We drove to an unmarked point on the highway outside Tofino, British Columbia. Walked into the trees until we came to a small path leading up and up. Hiked for two hours up into the mountains, through knee deep mud and fallen trees. We started finding engine parts, the fuselage, scraps of rusted metal pockmarked among the trees like broken toys thrown by an upset child.

At the last stretch we look up and see the tail stretching out above our horizon. We climb the steepest part and revel the crashed WWII Canso bomber. Crashed so high and so far that it was left to wait, unclaimed and unburied.

Halfway between the forest and the sky.

A foggy morning in Aberystwyth, Wales.

Travelling through Fremantle, Australia we took a chance and went exploring through Fremantle Prison. The prison was built in the 1850’s and closed only as recently as 1991 where convicts were still imprisoned in almost medieval conditions.

Talking to one of the guides who seemed to have an almost uncanny knowledge of prison life, we asked him if he used to work in the jail. He turned to us and said in a brisk military tone, “There are only two kinds of people who come back. Those who served here, and those who guarded here. Next question?”