Kapawi Ecolodge - Great experience, shaky start

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View from the center of Kapawi Ecolodge in Ecuador's Amazon basin. 

Last year about this time our good friends Steve Lambros and Laurie Gerloff and PK and I booked a five-day four-night stay at the Kapawi Ecolodge in Ecuador's Amazon basin—along with making arrangements for other Ecuador adventures. Soon after, Laurie was felled by icy concrete steps, cracking a bone in her lower back, and I was diagnosed with freaking melanoma. 

We weren't going anywhere! Situations like ours are why God created travel insurance, and I was thankful to have purchased a policy just a few hours before the deadline. Whew.  

Laurie's back healed, and my evil little spot was surgically excised before it leaked deadly cells into my lymph system. By late November 2016, we were ready to roll. And roll we did, right into a remote lodge in Ecuador's Amazon basin, except "roll" isn't the right word. Limp? Skid? At least it wasn't "crash," which was an arrival possibility that occurred to us.

The Kapawi Ecolodge is somewhere in the green dot in southeastern Ecuador on the Pastaza River near the border with Peru. The light yellow represents the Amazon basin including parts of Columbia, Bolivia, Brazil, Peru, and Venezuela

Getting there involved a four-hour drive, a 45-minute flight in a bush plane, and a half hour ride in a motorized canoe. Early on, we wondered what we'd gotten ourselves into.

Our driver, dispatched by Kapawi, fetched us from our Airbnb in Quito, Ecuador's capital city, at 5:30 a.m. for a four-hour ride to a bush-plane hub in Shell, a small settlement named in the 1930s after the oil company. The drive took us through stunning territory called the Avenue of Volcanoes, including a rugged stretch along the Pastaza River, which we would soon come to know.

When we informed our Spanish-speaking driver that we needed a "bano" (restroom) he thought we were talking about the tourist area of Banos, which was along our route. Finally, when the toileting situation threatened to flood the back seat, we were able to communicate the urgent need. He jolted off the road over a significant curb, and we spilled out of the pick-up seeking private spots. Those who may stand while relieving themselves, found privacy. Those who must squat, no luck.

Our six-seater was scheduled to fly us from Shell to the remote Kapawi lodge around 1 p.m. We arrived in plenty of time, despite our roadside potty break, but the skies unleashed fire-hose torrents. We were stuck inside the tiny airport watching rain pelt our luggage, even though the driver threw a piece of cardboard over it.

We're thinking that weather is going to delay our flight, possibly until the next day. Maybe someone is also thinking, Do I

really want to fly in a tiny plane in bad weather to an ecolodge 100 miles from anywhere, a 10-day walk to the closest road, and land on a short muddy runway surrounded by rainforest full of snakes giant insects? Too late. We're going! But when? 

We waited four hours before a grinning airline employee announced that it was now safe to fly, and the plane would take off as soon as we could load. The rain had stopped, but white and grey puffs were thick in the sky. We'd be taking off into what looked like cottage cheese.

The magic began soon after liftoff. As the ground and evidence of civilization fell away, so did misgivings.We were enthralled by the unfolding landscape, especially the Pastaza River. The river starts with a waterfall in the Avenue of Volcanos, carves whitewater canyons beloved by adventurous tourists, then spreads to cut through the Amazon basin. Here its braided coils of ever-changing channels create natural art and navigational challenges.

Miles later, the channels have converged to form a mighty river that rises and falls several feet a day, and where the sands are always shifting. The Pastaza is a major tributary of the Maranon River ,which flows into the Amazon itself. We spent time on the Pastaza most days during our Kapawi stay.

Our fears about a muddy runway were well founded. However, the pilot didn't appear to be at all concerned, as frequent

heavy rain is a fact of life in, duh, the rainforest. Mud splattered the plane's windows and wings as we landed, and also as we took off five days later. A little fish-tailing was no big deal. 

Thus began five adventure-and-wonder packed days, among the best of my traveling life. Our positive experience was influenced by a few key circumstances:

• We were the only guests in a lodge that can accommodate 30 or more.
• The weather was relatively dry, even though rain fell for a couple hours most days, and mosquitoes and other insects were not a problem. Hordes of insects and enormous beetles were no doubt present, but we didn't see many. The air was humid but not stifling. 



