Trip 45 — Prince Edward Island Walk

Day 23: Murray River to Eldon
Friday, 22 August 2025

Today: 39098 steps/30.31 km/18.83 mi/5h 18m
Total: 1052670 steps/766.18 km/476.08 mi/139h 26m

"Take my cell number and call me if you have any problems," Mary said as I was leaving. It was just before ten and if I didn't get out soon, I might never stop browsing her book of Prince Edward Island place names.

"You can take the book if you want!" she offered. But it should remain there for browsing. Captain Jack Sparrow, Mary's golden retriever, put his paws up on the tall fence and saw me out. He's only a year and a half old, but he's already one of the biggest dogs I've ever seen.

I picked up the Confederation Trail across the street, at marker 29 of the Island Walk. My first 20 kilometers, two-thirds of the day, would be along the trail. As I entered the woods, I found a remnant of the railway era: a few stone steps on my left leading to nowhere, amid the vegetation.

I encountered a fair number of critters. A cat with a long stripe down its tail — I thought it was a raccoon at first — inspected me from under a cluster of angelica, a tall plant with white flowers prevalent in this part of the trail. It can be used to make tea, and the bees love it.

Next up were about two dozen Canada geese. These birds usually spend the summers father north, but recently they have started to breed around this area's waters. We almost had a standoff on the trail, but they eventually moved to the side and down a road.

Then a pair of lights were flashing ahead of me, slowly approaching. If it had been a hundred years ago, I might have thought it was a train. Eventually it revealed itself to be a flail mower, a giant blade hacking the growth on one the side of the trail. I moved to the other side as we passed each other.

The machine must have destroyed the habitat of midges, because it was immediately after our encounter that they started swarming around me. They flew into my eyes, I had a couple as a snack, and I'm sure I inhaled one. They would have invaded my ears if Fauré hadn't gotten there first.

They were particularly bad as I came to a road junction in Hopefield, where it was like walking through a hailstorm. Then a gust of wind blew them away, and I was mostly left in peace. There didn't seem to be mosquitoes, and for that I was grateful. If I had to choose, I'd much rather have the midges.

As usual, there were trees on both sides of the trail, some of which had been uprooted or were bare and had fallen. Signs warned of intersections with roads, but many of these were so overgrown as to be barely recognizable as such, and access was sometimes blocked by tree branches. As usual, the trail had a steep drop-off on both sides, except when it opened up to the rare clearing or in one outlying area where the trail was lower than the surrounding forest.

A golden retriever spotted me from some distance ahead and retreated to its property to alert its owner of my presence. It barked a cautious greeting as I passed.

Just before the Melville Bridge, I stopped at a picnic bench and finished last night's chicken. A fuzzy, white caterpillar — that of a hickory tussock moth — crawled across the table, bobbing its black head, and then peered down, apparently contemplating a jump. It had spiky hairs and was quite pretty. I thought about helping it down, but I decided to let nature be nature, and these insects can cause skin irritation if touched.

The Melville Bridge was the most impressive span I'd seen on the trail. The Flat River was barely visible underneath, through the scruffy tangle of trees, but the bridge gave a sense of this community's importance during the railway era. It even still seemed to exude the scent of old coal.

After the bridge I bade a wistful farewell to the Confederation Trail: From here it curled inland, and I needed to follow the road toward my lodging. Seven kilometers later, I reached the community of Belfast, where the 1824 Belfast Cemetery and the 1809 Belfast Memorial Cemetery occupied a broad yard in front of the tree-secluded St. John's Presbyterian Church.

Ahead the road swung up over the utility poles like a lasso, a punishing hill — and then another one just before Eldon. I felt as though I were moving slowly, but I was still beating 11 minutes per kilometer, even this late in the day and carrying all my belongings for the first time in two weeks. At the junction with the Trans-Canada Highway, I turned left for the last ten minutes to Rachel's Motel and Cottages.

This was a classic motel, starting with the slanted highway sign bearing the old-style Mastercard and Visa logos and continuing with the arc of single-story buildings in the back. The pliable walls matched the brown of the stained carpet. The desk was useless as such because the TV set and cable box occupied it; the table was useless until I moved the tray containing the coffeemaker. The sagging couch bore the plaid pattern of shirts given as presents by great-aunts, and when I sat down I was a turtle's height from the floor.

It did have a fridge and plenty of outlets, however. I fell asleep for an hour and retraced my steps to the junction to see about dinner. The only thing in the area was Cooper's, a combination general store, liquor outlet, and Shell gas station, referred to as "the mall" by residents.

It was well-stocked, and I could have had a wonderful dinner of local products if I'd wanted to eat 12 pieces of chicken or 3.4 kilograms of raw mussels or had the means to shuck 18 oysters. With more modest tools and appetite, I had to settle for appropriately packaged items: mini-cucumbers, grape tomatoes, a pizza-style sandwich, barbecue potato chips, lemonade, and cans of Caesar and Copper Bottom stout.

My right foot hurt when I got back to the room. I'd been confident enough to go two days without bandages, but maybe I'd been too ambitious, and the fourth toe was tender. I removed my shoes and socks, opened the Caesar, and put on the evening news. When the evening chill came in, I closed the window, shutting out the conversation, barking dog, and traffic.

But I might still be privy to my neighbors' goings-on. These ain't the thickest walls.

Go on to day 24