FROM BLOMIDON TO SMOKY. 13 



be impressed by this strait and its bold shores, 

 but its proportions as seen through slowly falling 

 mist were disappointing. Had we not known 

 what it was, it would have seemed undeniably 

 commonplace. 



It was about three o'clock on the afternoon of 

 August 1 that we crossed the Strait of Canso 

 and first touched Cape Breton soil. A boy with 

 baskets of freshly picked cultivated strawberries 

 welcomed us to the island. Our mental calendar 

 rolled back from August to June, and we enjoyed 

 those berries as though they were the first of the 

 season. Each berry marked a mile of wet forest 

 scenery, and by the time they were gone we were 

 well on our way to the Bras d'Or lakes. From 

 6.45 A. M. to 5.15 p. M. is a long day's ride in a 

 Nova Scotia car, and we sighed with relief when 

 the train rolled slowly over the seven-span iron 

 bridge at Grand Narrows, and then slid away 

 up the shore of the Bras d'Or towards Sydney, 

 leaving us to take a funny little steamer for 

 Baddeck. 



Cape Breton is shaped a good deal like a lob- 

 ster's claw open towards the north, and this claw 

 holds in its grasp the grotesquely irregular arm 

 of the sea known as the Bras d'Or lakes. Com- 

 ing by rail from the Strait of Canso to Grand 

 Narrows, we had given up, or rather avoided, a 

 trip by steamer up the whole length of the Big 



