An interesting example of sand-drift occurs near Wellington Bay, on Lake
Ontario, ten miles from Pictou. The lake shore near the sand banks is
indented with a succession of rock-paved bays, whose gradually shoaling
margins afford rare bathing grounds. East and West Lakes, each five
miles long, and the latter dotted with islands, are separated from
Lake Ontario by narrow strips of beach. Over the two mile-wide isthmus
separating the little lakes, the sand banks, whose glistening heights
are visible miles away, are approached. On near approach they are hidden
by the cedar woods, till the roadway in front is barred by the advancing
bank, to avoid which a roadway through the woods has been constructed
up to the eastern end of the sand range. The sand banks stretch like a
crescent along the shore, the concave side turned to the lake, along
which it leaves a pebbly beach. The length of the crescent is over two
miles, the width 600 to 3,000 or 4,000 feet.
Clambering up the steep end of the range among trees and grapevines, the
wooded summit is gained, at an elevation of nearly 150 feet. Passing
along the top, the woods soon disappear, and the visitor emerges on a
wild waste of delicately tinted saffron, rising from the slate-colored
beach in gentle undulation, and sleepily falling on the other side down
to green pastures and into the cedar woods. The whole surface of this
gradually undulating mountain desert is ribbed by little wavelets a few
inches apart, but the general aspect is one of perfect smoothness. The
sand is almost as fine as flour, and contains no admixture of dust The
foot sinks only an inch or two in walking over it; children roll about
on it and down its slopes, and, rising, shake themselves till their
clothing loses every trace of sand. Occasionally gusts stream over the
wild waste, raising a dense drift to a height of a foot or two only, and
streaming like a fringe over the steep northern edge. Though the sun is
blazing down on the glistening wilderness there is little sensation of
heat, for the cool lake breeze is ever blowing. On the landward side,
the insidious approach of the devouring sand is well marked. One hundred
and fifty feet below, the foot of this moving mountain is sharply
defined against the vivid green of the pastures, on which the grass
grows luxuriantly to within an inch of the sand wall. The ferns of the
cedar woods almost droop against the sandy slope. The roots of the trees
are bare along the white edge; a foot or two nearer the sand buries the
feet of the cedars: a few yards nearer still the bare trunks disappear;
still nearer only the withered topmast twigs of the submerged forest are
seen, and then far over the tree tops stands the sand range. Perpetual
ice is found under the foot of this steep slope, the sand covering and
consolidating the snows drifted over the hill during the winter months.
There is something awe-inspiring, says the correspondent of the Toronto
Globe, in the slow, quiet, but resistless advance of the mountain front.
Field and forest alike become completely submerged. Ten years ago a
farm-house was swallowed up, not to emerge in light until the huge sand
wave has passed over.
* * * * *