I drove to the South End of Nova Scotia
Bay of Fundy, Yarmouth, and the South Shore
I left PEI and entred Nova Scotia excited to be in my third maritime province and read to leave behind my previous ills. With a stop at the visitor information centre for a map and to hop on the wifi, I had a sudden urge to rest, likely due to the residual effects of the food poisoning incident and the prologned time on the road. While getting groceries I looked up accommodations and was dismayed to see that the cheapest was 135$/night, well beyond my budget — so I committed to continuing on.
The first stop was the Jorggin Fossil Cliffs, a UNESCO world heritage site where I enjoyed seeing the fossils in the museum and even on rocks just lying on the beach. It’s mind boggling to me that a place with such a rich history of fossils is completely free. You can walk on the beach and see pieces of petrified wood that other people have found just sitting there or poke among the rocks and see lines which are trails prehistoric creatures left in the mud millions of years ago. Even the museum is just $5 and while small, a worthwhile visit.
After the fossil museum I drove to Cape Chignecto provincial park. This is the pointy bit of land that separates the Bay of Fundy into a northern arm and a southern Minas basin. It took a long time on a gravel road to reach the park and I began to think I was taking the back way in but no, this provincial park is just more of a minimally maintained wilderness area than a typical grassy field. My goal was to see the three sisters rock monuments but it was actually the viewpoints on the trail beforehand that captured my attention. The sun was just right to glow on the rocks and the cliffswere ruggedly tall above sandy beaches. In one of the bays the footprint of a former logging mill could be seen on the rocky beach and in another a deep cut in the cliff side had a rock wedge in it.
The viewing platform for the three sisters was just slightly too far set back from the edge to get a good view and so it was less appealing. I knew that they were standalone rock formations but from the platform it wasn’t obvious. Nonetheless, I did enjoy the short hike and seeing the rugged nature of the cape. On the way out, I took a picture of a Bailey Bridge near a beach where a group was kayaking and watched the sun set. The maritime provinces use bailey bridges quite often for back roads and temporary crossings under construction. There’s one in Toronto near the waterfront but out West they’re rather uncommon so it’s pretty exciting to see that they’re still in use — and manufactured new — in the maritimes.
After a wonderful sunset the next morning was quite stormy and the winds off the bay rocked the car, waking me up. Leaving the Cape, I drove through a community called Advocacy and finally got my photos of the stranded boats at low tide. There would be other opportunities to see boats low in the water or aground but being at the upper reaches of the bay, the tides here are around 12.4m so they have the most pronounced tidal difference.
My plan was to drive counterclockwise around the province. This would involve a trip down the side of the Bay of Fundy to Yarmouth and the Acadia Shore. Then I would round the bottom end and run up the southern shore to Halifax before moving on to Cape Breton. This would cover the majority of the province and I was eager to see the different landscapes in each region.
Down the edge of the Bay of Fundy I made it late to Burntcoat head park because I’d spent most of the day in the town of Truro at the library trying to backup my photos. I’d sat for the better part of four hours in a place where the wifi was agonizing slow watching dropbox slowly sync. I think watching paint dry would have been more exciting, it certainly would have been faster. Only when I left to get takeout lunch at 3pm that I found a different part of the library had much faster internet so rather than leave town I returned to the library for another three hours. Every hour the security guard would make his rounds and I’d say a few words that over the entire afternoon was a conversation. But it wasn’t enough so after the library closed I loitered in front of a Starbucks while rain poored down on the windshielf. I still didn’t manage to back up all of my data but I just really needed to get going because it was late and I didn’t fancy driving for hours in the dark.
Burntcoat head was on my hit list but I couldn’t remember why. It turns out that the park is the location of the highest tide. There use to be an offshore gauge that recorded the greatest mean spring change of an extreme 16.3m. Nowdays it’s probably known for a large flower pot island that use to be connected to the mainland but was eroded away. The lighthouse then had to be moved, a common occurance around the maritimes.
The grounds keeper woke me up early with his lawnmower but this was good because I was able to get some spectacular images. The beach was a sticky mud that my shoes would slide over and several times I almost lost my balance. The only other person was a Quebecois woman who’d offered me coffee in the morning. We didn’t talk, and I wish I had tried better, but she made a good subject for my pictures when I wasn’t using my shadow for a self-portrait.
