This place has changed

Wednesday, May 21

I’ve had the best sleep I’ve had in days. It’s now 6:00 a.m.—and I’m missing golden hour! I grabbed my toiletries, rushed to the comfort station to brush my teeth and use the bathroom, then hit the road—onwards to the Skyline Trail!

Only one other set of campers was up, making breakfast. I drove deeper into Cape Breton Highlands National Park, stopping along the way to capture some amazing photos. Morning light on the west coast is magical—the sun filters through beams of golden light, casting shadows and picking up dust in the air. Absolutely stunning.

There was one shot I missed around a sharp mountain bend—no safe place to turn around. But I’ve got a plan to catch it tomorrow.

When I arrived at the Skyline Trail, I was the first one there. Perfect. Things have changed, though. The parking lot now has a waiting area, a 15-minute standing area, and two overflow lots. It felt like it took five minutes just to walk to the trailhead. There’s a closed-off road that now serves as the main access point—likely used for staging materials when they built the boardwalk. It also leads back to the original trailhead lot I parked at in 2009, which barely fit 15 cars.

The trail forms a loop, splitting about a kilometer in. Back then, the left path took you right to the point and back, partly on boardwalk, partly gravel. Now, both directions are fully gravelled leading up to the boardwalk. It’s a highly sensitive area and also one of the most heavily trafficked, so I understand the changes. You’ll even find hidden people counters behind info signs to monitor traffic. If it gets too busy in a season, they can shut it down.

Along the way, there’s a fenced enclosure where they were studying the impact of moose on the battered ecosystem. That study seems to be over—one side of the enclosure has collapsed. As I was observing it, I heard noises from the fence and crouched down, hoping to see a moose. No such luck. A pair of deer were trapped, trying to get out where one side was down but the rest still blocked them. I got a few shots before they noticed me. Unfortunately, I wasn’t wearing my camo coat—just my winter pattern one—and I was downwind, so they shouldn’t have smelled me.

I continued on, finding one of the overlooks where I took photos before—a balcony-like structure, thankfully still without safety rails. However, the trees have grown up a lot, so recreating the same lost shots from my hard drive crash was impossible. I still snapped a few “tourist” ones.

Then, I was surprised to find a massive fence running across the end of the point—part of the earlier moose exclusion experiment. It has gates for hikers and keeps the moose out. Inside, there’s an observation tower and experimental plots testing reforestation techniques: planting seedlings in grass, digging holes, or using turf cloth. Based on their chart, digging simple holes seems most effective. Who knew?

Crossing this area and passing through the gate brings you to the sensitive area and the boardwalk leading out to the point. I’d once heard a rumor they built a Jesus statue here—thankfully, not true. I found my spot, set up the tripod, and stayed for about an hour, going as far out as allowed. Beyond that point is restricted—a $238 fine awaits anyone who crosses the line, though a clear trail heads past the end of the boardwalk. Whether it’s from park staff, hikers, or animals, I wasn’t going to find out.

I picked up some trash, but there’s only so much I’m willing to carry. I draw the line at dirty toilet paper. People are disgusting—there’s literally an outhouse on the trail. Sure, I’ve been caught short before, but not so short that I couldn’t make it there.

I returned along the loop trail, walking “backwards” as usual so I get more solitude early on. By the time I reached the beautifully old (yellow?) birch tree, I met my first hiker, then ten more. Time to move on—no more wildlife sightings or setting up shots now.

Also: ladies, perfume is for parties—not forests. Gross.

Back at my campsite around 11:30 a.m., I made brunch: home fries using six baby potatoes, two slices of Lou’s Double Smoked Back Bacon, and two eggs. I brewed some fresh ground coffee (though the beans aren’t exactly fresh anymore), and best of all—my neighbors were gone. They were in a camper van and left without a trace. Respect. They weren’t bad—quiet and kept to themselves. (Looking at you, leaf-blower guy in Killarney Provincial Park.)

After brunch, I cleaned up, wiped out my cast iron, and added another seasoning layer—it’s basically perfect now. I washed the remaining pots at the communal sink, which, to my delight, has warm-ish water. Good thing, too—I went a bit overboard with the butter.

I spent the afternoon doing trailer repairs, reattaching the monitor (only two screws for now—can’t find the others). I’ll need to move it into the car when I head to Fundy National Park. I’m also thinking of redesigning the trailer’s front area to make better use of space. Maybe I’ll skip my fall trip to do that—especially since van life seems out of reach now (thanks, Steven Guilbeault, Justin Trudeau, and Mark Carney).

I need to help with firewood at camp, and help Mom and Dad with theirs too. Dad kept the shop warm for me last winter when I was fixing my lower ball joints and struts, so it’s the least I can do.

It’s now about 2:00 p.m. I’m charging my batteries—both literal and biological—while catching up on journaling. Park staff are cleaning up the emptied sites, and it looks like I have this half of the campground to myself. We’ll see if anyone else shows up tonight. Hopefully not.

The trails aren’t swarming with people, but still more than I’d like. I think I’ll call it a day and head out early again tomorrow. I need to plan where to go. I picked up a campground sticker for the back of the trailer, grabbed some free maps and pamphlets, and still have the trail guide Mom got me for my birthday a few years back. Between that and internet access, I should be able to plan tomorrow—which is supposed to be reasonably sunny.

There are a few waterfalls I want to see, but I’m saving those for overcast days—it’s like having free ND filters. And I’d feel like I wasted the trip if I didn’t visit Egypt Falls, even though I know the odds of having it to myself are basically zero. That might be a “get gas” day—I’m down to half a tank. Sounds like a Friday mission.