Golf, good food…and some friendly competition
Like a turtle with its home on its back, I ease the rented RV onto the tiny Englishtown cable ferry. My mother sits tight in the passenger seat as we’re reeled in across a channel so narrow I could chuck a stone to the opposite shore. We’ve come to Cape Breton, the green crown of Nova Scotia, in a small but comfortable C-class RV to drive one of the world’s most scenic motoring routes, the Cabot Trail, and to play my mother’s game—golf. She’s 72, and I’ve never beaten her.
Truth be told, I’m here more for the scenery, to discover island artisans and indulge in local food and drink. With tabletop mountains to our left and the Atlantic to our right, we head for the most scenic third of the Cabot Trail that cuts through Cape Breton Highlands National Park. Along the way, we spot a studio called Glass Artisans and pull over. Inside, we watch a workshop in progress as a student blows molten glass to create a translucent vase.
In low gear, we ascend Cape Smokey whose cliffs rise straight out of the Atlantic, then coast down the other side to views of our next destination, Keltic Lodge and Highland Links Golf Course. Each hole is nicknamed, many in Gaelic to honour the Scottish heritage of the island and to evoke the history of the game. One is called “Canny Slap” because if you’re canny enough to slap the ball onto a steep slope to the left of the green, it’ll roll down to the flag. My shot doesn’t work that way. I slice my way around the course as my mother drives and putts from hole to scenic hole. Over drinks and oysters on the half shell at the lodge, we add up scores to confirm that she’s whupped me again. A course of lobster sliders eases the pain.
Later, as we turn onto the dirt road to find our serviced site—one of 83—at Broad Cove Campground just a few kilometres away, I brake to let a cow moose escort her calf out of the reach of our headlights. After a nightcap around the campfire, it’s time to rest up for another eventful day.
The Cabot Trail ducks in and out of the park, passing through villages and small towns with more than the usual number of galleries and artisanal shops. From hooked rugs at Jean’s Gift Shop and traditional quilts in the Acadian community of Chéticamp to knitted goods using local wool in Margaree Harbour, we discover that the Cabot Trail is as richly endowed with culture as natural beauty.
My mother is so excited about playing the new Cabot Links at Inverness, widely considered one of the top golf courses in the world, she doesn’t seem to notice the changing weather. Dark clouds pile up over the ancient mountains and a heavy chop develops on the Northumberland Strait. A true links course, five holes run adjacent to sand dunes and not one leaves a view of the sea wanting. A sharp wind spits, but my mother spits back, “This is what golfing is meant to be.”
Back aboard the RV, we blast the heat and head inland to warm ourselves at Glenora Inn and Distillery. Glenora’s whisky, made from the sweet, pure waters of these wild highlands, is highly regarded. Doug Davis, manager of the inn, tours us through a building filled with barrels of aging whisky. Inside, he sets before us a single malt treasury including rare 15, even 20-year-olds and a silver medal winner aged in ice wine barrels. I inhale deeply the smoky, caramel aromas, satisfied at last that I am my mother’s better as she hands over her sampling tray, as at sea with whisky as I am with golf.