Further down the Bay of Fundy is Cape Split that sticks out as a hook at the entrance to Minas Basin. I assumed it would be a sand bar for some reason, maybe the shape on the map, but it was actuslly a tall cliff with a 14km-ish round trip hike. The tip was spectacular though with really high cliffs, 60 m (200 ft), and a dramatic vertical drop off. While I was there I happened to capture a video a guy proposing so I gave them my congratulations and the video I’d shot as they were leaving. If you’d like to see that, it’ll be on my youtube channel where I’ve begun making video logs of my trip begining with PEI.
Around this point part of me wondered if I should be spending the time and effort driving around the south end of Nova Scotia. It seemed like a long way to go and I was having anxious feelings about getting back sooner. I didn’t have very much information on Yarmouth or the Annapolis Valley so my trip planning mostly rode on a brief google search months ago and an offhand comment that there was nothing down there and that I should just drive Cape Breton.
I decided that it wasn’t actually that far distance wise and pushed aside my doubts. In hindsight I’m very glad that I followed my plan to circumnavigate the bottom end of the province. I did want to see the entire province and it turns out there’s plenty of interesting landscapes and attractions. I visited the Fort Anne National Historic Site which was contentiously fought for by the British and French at Annapolis Royal and had an intriging chat with a First Nation’s man named Todd Labrador building a birch bark canoe at Kejimkujik National Park. But most of all, it was clear as I drove around the province that the landscape was changing from different climatic, geological, and glacial conditions. As well, I was seeing an interesting change in architecture, from the homestead on the farm in the Annapolis Valley to more pioneering cabins in Yarmouth and eventually modern retreats along the South Shore. All along the way, the wharf sheds continued to be an architectural fascination. I’m begining to think that when assessing a cultural heritage and past construction as a basis for new builds, the more successful developments in architecture come from studying the ancillar ybuildings like sheds, barns, or even lighthouses, rather than previously built homes.
I found intriguing fishing sheds on Long island off the coast at the mouth of the Bay of Fundy. To reach the island is a short jump across some narrows on an hourly ferry. I waiting along the shoulder to board made me nostalgic for the West Coast. A pungent breeze of salt air blew in through the open window and I felt coastal again. Once on the island, I visited a lighthouse perched among wild grasses on a rocky headland illuminating the rapids forming in the narrows and then parked along the road shoulder to photograph some fishing sheds — both standing and derelict.
The fishing shed has been a contemporary inspiration for many maritime architects because of it’s simple form and economic materials. The square plan with pitched gable roof devoid of overhangs can be drawn in clean lines for a simple design. The wood shingles, which I thought was overused from a desk in Toronto, is so common as to be the defacto economic material. What’s changed in the the contemporary world, instigated by architects like Mackay Lyons Sweetapple and continued by others such as Omar Ghandi are larger picture windows and incision into the building volume for sheltered entrances. Still, the vernacular lineage remains evident.
The Balancing rock is part of a volcanic formation along the coast that has erroded away but left a 7m tall vertical column of rock precariously placed on the edge of a shelf. I thought the photos would be better at dawn than dusk (being on the east side of the island) but since I arrived late in the day and camped in the parking lot I was able to see both. It turns out that at dusk the soft pink light was better than the harsh glare of a yellow morning sun.
This was also one of the first times that there was just enough of a breeze to minimize the mosquitoes and allow me to stand outside gazing at the Milky Way, a perfect arc across the domed sky. For the next several nights until the sky clouded over, I spent a moment before bed each night gazing up at the stars and wondering about the cosmos.
Yarmouth is at the southern end of the Nova Scotia along the bend between the Bay of Fundy and the Atlantic ocean. It’s quite small with a population of just under 8,000 but the landscape gorgeously beautiful. On the side of a long inlet, the terrain is rocky with hills and many islands. Mi’kmaq First Nations called Yarmouth “keespongwitk” meaning “lands end”.
Although I may have been there on a particularly calm and beautiful day, there is plenty of waterfront property and space along the coast to fill with one’s imagination. Everywhere has an arresting view of different islands, beaches, and inlets. After visiting the lighthouse at Cape Forchu, reached by crossing two bridges and a causeway, I stopped to take some photos of a marine and some buoys that had been strung along lobster traps beside the road.
