Trail Tales

The weatherman…. weatherperson…… The meteorologist called for a 30 degree beauty yesterday, which really puts the pressure on to come up with a great thing to do.  I'd been pondering the idea of taking a inflatable snow tube, or a 15 dollar Canadian tire blow up boat and putting it in to the lazy river I had so much success fishing at in Beaverbank.  I wasn't sure if this would actually turn out to be a good idea or not. What were the unforeseen problems with putting a small inflatable, intended for small children, into a river I hadn't fully explored? There was only one way to find out.
We headed out in the afternoon, after stopping so my friend could purchase a brand spanking new sportcraft 5000 (15 dollars at Canadian Tire), a vessel that would make any 5 year old jealous.  The walk to the river itself requires a few hundred meters of wet, muddy marsh walking through some tall grass.  We hadn't been properly prepared for this part, as our nike air’s became nike swamps. When we reached our destination, we inflated our crafts.  The inflating process took some effort, even with our heavy duty pump.
When my tube was inflated fully, I put my tube into the river, gathered my gear, and looked at it for a while.  My friend did the same. Hmmm. What would be the best way to get into this craft for people over the age of 5? After some mental modelling, I went for it. My butt successfully planted into the middle of the tube, the queen broke a champagne bottle across its hull, and I was off for my maiden voyage.  I looked back to see how my friend was getting along, when I see a large man, laying face first into his boat afraid to make any more sudden movements.  The next moments were sure to bring some good entertainment, so I quickly grabbed for my camera.  We discussed the situation for a while, as he pitched questions to me with his voice muffled by a face full of rubber.  When he regrouped ashore, I recommended a butt first approach.  He landed it cleanly and the voyage was truly underway. 
This was awesome. Things were looking great. Some cold beer to drink, and nothing to do but float.  The outing was at least as good or better than I had imagined it could be, and I highly recommend doing it. 
It took us just under 2 hours to go along a good stretch of the river, without actually travelling too far from where we started, thanks to the river's "S" shape, and very slow moving current. Spending 15 dollars for a little inflatable, and finding a suitably lazy river makes for a day well spent.  Be sure to check out the Google map location of this river, and beware that the journey to and from the river to the road isn't easy, but isn't overly difficult either. Keep an eye out for beavers and be respectful of the area. You can see some cool sticks carved by the beavers, as well as a couple of them popping up keeping an eye on you, as we saw a couple, looking jealous. Check out the video here !

Last week I headed out to a river in Sackville with my brother, for lucky? visit #3. My sister in-law had done what has taken us a month to do, which is to locate all kinds of fish. Earlier that day she had gone for a walk and noticed fish jumping all over the place in the river. When we hear that fish have been spotted, we quickly move in to disperse them.

As we pulled into a parking lot near our spot, another car pulled up to us and asked us if we had fished that particular spot before. We said we hadn’t and the guy said that he had, and that there is some good fishing to be had in there. We contained our enthusiasm and thanked him for telling us. As we started to walk in, a car pulled out and the guy stopped to tell us that there were tons of fish in there, and he pulled out a bag full of ones he had just caught. We could hardly wait another minute to get to the river, and refrained from a full out sprint. Today was definitely the day, and we were sure we would soon be pulling fish out of the river within the first cast or two.

I suddenly thought of something I had never even considered before: do we have a container to put in all the fish we catch? I asked my brother, he looked at me, smiled, and said he also hadn’t even considered this. It was a problem to be addressed later, for now we were concerned about getting our hooks in the water as quickly as possible. The spot looked ideal. I couldn’t wait see what happened when I did my first cast of the evening. It turns out I could wait. I waited a lot. I waited until it got dark, and cold.

