I had suggested this day trip on a bit of a whim, having done no research, only quickly scanning a web page of no particular claim, that mentioned the rocks as an interesting sight. This excursion was pretty much following the same pattern as our family trip to the Desert Tortoise Natural Area or that no-tortoise place as we now affectionately refer to that particular destination. Our tortoise outing yielded not a single sighting of a desert tortoise, not even one in captivity. At least today the rocks were huge and stationary I reasoned, surely we’ll be able to see them. On the other hand, as I knew little about where we were headed other than world record tides flowed in the area, what if they were consumed by the tide by the time we arrived?
“Hey,” my husband offered as he voiced my concern, “maybe the fog will be so thick we won’t even be able to see the rocks.”
The radio DJ confirmed our fears—showers continuing throughout the day, tapering tonight.
Working on a positive spin I ventured, “But photography is enhanced by fog.”
“Not when there are raindrops on the lens,” my husband countered dryly.
Nevertheless we drove on. The sky lightened as we turned south from Moncton. Cautiously optimistic, my husband lowered the windshield wipers to intermittent. So far so good. By the time we reached the (nearly empty) parking lot we were much encouraged. Putting on our raincoats as insurance against more thunder showers, we headed into the park. Whether due to low expectations or a phenomenal natural setting—most likely both—our outing was excellent.
For starters, there is a good 3+ hours available to be on the beach after low tide ( a fact my husband had reminded me of while driving, but which I had chosen not to believe). We arrived in plenty of time for a leisurely stroll along the entire rock frontage, admiring the rock carvings from the flower pots to arches. The unrelenting abrasion of the ocean’s waters have worn away the rock, creating unusually shaped, free-standing 15 meter high rock sculptures. On the tops of most grow an assortment of flora, decorating their tops like a giant with bed head.
Of course we wanted it both ways and having walked the beach we were then eager for the tide to come in so we could see the difference between the dry and wet views. We stood by a large rock arch and literally watched the tide trickle up the beach as we slowly stepped backwards.
The tides in the Bay of Fundy routinely rise and fall by 40 or more feet due to both the physical shape of the bay with a wide, deep mouth and narrow, shallow basin and perhaps more importantly, the length of the bay which amplifies the effect as the time it takes the water to fill the bay is equal to the length of time from low to high tide. Like a wave in a bathtub, subsequent waves are amplified.
Watching the water steadily trickle up the beach was mesmerizing in both its gradual, patient flow and in the power of time to continually pull the water up against the rocks and then draw the water back into the ocean depths, day after day, eon after eon. The immense and the minuscule paired together in a ceaseless duet of which we could only stay for but a brief phrase. Without question the effect was worth the journey.
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