White Point, NS_RP1757710.
When I told my friend, Del, that I was going to do the Cabot Trail, he gave me the name of a place in White Point and said stay there--you'll like it. And so, way up in the South Eastern corner of the Cape Breton Highlands north of Ingonish, I took a side road that took me 5 miles from nowhere. An overlook above the "town" looked down on a tiny harbor protected on three sides, and a spit of green beyond, broken off and dwindling out to sea--land's end. Del was wrong--I didn't like it, I Loved it. The town was dozen or so houses, and the B&B we stayed in was...rustic. No matter, this wasn't just remote, this was a vortex. There were vibrations here, a combination buzz of wind, sea, earth, and time. It was as if you could feel the people who had settled here, lived here, went to sea here, and from even far away, washed up here (there's an Unknown Sailor cross and graveyard out on the spit, bodies the sea currents carried here). The mountains came down and plunged into the sea, so bright, cold and wind-whipped, attacking the harbor with it's anchored boats, just below this little hillock. From here, sitting on a red chair, built for two--because this is not a place a man would make his life alone on purpose--you could look out and know what has brought you here.