Reversing Falls Jet Boat Ride

Reversing Falls Jet Boat Ride

“Dad, when are we going to get there?” asked my daughter, Stephanie, for the second time this morning.
“Just a little further to the Bay of Fundy.”
“That’s what you said last hour.”
“Well, we did take a little side trip on the wrong road,” my blond headed wife, Annie, said with a smirk.
“Look at those pretty purple flowers in the field,” Mom said, her black hair reflecting in my mirror as she tried to change the subject.
My thirst for travel ran in the family. I grew up traveling all over Texas with her to various interesting places.
“Same ones we’ve been looking at all morning,” complained Stephanie, already getting antsy this morning.
“There’s no hurry; we want to be there around eleven o’clock after low tide,” I explained.
“How come?”
“And there’s yellow flowers on the other side of the road,” Mom pointed.
“The Bay of Fundy has the highest tides in the world,” I explained. “Fifty feet. The whole bay empties out at low tide and is dry for a couple of hours. Then a dribble of water comes along as high tide enters the bay. That’s what we want to see.”
“Hmm.”
“After we watch that, we’re going to Saint John for a boat ride at Reversing Falls.”
“I had fun on the boat trip yesterday from Bar Harbor to go see whales,” Stephanie replied, her black pony tail bounced up and down. “I’d rather be on a boat than sitting in the car.”
“Yes, the car ride was long yesterday,” said Annie. “But going out of the way to see Stephen King’s house was fun. I can see why his spooky mansion in the middle of nowhere makes him write scary stories.”

Stephanie was understandably bored, as would any eight-year-old kid be after being cooped up in a van for four days with her dad, stepmother, and grandmother. Our marathon road trip started 500 miles ago in Harford, Connecticut. Yesterday was a brutal late-night drive from heavy woods of Bar Harbor, Maine, across the border, and on to a Canadian farm bed and breakfast. We still had many miles to drive and boxes to check off on our twelve-day driving vacation through eastern Canada that summer of 1994.
“Bay of Fundy, ten miles,” said Stephanie, pointing at a sign.
Her job in those days before GPS was to help Annie navigate by watching for road signs. I continued driving eastward on winding Highway One through tall pine woods interspersed with small farms.
“Stephanie, do you remember driving to the other end of Highway One?” I asked.
“You mean down in Key West?”
“Was that the buoy at the end of the road that we saw last year?” Mom asked.
“Yes. Highway 1 is the same road that goes along the whole eastern coast of the United States and Canada. Almost 3,800 miles.” I tried to keep her interested in geography during the vacation.
“Wow.”
“Have you noticed how clean the countryside is?”
“There’s no trash, or signs, or old cars,” Mom said. “Canadians really keep their country clean.”
“Here we are,” said Annie as the road ended. “Go to the parking lot over there. It might be cold down by the water so take a jacket and use walking shoes for climbing the steps.”
She kept us well organized.
“I’ve always wanted to see this,” said Mom.
“Me too,” I replied.

We followed a rocky trail from the parking lot to the edge of the bay where the trees abruptly ended at the edge of a ragged, eighty-foot cliff. We stopped, staring in amazement at giant grey boulders scattered along the slope and piled up at the base. The flat, sandy bottom of the ocean extended as far as we could see. A short distance down the shoreline was a small community where long piers extended high above the sand. The site of commercial fishing boats tied to the pier while resting on the sand and tilted on their sides was stunning.
"How high does the tide get?" Mom asked.
"To the top of the docks," I replied.
"For real?" asked Stephanie. "Tides are only a couple of feet in Florida"
"For real," I replied.
"The boats don't break when they lay down?"
"They’re specially built to lay down."
"Our boat would be a wreck," Annie commented.
"Yes, it would." I pointed, "Over there are rails and steps cut into the rock. Let's go on down."
We carefully descended the uneven steps and walked a short distance across salty smelling sand.
"How wide is this bay?" asked Mom.
"About forty miles," Annie replied.
I stared, trying to comprehend the incredible volume of water passing into and out of the bay twice a day. Yet now, complete silence engulfed us in the calm before one of mother nature’s extraordinary spectacles.
"What are these little holes in the sand?" Mom asked.
"That’s where crabs, snails, and other critters live," I said. "They stay down in the holes during low tide and come out to feed when the sea comes back."
“Look at all of these sea shells,” Annie noticed. She bent down to pick one up. “Ooh. It’s alive.”
“Yes. Most of these are. They feed during high tide and close up during low tide.”
"What are we waiting for?" asked Stephanie.
"Watch to the south," I pointed. A few minutes later I whispered, "See that?"
The horizon softened in the distance, no longer a narrow line. The edge of the sand world softened to a haze as if my glasses were out of focus.
"What is it?" asked Mom.
"This is perfect timing," I said. "It’s called a tidal bore, marching in just a few inches deep. The crabs and shrimp in these little holes come out looking for food washing in from the sea. That grey line is thousands of birds flying at the edge of the water to feed on the emerging food."

