G’day, folks! Donny Love here, local Newfoundlander and host of “Adventures Unknown.” Born and raised on these rugged shores, I’ve spent more time with whales than with some of my relatives—and trust me, that’s saying something in Newfoundland where family gatherings are as common as foggy mornings!
Today, I’m taking you on a journey through my backyard—the whale-rich waters of Newfoundland—where I’ve spent countless hours witnessing nature’s most magnificent performers. These aren’t just tourist tales; these are my life stories, my heritage, and the experiences that shaped me into the adventure-seeker you see on your screens each week.
I remember my first whale sighting like it was yesterday. I was just a wee lad of seven, fishing with my pop off the eastern coast, when a humpback breached so close it showered our dory with seawater. Pop just laughed and said, “That’s just how they say hello around here, my son.” And he was right—these waters aren’t just home to me; they’re home to some of the most sociable marine mammals you’ll ever encounter.
Growing up, I didn’t realize how special it was to have 22 species of whales and dolphins in my playground. It wasn’t until I started traveling for “Adventures Unknown” that I understood—what we have here in Newfoundland isn’t just good whale watching; it’s world-class. The cold Labrador Current meets the warm Gulf Stream right off our shores, creating a seafood buffet that attracts whales by the thousands each year. It’s like nature’s perfect storm of conditions, and we’re sitting in the sweet spot.
Humpback Whales: These fellas are the entertainers of the bunch. I’ve named a few regulars over the years—there’s “Splash,” who’s been visiting Bay Bulls every summer since I was a teenager and always puts on a show with his tail slaps. Then there’s “Old Scar,” with the distinctive mark on his dorsal fin, who I swear recognizes my boat. Humpbacks are known for their complex songs, but did you know they have dialects? Our Newfoundland humpbacks have a slightly different tune than their southern cousins. I’ve spent nights recording them for my show’s special episodes.
Minke Whales: Now, the minkes are the shy cousins at the family reunion. They’ll peek at you from a distance, curious but cautious. I’ve had the most luck spotting them early in the morning when the water’s calm as glass. They’re smaller than the humpbacks but move with such grace it’ll bring tears to your eyes. Last summer, during a shoot near Twillingate, a young minke followed our boat for nearly an hour—an encounter so rare even my seasoned cameraman was left speechless.
Blue Whales: Ah, the blues—the gentle giants that still make my heart race after all these years. My grandfather used to tell tales of blue whales that dwarfed fishing boats, and I thought he was spinning yarns until I saw one for myself off the coast of St. Anthony. It was like watching a submarine surface, but alive and breathing. Blues are rare visitors, but when they come, time seems to stand still. It’s a spiritual experience, I tell you. In all my years hosting “Adventures Unknown,” nothing compares to filming alongside a blue whale.
Orcas (Killer Whales): These beauties aren’t as common in our waters, but when they appear, it’s like the ocean’s royalty has arrived. Sleek, powerful, and intelligent, orcas hunt in packs with strategies that would impress military generals. I once witnessed an orca pod corral a school of herring against our shoreline—a hunting technique passed down through generations. It was both terrifying and awe-inspiring, a reminder of the raw, untamed nature just beyond our docks.
Pilot Whales: These social butterflies travel in tight-knit pods, sometimes hundreds strong. They’re curious creatures, often approaching boats to get a better look at us humans. I’ve spent entire afternoons drifting alongside pilot whale families, watching mothers teach calves the ways of the ocean. There’s an intelligence in their eyes that speaks of ancient wisdom, a connection to the deep I’ve tried to capture on camera countless times.
Now, let me tell you a local secret—while the tourism brochures will point you to June through August, I’ve had some of my most memorable encounters in late May and early September. That’s when the real magic happens, when the tourist boats are fewer and the whales seem more relaxed, more themselves.
In May, as the sea ice retreats north, the first humpbacks arrive, hungry after their long journey from the Caribbean. They’re eager feeders, more active, and often breach more frequently. I filmed my most-watched episode of “Adventures Unknown” during the last week of May, when a mother humpback and her calf spent three hours playing around our boat near Cape Spear.
By July, the capelin are rolling on our beaches—tiny silver fish that spawn by the millions on our shores. It’s a phenomenon unique to Newfoundland, and it brings whales so close to land you can almost touch them. I’ve seen tourists weep at the sight of a humpback lunging through a capelin school just meters from shore. It’s nature’s grandest buffet, and trust me, you want front-row seats.
