Whales. I have mixed feelings about them. Majestic, otherworldly, and likely the custodians of some deep-sea intelligence we can’t even begin to fathom. Yet, years ago in Tokyo, I was in a tiny pit-stop sushi bar when I spotted a piece of deep-red meat glistening on the counter. I pointed at it, curious, and the chef served me a slice. It was delicious. Then, with a proud grin, he flipped open his sushi book and revealed what I’d just eaten: whale. Guilty as charged.
Years later, Josée and I drove for hours through the rugged spine of eastern Quebec, heading for Tadoussac—the whale-watching capital of the St. Lawrence. As we crested a hill and dropped into a fjord, I sucked in a breath. Maybe it was the road curling down to what looked like a sheer plunge into the water. Maybe it was the looming cliffs and the way the light shattered on the waves. Mist floated in the air making it feel magical. Either way, it felt like we’d driven into a postcard. At the ferry, I eased our car onto the platform, and soon we were gliding across the channel, water and sky melting together as we made our way to the hotel.
It was a short stay, but we wrung every drop of life out of it. One night we set out for a snack and ended up getting drunk at a local watering hole. Most nights we devoured seafood. By day, we cruised through the town, soaking in the atmosphere. I got her some earrings that have been a favourite to this day. Their large circular shapes coloured by royal blues and purples really draw out her beauty. But the crown jewel was the boat trip into the frigid waters, searching for whales.
We found them. Several species, even a pod of dolphins slicing through the waves. Some whales surfaced close enough to blast fountains of mist high into the skyline, the sound of their breath echoing like thunder. Midway through the trip, a leviathan rose from the depths. It moved with an almost circular grace, its massive body grey-blue and scarred by the sea. Our guide’s voice broke with excitement as he told us we’d just witnessed something rare—one of the mere 10,000 to 25,000 blue whales still alive on Earth. Josée and I grinned like kids, caught in a moment that felt sacred. To end the day we sailed into the deep recesses of a fiord. Sheer stone cliffs rose high above us. It felt like if we really went deep into it we’d have been swallowed whole.
Would I ever eat whale again? No. Seeing them in the wild was like seeing living myths, and I can’t go back from that. Next time I’m in Tokyo, I’ll be asking before I eat.
Thanks for reading,
Kevin & Josée