Days on the coast can pass in the blink of an eye, with the salt breeze ruffling hair and the sound of gulls leading to more daydreams than schedules. But now and then, stories reach shore with a twist of magic—like the tale of Iris May, a whale who seems to pop into our lives just when we’ve almost forgotten to look.

Iris May first shimmered into memory on a bright July day back in 1993, when folks along the South Coast of Newfoundland caught a glimpse of her steady, sweeping fluke. She could have been anywhere for the next two decades—off exploring faraway currents or perhaps taking long tea breaks beneath the Arctic breeze—for she left just a trace, and then was gone.

Twenty-four years slipped past in the hush of tides before Iris May delighted whale watchers twice in Witless Bay, August of 2017. She appeared just as the capelin rolled in, gracing the water with cooling sprays and a backdrop of towering cliffs. Once, then again, within a week, she drifted through those emerald bays—a reminder that the ocean always keeps a few surprises up its sleeve.

As if to prove she’s no imaginary tale, Iris May rose again in July 2025 off the Bonavista Peninsula, with the lighthouse standing guard. She’s the kind of whale who seems to prefer grand entrances—filling the horizon and leaving witnesses grinning with awe. Her comings and goings, with decades between, make her the talk of many a seaside kitchen table, stirring curiosity and wonder.