Grand Manan Trails
Annual Newsletter #11
October 2003
Grand Manan Trails
Annual Newsletter #11
October 2003
My husband, Dave Johnson,
and I just returned last night from our fifth consecutive
This year, having already hiked all easily accessible trails, we were challenged to figure out how to access the more remote areas on the west side. We had thought of back packing it, or finding someone to drive us to one end, leaving the car at the other end, but instead we decided to bring our mountain bikes and see what we could do by biking across the island on ATV trails. The first day, we biked across the trail from Deep Cove to Bradford Cove, which wasn’t too hard to follow, then hiked Bradford Cove to Big Head and back again (leaving bikes in the woods at the point it was no longer within our ability to bike). The next day, we decided
to try to reach Little Dark Harbor, and hike to Western Head. Much more
challenging than day #1! We tried to find the so called “Little Dark Harbor
Rd” with no luck. The 2003 “road and trail” map put out by Chris Bschaden
shows the airport road continuing past the airport and intersecting with
a road from Hill Rd. to Little Dark Harbor, but the Airport Rd ends abruptly
at the airport, leaving me wondering if he’s really been there. We ended
up taking what looked to be the most promising road from the Back Rd. in
a western direction, but of course, found ourselves confronted by a maze
of ATV trails. We had both compass and GPS with us, and did manage to get
to Long Pond. Not long after passing Long Pond, we intersected what turned
out to be Crabbe Road, not shown on any map we had (although we had spotted
it by the airport while hunting for LDH Rd.) Relieved to find a road so
much more easily bikeable than those we’d been on, we followed Crabbe Rd.
west, until it ended. We left the bikes there, hiked on an ATV trail through
a bog, and came out at Dwelly’s Pond! When we first spotted water through
the trees, we thought we’d finally come to the ocean. We were just a little
shocked to find that Crabbe Rd. had brought us so far south! We ended up
hiking from Dwelly’s to Little Dark Harbor that day, and really didn’t
see any sign of any recognizable track
Anyway, I just wanted to
tell you and others who work on these trails how much we
Cathy Mabie
Lebanon, New Hampshire
For several years the end of trail came out our driveway because the northern terminus of the trail has been blocked. A solution was found this spring that restores about all of the trail across our land and out onto the rocks by the weir and then up along the land of Mr. Lockwood with the last few hundred feet coming straight along his boundary to the road. Our intent was to build back from the cliff to both preserve the trail and the aesthetic of the coast. Janice and I had fun rebuilding the bridge over our swampy spot and the trail is in good shape. Hopefully we will have a house warming next year. Ed & Janice David
“This citation is presented to Bob Stone in recognition of outstanding contribution to the Province of New Brunswick.” The Merit Award, presented at the opening ceremonies of Rotary Weekend on August 1, was based on the fact that the trails are a significant attraction on our unique island. Bob was happy to represent the efforts of everyone who volunteers for the Friends of Grand Manan Trails, but somewhat embarrassed to be singled our and definitely surprised when his name was called. Congratulations to all those who contribute their talents in any way Judy Stone who sold her notecards of Grand Manan scenes, Rodger Maker who donated sea urchins for sale at Harrington Cove Cottages and Joan Fellows who donated her painted rocks and shells—all to benefit Grand Manan Trials. Elaine and Alan Demaline for reworking the White Head Island trail and Janice and Ed David for working part of the Flock of Sheep trail. Vern Horsman of Harbour Gifts for arranging the production of our trail pins. Harrington Cove Cottages, Island Arts, Grand Manan Museum, Marathon Inn, Shorecrest Lodge, Inn at Whale Cove and Cow Mon In for selling trail crests and pins.
GRAND MANAN TOURISM ASSOCIATION TRAILS COMMITTEE Cecilia
Bowden & Eugene Gillies
Trails Newsletter: Ann Chudleigh Past
Trails Newsletters can be found on the Grand Manan Tourism Website:
Correspondence
should be addressed to:
Note:
Susian Lambert prepared the paper version of the newsletter including typesetting,
scanning graphics and photocopying.
|
STRAFED
IN THE WOODS - Alison Hawthorne Deming
Drawing - John Belyea Alison Hawthorne Deming, a poet, writer and professor of creative writing, has been a summer resident of Grand Manan for fifty years. This account is excerpted from her book The Edges of the Civilized World, published in 1998 by Picador USA, New York. A few days later, feeling cramped in the house, I headed for the island’s wooded back-side. Not much there except beech trees, balsam and hemlock, a trail hugging the edge of a cliff that drops hundreds of feet to the sea. I followed the scrappy trail along basalt cliffs, stopping at a lookout point to watch the work of fishermen a quarter mile to the north. Whatever work was going on looked easy, some-thing one man in one small boat could manage. I continued on far from anyone’s work, the breeze rising from time to time, stirring tree scent into the air, acrid leaf mold and sweet gummy balsam. The fragrance spun up in gusts and eddies. Spruces near the cliff had been stunted by the wind, grown bare on the leeward side that winter had abused. The green sea far below had no sound, yet was so clear white stones were visible beneath the slough and heave. Miles across the channel lay a village, a distant speckle of buildings, small and quaint, folded into the lumpy blue mass of the land. It looked harmless posed against the broad scale of sea and land and sky. Somewhere underlying the intervening channel lay the imaginary line that separates Canada from the United States, a friendly border compared to most, one I have crossed yearly, almost as freely as a bird, in order to feed on these woods. I walked farther than I ever had before into the tannin musk, into bunchberries littering the ground like white confetti thrown everywhere, into the apple green ferns, young, not yet filling the understory with the shoulder-high meadows they would become by midsummer. The deeper in I got the more I gloated about my luck to know such a place—no tacky resort, no spandex high-tech wilderness jocks, no Saturday horde, no products and profits and hype. Just woods, piped with thrush and sparrow song and wind. Maybe it is a sorry state of affairs to have to leave human culture, if only for a day, in order to see the world go luminous again with sig-nificance, but so be it. In this place I can walk the misanthropy out of my system, the rancor at what people have ruined with their greed and blindness, the fear that I will lose my love and wonder for the world. A rough sapling bridge crossed a stream at a place deerhunters and snowmobiles use in fall and winter. In summer the logs grow mossy from lack of traffic. I was heading down into a sheltered draw, the trail overarched with dappled beech leaves, when a shriek shot out of the green. It sounded like a gull, though sharper and strong, one note repeated and repeated, “kaak,” “kaak,” “kaak.” I saw nothing but trees. Then a gray mass erupted from the foliage, diving low and fast straight for my face, big as an eagle. Its eyes were bullets aiming for mine. I dropped to my knees, wrapping my arms over my head. The muscular gust of it Doppler-shifted over me. Then the woods went silent, though I could hear the creature’s eyes on my back. Slowly I unfolded from my crouch, turned to see the bird perched and glaring on a high limb at the opposite end of the draw.
