Coastal Adventure Day 3: Lund to Savary

Monday, September 11th, 2023

As Melisandre from the Game of Thrones series often warned: “Night is dark and full of terrors.” I have barely slept. My entire body has been tuned and alive to sounds in the darkness that I have have put me into a state of flight or fight. The gazebo I have taken refuge under the previous evening hides a small clearing behind it and in the evening previous a truck grumbles somewhere behind me through the blackened forest. I grow increasing alert as I hear it grow closer and then come to a rest in the aforementioned clearing. In total darkness my mind races with cascading thoughts of the sinister as the vulnerability of my position is thrown into sharp relief. I hear the sound of a door open, footsteps, the click of more doors and then nothing. I barely breath and freeze in place lest the sound of any adjustment in my tent betrays me. The thought of calling out to announce my presence leaves me as soon as it arrives. I choose absolute silence and absolute vigilance chooses me. Carefully easing myself into a recumbent position I make note of the position of my headlamp and wait. Sleep eventually comes, though only in fits and bursts. I awake to the sound of rain. The gazebo has not saved me from my fears or imagination but it has kept me dry. I am grateful for the arrival of morning and what has transpired as an uneventful night.

I don’t look to see if the truck is still there but daylight has given me my courage and confidence back. I chose not to linger, packing and brushing my teeth with the desire to get back into town.

I roll down the hill to get the water taxi I had missed the day prior and stop for a cinnamon bun and coffee at the widely revered Nancy’s Bakery. There I strike up a conversation with two gentlemen who come on a daily basis. One of these talks considerably more and tells us of kite-surfing adventures in Mexico, the forestry industry along the coast, his work as an arborist, learning martial arts late in life and striving for a life of adventure. He’s 68. He too is taking the water taxi across to the island and is heading there to work on several tree jobs for various clients. I help him with his cargo down the gangway to the boat; low tide increases the steepness of the surface and we’re both breathing heavily under the task. I ask if he knows anyone who can take me later in the week from Savary to Cortes. I says he knows a few people and he might also know a place I can stay on the island.

The taxi ride across the water is smooth and fast. I’ve opted to sit above deck on a bare platform to better feel and enjoy the open ocean. I’m joined by five others; two islanders and three tourists like myself. The two girls, local to the area give us the quick and dirty on what to expect when we arrive. Their manner is jovial and relaxed; the affectations and pretence of city are a long way from here.

Having landed, I once again help the arborist with his gear. We are approached by a lady with a gator UTV (utility terrain vehicle) who asks if he wants a lift with all his kit. It seems like everyone is looking out for each other here. It’s a way of life in a small community where everyone is looking to where they can lend a hand. We load up the truck and he invites me to follow so we can further discuss where I can stay.

Upon arrival the arborist shows me around the property he’s staying. It’s a gorgeous little plot with a cabin that overlooks the sea from a cliff. I’m able to unload my bike and leave my gear for a while to go explore and he’s got some calls to make to see if I can stay. I head out to explore on my newly unencumbered bike. After riding so laden down for two days the feeling of riding like this is elating. Once again I’m a boy playing on his bike; it’s time to let the travelling man thing have a break. I follow the meandering road to the island’s general store. The quaintness and beauty of this place is accentuated by deer that roam free all around. They are so used to humans that I am able to approach closer than I every have been before as one delicately wanders around a cafe table. There is something magic here and I’m beginning to feel it.

After a coffee and a gab with the store owner and a few locals I head out on the bike to explore. The main road through the island is hard-packed gravel and the infrastructure is simply dirt paths and trails. It is abundantly apparent that those who live and stay here work hard to preserve peace and minimalism. I can feel the stillness and calm all around me but as I mentioned I feel like a boy and I want to go play. I begin to wander off the main road and find a picturesque trail barely visible through the vegetation. It rises and falls like a rollercoaster and in short order I’m zipping back and forth through the forest feeling light and free. I continue my exploration west along the island when suddenly I am stopped in my tracks by the sight of walls of birch trees rising up on either side of the road and buttressing a canopy of late summer green overhead. It has the effect of a grand hall and the majesty of a cathedral. Indeed, if this is a temple of nature then I am here to worship.

My exploration leads me to the western-most point on the island. There I am met with a view that cannot be captured on camera; it is a vista that embraces what seems like three hundred degrees of open ocean. A sandy path invites me down to the beach and there I break from tearing around on my bike to try and soak in as much of the experience as possible. I am kept company by the gentle hum of honey and bumblebees pollinating heather and shrub along the shore. This is a different energy to the forests around Klein lake; there the thirsty forest seethed with the sounds wasps, here the shoreline bubbles with abundance as nature gently goes about its business. I can feel the magic.

I am back at the general store and serendipity comes calling. An old friend from my days at Innovative fitness steps out of his truck for a grocery shop. He had invited my wife and I up to Savary several years ago but we were never able to make it and I haven’t seen him in almost four years. We share a big hug and he asks me what I’m doing on the island. As luck would have it he’s back for two weeks and invites me to stay. I gratefully accept and we agree to meet later in the day. I go to retrieve my belongings and look for the arborist but he isn’t home. I leave a note thanking him for all his help and conversation and head out on my way.

As I head to meet my friend I pass by a pickup parked on the side of the road. Just beyond the truck lies a path to another beach and with interest piqued I accept the small diversion to take a look around. On the beach is couple chatting away. The man stands, picks up a large chainsaw and begins to cut up a large piece of driftwood. The moment is too much and I ask if I can take a photo of the whole scene. They agree and in thanks for letting me interrupt their afternoon I help load a segment of driftwood back to the pickup. We introduce ourselves and as luck would have it I have tripped over Pascal Simon, the owner of Pascal’s campground on Savary. If you do a cursory search of camping on the island his name will come up and he seems rather famous amongst campers, hikers and bike packers and he is very well reviewed on google. We chat about tree work and his life on the island; I have met yet another individual on this journey who carries a deep attachment to nature and quiet. For him and for so many others, this is the only way of life.

This post is quite a bit longer than I had originally anticipated. Indeed I have had to separate this into two parts due the size of text and images. It’s now late into the afternoon the following day and I am nursing a hangover from several bottles of very good wine. I have feasted, laughed, cried and shared deeply with a good friend I didn’t expect to see. The generosity of my host has placed me in cozy guest bedroom looking out into the forest; no need for tents, sleeping pads and the accoutrement of a wanderer. There is incredible gentleness around me played out by the sound of crickets singing over the washing of waves in the distance. Today has been quiet and still (partially from a throbbing head). Tomorrow the ocean and road beckon once again. I am grateful for this interlude.

Until tomorrow,