Akaroa doesn’t ease you in. It arrives like a reveal—emerald water tucked into steep, volcanic folds, a harbor that feels less “bay” and more “amphitheater.” You look around and realize you’re standing inside the bones of something ancient: the collapsed crater of a long-quiet volcano, now flooded and alive, rimmed with cliffs and valleys that hold the shape of the old caldera.

That setting alone is worth the drive. But I came for the waterline moment—the one where wild becomes personal, and you’re not just watching nature, you’re invited into it (on its terms). In Akaroa Harbour, the headliners are Hector’s dolphins: small, endemic to New Zealand, and part of a coastline story that’s both beautiful and fragile.

I booked a dolphin swim with ecoSEAker, a small local operator that keeps the experience intentionally intimate—only 12 guests on a tour. There’s something about that scale that instantly changes the tone. It doesn’t feel like a production line. It feels like being hosted by people who genuinely love this place and are proud to share it. ecoSEAker is locally owned and operated, family-run, and their whole pitch leans toward “personal, premium, and safety-first.” That promise held up.

The morning started with a clear, practical briefing—what to expect, how to move in the water, how to stay safe, and how to keep the encounter respectful. Then the gearing-up begins: ecoSEAker provides the essentials (wetsuit, booties, mask, snorkel), and they’re upfront about how to make the departure smoother—arrive wearing your swimwear under your clothes, because you’ll be changing into wetsuits as a group. (Also: bring a towel.)

And then you’re out—Akaroa sliding behind you, the harbor widening, the volcanic walls rising like a protective ring. Even before the dolphins, the ride itself is a highlight. The scenery has that “how is this real?” quality: dark cliff faces, pockets of green, sea birds working the wind, and that distinct feeling of traveling through a geological storybook. ecoSEAker often points out wildlife and landmarks along the way, and Akaroa Harbour is known for a mix of marine life—dolphins, penguins, fur seals, and plenty of bird action depending on the day.

Not long after, we spotted them—more than a dozen dolphins, moving like quicksilver in the swell. It’s one thing to see dolphins from a boat. It’s another to watch them choose your orbit. Once we were in the water, the ocean made its presence known: an intense, rolling swell that reminded me (immediately) who’s in charge out here. It was exhilarating and humbling—equal parts adrenaline and awe.

Then the magic: small groups of Hector’s dolphins—pairs, trios, sometimes four at a time—would buzz close, arc around, disappear, and then reappear like a question mark made of water. They didn’t “perform.” They investigated. They played. And every pass felt like a gift you didn’t earn, only received. I remember thinking how wild it is that in this one pocket of the world, you can be this close to an animal that’s both rare and deeply at home here.

What stood out just as much as the dolphins, though, was the crew. ecoSEAker’s staff hit that perfect balance: professional, kind, and genuinely fun. They kept the mood light without ever getting sloppy about safety, and they made sure everyone felt confident—whether you were a strong swimmer or just trying to keep your breathing calm while the Pacific reminded you it’s the Pacific. Their boat is a rigid-hulled inflatable built for these waters, which helps when conditions get lively.

If you’re considering a dolphin swim in Akaroa, here’s the real talk: this is the ocean, and it can be intense. You don’t control the conditions, and you don’t control the dolphins. That’s the point—and it’s what makes the experience feel honest. But you can set yourself up well: show up prepared, listen closely to the briefing, and bring warm layers for afterward (the post-swim chill is real).

Would I recommend ecoSEAker? Absolutely. The combination of a small group, a crew that clearly cares, and a landscape that feels like you’re swimming inside a volcano’s memory is hard to top. Akaroa is gorgeous from shore—but out on the water, with dolphins threading through the swell just feet away, it becomes something else entirely: a reminder that the world is still wonderfully, startlingly alive.
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If you go, go with respect. Let the dolphins lead. And don’t be surprised if you climb back onto the boat grinning like you just got away with something sacred.


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Photos by © Brandon Elijah Scott / www.BrandonElijahScott.com

The moment I climbed aboard the airboat with Airboat Adventure Everglades, I knew I was in for something extraordinary. The engine revved, water hissed, and before I knew it we were skimming across the Everglades’ vast “River of Grass,” sawgrass bending in the breeze, cypress trees rising like green sentinels, and the wild chorus of wetland life all around.

