Maine and New Brunswick wrap-up

New Brunswick was a wonderful surprise. Grand Manan easily makes my list of favorite discoveries. The camping possibilities are remarkable and the birding was certainly a success. Seven new species (Black Guillemot, Sharp-tailed Sparrow, Common Murre, Leach’s Storm Petrel, Great Shearwater, Northern Gannett and Boreal Chickadee), including several pelagics and a Chickadee that was becoming a nemesis. In addition, I improved my photo collection with better shots of Black-throated Blue Warbler, Dark-eyed Junco and Common Yellowthroat.   I guess I will have to visit Nova Scotia another time.

Monday, August 1

I packed up camp at sun-up and we drove to the trailhead to get the earliest possible start. This was intended to maximize birding luck and also the chances of winning a t-shirt. I was the first car in the lot, allowing me to let Delta off leash for most of the hike to the summit. The ascent up the eastern trail was relatively straight-forward and we were greeted by many Magnolia Warbler and White-crowned Sparrow. Since I was preoccupied with birding, we were only overtaken by the ranger who was to hand out t-shirt tickets at the summit, a couple, and then a father-son combo.

Toward the summit, the broadleaf forest of maples and oaks gave way to increasingly shorter conifers. And finally, one of those pines contained a Boreal Chickadee. Soon, the pines gave way to boulders and low bushes. And then, just boulders at the summer where an inquisitive Junco hopped about. We made a brief stop to document Delta’s summiting of the highest point in Maritime Canada, and then headed back via the western trail. This was infinitely more difficult a descent, as we were on an exposed ridge, largely hopping from boulder to boulder for 2 miles. At several places, I needed to carry Delta to a lower point and quickly became aware that I was getting sunburn.

Reaching tree cover, we were again treated to an outstanding view of a Boreal Chickadee. In addition, it was impossible to miss the metallic red of a male Pine Grosbeak. Previously, I had only seen a brief glimpse of a female while hiking in Colorado. Soon after, a mixed flock of Warblers were actively flitting through the trees. This offered an amazing view of a pair of Blue-throated Black Warblers, surely the best sighting I have had since to Porcupine Mountains in Michigan.

Although I was only able to add one life-lister on the day (I was also hoping for Canada Warbler and Crossbill), high quality shots of a Boreal Chickadee and a Blue-Warbler were well worth the work. And, I got a t-shirt.

After completing the descent and picking up my t-shirt, we started the drive back to New York. Thoughts of stopping for another day of birding in Northern Maine were scupperred by a severe thunderstorm. We made it as far as Augusta that night. The next morning, we strolled through downtown, a quintessential example of a formerly prosperous New England manufacturing town blighted by steadily decline manufacturing in the United States. Like many such cities, the architectural ambition of an earlier time belies the sad reality of obsolescence. 

Sunday, July 31

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.

Saturday, July 30

The rain came and came, so we spent a large part of the morning parked in the lot for tourist information outside Miramichi catching up on sleep. Eventually heading farther north Miramichi . we continued through Acadia and around to Caraquet, which was surprisingly dead for a Saturday night. Our camping spot was on a beach along Chaleur Bay, which is apparently the mosquito capital of the Maritimes.

Friday, July 29

Given the beautiful setting, I was tempted to spend another day on the island, but decided to get moving. This was for the best as the rains were moving steadily up the coast. The ferry ride back to the mainland was mostly through a dense fog and no new birds appeared. We made it to St. John, where the weather was still sunny, if cool. A historic port town, the architecture is quite pretty, recalling Boston in some ways. After lunch and a good stroll, we pushed west along the coast.

The original plan was to cross over to Nova Scotia, but I was so impressed with Grand Manan, I decided that instead of heading further east, we would swing up the northern coast of New Brunswick toward Miramichi and historic Acadia. There was supposedly a fiddle festival taking place over the weekend, and this seemed to be close to what I wanted to see(hear) in Nova Scotia.

I switched the radio station from CBC to an Acadeian music station. To my ear, Acadian is a mix of bluegrass, Western swing and traditional Gaelic music. With windows down and the volume up, we cruised past house after house donning some form of the Acadian flag—the tricolor with a yellow star.

We barely stayed ahead of the rain, but made it to Miramichi in time for a stroll and dinner. The pub/restaurant was willing to open up a gate so Delta could reach the patio. This let me eat dinner without keeping her in the car.

I had expected something more hopping, but apparently this is New Brunswick Day Weekend. New Brunswick Day is on Monday. Who knew? Apparently, this is a long weekend where everyone hops on boats, goes up river and then gets shit-canned: the Ozarks for Canadians. 

