Northampton to Nackawic | Campsite: 45.98441° N, 67.24205° W
In the area of “Northampton” no rain fell throughout the night. Nothing. The temperature was warm enough to sleep in base layers—no fleece or down puffy required. I wake at 4:00 and begin preparing for the day. With all dry gear ready, my mood instantly elevates. The walk along Highway 105 is largely incident-free, without much to comment on as fog hides most of the surrounding landscape. By 10:00 I am hungry, but I haven’t seen any public amenities along the highways such as rest stops or scenic lookouts providing public picnic tables or benches. I have only seen them at gas stations. So, a low point is had when I have to sit on a guard rail along a curve in the road to cook my lunch on the highway shoulder—it is not enjoyable. By 11:30 I reach the bridge at “Southampton”. Today I will be walking four km into the town of “Nackawic” for water and a few food supplies. The walk to the grocery store seems at the time to be more trouble than it is worth. The road into town contains many hills. As I am still recuperating from yesterday’s mid-50 km walk, and today’s wet feet made from walking through hours of fog and mist, I am feeling exhausted and grumpy. I find a recently-cut field of grass with good cover to duck into and put the tent together in. I keep the rainfly off—it will go on when the rain begins as I am enjoying the breeze blowing through the tent. Cell signals are low as I am unable to get “The Weather Network” up for the upcoming forecast. So, I rest, journal, read, eat, and drink, intent on staying put for the rest of the day. There are 64 km left to walk into the city of Fredericton. With two days to make the journey, I am thinking of making 40–45 tomorrow (Thursday), leaving 24–19 km for Friday. The reduced distance will provide more time to explore the city and arrive at the hotel for early check-in. This also helps in cleaning hike clothing and repairing gear. I demolish a box of Cheese-its, drink a bottle of wine, inhale a bottle of Sunny D, and finish off the rest of yesterday’s family-sized salad. I sleep for an hour before being woken by a voice outside. “Hello? Hello?” It was the groundskeeper. Apparently, the feild I was currently on belonged to a church. We talk for a few minutes. She doesn’t seem angry and is not aggressive. She leaves without a word, and I spend a full night catching up on sleep—much-needed sleep.
Today’s distance walked: 36.80 km | Total distance walked: 1,566.00 km
“Don’t make a torture out of this exercise, because it wasn’t meant to be that,” said Petrus. “Try to find pleasure in a speed that you’re not used to. Changing the way you do routine things allows a new person to grow inside of you. But when all is said and done, you’re the one who must decide how you handle it.”
– Paulo Coelho, “The Pilgrimage”, p. 38
Florenceville-Bristol to Northampton | Campsite: 46.06034° N, 67.55091° W
Sleeping right next to the trail is usually my favourite way to camp. The mornings are so much more interesting because once the pack is fully prepared, the walking begins immediately. 5:15 I am walking south down “The Great Trail” through trees, ferns, fog-filled meadows, and farm fields alongside the river bank. I am excited about today’s walk for a number of reasons, mainly being able to walk another section of this amazing trail! Not having to deal with highways and traffic is a real privilege. Also, today is different from the previous few days in that I will be passing through a town 15 kilometres down the road where I’ll have the opportunity to stop for a rest, coffee, snack, and time to journal. The temperature his morning on the trail through to the town of “Hartland” has been mild, rising to 19 degrees by the time I arrive. The forecast for the rest of the day appears to be clear, with rain projected to fall this evening, continuing until I reach the city of Fredericton Friday mid-morning. Twenty minutes of rest is enjoyed before the pack is organized and I am back out by 9:20 walking southbound in search of an access point to rejoin the trail and to photograph the covered bridge which I could clearly see from my seat at the coffee shop. As I was leaving, I was approached by a man sitting at the next table. Alison and his wife Charity begin a conversation with me about the walk, and they pass on some good information about the trail southbound to the town of “Woodstock”. They wish me good luck, saying to be sure to view the covered bridge before leaving town. I walk down, and snap a number of shots—the structure is wild—all wood, all angles, all aged beautifully. I buy some fruit at the market, and when I ask about the trail ahead, the cashier points across the street to speak with Erica at the tourism information office. She ultimately cautions me from walking the trail section from “Hartland” to “Woodstock” southbound as a pair of cyclists a few days prior informed her that the trail had been washed out a few kilometres south of town. So, I take Highway 105, which is fine, because traffic is light and the road holds beautiful views of the river at every turn. Only, the road is full of hills, and in the rising temperature of the afternoon, it becomes a workout. Kevin was a man driving a car that slowed to a stop, asking if I would like a ride. After explaining my story, he looked at me with a smile and asked, “So you’re out here on purpose?” I say yes, that I wasn’t expecting this road to be so full of hills, and that I was here because the road was recommended over the trail. He called me over and gave me a small fold-out pamphlet of “The 100 Best One-Line Jokes”. I thank him, and he replies “God bless” before driving on. A big, friendly man with a full, impeccable beard, and a nice manner of conversing. After hills, sun, humidity, and distance, I make it to the town of “Woodstock”. After climbing a massive hill into town, I invest in a family-sized Greek salad, inhaling it on a green area under trees alongside the grocery store parking lot as I enjoy a few cold pints. I then walk over to a coffee shop to access wifi. This is where I met Jody who moved to town from Winnipeg after living there for over 50 years. We talk about travel, risk-taking, the culture of communities, and doing big things. She is calming to talk with, and I felt immediately peaceful with her demeanour. After mapping out the next three days of walking to Fredericton, I leave, walking toward the 105 highway southbound. I had found online a cemetery about 15 km from town and figured I would try to reach it by sundown. The road is again quite hilly and has me working hard. By 7:30, about a km before the cemetery, I come across a community recreation centre that is closed for the day. It is surrounded by landscaped lawn and good coverage from the road. I set up the tent, make a meal of rice, and then I am settled inside by 8:00 to prepare for the evening. I journal out the day, get some reading in, and psychologically prepare for the upcoming three days of rain as I walk the final 90 km into Fredericton.
