Sowerby hunts ‘Blurry Man’

John Pettipas, owner of Auld's Cove Lobster Supper restaurant located on Cape Breton Island -- which is about as far east in Canada as you can get, is not shy.

He also has an incredible memory for faces. Even though I had met him years ago, he greeted us like schoolmates when I pulled up in a sporty Chevy Silverado SS pickup truck.

"Wattarya doing, come in," Peppitas said. "Here, let me introduce you to some folks." He shuffled me into the dining room packed with American tourists who had just finished singing a rousing rendition of the "Star-Spangled Banner."

As the cheery visitors dug into fresh lobster and steaming fish chowder, Pettipas introduced me to his guests and waxed on about my past with surprising accuracy.

"Now tell 'em, and me, what you're doin' here in Auld's Cove on this fine Saturday afternoon," he said.

The floor was mine so I held up the cover of my book "Sowerby's Road: Adventures of a Driven Mind."

"I took the photo on the cover of this book 25 years ago at the Grand Narrows ferry here in Cape Breton," I said.

I wasn't quite sure where to start, so I went on to explain that one night in June 1978 I had driven straight through from central Canada to a cottage I had rented across from Alexander Graham Bell's summer mansion on the Bras d'Or Lake. The last leg of the 1,000-mile drive involved taking a small ferry across the stretch of water known as Little Narrows.

A nighttime photo of the ferry, the C. Monty MacMillan, was somewhat surreal. The blurred image of the person on the deck with pointed feet, twisted torso, whirling head and blurry features has always intrigued me, so I put it on the cover of the book. And now, decades later, I was on a mission to track down this Blurry Man.

"I'll guarantee you one thing, he's a MacNeil from Iona," predicted Pettipas as we prepared to drive off.

"What's the name of that retired captain we're meeting near Iona this afternoon?" I asked my wife Lisa.

"David MacNeil," she mused.

An hour later we pulled up to the Little Narrows ferry landing and I showed the cover of the book to the purser as he collected the $5 fare.

"Look how tall he is. There's only one person that could be, Shorty MacNeil. He's retired now living in Ottawa Brook," he offered without a hint of hesitation. "But eh, wait a minute. His daughter-in-law Wendy MacNeil is there waiting in line."

Lisa pulled the Silverado off the ferry and parked while I talked Wendy. She was certain Blurry Man was her father-in-law. Her sister-in-law Charlene wasn't so sure.

With these leads, Lisa and I drove to to meet David MacNeil, who had worked on the 130-foot, 12-car ferryboat for 20 years. He wasn't sure about Blurry Man, but figured the man actually in focus across from the apparition was Dan Dougall.

So, we visited Dan Dougall. His wife Isabel served us tea, biscuits and extensive conversation. Dan thought the man in focus was himself during his moustache-wearing days and suggested Blurry Man was the late Neily MacNeil. Then he remembered Shorty and his analysis leaned toward his lanky former decimate.

Dan Dougall has kept a journal every day since 1951. Everyone goes to him when they need to remember something that happened on a certain day in a certain year.

Dan's journal would obviously tell us who was working on the ferry that night 25 years ago. Oddly enough, the only month missing in 52 years of journals was the month I took the Blurry-Man photo.

I wound the sure-footed Silverado SS through the twisty roads south of Bras d'Or Lake to the tiny community of Ottawa Brook. I suspected most people have had their own Blurry Man experiences. Blurry Man isn't necessarily a man, though. It could be a child, a woman or anyone with whom a chance encounter has left a lingering feeling of goodwill, pride or gratitude.

We found Shorty MacNeil's place, a tidy farmhouse perched on a brilliant green hilltop. Buster, a playful collie, welcomed us. In the door stood a gentle giant who warmly ushered us into his home.

We chatted for an hour. His real name was Michael J. MacNeil.

"How long have you been called Shorty?" I asked, eyeing his 6-foot 4-inch frame.

"Since 1946," he said. "When I was a lad, there were too many Michael MacNeils so every one of them got a nickname. Mine was Shorty, and it stuck."

He showed us a photo of himself on the C. Monty MacMillan with his back to the camera. His stance resembled Blurry Man.

Shorty's son, Neil MacNeil, came by and looked at the photo.

"Dad always walks with his hands behind his back," he explained. I realized why Blurry Man looked so twisted, his hands were in fact behind his back.

Before long, Shorty politely told us he had to go. It was bingo night across the Little Narrows at Whycocomagh and there was some serious money up for grabs.

"Good luck," I said, shaking his huge hand.

"Blurry Man," he whispered.

Garry Sowerby, author of "Sowerby's Road: Adventures of a Driven Mind," is a four-time Guinness World Record holder for long-distance driving. His exploits, good, bad and just plain harrowing, are the subject of World Odyssey, produced in conjunction with Wheelbase Communications. Wheelbase is a worldwide provider of automotive news and features stories.