Chasing Giants: A road trip to Newfoundland’s Iceberg Alley

It began on an ordinary morning at home: sitting in front of my computer in my home office, catching up on emails and planning out the week ahead. As an outdoor adventure filmmaker, I spend a lot of time daydreaming about where to go next — chasing stories that spark curiosity and bring viewers to beautiful, far‑flung places through my camera lens.

Over the years, those stories have taken me around the world, filming in remote mountain villages and exploring cultures unlike anything I’d grown up with in Canada. But somewhere along the way, in chasing what felt new and distant, I’d overlooked the chance to explore my own country.

That morning, I found myself drawn to Canada’s east coast. Unlike the west, famed for its mountains and alpine lakes, the east felt softer, quieter, and somehow more mysterious. I opened a new tab and started searching: which province? What kinds of adventures could we find? What stories might surprise us?

Then, there it was. The inspiration.

An image of a massive iceberg drifting past a cluster of brightly painted houses in what looked like a small fishing village. Ancient ice, glowing blue in the sun, floating through town as if it belonged there.

And just like that, I knew this was where we needed to go.

Once the idea took hold, it didn’t take long to turn daydreams into plans. We loaded up our Mitsubishi Outlander with camera equipment, hiking gear and more layers than we thought we would need, and left Hamilton, Ont. for the east coast.

After days on the road, we reached North Sydney, N.S., where we boarded the overnight ferry — a seven-hour voyage across open water that felt like crossing into another world. By dawn, we rolled off onto Newfoundland’s rocky shores, ready to see what lay ahead.

About half a million people call this island home, scattered across fishing villages tucked between mossy barrens and dark spruce forests. Houses painted in bright reds, yellows and blues stand firm against grey skies, as if colour itself were a kind of defiance.

The landscape is raw yet deeply human. Weather-worn docks stacked with lobster traps, narrow roads winding past saltbox homes, and rocks polished smooth by long-vanished glaciers. The air carries the sharp scent of seaweed and, from somewhere unseen, the faint musk of wood smoke.

But it’s not just the land that makes Newfoundland special — it’s the people. It wasn’t uncommon to be invited in for a hot cup of tea or a meal, where stories of growing up on "The Rock" flowed as freely as the conversation. Their warmth and openness made the island feel like a community woven together by shared history and saltwater.

And then there are the icebergs: 10,000-year-old chunks of ancient ice that break off from Greenland’s glaciers and take up to two years to drift south, carried by the cold Labrador Current. Though they’re known to appear off Newfoundland each spring, their arrival is never promised — and with a warming planet, the chance to see them slips further away each year.

We woke up early, the sea mist still clinging to the window. The hope — and thrill — of seeing icebergs drift past this stretch of Newfoundland coast, nicknamed “Iceberg Alley,” pulled us straight from bed and out onto the deck to scan the horizon.

But we weren’t leaving it to chance alone. Like everyone chasing these floating giants, we turned to IcebergFinder.com — a uniquely Newfoundland website that tracks the drifting ice in real time. That morning, the map showed the icebergs were near, almost teasingly so.

We loaded into the Outlander once more and headed out. Around each bend, we scanned the water, half-holding our breath, waiting for that first glimpse of ancient ice making its slow, silent journey past the edge of the island.

We stood at the edge of the sea, caught between salt wind and quiet awe. Nearby icebergs drifted by too. Some smooth and sculpted by the waves, others jagged and fractured, their deep crevices catching every glint of light. Fishermen moved through the scene in small boats, setting their lobster traps as if it were any other morning.

But for us, it was anything but ordinary. After days of chasing the chance to witness these ancient giants, we were finally here.