Enraged pedestrian. Flâneur. Hiker. Explorer. Web developer. Photographer. Daydreamer. Recluse. Road full of promise, head full of doubt. Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada.
Hello.
I’m at home in Halifax, NS, where it’s 14° and mostly cloudy at 3:37am.
in Notes
Getting through another work week at home seems like a good reason to treat myself to some homemade fish tacos.
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Took a walk to the drugstore, only the second time I’ve been on a sidewalk since March 16.
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As my distaste for Twitter has grown over the last while I decided to see if I could deploy my own instance of Mastodon, a federated, distributed social network.
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Desperate for a relatively local hiking challenge this year, I decided to finally hike the Liberty Lake Loop, a 56km trail in Kejimkujik National Park.
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Since moving to the east coast, I’ve been trying my best to do as much hiking as I did when I lived in central British Columbia.
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It’s been about three years or so since the Wil-Bo-Wil cabin was built in Kejimkujik’s backcountry, and even though I’ve passed it many times on hikes destined for elsewhere in the park I’ve never actually stayed there.
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This is the north exterior wall of Stoddard House, located at 1359 Barrington Street on the corner of Bishop Street.
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After taking last year off from our (mostly) annual tradition, three friends and I jumped back into a couple of canoes and headed into the backcountry of Kejimkujik National Park for the Victoria Day long weekend.
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I spent the day far away from the hustle and bustle of the city hiking a slightly chilly and damp 17 kilometres through the Gully Lake Wilderness Area.
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In the backcountry of Kejimkujik National Park at the far west end of Peskowesk Lake, Portage N connects the lake with Peskwa Lake, a small lake to the west.
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In the waning days of my unemployment I’m getting out of the apartment and enjoying a few things.
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I found this on a roll of film I had sitting on my desk from last autumn.
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What draws us to create photographs? What purpose do our photographs serve? Are they mere illustrations or do they become markers along an endlessly winding path? Can photographers possibly know the meaning of their images once they’ve been made and put out into the world? For a long while I have been struggling with my relationship with photography.