The Wonderful Tides of the Bay of Fundy [pp. 239-244]

Overland Monthly
plants abound, not found elsewhere in the
world besides.
To the physical geographer, however,
the chief attraction is the tides, which
have rendered the Bay of Fundy famous
the world over. Let us suppose the great
tidal wave born of the moon's influence in
the wide Pacific is moving on its course
westward. It must pass around the Cape
of Good Hope into the Atlantic. Here its
course is towards the northwest. WVhen the
wave has already touched Cape Sable, the
most southerly point of Nova Scotia, the
most westerly portion has only reached
Portland, Maine, and all or nearly all of
this vast mass of water enters the mouth
of the Bay of Fundy. As the wave advances, the funnel becomes narrower, and
the waters rise in like ratio higher. In
the main ocean, the tide is only a few feet
in height; but at St. John, the metropolis
of New Brunswick, thirty miles from the
ocean, it reaches a height of thirty-five
feet, while at the head of Chignecto Bay,
where the width is only two or three miles,
it has a rise of sixty or seventy feet. Once
or twice in a decade these figures are considerably exceeded, and once or twice in a
century greatly exceeded. In the memorable Saxby gale, a number of years ago,
the tide was of unusual height, rising even
far above the lofty wharves of St. John,
and flooding all the low-lying districts.
Of course, higher tides than the average
are always to be expected whenever the
sun and moon are in conjunction or in
opposition, and still higher ones whenever
this conjunction or opposition should happen to occur with the moon at its perigee,
or point of nearest approach to the earth.
This becomes intensified if at the same
tinme the earth should be at its perihelion,
or point of nearest approach to the sun.
The Bay of Fundy is so situated that
should these astronomical conditions occur at one time and a violent south or
southwest wind should also prevail, the
tide that would rush into the wide opening
of the bay would be simply enormous.
Happily, such a conjuncture of affairs is
very rare, and has in fact never occurred
within the historic period, although about
once in a century a near approach thereto
does occur.
For the benefit of the general reader, let
it be stated that there is a conjunction of
sun and moon once every lunar month,
namely, at new moon, while there is also
an opposition in the sanme period, namely,
at full iimoon. Once every lunar month
the perigee point in our satellite's elliptical orbit is reached; but it is only at long
intervals that this point is reached at the
time of conjunction or of opposition.
Once a year, early in January, the earth
reaches its perihelion point. Very rarely,
indeed, will all the astronomical conditions already named occur together, and
still more rarely will there be superadded
to these violent winds from the proper direction. The highest tides of the year,
in fact, as a rule, occur in March and September, as at these periods there is the
nearest annual approach to all the conditions named.
At St. John, the wide and deep river of
the same name as the city, a river especially noted for its picturesque and romantic scenery, enters the harbor, through
a gorge only five hundred feet in width.
The wonderful narrowness of this gorge
will be the better appreciated when the
fact is known that the river is five hundred miles long and is navigable for
steamboats to the Grand Falls, more than
two hundred miles from its mouth, while
above the gorge, including of course the
narrow approach to the gorge, the width,
including the IKenebecasis, which here debouches into the main stream, is over four
miles, and the depth is so great that the
largest vessel of her Maajesty's navy would
experience not the slightest difficulty in
navigating the streaiii many miles inward from the narrows. Within the
gorge, hemmed in on both sides by sharp
and jagged rocks, are two cataracts, or
perhaps, with more truth, two inclined
planes, separated by a comparatively level
interval. These inclined planes have very
uneven beds. Down these, whenever low
tide occurs in the harbor, rush the waters with great violence, lashed into
foam by the sharp-pointed rocks that line
the bottom and the sides of the gorge.
The deep, sullen roar of these rushing,
turbulent waters is distinctly heard in
the heart of the city, three miles away.
The whole descent is somewhat less than
thirty feet.
A very remarkable phenomenon is observed here at every flood tide, which, as
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