Ingonish Travel Blog› entry 27 of 96 › view all entries
A couple of days ago some woofers turned up. Woofing is a term used to describe many of the rural summer jobs that tourists can pick up (WWOOF - willing workers on organic farms). These two, here named R and K were visiting for a few months from England, so it was great to have someone around who understands what I say. Cape Bretoners are great listeners, they always listen twice to what ever it is I have to say. The first time is just to enjoy my accent (they look dreamilly back at me while I look questioningly at them) and the second time is to find out what I said, and then ignore it anyway because Cape Bretoners are very set in their ways. Not that that is a bad thing, they carry off the whole traditional 'more scottish than scotland' thing with great panache.
Breton Cove is the location of a rental cottage that I've been helping to maintain as part of the Cabot Shores empire. It has a pretty cool route down through the wood to the cliffs, where I had previously witnessed the proto-moose in whose presence all lesser moose quiver. As we slipped through the woods R found some Chanterelle mushrooms so we marked the spot for our return. We also discovered a classic sedan crashed and semi-dismantled caught between some trees. Down at the cliffs we descended the rope onto the beach. It was really raining now, but we didn't care. We were just there to find a decent boulder to climb.
Along the beach we discovered a suspicous device. Essentially a styrofoam box with power leads looping out and back in to a battery, a computer ribon cable jutting out through an opening and what looked like a solenoid timer linked to a pull-pin by a length of string. The box was taped shut and had 'dodgy amature incindiary device' written all over it. Naturally we had to investigate, so we linked a rope to the pin and backed away to a safe distance, R filming the escapade on his digital camera.
Pulling sharply on the rope only had the effect of bringing the device closer to our hide-out. With nervous anticipation hanging in the air like a row of damp socks, I approached the device and carefully moved it back to a safe distance. R tried the cord this time, with the same effect. We concluded that if it really was something dangerous, we'd be in pieces by now.
I sliced through the tape that bound the box together. Sliding the inards carefully out revealed an ozone sensor and a radio transmitter. Big massive sigh of relief all round. We figure it must be from a weather balloon, or else it was placed there to temp foolish Brits like ourselves.
Many thanks to R for the filming which I have I edited into a dramatisation.