28~Cape Breton: The Girl Who Cried Whale, Coyote, Moose and Bear

Viarail is continuing to chug on, I am 3 blog entires in and going strong. It is raining, droplets stream down the windows and night is drawing in. My incarceration is an effective writing tool. [Although, my ability to pull my finger out and actually commit to posting is somewhat lacklustre; I reread this from Toronto 2 weeks on.]

‘I think that maybe we do not climb a mountain because it is there. We climb it because we are here.’ ~Jon Carroll 

Cape Breton is unbelievable. I want to pull over constantly because the vistas are continually exceptional and the mountainous structures feel so different to the flat lands of PEI.

These landscapes provide contrast with the more rugged terrains and undulating areas of Novia Scotia that I have been; it is like being transported to a sacred place, an ancient world that is rich with sky, trees and sea. 

With a setting sun casting magic over the roads, I am on the Cabot Trail. A sense of liberation and a heart overwhelmed with beauty, I head to Pleasant Bay.

The sea is effervescent in its sparkles, gently simmering and rippling, basking in the low evening sun. Everywhere I look is a painting, a work of art. An ancient peace resonates. I remember Lorne’s words, ‘Watch for moose on the road.’ Also backed up by the last message Jeff (my air bob host) sent to me, ‘Take it steady and watch for moose on the roads.’ Cordy did not see one while she stayed here and was a little disappointed and I think the men might just be exaggerating. I don’t come across any. (Surely I would notice even if I admit to being utterly consumed by my surroundings and not so much the roads?)

As soon as I arrive, Jeff helps me with my stuff and the sun is nearly tucked behind the ocean. He shows me the patch of land behind his house that he has grand plans for. Cabins that will be off grid with fire pits to cook food on; he envisages people cooking breakfasts from produce of the land and chickens to provide eggs for brekkie. He has had a wwoofer helping him cut back trees and space is being made. Brilliant. He is even thinking about a platform for yoga. We are chatting away, intuition (or perhaps I am very conversationally inclined as I have been alone driving for some time) alerts him to my sky appreciation and he takes me down to the beach to watch the sky. He has an awesome view from his balcony and the little walk through the wooded area is like a fairytale. 

An unusual sky captivates us both. We watch in silence, faces lifted rapturously to drink in and appreciate the thin rings of clouds that spread in an interesting fashion on either side of the sun. It is very peaceful here. In fact itt is beyond pleasant, here in Pleasant Bay. A protectively encircled bay with the mountainous regions on either side. Positively enchanting.

We look at the maps and plan two hikes and he will suss out for me whether or not the whale watching tours will be promising. This place is VERY small. He knows the captains and he knows the movements of the whales. In fact, Jeff knows a hell of a lot about this patch of the world. He has lived in Montreal and enjoyed city life but this is his home. Childhood here was amazing- winter snow fun and beach and wilderness exploring when the winter had ended. Jeff has done all sorts and has his fingers in different pies. He opened a hostel here, I noticed it- tiny, just down the road. At one point he made it into an internet cafe. He said the monks would always come down on a Friday because it was their day off and the would have a coffee and surf the net. Eh? Rewind. Then something rings a bell. Rick back in Lunenberg told me there was a Buddhist Retreat Centre up here. Yep, there is. Jeff knows a nice little hike we could do up there if I am interested. I am. Here are a few shots from the next day:

We head out to the skyline trail:

