In the morning, we drove east along the coast to Bathurst, leaving Acadia and entering the port towns settled by Scottish and Irish immigrants. A restaurant with a patio on the dock was willing to let me bring Delta around and I enjoyed eggs Benedict—with lobster. Although I paid for two nights of camping in Caraquet, I decided that instead of heading back, we should continue the loop around New Brunswick. Eventually, this brings you to the St. Lawrence River, which separates the Gaspe Peninsula of Quebec from New Brunswick.
I should note here that I often lament my 9 years studying French in school, which has become a huge source of frustration and regret, becoming ever more apparent every time I travel in Latin America. Worse yet, I’ve discovered I cannot for the life of me understand the French that they speak in Quebec/Canada. The accent is so terribly nasally that every sound just sort of runs together. Also, they have a totally different lexicon. I swear one waitress used the word “beverage” in lieu of “boisson.” Also, it just sounds incredibly unpleasant.
Along the way, we were delayed in Charlo by what I think was a New Brunswick Day parade. This seemed a good opportunity to take Delta for a walk and watch the accoutrements of small town North America (floats with local bands, fire trucks, convertibles with open tops and waving beauty queens still emergin from their awkward phase).
Cutting south at Cambellton, we made our way toward Mt. Carleton Provincial Park. This was going to be the last stop on our trip. It was also the last realistic shot at finding a Boreal Chickadee. At the ranger station, we were told that with tomorrow being New Brunswick Day, the first 50 people up Mt. Carleton, the highest point in New Brunswick (and the entire Maritimes) would receive a t-shirt. Of course, this settled our plans for the following day, because men are innately programmed to do anything if winning a t-shirt is involved. We again lucked-out with a water-side camping spot.
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