TRIP OF THE ICEBERG

As our boat unsteadily circled the giant chunk of ancient ­glacier I tried to take stock, and photos, of what I was ­witnessing. I’d never seen an iceberg before and neither words, nor wobbly pictures, could do it justice.

​

It was a towering multitude of textures, tones and colours, the light reflecting differently from every angle. Whites, blues, and greys. A green glow just above the waterline.

 

It had to be one of the most striking sights I’d ever laid eyes on. Yet it was just one of hundreds of icebergs that float down the coast of Newfoundland every spring and summer on their death march from Greenland.