The Quiet of Dawn - Solitude

Here in Nova Scotia, there is a small fishing village just outside of Halifax. Its quaintness is in stark contrast to its fame. It is often advertised as the most photographed location on Earth. It is of course, Peggy's Cove, Nova Scotia, Canada.

Now, having grown up in Newfoundland and Labrador, Canada (I grew up on the large island portion of the province just across the Gulf of St. Lawrence from Nova Scotia), Peggy's Cove is a familiar site for me. Newfoundland and Labrador has a 400+ year history of hardy settlers clinging to the rocks that form the Newfoundland shore, eeking a living, harvesting food from the unforgiving North Atlantic Ocean. Fishing has been a way of life in Newfoundland ever since 1497, when Giovanni Caboti (John Cabot) nearly "ran aground" upon the abundant codfish that was plentiful enough to feed the British Empire until "the end of time".

Peggy's Cove, like so many other fishing villages in Atlantic Canada, has had a long history of success and failure. And like all other fishing villages, has seen more than its fair share of tragedy. The tragic loss of SwissAir flight 111 in October of 1998 off the coast of Peggy's Cove was handled with an immense amount of reverance and efficiency by the residents of the area. Not only because they understand loss, but also because they had seen it so often that the residents have almost a defacto standard operating procedure that takes over in these circumstances. A loss of life at sea is the same whether the victim fell from the sky or fell overboard. The scale was larger of course, but the impact had been experienced so often by the communities along this shore, they were immediately able to provide the appropriate atmosphere for the recovery to begin, and for the visiting families to grieve.

Of course Peggy's Cove, and the iconic lighthouse that stands on the rocky point at that sea / land boundary, is most famous because it is a beautiful landscape in a poetic setting, and within a 30 minute drive from Nova Scotia's capitol city. Its accessibility has as much to do with its fame as does its terrain and history.

The typical tourism photos of Peggy's Cove show a Lighthouse standing in solitude against a sometimes violent sea with wide, big blue sky painting the background. Absolutely stunning. Truly.

However, the reality of a trip to Peggy's Cove is anything but solitary. In summer, throngs of tourists crowd the rocks in all directions from the lighthouse. Tour buses take over the parking lot which itself is already full of vehicles from every imaginable corner of North America, at least to judge by the license plates. Each person looking to glimpse that lonely lighthouse staring bravely into the crashing waves as it protects vessels from the rocks and outcrops that lurk beneath the water. Those looking to capture a unique view of the Peggy's Cove or the lighthouse may find themselves requiring more patience than anything as they try to sneek in photos between swarms of migrating tourists.

But in February of this year, early one very cold Saturday morning, I drove out to Peggy's Cove at around 5:00 AM. It was cold. very cold. Snow on the rocks, ice in the parking lot. But my vehicle was the only one there. I got out of the car, took my camera and tripod, and wandered out to the rock lip just between the lighthouse and the sea.

I waited. The cold was biting. I did dress warmly, but the cold was invasive nontheless. Shaking it away I watched the dark blue sky turn lighter, and then the reds and fire-breathing orange of the sunrise began to consume the sky.

Though I had my camera setup, I turned it off. I wanted to enjoy this moment. My first and only moment at this ocean playground by myself. This sunrise was for me. And I had no intention of sharing it with anyone. It was mine. Greedy as that may be, I make no apology. I was lost in a moment in time with no beginning and no end. Did it last 15 minutes? Did I stay there for 2 hours? I really have no idea. I waited until the colours of the sky transited to the more neutral powder blue of a cold Nova Scotia winter day. Made all the colder by the intense wind chill experienced at Peggy's Cove. At that point I packed up my camera, returned to my car, and headed home.

For the first time since I arrived in Nova Scotia nearly 10 years ago, I enjoyed my own solitary sunrise, and I rode the winds of that morning. I had found my quiet of dawn, and I can relive it at nearly any moment I choose by simply closing my eyes. I finally see the magic of Peggy's Cove.




It should be noted: Tourists I have witnessed rarely give the ocean the level of respect it deserves. Get too close, it will turn on you. Most underestimate what too close is. Some have paid for that mistake with their lives.