P.E.I., Naturally
Saturday, August 27, 2005

NORTH SHORE, P.E.I.- As you lie in the sleeping bag, the tent is suddenly lit up, the poles on the outside casting shadows on the moving fabric.

Opening the tent door, you can look out over the waters of the Gulf of St. Lawrence and watch as the lightning illuminates the tall clouds in the night sky far away, but above you the sky is clear and the stars shine.

Occasionally, the sound of thunder can be heard over the waves that crash on Hog Island, on Prince Edward Island's north shore, where we are camped. Except for the kayaks hauled up away from high tide, everything you see and hear is provided by nature.

Outside Expeditions of North Rustico organizes the three-day trip, North Shore Explorations.

Tents are set up above the high-water mark east of Profitts Point in Prince Edward Island during a three-day sea kayaking trip. Picking a beach to spend the night is part of the attraction of the outdoor excursion.

Susan Palmer Terry of Concord, N.H., saw the trip as a perfect way to connect with her family. "P.E.I. always seemed like a beautiful place to me.

"I figured this would be the perfect trip for our family because we love to be outside and enjoy nature. I wanted a trip where there were no distractions, just nature and us - and this is it," Palmer said.

"It's a chance to play and relax and talk. I love the quiet of this place, the lack of human distraction and the plethora of natural distractions. You couldn't ask for anything more."

Maddy Palmer, 14, of Concord, New Hampshire, shows off a starfish that she plucked from the sand near Cabot Beach Provincial Park.

We launch from Cabot Provincial Park. The wind starts to come up and the waves get taller and break across the boats' bows.

Beside me Maddy Terry, in a tandem kayak with her dad, Clyde, calls out directions. "Go left, Dad, go left. . . . No, the other way!" she yells as she throws her head back, laughing.

Clyde jokingly asks which way she wants him to steer and he too laughs. Clyde is blind, and Maddy provides the eyes of the boat.

Congenital glaucoma has taken its toll after 53 years. Clyde Terry explains: "Life goes on. I'm not going to sit home; I've got kids to raise. Home and work are so busy, and it's nice to refocus like this trip does and spend 100 per cent of my energy on the kids."

As we cross the mouth of Malpeque Bay, the waves get bigger and some break over the deck of the kayak. Our guide, Kim Kilpatrick, a knowledgeable and competent 21-year-old from Guelph, Ont., her dreadlocks blowing in the wind and making shapes like bunny ears, keeps us close together and encourages the group.

A few hours later we come ashore on Hog Island, a 15-kilometre long, narrow sand-swept island off the north coast.

Kim prepares lunch and cuts the vegetables over a tablecloth laid in the sand. Marked on the back of her hand are the words "fresh meal."

"One of our guides headed out and left the first meal at home, and when supper arrived he was a few short," she says. "I didn't want to go hungry."

The warm beach is nearly deserted; a few kilometres up is a small sailboat, its mast angled slightly.

A few in the group read books in the sun, one has a nap and Alex Terry walks out into the water up to his knees, falls forward with a splash and starts swimming and looking for sea creatures.

After fixing a broken rudder with a piece of driftwood, Kim gets us going and we paddle on. Rounding the end of the island we see a colony of cormorants, hundreds of them, standing on the shore and watching us go by. An unheard signal is given and like falling dominos, the black birds take flight.

Coming ashore we settle in for the night.

Mindful of the fragile dune grass, we jockey to help each other's tents from becoming parachutes. A small campfire burns as we discuss the tranquillity and absolute beauty of the simple landscape and watch the sun fade away. The flames cast light on the tents on the beach. We fall into our sleeping bags to the sound of the ocean.

The next morning, Alex Terry wakes up, crawls out of his tent and without a word, walks to the ocean and jumps in. He jumps out, and wiping the salt water from his face, heads up for breakfast.

We launch again and after a few hours of heavy paddling against the wind, we find ourselves in the leeward of the mainland, the red sandstone cliffs providing cover from the winds. The group is more cheerful now, and with the wind at our backs we cover the distance to our next evening camp at a leisurely pace. Along the shore people and animals run along the beach. Friendly waves pass back and forth. Soon we pick a spot to camp for the night and find ourselves in a sheltered bluff under a small lighthouse.

That evening we climb to the top of the bluff and meet Liz from Beachmeadow Cottages. She tells us of a family of foxes that live in the dunes, and in true Maritime fashion invites the six strangers up for breakfast in the morning.

Kim declines and crafts the early-morning meal of pancakes with applesauce and fresh blueberries; the fresh fruit keeps coming out of her boat as if it were Aladdin's lamp.

After a long day's paddle down the shore we reach a beach where we can be picked up by Ardelle, co-owner of Outside Expeditions.

People stop to talk as we pile our gear by the side of the dirt road.

"I want my children to grow up to be competent in the outdoors," says Susan Palmer Terry.

Tour guide Kim Kilpatrick picks a spot for a supper table as the winds blow across Hog Island, P.E.I. Guide, cook and camp director are part of the duties for the 21-year-old from Guelph, Ont.

"Life is hard enough. You have to be able to turn to the wilderness as your respite. If you can do that and handle a windstorm, thunder and lightning, rain, then there is a place you can go and retreat from life. It's nature."

Len Wagg is photo editor for The Chronicle Herald.