"Perfect Strangers" story & photographs by Alison Hughes

Nautical chart #s: 4491 - Malpeque Bay 1:37 500, 4466 & 4467 - Rustico Bay & New London Bay 1:15 000. The nautical charts for this coastline only cover the high traffic fishing ports. A good topographical map is more useful.
Duration: 3 days, guided
Guide Company: Qutside Expeditions

"It's not really what I expected," Bob Pavia says as he spears another slice of smoked salmon for his bagel and cream cheese. "I thought camping was about roughing it, not eating gourmet in the middle of . . . THIS."

At the word 'this', his arms open wide to indicate the undulating dunes of Hog Island, where we loll lazily after a delicious lunch. Bob and his wife Charlotte recline beside a checked tablecloth, while Ken Sturk leans peacefully on one elbow nearby. I sit cross-legged, watching D'Arcy Flynn and Erica Stanley make tea on our own deserted island.

In front of us, five brightly coloured sea kayaks rest on gleaming white sand by the edge of an intensely blue ocean. The gentle wash of waves soothes away workaday stresses, leaving only the warm waters and friendly shore. It's an auspicious start to a long weekend of paddling along Prince Edward Island's north shore, even in the company of perfect strangers.

The major challenge on guided sea kayaking trips is seldom the paddling; it's the people. While most would-be kayakers are pretty easygoing, there are those who are determined to squeeze out every cent worth by being waited on hand and foot. This leaves the guides so busy setting up campsites, making meals, cleaning dishes and packing boats that they have no time to share the local knowledge that is often a highlight of the trip.

Other people, especially couples, will stick like glue to the person they've come with and treat their fellow kayakers as unpleasant intruders in a private tour. Worse yet are the thankfully rare guides who are more concerned with showing off their skills than making their clients comfortable. Even the most beautiful trip can be miserable in the wrong company.

I needn't have worried. Before we've even launched, Charlotte proves her positive attitude by chatting cheerfully as we explore a dark smelly fish shed to find a toilet. It's a relief to know she's not squeamish since our washroom facilities will be the intertidal zone from here on in. I discover that she and Bob decided to have adventurous vacations when their three children had grown up and left their Connecticut home. So far they've tried parachuting and scuba diving, and this sea kayaking trip combines their first time paddling salt water with a first-ever camping trip. Ken, on the other hand, taught camping to countless students before retiring as a physical education teacher. He also must be Manitoba's fittest grandfather of five. Within hours of first getting in a kayak, he is happily throwing himself out again to practice self-rescues. Rounding out our group are Islanders D'Arcy Flynn and Erica Stanley, brought in as guides for the trip by Outside Expeditions.

There's a brisk wind causing choppy waves as we paddle toward our first night's camping spot on Hog Island. Ken takes to his solo kayak like a duck to water, bobbing up and down with a grin wider than his sunglasses. Bob and Charlotte's longer double kayak is more stable, but also more frustrating to manoeuver when the wind and current take it off course. Many couples have met their marital Waterloo while trying to steer a double boat, but the Pavias remain on good terms despite their zigzagging motion.

Not only is everyone excited about the trip, but we've got enough food in the kayak hatches to last a week. That doesn't stop Erica from approaching an inbound fishing boat, as we head out of Darnley Basin, to see if they have some fresh Malpeque oysters for us to sample. I'm less than disappointed that it turns out to be loaded with tiny rock crab. World-famous or not, raw oysters are a bit too slithery sliding down the throat for my taste.

At the southern tip of Hog Island, I spot a miniature cabin tucked in the bushes beneath the automated lighthouse. I assume its a private camp, until a walk the next morning teaches me a lesson about Island hospitality. Inside the tiny building are four made-up bunk beds, a stove and a lantern, all ready for use by stranded mariners. In large awkward letters on the unlocked door is the hospitable message, 'Welcome. This is Your Shack'.

