Provinces. The Gaspé Mountains lift their spires over 3000 feet toward the dome whose radiance is but rarely misted by fog. The winds of the gulf moderate in the bay to refreshing zephyrs. The water is warmer than at resorts much further south. Before the Inch Arran's doors are four little islands where guests row out to picnic or to pay cautious visits to lively lobster-pots. Those geologically inclined seek the arched rock and other remarkable formations on the beach below the hotel. Scientists frequently come here to examine the peculiar cellular rock fabric, and strange agates and fossils. The Indians called this shore, "a place of bright stones." There are knolls back from the water where one looks off to the range that companions the Restigouche, and down to Dalhousie at the river's outlet.
Balmy hours slip by amid the long grasses or the range light point. Across the water a cargo schooner flying Norway's flag glides to port along the Gaspé shore. Indian nomads plash by at your feet, canoes heaped with rods, buckets and knotted bundles. The women's bronze faces gleam where the sun strikes cheek-bone and forehead. The men wear broad hats, but their squaws' black hair is bared to the ruffling wind. They paddle silently, ignoring the white man's salutation. Suddenly, something quivering high against the blue holds their gaze and yours. An osprey! With eyes telescopic he sees from a great height
