Meat Cove, Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia.

A generous handful of experiences during our 49-day road trip stand out, and camping at Meat Cove at the tip of Cape Breton Island is one of them. 

Best campsite ever, although the small campground filled as the day went on. No matter. Absolutely gorgeous.

September 14, 15, 2016
We'd heard about Meat Cove long before we got to it. By many accounts, getting there seemed edgy; access is via a six-mile narrow, winding gravel road with sheer cliffs to the sea. Some reports said a 4WD was recommended. We gave ourselves permission to turn around if the potholes were too deep or if the road flirted too intimately with the cliffs.

No problem. The road was wide enough for two-way traffic and appeared to have been graded recently. Steeper sections had been paved. If anything, the glorious views improved with every turn as we descended to sea level and into the odd little settlement named Meat Cove. Apparently it's a year-round collection of about 65 people making a living from fishing and tourism.

 Meat Cove from the access road. Small cabins are available as well as 26 campsites along the bluff. All very simple. 

No hook-ups. Suitable for Class B RVs and tents. Mostly tents. 

Could be the best place I've done yoga ever.  

A Nova Scotia newspaper article, Remote Meat Cove an escape from modern life,  got it right, although the same could be said about numerous villages and small settlements in Nova Scotia. Aside from Halifax and Sydney, cities we didn't visit, it appeared that much of the country offers a "remote escape." What's special about Meat Cove is its unique and spectacular location on the very tip of the island, and the funky resort and the people who own and operate it.

The McClellan family has lived and fished in Meat Cove for six generations, and proud of it. A young robust McClellan, who roared around on an ATV, showed us to a camping spot suitable for our van. PK handed him cash, but  he returned a bit, saying, Don't worry about it,  and waved us on. We think, that like most small business owners, he appreciated the cash to avoid the big dig credit card companies take with every transaction.  Everybody was friendly and resourceful. We noticed him helping another camper level his van with select pieces from the Meat Cove Campground's wood pile.

The seafood chowder was outstanding, topped by a small mussel in its shell. The restaurant/community center

displayed a world map with pins stuck wherever visitors came from. It looked like thousands of pins,

 but only a few from Oregon, USA. About 8,000 people visit Meat Cove annually, I was told. 

The picture up top makes it look like we had the place to ourselves, but one other van and several tent campers joined us.
We all  enjoyed wonderful views,  and for one day, at least, perfect weather. That changed!

The beach can be reached from a short rail from the campground. The ocean was behaving more like a lake than a sea. Little pied plovers were working the shoreline. We learned about them here in New Brunswick, another of our favorite places on this trip.

PK relaxes against a slab of fallen cliff, scanning the horizon for boats, whales, seabirds, and seals.  Ah, so peaceful.

A surprise arrived in the evening, however. It was a BIG WIND. Had it been accompanied by pelting rain, it may have had a name. The windstorm probably packed about 50 mph sustained wind with higher gusts, but perched totally unprotected near the cliff as we were, it seemed mighty. We didn't get much sleep as the van rocked and rolled all night. I braced for the worst and wondered if  the gusts were strong enough to tip us over. 

Turns out I was being wimpy. Compared to the tent campers, we'd had it easy. When dawn arrived, many had already left. I bundled up and headed for the flush toilet (marginal), wind pushing at my back. En route a young woman wrestled with her pop-up tent, which had rolled and bounced down the road from her campsite. It refused to be corralled. She was laughing! No way could she get the tent up the road to her vehicle alone. Together we carried it, leaning into the gusts. She opened her hatchback and we stuffed it in, pretty much on top of her rottweiler-type dog, before she slammed the door shut and laid back against it. 

Her dog was terrified all night, she said, still laughing. When sprinkles started, she let the dog into her tent, and her best friend walked all over her throughout the long night. Ha ha ha ha.

I loved her attitude - What else can I do but laugh? she said.  I felt ridiculous that despite having spent the night in a comfortable, dry, cushy van without a dog walking on my face, I still managed to feel put upon by the universe. Forgive me.