Our evening feast features local corn on the cob with a massive stir fry, part of Erica's philosophy that healthy food makes happy campers. There are exceptions, though, like the decadent sticky 'smores' she toasts for us over a blazing campfire. Made of marshmallows sandwiched with milk chocolate and graham crackers, they are decidedly not in the Canada Food Guide. By the time they're done, we're laughing and joking as if we've been together all our lives.

The good mood persists, even under grey skies, as we strike camp the next morning. Everyone pitches in to take down tents and pack the seemingly impossible mounds of gear into our slender crafts. Bob teases that there's plenty of room for the pile beside my boat-without me. By the time we're on the water, the sun is shining through, proving D'Arcy's claim that if you don't like island weather, just wait half an hour.

On our second day, we settle into the rhythm of the sea. Charlotte steers the double boat smoothly, after her husband gracefully accepts a hint that the most powerful paddler should always be in the bow. At times we kayak close enough to laugh and talk, before drifting off on our own to absorb the sights, sounds and smells. Overhead, the plaintive cry of gulls mixes with the rush of wind through ducks' wings as they fly past. Less idyllic is the unmistakable odour of cow manure, alternating with a sweet flowery aroma from potato fields in full bloom.

From our kayaking perspective, the green and gold fields extend upward with geometrical precision, a thin red line of sandstone separating them from the blue water. The narrow beaches are empty in the late summer sun, but as we continue eastward more cottages dot the cliff edge and we see people strolling on the shore. In our bright boats, we become a cross between tourists and tourist attraction. Children look up from building sandcastles to wave excitedly as we pass, while adults stop to stare.

When we land below a busy campground for lunch, I feel like hanging an interpretive sign around my neck for the curious onlookers. Maybe Kindred Spirits Kayaking would suit this area dubbed "Anne's Land" for the perennially popular children's novel Anne of Green Gables. It would certainly suit our group. Even though we cover a forty-year age span, have completely different backgrounds and live up to a thousand miles apart, Bob, Charlotte, Erica, D'Arcy, Ken and I are true kindred spirits, like Anne Shirley and her bosom friend Diana Barry.

Lucy Maud Montgomery was raised not far from here, in New London, where she lived until marrying when she was thirty-six. Here she invented the carrot-topped Anne and her beloved Matthew and Marilla, modeling her foster family on her relatives and the farming folk around her. Since it was first published in 1908, Anne of Green Gables has been translated into fifteen different languages and become a popular television series. With the success of the CBC TV's Road to Avonlea, even the famous Cavendish resort area now bills itself as Avonlea, and approximately 350,000 tourists annually visit the house now called Green Gables. I can't help wondering what Montgomery would think of the crowds and the names from her most popular novel adorning every museum, campground and restaurant along the busy roads. Lake of Shining Waters, Windy Poplars, White Sands and, of course, Green Gables itself seem to be more real to visitors than many of the island's non-fictional places.

Back on the water, arched sandstone sculptures reach out from the cliffs edging the beaches. Carved from the soft rock by wind and wave, they create a fantasyland of pillars and openings to explore by foot at low tide and kayak through when the water is high. Approximately two metres of this shoreline crumbles into the sea every year, eroding the 295 million year old sedimentary rock into sand. Our next campsite bears testimony to this shifting shore. I'm surprised when D'Arcy suggests after a long day's paddling that our camping gear should be carried to a hayfield high above the beach. When the farmer who owns the land drops by, he reinforces our guide's local knowledge. Bruce Campbell points out that waves can reach all the way to the cliff in a wind, changing the shape of the beach overnight. The wide sand shelf where our kayaks are pulled up, for instance, wasn't even here when he visited a few days ago.

As it turns out, the cliff-top climb is well worth the effort for other reasons, too. There's a magnificent view along the coast and out to sea, not to mention soft grass to sleep on. Better yet, as we're setting up the tents, we watch as a bald eagle wrestles a fish from an osprey in mid-air, not ten feet from our astounded faces. Bob is completely overwhelmed at his first sighting of the American national bird, repeating "I can't believe it; I just can't believe it" over and over again.

