08.03.09

Before leaving the house for the open road the next morning, I was to try a root beer float that Anna had made for me. It was vanilla ice cream, Häagen-Dazs, naturally, with root beer poured on top, the bubbles making the two mix slowly. Root beer is an odd non-alcoholic drink that tasted like a cross between dandelion and burdock and some topical cream for a skin complaint - not that I'm in the habit of sampling topical creams. Anyway, the smooth, creamy flavours of the ice cream with the bitter, sharper tastes of the beer worked well with the ice cream and a tasty drink was had by all, well actually just Anna and I but everyone should try it.

Although Canada was still in winter, the clocks moved forward that night robbing us all of an hours sleep. That said, I didn't feel any different for it and it meant an extra hour of light which was good news as we were driving south to Kejimkujik for a nights camping. Breakfast was to be authentically North American - pancakes with maple syrup. They were different to our pancakes, smaller and thicker but light and fluffy inside and were very nice. The maple syrup was a perfect accompaniment and different to our Golden Syrup in flavour, colour and viscosity.

That night, there had been snow and it was still coming down after breakfast, renewing the brilliant white covering to the landscape. It was forecast to continue with ice showers later in the day and Anna's father was unsure whether our two day drive could take place due to the inclement weather. I felt confident driving on the snow and we set off for our trip down to the national park via Liverpool. This time I was to drive the Dodge Journey, an American SUV which was sized appropriately and seated seven that could double as a tent should the weather not be favourable. We filled the boot with our stuff and some food and set out for Lunenburg.

The roads were white with snow and ice making driving slow and hazardous. I felt a little trepidation as the car slowly ascended the occasional hill, the wheels infrequently spinning as they struggled to find any grip. Deer scratched at peoples' front lawns in an attempt to find some nourishment. We made it to Lunenburg, a world heritage site, one of only two in Canada. Being a small town full of immaculately kept homes and businesses it sees a good amount of tourism with small boutique shops and restaurants that unfortunately only open during the peak tourist season in the summer. Despite the stasis-like atmosphere, cold drizzle and negative temperatures I could still see the charm of this little place and it did indeed seem worthy of its World Heritage status.

As the day went on, the roads became better and by the time we were out of Lunenburg all that was left of the snow and ice was a bit of dirty slush. We headed for the ferry to get back across the river so we could start our journey to the campsite but coming around the final corner I could see the ramp retracting. We'd just missed it and I'm glad we did because as we sat waiting for its return I spotted a moving set of ripples near the water's edge as if a small boat water patrolling the shore. It wasn't a boat but a mink with chocolate brown coat and white chest and a small fish in its mouth. It left the water, jumping on top of a rock and surveying the area as it saw me get out the car and point my camera lens in his direction. Before I could get a picture he'd jumped of the rock and into a crevice where he stayed.

Before we commenced the long drive we stopped off at Crescent Beach where we drove along the sandy causeway, to my delight, arriving at the first of the many LaHave islands. There were some people inhabiting the islands that made their living from the rich harvest of seafood in this region. It was an idyllic place by the sea with little coves and tree covered hills, nicely painted houses and a very Canadian atmosphere.
We stopped now and again to look at the odd lighthouse and town, like Liverpool, the site of an old fort, and amusingly situation on the Mersey River. At Liverpool we took a ninety degree turn and headed northwest on the main road between the north and south coast. About half way along this road was the Kejimkujik National Park, one of the few to offer year round camping, on entry I understood why.

Foolishly, we arrived after four o'clock so the information centre was closed, this meant we couldn't buy our permit which gave us entry and camping rights. With nowhere else to go we had to stay and resolved to pay in the morning. The park, after a winter of snow and cold temperatures, was deeply covered, even the ploughed roads of the park had several inches on them which made driving slow but fun. We went, first, to a shelter, complete with wood burning stove, where we collected logs and kindling for our planned campfire. Just a few metres from the shelter was a raging torrent of a river with gushing weir that looked hugely powerful. The brown water from upstream hit the rocks, which impeded the flow and caused a massive spray of white water that returned back to swollen waters of the river. Amazingly, there was still much snow and ice on and around the river, despite its force, and I reversed slightly as Anna went to take my picture in front of the spectacle. Suddenly my foot was free, plunging deeply into the ice-cold waters below. My reflex not quick enough but still there, I pulled my chilled wet leg, shoe full of water, out of the foot shaped hole in the snow and moved forward away from the apparently unsafe water's edge. It gave us a few laughs but I was glad that a whole chunk of ice didn't give way to my peril.

We lugged the wood back to the car and continued driving through the snow in search of the one open campground hoping that in spite of the closed office the site was indeed still open. Every turning we took the snow got a little thicker and the path less well trodden until we finally got to the campsite, which was mostly under about three feet of snow. Most of the spots hadn't been touched at all and were still under several feet of snow, and completely inaccessible, so I carefully drove around the circuit a few times to find a patch we liked. The site was next to a lake, all frozen over at this time of year which made for a good picture or two, and was also next to a toilet block. This, we thought, would be very handy, but when it came to using it we found that both doors were locked!

We both needed the toilet after our drive and the park had many campsites, all with toilets, so off we drove to find one we could use. There were several to check and I could have used cross country skis or snow shoes to get around as just walking about I sank up to my knee, I wasn't complaining though as I loved the snow and it felt like an adventure - it was an adventure, I might get eaten by a brown bear. Each door I came across was locked and blocked by snow with a portcullis of icicles waiting to harpoon anyone that may try and force entry. Anna spotted, on a map that we'd picked up, some 'pit toilets' that we thought would be more likely to be open due to the lack of plumbing. Eventually I managed to find one, alone in the trees with a view of the frozen lake, but once again it was locked. We'd spent an hour or two on the toilet front and had to admit defeat, in fear of the fading light, so I found a nice looking tree and made real the saying "never eat yellow snow".

I trudged back to the car disappointed that I couldn't find any available amenities. We drove back to our campsite through the snow, devoid of any tracks, and, just before reaching our chosen pitch, I stopped at the last set of loos, and second closest to where we were going to sleep, to satisfy myself that they, also, were locked and out of use. I was right but fortunately there were two pit loos behind the toilet block that were open. Thank goodness, I ran back to the car, nearly landing on my derrière as I went, to tell Anna to the good news. Ablutions complete, we put the tent up on the snow, the pegs not even close to any earth, and got our kit set up ready for bed. After, I got the campfire roaring away, a snowbound furnace, with the aid of one match and some dry kindling.

On the menu for dinner was local smoked salmon, miniature carrots, humus and a baguette. The sun retreated and all went black with just the light and warmth of the fire to keep us outside. I found a fallen branch and, with my trusty Swiss Army knife, briefly whittled both ends to a point, ready for the toasting of marshmallows. Scorching the wood to sterilise it, we sat and consumed the molten treats as the sky got lighter and lighter; it was a full moon and when the natural satellite had climbed its way into the sky the area around us was clearly visible.

Utilising the emergency snow shovel in from the boot, I drenched the fire with snow producing a thick column of steam that even the red Indians would have been proud of. The probable thousand degrees or so of heat understandably took some extinguishing, noisily dying as the water vigorously evaporated. We retired to the tent attempting sleep in the subzero temperatures. The snow below made a comfortable and forgiving mattress substitute, if cold, and I found myself asleep, dreaming of castles and moose, within minutes. I was woken several times throughout the night, not by the cold or Anna's unusual midnight gurgling, but by the sound of wolves howling! I'm not sure what they were saying or why but the sound was both enchanting and intimidating. I felt a flutter of excitement knowing that we were in the company of, and no doubt the territory of, real wild wolves.