Day 3 on QM2 – Newfoundland, the North Atlantic and Titanic

“To young men contemplating a voyage, I would say go.”

Joshua Slocum, Sailing Alone Around the World

Beyond North America

We woke on our third morning on Cunard's Queen Mary 2 to the gentle sway of calm waters. According to the navigational channel, today we were around 70 nautical miles off the coast of Port Hawkesbury, Nova Scotia, and steadily advancing eastward.

Coffee and croissants arrived in our room just after 6:30 AM, and we lingered longer than usual. Waking up on the third day of our transatlantic voyage, I think we have begun to find our rhythm on board. Corridors no longer feel as confusing and we can generally get from place to place without getting turned around or lost as much.

Throughout the night, I had slept more deeply than I have in some time. There is something undeniably comforting about the gentle sway of the hull, the steady pattern of waves meeting steel, and the low, constant hum of the engines beneath the floor. The Atlantic may be vast, but the movement of the ship through it is remarkably reassuring. If I sit for too long, I invariably begin to nod off to sleep – such is the lulling feel of being on board.

With the navigational channel still on, we noticed that we were not far from Newfoundland’s southeastern edge and appeared as though at one point we would pass Cape Spear! The last time we were here was when we hiked the East Coast Trail and then began the Trans Canada Trail in 2019. Cape Spear had marked the easternmost point of our coast-to-coast walk. Now we were passing offshore, leaving Canada behind from the opposite perspective.

To be honest, I would never have imagined being on this ocean side of North America’s easternmost point. By mid-morning, we would see (if the fog cleared) the last of land for several days. Once beyond Newfoundland, we would truly be in the Atlantic until nearing Ireland and the UK.

The character of this ocean is unlike anything else we have ever travelled to or through. When we first stepped on board, we had no real idea what to expect. Would there be icebergs? Towering Atlantic storms? Endless grey skies? Or long stretches of placid water? Would it feel exhilarating - or monotonous?

We had no idea what to expect.

Living the Journey

It was around this point in the crossing that my own note-taking began to thin - not because there was nothing to see or little that was amazing, but because I had reached a limit I recognized well.

After four years of almost constant hiking during which we were documenting, writing, and continually translating experience into narrative, I felt a deep resistance to doing that work here. I didn’t want this voyage to become another project measured by output. I wanted, simply, to live it. As such, my own journal entries grew shorter, more impressionistic, often reduced to a few lines or sensations captured at the end of the day.

Sean, to his credit, continued to write and take pictures. His notes remained focused on our routines, what each day brought our way and our experiences as he sought to keep a record of life on board while sailing on QM2.

Breakfast in Britannia

We made our way down to Britannia just after 9 AM for breakfast.

Even the morning meal on Queen Mary 2 carries a certain formality. The scale of the room, the linen-draped tables, and the choreography of service remain unchanged, whether it is a gala night or a quiet sea day.

For dinner, we are usually seated at a table for two, but at breakfast, the arrangement shifts. Passengers are grouped together – at tables of four, six, and sometimes eight. Here, the introductions begin almost immediately after sitting down.

This is not something either of us does naturally. We are not especially sociable in the morning, and on most days we would prefer quiet coffee and a book. But crossings have their own etiquette, and part of the experience involves participating in that shared rhythm.

The conversations that morning were easy enough. Everyone seemed pleasant, curious about one another’s itineraries and prior voyages.

As talk continued, I ordered fruit salad and avocado toast; Sean chose a ham-and-cheese omelette with toast. As plates arrived and coffee was refilled, we realized that bringing along the Daily Program had perhaps been overly optimistic. There is something about a formal dining room that discourages reading schedules over breakfast and so for an hour, we listened and chatted, allowing breakfast to unfold at the ship’s pace.

Notes from the Navigator and Daily Program Activities

As everyone set out for the day, we were left sitting at our table and took the opportunity to explore the Daily Program. According to which, today,

“Queen Mary 2 passes to the south of Georges Banks. This is a large submerged sandbanks between Cape Cod and Cape Sable Island, large in area than Massachusetts. This has been a long standing important fishing ground, especially for cod and halibut. Proceeding onward, we pass the north of Sable Island. This narrow crescent-shaped sandbar is believed to have been formed from large quantities of sand and gravel deposited on the continental shelf near the end of the last ice age."

