Its funny how whenever we move we notice that as we leave a place, others are arriving, and as we head west down a road, other campers are heading east. We all want to be somewhere we're not; we search for the greener grass, the most stunning vista, the best climate, the nicest environment. And while we're out looking for that ideal in some far off place, there are doubtless people who have travelled many miles to visit our home town. Perhaps some of us will find some new place that will be a new home, and some will return and know that they already live in their ideal place. And in each special place we find along the way, no matter how much we love it, there are people there that feel trapped and wish for a way out. What a complicated lot we are...
Here are some scenes of Escuminac:
The boardwalk and dunes along the beach in front of the campground:
The lighthouse at Escuminac point, where a half-dozen or so locals have set up permanent camps:
Most of the point is peat bog, many feet deep, and in some areas the sea has eroded its way into the peat, revealing its full cross section, hundreds of years and generations of sphagnum moss and the preserved tree roots and other remnants within. Here is Nancy wondering at the spongelike, waterlogged consistency and countless layers of peat:
The snails are doing very well here:
The town has a large fishing pier, which was bustling with activity in anticipation of the opening of the lobster season in a few days:
And here is a memorial to the 30-some fisherman who died in a freak storm back 1959. Our campground host was out with his father fishing in that storm, but they were smart enough to come in rather than try to weather the storm at sea. They had a rough time of it, and had to repair their rudder during the storm, but they made it to the wharf alive.