Cape Breton Island

There is a reassuring sense to the ocean no matter where in the world I encounter it. Walking along the coast of Newfoundland in late October, I closed my eyes and stood facing the ocean, hearing and feeling its waves rythmically crash against the rocks, and I was instantly, simultaneously, standing along about fourteen different coastlines around the world. The gentle rumble as the tide pulls out, and then crack as a new wave breaks and races in over the land, as familiar and predictable and wonderful here as anywhere. Standing on a rock, the water crawling up and around me, almost touching my shoes, the ocean felt like it does everywhere, taking over every sense, booming and drawing away and returning again and again. When I move away from it, step up inland, its intensity fades but its powerful presence a dull throbbing beat never wavering in the background.

The ferry carried me from this brilliantly calm last day on the Newfoundland coast and back to the mainland. To say it was a breezy night on board might be an understatment, though, as the wind banging into the metal sides of the boat at regular enough intervals to wake me up just as I was dozing off again and again, continuing this charade up through the night. So upon landing in Sydney, Nova Scotia at 7am, I drove to the nearest Tim Hortons, pulled down the shades in the Jamboree, and napped until 10. Quite convenient, really, that once I woke from my morning nap, I was able to fill up on a cup of coffee and a muffin before hitting the road again.

I've been sleeping in truck stops and parking lots a lot lately. I sleep surprisingly well in them, they are free, usually include a restaurant, and sometimes there is even somewhere nearby that I can get online. Irving truckstops, Wal Mart parking lots, even Canadian Tire is tolerant of us wayward campers determined to stay beyond the official season. A great discovery on the road at a time when campsites are all advertised with “Closed for the Season” signs stamped across them. The only thing I miss are warm showers and so I thank the stars for YMCA (as does my driver's cramp).

I drove around the Cabot Trail yesterday, which circles the northern bit of Cape Breton Island, weaving along the coastline and in and out of the Highlands national park. I had to peek through the rain and fog to confirm that the fall colours were still putting on their shamefully flamboyant show, and when I got to the top of one of the highlands, the fog and rain cleared enough to give me the breathtaking views that I went there for. The ocean was a bit angrier than it had been the day before on the Newfoundland coast, the sounds of it intensified. Having tricked my imagination into thinking it was just like it is everywhere, this ocean reminded me of its many moods.

Cabot Trail, Cape Breton Island