Saturday, August 2nd 2003

Clear sky, heavy morning fog clearing midday, light wind becoming moderate along shore in the afternoon, moderate swell from the Southwest.

The sun appears in a blue sky over the cliffs to our left at about 7 am. Down in front however, the sea has disappeared in a grey haze. An hour later, the fog rolls into Gulch Cove. By 10, visibility is less than 100 m. We take a break and catch up on our reading in the tent, away from the mosquitoes.

Around noon, the warmth of the sun pierces the fog and the mist starts to lift. When we push off, at 1:20 pm, the fog has lifted and has turned into low clouds hugging the top of the rocky cliffs, before disappearing altogether in mid afternoon.

Two bald eagles soar along the shore and, in the distance, we catch a glimpse of jumping dolphins.

Two hours later, we reach Cape La Hune Harbour, a sheltered cove and a strip of land that was home to another outpost. Only two cabins are left standing among leftover timber from other buildings. The outport is accessible from the west but also from La Hune Bay to the east. The landscape has undergone a dramatic change. The tall dark cliffs are replaced by smooth sun bleached rocks, softly rounded by heavy glaciers eons ago. What a contrats with the reddish, sharp, jagged coastline that we first saw at Red Island. Years ago, a dozen houses were spread out on the grassy field between the two beaches. On the West side, the more exposed beach was protected by a wall of timber still held together by twisted iron rods. Piles of greying boards full of rusty nails mark each house location. A cabin, still standing, painted blue, bears a sign : "Charlie's Angel". In the other, front door hanging on one hinge, we find a torn mattress and empty beer bottles. Why do I shut the door as I leave? Maybe to hide the derelict interior, out of respect for the memory of those who spent years making a hard living out of the sea... My mind travels back to the peace and serenity that I felt among the graves of Fox Island. I do not feel such peace here. Is it the fear of stepping on a nail, the signs of uncaring visitors among the ruins, or maybe this single tombstone lying in the rubble. We won't camp here tonight.

Looking East, across La Hune Bay, red spires stand straight like the ruins of some granite cathedral...

This outpost must have had a source of fresh water. I look around and find the stream across the natural harbour. Ribbons of clear water cascade down a dark spot on the smooth rounded rock, directly into the sea. I nudge my kayak between two rocks and clamber up, carefully avoiding the greenish and slippery stream path. 15 m up the slope, a break in the rock creates a small waterfall allowing me to fill two gallon jugs.

Unusual rock formations across the bay and some attractive beaches incite us to keep going. After exploring the site, we paddle around Long Point and Cape La Hune. On the other side, we discover Wild Cove with its granite spires, and a breath taking sight, totally out of place here.

We're floating on turquoise water, the likes of which are only found in the Carribeans. In front, there is a ribbon of fine white sand, with gentle waves curling into white foam. The beach rises slowly to a small dune topped by a green carpet of tall grass. A small pond leads to a stand of dark spruce nestled at the base of a rock cirque. We paddle along the granite pinnacles lining the South edge of the bay.Gentle waves push us onto the beach wiped clean by the tide. The soft sand sings gently under our steps. A single set of human footprints lines the top of the beach. Farther along, smaller, more recent footprints mark the path of an otter going from the pond to the sea for a swim (and a meal).

A clear stream cascades down rocks at the other end of the beach.

Taking advantage of the calm seas and the weak tides, we decide to camp right on the beach. The two kayaks are pulled higher up and securely tied to large rocks.  Only the minimum gear is placed in the tent should we need to lift and move it during the night. Three logs and a pile of sand form a little wall against the sea. I figure they'll give us 5 more minutes to react if my calculations are wrong!

A flat spot in the rock over our tent shelters us from the light breeze and offers a nice kitchen/dining area.

The tide starts creeping up as night falls. We fall asleep to the sound of waves slapping the sand. 

At 1 am, at high tide, I am awakened by some internal clock. The ocean is still and I can't hear any waves. The water is 3 m in front of the tent. I fall back asleep, my mind reassured.

The "sea-wall" was not tested by the tide...
(Wild Cove, Cape La Hune)