When I got out of the car a woman popped her head up and said hi. She and her husband had bought a stack of old lobster traps. Hung from the side were buoys scavanged from the beach on top was a terraced deck for lounging on that she invited me up to check out. The view was fantastic to a crescent shapped beach and I at once wished I could soak in the afternoon without moving.
Yarmouth is a lobster fishing community and during the winter season they float rafts out on the water as a sort of dock extension and to hold lobsters before they’re sent to market. These rafts consist of submerged storage bins and a small sheltered shed on top. Across the road the couple had haulled up a discarded holding pen and turned it into a hang-out spot for their daughter.
This was a really exciting look at salvaged construction and adaptive reuse. I’m very grateful that they let me see the interior and ask questions about the fishing industry. I was most envious of the amount of land and the freedom to build these kind of hangout spots along the coast. In my mind, I could see a fascinating thesis projects researching the history of the aging infrastructure used to support the fishing industry and how the architecture could be reused for different uses in the future like I was seeing.
Not finished, the husbands was busy gutting an old fishing boat that they’d brought out of the water last week into a club house for another daughter. I was probably as excited as their grandchildren were to see what would come of latest project.
The one thing I didn’t like about Yarmouth was that I just happened to be there for the Yarmouth shark scramble, an annual event to catch the biggest shark, which are not normally commercially harvested. I was disgusted that they’d butcher sharks for sport, despite arguments that science was involved to, “try and answer questions about the diet, age and growth of the blue shark, the impacts of the landings of the tournaments in regard to the overall population, as well as exploitation rates — how often the sharks are caught and recaptured in the fishing gear.” While looking at them clean up the catch on the downtown wharf, I overheard people behind me with a similar unapproving sentiment.
On the other hand, the waitress at lunch gave me a recommendation to check out Cape Sable Island beaches. At the time I was looking at going to Cape Baccaro because it had occurred to me that I could hit the southern tip of mainland Nova Scotia but Cape Sable Island is actually further south. It is technically an island but is connected by a long causeway with provincial flags hanging from the telephone poles. The tip of the island is also home to the province’s southern most lighthouse.
I was told to go to Stoney beach for pristine white sand and it sure was beautiful. There were peoples scattered here and there but it was mostly a fine sand except for at the headland tips where it became rocky. I walked the length of the beach and then ran part of it. I’d been meaning to run on a beach since New Brunswick and I finally got my chance. I’d intended on continuing on to camp further along the coast but this seemed like as good of a place as any and it promised a clear sky with minimal light pollution — good for star gazing so I decided to stay. I needed dinner and though I was recommended a seafood restaurant, I really didn’t feel like fried fish so I got Timmy’s and used their wifi to trawl the internet some. I then went back to the island to see if I could get some sunset photos and stumbled upon some boats in the small community of Westhead. I just managed to catch the sun before it dipped behind another island surrounded by boats out of the water for the season.
As I drove around the rest of the island to get back to Stoney beach I finally felt like I understood the maritime vernacular architecture, or maybe just the landscape. I’d seen scatterings of different architectural styles since arriving in New Brunswick but in Yarmouth and on Stable island I felt surrounded by a distinct martime vernacular. Whereas before there was a loose scattering of simple homesteads and post-war bungalos, here further reinforcing the wharf sheds I’d seen on Long Island, I really noticed the pioneering cabins with their weathered grey wood shingles or colourful shiplap siding trimmed in white. They were often squareish two storey constructions with windows in all directions for natural light rather than views and a porch leading up to a cantered door or veranda. Regretably, I passed too quickly and did not get any photos. There were still a number of Victorian and other colonial styles so I began to speculate that perhaps the vernacular martime architecture is not defined by volume or ordinament as is the European case but by material and colour. The single siding was ever present and many houses were painted colourfully — not overly bright like the Nordics — but a midtone in blues and greens and reds and yellows.
I also understood the landscape better, though it continued to change. The Bay of Fundy was dominated by redstone cliffs and long undulating farm fields but rounding the corner in Yarmouth I’d entered a landscape where the Atlantic blows a cool breeze even in the summer over scattered basalt islands and uncountable inlets. Nova Scotia once had a table top glacier over Kejimkujik National Park but this was overtaken by the Wisconsian continental glacial that pushed out into the Atlantic. As such, the Atlantic coast became hilly with drumlins creating fjords, bays, and inlets. The road rolls up amd down this uneven terrain and the houses were equally scattered, never really on flat ground but perched on a rise or hidden in a valley.
