If you’ve been following my Instagram feed, you’ll have seen these, for which I apologize. We’re staying for a couple nights at the Fogo Island Inn, a place of astonishing beauty and hospitality – both the Inn and the island itself, on which we keep extending our stay. It’s an inspiring place for a number of reasons, not the least being the gift this Inn has been to the island itself. For me it is also a place for my muse to dig in, surrounded by rocks and waves and early mornings driving around the little island with my cup of coffee and my camera. Yesterday I saw my first caribou on my morning drive, this morning two more. There’s a feeling of Iceland here, as Canadian as it is, and there’s a similar feeling of vast space and rugged, mangy, elegance that I adore. The food is amazing and the people are warm and beautiful. It’s one of those places I might never leave, if not in body then certainly in spirit. Right now the windows are open in my room and I can hear nothing but surf, and it’s calling me to grab the camera and head to the shore. As usual I can’t escape the feeling that none of the photographs I’m making are worth anything, but the long hours of exploring, seeing what there is to be seen, are worth more than the photographs could ever be.