A Guide with Heart and Humor

From the start, our captain had an easy laugh and a calm confidence that made me feel safe even as the boat surged forward. He greeted me with genuine warmth, handed me the headset mic, and invited me to ask questions at any moment. Over the next hour (or so), he narrated the landscape with a storyteller’s gift—but always conversational, never preachy.

What set our captain apart was how clearly he loved this place. He told little personal tales: how he’s been guiding these waters since he was a kid, how he knows the nests of egrets and the “haunts” of certain gators, how he’s grown attached to the same animals year after year. You could hear the pride in his voice when he pointed out a particular alligator he’d seen on prior tours, or when a heron swooped low and he murmured, “That one has visited my boat for years.”


Up Close with Wildlife (And Photo Frenzy)

Almost as soon as we were underway, the wildlife began to reveal itself. A juvenile great blue heron posed on a log, craning its neck, and I clicked photos as fast as my shutter finger could. Then, not far ahead, a dark shape slid silently into the water — a gator. The captain coaxed us nearer at low throttle. He introduced her as an old friend. Suddenly, a gator head broke the surface, eyes fixed on us, and I felt a thrill at that silent, ancient gaze. I snapped multiple frames, zooming in on scaled ridges, reflections in the water, the slit pupil staring back.

Later, deeper into mangrove tunnels, we saw a snowy egret, a limpkin, a wood stork preening in bright sunlight. The boat dipped gently to one side as we drifted under overhanging branches. Some birds flitted so close I almost caught them in the frame. He would whisper, “Hold still—don’t spook them.” His patience rewarded me with shots I’d have sworn were staged.

And then came a moment I’ll never forget: as we floated near a grassy edge, airboat captain quietly dropped a few fish scraps into the water. Within seconds, a smaller gator surfaced not far off and glided toward us, drawn by the scent and by the familiarity. I think the guide had conditioned its trust over time. That proximity — this wild creature coming closer to our boat than many tourists ever see — was magical. Cameras clicked, hearts raced.

The Rhythm of the Glades

The ride itself was a dance. Every time the motor roared, water, blades, and reeds stirred in a blur; every time we coasted, silence reigned, broken only by wind in the marsh and birdsong. He knew when to rev, when to slow, when to drift. At one point, he spun the boat gently so we could see a mirror image of the sky and the underside of cypress roots. Then he slowed, killed the motor, and we sat drifting in silence — except for distant insect hums and the soft splash of water against blades.

He told me about the hydrology of the Everglades, how water flows from Lake Okeechobee through the sawgrass, how seasonal shifts alter habitats, how human development complicates that flow. But he told it as we watched that world move — not as a lecture, but as one naturalist to another, companionably.

Why This Tour Stood Out

I’ve been on a handful of “wildlife tours” in my life, but this one resonated deeply. It wasn’t just about seeing animals; it was about connection. The guide’s warmth turned the marshes, the gators, the birds into familiar acquaintances. That a gator would approach our boat — perhaps recognizing his calm presence — felt like the ultimate compliment to his care, patience, and respect.

By the end, my memory card was stuffed with shots — glistening water, reptile eyes, feathered wings, reflections, sunsets dancing across sawgrass. But more than images, I left with a kind of reverence for this wetland world, a sense that I had momentarily belonged there.

As we turned back toward the ramp, I thanked their team and tipped generously. He waved, grinning, saying, “Come back next season. They’ll miss you.” I’m already planning to.

Last month, I finally made it to Gros Morne National Park in Newfoundland, and I’m still thinking about it.
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There are places that impress you, and then there are places that rearrange something in you. Gros Morne belongs in the second category. It is vast, mountainous, coastal, and deeply alive in a way that feels almost old-fashioned now—like wild country before the world learned how to package it. The best comparison I can make is that it reminded me of the national parks out west in America: the scale, the drama, the sense that nature is operating on its own terms. But here, there was something else too—space. Silence. Room to breathe. I could wander for hours without feeling like I was standing in line for beauty.

