Taking the Ferry to NFLD

Day 5, May 24

We drove 250 miles on the TCH (Trans Canada Hwy), from New Brunswick to the tip of Cape Breton. Grateful for blue skies overhead — the first since leaving home.

For breakfast, we detoured to the town of Berry Mills, which is a bit south of the Magnetic Hill in Moncton, where you can experience the unusual natural phenomenon of a hill that pulls your rig uphill, backwards. We didn’t take time to do that today because we did it previously — but we did take time for breakfast at the Country View Restaurant. As the name promises, we were seated by a window with a view of rolling green fields.

Doug said “when in New Brunswick” and ordered fried bologna with his eggs.

An older couple was seated at the next table, and the woman noticed our rig. She asked if we were passing through from Ontario. When I said we were from the States, she was surprised and delighted. Then she asked where we were headed, of course, and I said Newfoundland. She repeated these facts to herself, and to the waitress when she came by, and to other friends who stopped by her table. Everyone reacted with surprise, that they had never been to Newfoundland, that we were lucky to be going.

The older woman said she’d been to Newfoundland once “years ago” and asked about the ferry with some concern. Apparently she had trouble with sea sickness. She asked me many questions about our itinerary, so I offered to bring her along as a stowaway, which made her laugh. As she left, she very sweetly wished us safe travels.

On the Road

Around 11:00 we stopped for gas for the first time in Canada. A tank cost roughly half-again as much as it did in the States.

In Nova Scotia we passed through a tollbooth with a human operator, which seemed novel. We were charged the same rate as a car, four dollars Canadian, a deal.

Shortly before passing over the causeway into Cape Breton we stopped for lunch at a newly-refurbished restaurant called Three Square. We both ordered the special, lobster rolls. To be honest, they were underwhelming, but the potato salad was good, and a generous amount. We took the leftover salad to go.

As we continued on our way, a barred owl flew across the road directly in front of us. We both saw it and exclaimed, “Was that an owl?” It flew low, in a somewhat lopsided way, and its head was definitely bigger than a hawk.

Cape Breton, NS

Cape Breton is the northern part of Nova Scotia, famous for the scenic Cabot Trail. We’ve camped there before, but this time were pell-mell to get through it, and to the ferry, and then to the icebergs.

Still, remembering good times in Baddeck, we detoured through that town to see if there would be a Ceilidh (KAY-lee) that night. I posted some videos of the last time we attended. Live, local music is not to be missed. Unfortunately, it appeared that the Ceilidh season had not yet begun. The town of Baddeck was as pretty as ever, with the Bras D’Or (bra-DOOR) Lake spreading below it. Here’s a post about the Mabel and Alexander Graham Bell site.

Arrived at the KOA in Sydney without incident. The campground is high on a hillside overlooking a bridge, very exposed. It offers the basic amenities of electricity, water, washrooms and washer/dryer, which seem deluxe after three nights of boondocking. The ferry sails shortly after 11:00 PM, but arrival time is 9:00 PM. It arrives in Port Aux Basque the next morning at 7:30 AM.

Day 6, May 25

SUNDAY was a rest and reset day.

Rest & Reset

We slept late, then cooked breakfast in the rig, oatmeal and fruit. Then we spent some time preparing for the overnight ferry ride — since the cabins were fully booked we’ll be in seats all night, which sounds mighty uncomfortable. Just thinking about it made us tired, so we took a nap. When we woke up we had a second breakfast, fried greens and tomatoes and eggs. Five days of driving in a bouncy rig just tires a body out.

Then it was time for a reset. We both took showers, then Doug did a load of laundry while I cleaned the camper. Cleaning is a mini-version of what we all do at home: wiping down the surfaces in the bathroom and kitchenette, sweeping the floor, shaking out the rugs, vacuuming the carpeted areas using our 12-volt dust-buster. Doug took care of the more difficult tasks — filling the water tank and emptying the gray water and black water tanks. He always does these nasty chores cheerfully, so grateful that I put up with the inconveniences of this life.

While he was working, I walked around the campground. The sky was blue but the wind was fierce and cold. Temps around 50 degrees.

By 2:00 we were on our way to Sydney with a list of chores: get gas, fill our propane tank, buy replacement windshield wiper blades, and have supper.

We’d been told that our best bet for filling the propane tank was a Canadian Tire. The first one we found was really just a gas station. So we went on to the next. That one had a broken propane tank, and no one in the parts department. So two of our chores went undone.

I’ll say this: driving from gas station to gas station is an excellent way to see the underbelly of a town. Oh, and it had started raining again.

The Dory Restaurant

We found our way to the Yacht Club — which was not swanky at all — to have supper. We arrived as the Dory Restaurant was opening at 4:00. We ran through the rain and struggled with the door, then blew in to the lobby. First customers in the place. We could have looked out over the cold, rainy harbor, but instead chose a booth in the corner.

Our server’s name was Terry. He was tall and lean and quite chatty. Although he looked much younger, he told us he was 48 and had spent 20 years working at ski resorts in BC. He came back to Cape Breton because he couldn’t stay away. He asked us lots of questions about life in Virginia. I didn’t mind his curiosity. In fact, it is the only way to be.

We ordered seafood chowder, mussels and a flatbread. Doug is all about mussels right now. It’s fun to order chowders because they vary so much. We each had a drink. Then I had a second, because I’m not driving. And any long form of transportation is the right time to drink just a little bit more, wouldn’t you agree?

I asked the restaurant owner about his chowder recipe (he uses half and half, the Canadian kind, not the American kind, and let’s discuss the differences), and then we segued to talking about how he came to open the place. He runs it with his son, who went to culinary school and got his “Red Seal.” The Dory opened in December of 2020, which worked out well, with plenty of time for training staff and getting procedures running smoothly. It makes sense that he’s good at that — before opening the Dory he ran hospitality on the ferries, which seems like a very significant position.

The Ferry to NFLD

Back to the ferry dock, with hours to wait. Loading is a cumbersome and lengthy process. There were 14 lanes of vehicles waiting to load, different lanes for different lengths. The big trucks were the first to be loaded. To pass an hour, I walked laps and climbed stairs in the ferry building. A lot of people were in the waiting area, watching hockey.

When our lane began to move, we were guided by a whole series of guys wearing coveralls with fluorescent stripes. They took great care so no one’s rear view mirrors got clipped, but managed to get vehicles within inches of each other. Then we all peeled out and across the deck and up lots of stairs into the cabins and common areas.

The seating area where we were assigned was shockingly overheated. I stripped down to my undershirt because vanity goes out the window in these situations. Then we tried to get comfortable. Around 11:30 my name was called over the speaker. That could only mean that a cabin had come open — I’d asked to be put on the waitlist.

The cabin had three little bunkbeds, each with clean sheets and fresh towels, and a bathroom with a shower. More importantly, it was quiet, dark, and blessedly cool. We slept well until the disembarkation announcement at 6:00 AM. Then the reverse of loading: waiting to go down the stairs, find the vehicle (quite a challenge) and wait our turn to leave.

Oh, Newfoundland time is one-half hour advanced from Atlantic time. In other words, it has its very own time zone, staggered 30 minutes from anywhere else on the planet. Doesn’t that seem fitting?