Trip 45 — Prince Edward Island Walk

Day 15: Grand Tracadie to St. Peters Bay
Wednesday, 13 August 2025

Today: 68180 steps/45.56 km/28.31 mi/8h 43m
Total: 740328 steps/521.58 km/324.09 mi/97h 26m

Ah, the sweet smell of spring!

Or, rather, the scratchy sound of springs. Such was our night in a little orange cabin at the Whispering Pines RV park. The springs in the bed that pulled out from the couch, the springs in the wooden door — it was a sonatina any time either of us moved or left or entered the building. As we tried to get comfortable, the springs protruded into our backs. We might as well have been trying to sleep on the kind of uneven bars used by gymnasts.

It was cool and breezy when I left. Today promised better walking weather than yesterday. The route would be more pleasant, too, with only the first two and a half kilometers on a major road.

I turned left onto Donaldston road, and immediately the breeze went away and the temperature stepped up a few notches. I was soon among the fields again, with the only visible manmade structure the top of a church maybe an hour away.

It was recycling day in this area; when the houses resumed, each had a blue plastic bag (or several) in front with unwanted cups, bowls, cartons, and other containers. I was already up to 11 minutes for my fifth kilometer, but I needed to take things easy today, even when the wind returned.

Two of today's music tidbits from Julie Nesrallah: Early in his career, Philip Glass couldn't get any bookings at music schools, and when he did, posters were put up that encouraged people to boycott them. But he persevered, and once all the old fogies retired, his friends could finally bring him into the public's admiration.

And the street on which Brahms resided once went up in flames. As he was assisting by pouring water, a friend grabbed his key and rescued his sheet music, because the public would need his creations now more than ever.

Today's most important item of news is that Air Canada flight attendants might go on strike this weekend. Liz is supposed to fly home on Sunday. I'd love her to stay, but negotiating hotel occupancy times with her work sessions is difficult.

The phone rang. It was Bryson, of the Island Walk. I'd been hoping I'd get to meet him.

"Based on your route, you must be in my area today," he said.

I managed to make three mistakes in our first minute of conversation.

"Right now I'm going through Douglaston," I said.

"Donaldston," he said. "Are you going on the trail or on the road?"

"On the road until I get to Tracadie Cross," I said, pronouncing it as if it rhymed with "the lady."

"TRAH-cuh-dee," he said. "Do you see the church?"

"Yes." The one whose spire I had made out before. I was much closer now.

"You're probably about five minutes away," he said. "I'll meet you there."

"In New York I know exactly how far away things are," I said. "But here it can be hard to tell. I think I'm closer to ten minutes away."

It was indeed closer to ten, well on the other side of it. It was almost a half-hour, as I discovered when we got off the phone. I messaged him that update, but he didn't mind waiting.

I found him in the shade of a tree next to the tall church, opposite the large and spread-out cemetery. He had an Island Walk hat on. Home during the summer is just north, by the beach. In the winter — or when the mosquitoes or heat are too bad — it's in Charlottetown.

We chatted about the walk and various routes. I mentioned that tonight's lodging would be in St. Peters Bay, and that we hoped to eat at the Black & White Cafe.

"I might be performing there tonight," Bryson said. He is also a guitarist.

"Well, then, hope to see you this evening!"

Fifteen minutes later and I was on the Confederation Trail again, my home for 35 kilometers. Yesterday had been cloudless and virtually windless; today both were present, intermittently. And the trees were often close enough to the trail to provide shade.

Knowing I wouldn't see civilization for a while, I took my shirt off. When there was wind combined with shade or clouds, it was delightful, especially an icy breeze across my shoulders. When there was only one of the two, it was pleasant enough. When there was neither, the sun was still punishing, even at a slightly lower temperature than yesterday.

I took a first break after 15 kilometers and finished the giant lobster roll, and then I picked up some Gatorade at a gas station — I don't know how I'd planned to make it to lunch, 34 kilometers into the day, with only three refilled bottles of water.

The ground was alive with butterflies, dragonflies, grasshoppers, a rabbit, and a harmless snake that I almost stepped on. And sometimes the scent of apples wafted through the air, from trees along the trail. I tried one: tart, small, not quite ready. The orchards in the surrounding properties used to be big business for the train passengers.

My speed was going down, and I wouldn't make Morell for lunch until 4:00. There were casual eateries, but they were largely selling fried seafood, and what's more, they were a few hundred meters off the trail. All I wanted was fruit, and the co-op was next to the trail.

Liz had just finished work (my longest walking day this week happened to coincide with her shortest working day, alas), and she met me for a picnic of blueberries, strawberries, grapes, and chips. "I could drink that whole thing," I said of a 2½-liter bottle of lemonade at the co-op. I had almost half of it on the spot.

The last two hours of trail were especially lovely, winding along the coast and crossing three pink bridges, with ducks and geese around the bay. But I was tired, and my speed was way down. To ensure we could eat, I called the Black & White Cafe, upon which I was told that they had closed at five because of the heat and never had performances there anyway — perhaps I had misunderstood Bryson.

Liz had gone to the beach and now made another trip back to Morell, where veggie burgers were available. The lodging at the Gateway to Greenwich Suites is lovelier than we've had for the past couple of nights, and I was grateful for a strong shower drain to wash away the day's trail dirt. Tomorrow promises to be much cooler, and the segment is much shorter, too.

Go on to day 16