Trip 45 — Prince Edward Island Walk

Day 22: Around Cape Bear
Thursday, 21 August 2025

Today: 36979 steps/30.45 km/18.92 mi/5h 0m
Total: 1013572 steps/735.87 km/457.25 mi/134h 8m

Of all the lodging hosts I've had on 25 islands, I'll remember those from PEI collectively the most fondly.

Mary from the Olde Anchor B&B is right there at the top of the list, full of enthusiasm and information.

"Liz is driving to Halifax to catch her flight tomorrow," I told her last night.

"Are you taking the ferry?" she asked Liz.

"I didn't know there was a ferry!"

"It'll save you hours of driving! It's fifteen minutes from here. Then you can relax on the ferry, and you're in Nova Scotia in an hour fifteen, and the airport is only an hour from there. Maybe even fifty minutes, since it's before the city."

I hadn't realized the ferry was so close and such a time-saver. Or so reasonably priced, at $45 for a car and a person, thanks to the halving of the fares earlier this month.

"I don't mind throwing a load of laundry in for you during your stay," Mary had answered when I'd e-mailed her about the possibility of washing clothes. She had also proactively offered an early check-in. "I typically have the rooms changed over by noon."

"If I give you the laundry in the morning, I can get it back tomorrow night?" I asked when I arrived.

"Yes. Just throw it down the chute," she said, referring to the stairway leading to her part of the house.

"Wonderful. Just tell me how much it'll be."

"Nine million dollars."

"I think I have that note."

"Really, I don't mind helping out walkers with a quick load. It's better than waiting at the laundromat. But I don't fold underwear."

"You don't have to fold any of it! It's all..." I gestured toward my T-shirt and shorts, which were showing their age and distance.

When Liz and I came back from dinner last night, I found myself giddy from local Rossignol wine and humming a Beethoven piano trio that I played at summer music camp in about 1987. It's the last movement of the first trio, full of playful leaps and musical jokes.

"Maybe Julie Nesrallah will play that tomorrow," I'd said to Liz.

"Can you call in and request it?"

"I don't think it's that kind of show."

But Julie must have caught some of that. About the time that Liz departed the island on the ferry, I loaded up with sunscreen and bug repellent and made the same trip south on Route 4 that Liz had driven an hour earlier. The first piece I heard was the last movement of a different Beethoven piano trio — not the first but the second, equally laden with fun motifs and cute interplay among the instruments.

I reached the coast and, where Liz had turned right for the ferry, I turned left to follow Route 18 toward Cape Bear. Hay and corn were once again prevalent, often in fields next to the shore. It was a mostly clear day, and I could make out wind turbines on the Nova Scotia side. There wasn't much traffic, and when cars came in bunches I figured they had recently arrived on the ferry.

Reaching the lighthouse at Cape Bear, I thought about how far I've come. It's 166 kilometers from the one at North Point if you're a heron, 221 if you're walking it. I'd now hit all the extremities of the island.

Little Cape Bear has an important place in history. There used to be a telegraph station here, and Tom Bartlett worked the night shift on 14 April 1912. He was probably the first Canadian on land to receive the distress signal from the Titanic. It's partly because of his efforts that the rescue was put in motion.

The main purpose of the telegraph station had been to communicate with icebreakers ferrying passengers and mail between PEI and Nova Scotia during the winter. Before these steamers were built, iceboats — essentially rowboats — did the job, with six people alternately rowing and pulling the boats over patches of ice. Passengers paid $6 for the journey but only half that if they assisted with getting the boat across.

I climbed up to the light, a hot room with the comforting hum of the rotating lantern. It's not a particularly tall lighthouse, but from there I had a few extra meters' view of the sea and the red cliffs where the lighthouse keepers' house now stands, having been moved and turned into guest lodging. The lighthouse itself has been moved twice, due to erosion.

A couple of kilometers up from the lighthouse, I hoped to find lunch at the Cape Reef Seafood and Smokehouse, but I knew nothing of their opening hours and Thursday at 2 p.m. evidently wasn't among them. There might not have been anywhere to sit, anyway. It seemed to operate out of a family's garage, and a large dog — there were no people — let me get just close enough to read the "Closed" sign.

"Hmff," the dog said softly, when it had determined that I had been there long enough.

"Humfff," it said a few seconds later, a little more insistently.

I got the message and rounded the northeastern part of this bulge of land. I was now heading west, still on Route 18, and in 45 minutes I would reach Murray Harbor, where there was a restaurant just across the bridge.

But I didn't make it to the bridge. A sign pointed toward the water with promises of oysters and cocktails at a place called the Dirty Sail, part of the Nellie's Landing complex. A woman was grilling bacon in preparation for burgers that would be served at that night's trivia contest. Those weren't available yet, but they did have a "sea-cuterie" board, featuring smoked mackerel and salmon from the very place that had been guarded by the dog.

I sat for far longer than I had intended, enjoying the harbor view and talking with the bartender and a couple of residents who live across the bridge. Nellie's Landing has ramped up its offerings in the five years since it opened. You can now spend the night in a repurposed wine cask berthed in the harbor, you can rent bikes and join bike tours, and they often have special events such as concerts. They're in the process of having a full menu, or at least a fuller one.

I had the smoked-fish platter and a dozen oysters from Colville Bay and decided after the second Caesar that I'd better finish my walk. This final hour was along the Murray Harbor branch of the Confederation Trail. The mosquitoes had gotten bad enough to drive away one couple I'd spoken to, but the Canadian Shield — combined with my luscious, radiantly untouchable tan after three and a half weeks — kept them mostly away from me.

The problem with having lingered at lunch was that I had to rush to dinner almost immediately. "Try to make your order by six-fifteen," Mary had said. The Millstone Grill was open from four to seven. I was the last diner of the night, perhaps the only one, apart from a few who picked up takeaway orders.

Places on the island hire some very young staff, and the person who served me was probably about 14 years old. She was earnest and friendly, but she hasn't learned to make a couple of the mental leaps that come with experience.

"Do you have Pepsi?" I asked, after I'd committed to the chicken parmigiana over fettuccine. Pepsi is by far the more abundant cola on the island, and I've gotten used to ordering it outright, rather than hoping for the other one.

"No," she said, disappointedly, after a moment's rumination.

I didn't know whether this was good or bad news. "How about Coke?"

"We have that!"

"Great, I'll take one."

"Do you want me to bring it with your meal?"

"No, now is good."

The meal was enough to feed a kids' hockey team, so I packed up half the chicken and the garlic bread for tomorrow's walk. It's about the same distance as today's, but with no food until the general store at the end. But I've grown quite fond of the general stores here, and I'm glad to experience one more before I reach the capital on Saturday.

Go on to day 23