Outdoor Nova Scotia: Features; an Indepth Look at 'The Great Outdoors' in Nova Scotia!

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Last spring, I had an opportunity to go on a six day junket with
Hinterland Adventures & Gear into the deep interior of Nova Scotia. I
prided myself on how lightly I had packed. One extra change of clothing,
a handful of socks and underwear, sneakers, face cloth, some fly dope, a
sleeping bag, a camera with lots of film, a blank journal, pen, and a
pink plastic rain jacket that I picked up at Frenchy's at the last minute.
I would soon find out that this was inadequate.

In spite of being ill-prepared, the week was magical. Nine of us left
Weymouth Mills one Sunday afternoon in May. After a long journey on
logging roads, we arrived at the base of a slowly moving stream that cut
a pathway through an esker hundreds of years ago. (An esker is a ridge
of gravel left behind from the ice age). Our guide helped us set up a
tent on a high ridge overlooking Sporting Lake Stream and we were
promised that the sun would beam into our tent first thing in the
morning.

Before we knew it, we were feasting on some exotic dishes, including
chicken tandori. After supper, we headed out for an evening's paddle.
Eventually we beached near some huge granite rocks and settled in for a
treat. Jon Swim, one of the guides, recounted a tale as told to him by
an elder. It was a poignant story about a grandmother who chose to
starve in order for her family to survive. Before she died, she
instructed them to spread her ashes all over the land. When they
returned the following year, corn and tobacco grew in abundance wherever
her ashes had touched the earth. Then Jon explained how it was a custom
to leave a touch of tobacco as a gift for the spirits of the land, and
he invited us to take some from his pouch for this purpose. All of us
were honored to be able to take a little tobacco and offer it as a
blessing or token of appreciation. We did this privately, each in our
own way.

A soft silence surrounded us. I marveled at the quiet and how the sounds
of nature took on a life of its own. I heard shore birds, peepers, an
owl, waterfalls in the distance, the sigh of the soft wind pass by, and
the drone of a meandering bumblebee, drunk from a day's binge of nectar.
Paddling back to camp at dusk, a full moon crept up over the horizon and
I marveled at the beauty of the day. New friends. New sights. New sounds
and smells. I was deeply grateful.

Around a big campfire, we had another experience that would become a
cornerstone at the end of each day. Hantford Lewis, the head guide with Hinterland Adventures & Gear, explained a ritual that revolved around a "talking stick" and a procedure called "onions and apples". One person held a stick and had the power to talk while others listened. Then the stick would be passed to another, who then had the power to talk and so on until everyone gathered around the campfire had a chance to share their thoughts. "Onions" were any gripes and complaints.  "Apples" were the highlights and wonders of the day. .

Imagine the camaraderie that grew around the sparkling campfire! To top
it off, we roasted huge scallops wrapped in bacon, drank mugs of hot tea
and hot chocolate and Hantford had a steaming hot desert waiting on the
sidelines. "Apples" indeed. It was hard to pull ourselves away from the
campfire, but our weary bones won out and we headed for our tent around
10 p.m.

The temperature dropped to 4 degrees. I slept with my jeans on, two long
sleeved shirts, and a jacket yet I darn near froze. Lesson: bring long
johns, or flannel  pyjamas. Also pack wool socks, not cotton. Cotton
socks are cold and when they get damp or wet, they are hard to dry.
Above all, bring a toque or ski cap, or wear a soft fleece-type jacket
with a hood. If your head is covered, chances are you will stay warm.
Gloves aren't a bad idea either. Oh yes, and pack a flashlight. You'll
be surprised how often you'll need one. Mercifully, the next day, we
were given toques and flashlights. We would survive!

The rest of the trip? Spectacular. Each day brought its own set of
delights, from seeing beaver dams and muskrat slides to hearing the
plaintive echo of the loons. We hiked through reindeer moss, tea berry,
pitcher plants, bog rosemary, winter berry, twin flower, various fern
and blueberry bushes.

I could write a book about the morning we spent on a "heritage" island,
replete with ancient hemlock and pine trees -- some over 300 years old.
After we landed our canoes and walked a few hundred feet inside the
forest, a batch of squirrels caught my eye and I started to follow them
to get some close-up pictures. Distracted, I promptly lost my bearing.
Fortunately, the island is relatively small and two hours later -- just
before the appointed time when we were to be back at the canoes --
someone spotted me and pointed me in the right direction.

It rained on the fourth day of our journey, and we decided to stay at
base camp rather than struggle with the wind and rain on the lakes. I've
written an essay called "The lesson," which recaps that dreary day,
which ultimately turned into another highlight of the trip. If you like,
check it out along with some snippets from Nils' and Hantford's
journals.

All in all, it was a journey that will spin out memories for a lifetime.
Special bonus? My husband Barrie MacGregor, was on the same trip. I'd
forgotten how blue his eyes are and how comforting it is to hear his
deep resonant voice. Sharing five days with him - minus phones,
computers, jobs, kids or animals -- was pure bliss. I think I'll do us a
favour and book a trip this October. What better way to catch Indian
Summer and enjoy the last hurrah of color.

Be smart and do the same. You won't regret it. Oh yes ... and bring
boots! You won't regret that either.

Sandra Phinney is a writer and lives in Yarmouth County, Nova Scotia. Sandra is frequent contributor to Outdoor Nova Scotia.

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My Incredible Journey by Sandra Phinney, first published April, 2002. Designed & maintained by Outdoor Nova Scotia, Liverpool, N.S. BOT 1KO Material protected by copyright. Last revised: April 15, 2002