I’ll make no secret of it: I think whales are extraordinary animals.
Not just extraordinary. The kind of extraordinary that makes it hard to believe such creatures actually exist. Animals larger than a house, moving almost silently through the water, sometimes surfacing right beside a boat. When we started planning our trip to Canada, a whale-watching excursion was high on my bucket list. Canada seemed like the perfect place for it. The St. Lawrence River is home to several whale species, including the remarkable beluga. This white whale can only be found in a limited number of places around the world, and one of its last major populations lives here. In other words, this was supposed to be one of the highlights of our trip.
Or so we thought.
The day actually starts promising enough. Only the weather doesn’t seem entirely convinced. A thick fog hangs over the river and the temperature hovers around sixteen degrees Celsius. Out on the water, it feels much colder than that. So we put on just about every warm layer we brought with us. Canadian summer or not, today feels more like a chilly autumn morning.
We board in Baie-Sainte-Catherine. It quickly becomes clear that most seats are already taken. A large number of passengers boarded earlier in Tadoussac. Not a disaster, of course, but it does mean we don’t immediately find our ideal spot. Before long, we leave the dock behind.
The excitement builds. Everyone scans the water. Suddenly every wave looks suspicious. Every dark shadow could be a whale.
And then it happens.
“Beluga!”
People point. Cameras appear. Everyone looks in the same direction.
So do we.
In the distance, we see something white rise above the water.
A back. Maybe.
A movement. Probably.
A beluga? Most likely.
With the fog obscuring everything, it feels more like an exercise in optimism than actual whale spotting. But no matter, the tour has only just begun. Surely the real encounter is still to come.
And over the next few hours, we do indeed see several whales. Humpbacks. Baleen whales. Even seals make an appearance. Objectively speaking, we have absolutely nothing to complain about. We see more animals than we had dared hope for beforehand.
And yet something strange happens.
The magic never quite arrives.
It has very little to do with the whales themselves. They are every bit as impressive as we imagined. It is everything surrounding them.
The moment someone spots a fin, half the boat rushes to the same side. People shuffle around, point, and search for a better view. Just when you think you’ve found the whale, it disappears beneath the surface again.
Then the whole process starts over.
“Starboard!” Everyone moves to the right.
“Port side!” Everyone moves to the left.
After a while, it feels less like an encounter with wild animals and more like a collective hunt for a few fleeting seconds of happiness. Maybe we had imagined something different. Instead, we were constantly searching. Always just a little too late.
Meanwhile, the cold starts doing its work. Our fingers grow numb. The wind effortlessly finds its way through our jackets. Around us, various zodiacs and other boats move across the water. It is busy out there, and everyone is doing exactly what we are doing.
Searching. Staring. Waiting.
And then a strange thought occurs to us.
Maybe we expected too much.
Not from the whales.
From the experience.
Because those are two different things.
The animals themselves were fantastic.
Seeing four humpback whales is still special. Seals are always a welcome bonus. If someone had told us beforehand exactly how many animals we would end up seeing, we would have signed up for it immediately.
But travel sometimes teaches you that an experience is more than a checklist. You can see everything you came to see and still feel as though something is missing.
And that is perfectly fine.
In fact, that is what makes travel interesting.
Sometimes you are completely surprised by a small moment you never expected. And sometimes an activity you have looked forward to for months turns out to be just a little less magical than you had hoped.
Later, when we looked back on our time in Canada, we realized something striking. Whenever we talked about nature, we found ourselves speaking more often about the bears of Charlevoix, the silence of Algonquin’s lakes, paddleboarding in Jacques-Cartier National Park, or kayaking between the towering rock walls of the Saguenay Fjord.
And less about the whales.
Not because the whales were any less impressive.
But because wonder, it seems, cannot be planned.
Not even when a whale weighing dozens of tons is swimming right in front of you.
