I didn't even know it existed.
Dorval Island spends peaceful, lazy summers catering to a handful of residents. It lives for a single season, it's presence whispered like an old family secret, its rhythm locked to forgotten steps. I've been invited to spend the day in this very private retreat by the wonderful gang at the Lakeshore Camera Club, just to shoot the breeze and perhaps offer some thoughts and ideas along the way; I'm clearly getting the best deal here.
I cross over on an early Saturday morning ferry, still dazed from a short night and a long week. But as our small twelve-seater hits the waves, all is forgotten — the warm shimmering light, sturgeons leaping out of the water like mad silver birds... It's all just a prelude to a slow trip back in time; to great coffee and food and beer; to long discussions amidst the shrill cries of cicadas.