​And beauty, here, is everywhere.

The mountains rise with that kind of authority that makes conversation go quiet. The shorelines are rugged and wind-shaped. The bush hikes pull you into a world of tuckamore, damp earth, stone, and sudden sweeping views that seem almost too big for the trail that brought you there. One minute you’re threading through green, tangled growth with birdsong somewhere overhead, and the next you’re staring out over water and cliffs and an ocean horizon that feels like the edge of the known world.

What struck me most about Gros Morne was how wild it still feels. Not staged. Not overbuilt. Not smoothed over for convenience. It asks you to pay attention. To slow down. To look.

And when you do, the park starts revealing itself in unforgettable ways.

I saw more moose here than I expected—far more, honestly. They seemed to materialize out of the landscape as if the place had simply decided to let me notice them. In many parks, wildlife sightings feel lucky. In Gros Morne, they felt like part of the rhythm of the land. Each one stopped me cold. There is something about a moose in the wild—the size, the calm, the sheer presence—that never gets ordinary.

But it was a fox that completely stole my heart.

At one point, I had a close encounter with a beautiful fox that felt almost unreal. It moved with that delicate, effortless grace foxes have, alert but unhurried, wild but not frantic. Its coat caught the light in a way that made it seem almost painted into the landscape. For a few moments, it was just there—close enough to admire every fine detail, every intelligent movement, every flicker of expression. Encounters like that are why I travel. Not to check a box, but to be reminded that the world is full of beings living whole lives just beyond our usual field of attention.
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​And then there was the water.

Whale watching here added another layer to the experience entirely. Seeing these waters from shore is one thing; watching for movement, for breath, for that unmistakable arc of life just beyond the surface, is another. Gros Morne is one of those rare places where land and sea feel equally dramatic. Mountains tumble toward the coast. Light shifts by the minute. The shoreline is never just background—it is part of the story, always calling you back.

That’s what I loved most about exploring this corner of Newfoundland: every day felt elemental. Hike the trails. Scan the coast. Watch the weather roll over the mountains. Pull over because there’s another impossible view. Walk a little farther. Stay a little longer. It offers the grandeur people chase in famous western parks, but with a fraction of the noise and congestion. It feels like a place you get to experience rather than compete with.

I can’t recommend Gros Morne enough.

And after long days of exploring this magnificent wild land, I found one of the most memorable meals of the trip in Rocky Harbour at Buoy & Arrow.

This is not the kind of place that coasts on location alone, though the location certainly helps. Set in the heart of Rocky Harbour, Buoy & Arrow has a modern, welcoming atmosphere that immediately makes you want to stay awhile. It feels fresh and thoughtfully done without becoming slick or sterile. There’s warmth here. Real warmth. The kind that comes from people who are genuinely kind, genuinely inviting, and genuinely proud of what they’ve built.

That spirit carries into everything else.

Buoy & Arrow is Mi'kmaw-owned and operated, and what they’ve created feels grounded in place rather than designed for trend. The menu celebrates local seafood, wild game, and ingredients that reflect the region instead of flattening it into something generic. Lobster is here, as it should be. So is moose burger. And depending on what’s being featured, rarer meats like bear also make an appearance—handled not as novelty, but as part of a deeper food story tied to land, season, and tradition.

What I especially loved was that the experience didn’t end with the plate. There were all sorts of rare ingredients, preserves, jams, and hard-to-find foods that made the place feel like more than just a restaurant. It felt like a point of connection to the region itself. Even things like bear oil on offer added to that sense that this was a place still connected to old knowledge, old practices, and a living relationship with the land.

That could easily feel performative somewhere else. Here, it didn’t. It felt sincere.

And that sincerity matters.

Too often, restaurants in stunning destinations rely on scenery and forget hospitality. Buoy & Arrow does the opposite. Yes, the food is memorable. Yes, the offerings are interesting. Yes, it stands out. But what stayed with me just as much was the kindness. The welcome. The sense that this was a place made by people who care deeply about where they are and what they’re sharing with others.

In a region already rich with natural beauty, Buoy & Arrow adds something important: a meal that feels rooted in the same landscape you spent the day exploring.

