The seatbelt pressed into my shoulder as our driver stood hard on the brakes. Light objects flew about inside the 20-year-old Corolla. From my spot in the back seat, I saw the mother black bear crossing the highway, followed by a trio of cubs. A slow fourth cub turned back, and we passed between it and the others.

In the front seats were driver Wade and John — two friends I hiked with regularly. We lapsed back into quiet. Roadside signs warned frequently of moose, and our eyes scanned the darkening evening forest.

We were on our way to Bathurst, New Brunswick. There, a driver would shuttle us the final 160 kilometres to Mount Carleton Provincial Park. From there, our adventure would begin, hiking the 160 kilometre Nepisiguit Mig’maq Trail to it’s end at Mowebagtabāāg (Chaleur Bay).

The landscape is otherworldly. Canadian Geographic creative director and photographer Javier Frutos and I have just arrived on this raised point jutting out of the surrounding lowlands along the Siorak River in Labrador’s western Torngat mountains area, peaks of varying sizes all around. Three smallish geodesic domes covered mostly in white heavy-duty PVC, save for a panoramic window on one side, stand stark on the plateau in the fading light. It has the feel of a scene from a Lord of the Rings saga.   

The wind is howling, too — hard! — funnelled through this mountain trench the river occupies. Our first order of business is to jump in to help our hosts batten down the hatches, so to speak. The communal tent outhouse, for instance, is poised to make like Howl’s Moving Castle. (Days after we leave, the wind does actually blow down one of the domes, presumably the one put up by the littlest pig.)

I kneel at the sailboat’s bow with bated breath, my eyes zig-zagging across the endless expanse for silhouettes of dorsal fins. As the sun recedes slowly into the horizon, its orb casts a syrupy golden glow onto the ocean below, causing the ripples along the surface to look like zebra stripes. Was that a wave or a dolphin? I ask myself every few seconds, the slight bobbing and swaying of the boat certainly not in my favour as I try to focus my gaze on various black shapes. 

I’m a passenger onboard Paradise Adventure’s “Ohana” sunset sail in Panama City Beach, Florida, with dolphin sightseeing expected to be the main attraction of the evening. As Nolan Pho, our captain, steers the small vessel out into the Gulf of Mexico for a panoramic view of our surroundings, the low rumble of the sailboat’s motor and the steady smacking of waves against its hull composes a charming nautical tune.

It’s my sixth visit to New York but my first time to the Statue of Liberty. My kids demand we visit the most recognizable landmark in the United States, and despite my grumbles that the poor, huddled masses are nowadays more welcome in Canada than in the USA, I relent. 

We navigate the barking guards at the security screening and hop onto a short, crowded ferry to Liberty Island. I’m jet-lagged, the skies spit rain, and even still, Lady Liberty takes my breath away. When it was first unveiled in 1886, Frederic-Auguste Bartholdi’s 46-metre masterpiece was innovative, daring, and the tallest statue in the world. At an excellent museum behind the pedestal, visitors learn about its construction, restoration, and the Statue of Liberty’s enduring legacy of freedom and hope.