Well, we saw big beetle, but it was at the little airport.

• Most importantly, our naturalist guide was a real-deal authentic member of the indigenous Achuar Nation who spoke English and communicated in word and deed his deep knowledge and oneness with this unique spot in the universe. I later read Trip Advisor reviews about Kapawi; most are five-star, and all but one credited the guides as much as anything else.

In a previous post, I gushed about our guide and the indigenous Achuar culture. Here I aim to describe what the lodge itself is like and how a typical tourist day unfolds. Although some of what I have to say may be perceived as negative, Kapawi provided us a one-of-a-kind travel experience that I would gladly repeat and highly recommend. Kapawi has received numerous awards including being listed in 2009 as one of National Geographic's top 50 ecolodges in the world.

Guest cabins are 100 percent Achuar style construction - made of palm trees without a single nail. Netting keeps the bugs out, for the most part. With so much rain, Kapawi structures require frequent patching and replacement.  Our cabins had a few minor leaks and bug netting needed some patching. Repairs were underway.

A dozen or so locals came by canoe with bundles of palm leaves to repair roofs.

A bundle of palm leaves awaits application to a cabin's leaky roof.

Kapawi prides itself on being eco-friendly, and solar hot water contributes to conservation efforts. The solar shower bag sits in the "sun" all day (should the sun happen to appear) and then hangs in the shower for when guests return from activities. The water was tepid at best, but I'm not complaining. We didn't visit  Kapawi for luxury.

                          For more about Kapawi's conservation efforts, check the website.

Beds are large and comfy and protected by mosquito netting.

Rooms have an ample sitting and/or hammock area looking out on the lagoon.

Typical—more or less—tourist day at Kapawi Ecolodge
6 a.m. - Haul your keister outta bed

6:30 a.m. - Early morning activities  such as birding and pink-dolphin watching begin after coffee and a handful of animal crackers, believe it or not.
8 a.m. or so - Breakfast - typically a fried egg, something starchy, processed meat, lots of coffee, fresh juice and a plate of fresh fruits

10 a.m. or so -  Board the motorized canoe for transport to a trailhead or other activity. Usually we were out somewhere until almost noon.

Noonish - lunch  

2:30 p.m. - After a siesta, we're ready for the afternoon fun including kayaking, beach walking, birdwatching. We could have gone fishing or swimming. We could have visited a shaman. Late one afternoon, following an amazing hike, we visited an Achuar village. (see below)
6 - 6:30 p.m. - dinner
8 p.m. - night activity (caiman by canoe, night hike);  briefing about the next day's plan.
10 p.m. - Bedtime

 WIFI Note: Don't count on it. The lodge has wifi in the bar, but even with just four of us trying to use it, it was impossibly slow. Disconnect!

 Most evenings an hour or so after dinner the four of us met with our guide in the meeting room/bar with this map set up on a tripod. He'd call the meeting to order by saying something like, "Now we will discuss tomorrow's activity." And he would proceed in a formal manner to outline where we might go, what we might do, how we should prepare,  and do we have any questions? Or would we rather do something else? He was most accommodating, but we went along with all that he suggested, including a nighttime canoe ride where we spotted caiman (alligators) and fell into a trance during five minutes of silence listening to the rainforest's magical night music. We also enjoyed an 8 p.m. hike in total darkness (except for our headlamps and flashlights) to see nocturnal frogs and other creatures.

We were served a hot lunch on palm leaves after a great morning 

hike. Lunches, including this one, were a lot like dinner-

standard Ecuadorian fare of rice and/or potatoes  fish or

meat,  and typically a light fruit dessert. This particular meal was 

carried on the motorized canoe and kept warm in a cooler.

We were so surprised! All meals were tasty, 

and simply  prepared. Not surprisingly, we were 

served a lot of fish. Portions were modest, not the huge heaps
overflowing the typical plate served in the USA.

As for alcohol, in case you're wondering, Kapwai promises a "well-stocked bar". This was not the case. Wine wasn't available, small beers were $7 each, and mixed drinks were non existent because staples such as gin, vodka, whiskey were no where in sight. I managed to run up a bar bill with a nightly shot of brandy. 