A few desperation casts were all that was left of my evening, but with one of them, something I had never seen before. A fish chasing after my hook, nibbling on it, glancing up at me, laughing, and then swimming away. I couldn’t believe my almost luck. As it turns out, this was just another insult to injury. I packed up my stuff, told my brother I was going to go get the car, while he fished for a few more minutes. I walked off slowly, pondering the reasons for my latest failure. A while later my brother emerges, fish in hand. I thought it was surely a gag. It wasn’t. He had caught a fish, just shortly after I left. Schools of fish were jumping around everywhere immediately after I left. What does this mean? It is obviously an omen.

Beware the day I do catch a fish, as it sure to signal the coming of the next anti-christ.

Today (May11) I headed out to Long Lake Provincial Park, a place I’ve been quite a few times before.  My main purpose for the trip was to get some material to compile a video for the website.
My first visit to Long Lake came many moons ago when I was a young high school student, with a new bike and a keen interest in shit disturbing.  After getting kicked out of Point Pleasant Park more than a couple of times for doing some nature ravaging off-road stunts, I needed to broaden my range.  I had heard that there were some good off-road trails off of St. Margaret’s Bay Road so I phoned up a partner in crime and we headed out.  When we arrived, we were surprised to see a small parking lot and what looked to be a park that we had never seen before, yet was 15 minutes from our house.  The discovery changed everything.  No longer were parks purely for hordes of us to converge on after dusk with backpacks full of bad news.  Now we had found a place that was more fun than most illegal activities.  The trails were perfect for some serious off-road biking, and the park was so large that each excursion took us on a different adventure. 
The park has changed considerably since then.  Today it is a well known spot, popular with all sorts of people.  It’s not uncommon to see the parking lot full, and the trail head packed with people walking their dogs.  It has a Point Pleasant Park type feel when you arrive, but you can quickly escape the main area and set out into the unknown (thanks to our Province being too cheap to mark or maintain any official trails).  The spring time is typically not a good time to visit this park. As my friend pointed out a couple of weeks ago, with the snow melted, a winter’s worth of dog crap doesn’t make for a pleasant atmosphere.  I can remember the same problem with Point Pleasant, jogging in 30 degree heat, with the smell of frying dog crap greeting you, Joe Camel himself waiting for you at the finish line, and a group of “The Fast and The Furious” extras idling their cars in the parking lot as you try to catch your breath.  This place does suffer from the same dog crap stench greeting you and bidding you adue with each visit, but if you can get past the main trail as soon as possible, it offers much more room to explore and escape the crowd.
My most recent visit was another surprise, as I got on a few trails that I didn’t remember and saw some things I’d never seen.  There are some interesting rocks and plants hidden throughout the park, and if you keep an eye out you’re bound to see something cool.  The biggest surprise this time was a tent, with extensive supplies that we came upon as we were “getting our bearings”.  This tent didn’t seem to be a vacationer’s getaway, it looked to be a lifestyle choice.  We quickly backpeddled and headed out towards the Bay Road as we did not want to encrouch on the Long Lake axe-murderer’s space.
All in all it was a good spring outing, and the park looks like it’s about ready to start blooming.  Be sure to check it out if you’ve never been. Set aside enough time to do lots of exploring and bring a compass/GPS so you don’t wander in circles.

Decided to go for a jog at point pleasant park this afternoon, as soon as I left the house I saw a huge plume of smoke, looked like a bomb went off somewhere. As I drove closer to the park, I could see what looked to be the entire Spryfield area on fire. I took some time out of my jog at the park to snap some of these pics, sacrificing my target heart rate in the process! Lets hope the damage to people's lives is minimal. Looks like York Redoubt could be hard hit.

