Whytecliff Park: Cold Hands, Golden Light
I made it out to Whytecliff Park just before sunset — that sweet, golden sliver of time where everything looks like it was made to be photographed. The sky was glowing, the ocean was doing that silvery-blue shimmer thing, and I was out there trying to make the most of it… while also lowkey freezing and keeping one eye on the time because I didn’t really want to pay for parking. Priorities.
The tide was high when I got there, so the little island — the one you can normally walk to — was completely cut off. No natural walkway of barnacled rocks this time, just cold water moving steadily between me and that dreamlike chunk of land. Honestly, it added to the drama. There was something poetic about the isolation — the island floating out there like a thought you can’t quite reach.
It was very cold. There was still some snow hanging around from winter, clinging to shaded corners and melting slow. I didn’t plan to stay long — partly because I could barely feel my fingers after 20 minutes, partly because I wasn’t trying to pay for parking. So this wasn’t one of those leisurely, hours-long shoots. It was more of a get in, follow the light, shoot fast, get out kind of mission.
Whytecliff is one of the first Marine Protected Areas in Canada, and it shows. Rocky cliffs that drop straight into the sea, trees shaped by salt and wind, and those scattered islands just offshore that look like they belong in a Miyazaki film. It’s moody and cinematic — the kind of landscape that makes you want to speak in poems or just stay quiet and let the view say it all. Whytecliff Park is known for its raw beauty — jagged cliffs, calm coves, and the kind of cinematic views that make you stop mid-sentence.
Below the surface, the waters are teeming with life. And above it, you might spot harbour seals lounging on rocks like sunbathers who know they’ve picked the best spot in the world. I saw a few that evening — distant shapes on a rocky outcrop, and one that dipped in and out of the waves just offshore. It’s hard to photograph seals in open water without the right lens, but sometimes just watching is enough. There’s something humbling about seeing wildlife go about its business, untouched by the noise of our lives.
Whytecliff has this energy — like the edge of the world, but also deeply peaceful. If you’re a photographer, it’s a playground. If you’re not, it’s still a damn good place to just stand still and breathe in something bigger than yourself.
Next time I go, I’ll probably dress warmer. Maybe even pay for parking like a responsible adult. But honestly? Even in a rush, even half-frozen, this place gave me some of my favorite frames of the season