The Flight of Newfoundland: My Gannet Adventure in Cape St. Mary’s
[The previous content remains the same up to “Because at the end of the day, it’s not just about getting the perfect shot. It’s about experiencing the raw beauty of nature, pushing your limits, and coming away with stories that’ll last a lifetime. And trust me, in Newfoundland, there’s no shortage of those.”]
Life Beyond the Lens
Now, don’t get me wrong – chasing gannets is exhilarating, but it’s not the whole story. When the cameras stop rolling, that’s when you really get to know Newfoundland. I’ve been coming here for years, and let me tell you, it’s not just the wildlife that keeps me coming back. It’s the rhythm of life here, the sense of community that feels like a warm hug after a long day in the cold.
Picture this: It’s off-season, the tourists have gone home, and the landscape feels almost deserted. That’s when the real magic happens. We usually bunk down in this little motel where everybody knows everybody – and within a day, they know us too. The accommodations? Let’s just say they won’t be featured in any luxury travel magazines anytime soon. But the welcome? It’s warmer than any five-star hotel I’ve ever stayed in.
And the food? Oh boy, let me tell you about the food. Simple? Yes. Perfect? Absolutely. The fish and chips here are the stuff of legends. Fresh from the ocean, crispy on the outside, tender on the inside – it’s like the sea decided to give you a high-five in your mouth. After a day of being battered by wind and waves, it’s exactly what you need.
But here’s where it gets funny. So, there I was, after a week straight of fish and chips. Don’t get me wrong, they’re amazing, but a man can only take so much of a good thing. In a moment of culinary adventurousness (or madness, depending on who you ask), I decided to throw caution to the wind. I looked at the cook and said, “Can you make me a fish sandwich?”
You’d think I’d asked her to prepare a seven-course French meal while juggling flaming torches. She blinked at me, utterly bewildered, and said, “A what?” I couldn’t help but grin. “You know, a fish sandwich. You’ve got fish, you’ve got bread…”
Well, let me tell you, the reaction was something to behold. The kitchen erupted into a buzz of disbelief. The locals at the counter turned to stare, then burst out laughing. I’m pretty sure I heard someone in the back yell, “He wants a what now?”
It’s been years, and they still talk about it. “Remember that mainlander who asked for a fish sandwich?” they’ll say, shaking their heads and chuckling. I’ve gone from being “that wildlife filmmaker” to “that guy who wanted a fish sandwich in the land of fish and chips.” And you know what? I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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Evenings with the Locals
But the real magic? It happens in the evenings. There’s this local restaurant that becomes the heart of the community after dark. Picture this: a room full of Newfoundlanders, their curiosity piqued by the presence of outsiders. They’re eager to know what brings us to their corner of the world, but even more eager to share their own stories.
I remember this one night, sitting there with my team, surrounded by locals. This old fisherman, must have been in his 80s, starts telling us about the time he got caught in a storm so bad he thought he’d sailed right off the edge of the world. The way he told it, with his eyes twinkling and his hands gesturing wildly, you could almost feel the spray of the waves and hear the howling wind.
It’s in these moments, laughing with strangers who quickly become friends, that I feel most connected to this place. It’s a world away from the frantic pace of filming in cities or more touristy locations. Here, time seems to slow down, and you remember what really matters.
More Than Just Pretty Pictures
You know, when I first started this gig, I thought it was all about getting those jaw-dropping shots. And don’t get me wrong, that’s still a huge part of it. But over the years, I’ve realized it’s about so much more. It’s about telling a story – not just of the gannets, but of the cliffs they call home, the ocean that feeds them, and the intricate web of life that connects it all.
Every trip here brings something new. Sometimes it’s a challenge that makes you want to tear your hair out. But more often, it’s a moment of pure awe. Like watching a sunset paint the cliffs in colours so vivid you’d swear they weren’t real, or seeing a young gannet take its first, clumsy flight.
And let me tell you, I couldn’t do any of this without my team. These folks aren’t just colleagues; they’re my second family. When you’re out here, in a place as wild and unpredictable as Newfoundland, you need people you can trust with your life. Whether it’s wrangling equipment in gale-force winds or coordinating the perfect drone shot, everyone plays a crucial role.
“I trust these guys completely,” I often say, and I mean it. “Out here, you need more than just skill. You need people who love the adventure as much as you do.” And boy, do we have adventures.
The Siren Call of the Rock
You know what’s funny? Every time I leave Newfoundland, I think, “Okay, that’s it. I’ve got all the footage I need. Time to move on to the next project.” But then, a few months down the line, I feel it. This pull, like the island is calling me back. It’s not just the gannets or the stunning landscapes. It’s the whole package – the wild beauty, the warm people, the sense that you’re experiencing something real and rare in today’s world.
As we wrap up another day of shooting, watching the gannets wheel overhead and listening to the crash of the Atlantic below, I’m filled with this overwhelming sense of gratitude. Gratitude for the chance to witness this natural spectacle, sure. But also for the smaller moments – the laughter shared over dinner, the stories swapped with locals, the quiet moments of awe as you watch the sun rise over the ocean.
The footage we capture will tell the story of the gannets, and I hope it’ll inspire people to care about these incredible birds and the environment they depend on. But for me and my team, it’s about more than just the final product. It’s about the journey – the highs and lows, the challenges and triumphs. It’s about the connection we’ve forged with this rugged, beautiful place and its people.
As I pack up my gear, already thinking about the next shot, the next challenge, I can’t help but smile. Because I know that no matter where my work takes me next, a part of my heart will always belong to Newfoundland – to its soaring cliffs, its plunging gannets, and its warm, welcoming people. And I know that sooner or later, the call of the Rock will bring me back once again.
