by Donna Griffin-Smith
Sounds like an old legend doesn’t it? Two giants battle to the finish along a wild and windswept coast. Well, sort of … GOMEX is the nickname given to the Gulf of Maine Expedition, and Gustav was a hurricane. A tale of man versus the elements, with a modern twist.
In September, 2002, Don and I joined the GOMEX team at Beliveau’s Cove, located west of Digby, Nova Scotia at the upper end of Bay St Mary. The team consisted of four paddlers, Sue Hutchins (GLSKA member) and Dan Earle from Chebogue Point, near Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, Natalie Springuel from Bar Harbor, Maine, and Rich McDonald from Lake Placid, New York. They had set out on the 4th of May to paddle the shoreline of the Gulf of Maine. Starting at Cape Cod they paddled by kayak, northward along the coasts of Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Maine to Canada then followed the New Brunswick and Nova Scotia shores around the Bay of Fundy. The 1000-mile journey had taken 4 months and three weeks remained before they would finish the trip at Cape Sable Island at the southwestern tip of Nova Scotia.
The goal of the expedition was to provide a “snap shot” of the ecological and cultural condition of the Gulf of Maine in 2002. In her report about the trip in Qayaq, Spring 2002, Sue wrote: “Our Gulf of Maine Expedition is a sea kayak venture organized to raise awareness and caring about the ecology and cultural legacy of this vast international watershed and to demonstrate low-impact coastal recreational practices and stewardship principles.”
Not only did they paddle the coastline: they also gathered information and recorded observations about the natural and human environments along the way. As well as informally meeting with people along the way, there were ten community visits scheduled where the team shared their experiences with local residents through slide shows and presentations about the Gulf of Maine.
Our introduction to the expedition at Belliveau’s Cove was during one of these community visits. We had arrived the day before and “camped” in our van beside the wharf. Saturday morning the GOMEX team was scheduled to arrive at 11:00 a.m. with the high tide from the other side of Bay Saint Mary where they had camped the night before on the spit of land known as Digby Neck. An hour before, a small crowd of locals began to gather and from time to time we squinted as we searched the horizon for signs of paddlers. Finally with the binoculars, we saw the flash of sunlight on paddles, and gradually the tiny specks materialized into three kayaks – Nat and Rich in their singles and Dan and Sue in their double.
Those of us who travel by kayak know all about packing tons of gear into small boats, but these kayaks were “really loaded.” In addition to the usual camping gear, the decks were piled with pelican cases, radar reflectors, and other unidentified objects. We knew this was not like any other expedition when Rich unpacked his laptop computer from the hatch of his kayak and headed off to find a power source to recharge the batteries for the cell phones, video and digital cameras, while he checked the e-mails, sent off a report for the web site and loaded new digital photos for the evening slide show.
We soon learned the identity of one of the “unidentified objects” strapped on the back decks of each kayak. Dan gave Don and me a similar grey rectangular plastic box, about the size of a case of beer, which was known affectionately as a “groover.” Its purpose was a “potty” for human solid waste disposal, as one of the goals of the expedition was to promote “No Trace” camping ethics. It had a comfy plastic seat, and actually worked quite well, solving the problem of where and how to hide “it” when camping in populated areas. And no one followed you if you were seen taking a walk with the groover in hand. When it was time to empty, the groovers were taken to a sanitary disposal station at a trailer park.
At Belliveau’s Cove festivities had been planned for the paddlers and the community. Beside the wharf was a new outdoor market where local farmers and artisans sold their produce on the weekends throughout the summer. On Sunday the official opening ceremonies were held, with local politicians and the federal Minister of Fisheries there to cut the ribbon. The crowd was entertained by a lively Acadian band and the GOMEX team mingled with the French and English residents.
On Saturday we were among the first to sample a guided historic interpretive tour along a 5-km beach trail and boardwalk known as “Piau’s Walk.” Local residents regularly use the trail for exercise, walking and cycling. During the expulsion of the Acadians in 1755, a group of Acadians had taken shelter here. Their descendants later returned to became founding members of the community. Today the area between Digby and Yarmouth, is known as Claire and is home to the majority of Nova Scotia’s French speaking Acadians.
