Apology Accepted.

That STOP THE CAR moment when Mother Nature used the smoke to apologize for setting British Columbia on fire.

Apology accepted.

Stoked

West of the Glacier National Park in British Columbia, nestled at the base of mountainous Revelstoke National Park, is the Town of Revelstoke. During the winter, it is THE place to go for outdoor winter sports and in the summertime, quad enthusiasts come from everywhere to take in the trails, the mountains, and the spectacular views.

I was 8 hours into my 27-hour road trip when I arrived in town, and saw the Columbia River sign. I had no idea the Columbia even flowed into Canada, much less that I would be crossing it more than once on this mission, so I made a point of pulling over in the parking area on the far side of the bridge.

Just from the road.

Seriously.

And I'm standing there, camera in hand, and out of nowhere, along comes this beautiful, red, highly-photogenic train! I literally "wow"ed out loud, then started shooting.

Turn around, and there's the bridge I drove across.

I didn't spend nearly as much time in Revelstoke as I need to. I have every intention of returning, camera in hand, to explore this outdoorsman's paradise and discover everything the town has to offer.

But on this day... it was back to the road for me.

Home Again

As an east-coaster-turned-Albertan, I am asked all the time if I ever go home.

In reality, I go home all the time. Edmonton is where my belongings and my mailing address are. Camp is where I spend 3/4 of my life for 9-10 months a year. Southern Oregon is where my people are patiently waiting to take me in whenever I need to go. 

But I know what they mean.

My heart, my childhood, my mom, and everything I knew until I was 19 years old is in Cape Breton. So when they ask their question, I give them an honest answer. No, I don't go home. I'm scared I won't come back, and I'm not done in the west just yet.

It's true: the leaving is the hardest part. Though this adventure is still one of the best decisions I've ever made for myself, every time I leave the east, I'm leaving all of that which is so important to me behind again. And it's rough.

There is one road connecting Cape Breton Island to mainland Nova Scotia. It's the Canso Causeway, and though it's only 244 metres (801 ft) long, it's an emotional roller coaster, no matter which direction you're travelling.

Here it is from the Cape Breton side...

...and here is me procrastinating on my departure back to Halifax to catch a plane to Alberta.

Seriously, ANYBODY would've stopped their car for this, right?

The truth of it might best be summed up by a quote I recently read by Miriam Adney:

"You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart will always be elsewhere. that is the price you pay for the richness of knowing and loving people in more than one place."

Follow The Trail

As a child, my family made our annual pilgrimage here every summer. As an adult, I took my family here too. These days, living on the other end of the country makes the visits much fewer and further between, but when I do have a total of 36 hours at home, this is where I choose to spend 12 of them.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

a brief tour of one of the world's most scenic drives:

The Cabot Trail

Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia, Canada.

This is my Mecca.

Foggy Ingonish Beach.

We ate lobster from the shell on North Bay Beach.

No matter how many times I come here, there's always an angle I haven't seen before.

And there is always the places I need to stop and capture.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Pleasant Bay.

The end of Skyline Trail from French Mountain.

And of course, Cap Rouge... because you're not a Cape Breton photographer unless you've got a dozen different shots of this view.

The crystal clear Atlantic. The water was about 2 feet deep here.

And finally, the fog rolled in on this side of the trail too, and I topped it all off with a swim at one more of those places I'd never shot before: a beach with no name, from what I can tell, at Cap Rouge.

The Calling

I had spent the weekend on the Nova Scotia side of the Bay of Fundy: home of the world's highest tides. I was tired and had some driving to do to get to my next destination, but I knew I would likely never be back here again. I needed some kind of photo to remind me of the magic that was here.

I had a Stop The Car moment unlike any I'd had before. It wasn't a moment of dazzle, it wasn't finally getting to the place I'd been aiming to see. I was on a dirt road, making my way to the highway, and drove over a bridge with a river running beneath, and there were the muddy banks that represented the ebbing and flowing of the incredible tides. It wasn't spectacular, but I thought it would suffice for my purposes, so I turned the car around to go back to a dirt driveway that ran a ways along the river. 

I got out, got my camera, and had walked only a few feet when I came upon this beauty:

There it was; someone's old boat, high and dry on the banks covered in the mud it had floated so easily over only hours before. It struck me as so very beautiful, I spent the full stop trying to capture just what it was that was so eye-catching about the scene.

I think it's what had been calling to my camera all along.