My eyes strained on the horizon; attempting to separate the fog from the sea. The sea being so calm I had decided to check out an area which usually on a day even with the slightest of wind is an active surf zone where the unabated Atlantic's fetch arrives.
Skimming over the rocky shoals at low tide I landed in an unnamed; usually uninviting cove. The wind had switched to north along the few km of open crossing. Bringing the edge of the grey blanket of sky into sight.
On the canvas of contrasting red's and grey; yet another message in a bottle. You can't help but get a little excited; this being number 4 for me over the past few years.
A young girl Somer had sent a beautiful piece of art into the sea with her pop's contact information. I grew up with her mom and while the message hadn't traveled too far there is something magical about placing a message into the sea and awaiting response.
Climbing the high cliffs onto the storm created tundra of this exposed headland, looking out to the next stop in the distance, Ireland.
As I explored along the high cliffs of the headland; sunbeams shooting through the quickly moving front warming the peat; turning the island into a steaming cauldron. I had near walked to the next bay before returning and launching back onto the brine.
The next bay over was once a provincial park; now operated under private ownership. The western side of this park hasn't been developed yet and remains a truly untouched spot. Small coves bordered by majestic cliffs which are difficult to reach by foot.
Quiet places.
Under solitude as the skies turned blue.
Just another spring afternoon in Newfoundland.