Today's freakish 30 degree, end of April heat awoke the city. The weather was like mid August rather than the end of April. The heat caught people by surprise, by calling for the summer wardrobe without even having a preparatory month of self loathing at the gym. I thought the fish too would be caught by surprise and be ready to jump onto some hooks.
They weren't. In fact I saw none. The black flies and mosquitoes wasted no time in resuming where they left off last summer, any fish in their right mind would have been having a feeding frenzy on the fly congregation on the calm waters of the Herbert River. The only thing we caught were some grass fish, stick fish, dirt fish and t-shirt sleeve fish.
The highlight of the evening (other than the mid-august feeling temperature) was when we had our backs turned to the water rigging up our rods, when we heard a very loud splash, and looked to see large ripples in the water. Frightened, my brother assumed someone was playing a joke on us and threw a big rock into the water, and I assumed a small shark must have jumped out of the shallow river. Oddly enough it turned out to be neither. A minute later, a beaver surfaces, and slaps the water with his tail. I'm not sure what it means when they do that, but we assumed it was mockery. It has gotten to the point now that beavers are coming out to see the guy who has caught one fish in his entire life.
Though unsuccessful, and my streak still intact, I am still determined to catch a fish this year. I may have to eventually buy one at the grocery store, hide it in my bag, and attach it to my hook when no one is looking. I may even get a live lobster before going fishing in a river somewhere with some friends, attach it to a hook when no one's looking, put my camera on video mode, and record the reactions when I pull a canner out of the river! You can come up with some really good ides when you're unsuccessfully fishing.

Great spot, saw the fish jumping, no luck. Did get some scraped knuckles off of a granite boulder, a broken rod, lots of lost hooks and bait, and a couple good pics. The streak is intact. Calls to Guinness soon.

With the first good weather forecast of the year, a buzz took hold of the city on Friday, and as I finished work, the first thing I wanted to do was something outdoors. Fishing was in order, the best outdoor activity when you are too tired to do anything else. I talked to my brother who told me Grand Lake in Enfield was the place to be, as the fish were begging to be caught there. I met up with him and we headed out, skipping dinner, as we would surely have lots of delicious bass to cook up later on.
As we headed out onto the lake, it was apparent lots of other people were in the same frame of mind, and there was a lot of activity on the lake, on a beautiful evening of sunshine and 20 degrees. The loons were out competing with us for fish. They seemed to know to avoid the spots we fished, as there was sure to be nothing there. However, after a few minutes we entered a cove and caused a fish riot, the fish all started jumping out of the water, which I later realized was the aquatic version of the finger. Surely we would catch a lot of fish in this cove. We didn’t, not even a bite. Looking back on it, I think we would have been better off putting the net in and just scooping them out.
We reluctantly gave up on the cove and headed out to other parts of the lake, passing other people fishing along the way, inevitably answering the question “any luck?” the same way we always do.
My expectations lowered steadily, and I began to focus more on the lovely sunset and the loons calling back and forth, and snapped some great pics and videos. This made my trip a small success. We fished until after dark, with our beer running low and the cold reminding us that it is still April, we headed back in disbelief that we caught nothing, but still not really that shocked. We met up with others who caught “a few” and I’m sure we were the only people who didn’t catch anything that day. Most people would quit fishing at this point, and take up a new hobby. I will continue to defy all odds in my attempt for the Guinness world record for most hours spent fishing without catching anything. At least I get some good pictures, and I do my part to maintain a healthy fish population, and help educate them on how to avoid fish hooks.

On the weekend I set out to accomplish a couple of goals, and redeem myself with the Earth. I planned on doing a long hike, and not get lost and have to spend the night in the woods, and the next day to have a successful fishing trip. 50% is a pass in my books.

The hiking trail we decided on (well after noon) was Pennant Point trail, otherwise known as the Crystal Crescent trail. I had been on this trail before with my brother, nephew, and dogs. The trail I remember is a popular one with dog walkers and didn’t seem too challenging or exciting. The trail I remember turned out to be about 10% of the full trail. The actual trail is 12k and full of amazing scenery and landscapes. I added a few pictures to my all time bests on the trip (still nothing beats the old one of a big wave crashing behind me as I stand on a rock pondering the ocean, taken with a kid’s disposable camera). The first part of the trail was boardwalks and bridges, typical beachfront trail; the remaining part is un-maintained and is a lot more fun. Anyone can think themselves a rock climbing adventurer on this trail. As I scaled large boulders and hopped nimbly from rock to rock I gloated each time I successfully did not break my ankle.

