I have to admit, we are not purists when it comes to tenting—we cheat. We have cereal and fruit for breakfast at the campsite and we make sandwiches for lunch. Then we are off to look for a coffee shop and do some sightseeing in the afternoon. For supper, we look for a family-owned restaurant where fresh fish is the house specialty.
Last year, we waited too long to get a reservation at New River Beach Provincial Park, which is one of our favourite spots. We did an Internet search to see what else would be available for Labour Day weekend and found a wilderness campground called Hole-in-the-Wall, on Grand Manan Island.
It offers cliff-edge and clifftop campsites overlooking the Bay of Fundy. Some of the cliffs are 100 to 200 feet high. Their website boasted of the possibility of actually being able to see and hear whales feeding at the weirs at the foot of the cliffs. This was a magnet straight to my heart. I had seen and heard whales once at St. Mary’s bird sanctuary outside of St. John’s, Newfoundland. It felt like a spiritual experience to me, so even the slight chance of repeating it was appealing.
We immediately looked into the long-range weather forecast, because Grand Manan has a notorious reputation for being foggy. The prediction was clear skies ahead and warm temperatures. We made a reservation and checked out the New Brunswick ferry schedule from St. George to Grand Manan Island. It is a 90-minute crossing on a beautiful new ferry with wonderful facilities, lounges and a restaurant, but best of all, it provides outside seating. Sometimes whales can be seen from the ferry.
We sat out on the deck inhaling the smell of the salt water, feeling the sun on our faces and the wind in our hair. Looking at the beautiful water of the Bay of Fundy, we felt so good, so invigorated and so pleased with our adventurous selves.
We couldn’t wait to get there, and it was not a disappointment. We were delighted with our cliff-edge campsite. It was large, with both sunny and shady areas, and it was private. We had a gorgeous view of the water from our site, including a view of one of the three lighthouses on the island. At night we could see the ferry—all lit up—crossing against the dark sky and water. The scenery was stunning!
There was no danger of us falling off the cliff, as there is a comfortable distance and a barrier of trees between the campsite and the cliff edge. However, I would not be comfortable bringing children there.
The campground is called Hole-in-the-Wall because there is a large hole in a huge rock caused by thousands of years of tides. It is one of the suggested lookouts and it is well worth the 15 minutes it takes to get there, even if the tree roots and rocks make it tricky walking in places.
Over the following three days, we visited the other lighthouses and four beaches. We were delighted to find charming, family-owned restaurants and local coffee shops—there are no coffee chains on the island. There are bike rentals, sea kayaking tours and an art gallery to enjoy. Grand Manan is also famous for birdwatching and it’s an artist’s paradise. There is a great bakery and several fish shops, of which you can be sure we took advantage. We couldn’t return home without lobster for our husbands. Speaking of our men, we were excited to introduce them to wilderness camping at Hole-in-the-Wall the following spring!
—by Evelyn Godin, Saint John, New Brunswick
The Mystique of Sable Island
Famous for its shipwrecks and wild horses, this strip of sand off the coast of Nova Scotia is on many Canadians’ bucket lists
My roommate and I rose from our comfy berths aboard the Sea Adventurer when we heard the anchor chain being released. We sprang from our beds, threw on some warm clothes and raced to the top deck. The sun was just beginning to peer over the horizon, turning the vast sky various shades of purple. Just over 180 kilometres off the coast of Nova Scotia, the 42-kilometre-long, crescent-shaped sliver of sand known as Sable Island glistened in the morning sun.
Sitting barely above the ocean’s surface with its widest point only 1.5 kilometres, we could now tell why it inherited the name “the Graveyard of the Atlantic” due to the numerous shipwrecks off its coast over the years. Soon we would feel the island’s sand between our toes and hopefully witness with our own eyes the famous Sable Island horses that share the shores with one of the largest colonies of grey seals in the world, and the rare Ipswich sparrow that makes the sandbar its only breeding ground.
Years ago, when I had attempted to reach the island to photograph the horses for my first Scholastic Canada book, a nonfiction book about horse breeds, I discovered that to fly there was both expensive and difficult. There was no guarantee when you could take off from the island due to the omnipresent fog that rolls in and possibly stays for days or weeks. In 2013, the island’s care was transferred from the Canadian Coast Guard to Parks Canada, making Sable Island Canada’s 43rd national park.
After much deliberation, the tour company Adventure Canada came to an agreement with Parks Canada to allow a group of approximately 100 tourists to land on its beaches, transported from the ship by Zodiacs, a method that would impact the island’s environment the least.
After breakfast, we loaded our gear into waterproof sacks and were safely transported to the island’s shore in groups of six to ten. Greeted by Parks Canada staff, we were led down a narrow horse path, being careful to stay in one another’s footprints in the sand. After walking for half an hour with no horses in sight, we climbed a dune only to spot a foal frolicking down the beach with its mother close behind. My heart skipped a beat to know that I could finally tick that box off my bucket list. Walking a little farther, we witnessed many more small herds of horses.