Monday morning we were up at 6:30 in order to be ready to paddle by 10:30 when the tide would be high enough to launch with ease. Tide levels in the Bay of Fundy can rise and fall as much as 50 feet. At low tide the flats in the bay at Belliveau’s Cove extended for about a kilometre from the beach and the fishing boats in the harbour rested on the bottom. To avoid long distance treks with gear and boats we tried to time our launchings and departures according to the tide. Dan and Sue had arisen much earlier to go digging for clams known a “grosse coques” at low tide, and discovered how quickly the tide can flood as it raced them back to the beach.
Our group on Monday grew in size to eight, as we were joined by Pat Hudson from Barrington, N.S., and Hanford, a local kayak tour operator. We followed the coast southward under sunny skies, stopping at Church Point, the location of a French University, for lunch, and then on to Meteghan River, our destination for the night. Sue’s friend, Anne, had offered to let us camp on her lawn and prepared a wonderful ham and scalloped potato dinner for us. The tide was low when we arrived and team work was required to carry boats and gear over not one, but two, gigantic stone breakwaters. However the warm shower and a case of Keith’s eased our pain as we watched the sun set into a hazy ocean.
The next morning we were joined by another local paddler, Larry, making a group of nine that day. We hauled all the boats and gear back over the two stone breakwaters and down the beach, loaded the gear and waited for the tide to float our kayaks. It was a perfect day for paddling, clear skies, warm and sunny and the ocean was calm. Just south of Meteghan, the coastline was lined with high rocky cliffs. At Smuggler’s Cove we stopped for lunch on a small beach tucked in at the base of towering cliffs, and took turns paddling into a large sea cave for photo ops. It was easy to imagine smugglers of old landing at this picturesque little cove and hauling their illegitimate cargo up the cliffs. Little did we realize that the highway, a picnic park and a small village was located at the top of the cliffs.
During the afternoon we continued along the cliffs, paddling here and there between the rocks in small groups. Soon we realized the wind had picked up and a fairly strong swell was developing as we approached Cape Saint Mary. We experienced a few tricky rip tides as we rounded the cape. Ahead we saw our next landing – Mavillette Beach, a provincial park consisting of several kilometres of sand beach and dunes. At high tide, huge waves were pounding in on the beach. The bravest (those with plastic boats) landed first and then assisted the others with the surf landing. Afterwards I thought it was fun, but it’s a skill I need to practise, especially the “getting-the-butt-out-of-the-boat-quickly” part.
At Mavillette, we were camped on the front lawn of a restaurant. How convenient, and tempting! In exchange for washroom privileges we felt compelled to buy a coffee, and supper. When we awoke early the next morning for a weather check, our plans for paddling changed promptly. The wind was howling, waves were pounding against the cliff beside our tent and we were fogged in. After a leisurely two-hour breakfast at the restaurant, we took a long walk on the beach, until the rain drove us back into the tent for an afternoon of reading.
That evening we again experienced local hospitality, when Pat’s cousin invited us to her home near Yarmouth for a traditional Nova Scotia salt cod supper. This was September 11, the anniversary of the disaster in New York City. As we watched the TV, we also learned that a hurricane was approaching and its centre would pass over Nova Scotia during the night. As they drove us back to the campsite, the weather was terrible, but it never occurred to us that perhaps we should not sleep in our tents.
Did I mention that the lawn where the tents were pitched was on top of a small cliff with no shelter from the wind that blew at hurricane force directly from the Caribbean? During the night we awoke to find our tent was practically folding in half as the wind alternately twisted and shook it back and forth. We decided to get completely dressed in our rain suits and boots. We lay there, wide-awake, listening to the waves crash against the beach just metres from the tent, waiting for a tent pole to snap. Then above the storm, we heard a small voice.
“Do you have room for one more in there?”
