Today turned into a full downtown Halifax day, kicked off by the rarest of maritime miracles: free street parking for the entire day. The city itself felt surprisingly clean and modern, with those huge harbour‑spanning bridges giving everything a bit of dramatic flair.
Our main mission was the ferry to Georges Island, a glacial drumlin named after King George II and home to Fort Charlotte, itself named for King George III’s wife. The fort dates back to Father Le Loutre’s War—just a year younger than Citadel Hill—and today the whole island sits as a National Historic Site. The ferry ride gave us a great view of the downtown core without the usual tourist churn, and while the island only has a handful of remaining structures, the guided tunnel tour made the visit. Walking through the old passageways between the powder magazine and the gun positions, seeing the massive gun emplacements, felt like stepping straight into Halifax’s defensive past.
Back on shore, hunger took over. We found The Brown Hound, a cozy pub where I settled into a lobster roll and Georgie went for a black bean burger. With full stomachs, we wandered the waterfront boardwalk for a bit before heading back toward the truck.
On the way home we swung through Dartmouth—because apparently every English place name eventually reappears somewhere in the Maritimes—and stopped at a non‑dairy ice cream shop. Georgie actually had choices for once, which felt like a small miracle.
Back at the campground, the glamour faded into the usual practical chores: washing bedding, doing laundry, emptying tanks, and keeping the whole operation running.
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