It is very popular because of the panoramic views and Jeff says that in high season it is teeming. We meet a few people but enjoy a relaxed meander along the path. Jeff has given my a walking stick and I try and get used to using it. Walking with stick is good form in these parts. When hiking on the terrain it can prevent a tumble and also there is an element of protection from wildlife. I force Jeff to tell me the details of the coyote attack where a girl was killed a few years ago. It just so happens that we are just about to cross the spot where it happened. This girl was a musician and was travelling Cape Breton, stopping off and hiking between music sessions. You have to understand, Jeff says, it was a different time, a different atmosphere. October, in the evening. There had been a peak season where this group of coywolfs (a coyote/wolf hybrid) had lost fear of humans. People had been feeding them and in October the sheer volume of visitors had died right down. A couple passed the musician girl and told her there were coyotes round the corner. She continued on, wanting to see these wild animals. The couple heard screams and the park police were alerted. When the Parky arrived, two coywolves were attacking the girl while the other was circling, training them. The girl died in hospital that night from the injuries they had afflicted upon her. There was a bounty then on these animals. There are probably very few now and Jeff hardly ever sees coyotes, he actually has seen more bears of late. He says he was once driving along the road from Cheticamp and could see people that were doing the skyline trail and from his vantage point, he could also see a bear just below on the mountain. The hikers were oblivious. Back to the coy wolf Jeff. How was the atmosphere in Cape Breton when it happened? He said their was complete devastation. There was also the feeling that there was not enough information about the potential wildlife hikers could cross paths with. This girl had gone to see the coyotes, purposefully. She was alone. These coy wolves were tracking her. They found her car keys and scattered items she had dropped. She had run. Immediate instinct of these animals is to chase and attack when in presence of a creature taking flight.

Jesus Jeff, what we do if we saw one now? If a coyote walked out in the path in front? This is why we carry sticks, he says. You would get behind me. We would back away. But, if there was one there, that would make me also question what is going on behind us. They are clever and if they make an appearance they are doing it for a reason. There is a documentary about this tragic set of events- it freaked Jeff’s brother out and he is Cape Breton born and bred. (I think it not a good idea to watch it myself.) Jeff’s stick is hand carved by his nephew and has a stopper on the end. When this comes off there is a blade. He goes hiking all over these parts and often ventures completely off trail. But, these coywolves are not around anymore and it was really an incident that occurred in a different time and atmosphere. There are very clear signs and advise now so people are well informed. Hopefully no one would be naive enough to actively approach or feed these animals. It is 4 years on and there has not been a snifter of coyote danger since. Executing caution and having information, a stick and a Jeff is all good. As sinister as it all sounds, we have fun and munch apples as we take in the view. Jeff is doffing some antlers here:

I race to make a Whale Watching tour from the hike and Jeff goes off to Cheticamp to get a few things. I offer to cook for him later because his ears prick up when I say I want to cook a load of vegetables because I had nothing but lovely cakes and bread on the way from PEI. He says he eats like a bachelor and is clueless about cooking veggies. Great, pick up some olives and feta I say as I shoot off. I will be 15 minutes late for the tour but Jeff has faith I will make it because they may just be getting on the boat...

I do, I throw my suit on. I sit with a Parisian, Herve. He slept in his car last night so he could do an early hike to watch the sunrise and he hiked a great one yesterday, called Franey on the other side of Cape Breton. He says I should do it, that I would love the views. Herve is a solo traveller. He ended up in Newfoundland for 3 weeks because the weather forecast was better there than Nova Scotia a few weeks back. He fell in love with it. The people, the places, the icebergs. No whales and he so hopes to see one. I feel the same. 1st time on my birthday was a no show, 2nd time I missed the boat and this time...Well, 3rd time lucky? Fee and I were messaging earlier. She tells me the whales will come out if they know I am there. 

Herve and I are loving the boat ride and he is getting some awesome snaps with an impressive looking Nikon. He tells me that he saw over 20 moose on Newfoundland and only 2 here but yesterday he saw a bear. I shriek in response to this revelation. Unfortunately, the other hopeful whale watchers take this to mean ‘whale’ as we are supposed to alert one another- the engine is loud and calling out is the way to do it. People look a little disappointed and I say to Herve maybe we need a code word to call out, like ‘Whale!’(I shout this out like a complete idiot!) Bugger, I did it again. Worse this time. Herve turns to ask me about Morocco and then the German lady in front of me and I both spot it. The minka in the distance coming up out of the water. Poor Herve misses it and we spend the rest of the time with our eyes peeled. Our captain is almost apologetic. Jeff tells me that later on in June when the less shy whales are about, the captains of these tours will not even mention minkas to the hopeful watchers. They keep their distance, are not that large, do not show their head or tail as the surface, come up 3 or so times for air and then circle underneath in a slow feeding pattern. Well, I thought even this brief sighting was amazing. I felt honoured. We see more of the minka, it is possibly a different one. We enjoy an eagle, stood majestically at the top of a craggy cliff and some seals too. We are heading back and Herve gets his money shot. The minka whale is close and comes up 3 times. We are all thrilled. Needless to say, I do not capture it on camera because I am too busy gawping, overcome and amazed.

