So, We Went To Trout Point

Trout Point Lodge is buried deep (DEEP) in the Tobiatic wilderness of southern Nova Scotia - a mere stones throw from the outer reaches of Kejimkujik National Park, 45 minutes on disintegrating asphalt from the nearest 100-series highway, 3.5 hours from home, miles from any reliable cellular reception - yet is a surprisingly popular destination for the vacationing elite... and now, us.

The Lodge is marketed as an "eco resort", which means exactly what I'm not clear on, even after having been there for three days. What I do know is that (i) the setting is suitably gorgeous for the money it costs to stay there, (ii) they have a woodstove-heated, communal, outdoor hot-tub and sauna, (iii) river paddlin' is both super-purty and included in your fees, (iv) there are fireplaces in the rooms, which, frankly, should be more common, everywhere, and (v) the food is incredible: rich, expertly prepared, and thrust at you in such quantities that I came to suspect we were being prepared for inclusion in some pending Trout Point Soylent product. Mmmm, me. Thus, each night ended with us lying on our backs in front of the roaring fire in our room, delirious, gripping our stomachs and gasping for air.

Aside from the guilty, peer-pressured gluttony, the dining experience was unique in that all guests were encouraged to eat together at a large table in the Lodge dining room. While I was initially hesitant at this prospect - given my well-documented aversion to meeting new people - it turned out rather interesting, as we ended up dining with a young rich couple from Manhattan and a Mennonite couple from Annapolis Royal, ex of Manitoba and Belize. I swear I am not making this up. We talked bad driving experiences, bed bugs, complications with dog sitting, and... parrot hunting. Later, on a solid three-beer buzz, I continued to regale the rapt audience with second and third hand stories about southern Nova Scotia and other miscellany that turned out to be just wrong enough to be considered lies. Thankfully we will never see these people again. I like to think that such stories will continue to be passed from ear to ear, throughout Manhattan and the NS valley, twisting and mutating with each incorrect telling, until someone hears and possibly believes that the Trout Point property was once owned by Irving, who reluctantly passed it on to a group of Buddhist Monks after a legally-binding staring contest.

What I'm trying to say is: the food was fantastic, the rooms were gorgeous, the grounds were lovely, and if we could ever afford to return there we probably will.

(See a few more here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/muiseam/tags/troutpoint/)