What's It All About, eh?

Cape Breton evokes deep memories and strong emotions for me as well as a deep appreciation for the beauty of my adopted island. My hopes are that you too might find the photos evocative - maybe a view you've not enjoyed before, or an 'Oh I've been there', or if from away that you may be encouraged to visit this fair isle so that you might come to love and breathe Cape Breton as I do. One word about place names that I use - some are completely local usage while others are from maps of Cape Breton that I've purchased over the years. I frequently post travel and other photos that are of interest to me - and hopefully you.

On the right hand side bar find my take on Single Malt whiskey - from how to best enjoy this noble drink to reviews (in a most non-professional manner) of ones that I have tried and liked - or not. Also musings, mine and others, on life in general.

Photographs are roughly 98%+ my own and copy-righted. For the occasional photo that is borrowed, credit is given where possible - recently I have started posting unusual net photographs that seem unique. Feel free to borrow any of my photos for non-commercial use, otherwise contact me. Starting late in 2013 I have tried to be consistent in identifying my photographs using ©smck on all out of camera photos I personally captured - (I often do minor computer changes such as 'crop' or 'shadow' etc but usually nothing major), and using
©norvellhimself on all photos that I have played around with in case it might not be obvious. Lately I have dropped the ©smck and have watermarked them with the blog name.

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Crows and Snow

The bay is packed in ice with snow from shore to shore
where the great moon tide comes in all creaking,
inexorably lifting that ponderous protesting mass.
Across the white reach the far shore stretches unbroken and virgin,
not one cabin, one dwelling, to send its’ light across to me
and the only bird here in this bitter cold of winter’s wind
Is the crow – flying solitaire with flapping scrutiny of the intruder.

But now that I have come often enough to the field and the tide
they have come to fly in pairs – slow steady beats of their wings
and we accept one another.

The bay packed with snow and ice from shore to shore
is randomly heaved into giant statuesque stroboplosions of ice sculpture
as in some slow motioned dream of crows and snow
by the living tide venting itself against the unseen living rock
 - yet I know the Smelts come soon and the Tom Cod.

Is it this visibly frozen cold that is their dream
or is it the spring to come?


the most magical bay in my first venture into the past of my youth – West Bay an arm of Gouldsboro Bay in Maine.


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