Trip 45 — Prince Edward Island Walk

Day 12: Around Malpeque and Long River
Sunday, 10 August 2025

Yesterday: 51567 steps/36.55 km/22.71 mi/6h 56m
Total: 585491 steps/410.71 km/255.20 mi/77h 12m

Yesterday's walk was roughly a diamond shape on the map, with Kensington at the bottom and Malpeque and Park Corner at the upper corners. It was a fairly long one, especially for someone having her first walking day in the land of Abecedaria.

The question was which way Liz and I should go. We would want to stop for sustenance along the way, but neither direction provided food before 4 p.m. That's when the Ship to Shore restaurant in Malpeque opened, and that's when the picnic in Long River, just south of Park Corner, was due to start.

The picnic was Katherine's invitation. The Island Walk has its own Facebook group of about 4000 people, some visitors and some residents, to discuss routes, advice, experiences, weather, and the latest infestation of mosquitoes (which seems to have come and gone). It's moderated by Bryson, who put the entire Island Walk together, including its routing, Web site, detailed brochure, and sign installation. He's currently tackling the issue of there being too few rest spots along the roads: The Confederation Trail has benches or picnic tables about every kilometer, but I've seldom been able to sit down next to a road.

Katherine had been following my journey and extended an invitation to Long River's community picnic, which would be held at her 450-acre farm. It wouldn't start until 4 p.m., although she had made it clear that Liz and I were welcome to come by before then and do laundry and play the piano.

Our dilemma was solved when, shuttling between Kensington's pub and the Family and Friends restaurant for dinner on Friday, we saw a notice taped onto a store's window: "Oyster Day: Aug. 09th — 11:30–3:00...Route #20 Malpeque @ Keir Memorial Museum. Oysters: BBQ, Ice Cream & Strawberries, Vendors."

The island provides: This was perfect timing and the perfect location. We could break our walking day into three sections, of about 11, 14, and 11 kilometers, stopping at two community events, where we could be socially and culinarily nourished.

We left Kensington at about 10:30, heading northwest on Route 20. The sidewalk ended and we were doing the usual highway walking.

"Total distance one kilometer. Total time ten minutes, fifty-five seconds," Helga — the name I gave the current voice on MapMyWalk — said.

"We've already gone a kilometer?" Liz said.

An excellent pace that we sustained for two hours, but those kilometers were going to get longer.

"So, what should we talk about?" she asked.

The conversation segued disjointedly from topic to topic, much as the road connected the established villages via a few surprises: A food kiosk offering "beach reads" — Liz wanted a book for later in the trip, but it was too much to carry all day. "Wedding ahead" — should we crash it? Way off to the left, the spire of a church respected throughout Canada for its remarkable acoustics.

"Total distance six kilometers," Helga announced. We'd walked just over an hour.

"We're already more than halfway to our first stop!" I said.

"You're so optimistic," Liz said. "I should write my own blog, and then we can compare. Mine would say, 'Six kilometers — when do I finally get some oysters?'"

The Keir Memorial Museum is housed in a former church built in 1927, and the spire of the current church across the street, visible from far away on Route 20, made it seem closer than it was. We found a group of about 50 people on the lawn and joined a couple at the only table offering shade.

Food was a bargain here, with a heaping plate of white-wine-cooked mussels only five Canadian dollars and a half-dozen oysters only $10. Malpeque oysters have been world-renowned ever since they were named the world's tastiest at the Exposition Universelle in Paris in 1900. The stars of the afternoon, other than the food, were the music duo — another "Take Me Home, Country Roads," some Johnny Cash, and the full "Rattlin' Bog" — and Molly, the golden-retriever puppy, who was happy to be pet by everyone.

The second stretch was the longest, and it felt like it. We crossed the Darnley Basin and continued along Route 20. Narrow shoulders, an undulating terrain, and fast traffic — some drivers honking, too impatient (or inexperienced) to cope with bikers and walkers — detracted from the picturesque landscape.

The haze had largely blown away, the sun was stronger, and there was little shade. Liz's fingers were swelling from the heat, and she was getting dizzy and nauseated after 19 kilometers. I was losing steam myself, my toes reminding me of the long journeys of the previous week. We had water, but it was warm, and I hadn't thought to bring snacks.

