All most Died

When the Tide Decides: A Lesson from the Bay of Fundy, On November 27 2025 Mary’s Point, New Brunswick, has a way of pulling you in. The light, the open sky, the feeling that you’re standing at the edge of something awe inspiring. That day, my goal was simple: get closer to Grindstone Island, capture a few stills of the lighthouse there, and set up a 30-minute time-lapse which I did before getting close to the Lighthouse, everything was going great. BUT!! What I underestimated was time. The Bay of Fundy doesn’t rise politely. It arrives and seemed to rise in jumps, so suddenly I was in a bad place. With the highest tides in the world, it doesn’t care how experienced you are, how confident you feel, or how good the photos might be. If you misjudge it, even slightly, the coastline can turn from peaceful to dangerous in minutes. When I realized the tide was coming in faster than expected, the route I had used to get out was already disappearing. What looked manageable on the way in had become a trap on the way back out. The ground was no longer solid sand—it was slick seaweed stretched over uneven, unforgiving rocks. Every step had to be fought for. And I was carrying all my camera gear. At one point, I slipped and went down hard, landing on my camera. Thankfully, no damage—just bruised knees and a reminder that gear can be replaced, but bodies are harder to fix. I got back up and kept moving, because stopping wasn’t an option. The second fall came just when safety was in sight. I slipped backward, catching myself poorly and slamming my left elbow and right shoulder. It hurt—sharp and immediate—but adrenaline and urgency pushed me forward. A few more careful steps and I was finally back on the big beach, wet, shaken, sore, but safe. Standing there afterward, looking back at the coastline, the lesson was impossible to ignore. The Bay of Fundy is breathtaking, but it demands respect. Its tides reshape the land twice a day. Cliffs, islands, and beaches that seem inviting can quickly become barriers. Add rugged terrain—seaweed-covered rocks, steep edges, unstable footing—and the risk multiplies fast. This experience wasn’t about bad luck. It was about preparation. Knowing tide times isn’t optional here—it’s essential. So is understanding how quickly conditions change, how difficult escape routes can become, and how much harder everything is when you’re carrying gear or distracted by the shot you’re trying to get. I got the photos. I got the time-lapse. But more importantly, I got a reminder that no image is worth gambling your safety on. If you explore the Bay of Fundy—whether for photography, hiking, or simple curiosity—plan carefully, give yourself more time than you think you need, and always assume the tide will move faster than expected. The landscape is stunning, but it’s not forgiving. That day, the Bay let me walk away with sore joints, intact gear, and a story instead of something worse. And that’s a gift I don’t take lightly.