Traveling with a big group is like trying to herd caffeinated squirrels across a windy cliff. Everyone’s excited, no one adheres to a schedule, and someone is always yelling something about having to go pee. Add the rugged beauty of Nova Scotia to that mix and you’ve got a trip that’s equal parts breathtaking and chaotic.
We started by weaving our way up the Cabot Trail, a drive that’s basically a highlight reel of every coastal dream you’ve ever had. One minute you’re staring out at endless ocean, the next you’re cutting through pine forests so thick you half expect a moose to flag you down for directions. Our final destination: Meat Cove, the northernmost tip of Cape Breton Island.
Meat Cove isn’t a place you stumble upon—it’s a place you commit to. The road in is a mix of gravel, hairpin turns, and sheer drops that make you question whether your car insurance covers “accidentally driving into the Atlantic.” But the payoff is enormous. Mountains tumble dramatically into the sea, waves crash on rocky beaches, and the sky seems about three sizes bigger than anywhere else.
Trying to photograph wildlife while travelling with a big family is less “National Geographic expedition” and more “logistical Tetris with a side of guilt.” Every time I spotted perfect light or heard the distant call of something worth a lens, I had to calculate the social cost of slipping away: would my absence spark a search party, delay lunch, or trigger a debate about why I “always wander off”? Gear packed? Check. Escape route planned? Check. Then someone announces it’s time for a group photo or realizes we’ve lost a water bottle. By the time I’ve politely wriggled out of small talk, found my boots, and convinced everyone I’m not ditching them forever, the sun has shifted, the wildlife has moved on, and I’m left photographing the most elusive species of all—solitude.
One of the trip’s crown jewels was a whale-watching tour with Oshan Whale Watch, a family-run outfit that knows these waters like the back of their weathered hands. We piled into their sturdy boat, half excited, half wondering if we’d remembered enough motion-sickness tablets, and set off into the Atlantic.
Before long, we were surrounded by a pod of Pilot Whales, dozens of them sliding through the water in graceful arcs. They didn’t leap dramatically like a theme park show; instead, they glided and surfaced with a quiet confidence that made them feel like ocean royalty. You could hear their calls echoing under the water, otherworldly and hypnotic, like the sea itself humming a secret.
And because Nova Scotia likes to overdeliver, a young bald eagle swooped into view, perching nearby with all the poise of a supermodel who knows exactly which angle is her best side. She sat there long enough for each of us to fumble with our cameras and get a shot. Honestly, the eagle might have been the real diva of the day.
Back on land, we tackled the trail up Meat Cove Mountain, which starts with a steep climb and ends with the kind of view that makes you forget your quads are on fire. From the summit, the world opened in every direction: cliffs dropping into the sea, fishing boats like tiny toys below, and the Atlantic stretching toward forever.
But the real magic wasn’t the view. It was the wild blueberries, hundreds of bushes, all perfectly ripe and waiting. Picture 3 adults who moments earlier had been discussing trail safety suddenly turning into a pack of ravenous woodland creatures. Backpacks hit the ground. Everyone dove in.
We spent the better part of an hour eating like it was our job, handful after handful of sweet, sun-warmed berries. Blue juice-stained fingers, clothes, and, probably, our souls. We filled containers to take back. Others (me) treated “one for the bag, three for me” as a personal mantra. It felt like we’d stumbled onto nature’s own dessert buffet.
Photographing wildlife with a big family is like trying to catch lightning with a butterfly net. Someone is always moving, talking, or wandering directly into your perfect shot. But honestly? That’s part of the fun.
The whales were mesmerizing even without acrobatics. The eagle was practically posing for a magazine cover. The blueberries were a reminder that sometimes the best moments are unscripted. And the cliffs and sea at Meat Cove? They don’t care if you got the shot; they’re just there, magnificent and indifferent, waiting for the next wide-eyed visitor.
Nova Scotia didn’t just give us scenery; it gave us a story. A loud, funny, unforgettable family story that I’ll be telling and probably still cleaning blueberry stains from for years to come.