Later that night, D'Arcy makes chowder from the bar clams he dug while snorkelling off Hog Island. They are as big as my hand and have sweet tender flesh with a delicious smoky flavour from being cooked over an open fire. Despite this being our second supper, we devour bowlfuls with the appetite that comes from a day spent on the salt water. Long after dark, we climb the hill to lie in the pitch black watching shooting stars. I remember the Míkmaq legend of two star-watching sisters who were carried up to the heavens by an eagle and a hawk. When Lord Kluskap granted their desire to return home, he cautioned them not to look back on the journey. The younger sister did and was turned into a shooting star, forever falling through the night sky toward earth. I fall asleep to the sound of chirping crickets.

The next morning, our secluded world turns upside down. I'm barely awake when a van rumbles down the overgrown road to the beach and a tall man with a massive movie camera struggles up the slope to our tents. Introducing himself as Yannick Rose, he begins to set up the largest tripod I've ever seen. Suddenly, we're on location with a Montreal camera crew. Together with interviewer Catherine Bureau, Yannick is shooting a cross-Canada outdoor adventure series for a new television travel channel. Outdoor Expeditions owner Bryon Howard has brought them to our campsite to help with a Prince Edward Island sea kayaking segment.

After two blissful days living on ocean time, the hustle and bustle comes as a shock. Rather than complaining about their interrupted vacation, though, my companions all pitch in to help. When our guides are drafted to help the crew, we take over. We make breakfast and clean up as a team, most of it while being filmed. When a foot-long fuzzy microphone brushes my ear as I stir the porridge, I realize its the closest I've been to a brush in days. I understand completely when Charlotte refuses to take off the ball cap she's worn for the last three days.

The situation becomes increasingly surreal as the camera follows us onto the water. Catherine continues interviewing from her kayak, directed by Yannick, who is filming while perching precariously backwards in a double boat. The wind and waves are rising, making it impossible to hear what he says as the water slaps against our bouncing boats. We're reduced to interpreting hand signals and kayak hilariously in different directions, like an aquatic version of the Keystone Cops.

Luckily, the coastline is so stunning here that even amateur subjects couldn't ruin the shots. As we pass nearby Cape Tryon, dozens of cormorants flap from their empty nests to fill the air, wings glinting in the sunlight. Everyone looks up at the cliff in spontaneous awe, while the camera catches the scene. Then Bryon herds us together beneath a picturesque lighthouse, so Yannick can shoot him filling us in on local history.

As abruptly as they came, the camera crew is gone. There's a noon-hour flight to catch in Charlottetown, editing to be done, and deadlines to be met. Within moments, the six of us are alone again, floating peacefully amidst the birds and the waves, as if the morning had never happened. I shake my head and join Ken to examine a cliff filled with the platter-sized cormorant nests.

We kayak companionably into our last afternoon. At the opening to New London Bay, we stop to wait for fishing boats going full steam through the narrow passage, then we navigate carefully across the tidal currents rushing out to sea. It's a perfect chance to practice ferrying across the shallows at an angle to the strong current. I point the kayak bow almost at right angles to the direction I'm heading and slip sideways over the water with satisfying speed. Bob has followed behind me, but the angle of his boat is too wide and he's swept back out to where the other kayaks are paddling safely outside the wave line.

From here on, we will be skirting the edge of Prince Edward Island National Park. The tallest sand dunes since Hog Island reach up like miniature mountains, tipping over at the top with the weight of the marram grasses that hold them in place against the wind. They stretch for miles ahead without a blemish, as if never touched by human foot. Behind the long spit, I glimpse a hint of protected water and the roofs of fishing and pleasure boats sheltering in New London Bay. An early afternoon wind has sprung up, bringing with it spitting rain. By the time we land to put on rain gear and have a late lunch, the skies have cleared and the wind has dropped once again. Since it takes a sustained 20 km (32 mi) per hour wind to move sand, I figure the dunes must be formed primarily in the windy winter months.