The scenery here is like Peggy’s Cove for miles upon miles. The scenery almost inspired me to break out a bottle of whisky and start singing some Irish folk songs. I spotted a couple of seals and about 10 porcupines. The porcupines seem to love the area, and I’m surprised every pooch leaving the park didn’t have quills up its nose.

There is lots of sea debris to be seen here, from extremely large buoys, to DVD cases, shoes, books, and your standard oil cans and eco-friendly plastics. I did manage to snap an unexpectedly awesome picture of a washed up lobster trap, next to an old tire.

After walking for a couple of hours, the boys and I sat on some rocks, made a fire, drank some beer and cooked hot dogs. This is what you are meant to do on this hike. There is no shortage of dry wood lying around, and it was a pleasant change from our last attempt at making a fire. We could have easily spent an hour relaxing there, but our previous experience told me to check my watch and get a move on. We set out again with a limited amount of sunlight left and a hefty part of the trail yet to go.

We walked for a few kilometres through some marshy areas, where my football training came in handy as I did the “high knees” drill through a good portion of it to avoid swamp foot. After only 2 soakers, we were through the swampy stuff and came upon the yellow sign we were looking for which directed us into the woods and eventually back to the parking lot. We weren’t sure how far it was, but I was playing it safe and assuming it was a lot further than we thought. The sun was setting and would be gone in another 15 minutes, and we were just now heading into the unknown.

I snapped a quick picture of the sunset (another one of my all time best unexpected pics) and two of us started into a jog, leaving the others on their own to scold themselves for not accomplishing more on the treadmill. The trail was ideal for jogging, and as we came out of the woods we hit a field which seemed to stretch as far as we could see. The sun was now set as we reached the peak of a hill, where we were able to see that the parking lot was in the distance. We were in a good stride, the only thing keeping us from a sprint were our ankles reminding us to be cautious. A good 30 minute jog and we were now back at the car, extremely tired. The others would no doubt be a while, and the fact that it was now dark left us wondering if we were going to have to get suited up for a search and rescue mission. A few minutes later my cell phone rings, the boys have reached our booby trap (black electrical tape tied between two trees across the trail) and were now in a creek, which we never saw. They had obviously taken a wrong turn courtesy of the same guy who lost the map in the previous excursion, with an assist from the total darkness. Even though the trail was quite easy to follow, it seems they had strayed from it, and the two of us were too tired at this point to go trekking back in, so we told them to carry on. 15 minutes later I get another call. They are down walking along the main road....somehow. I’m not sure how they ended up all the way down there, but we were all glad that the excursion was over, and didn’t result in another overnight clinic on hypothermia.

All things considered, the trip was awesome. I would recommend leaving before 3pm, bringing more beer than we did,packing some really good food and a beach towel. Bring your camera and take a lot of pictures, this place is like being paparazzi outside a nightclub in Hollywood, only you can’t sell your pics to TMZ, but you can enter them in HalifaxTrails.ca’s photo of the month contest!

On Saturday (April 4) I went out on my first fishing trip of the season with my brother and my 2 year old nephew. I spent a while rigging up the rod which I had bought not too long ago, in anticipation of a productive upcomming season. With the rod and tackle box all geared up, I headed out to purchase a license (25 dollars)from a local store, and the fish could now officially tremble in terror. As my brother and I pulled up to a spot on the side of the road in Beaverbank, we got on our rubber boots and headed into the woods towards the Beaverbank River. It was a spot we hadn't been before, and immediately we saw something that was a very unfamiliar sight... to Nova Scotia in general. As we walked a few minutes into the woods, we began to see water, this water, however, was IN the woods. Seeing as how we were in Nova Scotia and not the Florida Everglades, this was a very strange sight. We looked around, puzzled, with my nephew wondering if we were being watched by crocodiles. I looked around, and quickly realized the river had taken over the woods, and there was no way we could even get near the river in our knee high rubber boots. I glanced around, maybe I could just grab a fish that was laying around in the woods! That would be a great first catch. After a few minutes of "fishing" we were unsuccessful, and we turned back in disapointment. To say that we were surprised that we didn't catch any fish would be a lie, but to say we were surprised we didn't catch any fish because we were confronted by the Beaverbank Everglades, was definately true. The trip allowed me to put a new contributing factor to my list of why my fishing expeditions always end up in complete failure.

