Yesterday I found myself talking to some friends about Pollet's Cove, and I shared the story of my solo journey there. It wasn't something I'd like to repeat any time soon solo, but since it was approximately a year ago, it seemed proper to commemorate the anniversary of my foolishness with some documentation on the adventure.
It was March, and I had a week's vacation beginning on a Friday afternoon. More important than the vacation is the naked truth that I was suffering from a broken heart. What's a gal to do? I nixed the idea of drinking myself into a stupor, packed everything I could, and headed in my Honda Civic to Red River, Pleasant Bay for a weekend trip to Pollet's Cove. What could go wrong?
But, oh yeah--I DON'T OWN ANY WINTER CAMPING GEAR. And the nights are still VERY cold in Pollet's in the winter. And to tell the truth--I don't know if I would have made it in with winter gear. As it was, I felt every SINGLE pound that I carried. I was frustrated and depressed at home, and--in some bizarre moment of mis-enlightenment--Pollet's presented itself to me as a fixing opportunity. I cared not for the fact that my extra-big camping bag had gone missing. Or that my tent was a thin piece of Canadian Tire merchandise from years ago that barely held up in July. Or that there was a cold North wind being predicted for that entire weekend. I was going, even if I had to carry my food and water in co-op bags...which I did.
The great thing about the hike to Pollet's Cove in March is that its' first long, winding ascent will leave any hiker completely unaware of the cold outside. On the flip side, of course, is that it is a LONG, WINDING ASCENT and you'll be doing it with camping gear and food. I had SOME luck with this, as my co-op bags broke open about halfway through my journey. In the dash to save them, I lost my gallon jug of water. YES! I thought! I just lost 3 lbs of weight! I kept two cans of beans, a bag of trail mix, and ONE 500 ml. bottle of water. With no room and no hands left to carry anything else, I took a break and gave my dog anything that couldn't come with me.
I was estimating a three-hour hike in, and was shocked when I thought I arrived there after only an hour, seeing shoreline and a pretty brook. But nooo...I could see the trail continuing after this spot. This was Otter Brook, only halfway in and devastatingly high with the early spring run-off. I walked up and down its sides, trying to find a safe place to cross. It took me no less than fifteen minutes. Just two weeks later, I would learn that a group of hikers was stranded on the other side when they met high water on their return. And I was doing this BY MYSELF. Really, what was I thinking? If I fell in there and couldn't catch myself, who was there to help me?
But I made it, wading in the March water up to my knees, soaking my boots, and immediately developing blisters once I continued my walk--yes, yes, you should always bring a second pair of shoes--but I couldn't face the thought of carrying anything more in with me. The hike was difficult enough that I had to wear two sweaters and a jacket around my waist. These kept coming untied, and every time I had to bend to pick them up, I'd come close to topping over.
There was never a happier girl in the world than the one who reached Pollet's Cove that evening. Naturally, it was deserted that time of year. No campers, and the wild horses were not yet parading on the beach. I took one picture at this time, and pictures do the scene such little justice that I post it quite reluctantly.
Having left in the afternoon, it was becoming dark. I sat here for only a moment and headed down this last hill to the beach to collect firewood. It was now that the reality of what I had done began to sink in. Sure, I had made it to Pollet's Cove. But now I was going to stay here ALL. BY. MYSELF. Coyotes in the distance began to howl. Shit. Shit. Shit.
What was truly awesome at this point is that my only pair of good winter gloves had become soaked in my trek through the brook, so I was down to a pair of thin mini-gloves while the first pair dried out. By now, the hot hike was completely forgotten and I was shaking with the cold. I'd warm one hand at a time by tucking it into my armpit while I'd gather one or two pieces of driftwood with the other arm. By the time I had a pile of wood, it was dark, and I had to set my tent up with only the light of the fire. The lack of preparation I had made for this trip was alarming--in truth, I had gotten home from work in Cheticamp at four p.m., and was making the hour-plus drive to the head of the trail by four-fifteen. The ONE smart thing I did was bring fire-starter cubes. At the very least, my fire gave me no trouble.
What then? It was night. There were wild animals. I was scared. I took off my boots, put them by the fire to dry, and tried to get comfortable in my tent. With only one summer-weather sleeping bag and a thin acrylic blanket, I spent the night in the rigid, back-aching posture of the perpetually frozen. Occasionally, I would consider moving to add wood to the fire. Consider, only. I was so damn cold I could not move.
I woke up for good around 4 a.m. and started a new fire, building my stick pile in the same way I had done the previous night, with one hand always tucked into my arm pit. My fingers were numb and white as snow, even with my 'better' mitts dry. I knew that if I could handle waiting around until noon or so, it should warm up a bit under the sun. But there was still a cold North wind to face, and I was feeling more lonely than I ever had before. I wanted a hot coffee and a warm place to sleep. I could not stay here.
The interesting thing about the Pollet's Cove hike is that it seems to be one of those uphill-both-ways journeys. There's a steep incline on the return trip as well, though the journey is overall much easier. It still didn't take me long to reach the decision to burn most of what I had carried in with me. The sleeping bag, blanket, tent, two of my sweaters, and the axe become food for the fire. With those gone, I made it back to Otter Brook in excellent time. Again, it took me a while to find a safe(er?) place to cross--this time about twenty minutes--but I still made the return trip in just over an hour.
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| This was the third and final picture I took of my journey, taken after sunrise. Since most of my time there was in darkness, I have very little evidence that the experience even occurred--though I am reminded every time I have to borrow a tent. |
When I saw my car again, I did feel a pretty big pang of regret at having burnt most of camping equipment, however decrepit it was. In the end, however, I got my coffee. More importantly, I lived to tell the tale and indeed overcame my broken heart.
I'm now looking forward to a return trip to Pollet's Cove--but with two conditions. It will be in the summer, and I must have either a travel companion or the assurance that there will be people out there.
Then again, maybe my heartbroken other half will make another appearance some day. That bitch is always up for anything.
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