Maine, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick: Day Seven

We spent our last full day of fun in Canada hiking. It promised to be another sunny, unseasonably hot day. After a leisurely morning at the campground eating oatmeal and drinking tea, we drove briefly into town to mail some postcards from Alma's one-room post office, then, on a ranger's recommendation, headed for Laverty Falls. The trail wound through the woods, descending gradually towards a stream. The vegetation was typically northern, though less scraggly than in Cape Breton, being at a lower elevation. Eventually, the trail vanished and we were walking along large flat rocks alongside the stream. The Canadian Park Service, we realized, are far more cavalier about blazing the trails than their US counterparts. A group of hikers coming towards us asked, in French, whether they were following the trail correctly, then immediately repeated the question in English. I gave directions in French.

From that point on, the trail followed the stream for the most part. Every now and then, we came across small waterfalls. Some emptied into pools of water deep enough to swim in, but we pressed on for Laverty Falls proper, which we reached after another half-hour or so. Probably 50-60 feet high, the waterfall emptied into a large pool. A family with two small children had preceded us, the kids now happily splashing around in the water. We waited for them to leave, eating some Cliff bars in the meantime. When they moved on, leaving only two teenage couples drying themselves off on a nearby rock, we changed behind a thicket of trees and jumped in. The water was cold but not frigid, and very invigorating. Getting under the waterfall itself proved to be more challenging than it looked from the shore – the flow of water away from the spot where it hit the surface was quite strong – but I did eventually grab hold of a rock and pulled myself up onto an outcropping directly under the rushing water. Never having swam in a waterfall before, I was surprised by how loud it was – deafening, actually. We splashed around for a few more minutes, then climbed out and dried off before hitting the trail for the return hike.

We were back in Alma by around 4:00, sweaty and grimy. Too early to eat dinner, but having eaten no real food since breakfast, we were starving. Parkland Village Inn, where we stayed the night of our arrival in Alma, had a patio overlooking the beach – now enormous due to the low tide – and the ocean way in the distance. The breeze coming in off the water was surprisingly chilly – enough to make us put on our fleece jackets even though we were sweating a scant few minutes earlier – and amazingly refreshing. We ordered some local lager and fried scallops – the restaurant offered a choice of foods, but not preparation methods. Everything was fried. The beer showed up in plastic cups, and under most other circumstances I would have turned my nose up at it, but after a day of hiking and swimming, sitting as we were breathing the cold, salty air, it tasted wonderful. The scallops – well, words fail me yet again. The frying did no damage. The cornmeal coating was neither heavy nor greasy, providing just a bit of crunch for interest. Enormous, succulent, and perfectly cooked – just a hint of translucent gray in the very center of each giant mollusk – they almost overwhelmed you with the half-sweet, half-salty flavor of the ocean.

Needless to say, instant noodles and canned sardines back at the campground were a huge letdown by comparison, but such is the fate of a camper. We were in the tent by 10:00, exhausted and already feeling a little sad in anticipation of having to leave Fundy the following morning.