After trying to hold up her collapsed tent for about an hour, Pat had abandoned it to the storm. We brought her in and wrapped her in our fleece blanket to warm her up. She promptly fell asleep. Morning light revealed that the other two tents were still standing, but Pat’s was totally flattened and all her gear lay in a puddle of water in the bottom of the tent. So as soon as the restaurant opened, guess where we headed? More local kindness – the girl who opened the restaurant came in early because she knew we would need shelter and hot coffee.
Later that day the rain stopped and the sky cleared, but the ocean was too rough to paddle. More friends came to the rescue, shuttles were arranged, and kayaks and gear were transported to Yarmouth where we camped on Linda’s front yard for several days. During the five days we spent in Yarmouth we helped the team with several community presentations at the local arts centre and schools. As well we dried the gear, did laundry and met lots of friendly people at a potluck supper in our honour. After a week I think I had only prepared one of our camping meals!
The highlight was our official welcome to Yarmouth. Because of the storm we could not arrive by kayak as scheduled on Saturday morning, so we transported the boats by car to the opposite side of the harbour and paddled across. We were welcomed by a marching band and a colour party of Canadian and American flags lined the boat ramp. The town crier announced our arrival and the two national anthems were sung.
By Tuesday the ocean was calmer and the weather seemed stable, so we shuttled the gear back to Mavillette Beach to resume the trip. This time there were just five of us. Pat had returned home to her family and unexpected problems with their house and cat sitter necessitated that Sue remain on shore, so she became our land support person (more on her duties later). Dan switched to his single kayak for the remainder of the trip.
Two days later we again passed by Yarmouth, this time paddling around Cape Forchu where a historic lighthouse guards the entrance to the harbour. Every day at 11:30 a.m. “the Cat,” a high speed catamarine car ferry, arrives from Bar Harbor. Before crossing the harbour entrance we checked our watches and thought we had time before the Cat arrived. We were about half way across, when Don looked back and saw the Cat approaching. We paddled as fast as we could and just made it to the buoys marking the channel as the huge ship passed behind us. Several minutes later we turned and braced as giant waves from it’s wake washed towards us. That was a close call!
Afternoon winds drove us off the water at Kelly’s Cove, just south of Yarmouth. After camp was set up on a beautiful sand beach we hiked several kilometres along the shore to find the remains of a fin whale that had washed ashore a few months previously. A lingering stench told us we were near, and then we came across several vertebrae and rib bones and a large piece of baleen. The power of the ocean waves was evident in the way the remnants of this huge creature were strewn for about a kilometer along the beach. Later that evening Sue performed the first of her land support duties, bringing some liquid refreshment and forgotten items, one of which was my pillow.
The next day we left the populated coast behind, and headed for the Tusket Islands, a small group of about 20 islands located several kilometres from the mainland. The islands were once a thriving fishing community. Today they are occupied by summer residents, a few local fisherman, and herds of sheep that are pastured on some of the treeless islands. Strong tidal currents sweep through the passages between the islands as the tides from the Atlantic meet those of the Bay of Fundy.
We camped on Owl’s Head Island. The ruins of a large fishing lodge and several smaller cabins occupy the island. Built in the 1940s as an exclusive resort for American sport fishermen, the building was never completed because the bottom fell out of the tuna fishery and the clients never came. After 60 years the stone walls and roof remain solidly standing, but exposure to the elements and vandals have taken their toll. Rotting floorboards and supporting beams that had been sawed away made exploration of the building a dangerous affair. We spent two days here, with time to explore the beach, collect driftwood and ponder the amount of debris that is washed ashore by the storms. I must have counted over a hundred lobster crates and buoys on just this one island. One could decorate a lot of rec-rooms in Upper Canada!
After leaving the Tuskets, we spent the next few days paddling in Lobster Bay, named for the fishery it supports. Lobster season in this part of Nova Scotia is open from November to April, so no active lobstering was happening while we were there. However the harbours were packed with boats and equipment, and we spoke with many fishermen who told us all about this prosperous fishery.