We enjoyed lazy kayaking and bird watching along the Capahuari River, along which Kapawi is located, not far from where it flows into the Pastaza River. Most of our bird watching was from a motorized canoe or on trails. Only one of us is a certified birder, (Laurie Gerloff) but we all enjoyed seeing and hearing multitudes of marvelous avians throughout our Ecuador trip.

Visiting an Achuar village is part of the Kapawi experience. This young man agreed to

entertain us in his home, where, after partaking of chicha*, which partially fills his bowl, we asked questions

through our guide. Also present, his wife and several children, not necessarily his.

After "chicha" and the Q&A session, we were invited to purchase crafts made in the village. Children brought in pottery,  decorative arrows, and a few other items, displaying them on banana leaves. We were told earlier that we needed to have small bills (Ecuador uses U.S. dollars) with which to purchase stuff because they have no change. They have little money, and are largely self-sufficient through hunting, communal gardening, and crafting almost everything they need

from palm and other natural materials. A "store" housed in a large covered canoe comes in from Peru and sells items they can't make, hunt, or grow. Stuff like salt, flour, and I don't know what else. We saw one of the floating Peruvian markets but didn't get to go aboard. We failed to bring enough small bills to buy an item from each banana leaf, disappointing some of the village children.

These bowls are made from local clay and hand painted. We bought the bowl on the left and a smaller one not pictured. The large one cost $5 and the small, $3. 

* Chicha! A guidebook forewarned us that we'd be offered this mildly alcoholic drink if we visited an Achuar village, and that it might present cultural awkwardness. To avoid offending our host, it was suggested that we at least try it. What's the problem? It's made from the manioc root, a staple in the Amazon diet. But for this drink, women chew the root then spit it into a bowl to ferment. Seems to me that a whole lot of spit is required to fill bowls such as those pictured. Fermentation is said to kill bacteria, even overnight. Our host and guide each drank at least two full bowls. Three of us tasted it. One pretended to taste. It was not popular.

Back at the lodge, we took turns blowing darts into a bullseye target about 15 feet away after learning the previous day how the blowguns and darts/arrows are handmade from palm trees and continue to be used by the Achuar to hunt game. Our guide told us that Achaur hunters can fell a monkey from treetops, and pointed at one far away above the lodge. We couldn't begin to see it. We believed it was there, though, because we often needed binoculars to see what Diego could see with his naked eye trained to spot the slightest movement and color.

Our last morning, after our daily 6:30 a.m. birdwatching and blowgun practice, guide Diego decorated Laurie and me in Achuar fashion. My tattoo turned out to be an anaconda, which was the only time we saw one in Ecuador.  

Coming next - photo essay - what we saw in the rainforest

Earlier post
Amazon Adventure - Kapawi Ecolodge  - All about tramping around in the rainforest, gaining insights into Achuar culture, and seeing how various rainforest plants are used for just about everything from housing construction to medicine to spiritual enlightenment.

Amazon Adventure - Kapawi Ecolodge and Reserve

In December 2016 PK and I, along with our Oregon friends Laurie Gerloff and Steve Lambros, spent 3.5 weeks in Ecuador. Our journey included eight days in the Galapagos Islands and five at the Kapawi Ecolodge and Reserve in the Amazon Basin. This is the first of several blog posts about our adventures, diving right into the heart of Kapawi - a place out of time that PK and I agree provided  over-the-top travel experiences. That means good! We've seen places that were more breathtaking but few where we were invited into an unfamiliar and fascinating culture. We caught glimpses of the rainforest and Achuar people as interpreted by our indigenous guide, Diego Callera.

Each day in Kapawi included a guided hike or two. Our guide spoke two local languages, is fluent in Spanish and competent in English. Most of all, he was fluent in the language of the rainforest, communicating reverence along with deep and ancient knowledge.

