Shoreline Trail: Winter Light and Quiet Encounters in Port Moody
In February, the Shoreline Trail in Port Moody, British Columbia, wears a quieter mood. The air is cold, the trees bare, and the surface of the inlet sometimes catches a skin of ice — like glass holding its breath. That’s when I decided to take a walk with my camera, bundled up against the chill, drawn to the contrast of winter’s stillness and the subtle stirrings of life along the water.
Stretching roughly 6 kilometers round-trip between Rocky Point Park and Old Orchard Park, the Shoreline Trail follows the contours of Burrard Inlet, offering a peaceful blend of ocean views, forested paths, and marshy stretches that teem with hidden life. It’s a trail that feels both wild and familiar — hugged by the city on one side and open to nature on the other.
Along the way, I saw locals walking dogs, parents pushing strollers, and fellow photographers pausing for the same light. The golden hour hits differently in winter — softer, cooler, stretched thin across the tops of the mountains. I shot in both color and black and white, letting the mood of each frame guide the choice. The icy water reflected long silhouettes and late-afternoon skies; the trees, stripped of leaves, became graphic lines in monochrome.
Stretching roughly 6 kilometers round-trip between Rocky Point Park and Old Orchard Park, the Shoreline Trail follows the contours of Burrard Inlet, offering a peaceful blend of ocean views, forested paths, and marshy stretches that teem with hidden life. It’s a trail that feels both wild and familiar — hugged by the city on one side and open to nature on the other.
Along the way, I saw locals walking dogs, parents pushing strollers, and fellow photographers pausing for the same light. The golden hour hits differently in winter — softer, cooler, stretched thin across the tops of the mountains. I shot in both color and black and white, letting the mood of each frame guide the choice. The icy water reflected long silhouettes and late-afternoon skies; the trees, stripped of leaves, became graphic lines in monochrome.
At one point, a harbour seal surfaced not far from shore. I fumbled with my camera, wishing I had brought a longer lens. It lingered just long enough for me to marvel — then slipped beneath the water again, a brief encounter I couldn’t capture but won’t forget.
What I did catch were the textures of winter: frozen puddles glinting beside the trail, frost on driftwood, and the crinkle of dry reeds in the breeze. Even in February, signs of life were everywhere — birds darting between branches, distant calls echoing across the inlet, and moss still clinging stubbornly to the rocks.
Port Moody itself is rich with history. This trail winds through the traditional territory of the kʷikʷəƛ̓əm (Kwikwetlem) First Nation, and later became part of the industrial spine of British Columbia — the endpoint of the original transcontinental railway. Today, it’s a space for reflection, connection, and quiet awe.
If you’re looking for drama, you won’t find it here — not in the usual sense. But if you’re patient, the Shoreline Trail reveals its kind of magic: the kind that hides in the hush of cold water, in the sudden appearance of a seal, in the long shadows cast by people walking slowly toward the last light of day.