"I could use some lemonade," I said.

As if on cue, we came to the top of a hill by the Sea View Community Hall, and there were a couple of kids under a tent with an old-fashioned kids' lemonade stand. It was pay-what-you-wish, with a minimum suggestion of 25 cents a cup, but I gave them a toonie for a pair. It was cold and well-made, with real bits of lemon, and it was the refreshing energizer we needed. The island provides, indeed.

We turned onto the dirt Long River Road, undulating again, but with more shade and no vehicles: another string of farms for 45 minutes.

"I feel like I'm walking through the desert," Liz said.

"Forty days and forty nights," I said.

"Like the film?"

"Forty years, then. There's something biblical about forty and wandering through the desert...I guess forty days wouldn't be that dramatic."

I didn't know what to expect at the community picnic. In my head it would be a dozen people on someone's lawn. But there were about 50 there, outside Katherine's huge shed, with a long line of food ready to be uncovered.

There were a couple of landmarks on the lawn, including a decommissioned upright piano overgrown with vegetation and a vintage sleigh that looked inviting enough for Liz and me to sit and rest. In a few months, Katherine will bring her horse back from the Anne of Green Gables Museum and reunite it with the sleigh.

Liz and I were two of the three people who didn't already know each other; most of the attendees knew Katherine from the area or because they had interacted with her real-estate business. Several came up to us and endearingly said, "So you're the walkers." Most were from the island, but a few were from the United States.

"When we came here twenty-nine years ago," one man said, "they said coming here from the United States made you a traitor. Now they say it makes you a genius. But we're not supposed to talk politics at these things."

The third newbie was a representative from Ocean 100, a Charlottetown radio station: Katherine's event was island news. We all assembled for a photo, and then we feasted on hotdogs, deviled eggs, beans, meatballs, watermelon, various salads, and dozens of desserts. Lawn games and prize drawings were imminent, and we felt so welcomed and included, but if we didn't leave, we might unwittingly become overnight guests.

The calorie boost sped us up, and now it was after six, cooler and breezy. In the hour before the picnic, we were over 12 minutes a kilometer; now we were closer to 11. We continued along Long River Road, turning toward Burlington just before a formidable hill, and resisting a stop for miniature golf and ice cream at Burlington's go-kart track. The late sun brightened up the colors of the countryside, highlighting the red dirt along the shoulder and the yellow and white wildflowers, and the sweet smell of evening grass pervaded the air.

When we turned left onto Irishtown Road for the last stretch, we were once again losing energy. We had gone 31 kilometers. Helga wasn't speaking to us as often as we wanted. We found a sloping shoulder out of view of houses and stopped so Liz could sit down and apply bandages to her blisters. I was afraid if I sat down I'd find it impossible to get up.

The sun was setting to our right, behind the fields and farms. Our conversation had stalled, and we were in that state of rumination and near-delirium that happens in the late stages of a long walk.

"La la la la, la, la, la la la la la la," I sang: the chorus of the "Dominick the Donkey" Christmas song, which had popped into my head out of nowhere.

"Get high off our milk — our cows are on grass," a farm sign read.

"They're dying to get in here!" I crowed as we passed a cemetery: Liz's father always says the same.

Whatever made us laugh.

"It's the next left turn," I said when we passed Route 104. But the next left turn was 3.6 kilometers away.

We eventually made that turn onto Davison Street for the last two minutes of the walk. A car passed us.

"Should we see if he'll give us a ride?" I said.

We hobbled up the stairs at the Victoria Inn and fell onto the unusually high bed. We toasted with the last of the Pelee Island cabernet sauvignon. The day had been hard for me; for someone not used to walking even 20 kilometers in a day, doing almost double that was a fantastic feat, especially on long rural roads in the heat.

"I'm never walking that far again," Liz said.

But when the feet began to heal, the memories were mostly positive. I'd been elated — and a little nervous — even to have someone consider joining me for a full day of the Abecedarian Walks. To have her finish it and share the feeling of accomplishment was phenomenal.

Go on to day 13