I know the park has supervised swimming areas and three major campgrounds, but this perfect sand spit is totally deserted. It isn't until Cavendish, the island's most famous white sand beach and the heart of Anne's Land, that crowds materialize. People doze under beach umbrellas, splash in the shallow water and stroll in clusters below an imposing building atop the dunes. This beach is where I visualize Montgomery's White Sands Hotel, where Anne gives her first public recitation. It is easy to imagine the bejeweled Americans she describes still coming here today.

After Cavendish, the low cliffs rise again. We glide past headland after headland, enjoying each other's company. Our guides have never paddled this stretch, and we take turns guessing which point will hide the entrance to our destination at Rustico Bay. A bicycle trail runs along the cliff top and occasionally we see cyclists stopping to watch our slower progress. The lack of uninhabited areas makes it a challenge for us girls to find a place for a pee. When Erica and I are finally forced to land, we try to shelter from prying eyes under a rock overhand. We laugh hysterically as two curious cyclists lean far out over the cliff and almost catch us literally with our pants down. When late afternoon eventually brings us around Cape Turner and in sight of North Rustico Harbour, it seems too soon.

Erica paddles ahead to check behind the projecting wharf for fishing boats headed out. When the coast is clear, she waves us in to a curving sand beach just below the road. We linger, helping each other unload the kayaks and sort out our gear. Over a beer at a local restaurant, we exchange addresses, then take turns recalling our favourite parts of the trip. For all of us, the highlight has been the close bond that has developed among our group.

"It's the opposite of the television show Survivor on our desert island," Charlotte laughs. "We just want to vote that everyone stays."

Finally, we hug goodbye. There are tears in my eyes as I drive away. It's as if I'm parting from close family that I don't see often enough and won't see again for a long time. On this trip, I have found truly perfect strangers. Better yet, they have become friends.

Fact File:

Getting There: By land - From New Brunswick, follow route 15 north from Moncton then take route 955 east to Highway 16, or follow Highway 2 east from Moncton and turn north on Highway 16 to the Confederation Bridge. From Nova Scotia, follow the Trans-Canada Highway 2 west until just past the New Brunswick border then follow Highway 16 north to the Confederation Bridge. North Rustico is a 45 minute drive north, following Route 1 to Route 13, to Route 258 and Route 6. The bridge toll is paid only when you leave the island. There is a 75 minute ferry ride between Caribou, NS, and Wood Islands, PEI, that runs from May 1 to December 20. For details check the web site at www.nfl-bay.com .After leaving the ferry, drive west on Routes 1 and 1A, turn north on Route 2, and then follow Route 6 north and west to North Rustico.

Activities: There are numerous outdoor adventure operators on the island, providing cycling, hiking and sea kayaking trips. For information on those, or the multitude of theme parks and other activities available, phone 1 888 PEI-PLAY, or check the island's website at www.peiplay.com . Information on accomodations, art exhibits, festivals, plays, restaurants and night life is also available through the tourism department and every part of the island is easily accessible by car from every other part. For information on island handcrafts, contact the PEI Crafts Council at (902) 892-5152. There are many naturalist organizations located on the island with their own web sites, including the Island Nature Trust, the Natural History Society of PEI, the Maritimes Breeding Bird Survey and the Canadian Breeding Bird Survey. For information on Lucy Maud Montgomery and her work try Robertson Library at the University of Prince Edward Island, www.upei.ca, and the University of Guelph Library at www.lib.uoguelph.ca/Archives/archives .

Climate and Clothing: Think warm and sunny. While it does rain on the island, July and August tend to be dry and daytime temperatures average mid to high 20's C (high 70's to 80's F). Bring water sandals, shorts, t-shirts and a bathing suit, as well as warmer layers for the evening. Don't forget sunglasses and sunblock!