September brings a different energy. The whales are fattening up for their long migration south, feeding with an urgency that makes for spectacular viewing. The crowds thin as children return to school, and on calm September days, the ocean can be so still you can hear a whale’s exhale from a kilometer away. It’s my favorite time to be on the water—just me, my childhood friends who crew my boat, and the whales we’ve grown up with.
Demo Text
After decades on these waters, I’ve learned a thing or two about preparation. Forget what you’ve packed for other adventures—Newfoundland demands respect, even in summer.
Traditional Wooden Boats: There’s something special about the old ways. My first whale encounters were from my grandfather’s dory, hand-built in his shed over one long winter. These traditional wooden boats sit differently in the water, move with the swells rather than against them. Some local operators still use modernized versions of these traditional crafts, and there’s nothing like the creak of wood and the smell of salt-soaked timber as you approach a whale.
Modern Tour Boats: Most commercial operators use fiberglass vessels these days, designed specifically for whale watching with raised viewing platforms and underwater microphones to hear whale songs. I’ve partnered with Trinity Eco-Tours for several episodes—their boats are equipped with hydrophones that have captured sounds for my show’s soundtrack. The advantage here is stability and comfort, especially important if you’re bringing little ones or those prone to seasickness.
Kayaks: Now, this is how I prefer to connect with our ocean giants when the cameras aren’t rolling. There’s nothing between you and them—just a thin layer of plastic and the vast Atlantic. I lead small kayaking expeditions out of Bonavista every August, limited to experienced paddlers. When a 40-ton humpback surfaces beside your tiny craft, exhaling a cloud of mist that rains down on your face, you’ll understand why I never left Newfoundland despite Hollywood offers. It’s humbling and exhilarating in equal measure.
Zodiacs and RIBs: These rigid inflatable boats offer the thrill of speed with the ability to navigate narrow inlets where whales often feed. They’re bouncy rides, not for everyone, but they can get you closer to the action faster. I use a custom RIB for filming chase scenes where we need to keep pace with traveling pods.
I’ve seen tourists show up in flip-flops and shorts, then spend the day shivering instead of whale watching. Even in August, our waters rarely exceed 10°C (50°F), and the wind off the North Atlantic can cut through summer clothing like it’s not even there. Here’s what’s always in my sea bag:
Layers, b’y, layers! I start with thermal underwear, even in July, then add wool (nature’s insulator, works even when wet), fleece, and top it with waterproof outer layers. That tourist-shop fisherman’s sweater isn’t just for looks—there’s generations of wisdom in that design.
Gloves and a toque (that’s a wool hat for you mainlanders): Extremities get cold first, and once your hands are numb, you’ll miss that perfect photo opportunity. I keep multiple pairs of gloves onboard—waterproof ones for handling equipment, fingerless wool for operating cameras, and spare dry pairs for guests who didn’t heed my warnings.
Proper footwear: Rubber boots or deck shoes with non-slip soles are essential. Nothing ruins a whale encounter faster than slipping on a wet deck. My lucky boots have been with me for fifteen seasons, resoled twice, and have stood firm through storms that would make mainlanders quake.
The ultimate camera setup: After years of trial and error, I’ve settled on a weather-sealed DSLR with a 100-400mm zoom lens for whale watching. It’s versatile enough for wide seascape shots and close-ups of flukes and fins. I always bring spare batteries (the cold drains them quickly) and memory cards (you’ll take more photos than you think). For my show, we use specialized equipment, but for personal trips, this setup never fails.
Binoculars: Not all whale action happens close to the boat. A good pair of 7×50 marine binoculars helps spot blows on the horizon and distant breaches. Mine are attached to a floatable strap—a lesson learned after watching my first pair sink into Conception Bay during a particularly exciting humpback breach.
Seasickness remedies: Even born-and-bred Newfoundlanders like me can get queasy in certain conditions. I keep ginger candy, acupressure wristbands, and non-drowsy medication onboard for guests. My grandmother’s remedy was to suck on a piece of salt pork—I don’t recommend this one to tourists, though it works surprisingly well!
Patience: Pack it in abundance. Some days the whales are everywhere, breaching alongside like they’re auditioning for my show. Other days, they’re elusive, and you might only see a distant blow or the flash of a fluke. Those quiet days have taught me as much about nature as the spectacular ones.