Little did I know, I would get the real money shot later. Jeff is stood on the balcony, surveying the bay. He stands peacefully for a long time, all the passer bys he knows from the area give a gentle beep in greeting. The sun is low. I step out on the balcony and we are both looking out and discussing our sunburn- both caught off guard on the Skyline trail (a little sun burn preferable to a Coyote encounter). Then the minka. Just there before us in the bay. 3 times. Jeff is even flabbergasted. He has been stood watching for a long time. He often has sightings but I just wander out and she glides up within seconds. You are lucky, he says. It was so beautiful and gentle and overwhelming. A retreating enigma. I share whale info I have with Jeff, thinking that he would know all about it. A very interesting, emotive documentary called 'Blackfish' (click for trailer link) that I watched on the plane journey on the start of my trip, from London to New York. He hasn’t seen it. The trailer gives him goosepimples and we agree to watch it together tomorrow night. Check out our sea and sunset view. 

I tell him about the dolphin that Lyd had told me about. Lydia’s friend is a BBC science documentarist. He silenced her Christmas party by sharing a recording of Peter the dolphin, talking. Yes, talking. Some of you may know about the is experiment in the 70’s but I had not an idea. You must read this article: The woman who lived in sin with a dolphin. Mindblowing.

These animals are so intelligent. Jeff shoes me a clip of a pod of whales that he was with all day once when he was captaining whale watching tours. He is horrified that some people hop off the boats to swim with the whales and that someone in the area is thinking about incorporating snorkelling with the whale tours. He described to me when he had been out with a pod all day, another boat with some locals partying came bezzing over. The whales left the surface. They wanted to say hello to Jeff and wondered what he was doing out in the ocean alone. ‘Just waiting to see some whales!’ he replied. They said there was definitely no whales about and wished him a good night and carried on. When the cacophony of their wild boat driving and noise from on deck had dissipated, the whales surfaced again. Jeff would never reach out and touch a whale, their skin is hyper sensitive. His friend did and the whale then knocked his boat. Once Jeff held out his hand and the whale moved to it. He said it was the softest thing he had ever touched. We watch ‘Blackfish’. I feel pleased I could share something with Jeff that he is transfixed by- he has posted the trailer for it on Facebook and says his friends are going crazy over it.

It is an honour to have seen these animals in their natural habitat. Who wants to see whales in jail (as Jeff calls it)? This atrocity, Seaworld, is repulsive and we both agree that hopefully all will look at the time when we allowed this to happen as a completely barbaric time. This documentary really conveys this shocking evil. To watch such a documentary in a place where I have seen animals in their natural habitats makes it really hit home. This is a place where I caught sight of a minka from Jeff's porch and dined each night with a hummingbird couple who frequent Jeff's place each summer. He provides them with sugar water and they provide us with a wonderful sight; who better to share your dinner with, than two exquisite hummingbirds?

I set off for Franey the next day. I take the stick Jeff has left me by the door. I know he would not let me go if he thought there was a real risk. It is a brilliant drive. It is early and I slow on the road and watch as a mama moose and her calf look at me and then trot across the road and into the forest. I find a cafe where I listen to a little gaggle of local women who have met for waffles. They all know everyone that pops in for something. One woman has been up since 4am. Out of the lobster boats. But no lobster this morning so they headed back not wanting to waste the bait or traps. When I tell Jeff later he says it is possibly because of the north easterly wind. Lobster fishing only lasts May and June so it is imperative for the fishermen to have lucrative amounts in the nets. 

My hike up Franey is supposed to take 2-3 hours. It is deemed a difficult hike. I do in less than 2. I freak out so badly, envisaging myself to be tracked by the last hybrids on Cape Breton. I read this before I set off:-

But I just cannot turn round. I want to do the hike. I play out the worse scenarios in my mind (also knowing that if a coywolf does not kill me, my mum might when she reads this blog). I carry two rocks and my stick. It does not make for an easy hike. I try to get the balance between scrabbling very quickly and not running as to appear bait-like. I get to the top and I finally relax a little. I feel brave enough to take out my camera.