After a few minutes of watching in astonishment at the approaching spectacle, I said, "We better climb up the stairs a bit before the water reaches us."
We climbed the first flight and sat to watch the incoming frenzy of water and birds. A soft buzz grew on the edge of my hearing, gradually growing to a continuous din of rushing water and squawking birds. The shallow water reached us, swirling on its moon driven journey around the grounded boats and northward to many miles at the end of the bay.
After a while, Mom asked, "How come it's not getting deeper?"
"It takes six hours to fill the whole bay," I said. "Just like a big bath tub that slowly gets deeper."
After watching one of the astonishing wonders of the world for a while longer, Annie said, "Shouldn't we move on to the Reversing Falls to catch the tide at the right time?"
"Let's get moving," I replied.
Back in the van, Stephanie asked, “How can there be reversing falls, Dad.”
“Water falls is Canadian for rapids. Mom,” I said, “here’s the brochure about the falls. Would you tell us what is says?”
She unfolded the paper and said, “I can’t read this. It’s in French.”
“Turn it over,” Annie said. “Everything in Canada is in both French and English.”
Mom flipped the brochure and read, “Sitting just west of downtown Saint John, the Reversing Falls is a rocky gorge overlooking gurgling whirlpools, impressive rapids and several small waterfalls where the Saint John River meets the Bay of Fundy. What makes this natural site such an anomaly is the whirlpools, rapids and waterfalls flowing one way with the incoming tide, and the other way with the outgoing tide.”
“Is that because the tide is so high?” asked Stephanie.
“Yes,” I replied. “The tidal change up the river where we’re going is twenty-eight feet.”
“Are we going into a whirlpool?”
“Yes. Scientists call them gyres,” I noted.
Mom continued, “There are several small whirlpools, but the biggest one is called Old Sow. At up to 250 feet in diameter, it is the largest natural gyre in the Western Hemisphere, and one of five significant whirlpools worldwide. Unlike the others, it can spin both clockwise and counterclockwise.”
“That’s almost as big as a football field,” Stephanie said.
“Yes,” Annie replied.
“And we’re going on a boat in this ‘gyre’?” Stephanie asked.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s a jet boat that goes fast.”
“Oh.” Her face hardened.
“Sounds like fun to me,” Annie said.
She loved adventures as much as I.

I drove another hour in silence as we contemplated riding a boat in a giant whirlpool. Upon reaching Saint John, New Brunswick, I parked at Reversing Falls Park near the Bay of Fundy. We joined a group of tourists lined up at a booth. I looked up the river where water fell about ten feet through rapids into the lower Bay of Fundy tide. This was going to be interesting.
After signing our lives away on legal documents, the ticket taker gave us heavy rain suits and said with a smile, “Go back to your car and change into these. You’re going to be wet and cold before the ride is over.”
Back at the van, Mom pulled the raincoat over her shirt.
“Wait,” I said. “If we’re getting soaked, that means when we come back, all of our clothes and underclothes will be wet. Maybe we should change into dirty clothes from our suitcases first. When we come back, we can put on fresh dry clothes.”
“Are we going to get that wet?” Mom asked.
“I think so,” I said with a smile. “Better go barefoot too or our shoes will be wet and cold the rest of the day.”
“You’re always taking me to scary places,” Mom said nervously.
“Of course.”
After taking turns digging through suitcases and changing clothes inside the van, we donned red life jackets over yellow rain coats, pants, and hats and laughed at how silly we looked. After waddling back to the pier, we squeezed tightly with other tourists onto a matching yellow and white jet boat - three rows of three, with a metal bar across our knees to hold us down like on a roller coaster. I sat in the rear, in front of the jet motor. The driver sat in front of the tourists and wore an insulated wet suit. I noted the front cowling of the boat wrapped around him, probably to stay dryer than the rest of us who sat in open seats that would be easily splashed with cold water.
“Are you ready, Stephanie?” I asked. She sat next to me, holding the crossbar tightly.
She nodded with a big grin.
“What have you got me into?” Mom asked.
“This will be fun,” Annie said with a laugh.
“Hello ladies and gentlemen,” said the driver with a thick French-Canadian accent. “I am Louis and will be your guide today. Welcome to the Reversing Falls Jet Boat Ride. Just in case you are worrying, Reversing Falls is just fast rapids, not a waterfall. We wouldn’t do anything so dangerous as take you over a waterfall. Ha ha. But we will spin you in a whirlpool. Your timing with the tide is right today. We are on a rising tide and will climb up the water falls to get to Old Sow whirlpool. Make sure you have your rain coats buttoned tight because we are going to get wet and cold. Is everybody ready?”
“Yes,” yelled the tourists.
“Here we go.”
Louis gunned the loud jet motor behind me and moved the boat away from the dock. He proceeded slowly across the river and crossed under railroad and highway bridges.
“Let me give you a bit of history about Saint John. It is the oldest incorporated city in Canada, founded in 1604 and named after John the Baptist by French explorers. Do you see that tower on the cliff on the other side of the river?” He pointed a half mile away. “That is Carleton Martello Tower, built during the War of 1812 to guard the entrance to the Saint John River. The old canons up there could still hit this boat. But don’t worry, nobody’s manning them today. Ha ha.” Louis repeated his speech in French for the French-Canadian tourists in our group.