Lobster Bay was pretty quiet at this time of year. Most of the summer sailors had put their boats away for the season and the lobster season had not begun. We did see a few fishermen collecting rockweed, which is sold to pharmaceutical companies for use in cosmetics and toothpaste. It looked like hard labour to me, as the men stood in their dingys and used large rakes to collect and haul the seaweed into the boats.
The bay is a paddler’s paradise with numerous islands and passages to explore. We camped at three different places, one of which was on a point of land called McKinnon’s Neck, owned by friends of Dan and Sue. When Sue visited us we were treated to a box of Tim Horton’s, a case of beer and fresh lettuce (three essentials after a week or more at sea). Later she took us on a tour of the century old house and farm on the property and related its history. But what really caught my attention was the garden hose. The next morning we enjoyed an outdoor shower, cold but not salty, and hoped that the gate to the highway really was locked!
Our next stop at Argyle brought a day of pouring rain. No paddling but an opportunity to visit the Acadian Museum at Pubnico and sample Acadian cuisine, rappi pie (made from potatoes and clams) and scallops, at the local restaurant. Here we were joined by a sixth paddler, Tom Teller, from Massachusetts who had paddled with the GOMEX team earlier in the summer.
The next day the weather cleared so we paddled on to John Island. That evening I was exploring an abandoned farm near our campsite when I unexpectedly met four men walking through the undergrowth. Unsure of their identity, I quickly invited them back to meet the others. It turned out they knew Pat, who was with us earlier in the trip, and had read about GOMEX in the local newspaper. Terry and his brothers, who owned a hunt camp on the island, were lobster fishermen from nearby Woods Harbour. The next morning, we hiked around the entire island and enjoyed a visit with Terry and the boys at their cabin. We learned that this island had lots of deer and rabbits, and that soon they would be “gunning” for ducks.
Later that afternoon, we saw a fishing boat approach the island and enter the bay near our camp. Over the back end of the boat we saw a kayak being lowered into the water, and soon the paddler approached. As she drew near we saw it was our friend Pat. Terry had brought her out for a visit as it was too windy for her to paddle out from the harbour. As she unloaded her kayak, we again experienced Nova Scotia hospitality – a box of Tim’s finest, a case of brown bottles and two huge fresh salmon filets. We quickly threw together some vegetables to accompany the fish, and enjoyed one of the best meals on the trip. By 8:30 when Terry returned to pick up Pat it was almost dark. We couldn’t see, but somehow they hauled Pat and her kayak aboard and soon the lights receded into the darkness as they returned to the mainland.
The next morning we awoke to rain and a strong easterly wind, and the weather forecast prompted a change in our plans. We decided to paddle on to Clark’s Harbour a day earlier than planned. We crossed over to the mainland and proceeded southward along the lee shore. As the morning passed we became wetter and colder, but as we rounded the point and headed towards the east the full force of the wind hit us head on. Fortunately a small harbour with a breakwater offered a little shelter and a place to land. We decided to call it a day, and went ashore to phone Sue. The manager of a lobster pound at the wharf offered us their lunch room for shelter while we waited for the cars to shuttle us the rest of the way to Clarks Harbour, where cozy cabins had been reserved for the end of trip celebrations.
Saturday dawned bright and sunny but very gusty, as the storm (a second hurricane according to some) blew itself out. That did not stop the celebrations, planned by our intrepid paddler friend Pat. In the afternoon, a reception at the harbour included, a town crier, speeches, live entertainment, politicians and presentations (and all the Tim Horton’s you could eat). The local Coast Guard cruiser was on hand for tours. In the evening we enjoyed an old-fashioned community supper of baked beans, ham and scalloped potatoes, followed by the GOMEX slide show presentation.
Although we had only been with the expedition for a month we shared their sense of triumph in their accomplishments – five months and 1000 miles of journey by kayak. For Don and me it was a wonderful opportunity to experience another piece of Canada’s coastline.