Dramatic sunrise and roiling water.

Angry sea punishing the beach we'd enjoyed the previous day.

Sweet little water station for Meat Cove campers. 

Due to the wind, we were unable to hike any of the 11 tantalizing trails out of Meat Cove the next morning. However, the Cape Breton Highlands National Park has more to offer, and we were soon on the road toward the Skyline Trail. Coming next.

Preview - on Cape Breton's Skyline Trail.

Earlier posts about Road Trip 2016

Kouchibouguac National Park, New Brunswick, travel moment lasting an entire day

Cemetery near RV park offers contrast, contemplation
Rain and a nasty encounter in wonderful old Quebec City

Meeting a time traveler on the road

RV park near historic cemetery makes for stark contrast and sobering contemplation

September 12, 2016

It had been a "travel day,  meaning that we'd booked it to get through New Brunswick and close to the Nova Scotia border. Nova Scotia means New Scotland. Duh! How did I not know that??

Our New Brunswick experience the previous day at Kouchibouguac National Park had been stellar, so a hurry-up driving day was OK. We were excited to get on to Cape Breton.

To find camping spots we use an app called All Stays. You type in the general area you're planning to stay that night, and along the way, it points out the sorts of camping opportunities you've chosen from a list of "filters." Our requirement for this night: we had to be in Nova Scotia and we wanted a shower.
We had not, however, requested a deserted residential RV Park practically closed up for the season. And certainly not one with a cemetery gleaming in the late-day sun just across a ravine. But the cemetery was the unexpected bonus that made the RV park stay a travel moment, not necessarily a highlight of the trip but one that provided insight into the place and inspired thoughts about mortality.

Rust-colored waves lapped at rust-colored sand along a short beach in front of the RV Park as we took a stroll, wondering why earlier inhabitants had chosen prime real estate for a cemetery. We decided to climb the rocky rim guarding it to have a look. We discovered later that historic graveyards often occupy the most desirable places, perhaps a way to honor the dead. The grave stones were arrayed on a bluff overlooking the ocean. And also overlooking, the RV park. We were soon immersed in Scottish history. A mass migration from a troubled Scotland occurred in the early to mid 1880s. About a third of the country's current residents are their descendants, according to Wikipedia.

There were are hunkered down at the far left end in our little van dwarfed by giant trailers.This is not a campground, but an RV park. Most of the 150+ sites were occupied with travel trailers in winter mode. The owners had vacated, trailers were winterized, and we had our choice of maybe 20 campsites reserved for actual travelers. Although the park was deserted, remnants of summer days were evident; a list of park activities posted in the washrooms and community hall, a huge empty playground next to a slanted soccer field, and a ground-down path to the beach where rust-colored waves lapped at red sand. You could almost hear the shouts of children playing and summer neighbors chattering and clinking their glasses of local brews over their sizzling BBQs. 

If the ghosts of the Scots buried in this place could see it now, what would they think? The idea of metal homes on wheels? The notion that people could have a permanent home AND one they could move from place to place? Incomprehensible.  And our understanding of their hardships and sorrows, and perhaps their joys? Equally inconceivable. 

Family groupings with names such as McDonald, McAllister, McDaniel, McClellan and so on, most of whom died in the mid-to-late 1800s, populate this burial ground overlooking the sea.

PK and I are old enough to face that we'll die sooner rather than later. Like in maybe 20-25 years. Could be sooner. We'll likely be cremated and perhaps ask that our ashes be strewn near the Rogue River in Oregon, where we've lived for 45 years. But then in another century, how will random people happen upon  proof that we existed and wonder about who we were and how and why we died and what our everyday lives were like? As we did that evening when we crossed the rust-colored beach and communed with Scottish spirits. 

Recent travel posts

Kouchibouguac National Park, New Brunswick, travel moment lasting an entire day

Rain and a nasty encounter in wonderful old Quebec City

Tofino, BC, Yes!