Gentle evening breezes rise to the upper reaches of the cliffs. You navigate with the sure-footed precision of a mountain goat. The smell of dirt clings to tired, sweaty legs. It's worth stopping on the craggy, winding path for a closer look. Taking out your spyglass, you scan the deep ocean horizon. White caps take shape as you rotate the eyepiece of the cool brass tube. Seagulls glide over the boundless rolling waters at dusk. If you look far enough, there's an old boat out there braving the unknown. You imagine that even farther away, in another time, there's a veteran sailor riding the tide on an equally seasoned schooner. One eye squints to avoid the glare of sunlight on saltwater. The other eye is open to possibility. Staring down the barrel of a spyglass telescope, his manifest destination is barely visible in the distance: an island with safe harbor, cliffs steep enough to moor a boat and a rocky path that leads to the comforts of fire.