A humpback whale lunges from the depths in search of capelin, a small schooling fish.
But What About The Sharks?
The most common response I receive when I tell people I am a cold-water diver in Newfoundland is: “I couldn’t be at that, it’s too cold!” quickly followed by “but what about the sharks?!”. I have no rebuttal for the fact that it is a very cold place to dive – as cold as -1°C (30.2°F) in March (seawater has a freezing point of around -1.8C). As for sharks, yes, Newfoundland is home to several species: Blue, White, Mako, Greenland, Basking, and Porbeagle, but I would consider myself very lucky to see one in the wild. Overwhelmingly, people are surprised that anyone would want to scuba dive in Newfoundland. An island on the eastern most coast of Canada, home to arctic species thriving on the cold Labrador Current, while simultaneously being the destination of tropical species travelling northward on the warm Gulf Stream. It is truly an intriguing place, where marine life can survive in some of the harshest conditions on earth.
A group of Atlantic puffins socialize on the second largest puffin colony in the world - Witless Bay Ecological Reserve.
While diving here, you are likely to see brightly coloured fish, some of which are yellow, turquoise, or red depending on their age (lump fish). You can explore fjords, carved by glaciers, hosting 200m (656ft) deep underwater cliffs, and covered in delicate red soft coral. There are large diamond-shaped fish with elongated wing-like pectoral fins that glide gracefully through the water column (winter skate). Every summer, one of the largest migrations of humpback whales in the world, returns to chase capelin. A small silvery bait fish, capelin school in millions and famously “roll” on the beaches while breeding. This influx of fresh fish also attracts the world’s most charismatic seabird, the Atlantic puffin, which return every May to raise one chick per couple in tightly packed burrows on grassy cliffs. If you’re diving anywhere near Witless Bay, you may encounter puffins diving for fish, which they will promptly take back to their chicks. Witless Bay Ecological Reserve is the largest puffin colony in North America. Looking skyward, is a spectacular sight, with hundreds of thousands of puffins wheeling above, a sure sign of activity below the surface.
Scuba diving in the 200m deep Bonne Bay fjord which is home to red soft coral, anemones, and sponges.
Rhodolith Gardens & Kelp Forests
As if this place couldn’t be any more colourful, and unbeknownst to many, large swaths of Newfoundland’s ocean floor is bright purple. More specifically, the seafloor is covered in rhodolith (which translates to “red rocks” in Greek), a colourful red algae that uses calcium carbonate within its cells’ to form hard structures that resemble coral. This species grows indistinguishably slow (a few hundred microns per year) and encrusts rocks, glass bottles, and shellfish alike, eventually breaking off and forming purple rock-like nodules. These colourful clusters can be hundreds of years old and provide crucial habitat for brittle stars, chitons, worms, bivalves, and fish eggs. Amidst these “rhodolith gardens” you’ll also often find colonies of feathery plumose anemones, which range in colour from creamy white to dark orange.
Left: An arctic shanny pokes out from its hiding spot amongst delicate daisy brittle stars.
Centre: The details of a northern sea star are surprisingly colourful and beautiful.
Right: An Atlantic scallop settles on a bed of pink rhodolith, next to a bright blue sea star.
Amongst all this colour and between thick forests of brown kelp, you will also find small rocky caverns, the perfect dwelling for a rather grumpy looking, bright-blue striped fish – the Atlantic wolffish. Despite rapidly declining populations off the coast of the US and being listed as a species at risk in Canada, this eel-like animal can still be spotted in the wild here. Interestingly, male wolffish will stay inside the den to protect the eggs for as long as four months, or until the brood is strong enough to gain independence. Their distinctly toothy jaws enable them to eat hard-shell crabs and kelp-hungry urchins, keeping this beautiful ecosystem in balance.
Left: A spiny sun star rests on a rock encrusted with rhodolith.
Centre: An ocean pout is a big-lipped bottom dweller.
Right: A plumose anemone has feather-like tentacles to feed on small invertebrates and fish.
This Is My Backyard
I grew up next to the North Atlantic Ocean in Nova Scotia, building sandcastles for hermit crabs at low tide. I loved swimming but was terrified of stepping on seaweed. It wasn’t until university, while sitting in an animal biology lecture, watching a video about coral reefs, that I had my ocean epiphany. I realized that studying the ocean from a screen wasn’t good enough, I needed to see under the surface with my own eyes. Afterall, the ocean was my backyard. And so, I began my journey to become scuba certified, and since then, have spent nearly every weekend in the ocean – scuba diving, snorkelling, or swimming. I used to let the seasons dictate my hobbies, but in recent years, I enjoy the water for all twelve months of the year – no more pining for summer and rushing through winter. The cold-water temperatures, which persist for most of the year, allow for exceptional visibility and a unique host of cold-water species, including a nearly constant supply of alien-like comb jellies jetting around, their iridescent bodies ready to be admired.
That is not to say the water is always calm and welcoming. The rocky coastline combined with powerful North Atlantic storms have notoriously caused hundreds of shipwrecks, some of which are only now being discovered. Other shipwrecks are remnants of World War II. Despite their tragic history, these large ships have become underwater biodiversity hotspots, as nature has reclaimed these structures as artificial reefs. This underwater beauty still surprises me – fauna and flora which finds shelter away from the swell in nooks and crannies and, has adapted to this unforgiving cold-water climate. Every year 10,000-year-old icebergs float down along the Northern and Eastern coasts of Newfoundland, originating in Greenland. It’s remarkable that any life could survive underneath this frozen water. The marine life in Newfoundland is the very definition of adaptability and hardiness, and worth a visit to see for yourself.
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Written and photographed by: Jill Taylor
Edited by: Tanner Stein
Jill Taylor is a science communicator, puffin researcher and underwater videographer. She lives in St. John’s, Newfoundland, Canada, where she dives in a wet suit all year round, along with her Shearwater Perdix 2 dive computer.
Follow on Instagram @_jill_taylor