My most recent outdoor excursion took place last weekend (March 21) in Enfield. Two friends and I had planned this trip for a week. The trip was to a very basic hunting camp in the middle of nowhere. The variables included in this trip were numerous and added a large element of the unknown to our adventure. The camp is located on logging land, and as such, may have joined its surrounding gifts from god in no longer existing. The hike was estimated to be about 15k, or about 3 hours, which made the prospect of our destination being a large clear cut not very appealing, but adventurous nonetheless.

We set out with basic supplies. Backpack including some extra warm clothes, food, water, fire starting gear, sleeping bag, liquor and other essentials. My pack wasn't as light as I would have liked for a 3 hour hike, but then again what I would have liked was to have a pack that defied Newton's Law, and only a couple of federal ones.

I had planned a route through the use of Google Maps, as well as conferencing with my brother who took me to the camp years ago. All was well planned, and supplemented with my extensive navigation skills which came in the form of a GPS system. With my Ziploc bag full of google maps, and the coordinates of the camp punched into my GPS, we were set.

We entered the trail head at about 2:30pm, as prior commitments by one of us dictated this departure time. This was only now just a slight concern, as daylight savings time had kicked in recently, and we had that fact tucked into our back pocket.... as well as our map. If this had been the beginning to a horror movie, organ music would have begun playing, with an appropriate camera zoom into the back pocket containing the Ziploc bag full of maps.

After a tough 5 minute climb, we opted to take a well deserved break to get our bearings. Just as I figured, we had already walked a good half kilometer of our 15. Maybe we should cut this break short, I eventually figure, and we head out. "Do you have that map" I ask. "Yep, right here" my friend says, while confidently patting his back pants pocket providing a "you can kiss this for asking" emphasis. I think to myself that maybe that isn't the best spot for it, but this thought got about as much attention as we did from one of the many 4-wheelers that almost ran us over.

After another 15 minutes of walking, we reach a fork in the road, so we call for the map. The map that is no longer in the back pocket. The map that is causing increasing amounts of concern. The map that is now lost. "Where the hell is the map?! Oh my god, don't tell me...." accompanied by other barrages, our map carrier is now the most hated man in Enfield.

After a 20 minute zig-zag search pattern jog, our map carrier returns, with no map. Decision time. Do we go on, with no map, and only GPS coordinates and my recollection of what the maps looked like? I had told the others to look at the map before we started, so we wouldn't just be relying on my interpretations. You can guess that they did not do so, and you'd be correct. So, 3 young men in unfamiliar woods, looking for a destination that may no longer exist are faced with a decision. The decision came fairly easily: keep going.

While the smart thing may have been to turn back and try again another day, the smell of adventure had begun to increase exponentially, and spurred us into the unknown. As we hiked on, our fast pace matching the setting pace of the sun, we came to a crossroads, an area that was not familiar to me from the map, and where a decision had to be made, fast, before the sun went down. I picked up my cell phone, and called my brother, as a desperate lifeline call on a million dollar "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire" question. "Which way do we go?" the conversation is as quick and to the point. We decide to head to the right and follow power lines, looking for a place to cross over to the left. We walk for a half hour, with the sun already set, and the radiating beams are all that remain of our hope. We are definitely going the wrong way, and we are 2 hours into the woods. Our adventure has come to it's turning point, and as our denial of the inevitable wears off, we quickly set out to find a good spot to camp out.