I immediately put it away however and start trooping on. I go quickly but I am more at peace. Steph later tells me she had done a yoga session that day and her intention and dedication was to me. Maybe that witchy sister got through to me; instead of floundering helplessly in my thoughts, I absorbed the ancient peace of the woods. I release one rock. I let the gorgeous smells of the forest waft over me, enjoying the soundtrack of a a deserted forest with the delicious crunch of the leaves and twigs beneath my feet and the of the birds intermittently breaking out in song. At the end I came across some leftover patches of snow. I also saw a few tiny squirrels. These are normal sized to Jeff. He says when he saw the squirrels we are used to seeing, he thought something was really wrong. Like squirrels on steroids, I muse. Exactly, Jeff agrees. He even had one of these teeny wild squirrel as a pet as a kid. It would live in his pocket and run in and out of his shirt. Did you just want to tame it? I asked. Or the other way round, he answers. It was too hyper in the end and it went off into the wild. Hmmmm, reminds me of the Starbucks guy back in NYC that started befriending and hand feeding the mouse his dad was trying to exterminate. But a lot more rural and natural, of course. [Where did it poop? Sarah, my Toronto mom asks when I relay the story- I am unsure about that but I guess Jeff was permanently outdoors, I offer. Maybe in his shirt pocket? Sarah suggests. Hmmmm, maybe...]

Jeff feels terrible when I describe my walk. He looks pained by my experience. I look at my emails and Lorne has written. It asks how I am and then in bold writing he has written: 'DO NOT go hiking alone. I do not want to scare you but a girl was killed in Cape Breton by a dangerous hybrid of coyote and wolf about 5 years ago.'

Yikes. I didn’t dare tell him that I have just returned from a solo hike as I do not wish to be told off. Okay, okay, note to self. No hiking alone. I knew deep down I was fine. Although the stones I carried would have probably done a fat lot of good; I do throw like a girl (I thought of Coach back home and P.E lessons we taught together and I often disappointed him with my lack of skill), I am sorry to confess. The stick would have been my best bet. I allowed a fantasy that involved me heroically and powerfully yielding the stick in a rapid and skilled martial art sequence. I even wrote a wonderful blog in my mind about the girl from Britain battling the beastly coywolves of Cape Breton. This story I only allowed myself as I descended the mountain. Had I grappled with and gained control of my imagination I may have had a much different walk- certainly a longer one (more in keeping with anticipated timings), a lot less sweat, a lot less anxiety and more photographs to share.

The last evening in Cape Breton, what a sunset:

I step out and catch the clear night sky. 

We are in heaven. A dome of breathtaking stars and the crescent moon. There is cluster of glitter out in the ocean. A cruise ship. All glitzy. What a special spot, Jeff. I leave very early and have a little run down to the harbour of Pleasant Bay. 

There is a hive of activity in the water. It is 5:00am and the fishing boats are out and lobster traps set. I stop to watch. I have a long drive to Halifax. I have to drop off my car and prepare for a new leg of the journey. I drive on the Cabot Trail, passing no other cars in the early hours. I see something that causes me to slow. Something black, in the middle of the road. The girl who cried whale, coyote, moose and then there it is, a bear.

 I cannot wait to email Jeff. He is learning more about bears and watching one in the area in particular. They are apparently very territorial creatures and will make a circular journey of their patch over a couple days.

I wondered what the black pillar in the middle of the road was. The bear sauntered and I crept closer in the car. Disbelief. Amazement. Honoured. I shake my head. This is when a solo traveller needs to share! I want to cry bear to someone! I decide to be humbled. Hold the feeling of honour and email my new friend, Jeff of Pleasant Bay, news of this magnificent moment as soon as I get to Halifax. For now, I will soak up this ancient peace and enjoy the Cabot Trail, absorbing the beauty and marvelling at how different the very same road can seem on the way back.

‘The road was new to me,

as roads always are,

going back.’

~Sarah Orne Jewett