Our Achuar guide Diego at the sacred kapok tree where he was initiated into the spiritual heart of his culture. Now 30, he was a preadolescent at the time, 10 or 11 years old, and spent three days using local hallucinogenic plants, which enabled him to encounter the Achuar's spiritual guide, Arutam. According to Diego, one of Arutam's primary messages is about how to be a good person. (Later I learned that part of being "good" means showing self restraint in all things and not being lazy.) The experience may be repeated later if a person is having marriage troubles, or is having a hard time being "good." Arutam's spirit is embodied in this tree, and in many other extraordinary forms, and appears in dreams. I copied the statement below from a narrative about the Achuar in the anthropology museum in Cuenca: 

There was a time in which all living things were human, but by their good or bad behavior, Arutam converted them into different animals and plants and for this reason we consider them our brothers. 

We learned later that we could have spent time with a shaman and taken hallucinogens. It was too late for serious consideration, but I wouldn't rule it out if ever there's a next time. 

This was the trailhead the day our objective was to learn about the rainforest's medicinal plants.

A motorized canoe transported us to trailheads. Rivers are the roads in the Amazon Basin.

PK gets a hand with a mud landing. Rubber boots are essential and provided.

Diego went before us with his ever-present machete, an extension of his right arm, its edge honed to a glint.  With a flick here, a chop there, vines and  limbs fell alongside a muddy trail through Ecuador's lush rainforest.

Diego's orange-handled machete is a blur as he clears a path. 

The rainforest is mostly flat but rises sharply from rivers. We scrambled to keep up with Diego, then the going got easier.

Forest  music - birds, insects, frogs, moving water - was our soundtrack as we followed him in alternating states of fascination, disbelief, wonder, and sometimes fatigue. It's hot and humid! We stopped often as Diego signaled silence and pointed out something in a tree, in the air, on the ground, or in the river. And we, with untrained eyes, sought to see as he did. Not a chance.

     This video, less than a minute long, shows Diego calling in a pygmy owl. Please turn up the sound
     and listen carefully so you can hear the owl's response. The dang owl actually relocated to be closer to Diego.

Binoculars helped. Laurie Gerloff, our own birding and nature nerd, documented more than 100 individual species of noted birds and other critters during our 3.5 weeks in Ecuador. Most she'd not seen before.  

Speaking only for  myself, I could have walked the rainforest trails for hours without an interpreter, and thought, "Wow, that was cool." But I would have missed 95 percent because I didn't know what to look  for or how to use all my senses, including a sixth one I'm not sure I possess.

I may also have been stung, bitten, stuck in mud, and for sure, lost. We were often warned not to touch certain trees as they were crawling with red ants or other mean little biters. Occasionally Diego hurried us through places where unfriendly flying insects were buzzing. Oddly enough, we were not bothered by mosquitoes. Maybe a dozen times he led us across half submerged logs, boards or makeshift bridges that kept us from sinking into mud. We saw no venomous snakes, although they're present, and the only evidence of jaguars were claw marks on a tree that Diego spotted. 

Diego's oneness with his life's landscape, his knowledge and command of it,  and his enthusiasm for showing us made the difference between a regular well informed guide and one who was forged by his environment. He wanted us to know how the Achuar, reportedly among the last of the Amazonian tribes to be contacted by outsiders, live in harmony with the forest. He never boasted, but it became clear that he knew every tree, snake, insect, mammal, fish, monkey, mushroom, bird, bird call, and everything else, including what's unseen. There are layers of reality, after all.

A few things he demonstrated or described the day that our hike centered on palm trees and their myriad uses. For starters, the Achuar construct houses entirely from palms without the use of nails. Various parts of different palms are used to make arrows, blowguns, knives, fishing line and snares. 

• 

  This tiny "knife, made on the spot from the stem of a palm frond, easily slices through
   a cotton tee shirt hem. In the absence of a "real" knife, it is used to gut animals such

   as monkeys or wild boars, which are hunted with blowguns that project arrows
   with tips sweetened by the poison-dart frog or, more likely,  the curare plant.
  
  

The only tool Diego used to craft the items mentioned above: his machete. This is impressive when he's shaping something as small as a toothpick, such as an arrow-point, or that tiny "knife" he's using to cut up his tee shirt.

He's making string, often used as high-test fishing line. It is

strong! I have a strand of it around my wrist. I expect it

will be there for years. Might outlast me. 

I was pretty much bowled over and asked Diego  if others possess the knowledge he's demonstrated. He said, "Everyone can do what I do." By "everyone" he meant the Achuar men, but the women have another set of skills critical to group survival. And both sexes meet Arutam at the sacred tree around the same age.