As we find our spot, just off of a logging road, the sun is now gone, and it is getting cold. Communicating telepathically now, we all head out to gather up fire wood. We converge on a spot, and start piling it on as if it were the fireplace in our living room. We throw a match on it, and there we have it, some smoke. After the smoke dies off, we are left with a wet pile of branches and 3 men who aren't sure if the smoke is coming from the branches or their ears as their tired brains struggle to figure out how to start a fire. After a skillful application of curse words, and some emergency fire starting gear I had packed, we had a fire. Our spirits rose with the flames, and we began to think this was actually going to be pretty nice night. A quick look at the stars, and the beer and rum in our backpacks instantly renewed our spirits. As I went around collecting pine bows to place underneath our sleeping bags, the fire began to go out. The large pile of small branches did not last even a fraction as long as planned. Spirits take a dive, and we realize this fire is going to be a lot more work than the one we sit infront of at Christmas drinking eggnog. With no axe, and no energy to use one, we are limited to finding dead wood that we can snap off. Normally on my hikes, half of the wood I see is dead, and I always think to myself what a shame it is, but on this occasion, we were in the middle of the healthiest forest on the face of the earth. Every tree was young, fresh, healthy, hydrated.... everything that we were not, at the moment.

The long hike had taken its toll on all of us. No one had the energy to use our Canadian tire flashlights to go searching around the dark woods for a small amount of dead wood. One of my friends had an army issued arctic sleeping bag, and he was quickly asleep. His snoring, combined with the bitter cold, and our "Dora The Explorer" brand sleeping bags ensured that the two of us remaining would not have an enjoyable night. As I broke out the rum, and my emergency blanket, I realized my best option was to stay awake all night, gathering firewood and staying as close to the fire as possible without becoming a part of it. I turned my portable speakers and Ipod on, to help distract myself from the situation (and ward off all of the hungry wolves that were encircling us in my imagination). As I took a moment to enjoy, I laid back and took in the amazingly vibrant night sky. The other two were awake at this time, enjoying a beer, chilled naturally. We sat there, quietly, attempting to enjoy the evening, when we hear a crunching noise, the same crunching noise you make when you walk through hard packed snow, a noise we were very familiar with, as we had been making it all day. As the noise grew, we became silent, to the point of collectively holding our breath. "We're 3 hours into the woods in the middle of nowhere right?" I ask myself. I check my watch, 1 am. I do some quick calculations in my head and determine that this situation is extremely frightening. "Hello!?" one of my friends says, as I mentally prepare myself. No response, the noise continues. "Hello, who's there?" he yells again, as I reach for my knife and prepare an evacuation plan into the woods, where I will hide until we find out who this madman is. Just as I'm about to jump into the woods, the noise stops. Contrary to being a relief, this ruins my plans as I wonder where the hell this person has gone, and what the hell we should do. Then it clicks, the Ipod, the speakers, there was no music playing during this time. I whisper "rewind to the end of that song". Sure enough, it is the end of a song, an outro obviously designed as a cruel joke for people stuck in the middle of the snowy woods 1 am.

After we all breathe a sigh of relief, we continue with our roles. One quickly reverts to snoring, the other to shivering, and me to tending the fire like it is the last one I will ever see. Soon enough, the moon makes its first appearance. It peaks over the horizon in a very bright crescent. It was an interesting sight I had not seen before and is a hard one to process during a bout of hypothermia. I could tell without looking at my watch that the sun was soon to follow. As morning arrived, the sense of relief was quickly challenged by the coat of ice that now covered everything. This was the coldest point of our adventure. We built the fire to its largest point, and put some food in our tin can to cook as we thawed out our boots and laces. Once we were warmed enough to the point where movement would not risk shattering our bones, we headed back out.

The trip out seemed to take us half as long, as our pace was double that of the way in. When we reached the car, the adventure was complete. This must be what it feels like to finish a marathon in Siberia. The adventure left us with a renewed sense of accomplishment, and a large list of things not to do. Lessons learned: bring a tent, a good sleeping bag, earplugs, and do not put your map in the back of your Calvin Klein's, the woods seem to find it insulting.