Bay of Fundy: New Brunswick
Crossing the border into Canada propels me an hour forward in time. The St. Croix river, bisecting the landmasses of Canada and the United States, narrows towards the run-down bridge serving as border crossing. Calais, Maine to St Stephen, New Brunswick. Time’s airwaves stopped short from crossing the river from one side to another. I look at my phone for the time, and sure enough, it shows US time. A rock’s throw towards the other shoreline, time magically changes.
I hug the Bay of Fundy coastline as best I can. Once in St John, I take the lesser roads to St Martin. It is the fast turnaround of the tides beckoning me. The expansive mud flats of the ocean floor where it blends into the rocky beachfronts. Polished stone. Gravel. Sea caves accessed when the tide is low.
Now I am on nautical time—reading tide charts to arrive at the caves when they are accessible by foot. Also, according to my research, I will be able to park overnight in the lot next to the Caves Restaurant near the caves...legally.
Once there, I back my truck up to the beach, slog over the wet beach rocks, wade a slowly receding stream of ocean water, in order to reach the constantly eroding red rock caves. As the sun breaks through the mist and rain clouds, the tide waters lap farther and farther onto the shore, slowly easing into the open caves. With my truck cap window open, I meditate on the ocean swaying its waves all over the planet.
I hug the Bay of Fundy coastline as best I can. Once in St John, I take the lesser roads to St Martin. It is the fast turnaround of the tides beckoning me. The expansive mud flats of the ocean floor where it blends into the rocky beachfronts. Polished stone. Gravel. Sea caves accessed when the tide is low.
Now I am on nautical time—reading tide charts to arrive at the caves when they are accessible by foot. Also, according to my research, I will be able to park overnight in the lot next to the Caves Restaurant near the caves...legally.
Once there, I back my truck up to the beach, slog over the wet beach rocks, wade a slowly receding stream of ocean water, in order to reach the constantly eroding red rock caves. As the sun breaks through the mist and rain clouds, the tide waters lap farther and farther onto the shore, slowly easing into the open caves. With my truck cap window open, I meditate on the ocean swaying its waves all over the planet.
St Martins Sea Caves:
From St Martin, there is easy access onto the Fundy Parkway (fee), for twenty-eight kilometers along the coastline, funneling me north and east. Jagged cliffs and viewing overlooks. Sand beaches. Sitting benches. Bike trails. But, it is not the wooded landscapes I am after. I want the eroding coastline, like my own eroding coastline edges fraying around what feels worn out in my life.
My fraying shows up in different forms. Tarot cards. A friend’s astrological analysis. Inner feelings.
Change is coming. And all this ongoing Covid stuff has been pulling at my edges more aggressively. I feel a leap of faith coming again for me. Maybe this summer trip is a remembering of past leaps of faith. Seven-year itches. Cosmic mysteries.
When the Fundy tide comes in, the wild winds pick up. Blowing the sea onto the shore. Washing the rocks again and again—softening them down, exposing veins locked within the stones from eons ago. This is what I want for myself now…my veins exposed to the elements, blood pumping anew.
My fraying shows up in different forms. Tarot cards. A friend’s astrological analysis. Inner feelings.
Change is coming. And all this ongoing Covid stuff has been pulling at my edges more aggressively. I feel a leap of faith coming again for me. Maybe this summer trip is a remembering of past leaps of faith. Seven-year itches. Cosmic mysteries.
When the Fundy tide comes in, the wild winds pick up. Blowing the sea onto the shore. Washing the rocks again and again—softening them down, exposing veins locked within the stones from eons ago. This is what I want for myself now…my veins exposed to the elements, blood pumping anew.
Fundy Parkway:
En route to Moncton, and a Zydeco dancing friend I usually see in Louisiana, I hug the wild areas along the Fundy coast…the town of Alma, with its working wharf, Cape Enrage with its lighthouse struggling for survival in a time when history is losing its footing on the craggy edge, Shepody Wildlife Preserve (although the signage leading out to the sanctuary states it is a hunting reserve), where the wild patterns of avaiary flight still stop for respite.
Once there, Abbie, a university student and summer bird conservationist, gives me the overview of the migrating sandpipers, and how the sweeping tides affect their time there. Not well advertised, the random visitor finds their way to the marshlands skirting the Bay. They don’t want crowds that will affect the migration. But, she is open to sharing, takes me along the sandy shore while explaining the research and history of the marshes and birds in this sanctuary. And I hope the signs for hunting don’t hold much credence. These remaining sanctuaries need protecting.
Hopewell Rocks (fee) rise from the sand as the tide recedes its way back into the ocean. Not unlike the toadstool eroded-rock formations in the deserts of Utah, these formations form arches and mushrooms along the beach—ever changing as the sea water sculpts its way into a different time of rock and sand…slowly taking it all back out to sea.
Once there, Abbie, a university student and summer bird conservationist, gives me the overview of the migrating sandpipers, and how the sweeping tides affect their time there. Not well advertised, the random visitor finds their way to the marshlands skirting the Bay. They don’t want crowds that will affect the migration. But, she is open to sharing, takes me along the sandy shore while explaining the research and history of the marshes and birds in this sanctuary. And I hope the signs for hunting don’t hold much credence. These remaining sanctuaries need protecting.
Hopewell Rocks (fee) rise from the sand as the tide recedes its way back into the ocean. Not unlike the toadstool eroded-rock formations in the deserts of Utah, these formations form arches and mushrooms along the beach—ever changing as the sea water sculpts its way into a different time of rock and sand…slowly taking it all back out to sea.
Cape Enrage:
Shepody Nature Preserve:
Hopewell Rocks:
This is all part of the underbelly of the Canadian maritimes—places holding on to roots, resisting change……but, change comes on strong, and the ocean slowly takes back what it can.