Up until then I had been on the coastal route, but the road to Cape Breton crossed the interior of Nova Scotia. Most of the population seemed concentrated in the outer edges of Nova Scotia and the interior was mostly empty and pock marked by lakes. I didn't make any stops and got to the island a little before sunset. I got on the Cabot Trail, which is the road that loops around the park, and headed counter-clockwise. It was too late to attempt any hikes, so the next series is just views of the winding, cliff-top coastal roads and the sky and ocean in different stages of the sunset.
At the northern tip of the park, there is a small town with a couple of restaurants and an inn. I ate dinner there, which consisted of fish that had been caught that day, and then doubled back to where the trail hit some of the highest points in the park. I attempted to do some astrophotography, but my poor 40D is showing its age. It doesn't seem up to super long exposures anymore and was never really able to handle very high ISOs. I got a handful of too-noisy shots of the Milky Way and a couple of star trails, but they're not really usable. If you want to contribute to the "Buy Brian A New Camera" fund, please let me know.
After a couple of hours of wandering around in the dark, I made my way back to the mini-town and parked my car and slept until just before sunrise. I woke up and immediately made my way to the eastern coast to catch the sunrise. After a little while of making my way down the eastern loop, I turned off into a small fishing village that was just beginning to stir and the fishermen were preparing their boats for the day. At this point I'd accumulated more than enough pictures of lighthouses, but at the of the road was another lighthouse atop a low headland overlooking the water. The clouds and morning sun created a backdrop I couldn't leave unphotographed.
I continued south from the village for a bit and turned off again to follow a beach trail on foot. It led to a rocky outcropping that jutted out into the water. I went up onto the rocks and stood at the edge as the waves crashed violently on the darkened stones below me. The sun was climbing steadily in the sky and the clouds broke the fledgling sun-rays into light and dark, blue and red. The coast arced forward on either side of me and I wondered at what motivates me to drive thousands of miles just to be alone, surrounded by rocks, trees, and water.
From there I made my way to the trailhead of a hike I had planned on doing. Unfortunately, as soon as I parked my car, Irene crashed the party. The rain began lightly - a light mist that was almost imperceptible enough for me to still consider doing the hike - but Irene soon extinguished the clean light of the new day and cast it into the murky darkness of late evening. Storm clouds rolled in thick and unforgiving and the rain became hard and pelting. I had originally planned on staying the entire day in the park, but knowing that the rain wouldn't stop until Irene had passed, I decided to just start the drive back to Boston. There wouldn't be any point in staying. So, I dialed in and drove the 15 hours back to Boston straight, passing through the entirety of Hurricane Irene.
The return journey was pretty uninteresting - nothing but black skies, wiper blades, and the barely visible tail lights of the cars ahead of me. Just as I made it back into the city, the sky cleared. I got back to my apartment, plugged myself back into the internet and found out what had happened in the world in the previous five days, and passed out. Another road trip over, but as a bonus, here's a shot of what my passenger seat looks like during these things:
the lighthouse shot is amazing
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