Today’s distance walked: 56.86 km | Total distance walked: 1,529.20 km
“Time is what keeps things from happening all at once.”
– “The 100 Best One-Line Jokes”, a gift from Mike who I met while walking today
Perth-Andover to Florenceville-Bristol | Campsite: 46.42406° N, 67.61198° W
By 1:30 I am walking across the bridge into the town of “Florenceville-Bristol” from the west eastward to the shores of the Saint John River. The morning began at 5:30 after shaking out a wet tent that had accumulated water over the course of the night from a very misty, very foggy river. By 9:30 the long sleeve fleece comes off, and when I stop to eat an 11:00 lunch in a dirt entrance into a very green farm field, the Patagonia pants are swapped out for Lululemon shorts. By 2:00 the temperature of this fully clear and sunny day will climb to 24 degrees. Today was spent walking a small two-lane highway on the west shore of the river—Highway 130. Like most highways, there were numerous endlessly straight sections, however, the limited traffic made the walk today peaceful. Walking across the bridge into town this afternoon was both comforting and exciting. Actually, walking across any bridge has me feeling this way. There is something about walking across any bridge has me accessing aspirational memories. There is something about walking away from this place I used to inhabit, toward that place I will soon inhabit via this liminal space—the bridge. I am always reminded that if I keep walking, seeking, and searching, the potential I am in search of will materialize. The scene that perpetually comes to mind is that of Ewan McGregor, after ripping off his “mates” in the closing scene of “Trainspotting”, walking across a bridge, the day sun-filled, the depth of field beautifully blurring out the background, moving away from that old, dead lifestyle. Underworld’s “Born Slippy” underscores the entire scene, a band that I have fond memories of as it served as an anthem from my college graduation into my introduction to professional practice. So, here I am twenty years later having the same emotional reactions as I walk over this bridge after a full day of walking, in the sun with backgrounds artfully blurred out. Hot, sore, and tired, I acquire cold pints and enjoy them under a number of cedar trees with picnic tables placed within the shade cast. I journal the day, which is not outstanding nor dull—it has been a day of acquiring the necessary distance required. Tomorrow I’ll walk 19 km to the town of “Hartland”, work at a coffee shop, cross the world’s longest covered bridge back to the west shore of the river, and walk 39 km to a town called “Woodstock.” I meet a man named Al at a coffee shop as I am preparing to transcribe hand-written notes in Perth-Andover. We get to talking about the province of New Brunswick, about his growing up here in the area but later traveling to the city of Toronto for work, and his returning to Perth-Andover for retirement, love, and life. This is a story I have heard told by people growing up in small communities countless times since my own youth. People feel the pressure to move to larger centres in order to experience growth, education, personal development, and the acquisition of work. In order to meet these dreams of bettering one’s life, they have all had to abandon their homes. Al has a patient, quiet demeanor, and his eyes inquisitively guide the conversation. As he leaves in pursuit of chores requiring attention, he wishes me luck with a smile. I transcribe notes, back up files, and post to the blog. I book a room for three nights down the road in Fredericton, from Friday to Monday morning, for a good price. The next four days will be 40+ km walking per day. I wrap up at the coffee shop by 7:00.
Today’s distance walked: 44.51 km | Total distance walked: 1,472.34 km
“When you travel, you experience, in a very practical way, the act of rebirth. You confront completely new situations, the day passes more slowly, and on most journeys you don’t even understand the language the people speak… You begin to attach much more importance to the things around you because your survival depends upon them. You begin to be more accessible to others because they may be able to help you in different situations.”
– Paulo Coelho, “The Pilgrimage”, p. 32.
