Tag: Grand Manan Island

A local tourism map suggests that the ghost lighthouse on Gannet Rock is some 14.5 kilometres southeast of, one assumes, the southern tip of Grand Manan Island. Without a compass and map, it’s difficult to know precisely how time, speed and direction conspired, but arguably, the Zodiac boat I was on departed the Bay of Fundy and entered the Gulf of Maine or perhaps the Atlantic Ocean itself. I’m not up on how these things are defined.

Let’s call it a long way from frikkin land, because it felt as though we proceeded past Gannet Rock about another 14.5 km or so. On a gray day, the horizon between sea and sky was just a suggestion. That, in itself, wasn’t an issue.

Nor were the seas themselves, no matter which body of water was technically surrounding me. The captain estimated swells of less than one metre. Oh, there were drops of two or three metres that rattled the coccyx, but these were occasional. Even a lake tripping canoeist like me knew this was a gentle day in a stable boat, well within its design parameters. This wasn’t an issue.

I resisted the urge to yell, “thar she blows!” when I spotted the first of the humpbacks to port and the captain turned in the direction of the finger that I could not resist pointing. We’d found our pod. This, too, was hardly an issue.

Calm-ish sea or not, there remained plenty of motion and as I raised camera to eye, there was a bit of struggle to keep the telephoto lens trained on the aquatic mammals that were surfacing to clear their blowholes. On top of this, I was keeping my non-camera eye open to spot other groups. This is where the issues began.

Internal Disagreements

The human ability to detect its position in space depends on a coordinated effort. The inner ear holds three balance organs that detect and track the head’s rotation and others to report on its movement.

That information is sent to the brain, which then compares it to information gathered by the eyes. This is a sort of inner redundancy check. Your brain expects to see a field of vision that matches the motion information put forth by the ears. Muscles and nerves provide tertiary-level input.

As long as the brain reconciles the reporting of these body systems, all is fine, as it was all the way to the imagined point, 29 km or more from our starting point.

However, my spatial sensors were having a rather heated discussion. Muscles and nerves were fixed in position within the Zodiac. One eye was tracking whales through a long lens. The other eye perceived a more or less normal field of vision. My ears were reporting every gentle roll along every gentle axis.

In short, my balance systems were calling each other liars.

Heave Ho, Almost

The net result became apparent as the whales began to lose interest in us. Given the internal struggle that was now creating storm surges in my stomach while a great wooze did its thing from ear to ear, I was losing interest in them.

Forget whales. It was indignity prevention time. All I needed (not) was to hang over the inflatable side of the Zodiac pumping bacon and eggs into the bay/gulf/ocean. The telephoto went back into the camera bag and out came a GoPro that I simply engaged and held high, hoping I was pointing in the right direction. Usable footage? Well, no.

As the cetaceans dwindled and the captain turned back toward the harbour, I was not at odds with his decision. Along the way, I saw my first in-person puffins, pulled the long lens out and suddenly remembered why I put it away. More meditational breathing.

By the time we were back in Ingalls Head, my eyes, ears, bones and brain were once again on civil terms and the shelter of the harbour was both literal and figurative, and I maintained my breakfast.

It was, in the grand scheme, a tiny battle. The images were worth it.