Ice, Ice, Baby

A Frozen Gift to the Sea

It’s early June in Twillingate, a place whose name sounds like poetry. The temperature has reached an unseasonably warm 28°C (a summery 82°F for those in the U.S.), an unusual heatwave for this northern outpost on Newfoundland’s coast. To the north, the once-reflective shell of sea ice covering the Arctic Ocean is rapidly retreating, revealing the dark, heat-absorbing water beneath.

A thick fog clings to towering shards of Greenlandic ice that have drifted south on the Labrador Current. This is what locals call a “thick ice year,” and tourists dot the shores, drawn by the spectacle of these ancient giants. The icebergs hiss, pop and scream as they melt, releasing tiny bubbles of air trapped long before smokestacks and engines reshaped the atmosphere.

It feels as if we’ve left the fridge door open in our planetary kitchen—the food-producing, climate-stabilizing engine of Earth. As the ice melts, I know it will fertilize the sea, jump-starting the marine food web. But the deeper concern lingers: without the natural coolants of our planet, we’re all in trouble.

To most people, icebergs are little more than hazards—floating wrecking balls best known for sinking the Titanic and claiming 1,500 lives. But they are also life-givers. As they drift, they churn the ocean and shed nutrients carried from distant lands. In their wake, marine life flourishes. Tiny ecosystems bloom around them, fueled by phytoplankton that soak up carbon, die, and carry it to the sea floor.

I watch a weary iceberg in a cove groan and break, a slab of its front shearing off and crashing into the sea with a thunderous splash. The remaining mass rocks, tilts slightly, and begins to settle—its prow rising in the wave’s wake. Then silence, save for the faint fizz of gas escaping from deep within the ice. Ancient air, breathing out into a changing world.

Though it appears formidable and ancient, this iceberg began its life as something far more fluid—a river of ice. It was born from snowfall accumulating over centuries atop Greenland’s rocky spine, gradually compacting into a glacier that inched its way toward the sea. With each passing day, windblown dust and airborne particles settled onto its surface, becoming entombed by fresh layers of snow like tiny time capsules preserved in ice.

As the glacier broke free into the ocean, it carried with it a rich cargo. Iron and other minerals embedded in the ice act like fertilizer dumps, seeding the surrounding waters and fueling blooms of plankton. This in turn draws in fish and marine mammals, all converging on this cold-water banquet of life. Bottom dwellers such as anemones, sponges, and halibut will eat plankton and in turn, feed other fish. Some of the plankton that drifts to the bottom will become a carbon sink while the living plankton produces oxygen - about fifty percent of what every person breathes each day.

Above: Jill on an iceberg with some of the CBC crew

The iceberg isn’t just a floating relic—it’s an ecosystem and a force in motion. Sometimes plunging tens of meters below the surface, it acts like a slow-moving battering ram, displacing and stirring layers of seawater and plowing through the sea floor like an earthworm as it travels, disturbing the ocean’s delicate stratification and leaving a trail of dynamic turbulence in its wake. The iceberg’s death breathes life into marine ecosystems. What appears as vanishing ice is also a quiet act of renewal, nourishing the ocean and sustaining life far beyond its frozen origins.

And so, as the iceberg drifts beyond the headland, trailing a silver thread of mist and memory, I watch it dissolve into the very sea it came to nourish. It is vanishing, but not without offering something back. In its melting, it writes a final letter to the world: a tale of ancient snow and slow persistence, of fracture and flow, of life fed by loss. This frozen gift to the sea reminds us that even in decline, there can be grace, and even in endings, a beginning.

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A Bump in the Road

It’s been an incredible month. I watched #DivingIntoTheDarkness finally stream in North America, with more countries to follow soon. I reunited with my two oldest friends in BC, proudly served as an Ambassador for Ocean Week Canada, dived among icebergs in Newfoundland for the CBC, returned to the waters where my diving journey began in Tobermory, Ontario, and crossed the sweeping Prairie grasslands with some unwelcome wildfire smoke. Life has felt full, rich, and deeply meaningful.

On June 26, I’ll hit a bump in the road: cancer surgery. I know the days ahead will bring tenderness and vulnerability. The tears come easily, but don’t mistake them for weakness. I will be back — stronger, wiser, and ready for great adventures ahead.

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From Robert

A while ago…weeks that seem like months now, I convinced Jill to accept my gift of a luxury pedicure. She would only agree to it if I also participated. So, in a burst of extreme fandom, I had my Sasquatch toes painted with the colors of the Toronto Maple Leafs. We all know how that turned out. Lucky for me, my second favorite hockey team, the Edmonton Oilers, have the same blue hue, and have advanced to the NHL Stanley Cup finals. This is a certain sign that the Florida Panthers will win the cup…

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Canadian Music Summer

• From Robert

  I’m going to post popular Canadian music throughout the summer. Let’s begin with the band that for many, personifies the Canadian experience: The Tragically Hip.

In December of 2015, The Hip’s leader Gord Downie was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. An entire country was saddened by the news as Downie was essentially the Poet Laureate of a generation of Canadians. His songwriting expressed the Canadian experience - I don’t know if there has ever been a more inspiring artist in Canadian musical history. With great determination in the summer following his diagnosis, Gord and The Hip went out on a farewell tour. The video above was recorded as Gord Downie was essentially dying. The band made several adjustments allowing the compromised Downie to perform, including teleprompters with lyrics and musical cues, nutrition and physical therapy. The audiences cheered, wept, and sang along - one last time.

Here are the lyrics:

Watch the band through a bunch of dancers
Quickly, follow the unknown
With something more familiar
Quickly, something familiar

Courage, my word
It didn't come, it doesn't matter

Sleepwalk, so fast asleep
In a motel that has the lay of home
And piss on all of your background
And piss on all your surroundings

Courage, my word
It didn't come, it doesn't matter
Courage, your word
It didn't come, it doesn't matter
Courage, my word
It didn't come, it doesn't matter
Courage, it couldn't come at a worse time

There's no simple
Explanation
For anything important
Any of us do
And, yeah, the human
Tragedy
Consists in
The necessity
Of living with
The consequences
Under pressure
Under pressure

Courage, my word
It didn't come, it doesn't matter
Courage, your word
It didn't come, it doesn't matter
Courage, my word
It didn't come, it doesn't matter
Courage, it couldn't come at a worse time

It couldn't come at a worse time
No
It couldn't come at a worse time

Courage

In October, 2017 Gord Downie passed at age 53.

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Streaming now on Apple TV and Amazon Prime in North America.

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