It came down biblically the night before so everything was damp again on the morning of the 23rd. After a couple of days of hot, muggy weather we were overdue for showers, so that was the first activity of the day. Short Pants goes readily to the showers. He has decided that he likes being sprayed by warm clean water. Baby Girl still treats every shower as a consignment to a soapy labour camp. There was much pouting, stamping of feet, and loud sighs from her as we made our way to the free (!) showers with normal taps (!). She came out happy enough. You just can’t argue with clean.

The shower stall was about the same width as my shoulders, so Short Pants and I had to take turns. He reminisced fondly about the extra large showers at the KOA campgrounds. KOA has made a lasting impression on the boy for the cleanliness of their facilities. I had no idea that it was so important to him.

With the exception of the campground in the Cypress Hills, and Cape Croker park, every campground we’ve visited has had potable water. I contrast this with Cape Croker which has had a nearly unbroken streak of boil water advisories for years. My mother lives in the Maadokii senior’s residence, and even they can’t use their tap water. Cape sadly isn’t alone among reservations in that regard. I think the percentage of reserves without safe drinking water is something like 40%, but I will update this post with the most recent numbers that I can find. This is the Third World in Canada and we ought to be ashamed. We can provide clean water to every backwoods campground in the country, but we can’t ensure the same service to native communities. I think Indians should occupy national parks, just for the drinking water. We’ll call the movement Liquify. Or Boil No More. Something catchy.

As we were hooking up the trailer, I noticed that a wire had snapped in the wiring harness. That necessitated a pause while I dug out tools and tape to repair the harness, because legally we can’t roll without lights.  Check out time was 11 AM, but we went over about 20 minutes. Just as I was putting it back together, the next occupant of the site pulled up in a pickup, with his massive trailer behind, and asked if we were leaving. Our car was packed, the campsite clean, the trailer hitched, and I was obviously working on something. Check in time was also not until 2 PM. I replied that we would be done and gone in a few minutes. No problem, he said, because he could go dump his toilet water for 15 minutes anyway. Then why did you ask, I wondered. I finished the repair, then asked Short Pants to have his last pee right into the fire pit. I know, I know – but I hope Mr. Pushy enjoyed his campfire that night.

We tried to go for a trail ride at Brudenell Park before we left, but Short Pants was too young for their uptight regulations. We decided to do something else that we could all participate in, so we went kayaking instead. Well, Short Pants and I did. Baby Girl had herself a good bad sulk because riding was out. We left her on shore, contemplating the harsh vicissitudes of her young life. On the water, we had a great time. I believe this was SP’s first time piloting his own kayak, so he was pretty stoked. He’s a natural with a paddle. Coming off the water, a fellow on the dock asked how old Short Pants was because he had looked so good in the boat. In the end, BG came out on the water for 10 minutes, but she was a lot more noncommittal about it.

From Brudenell Park we drove down to the Wood Islands ferry. That would take us over to Caribou, Nova Scotia. I had successfully charged my phone with a wall charger the night before, but when I plugged it into the car charger, the cable fried and melted. When I yanked the cord out of my phone, it trailed threads of melted plastic. I think there’s a short in the USB socket on the phone, so that current just flows back into the wire. In any case, it doesn’t work at all now. My reanimated phone was a dead device walking again.

The ferry was full with reservations, so we had to wait a couple of hours for the next departure. While we waited, we were entertained by a group of teenage performers on a small stage near the loading area. There was a chubby boy on guitar and vocals, and the rest were girls. Three girls playing fiddles, a singer, and a step dancer. A couple of adults played a keyboard for some arrangements, but the kids were the show. The boy playing guitar was especially talented.

On the ferry crossing, we saw a few dolphins, as well as some seals bobbing at the surface. I always look, but that was the first time I’ve ever actually seen wildlife from a ferry. They were probably hired to promote the magical charm of the Maritimes.

The drive from Caribou to Big Pond, Nova Scotia is only about 2 and a half hours, but Those Johnston Kids were eager to arrive, which made the leg seem longer. Short Pants asked frequently how much further there was to go, but I had no ready answer. No phone. I guessed from a linear extrapolation of our distance travelled on the paper map, but that did little to satisfy him. With only 15 minutes left until our arrival, he became convinced that I had taken a wrong turn – and told me so repeatedly in increasingly anxious tones. Finally even Baby Girl came to my defence, sparing me further degradation of my tooth enamel.

Despite fog, twisty roads, and darkness, we arrived safely. The kids rushed inside joyfully to greet their grandparents and tell them that there was no bedtime on vacation.