At South Lake I paddled into the mouth of the run and 
     
     grounded Tota on the sand-dune beach for my usual mid—day break. 
     
     The parcel turned out to be the whole half of a huge “all-fruit” fruit 
     
    
   
   
    
     cake. It is the only time I have ever made my dinner entirely of 
     
     fruit cake. 
     
    
   
   
    
     Pushing on from South Lake I approached East Point in mid- 
     
     afternoon. Though there was scarcely a breath of wind at the time, 
     
     and quite calm at the approach, I did not like the look of the tide-rip 
     
     and the huge waves rolling across the base of the reef itself. 
     
    
   
   
    
     Going ashore I climbed the bank in order to get a look across the 
     
     reef to determine the width of the rough water. There seemed to be 
     
     a choice of either paddling out about a mile, to where the tide-rip 
     
     seemed smoother or of crossing about a hundred yards from shore. I 
     
     chose the latter as the lesser of two evils. As I approached the tide-rip 
     
     I could see a few yards in front of me a huge slimy rock, half as big 
     
     as a house, laid almost bare and then in seconds covered with 6 to 8 
     
     feet of water as one wave rolled away from it and another, following 
     
     quickly, surged over it. 
     
    
   
   
    
     Timing my paddling, now slow, now with “full throttle”, I 
     
     crossed the succession of rocks constituting the reef, each time on the 
     
     crest of a wave luckily for me, and at last, with my nerves jumping, 
     
     finally came out again into smooth water. Whether or not the light— 
     
     keeper saw me cross the reef, I do not know. 
     
    
   
   
    
     After a paddle of about a mile, I went ashore at the first sand 
     
     beach and relaxed for an hour. By this time I had regained “peace 
     
     of mind” and now paddled on, passing East Lake and North Lake 
     
    
   
   
    
     along the way and finally rounding the point at Campbell’s Cove just 
     
     at Sunset. 
     
    
   
   
    
     A short way back from the beach-line there were a number of 
     
     buildings which, I learned later, made up Harry W. Tidmarsh’s 
     
     Lobster Factory. Playing in the water were several young boys. These, 
     
     as I turned towards the beach, hesitated only a moment and then 
     
    
   
   
    
     quickly scrambled out of the water and ran and hid in the woods 
     
     back of the buildings. 
     
    
   
   
    
     Landing on the beach, I called out to the boys and after awhile 
     
     one, the bravest or the most curious, came out of his place of hiding 
     
    
   
   
    
     and with some hesitation approached me. Soon the others followed 
     
     his example. 
     
    
   
   
    
     21