So yes, go to Gros Morne for the mountains, the bush hikes, the moose, the fox, the shore, and the whales. Go for the wildness and the quiet and the feeling that the world is still bigger than we think.

But when you’re in Rocky Harbour, make time for Buoy & Arrow.
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It’s one of those places that turns a great trip into a memorable one.

Colorado has long been considered a sacred place, and every time I visit, I gain another layer complexity, or a sense of what makes it special. I have lived in Fort Collins before, nearly ten years ago, and much has changed, but much has remained steadfast as well. The whole front range offers a range of fantastic places to spend time when visiting, among my favorites is Boulder, Fort Collins and Colorado Springs. But, as with most people, it’s the mountains that draw my attention most of all. The Rockies have never left me filled without wonder, as I always have a feeling of arriving home when I begin to climb in elevation.

In October, I had the opportunity to attend the American Herbalist Guild symposium held at Snow Mountain Ranch in Granby, Colorado. I flew into Denver International, fought through the crowds to get my rental car then I visited the Wild Animal Sanctuary before heading up into the mountains. It was a precarious drive at night through Berthoud Pass, as a snow storm had began raging in the mountains hours before my arrival. I nearly lost control twice as my rental car twisted and turned through the switchbacks of the pass, but as you can tell, I made it out alive!

For three days, I enjoyed learning from some of the greatest natural healers, doctors and herbalists. Snow Mountain Ranch offers a wonderful opportunity for guests to spend time in their expansive estate, with hikes to waterfalls and to mountain peaks with amazing views, as you can see from the photos below. After a wonderful symposium, I opted to spend my last day in Rocky Mountain National Park, where I had to drive three hours before sunrise, heading back down the pass, up and around to the Bear Lake entrance, since the Trail Ridge Road was closed by the snow storm. I spent the day exploring, hiking, and watching wildlife. As a travel and wildlife photographer, you can imagine how happy I was to enjoy moments with elk, stellar’s jays, chipmunks, trout, and more. No bears this time around.

After a wonderful day in the great outdoors, I wandered down the mountain to a favorite spot of mine in nearby Boulder. I stayed at the seriously impressive and unique Hotel Boulderado, which contains the Spruce Farm & Fish restaurant. After a gorgeous day in the mountains, there’s no better place to relax than along the front range, where luxury meets relaxation.

Hotel Boulderado is an upscale downtown hotel, originally built in 1909, and it hasn’t lost a single ounce of charm and beauty in all those years. It’s known for its fancy aesthetic and stained-glass ceiling. The hotel also boasts one of the oldest elevators in the state, which is a wonderful experience to have, as it takes you back to a time long gone yet much romanticized. The rooms and suites have a Victorian motif, each with a downtown for mountain foothill views.

I found Hotel Boulderado to be among the nicest hotels I’ve stayed at in my travels, not because it’s super fancy, or because everything looks and feels high end. But because it has character, style, and an old timey sort of transport your back in time feel. You can tell the management and/or designers of the hotel took great care, using their imagination at every turn and on each detail. For that, I loved it instantly when I walked in.

I had the opportunity to stay in the Historic King Suite, which offered two rooms, one being a lounge outfitted with couch, desk, mini bar, and TV, while the other room had a king bed and luxurious modernized bathroom. My room was spacious for a downtown hotel, reaching 600 square feet. It instantly felt like a vacation space the moment I entered. My excellent suite had WIFI available, a mini fridge, pull-out sofa, room service, and other hotel amenities like the restaurant, two bars with one being a speakeasy in the basement, fitness room, meeting and event spaces, as well as breakfast and valet parking. The valet was kind enough to bring my luggage up as well.

