As the tide receded, the seafloor emerged like a secret world. I walked the kilometre-long path, shoes squelching through sand and barnacles.
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As the tide receded, the seafloor emerged like a secret world. I walked the kilometre-long path, shoes squelching through sand and barnacles.
Before sunrise, I set out to reach Ministers Island, a tidal island off the coast of New Brunswick. To get there, I needed to cross a narrow sandbar that appears only at low tide — a fleeting path soon swallowed by the Bay of Fundy’s powerful waves.
As the tide receded, the seafloor emerged like a secret world. I walked the kilometre-long path, shoes squelching through sand and barnacles, while a local woman in rubber boots searched for clams nearby. When the North Atlantic returns, it covers this route under six metres of icy water, erasing all trace of my journey.
Ministers Island was once the summer home of railway tycoon Sir William Van Horne, who helped build the Canadian Pacific Railway in 1885. Today, his 200-hectare estate remains a peaceful retreat with heritage buildings, walking trails, and views framed by elm trees and sea mist.
“Here, we still live by the tides,” said Susan Goertzen, the island’s longtime tour manager.
That rhythm defines life along the Bay of Fundy, home to the highest tides on Earth. Twice daily, nearly 160 billion tonnes of seawater surge in and out — more than all the world’s rivers combined. The phenomenon shapes everything: the coastline, local culture, and the adventures of travellers chasing the ebb and flow of nature.
Following the tide, I joined a Zodiac tour from St Andrews to spot whales feeding in nutrient-rich waters. Within minutes, a minke whale broke the surface, followed by fin whales and playful dolphins. Later, I continued inland to Hopewell Rocks, where towering sea stacks transform from isolated islands at high tide to towering pillars rising from the ocean floor when the water recedes.
For the Mi’kmaw and Passamaquoddy First Nations, these rocks are sacred. Legend tells of the demigod Glooscap, who turned his rival Malsum into stone as punishment, leaving him to face the ocean’s fury for eternity.
Crossing into Nova Scotia, I ended my journey at Joggins Fossil Cliffs, a UNESCO World Heritage Site that reveals fossils dating back 300 million years. Standing there, surrounded by echoes of ancient forests and the roar of the Bay of Fundy tides, I felt small — a visitor in a place where time itself is written in stone.
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