Old banks and near misses
Last night offered up one kickass storm. The kind I’ve rarely sat through in decades of camping. Forget sleep; between the thunder that rocked the ground, a steady bath of rain and wind that moved some of our neighbours, we had a short time on the pillow.
One tent, just down the row, is now a tattered memory. The awning on the camper next door will never cast shade again. Want your table cleared? There, done. Our own site is fine, but the car hasn’t been this clean in weeks.
No sense sitting around and admiring the puddles. Off to see the world. My first visit to the heart of Rustico, with a tour of the bank and La Maison Doucet. A high quality display, with lots of information. If only this had been up and running twenty years ago. We could have avoided hours in a schoolbus to admire a house made from recycled glassware.
Hungry tourists have to eat, and the North Shore has lobster on the brain. We returned to Fisherman’s Wharf, but opted for the dining room off to the left, which still has a bit of intimacy. The scallops were OK. The chowder was OK. The restaurant, barely. Thank goodness I don’t need souvenirs (at an OK price).
Anyone who thinks that the Island is flat need only detour through the area around Hope River. Rollercoaster riding on a summer afternoon.
Heading around a curve near Naufrage, one poor junior skunk almost had a fatal encounter with the automotive species. Thankfully, the wild beast remains in good health, and we’ll still be allowed to camp in the company of our neighbours.
