I woke in my cabin on the Ocean Endeavour at three a.m., realising it was no normal night’s slumber. But this interaction was more than a dream; it was something paranormal, a sense that those who’ve died linger in transitions. What I felt was a connection, similar to when my dad died — a brief reunion, a moment when loved ones return to offer comfort, passing a baton of solace.

Being at sea, off Canada’s east coast, added its own narrative layer. Beyond sight of land at the whim of the water, the weather echoed my emotions: restless wind, sudden storms, then brief spells of warm sun and blue sky. Seabirds, whales and the froth of our wake kept me company, along with the familiar ocean themes of solitude, quiet death and perpetual life. Yet in all that blue-gray, I found myself mostly content.

My role on this specific voyage is as an ambassador for the Royal Canadian Geographical Society, sailing in Newfoundland aboard Adventure Canada’s Ocean Endeavour. This excursion is a clockwise loop around Newfoundland, touching on the French outpost of St. Pierre and Miquelon, visiting northern Labrador, skirting L’Anse aux Meadows and returning down the east side of the province to conclude our journey in the port of St. John’s.

If I were to delineate the trek like a journal-style map, my expedition would unfold in four parts: St. John’s to Quidi Vidi and the Avalon Peninsula, which I explored before boarding the ship, then on the water to St. Pierre and Miquelon, followed by the south side of “the Rock” to the UNESCO-protected landscapes of Gros Morne, concluding with the top of the province (from Labrador to Trinity) before reaching St. John’s once again.

Farther south, at the UNESCO World Heritage Site of Mistaken Point, I fuel up on chowder, heavy with scallops and cream. Beneath me lie the planet’s oldest fossils, an outcrop of 565-million-year-old rock that preserves the remnants of the first complex life on Earth: marine animals known as Ediacaran biota. 

At Mistaken Point, I fight violent gales atop cliffs where waves pummel granite. A rough gravel road carries me to Cape Race, Canada’s edge, its lighthouse still marking a primary North American landfall.

Back in Portugal Cove South, an archaeologist guides me through half a billion years of local history, reminding me that this coastline was once joined to Australia as part of the ancient continent of Avalonia. I ask if Newfoundland’s thrombolites match Australia’s stromatolites, “breathing” rocks that first oxygenated the Earth. The archaeologist grins. “Exactly,” she says. Proving I did learn something from that geology course that I failed.

That night, in Trepassey, where Amelia Earhart began her transatlantic flight, I prepared to complete the Irish Loop Drive. One more day at the wheel, a walk into Holyrood, a stroll on Conception Bay’s shoreline, more chowder, then I return to St. John’s. At the harbour, the Ocean Endeavour awaits, ready to circumnavigate Newfoundland.

On Newfoundland’s southern shore, at Conne River, we join a powwow in the Mi’kmaq First Nations village of Miawpukek, followed by moose stew. Bearing west, we disembark at Francois for independent hikes to a bluff, a trout-jumping lake, a high cave and a bridal-veil waterfall, all surrounded by autumn red-gold. With Adventure Canada, shore landings are a frequent highlight, an opportunity to further explore the terrain. 

In Garia Bay, low hills are quilted in wild blueberries, and I graze my way along the trail. I remember stories of Mom doing the same, gathering berries when she was a child. She would fill a glass jar with the fruit, a small treasure she’d carry home to share at the family table. 

The weather has turned in our favour. Calm seas carry us to Woody Point for two nights, a chance to explore Gros Morne National Park, the second UNESCO site on our journey. 

Under a pewter-grey sky, I hike into the Tablelands, leaning into 100-km/h gusts. This is one of the few places on Earth where the mantle rises through the crust, a valley split between two layers of the planet, carved by ocean, glacier, river, and wind.

Then a light-switch new day: a warm, sunny trek on the Green Gardens Trail to a pebbly beach with a vista of seastacks. Afterward, a post-hike lobster roll, boots thrown aside, my feet dangling in the frigid Atlantic.