Beyond these interesting logistical notes, the daily program listed activities that passengers could undertake. Some of the options that interested us today included:

9:00 AM - Introduction to Foil Fencing with Atlanta
10:00 AM - Cunard Insight Talk : Rachel Kolsky – Beatle’s History
11:00 AM - Darts Competition
1:15 PM - Cunard Insight Talk : Seth Gopin – London’s Transformation into a Global Power
3:30 PM - Afternoon Tea with Harpist Fiona McGee
6:00 PM onwards - Smart Attire for the evening

Being in the Moment

After breakfast, we chose to walk the stairs instead of the elevators – partly out of practicality, partly out of the quiet hope that a few extra flights of effort might balance out the generosity of meals on QM2.

Having navigated the stairwells and hallways, we were soon back outside on the promenade.

The fog had thickened since dawn and was hanging low over the Atlantic. Though it was warmer than the previous morning, the air was still damp and the decks wet. Walking through fog at sea carries a particular atmosphere - both romantic and faintly haunting all at once.

Strolling slowly amid this atmosphere, the salty air and steady call of the ship’s fog horn create an experience that feels unlike anything I’ve ever had before. With the horizon obscured by the rolling banks of fog it was easy to be fully present in the moment. The air is fresh and clean, providing an occasional gust of wind. Beyond the ship, there was no port, and no schedule that demanded our attention. There was only the motion of the ship and the moment to be enjoyed.

Here on deck, I am reminded more clearly than ever that in a world structured by constant connection, it is rare to be somewhere or in a moment with no immediate objective. The result being that we forget how wonderful it is to simply being in a place. We’re always running from point A to point B, checking off sights, ticking off items from lists, and rushing through experiences. On deck amid the morning light, there feels as though there is no rush on board QM2 - the days ahead are free of port stops, free of destinations - and even, if we so choose, free of the pressures of itineraries. It feels wonderful.

Enrichment at Illuminations

One of the things we are really looking forward to are enrichment lectures held in Illuminations. Situated near the front of the ship, there is always an opportunity before the talks begin to sit and look out at the sea through the large windows nearby.

Passengers are not permitted to film the lectures themselves, but Cunard records them and replays them on the in-cabin television channel later in the evening. It’s a thoughtful system - allowing you to revisit a talk or catch up if you’ve chosen the promenade, pool, or pub over the talks.

This morning, we attended a presentation on touring London through the history of the Beatles. The speaker was enthusiastic and clearly delighted by her subject. The room filled steadily, and for forty-five minutes the Atlantic faded behind stories of Abbey Road, recording studios, and 1960s London.

Afterward, we stopped by the Purser’s Office to pick up a couple of postcards and purchase international stamps - a small reminder that, yes, you can mail letters directly from a Cunard crossing. There is something deeply satisfying about posting mail mid-Atlantic, knowing it will eventually find its way to British Columbia from a moving ship. How cool is that?

Rather than rushing on to the next venue, we settled into the long corridor back outside Illuminations. The high-backed chairs along the windows were nearly full, but we found space to sit. Here we wrote our postcards, completed the day’s crossword puzzle, and watched waves strike the hull just feet below the glass. From that lower vantage point, the Atlantic appeared faster and more forceful than on deck.

Captain’s Noon Announcement

At noon, the ship’s bell was rung in the Grand Lobby. What began as a curiosity to us on our second day was now an anticipated routine. As was the Captain’s ship-wide noon announcement.

The tradition itself reaches back to the age of sail, when local noon, determined by the sun’s highest point in the sky, allowed navigators to confirm latitude using a sextant. Once “apparent noon” was established, the ship’s bell marked the moment, watches were reset, and the day’s position was entered into the log. Of course, modern vessels no longer depend on celestial navigation in the same way, but the ceremony and tradition remain.

Today, we were approximately 70 nautical miles off the coast of Newfoundland, sailing just east of Cape Breton and the Avalon Peninsula. By evening, we were expected to be roughly 50 nautical miles off Cape Race - the southeastern tip of Newfoundland, as we had guessed earlier.

The Captain also noted that we were about 350 nautical miles southeast of the site where RMS Titanic sank in 1912, and that our course would carry us nearer that position later in the day.  There was no melodrama in the announcement - just coordinates, facts, and steady progress - but standing there, hearing the name Titanic, it was difficult not to think about the layers of history beneath the hull. A firm reminder of the ocean’s authority, the limits of engineering, and how quickly things can change.

Throughout the afternoon, we were told, our heading would slowly adjust from 50 degrees to 60 degrees as we arced northward around Newfoundland before finally turning decisively away from North America by late evening.

As always, the Captain concluded with a quotation, this time attributed to Mark Twain:

“Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do 

than by the ones you did do.”

