Harbour Hopping and Crustacian Elation in Canada
‘Mud, mud, glorious mud,
Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood
So follow me, follow,
Down to the hollow,
And there let us wallow in glorious mud,’ sang the hippopotamus in a serenade to his fair maid.’
These lyrics sprang to mind as I did a fair impression of a hippo in the Flanders & Swann song.
This was to be the adventure thrill of our trip to Nova Scotia: tidal bore rafting.
We were about to experience an adrenaline ride like no other. We’d be drenched, chilled to the bone, spluttering as wave after wave hit us full-frontal, and we’d love it.
But first we had to negotiate a mud field to reach our Zodiac inflatable boat. Easier said then done. I’d mastered low tide at Southend-on-Sea as a kid but here I was literally a stick-in-the-mud. Feet sank. Body pitched forward. Splat. Immobile until I was yanked upright, hands and all limbs covered in mud.
Good for the skin, I was told by our dominatrix helms-woman Amber.
Under the imperious gaze of bald eagles she ferried us through the shallow waters of the Shubenacadie River to await the tidal bore that was surging towards us from the Bay of Fundy, creating one of the biggest waves witnessed anywhere in the world, all 400,000 tonnes of it.
It came. We saw. It conquered. Hanging on grimly we were buffeted and bounced in the swirling muddy waters, tossed on the tide as if in a washing machine spin cycle. At least my mud was rinsed off.
Apart from the exhilaration of bore meeting mud my Number One reason for visiting Canada’s Maritime Provinces was lobster.
Number Two reason: more lobster.
Number Three: anything else that comes from the crashing Atlantic Ocean – oysters, crab, halibut, salmon, scallops, clams, mussels. All mouth-wateringly fresh with just hours from sea to plate.
Our guide, at any one time, could be caught wearing lobster-motif shirts or pants (trousers to you and me), and offering us lobster chowder, lobster rolls, even beer named Crustacean Elation.
Thanks to Lowel, a 71 year old known as Mr Lobster for his prodigious knowledge of the species, we now know how to trap the black crustacean, sex it, send it to sleep and cook it so it turns lobster pink, achieved – vegans look away – by plunging alive in boiling water.
And, most vitally, we are now skilled on how to eat it: employing metal implements and brute strength, breaking the claws, tails, legs and armoured body shell, teasing out every last morsel of succulent flesh dipped messily in molten butter. Our visit to the tiny fishing village of Hall’s Harbour and its Lobster Pound restaurant was the first time I’d worn a bib since infancy.
Lobster is ubiquitous in this part of Canada on the Atlantic seaboard. You’ll find it MacDonald’s, Subway, in nachos, tacos, poutine, pasta, sauces and soups.
For those unfortunate folk – a couple in our group were shellfish intolerant or just plain picky – there’s a multitude of other maritime magnets on the menu: inspiring coastal scenery, near-empty beaches stretching for miles, rich history and heritage, ancient culture and art, gardens that inspired Anne of Green Gables author Lucy Maud Montgomery, tales of heroism and piracy on the high seas, ghosts…and golf. A glorious mix of seascapes and city, quaint towns, spruce forests, parkland, rivers and lakes teeming with wildlife, experienced on a whistle-stop tour of Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island, the smallest of the Maritme Provinces and a favourite of the royals. We followed in the footsteps of Kate and William on their honeymoon.
We kicked off with a Harbour Hopper tour of the Nova Scotia city of Halifax, a military town built by the British 250 years ago. Our frog-green amphibious transport, used by America in Vietnam, thundered at a stately15mph past statues of Churchill, who famously described the city as ‘more than a shack at the end of the pier,’ and Scottish poet Robbie Burns, author of Auld Lang Syne.
It skirted Fort George and the Pit of Death moat, before splashing into Canada’s biggest naval port, 71m. deep and where the valuable necklace used in filming Titanic sank without trace.
The boardwalk is strung with hammocks where hipsters savour rum cake and admire an ever-changing gallery of graffiti by local artists.
More artists flock to the village of Peggy’s Cove, named after the sole survivor of a 19th century shipwreck that took the lives of 32 fishermen. A lighthouse, standing sentinel on wave-worn granite rocks, winks a constant warning to shipping.
We feasted on the morning’s catch at the Sou’wester restaurant (lobster tail thermidor, bacon-wrapped scallops, seafood chowder) before heading to the picturesque seafaring town of Lunenberg, a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
Our guide regaled us with tales of witchcraft, superstition, of a church mysteriously burnt down on Halloween, showed us ‘coffin windows’ where the dead were dispatched from their homes, and top floor widows’ watches, where fishermen’s wives would scan the ocean for the return of their menfolk, dreading a glimpse of a black flag on the mast signalling a death.
Not surprisingly, there are ghost tours. Our clairvoyant receptionist at the historic Mariner King Inn told us she’s talked with no less than three apparitions, including the spirit of ‘friendly but sad Sarah,’ a widow who adopted a young girl who died of diphtheria. I was relieved not to be sleeping in Room 101. My friend, spookily also called Sarah, was.
Lobster supper – I demolished a whole steamed delicacy weighing one and a quarter pounds – plus copious craft beers and Nova Scotia wine at the Old Fish Factory ensured peaceful sleep in readiness for a cross-country scenic drive to Kejimkujic National Park and 380 km of inland wilderness.
Our first nation Mi’kmaq guide led us to the banks of Kejimkujic Lake _ the name means ‘tired muscles’ which her ancestors suffered as they canoed from the Bay of Fundy to the Atlantic coast.
We cast off shoes to avoid destroying evidence of ancient travellers: stone carvings or petroglyphs scratched into boulders. Wetting the surface revealed faint outlines of a ship, a woman’s embroidered hat, a shield and clay pipe.
From clay pipes of Nova Scotia to bagpipes of Prince Edward Island by way of the magnificent curved Confederation Bridge, at eight miles the longest in the world over ice-covered water.
The College of Piping at the Celtic Performance Arts Centre – the only custom-built theatre for pipes in the world – at Summerside, treated us to a foot-tapping mini-concert with piper Linda, 22, who traces her ancestors to Perth, teenaged drummer Austin and Highland dancer Charlie, 17.
PEI is an island of vibrant colour: lush green farmland, red clay cliffs dropping into sparkling blue seas foaming onto golden yellow sand dunes. Its pace is leisurely and I longed for more time for art galleries and hiking the Dunes Trail of Greenwich National Park with its floating boardwalk.
No wonder PEI is a favourite with the royals. The honeymooning Duke and Duchess of Cambridge visited in 2011, attending a reception at Dalvay by the Sea, a very grand 19th century house where we stayed for one luxurious night, fine dining – chilled snow crab, seared scallops and lime cloud passion fruit gel with basil meringue – in a panoramic restaurant over the lake where Kate and William raced in dragon boats. He beat her.
Sadly, time beat us.
FACTFILE
Gill was a guest on a press trip. Canadian Sky (www.canadiansky.co.uk) offers a 10 day trip to the Maritimes starting from £1,849 per person, including accommodation, some meals, and return flights with Air Canada to Halifax from London Heathrow. More information can be found at https://atlanticcanadaholiday.co.uk
WestJet flies direct from Glasgow to Halifax. https://www.westjet.com
