Little Dover Island is another world. It is largely barrens - low ground cover around the many glacial erratics and granite bedrock slabs. The thin boggy soil is covered with sphagnum moss, reindeer lichens, low mats of spreading spruce, sweet-scented crowberry, blueberries, some very small asters and goldenrod. It is an austere beauty.



The island is actually several islands with narrow passages between them. It made for enjoyable exploring.



Above, the far end of the island, with the inevitable ledges and shoals extending out from the tip. This side of the island was sheltered from the winds that day. The other side was a whole other matter.



I decided to stay on the island that night, and set about finding somewhere - anywhere - to land the boat. It wasn't easy. Rock cliff or jumble is the rule. At last I chose this location, just inside one of the passages. It gave me plenty of access to ramble and explore.



Above, this is the view from just above the campsite.



Myself, enjoying the view.



Sunset on the white granite.



The North Atlantic is not the Bay of Anything or the Gulf of Anything. It feels big, powerful. I slept on the decision to go south again until weather was more fitting.

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