Growing up in a fishing family, I learned early that the ocean demands respect. This wasn’t just my playground—it was my dinner table, my classroom, and eventually my livelihood. The same respect extends to its inhabitants.
On “Adventures Unknown,” we follow strict ethical guidelines for wildlife encounters. These aren’t just rules—they’re relationship principles I’ve developed through decades of whale interactions:
Let the whales set the pace: Some days, they’ll approach so close you can see the barnacles on their skin. Other days, they need space. Learn to read their behavior—if they’re actively feeding or traveling with calves, keep your distance.
Engine etiquette: I always slow my engines when within 100 meters of a whale and idle or shut down completely when closer. The sound of propellers can disrupt their communication and feeding. On particularly special encounters, I’ll kill the engine entirely and drift, allowing the whales to approach if they choose.
The golden hour: Early morning and late afternoon offer not just the best light for photography but often the calmest whale behavior. During midday, when tourist boats are plentiful, the whales sometimes retreat to deeper waters. For my most intimate filming sessions, I’m on the water at dawn, when it’s just me and them in the soft morning light.
Citizen science: Every trip is an opportunity to contribute to whale conservation. I photograph distinctive flukes and fins for identification and share the data with researchers at Memorial University. Several whales in their database were first identified during my expeditions. Through my show, I’ve encouraged viewers to do the same, creating a network of citizen scientists across the province.
After hosting “Adventures Unknown” for fifteen seasons, I’ve explored every cove and bay along our 29,000 kilometers of coastline. While I can’t give away all my filming locations (a host needs some secrets!), I’ll share a few special places that never disappoint:
Witless Bay Ecological Reserve.
Just a 30-minute drive from my St. John’s home, this protected area hosts North America’s largest Atlantic puffin colony and, consequently, abundant food for whales. What makes this spot special is the backdrop—towering cliffs teeming with seabirds create a natural amphitheater for whale performances. I’ve filmed episodes here where humpbacks, puffins, and icebergs all shared the frame—the holy trinity of Newfoundland wildlife viewing.
My insider tip: Book with O’Brien’s Boat Tours and ask for Captain Wayne. Tell him Donny sent you, and he’ll take you to a small cove where a resident female humpback named “Propeller” (for her distinctive scarred fluke) often rests between feeding bouts.
Trinity Bay.
This is where my whale journey began, fishing with my grandfather in waters so rich he claimed you could walk across the bay on cod backs. While the cod are fewer now, the whales remain. The deep waters and steep underwater drop-offs create unique feeding opportunities, especially for deep-diving species like sperm whales.
Local secret: There’s a small beach near Dunfield accessible only by boat or a challenging hike. Offshore from this beach, three underwater canyons converge, creating an upwelling that attracts krill and, consequently, feeding whales. I’ve spent entire days anchored here, cameras rolling, as whales performed a feeding ballet around my boat.
The Northern Peninsula—St. Anthony and L’Anse aux Meadows.
This is whale-watching for the adventurous soul. Remote and raw, the northern tip of Newfoundland offers a double spectacle in late spring: icebergs and whales sharing the same waters. The season is shorter here, but the experiences are unforgettable. During a particularly memorable episode, we filmed orcas hunting among ice floes, using the ice as a strategic tool to corral seals—behavior rarely documented in Atlantic waters.
Donny’s special spot: There’s a lighthouse keeper’s cottage available for rent near L’Anse aux Meadows. Book it for three nights in early June, and spend your mornings on the point with binoculars. The minke whales pass so close to shore here you can hear them breathe.
Fortune Bay—The South Coast.
Often overlooked by tourists, Newfoundland’s south coast offers sheltered waters and abundant marine life. Fortune Bay, with its mix of cold and warm currents, creates a biological hotspot. It’s here I’ve had my most magical encounters with pilot whales and dolphins, species that seem particularly interested in human interaction.
The local way: Befriend a fisherman in one of the small outports like Hermitage or McCallum (accessible only by boat). The genuine hospitality of Newfoundlanders isn’t just a stereotype—it’s our way of life. Many are happy to take visitors out on their boats during off hours, providing a more authentic experience than commercial tours.
When you’ve spent as many hours on the water as I have, you collect stories like others collect souvenirs. Here are a few that still give me goosebumps, even years later:
The Singing Humpback of Red Bay.
