DAY SEVEN: FOGGY FOGGY DEW

So finally, I present Day 7. Our final traverse over the northern coastline of Nova Scotia. Though pretty dreary looking, it was in the high-50's and plenty warm for we who live in Humboldt. We were driving the Fundy shore through dozens of Acadian communities. Where English was the common language up until now, with French subtitles, we were entering into a land of predominantly French signs. Even the credit card machine we were handed spoke French, with an "English Language" button to press to make sure you were paying for the right stuff.

Lobster and scallop boats as well as this little dingy, could be found tethered on long lines to allow them to drop to the low tide levels without being suspended like a pinata.

I was as entranced with piles of lobster traps as I am with crab pots. The shapes and colors, especially if joined by coils of brightly-colored nylon rope, make for interesting pictures. However, the old wooden lobster traps were even better. Much to her dismay, Gloria realized that, yes, apparently Mom DOES need another picture of lobster traps.

We got to Yarmouth (Yer-muth in the local lingo) in time for a great lunch at Rudder's, a local brewery. We highly recommend the Yarmouth Town Brown and local Digby scallops. Damn I'll miss them scallops. Unfortunately, the fog had rolled in quite happily and engulfed anything that would have passed as scenery from the stern of our outgoing ferry. We loaded the rental car in the hold and joined a platoon of passengers on The Cat. There wasn't much to see due to the fog except the wake she put out and it was a beaut. She cranked along at 35 knots which is about 41 mph. We were told she could fill an Olympic-sized pool in 33 seconds. Mark thought briefly of water skiing. It was a five-and-a-half hour cruise. There were several areas with movie screens. I'm not sure what clown planned the screening of old Gilligan's Island episodes -- seemed a little warped. We found that the real party was in the lounge where a bunch of leather-clad bikers were desperately trying to be noticed all the while complaining that people treat them differently. Rebels they were, smoking their cigars on the aft-deck while standing next to the no-smoking signs and a dozen people who squeezed on to the lone outside vista point to enjoy the ocean air. Geez. Musta been Americans. They eventually provided the entertainment as we were leaving the ship and they had to negotiate the slippery deck with a little hooch under their hineys. The first four hours or more of the ferry ride into Portland, Maine were socked in...fog so thick that a deck of cards or novel were your only entertainment. As we approached Portland, however, the fog began to thin. We started taking more frequent trips to the rear deck to see if anything were visible. Soon, lobster floats appeared as we followed the trap lines of the fleet. Then....oh my....a lighthouse appears. The stone Ram Island Ledge Light. The sun on the lantern was perfect. I was content. Then we came across the Portland Head Light which was the one other light I was hoping to drive to. The signal every four seconds. This was a MUCH better view. Nice, huh?

We got into Portland about 8:30 but spent an hour sitting in the customs line waiting for one of the aforementioned bikers to have his bike emptied. If I had to guess, he made one smart-ass comment too many to the customs guys. That's right up there with throwin' sass at the IRS man. Geez people! Got some fast food to eat in our motel room. Hit the hay to head to Boston in the morning for the trip home.