Thursday, July 28

We started the day looking for a place that served a hearty breakfast. A lacy Victorian bed and breakfast advertised eggs and bacon and they were willing to carry it out to some lawn chairs that faced to the Bay. It was sunny and warm, even for Canadian standards, and allowed me to fuel up with Delta in tow.

We slowly moved down the island, catching the ferry over to White Head, a smaller island 20 minutes away. I intended to drive to a lighthouse. There was pavement. Then there were large rocks. Then smaller rocks. Then even smaller rocks that did nothing to separate my tires from the sand below. Stuck.

After some jacking, finding large rock to put under the tires for traction, and the concerted effort of much pushing by several Samaritans, the car was back on solid ground. This victory was short lived as a managed to back the car into a ditch. No amount of jacking was going to save me and I was suddenly facing an expensive tow from a truck that had to come from the mainland. And I think that meant the actual mainland of Canada.

I walked back to a house, where luckily someone was home. Unluckily, it was a woman with two kids who was not going to be able to pull my car out of a ditch with a Tonka truck and a tricycle. Thankfully, she was able to call a family member with an actual pick-up truck who came and help me extricate my poor Vibe. This must be the 3^rd or 4^th time that little piece of plastic has been wrenched out a predicament of my own causing. Thus far, with a little patience, someone has always come forward to assist, which is some indication of how genuinely helpful most people are. We forget that, or worse, cynically believe it isn’t true. But, if you travel, you will discover that the mistakes you are capable of making are limitless. And because you are alone, far from your usual resources, the potential consequences are more costly to bear. Nevertheless, I have found that the world is full of people who will treat you as well, if not oftentimes better, than your own family. Of course, this has only happened to me in the far north of our country or in Canada.

I escaped and caught the next ferry back to Grand Manan proper. My goal was to cook dinner--lobster, but I faced two issues. My camping pots were likely too small and I did not bring fuel for the camp stove. While the former could be overcome at the hardware store, the latter could not. Of course, one of the associates offered his camping/cooking gear if I wanted to go to his place to pick it up. Again, good people are everywhere. Instead, I opted for two pre-cooked lobster tails from the supermarket, lots of lemon, some sharp chedder and a huge bottle of white wine. While I could finish two lobster tails (one was really good, the other grainy), I could not finish the wine. Given this bounty of booze, I invited my neighbors, the couple from New Brunswick, to help me finish the bottle. They stopped over with their own bounty of beer and we chatted as the sun set. They had also been over to XXXXX that day. They also explored the lighthouse. On their walk out, they ran into some people who recalled their adventure helping an idiot Texan out of the sand. 

Wednesday, July 27

An early start brought us to Moosehorn NWF, an area dedicated to preserving breeding grounds for American Woodcock. This is yet another bird I have never seen. If American Woodcock was a mosquito, I could have checked it off. Not only did I not find a Woodcock, Delta was tormented by mosquitoes.

After an hour, we hopped back in the car and drove over to Canada. It took about 90 minutes to get to the ferry for Grand Manan, an island that sits in the Bay of Fundy. They were boarding just as we showed up, so there was no need to wait. Crossing fish-rich open water, this is a great chance to view seabirds and it did not disappoint. Northern Gannet plunged into the water from 30 feet in the air. Great Shearwater were numerous in groups of 4 to 20. A Leach’s Storm-petrel flew low across the sea. A handful of Guillemot and Common Murre were also scattered around. Undeniably a great experience.

Based on my Maine birding guide, I resolved to camp at Hole in the Wall. As we approached the ferry terminal, the skies began to clear and I immediately realized this was a great plan. Hole in the Wall is high on the cliffs overlooking the bay and I was given a site with a perfect view of the lighthouse. I arrived just before a couple from mainland New Brunswick and they ended up just a few sites down from mine.

I set up camp and hurried back down the island to find a place to eat—more lobster. The sunset was a beautiful and coaxed seals into the harbor. We slept well, only interrupted by the period flash of the beacon from the light house and the sounds of whales coming to the surface for air. 

Maine and Nova Scotia, 2011

New Breton Island, the north coast of Nova Scotia, has been on my list of places to see for years. The sight of ribbon-like roads carved along its rocky coast has resonated from the first time I saw them on TV. Since so many northern species are missing from my life list, I decided to escape the heat and humidity of New York for the cooler coastal breezes of the North Atlantic Ocean. Driving up to Nova Scotia will also give me a chance to visit Acadia National Park, another place that has eluded me.