As we approached a bend, thunderous sounds foretold impending fun. A turn to the right revealed the main section of the river where a long stretch of rapids fell over multitudes of shallow rocks. No way any boat could traverse those tumbling of waves. Louis steered toward the far bank where a narrow gorge appeared on the back side of an island. The boat rocked over waves that grew from swells to breaking whitewater.
“Are you ready to get wet?” yelled Louis.
“Yes,” the passengers screamed.
“Most boats can’t go against this current. But my jet boat is strong enough,” he boasted. He steered through a series of small rapids that splashed water lightly across the boat.
Good thing we had on rain coats.
“Now we enter the Western Harbour passage.” He laughed with anticipation.
When we passed the island and turned upstream, the sight of three to five-foot roaring waves standing in place caused some passengers to cheer and others to yell in fear. The boat rose slowly up the face of the first wave, then raced down the backside and buried its nose into the next wave. A wall of water washed across screaming passengers. Louis laughed and steered the boat over and through several more waves like a waterborne roller coaster, crashing and splashing until we reached calmer water. I laughed and looked at our boatload of soaked passengers having the time of their lives. I knew the captain was playing with us and hoped he would not put the boat in danger.
The boat raced through a narrow stretch of still water between waves and the rocky island.
“Are you ready for the whirlpool?” yelled Louis.
“Yes,” screamed the passengers.
He gunned the boat to at least thirty miles per hour.

I looked at Stephanie. A big grin crossed her face. She loved adventure like her father. Annie also laughed, though Mom’s mouth was grim. I held tightly to the rail as Louis swerved the boat back and forth over waves and through troughs, splashing water across the boat time and again. We passed behind the island and there it was. A swirling vortex of foam and angry water at least 150 foot-wide, dropping to a three foot deep hole in the center. Bigger than I ever imagined possible. Louis slowed the boat and cautiously steered around the outside of the whirlpool, going in the same direction of the spinning water. He adjusted the throttle until our speed matched the gyre’s speed, then dropped over the edge. The powerful whirling water grabbed the boat, pulling it toward the center. People shouted. Stephanie and I grimly held onto the rail. Louis turned the wheel hard. We rose through foam and spray until the boat popped up over the edge, landing out of the circle. Shrieks and laughter erupted around me.
“Are you ready for another one?” yelled the Captain.
“Yes!!!”
Over the edge we went again, bringing another round of screams as icy water drenched the boat. The power and roar of the whirlpool was incredible. Louis took us in one full circle. Water fell toward frothing chaos on the right. On the left spun the edge of our world at eye level. Back to the top we rose, popping almost above the water as we escaped the gyre. Louis continued to entertain us, dropping in and out of the whirlpool several more times. By the time he finished and turned back to shore, every person on the boat had been drenched and trembled from the chilly water. The ride back was smoother because the boat went with the current this time, but high waves still kept my adrenaline pumping until we cleared the last of the rapids.

Back at the dock, Louis asked, “Did everyone have a great time?”
“Yes,” we cheered.
“Is everyone wet and cold?”
“Yes.”
“Go back to your cars and change into dry clothes, then bring the rain suits back.”
Off we waddled like yellow penguins, racing to our van. Dry, warm clothes never felt better.
After leaving the park, I asked, “Are we ready for another adventure?”
“No,” moaned the ladies.
“Coffee and a hot lunch?”
“Yes.”

We continued our journey across Canada, but none of the sites compared to the Bay of Fundy and Reversing Falls.