Halifax: On the way there and back Pt. 3

Day 6

I arrived in Halifax yesterday at about 5:30 p.m., and after supper, a walk about and a few refreshements at a micro-brew pub I wrote a short post to tell you the latest news.

However, the computer timed-out on me just as I was about to publish my post and all the exciting news was lost.

Rather than spending another dollar on my readers for 10 minutes of air time I went to bed - and slept like a rock.

I woke up before 6 a.m. and took pictures of the sunrise from my hostel room's window. You'd be so impressed with the weather out here. I know I was. Then I went back to bed.

Today was the day I set aside for a trip to nearby Crystal Crescent Beach Park to find a quiet cove in which to set the wee boat containing the last half of my dad's ashes (or cremated remains for the uninitiated).

Not fully trusting the veracity of my Google maps, I asked a girl at Mishoo's Kwik-Mart (a small store on the road to the park) which road on a nearby sign would get me closest to the southern-most point on the peninsula upon which we were standing.

She confidently gave me directions down this road and that road and across a small wooden bridge and through some gates that looked like waves and down a winding gravel road.

Fidteen minutes later I realized I should have trusted Mr. Google and not the girl from behind the till at Kwik-Mart.

I backtracked, found Crystal Crescent Beach park and received excellent guidance from a guy in a pick-up, a regular hiker through the park.

"Which trail will get me closest to the southern-most tip of the park," I asked.

He pointed toward a gravel path, told me to go down this path and that path, along a wooden pathway and, if I was up to a 6 km. walk in my one pair of thick jeans and heavy leather motorcycle boots and reached the fartherst point during mid-tide I might catch the curent to Scotland.

I gave it a really good try.

But after 4 km. of trudging I knew I wasn't up to the challenge.

However, I did find my own private pile of rock that jutted into the Atlantic, and after taking several pictures and reading a wee passage from one of my father's stories, I unceremoniously tossed - with all my mighty might - the SS Silver Walnut into the ocean.

It flew into the air, flipped head over heels or bow over stern several times and hit the water.

Splash! It disappeared below the water.

And then, less than one second later (Oh, I knew it was going to float!!) it bobbed to the surface, settled on an even keel, sat up like a proud duck and turned to the left - toward Scotland, I think.

Then it turned right. Toward Florida as far as I can figure.

At any rtate, it caught an outward cuurent and moved slowly from shore.

Yup, I was pretty excited. Tired to the bone, but excited.

I read the following from one of my dad's stories:

"I feel certain that when the time comes for the great sail past of all ships, the Silver Walnut will stand tall, as well as the merchant crew who sailed her, for they were all part and parcel of an ailing ship which had a lot of heart. We Canadian sailors became very attached to her as well..."

Good words, I thought.

Then I read something else he wrote:

"I do not know the fate of the Silver Walnut but I do know for certain that she was not sunk, or in the words of my dad: "She did not go to Davy Jones' locker."

Well, I don't think me wee rendition will sink either. As I left the rocky shore and climbed back toward the path, I looked and happily caught sight of dad's boat for the last time. I laughed aloud.

Not bad, I said. Not bad at all.

Then, true, to form, I got lost on the way back to the parking lot but I was only discouraged for a second.

Good feelings stuck with me all the way back to Halifax.

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More to follow, as long as the computer doesn't time-ou....

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