Nova Scotia Week, An Exceptional Day on the Eastern Shores of Cape Breton
My perfect day starts with hiking shoes and ends with a pair of water shoes. Yesterday morning began with a hike on Middle Head, a sliver of a peninsula jutting out into the sea. Even if you’re not staying at the Keltic Lodge, where the trailhead is located, take this hour-long round-trip hike, part of Cape Breton Highlands National Park. Across the waters to your right are the towering bluffs of Cape Stormy, an apt name for this ominous spit of land. Perched atop your own headland, the cliffs of Middle Head plunge straight down to a boulder-strewn coastline. Waves crash against the rocks, spewing foam into the air. As I reached the tip of the peninsula, where numerous signs were posted warning folks to avoid getting too close to the edge, a bald eagle flew overhead.
In my last blog, I mentioned how the new 
Vibrant Chihuly glass sculptures in nature go together like chocolate and roasted marshmallows come summer. The latest installment can now be seen at the 
Guest Post by Amy Perry Basseches
For the past decade, I have been asked to speak once a semester about my life as a travel writer at an Emerson College magazine writing course. I always bring a thick of folder of more than 200 rejection letters. It includes my favorite rejection from Mad Magazine, simply a box checked next to the line, “It just didn’t tickle our funny bone.” Universities do a wonderful job of teaching the craft of writing, but rarely touch on the psychological aspects of rejection and the necessary business skills to market your wares. Close to half my time, especially in those early years, was spent peddling my writing to editors (and screenplays to production companies). Almost every day, I would return from my mailbox with a stack of rejection letters. It was an incredible struggle, the reason why many of the creative people I met in those early years in New York are no longer writing professionally. 
Six miles south of Benbow, in Leggett, California, Pacific Coast Highway or Hwy 1 comes to an abrupt end. Highway 101 will pick up the slack and hug the shoreline north of Arcata on a picturesque drive of headlands rising from the Pacific as you drive to Orick. But that still leaves 80 miles of wilderness shoreline, not easily accessible from any highway. Called the Lost Coast, it is the longest undeveloped coastline in the continental United States. Yesterday, we took the twisting and turning Bryceland-Thorn Road from Redway to the remote village of Shelter Cove. At this small coastal community, houses hug the shoreline backed by flanks of forest and high headlands that make up the 
This past November, the travel world descended on