Where the Ocean Let Me In - and I Listened
Where the Ocean Let Me In - and I Listened
Published August 7, 2026
WRITTEN BY SHRADDHABEN VADGAMA
I grew up in India, far from the ocean—a land of dry heat, monsoon seasons that came and went like clockwork, and dense, busy cities. My hometown had over 300,000 people packed into just 48 square kilometres. For most of my life, the sea existed only in stories, in photographs, in someone else’s memories. I saw the Indian Ocean once when I was very young, three or four years old, maybe. I barely remember it. Just a blur of sand, sky, and blue water. I remember holding someone’s hand, hearing the waves, and feeling both excited and a little afraid. But I never truly felt the ocean, not its wildness, not the way you, when you’re near it, smell salt in the air, hear waves thrashing, and feel wind moving through your whole body. That changed after I joined the Nature Trust of New Brunswick.
Here, the ocean isn’t distant. It’s become part of everyday life. And for someone like me, who once only knew it through childhood flashes and imagination, it felt like being handed a brand new chapter of my life—one spoken in fog, seabirds, tides, and wind.
And then came Grindstone Island.
We talked about this place for over two years. An island so remote and unpredictable that visiting it felt more like planning an expedition than a field day. Every tide, every weather system had to align perfectly. And in October 2024, finally, they did.
It was still dark when Payten McCann and I left Fredericton at 4 a.m.. The kind of morning where the world feels half-asleep and half-magic. Our gear was packed; first aid kits, snacks, and a whole lot of spirit. We drove through the dark, chasing the coastline, toward a place we had only seen on maps and heard about in field stories.
By the time we reached Blacks Harbour around 7 a.m., a light drizzle had settled in. The air smelled like salt and wet leaves. We loaded our bags onto a small speed boat, zipped up our jackets, checked our SOS and Landscape mobile app, and stepped aboard.
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The sea was alive.
Tides surged between eight and 12 meters—our little boat leaping through the waves like it was dancing with something much bigger than itself. Salt in our eyes and the wind across our faces and somewhere amid the rough, vast waters, I realized this was the first time I had ever truly felt the ocean. Not only seeing it, but feeling it in my heart, my skin, my chest, the pit of my stomach.
It was thrilling, humbling, and unbelievably beautiful.
When Grindstone finally came into view, it was unreal. A rugged outline against the grey sky—wild, untamed, waiting. Landing on the island felt like stepping into another world. The beach was scattered with unique stones sculpted by years of wind and water.
We’d come to the island with Stuart R. Crawford and his team of operators from Out n' Aboot amateur radio. While they set up to broadcast from the remote island, Payten and I scavenged the beach.
We walked an old, overgrown trail draped in bearded lichen overhead and thick moss underfoot. It felt like walking on clouds, every step soft, springy, and surreal. The rain stopped for some time as if the island was offering us a moment of reprieve.
We stumbled upon an abandoned, creepy house, its roof long gone but its weather-worn old sofa still intact. Beneath us, the crumbling, weakened floor was peppered with hidden holes. We stepped carefully, every move an act of trust. It was silent, save for the wind through the trees and the occasional creak of wood shifting under our weight.
Our last point of interest was the island's lighthouse, its views of endless water on all sides of the bay breathtaking. We decided to hike the beach to get back to camp, only this beach wasn’t made for comfort. Sharp stones and slippery seaweed made every step a challenge. We laughed, stumbled, and helped each other across the jagged path, pausing now and then to peer into tidal pools. That’s where we spotted sea urchins, mollusks, and even a fossilized tree embedded into the stone, likely more than a hundred years old, like nature’s own memory.
Then, the sky opened and started pouring heavily without mercy. We were cold, drenched, and shivering—but we were also alive, in every possible way.
We made a makeshift tent using two tarps to get a dry place to sit with half a roof overhead. It wasn’t perfect, but it offered just enough shelter to sit, laugh, warm our hands, and wait. We stayed there for nearly four hours, watching the tide slowly rising each inch getting us closer to the point where the boat could safely return to us.
By supper time the boat finally arrived. The ride back was calmer but just as long. By the time we returned to Fredericton, it was close to 9 p.m. Our clothes were soaked through. Our boots were heavy with mud and seawater. But our hearts were full.
The trip to Grindstone Island Conservation Easement wasn’t just a field day, it was a reminder of what it means to be in nature. Not as a visitor, but as someone listening. This island didn’t just reveal itself, it invited us in, and made sure we’d never forget it.
🌊 Join the 11th Annual Great Fundy Coastal Cleanup this August!
For over a decade, the Great Fundy Coastal Cleanup has united New Brunswickers in a shared mission: to protect the stunning Bay of Fundy from marine debris. Together, we’ve safeguarded these wild shorelines, home to the world’s highest tides and countless species of coastal wildlife.
This year, let’s continue to build on this legacy by making the 11th Annual Great Fundy Coastal Cleanup, which will take place on August 29, 2026, another one for the books! Register for an upcoming cleanup OR learn how to lead your own cleanup to win one of our prize packs!
Maryse Basque’s winning 2025 Great Fundy Coastal Cleanup photo contest submission! A great team ready to make a difference. 🌊