have to see it to believe it.
The Cabot Trail on Cape Breton Island is famous for its ocean vistas and the national park encompasses the northern stretch of the Trail. This year the park was a non-stop construction site but that still couldn’t obscure the majesty and beauty of the Trail, particularly on the Gulf of St. Lawrence side.
For the trip to Newfoundland, I decided to take the ferry there and back — first, the 16-hour overnight trip to Argentia, just south of St. John’s, and second, the six-hour day trip from Port-auxBasques on the province’s western side back to North Sydney, N.S.
Expecting food from a dispenser, I was gastronomically delighted to feast on a Newfoundland chowder and freshly caught Atlantic halibut and a very decent white wine. Indeed, both of the Marine Atlantic sailings were surprisingly pleasurable.
The first stop was Cape Spear, the easternmost point in Canada. After accidentally tripping on Canada’s exact geographic centre in Baker Lake, Nunavut, on an earlier trip, I decided a subgoal of my odyssey should be to see Canada’s four geographic extremities.
They are: Cape Spear (east), Boundary Peak, Yukon, (west), Middle Island in Lake Erie (south) and Alert, Nunavut (north). The last one will be undoubtedly the most challenging.
After visiting Cape Spear, I was jokingly asked whether I could make out Portugal. “No,” I replied, “the fog was so thick I could barely see my feet.” The foghorn, rest assured, was on full blast.
While Terra Nova National Park, its name being the Latin for Newfoundland, provided a few fine vistas, Gros Morne on the western side of “the Rock” was the undeniable crown jewel of the entire trip.
The geographic diversity, from the rare rocks on the Tablelands, to signature Gros Morne Mountain, to windswept beaches, to a charming lighthouse, to the dramatic fiords carved out of inland pools all yelled out in dramatic unison why this area was designated a UNESCO World Heritage site. The park’s Discovery Centre was also one of the best I’ve seen.
Amid all this splendour, I also met the truest old salt in Sally’s Cove at a craft shop. Asked where I hailed from, I replied Toronto. “I have kin in Brampton,” he replied in classic Newfoundland brogue. “But I’ve told ’em, if they want to see me, they’ve got to come ’ere. I’m 68 and I’ve only spent two weeks off the Rock. And even that was too long …”
The final park, Kejimkujik in southern Nova Scotia, is the sole park designated as a national historical site because of its longstanding Mi’kmaq heritage.
It was totally refreshing to see so much attention paid to the Indigenous past of a national park, from old canoes to the welcome sign to a small museum. The Mi’kmaq story was front and centre and indeed even the park’s very name means “little fairies” in Mi’kmaq.
This probably could and should be a model for other parks. Indeed I craved to learn more about this wooded paradise but there were no Mi’kmaq there to tell their stories.
Overall, Atlantic Canada is a proud region renowned for its magnificent heritage. Having now enjoyed eight of its national parks, I understand this pride a whole lot better. John Honderich, chair of the board of Torstar, is attempting to visit all 46 of Canada’s national parks and reserves during the country’s 150th-birthday year.