Believed to be descendants of animals that were seized by the British from the Acadians during their expulsion from Nova Scotia, these horses now exist in numbers ranging from 300 to 500. These wild horses feed off the marram beach grass and know by instinct where to dig for underground freshwater reservoirs when the surface ponds are contaminated with saltwater from the Atlantic Ocean after storms.
From 1801 to 1958, before modern navigational systems, a human presence existed on the island as a lifesaving station for shipwrecks. Originally used for riding and farming, the herd was destined to be rounded up and auctioned off for use as pit ponies in the coal mines, or alternatively slaughtered for dog food.
In 1961, a movement to convince then Canadian Prime Minister John Diefenbaker to save the horses was successful after numerous children sent collections of drawings and letters begging for the herds’ protection. More than 50 years later, one of those children was able to witness the result of her efforts and stepped ashore with us.
The horses have never received modern veterinary care and the herd is completely unmanaged. Parks Canada has mandated that a 20-metre distance be observed between human and equine, allowing the horses to maintain their wild instincts.
There is a controversy with Parks Canada in regard to the horses, as the general rule is to remove any alien species. Since these horses have been there for so long, however, who is to determine if they are alien or native? Permanent dwellings used for research and housing for Parks Canada staff dot the island and many of the original buildings remain, disappearing in the windswept sand only to reappear years later. In 1901, the federal government planted more than 80,000 trees on the island in an attempt to stabilize the soil, but they all died, with the exception of one pine that still stands near the weather station.
I felt honoured to meet Zoe Lucas, a researcher who has lived on and off the island since she first stepped foot on it in 1971. Since the early ’80s, Zoe has made Sable her home for ten to 12 months of the year. I asked Zoe if she had the chance to tell the world something about the horses, what it would be. Her reply was, “To be aware of what is going on around you. The horses of Sable Island will be fine for now, but there are so many other wild horses out there that need our help.”
Many of the passengers aboard the Sea Adventurer had dreamed of this opportunity since they were young children and had now fulfilled that dream.
—by Shawn Hamilton, Campbellcroft, On
tario
Swimming Great Bear
Three dedicated swimmers take on British Columbia’s Great Bear Sea, seeking adventure and generating awareness
To say we’ve been called just a little crazy a couple of times would be an understatement. Indeed, it probably isn’t your average summer vacation to go swim the Great Bear Sea, but that’s exactly what three close friends did one summer.
We departed from Port Hardy, British Columbia, by ferry to travel to British Columbia’s central coast to attempt a two-day, staged swim from Ocean Falls to Bella Bella. Starting from the foot of the falls on day one, we swam the length of Cousins Inlet into Fisher Channel, veering off into Gunboat Passage, where we exited the water for the day. The next morning, we picked up where we left off in hopes of catching the tidal current through the narrows of Gunboat, past the town of Shearwater, across Lama Passage, landing on the shores of Bella Bella, completing two back-to-back 25-kilometre swims.
This was the first time these waters have been swum, and probably for good reason. The water registered surface temperatures in the range of 12°C to 17°C. Careful planning was implemented before the swim to accommodate surface and tidal currents.
So why would anyone want to do such a thing, you might ask? Well, that’s a really good question. We were asked this question many times as we put the wheels in motion to make this little adventure happen. Of course, if you ask each of us that question, we’d likely each give you a different answer. Simply put, though, we’re just a bunch of swimmers who love to swim in unique and wonderful places. We love the challenges and freedoms we confront when we’re in the open water, especially when surrounded by such natural beauty. So I guess the easy answer is, why not do it?
Of course, there is a lot more to it than that. For Dale Robinson, swimming has always played a huge role in his life, both as an athlete and a coach. As he gets older, he finds himself seeking out new and more exciting ways to challenge himself within the sport, and the Great Bear Swim seemed liked a pretty good way to do just that. The swim was also his way of helping in the fight to bring attention to the wonder that is the Great Bear ecosystem and the local-to-global need for its conservation.
There is incredible diversity of life in the Great Bear, much of which is hidden below the waterline. He believes that as a human race, we’d better start collectively understanding just how critical maintaining that biological diversity is to our own continued existence on this planet.
For Susan Simmons, swimming has healing power. About 20 years ago, Susan was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis and was advised to avoid strenuous exercise, only to watch helplessly as her body began to fail. She decided a different approach was warranted and now uses swimming as an effective management tool for her symptoms. And by all measures it appears her approach has worked, as she can lay claim to being one of the world’s most accomplished open-water, ultra-marathon swimmers. Her longest nonstop swim to date took more than 30 hours while swimming a total of 70 kilometres. One day, she’s hoping to set another benchmark by attempting to swim more than 100 kilometres without stopping, other than to feed and hydrate. So, the Great Bear Swim was just an easy warm-up for her.
In my case, especially in light of my past experiences as a Canadian record-holding freediver, this was a rare opportunity to swim and dive in the pristine and abundant waters along the British Columbia coast. I’ve been freediving in California among the sea lions, with manta rays in the Cayman Islands and along a salmon run in Campbell River, and I was absolutely thrilled to see humpback whales in the Great Bear Sea. For me, this swim was also very much about having an opportunity to meet, engage and share stories with the people in the communities along the route.
