Georgian Bay beauty

Narrow slivers of land. Gnarly west-wind trees. Dramatic rock formations. There is a special and stunning beauty that is unique to Georgian Bay. When you're on the edge of it, gazing out at the seemingly endless expanse of water before you, you feel the same humbling insignificance you feel when in the presence of a large mountain or a large tree. There is something incomprehensible about it. Mysterious. Something wise and knowing. But there is also something comforting about the starkness. The elemental simplicity resonates with me, especially on those still, grey days. I like to sit at the very edge, where the water meets the land, and just enjoy being there. (Pisces much?)

Georgian Bay is a chameleon too. At times dramatic and angry and thrashing, and others perfectly serene and still. And the water is never the same colour. Infinite hues of grey: steel, charcoal, pewter, silver, opalescent, shimmering metallic...

And then there's the rocks. With dramatic striations of a contrasting colour. Some look like soft peaks of whip cream, frozen. Some look like they've had giant scratches etched into their surface. Others are perfectly smooth and round, and still others look like many rocks melded together, with all of their colours and textures. And all of them spotted with delicate lace-like lichens. It's a beauty like nowhere else.