The ocean air carries with it an odor that is neither fresh like after a summer rain nor rancid like decay. After a storm you can sense the decaying seaweeds that have washed ashore, but amid that there is a soothing pleasant charm. It is soft and comforting like a warm blanket. The low and constant rumble of the waves crashing to the rocks is a stark reminder that your sense of smell can create a false sense of comfort.The shoreline of Cape Breton is a curious study in differences. A stretch may be finely gained sands like at Ingonish, or smooth towering limestone, polished by the endless caress of the tides like Lousiburg. Here, Sonny and I have discovered monoliths of what I can only summize is sandstone. It is coarse like sandpaper yet falls to pieces in a oddly curved and mechanical manner, as if cut by some massive saw. The slabs stand 20 feet tall and erect more like monolithic mounds to be found in the Nevada desert then by the Atlantic shoreline.
From this vantage point you can look north along the ambling cliffs and see the remains of the fort. Across a gaping inlet you can look west to North Sydney and see more remains. Sonny hands me the binoculars and as I adjust my eyes at the taller but worse for wear installation, I see black cloaked heads dashing for cover behind the barriers. Another camouflaged body tilts around a corner and fires of a few rounds. The abandoned stations provide an ideal site for locals to gather and play paintball.
I decided we would venture over there another time...
Brad
