October 2023
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When I moved to Ottawa over two years ago, there were four places on this side of the country I really wanted to visit. My east coast bucket list included: Montreal, Washington D.C, Vermont and Cape Breton. These places don't typically top the list for most people, but as a politics and nature junkie, I wanted my hit. 

Cape Breton is not exactly on everyone’s radar as a hot tourist destination, but I just knew instinctively that I just had to go. She was calling me. I've always been drawn to hidden gems or if it is a very popular spot, I prefer to see it in the off-season. The more lowkey, the better. Cape Breton has this type of beauty which I’m going to coin as ‘radiating beauty’. Every aspect about her is beautiful, from the ocean to the landscapes, the skies to the trees, the scores of cliffs to the sea below, the smells to the sounds, the food to the people. She doesn’t have to be flashy or try to replicate or compete with any other place on this earth, and by doing so, it makes her even more beautiful. An uncomplicated, genuine, beautiful place. 

Now that I've been, I can confirm that going to the Maritimes was such a satisfying experience. How do I analogize it? It’s like going to the amusement park and playing a game where you have to use a hammer to hit the bell at the top and you hit the bell so hard it flies away. Expectations blown out of the water.

Cape Breton is undeniably beautiful. But Cape Breton in October, in the off-season and in the fall rhapsody, is absolutely breathtaking. The fall heightens the beauty of this already beautiful place. There is only a two to three week window where you can experience fall in full bloom and I wanted to ensure I went to Cape Breton in that time. For me, it truly was all or nothing. It’s a trip I’ve been waiting patiently to do for more than two years and this trip really amplified the saying, ‘timing is everything.’ 

Butterflies can see millions of shades of colour. I felt like I got a glimpse of what it felt to be a butterfly. All my senses were completely dilated.  As I close my eyes, I retrace my memory of the symphony of sounds and colours. I was struck by how the light and moisture would play with shades by softening or brightening different colours, and I’m convinced that you could never see the same landscape twice. The landscapes never stood still and seemed to change from one moment to the next. No fall is ever the same. No sunrise or sunset is ever the same, even if you stood in the exact same spot every single day. If you listen more intently, you become immersed in nature's orchestra. In the day, you hear the sopranos of birds in the canopies above and at dusk you hear the shallow bass of frogs and insects at the roots of the forest. I can recall hearing the steady rhythm of the ocean in the distance. I listen deeper and hear the river in the valley in melody with the soft breeze through the leaves. I can hear the intermittent sounds of moose, coyotes and birds echoing through those trees.  

I recall how the clouds would just kiss the tree lines, the autumn leaves translucent in the daylight became stained glass, the morning dew sitting gingerly on those leaves, and the moss blanketing the tree trunks. As the day breaks, the sunsets light up the sky, the reds, yellows, and oranges of the leaves blend nicely with the fiery tones of the skies. Everything seems to be lit on fire. I catch glimpses of the harmonies of nature, how one part fits into another like the wheel-work of a machine.