Not sure what he's cutting here. Maybe a gem? NO'!
It's a stem with lemon ants, which we will soon taste.

He's fashioning a palm leaf into a miniature "backpack"

to demonstrate how to make a carrying pouch for game killed

in the rainforest. 

Here's a parting shot for this post, from our first day in the Amazon. We'd arrived at Kapawi mid-afternoon and after a late lunch, Diego escorted us on a motorized canoe to the Pastaza River to watch the sunset. The river is wide here, and we're on a huge wet sandbar, which will likely be covered with water sometime soon. We learned that the rivers rise and fall, responding to daily local rain but also to what's happening in  the Andes, not far away. The Pastaza River is a tributary of the Maronoa River, a direct tributary to the Amazon, the largest artery in Earth's anatomy. They seem alive, those rivers and sands, inhaling and exhaling, swelling and shrinking, with the rain. A few days later we'd slipped into the rhythm. This photo reminds me. 

Coming soon: 

Getting to Kapawi was half the fun; the lodge and its surroundings; everyday life as a tourist at Kapawi.

Things we saw in the Amazon rainforest: photos 

What it's like to tour the Galapagos Islands on a 16-passenger yacht.

What we saw in the Galapagos Islands: photos

Diego in his element. 

Forty-nine days on the road together? Not so bad. Really.

We recently returned to our rural Oregon home after a seven-week 10,000-mile cross-continental road trip (and back) in a class B - that means small - Roadtrek van. Holy moly! 10,000 miles! Just the two of us! (In the serious RV world, our trip is puny. Lots of Class B RV people practically live in their vans, along with their dogs, cats, and significant others. And they do so for months!)

A selfie taken near Yellowstone National Park in October 2008, our first road trip after PK's retirement.

Lots of folks express envy about our adventures, but, at the same time, others are horrified, incredulous, appalled, repulsed, terrified, or nauseated at the prospect of spending that much time in close quarters with their mates.

Here's a representative comment, uttered (sputtered?) by a dear friend in a long-term loving marriage. (A woman. Men don't confide in me like this.)

She said:  I can't imagine spending that much time with "his name." I'd go crazy! How the hell do you do it?

My friend is in a niche demographic of much-appreciated people who read my blog, which includes retired boomers who travel, or who would like to. People who love to cook, garden, and who relish life. People I've known forever. People I love. People I don't know but would like to. People, who in one way or another, have something in common with me, and also with each other.  

Most of us have been married for decades and have weathered all kinds of storms. We've survived raising kids, or deciding not to have them. We've had disappointments along with successes, and health issues that scared us.

We've rolled over at 5 a.m. to negotiate whose turn it is to take the dog outside, argued in the grocery store about whether to buy the organic chicken or the tofu, and evaluated and re evaluated our relationships, in the end, deciding to stick together.

It makes sense, after all the years of grind and grit, growth and giving, love and lust, struggle and survival, that we should cash in as we arrive at the golden time of life. And it really is golden.

Topped by gray hair and oddly outfitted with saggy necks, we're now holding hands as we navigate aging, a most challenging journey that requires a rugged 4WD and trip insurance, currently not available.

Could there be a more perfect time to extract ourselves from our comfort zones to embark on really really long and exotic road trips!?

Well, maybe not everybody is ready, but we are. PK and I have determined to log as many miles and experiences as possible before we're forced to acknowledge that we're inexorably approaching the glowering edge of the flaming pit of death.

I know, "flaming pit of death" sounds bad. It is bad!

I thought I saw the glowering edge a year ago when I was diagnosed with melanoma. Talk about sounding bad! All is well now, despite the fact that "invasive" and "metastatic" were part of my initial diagnosis.

Here's someplace I didn't want to travel. A radiology lab in a regional hospital watching glowing radioactive stuff light up my lymph nodes to guide a surgeon who was to carve me up a few hours later. Welcome to the Cancer Club 

The month-long drama of thinking we might be in for a life and death struggle jump-started us, invigorating the travel bug.
See Back from Cancer's Brink - 10 Lessons Learned

A week after the results of my surgeries came back benign, we bought a 2010 Roadtrek, and a week later we were chasing the super bloom in Death Valley.

