Marconi is one of the great names of our heritage. Although not a Canadian, he transmitted the the first trans-Atlantic signal and began the grand heritage of wireless communication, just over one hundred years ago. Along the eastern seaboard of the US and Canada his legacy is relived in museums and marked sites. But it was from several large towers in Glace Bay that those first transmissions were sent, and it is there that his legacy will ever be etched into history.
Stamps, coins, and history books have told the story, and memorialized G. Marconi. So it seems at first, an understatement of his achievements, this drive known as The Marconi Trail. The road itself is little more than a paved carriage path. The twists and turns dart around sharply sloped bends and meet ungraciously with single lane, wood board bridges. Through swamp and rock the greenery flourishes but houses are scarce, save the few small towns that dot the seaside.
Catalone Gut, Main-a-Dieu, and Little Loraine are little villages of few more than hundreds of inhabitants, mostly fishermen families or descendants of miners. The landscape is a study of contrasts. From rocky ponds and dwarfed evergreens, soft sandy beaches and ever eroding cliffs, the drive comprehends the whole of the island, yet without the population of tourists to impede the beauty. Through the fog I could make out a boardwalk that seemed to stretch and weave for short distances to and fro, yet not a spot to stop and park. I would stop at the edge of the road but the intensity of the mist blocks the view and I decide to return another day. That day has not yet come and I miss the smell of the sea breeze.
Once again a lobster boat is returning and once again the gulls take flight and swarm the little vessel. At this moment I can not picture Marconi out here in his expensive Italian suit and slicked back hair, so common at the turn of the century. The city slicker and inventor so well educated and Nobel prized seems out of place here where life is slow and ambling. Where life seems not to move forward, but idles. Where there is time to enjoy life, because it is hard work that reminds us to slow the pace and enjoy the peace.
Yet it is the remoteness of the place that as well brings to mind a reminder of how much positive has come from the first radio broadcast. I think Marconi would be pleasantly pleased by the distinction of having this road as his namesake.
B