The southern tidal marshes and stunted forests of spruce and pine reminded me of the Northwest Territories where a tree could be decades or centuries old but because of the shallow soil cover over bedrock and little rain, they might only grow as tall as a person. Knarly and thorny looking, I imagined the winters as cold and foggy but with less rain. Maybe this played into my preconception of why maritime architecture doesn’t have deep overhangs like the Westcoast but it wasn’t until I got closer to Halifax near Lunenburg that the trees returned to a more regular height and I also happend to experience some rainstorms.
Camping at Stoney Beach meant that in the morning I awoke to a fog horn and was out early to capture the mist dissipating in the morning heat. I realize that I’m accomplishing another dream and life goal besides traveling to see the Maritime provinces and understand the vernacular architecture. Driving around Sable Island at sunset and waking up early day after day I realized that I’m accomplishing a long held dream to be a travelling photographer. I’m not making any money with travel writing or photography but I’m travelling to take photos and that’s something. I’m getting up early and chasing the light at night. I’m picking my destinations on photogenic opportunists and camping where the night will be filled by the Milky Way. This gives me hope that my other life goals will be achievable:
- To retrofit a boat or barge into a place to live on the edge of the city to save money,
- To design and build a cabin that will be my treasure box and summer home, and,
- To make architecture that connects empathetically with the land.
Travelling for photography and coming across such stunning landscapes, these are only half of the best photos. That is to say, there were so many good compositions I had to be especially selective for my blog.
There are many romantically small towns along the coast with a scattering of century old houses perched on the hillside and at the edge of the water it can be hard to know where to visit. I stopped in at Lockeport because it looked interesting geography on the map and it’s a good thing I did. Their beach is famous for once being on the back of the $50 bill and being the weekend, there was a band set up for an afternoon performance. I walked the beach that soon became full of people out to enjoy the music and water. It was an especially hot day with only a gentle breeze so the water of the Atlantic was quite refreshing. I enjoyed standing in the water and looking at the landscape, grey basalt protruding from the headlands in jagged hills topped by spruce and fir. The shingled houses and cabins were nestled into the shallow valleys between rocky outcroppings.
Once I’d walked the town and listened to the band I moved on to a small section of Kejimkujik National Park along the coast. The Lockeport visitor centre had suggested I go see seals. Though I arrived at high tide I was able to spot two seals swimming among the white rock outcroppings that looked like icebergs. The rocks are granite and in the clear waters the yellow seaweed stood out vibrantly. This was a surprisingly photogenic place and I considered staying for sunset but that was a long way off so I continued on.
My last stop to conclude the southern reaches of Nova Scotia was to visit the Mackay Lyons Sweetapple Shobac Cottages near Lunenburg. Mackay Lyons Sweetapple is one of my favourite Canadian architects and I’ve spent a lot of time reading and studying their work in the last year, particularly for my book. Their work is the quintessential modern maritime residential architecture and has been emulated by many other firms, both locally and internationally. Unfortunately I arrived at a private property sign well before I could see the village site where Brian Mackay has built many homes as a sort of laboratory that are rented out on airbnb. I had to wait until the next morning where I was able to see them from a distance on the beach.
Now that I’ve visited the Shobac and the region I understand better how Brian Mackay was able to build a career designing these small residential projects that are scattered around this peninsula. It is close enough to Halifax for summer homes yet distant enough to be cheap land. The historic and continued scattering of houses on iregularly shapped plots instead of regular rectangular divisions that is normally the case for a developer means that the plots aren’t organized for boring suburban houses. As well, the landscape that is much hillier and steeper with small ponds and tidal marshes away from a city centre means that the architecture can take advantage of the terrain to be positioned for the sea without being constrained by rediculous bylaws.
It was strange though to visit Lunenburg, home to the Bluenose, and stumbled past one of Mackay Lyons Sweetapple’s offices. Through the window on a shelf were scale models of the houses I had just seen and I felt excited about a future designing architecture. I would like to do something similar — design many cabins and cottage scale residences on the coast that feel the land so it was inspiring to see his work in person, even from a distance, after having read many books about his work.