Life is grand as we enjoy freedom, health and vitality. PK is only 67, while I am 71. I used to worry about our age difference. Now it doesn't bother me, except on paper, where it seems he has the youth advantage, but in real life, we're very much on the same page.

Not exactly a typical camp spot, we're at a very special place on Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia.

Well, we're not always on the same page, which brings me to how we tolerate endless days together without a break. It's true that we bicker. We sneer. We roll our eyes, suppress emotions, lash out and so on. On our 49-day road trip

we squabbled a few times, mostly about whether we should follow our plans or our hearts when unexpected opportunities arose. Our heads were not always aligned. Outcomes were about 50/50. We have not filed for divorce.

We had rainy days. In New Brunswick we hiked in raincoats after spending a long morning listening to the deluge pound the van's roof and deliberating, in a friendly way, about whether we should leave a day early. We'd paid for two nights. We stayed. It was OK.

Rainy day hike, Fundy National Park, New Brunswick. Red chairs placed in random spots in parks across the nation are courtesy of the Canadian National Parks.  We love Canadian parks!

When van-bound by weather or darkness, I read and/or write and always have photos to work with. PK has maps to study, books to read, and music.

Every now and then, we stream Spotify on a cell phone that blasts over our robust sound system, burning up cell data as we enjoy a bit of a dance party.

On the road, PK prefers to drive. I fill in when he needs a rest.

I cook. He cleans up. Just like at home. Division of labor is understood and pretty much undisputed.

On long travel days, such as during the tail-end of our recent trip when we were booking it to get home, we listen to books on CD, or music, or public radio stations, and time and miles. Sometimes we even have a conversation!

Mostly we've adjusted, after nearly 40 years, to the comfort of one another's company. I believe we appreciate one another more with every passing year - and mile.

Spending extended together time in a small space is offset by moving through space and time, landscapes and cities, most of which we've not seen before and which are always of interest and beautiful in their own ways. Even the low-key locales, not destinations but places we must traverse to get where we want to be. Kansas? North Dakota? Eastern Montana? Ohio? Missouri? Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. All good!

Ohio! In the middle of the afternoon! An iPhone photo through the windshield.

A sorghum crop slashing across a Kansas landscape. This day featured 40 mph sustained sideways wind with gusts to 50 mph. Fun! We drove about 500 miles, as we were on our homeward push.

In Theodore Roosevelt National Park, North Dakota. 

Oh yeah! North Dakota is walleye country!

Most often we camp in pleasing spots where we can spill out and set up our little table, unleash our bikes, or lace up the hiking boots and tramp around incredible places, only to return to camp, uncork a bottle and relax in our REI camp chairs. 

Real, but blurry, life in the van. One-pot dinner on the propane burner. PK prepping for the next morning, and for putting the bed together. After all our years of tent and river camping, our Roadtrek is extreme luxury. When one of us is working in our limited space, the other is outside or viewing van life from a swivel chair in front. 

Active retirement is a privileged state.  We've enjoyed an occasional music-centric cruise, and are booked for a trip to the Galapagos Islands and Ecuador later this month, making up for having to cancel the same trip last year due to melanoma. But soon after our return, we'll be driving the Roadtrek south to the Baja Peninsula and the beautiful bay at Loreto, where seabirds, dolphins, and blue whales rule.

Few people have a home on the road and also a sticks and bricks home to which they can return. We're fortunate, and we never take it for granted. I've wanted to live this life for most of adulthood, during all those years working and raising kids, and now I'm incredibly grateful that we've made it happen. 

I can't complain about squeezing into a small van and traveling the plains and deserts, mountains and seashores, cities and villages in close-quarters in the company of the man I've spent the past 40 years with building this wandering life.

Photos from the early 1970s in the first year of our relationship, the ONLY photos of us until we had a child in 1977. The red and white Landcruiser was our first RV (!). PK removed the backseats and made a platform bed with storage underneath. A plywood box on top made additional storage. 

Photo credit: Pat Teel

Earlier posts about Road Trip 2016

Meat Cove, New Breton Highlands, Nova Scotia

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

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