Fog settled over Bonavista like an old knitted shawl the morning Critch was first spotted, the air crisp, gulls wheeling overhead, and the cove brimming with a quiet sort of anticipation. Some mornings simply feel grand, and that day, Critch made it all the grander—rising in a spray of sunlight and salt right off Newfoundland and Labrador’s storied rocks.

Critch, a bull with broad shoulders and a restless heart, was next seen a year later in the long arms of Trinity Bay. July was well under way, with capelin rolling and boats bustling about. His fluke surfaced twice that day, a sure sign he felt at home amid the icebergs slid by and the tickle of kelp along the shoals. Trinity Bay must have suited him, as barely two weeks later, there he was again, carving the surface, gliding under scallop-grey skies with not a worry to his name.