Then came the shrill kaaking call and the warrior decked me again. My courage was up, since I had survived the first kamikaze dive, so this time I tried to spot field marks—not an easy task when one is wondering just how close the lovely hooked beak and metal-sharp talons are going to come to one’s eyes. I picked out some detail—soft gray plumage on the back, white breast with delicate tweedy bars. Black eye stripes, perhaps, though from this vantage I did notsee much of a profile. Its face looked strangely owl-like. After knocking me to my knees three times, it figured I had been sufficiently humbled and let me pass, though, just in case, I twirled my walking stick over my head in order to make myself a more complicated target. The bird’s eyes burned on my back. Hours later on my return, I had no choice but to take the same path home. The woods had grown tame by then, water music of the little birds bubbling up and sunlight dappling my arms. I wondered if I would recognize the place where the encounter had occurred, then wondered how the bird might be reading me as I got close. And so as I strode into the draw with my scepter in hand, feeling powerless and foolish and scared, I spoke to the memory of my attacker. “Please forgive me for trespassing
on your land. I am small and harmless, and I will
Later I met a birdman who
was eager and knowledgeable. I asked if he knew about
I learned that goshawks live
on forest edges near cliffs and swamps, where they have
TEST YOUR KNOWLEDGE OF GRAND MANAN FLOWERS This section will be added shortly... please check back! ANSWERS TO WILDFLOWER QUIZ
The annual gastronomic event
was, once again, a social and financial success. Thanks to Laura Buckley’s
culinary genius, generosity, and that of the Whale Cove Inn suppliers and
staff (Fredonna Frost and Joanne Ingalls volunteered their time for that
event), everyone had a terrific evening and the Friends of Grand Manan
Trails were richer by $800. Special appearances in the kitchen and the
dining room were made by Linda L’Aventure and Ce Bowden. The tradition
continues!
We are very grateful to our
Donors in 2002-2003. These include:
THE TRAILS LAST WINTER - Judy Stone There is an easy answer to
the dilemma of getting lost on inland ATV trails—head for the back of the
island when several feet of snow have covered everything and Carmen Roberts
is available as a guide! Carmen was born here and grew up following the
old footpaths before anyone even thought of nailing markers to trees. She
and her husband, Pete, have been volunteers on trail maintenance for many
years and Carmen can sort out the confusing spots on any coastal trail.
Last winter,
Bob and I were two of those
lucky ones, although, at times I wasn’t sure that good fortune had really
smiled on us. Carmen, as you see in the photo, is less than five feet tall
and well below 100 pounds. As you will also realize, I am definitely not!
While she floated along on top of the snow, over boulders and deadfall,
up hills and down, I spent a considerable amount of time wallowing in shoulder
height drifts, skis buried and lodged in unidentified obstacles, or wading
down narrow trails using the skis to probe the depth of white stuff and
keep me from toppling yet again. Despite the occasional moan
of desperation, the winter woods and spectacular views across the Gulf
of Maine lured us out most mornings, following either Carmen or a terrific
snowmobile track that led from the top of King Street in Seal Cove, via
Some time ago I took a walk through the forest and overheard a conversation between some of the trees, which towered feet above. I’ll now try to relate it to you as near as I can recall: “Yes” Spruce said to Pine,
we’ve lived here many years
Then I heard Pine reply,
with voice composed yet firm,
When breezes blow, you switch
at me those sticky spruce bud worms
Then Spruce replied with
branches low as though she felt disgrace
Seeing that things had straightened
out, and that amends were made,
“Yes” it’s true, I’ve heard
Ash say—oh yes it’s proven so,
But Aunt Chestnut won’t share
her crop,
Later on I saw a willow weeping,
and a spruce that had the blues.
As far as I could see from
all that I had seen,
The ash tree has a purpose,
as also does the pine,
Trees—just like people—aren’t
meant for cutting down
P. Joan Morse © 1984 |
|
Introduction | -1993- | -1994- | -1995- | -1996- | -1997- | -1998- | -1999- | -2000- | -2001- | -2002- | | -2003- | -2004- | -2005- | -2006 - | -2007 - | Newsletter Archives (PDF): | 2003 PDF (321KB) | 2004 PDF (216KB)
Grand Manan Tourism Association 130 Route 776 Grand Manan, N.B., Canada, E5G 4K9
Have a Question? E-Mail us at: info@grandmanannb.com
| Main
Page | Map of Grand Manan
| Calendar of Events
| Ferry Info.
| Site Sponsors
| |
I
watched it. It watched me. I spoke softly, though I do not know where the
hope come from that my words might convince it of anything. It let me stand.
For a moment.