That night I ate at the hotel restaurant, Spruce Farm & Fish, which offered a range of various fresh local foods, seafood, burgers and steak. I started with a local beer and the wild mushroom toasts for appetizer, which boasted 4-5 locally grown wild mushrooms with a buttery herb blend over grilled French baguette, which was fabulous. I’m a huge mushroom fan, so I love when restaurants indulge the edible mycological sources of the area. For the main dish, I had the smoked mushroom and shallot linguine with salmon filet. Yep! More mushrooms… Woohoo. The taste of the salmon and mushrooms was heavenly. The flavor blend of chardonnay buttered noodles complimented both scrumptiously. My meal was expertly prepared, flavor-rich, healthy and quite filling. I topped off a great night and a wonderful day with rich and creamy key lime pie for desert. Everything I had went above and beyond my expectations. So when you find yourself heading to Colorado, get out of Denver and spend some time in the mountains before staying at Hotel Boulderado. You won’t be disappointed.

Life's purpose for humanity wasn't to be bound by the soul-crushing shackles of the corporate world and the 9 to 5 circus of continual dead-end jobs. The vast majority of the population simply chooses to embrace mediocrity, and I can’t seem to fathom why. From my viewpoint, they seem to be engulfed in fear, too frightened to make the alterations to their life that would lead to true contentment and adventure. Either that, or they're too comfortable or complacent to venture off the often-traveled, asphalt-paved highway to the commercially-sponsored dream (AKA the “American Dream”) and to take the time to create their own path.

     Over the past seven years I have managed a high-end portrait photography studio, which while blessed and thriving, was also coincidentally absorbing every inch of my vitality. Following my first few years at the studio, I began feeling aged well beyond my years, though I was still young. My happiness evaporated and my feelings began to continuously spiral downward. I felt like I was strapped into a roller-coaster with constant stomach wrenching free-falls. I descended to emotional lows that mirrored my insides - parched, disheveled and screaming to be quenched. I yearned for refreshment; for excitement. At one point, I felt only numbness. To a barren desert without any sign of an oasis, I was 'one;' a desolate land accepting defeat. I locked into an internal war, feeling as though I was dying; withering away, being violently lashed in a North Korean cell, near Death’s embrace. Okay, perhaps that’s a little dramatic, but I'm sure you catch my drift.
     I worked endless hours; I single-handedly maintained the marketing, photography and management of the accounts of more than 200 clients. Running a new business and mentoring upwards of twenty interns a year took a violent toll on my happiness, as well as my art. A couple years into this despair, I finally began to feel some semblance of direction - following plenty of soul-searching. Fueled by my frantic urge to run away and inspired by my lifelong fascination with traveling the world, I decisively closed up shop and eventually took the necessary steps to lead my life into a more positive direction.
     A myriad of “rebels” like me have cashed in their chips; they’ve thrown in the towel and run as far and as fast as they could from the ravenous soul-sucking machine of the every day grind. They’ve abruptly stuck it to the Man, left their jobs and pawned every possession in hopes of pursuing real happiness. They’ve begun to make the imperative changes needed to live again; to improve their quality of life. If you’ve ever felt purposeless, bleak and stagnant and you want more out of life, you don't need self-help “bibles” or “life coach” gurus to show you the way. The resolution is ultimately right in front of you, and with concise exploration and meditation, you’re the only source of help that you’ll ever need.
     This may sound proverbial - the first step to solving your problem is admitting you have one. The good news, however, is the solution can be quite simple from there. Personally, my only objective was simply a driving need to reconquer my feelings of self-worth and appreciation. My path had me puzzled until I identified my needs and understood my longing was to simply escape from the clutches of the predictable boxed-in world around me. While I knew travel wasn't the only way to reclaim my life, I had a premonition that, deep down, it would single-handedly restore my happiness and perspective.
     Traveling abroad to faraway lands where nobody speaks your language and everything seems to be twisted upside down can tremendously alter your ego. It forces your eyes and heart open to a new understanding. Change can be painful and uncomfortable at times, and although travel isn't always a walk in the park, it can become an enjoyable and life-changing journey, instead of an unknown adventure to fear.
     I'm a travel essayist and visualist, rather than a motivational speaker. Nevertheless, I’ve found that when discussing such topics with dreamers and wannabe life-livers, I seem to rant on my imaginary soap box. My thoughts and speeches seem to immediately qualify me for admittance directly into the nearest insane asylum. It blows my mind when I see so many individuals that accept unhappiness for years - sometimes even decades - by letting themselves go; by settling or choking down the lazy pill (or so it seems). Please don't settle for soulless jobs, or let unplanned children and destructive relationships defeat the remaining vestiges of your life. Wherever something's amiss, don't just accept and tolerate it by letting it bring you down; learn the solution and strive to move forward. Happiness is impossible without appreciation, so count your blessings.
     The primary reason to quest for change through traveling the world is to experience the beauty that comes with expanding your mind, ditching stereotypes and judgmental behaviors and pursuing your own form of perfect imperfection. As the French say, aller au fil de l'eau, meaning 'to drift with the stream,' so just go with the flow. True traveling tears away the precomposed psyche, intrusively humbles the core and instills wisdom. And if you’re lucky, you gain new perspectives and gain worth by virtue of vital experiences in different cultures as well (if you let it happen). When I say 'travel' I don't mean a cruise through the Bahamas or a penthouse vacation on the French riviera - I'm talking about nearly-stranded on a shoestring budget, living and learning the authentic culture while meeting the locals and immersing yourself in their realities, even if just for a moment.
     Like what I have to say? Great. Hate what I have to say? Even better! Because either way, it made you think. Life isn’t about predictable, expected realities. It’s about how you grow; how you change in those moments of true discomfort. Who you are is nurtured by your experiences and the choices you make, from each and every situation of your life; both substantial and seemingly inconsequential. Next time, I’ll be rehashing my life-altering experience of traveling abroad for the first time. Until then, I want you to ask yourself, “How do I feel about MY life?” Are you stuck in a standstill, spinning your tires? Are you willing to embark on the next adventure that comes your way? Whether you’re experiencing a full-on nervous breakdown, teetering on the verge of a mid-life crisis or having those first twinges of discomfort, let me assure you of something: it’ll all be okay! It may take some meditation, realization and planning, but I promise, you can begin living your life, your own way.

