Hobbled by a stupid cast on my left foot, I managed to snag a lift aboard a muddied ATV to head out beyond the footpaths my more able-bodied friends explored. My reward was a chilly downpour, a drenched Nikon tucked inside my fleece vest, and a windswept cemetery far from the outskirts of “town.”
The people of Canada’s Northwest Passage are hearty folks, in life as well as in death, as this splash of color testifies. Not bound by the drab landscape, months of grey drizzle and wet wind, their final resting place is a color wheel of artificial flowers stuffed into the clutching grip of smooth rocks standing tall against even the strongest gales. This image and the sound of that pelting rain will live long in my memory, longer than my now rusted-out Nikon unfortunately.