Sonny, was my trusted guide this day. His quiet and friendly demeanor contrasts against his stature. He likes to get around and check out the island, so when I wanted to go see what was out at the point across the harbor, he quickly volunteered to drive. He is originally from a northern Alberta town that can only be accessed by road during the winter after the water freezes. The great part of the trek was the way he likes to explore and find the unusual as do I.
While I plodded around the ruins, he tracked the area and went back to get his metal detector and start scoping the now overgrown flats near the entry path. I gazed up at the lookout in wonder. What was it like to be posted here during the war? I could imagine the giant artillery pointing out of the front of the lookout. It almost felt more like I was walking through some of the great ruins of the dark ages in Europe than here at home in Canada. As the wind whipped by my face I could almost here the creaking and clanging of the ancient sea vessels approaching the port.
The ruins perched above the cliffs of the Atlantic, are situated so you can see for miles. A lobster boat pushes slowly by and the much larger ferry growls past, carrying another load of travelers across the water to Newfoundland.
Modern day creeps nearer now as I look down at the washed rocks on the beach. Garbage litters the surface and sends my thoughts racing far from the glorious past it was just visiting. A twisted and rotten bike frame, rusted to a deep orange by the salted ocean waters, lies upside down. A decades old pipe protrudes from a rock embankment, and while it used to carry water from the coal mines, the coal mines are gone and it as well is left here to rot. Further down a car lays beaten and gutted half wedged into the pebbled surface, as if someone stuck the accelerator to the floor and jumped out before it took its final plunge to it's now cold and lonely grave.
Till next time...
Brad