Through my years of traveling the world, I’ve learned countless lessons and recognized numerous themes that connect all human beings, no matter the country or culture. I’ve found that there are certain inherent tendencies that most people have in common, like that of good will towards others. While Western societies have shown to separate communities by the development of social tiers and for the fear of security – I’ve witnessed firsthand, more times than I can count, that most people of this world, no matter their origin or belief, are generally good.

I’m asked all sorts of questions from travelers, people at home, and abroad, and some of the more saddening queries I often receive are the ones where people ask ‘how can you travel safely?’ and ‘aren’t you scared of the people there?’ – when in all actuality, the people make the place, they’re the reason I travel and where I find most of my life-changing experiences.

I’m from the United States, and as I’m sure you may know, Americans are force fed insecurities and are taught fear from a very young age. What that does is separate us from our natural instincts of humility. We automatically learn that what’s mine is mine, and I must shelter what is mine; and I must look out for myself, steering clear of all others, as it’s the only way to maintain a comfortable and secure life. But the world is not meant to be divided into billions of pieces, where the lifestyles of the many are dedicated to the belief: to each their own. This earth is meant to be lived on together and shared with one-another: in one world. For fear binds humans to insecurities, creating a divided line between people... This tears apart the beauty and the connection of community.

At first, traveling the world can seem scary – and sure, scary things can happen to you, but awful experiences happen at home too. But by never letting fear guide your life, or your dreams, you will find that there’s something much more out there worth finding. For if you do let fear dictate your life, you will never truly experience all that this world has to offer. You may never know true beauty and you will never understand true suffering... For knowing true suffering is the key, for without which, one can never unlock the knowledge and the ability of appreciation in the blessing of life and the momentous meaning each breath means.

“Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams...” ―Paulo Coelho.

Travel lets you see the good, and the bad; it lets you step out of your comfort zone, and it opens you up; it lets you ditch all judgements and insecurities, and it guides you in growth and understanding; it lets you appreciate each morsel and every experience, and it bleeds your heart for the suffering of others – without the experiences of the world, life becomes stale, stagnant and stereotypical; and this is how hate is promoted, and how bigotry is passed through generations, rather than a product of evolution. Cultivation of acceptance and wisdom, with the graduation of singular thinking to global thinking, (beyond one’s own existence) is what the world needs now – but this is impossible without the understanding of other cultures, people and places.