I peer out of the lighthouse window, watching the wide, murky Saint Lawrence River easing past on its journey to the Atlantic Ocean. Thousands of sea birds squawk and shriek on the rocks below.
I think about the men who spent years cooped up alone on this little island in the remote wilds of Québec, illuminating the way for the weary mariners who sailed by in the darkness of night.
The wave of Canada’s colonial history breaks on the shores of Îles du Pot à l’Eau-de-Vie, or the Brandy Pot Islands—my home for the next 24 hours.
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