The Acadian Coast

New Brunswick, Canada—The world’s largest salmon leaps from a concrete pool, stainless-steel scales glistening in the early morning sun, while the dark waters of the Restigouche River flow into Chaleur Bay. I’ve crossed the J.C. Van Horne Bridge from the Gaspé Region of Quebec into Campbellton, New Brunswick, leaving Quebecois culture behind and entering that of the Acadian.

There are two French cultures in Canada, each with their own history and language. The Acadian Coast extends from the mouth of the Restigouche River east along the southern shore of Chaleur Bay to the tip of Miscou Island, then south along the Gulf of St. Lawrence into the Northumberland Strait between the mainland and province of Prince Edward Island. The Acadian Coastal Drive is clearly marked by red signs with a white starfish logo. Most of Route du littoral acadien avoids the main highways favored by truckers and people in a hurry so it’s perfect for motorcycling.

Following a coastline that is almost the mirror image of the southern Gaspé Peninsula, I reach the city of Bathurst. This is the southernmost point in Chaleur Bay and Miramichi is the westernmost point on the province’s gulf coast. The latter lies directly south of the former city with only 43 miles separating them via NB Highway 8. Everything to the east is the Acadian Peninsula and The Acadian Isles.

All official signs are in both French and English. The province’s Bureau of Redundancy Department has neatly solved translation problems by combining both languages: Île Miscou Island, Baie Miramichi Bay, rue Water St, chemin Mountain Road and so forth. It’s good news for this Anglophone.

From Bathurst the road runs east along the edge of a billiard table-flat landscape that abruptly ends as orange sandstone cliffs drop into the blue water of Chaleur Bay. The views are stunning as I ride towards Grande Anse. Caraquet is the unofficial capital of Acadia and the location of Village Historique Acadian, a living history museum that is probably the best introduction to the culture that you’ll find anywhere. There’s a late 19th century working gristmill, schoolhouse, and working farms at the site.

Leaving the main highway I cruise on local roads CR 335 and 345 to reach Route 113. The peninsula ends at Shippagan, but the causeway crosses to Lamèque Island. It’s late June, barely a week before the influx of tourists and well before the region’s major festivals that take place during July and August.

Orange dust clouds rise from a staggered formation of machines inching across an expansive field like giant snails. They’re harvesting peat moss, the second most important industry in Shippagan and Lamèque. Telephone poles painted with the tri-color bearing a gold star clearly identify property owned by Acadians and blue, red and yellow is a reoccurring theme for lawn ornaments.

I cross to Miscou Island, a place that Basque and Norman fishermen used as a base of operations decades before the famous explorer Jacques Cartier made his first trans-Atlantic crossing. Cartier got the credit for discovering and claiming the land for the King of France when he published an account of his first voyage in 1534. I’m sure the fishermen weren’t happy having their lucrative secret divulged, but on this subject history is silent.

Route 113 narrows as it winds across the peat bog reserve known as Miscou Plains and ends at the Miscou Lighthouse. This barn-like construction was built in 1856 and has been moved a couple of times; the heavy steel tie-down cables are to prevent the wind from moving it a third. For a small fee you can climb to the top, inspect the third-order Fresnel lens, and get a stunning view of the islands.

I return to Route 11 in Tracadie-Shelia, the economic center of the region. The next 44 miles of highway are rather boring. I can smell the sea, but it’s somewhere off to my left and out of sight. Signs warn of whiteout conditions from high winds, but I certainly don’t expect snow today. I amuse myself by trying to determine which of the ramshackle piles of twigs that crown utility poles are osprey nests and which are those of herons.

Once across the wonderful steel-arched Centennial Bridge into Miramichi I head directly for the Rodd Miramichi Hotel. Walking around the restored historic town center, I discover Ben’s Lunch Room, a rather run-down appearing hole-in-the-wall. This fast food joint has been in operation since 1937 and the fries are cooked to perfection, proving the success isn’t always about outward appearances.

Route 11 cuts across another peninsula and again I follow the scenic route, departing from Miramichi on Highway 117. There’s very little traffic as I cruise around the headland of Miramichi Bay and south through Kouchibouguac National Park.

A naked covered bridge crosses the Kouchibouguacis River into Saint-Louis-de-Kent where a giant Acadian flag is being flown. I learn that the first Acadian flag was made here in 1884 and that these wooden bridges are a feature of the region. For the rest of day I’ll be taking county roads that loop out to headlands only to briefly return to Route 134 to cross the region’s major rivers.

In the town of Rexton, on an island in the Richibucto River, there is a living theater based on enactments from Antonine Mailler’s novel Le Pays de la Sagouine. The monologues are spoken in Chiac, a relatively new dialect that uses French grammatical rules but with a vocabulary of Acadian French and English. From here south Chiac becomes more prevalent and English is spoken more frequently than French.

Route 475 runs along Bouctouche Bay, a beautiful stretch of placid water guarded by a seven-mile-long sandbar. If you want to carve a figurehead but don’t have a ship, what do you do? Well, the Woodchuck Carver transformed his seaside workshop into a 17th-century schooner. This eccentric character—a former hardcore biker turned preacher—creates some of the finest modern folk art I’ve seen. The shop is absolutely crammed with fascinating stuff.

Crossing the Bouctouche River I make a left onto CR 535, a delightful road that follows the shoreline around Caissie Cape. Then it’s back to Route 134 to cross another river, out on CR 530 for the scenery, and back to the highway to cross still another. This is how it’s been since leaving Miramichi this morning. There’s just one more stop on my journey along the Acadian Coast and I leave Route 134 for the last time, following Route 133 for just over a mile to find it.

Shediac is known as the “Lobster Capital of the World” and so an 18-ton crustacean somehow seems to be an appropriate monument. I began my journey at the world’s largest salmon and two days later have concluded it at the largest lobster. I now have the choice of continuing to Prince Edward Island by way of the eight-mile long Confederation Bridge, riding into Nova Scotia to Cape Breton or Halifax, or heading to Maine by way of the Fundy Coast. The city of Moncton is only 12 miles away and my decision is made: I point the Street Glide west and head into the sunset.