The waterways we were swimming in are part of the Heiltsuk First Nation’s traditional territory, with the town of Bella Bella being a focal point of their people and culture. Ocean Falls holds a special place in the Canadian swimming community for being called hometown to a disproportionately large number of our Olympians in the 1960s. Now, with barely 20 or so remaining residents, Ocean Falls has fallen largely idle as an abandoned ghost town.
Our adventure took about a year to plan and train for, and we ended up with an amazing 12-member crew who supplied our navigation, safety and emergency support. We also chose to support three charitable and nonprofit causes: the MS Society of Canada; Pacific Wild, which is dedicated to developing conservation solutions for the Great Bear; and QQS Projects Society, which runs Koeye Camp, an innovative educational camp for Heiltsuk youth that helps promote and foster scientific and traditional cultural knowledge.
All in all, it was a labour of love and, more importantly, an opportunity for personal growth and reflection, with each one of us realizing that we all have our own unique demons to confront in taking on a challenge of this nature. Of course, the flip side is that we have also learned about our individual strengths, and how that helps in comforting and supporting one another. It was such an amazing ride, and our hope is that this will turn into a project that takes on a life of its own as we seek out new and extraordinary places to go swimming.
—by Jill Yoneda, Victoria, British Columbia
Wild About Horses
Photographing magnificent “wildies”
Ienjoy photographing everything in nature, but wild horses are my passion. When I first heard about Alberta’s wild horses 20 years ago, I wanted to photograph them. A friend of mine, who loves and advocates for “wildies,” heard about my wish and I was fortunate to accompany him to see the wild horses in the Williams Creek area of Alberta.
It was an incredible experience. We saw more than 100 majestic horses—I was in heaven. We spent a day there on our first visit, and have been back to the same area often.
On one occasion, while taking photos of a band of around 30 horses, I didn’t realize that not 20 feet away, a foal was sleeping behind a tree. All at once, he awoke, jumped up and just stood there allowing me to get several great shots of him. As I was snapping away, the herd stud realized how close the little guy was to me and came running over, snaking his neck with his ears back, as if warning the colt, “Danger, get away!” The colt didn’t seem to understand what he was being told and stayed put until his mom came over to get him. I didn’t feel threatened at all by the stallion being close to me and kept taking photos. It was an encounter that I will always cherish.
Another time, I managed to capture a great shot of a foal running and jumping for the sheer joy of it. He was having such fun all by himself while the rest of his herd grazed peacefully—it brought a smile to my face. Once, I snapped a funny pic of a red roan stallion with a cowbird perched on his back. Later, the same roan was with another bachelor stud and they were both very tolerant of our presence, allowing us plenty of time to take photos.
Having spent time with the wildies, I hope to visit as often as possible! They’re magnificent and truly nurture my soul. I’m so thankful for the privilege. These horses are born wild and free, and deserve to always remain so.
—by Julie Birch, Didsbury, Alberta
Canada, Do You Have Room for Us?
Fleeing persecution, this Mennonite preacher and his family found freedom on these welcoming shores
Dietrich waited until dark, and then jumped on his horse and galloped away. He had an important mission, and it would not do for other villagers to see him. Everyone lived in fear. Who would be next on the government arrest list? Where would the marauders strike next?
It was 1929, in a part of the U.S.S.R. that is now Ukraine. Government forces kept tabs on everyone, while wild bandits roamed the country. Dietrich didn’t know which peril he feared more. His name was on the government blacklist (all preachers were), and the ruthless bandits didn’t care that they were preachers. They rode into villages at random, looting and killing.
Dietrich and Agatha (my parents) had relatives in Canada, and thought of immigrating there with their little ones—my baby brother Walter and me, Mary, 11/2 years old at the time. We we
re living with my mother’s parents, owners of the village mill. They were kulaks (landowners) and could be a target soon. Leaving without them would be heart-wrenching, but they wanted to sell their business and home before they would think of leaving. Now in the dead of night, Dietrich sought advice from a friend in a distant village who had gone to Moscow and was encouraging people to emigrate. To his horror, police barged in and arrested his friend. Dietrich reached home breathless. “We’re leaving!” he said.
Now we were not immigrants—we were refugees, fleeing our country. We boarded a train for Moscow from a neighbouring town. Thousands gathered in makeshift camps, applying to leave their homeland.
Every night, police barged in. Breasts heaved in fear as the police called out names. Always men. Broken-hearted wives gathered their crying children and returned to their villages. They could not, would not, leave the country without their husbands. Thousands were shipped in cattle cars to Siberia.
One night, the dreaded knock came to our door. Dietrich trembled as police entered and called out every name in the room. The next announcement stunned them: “You may leave!” Audible cries and cheers! Tears rolled down even the policemen’s cheeks. Dietrich, Agatha, baby Walter and I were among the survivors.
My parents feared for our lives even as we rode the train to the border. Desired destination? Canada! We arrived at the Red Gate—freedom awaited beyond. Later, Dietrich heard that our train was the last one through the Red Gate before the Iron Curtain descended. How he thanked God for deliverance!
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