When a brisk wind plays across the open blue of Notre Dame Bay, it’s easy to imagine the sea itself chuckling. That’s just the sort of day it was when Chive, the elegantly marked wanderer, cruised into Twillingate—a patch of green summer caught between waves and wild coastline.

Chive is a fellow with the kind of pattern you’d spot even from the rocky cliffs on a clear day: long streaks on his left fluke, looking like chive leaves, always memorable. He spends his days tracing the subtle lines between warm southern waters and the feast-filled north, weaving a life shaped by tides and luck.

His story arcs along the lively eastern seaboard. One December, while most creatures were snuggled ashore, Chive was seen twice near Virginia Beach, riding the winter swells. By the following October, he was off Belmar, New Jersey—no doubt chasing shoals of fish fattened from a summer’s growth. Soon after, he nudged up toward New York’s Jones Inlet, only to return south past the old light tower offshore Virginia Beach as January spun a new year.

Chive’s wanderings continued—another September off New Jersey, and then, come July, a northern leap straight to Twillingate, Newfoundland and Labrador. That’s quite a journey by any fin, through waters teeming with stories of old and new. Each sighting links two coasts, reminding us how much ground these whales can cover, and how the currents tie our bays to distant shores.