Over the hills, not far away
This might be the quietest campground we’ve ever stayed in. Even the dog waited for us to roll up and out. Late in the season, or something.
We found breakfast in the village. With sufficient coffee on board, a chance (for me) to do something novel. Hike a graded trail, with sufficient grade and moisture to make footing a challenge. Or may it was the dog’s fault, given that he had the lead (snap end of the leash). According to the signboards, we covered slightly less that seven clicks, on what had supposedly served as a cart track up until about a century ago.
The guide signs warned of bears, coyotes and moose. We saw none of them. The most dangerous thing had to be certain trees that were ready to fall over and decay. Old, mature forest, at it’s best.
As well, there were a series of “named” cellar holes, as we were in an old Acadian village. I need to check my notes, along with some local history sources; methinks this expropriated land, from long after the famous expropriation. Governments often have a better use for your farm than you and the family. National Parks weren’t created out of goodwill alone.
We’re just finishing a great meal (assiette Acadien) after a halt in our preferred “one of everything” stores. I scored some pig ears and a sack of multicolored raisins. Life is good, and we will stay another night in the quiet place, hence a sprint to write/post on the restaurant wifi. Until tomorrow.
