I'd never heard of them despite being fairly familiar with the Tatamagouche area. I'd navigated the twists and turns of Balmoral Road dozens of times and crossed Baileys Brook on my way to the village proper, but had no idea where those waters led. Pashala & Klaus directed me along an unnamed road and asked that I stop just shy of a bridge overlooking the brook. We walked along the water's edge, climbing over deadfall and ducking under larch bows. After a bend in the brook the temperature dropped. The air smelled fresh - just like rain or falling snow. Then you could hear them. Then you could see them [continued . . .