We were filming a segment on Basque whaling history in Labrador when we encountered a lone male humpback in Red Bay. As we drifted with engines off, he began to sing—not the usual underwater songs, but vocalizations so loud they resonated through our hull. For forty-five minutes, he circled our boat, rolling to expose his eye above water as if watching our reactions. Our sound engineer captured it all, and that recording became the theme music for season five of “Adventures Unknown.” Scientists later told me this surface singing behavior is extremely rare.
The Great White North Atlantic Mystery.
During a stormy October expedition off Cape Race, we were tracking a pod of pilot whales when something massive moved beneath our boat. It wasn’t a species I recognized—larger than a minke but moving differently than a humpback. Our underwater camera caught a brief glimpse of a pale form, almost ghost-like. Marine biologists who reviewed our footage suggested it might have been a juvenile bowhead whale, far south of its Arctic range. It’s encounters like these, the unexplained mysteries, that keep me returning to the water decade after decade.
The Mother’s Trust.
The most profound whale encounter of my life happened three years ago near Bonavista. A female humpback with a young calf approached our anchored boat and, to my astonishment, the mother nudged her calf toward us. For over an hour, the baby whale explored our vessel, rolling alongside to examine us with one curious eye while the mother rested nearby. It was as if she was introducing her young one to another species, teaching it about the strange two-legged creatures that share their world. I’ve faced bears in the wild, climbed mountains, and navigated treacherous rapids for my show, but nothing has ever affected me like that mother’s trust.
The Night Swimmers.
During a midnight shoot capturing bioluminescence in Conception Bay, we witnessed something few have seen—humpbacks feeding at night. As they moved through schools of krill, their bodies illuminated from beneath by the glowing microorganisms, creating ethereal blue outlines in the darkness. We cut all lights and filmed using specialized equipment, capturing footage that later won an international documentary award. What struck me most was their precision—even in near-total darkness, their coordinated bubble-net feeding was flawless, a dance choreographed over millions of years of evolution.
Conservation Concerns: Protecting My Backyard.
The whale populations I grew up with face challenges my grandfather never imagined. Ocean warming is shifting their food sources, noise from increasing shipping traffic disrupts their communication, and pollution threatens their health. Through “Adventures Unknown,” I’ve tried to raise awareness of these issues, showing viewers not just the beauty of these animals but their vulnerability.
In recent seasons, we’ve partnered with local researchers to document changing migration patterns and feeding behaviors. The humpbacks are arriving earlier and staying later, responding to shifts in ocean temperature and prey availability. Some species we rarely saw in my youth, like sei whales, are becoming more common as warming waters change migration routes.
It’s not all doom and gloom, though. Newfoundland’s whale-watching industry has become a powerful advocate for marine protection. Many former cod fishermen, including my cousins in Trinity Bay, have transformed their livelihoods from harvesting the sea to showcasing its wonders. This economic shift has created a new generation of ocean guardians.
Folks often ask why, given the success of “Adventures Unknown,” I haven’t moved to Toronto or Vancouver where the big production companies operate. My answer is always the same: I could no more leave these waters than stop breathing. Newfoundland isn’t just where I film—it’s what flows through my veins.
Every time I guide visitors on whale-watching trips between filming seasons, I see my home through fresh eyes. I watch their faces transform with wonder as a humpback breaches, and I’m reminded of that first sighting with my grandfather, how it shaped the course of my life.
This isn’t just whale watching—it’s connecting with the pulse of our planet, acknowledging that we share this Earth with beings whose intelligence and emotional lives may rival our own. In a world increasingly dominated by screens and artificial experiences, these authentic encounters with wildness are more precious than ever.
An Invitation from Donny Love.
So, to you reading this—whether you’re a fellow Newfoundlander or someone dreaming of adventures from far away—I extend a personal invitation. Come to my Newfoundland. Let me show you whales that will change your perspective forever. Bring good rainwear, an open heart, and a sense of wonder.
The whales are waiting, and so am I. Perhaps I’ll see you on my next expedition, or maybe you’ll spot the “Adventures Unknown” boat filming on the horizon. Either way, you’ll return home with stories that will last a lifetime and a new appreciation for the giants that grace our shores.
Until then, this is Donny Love, signing off from the whale-rich waters of Newfoundland—where every day is an adventure unknown, and the best is always yet to come.
Donny Love
Adventures Unknown