As always, we found his announcements to be funny and informative - a tradition on board that we never expected to enjoy.

Treats on the Go

At some point during the crossing, we acquired a small and entirely unnecessary habit. Whenever we passed through King’s Court Lido - whether en route to an Insight lecture or heading back out to the promenade - one of us would quietly collect a napkin and a couple of cookies.

The rhythm of the ship had already grown more relaxed than we expected. Formal evenings and white-gloved tea exist, certainly, but between those moments, the atmosphere is definitely casual and relaxed. People wander at their own pace, lounges are filled with those reading or enjoying a drink, and a gourmet cookie picked up en route and tucked into a napkin feels entirely ok.

As the afternoon began, we returned to Illuminations for another enrichment lecture. Dr. Seth Gopin spoke on London’s transformation into a global power, tracing the arc from Queen Elizabeth I to Queen Victoria. Outside the Atlantic continued sliding past unseen beyond the bow, while inside the theatr,e the narrative shifted to empire, commerce, and the shaping of a modern capital.

By two o’clock, the talk concluded, and rather than returning directly to our cabin, we wandered forward and took one of the glass observation elevators upward. The brief ascent along the ship’s exterior never fails to amaze us. Watching down the length of the ship, the sea beneath you, and the horizon in the distance.

Our short elevator journey brought us to the upper observation platform on Deck 11 – with the fog now burning off the Atlantic Ocean was also opening up around us once again.

Queen’s Room and High Tea

After the lecture, we returned to the cabin briefly to collect our travel journals before making our way to the Queen’s Room for afternoon tea.

The ballroom was already filling when we arrived. The space is vast, yet never overwhelming - its wooden dance floor polished, the high ceilings softening the sound of conversation. There is a calm elegance to the room that makes even a casual afternoon feel slightly ceremonial.

Once seated, the ritual began.

The procession of waiters entered to applause - an orderly line of white-gloved servers carrying silver trays. An entire team fanned out across the room with quiet precision. Teapots were poured. Trays of food appeared. Crustless sandwiches, warm scones, small desserts - all delivered with steady choreography that felt both formal and entirely unhurried.

We were seated with a mixed group that afternoon. To one side sat an elderly couple from Nanaimo, British Columbia, who spoke warmly about island life and the familiarity of coastal weather. On the other side were a group of LGBTQ friends who had just completed a world voyage aboard Queen Mary 2 and had decided to remain on board through Hamburg. In fact, they were already debating whether they might continue even farther. We could understand the temptation.

One of the women in their group struck up a lively conversation with us about walking in the United Kingdom. Trails, adders, cows blocking footpaths, waymarking signs and what we should expect were the focus of our chat with here. When she learned we were about to set off and hike Wainwright’s Coast to Coast, she shared her sister’s contact information in case we ever needed local help.

It was a wonderful moment of connection with people who just hours ago we had never met. Such is the way on board this vessel, however.

Pools and Hot Tubs

By mid-afternoon, the fog had thinned and on impulse, we made our way aft to try the pool and hot tubs.  Once submerged, however, the sensation changed entirely. The pool moved gently with the ship, a subtle lift and fall that reminded you that this was not a hotel courtyard but a vessel crossing deep water.  We found ourselves paddling against a current or striving to swim straight as the water sloshed back and forth.

 
While the first shock was cooler water in the pool, the true eye opener came when we stepped out of the pool into the wind racing past on deck.  Climbing out of the pool’s stainless-steel ladder into open Atlantic air is bracing in a way that feels stunning - wet skin meeting cold salt wind, the body startled fully awake.

Thankfully, we were able to make our way quickly to the empty hot tubs.  Yet the moment we slipped into these, we knew that we had made the challenge of getting out into air that would now feel even colder worse. 

As we relaxed in the warm waters and bubbles, the last of the fog burned off, and the sky and sea both became clear blue. In the ship’s wake, a few gulls and seabirds flickered in and out of view, riding invisible currents just beyond the churned white water. Suspended there between wind and warmth, steel and sea, it felt impossible not to marvel at the strangeness of swimming while the North Atlantic slid past beneath us.

Crossing the North Atlantic Ocean

It was during this time, amid a weakening bank and dwindling light of day that we saw the coast of Newfoundland! At first, it was only a faint sliver on the horizon that we couldn’t understand. Then, after a couple of minutes, through binoculars, it was unmistakable – land.

The coastline appeared and disappeared as fog banks drifted across our line of sight. For a few brief minutes, the curtain lifted enough for us to make out Cape Race, Newfoundland. Gradually, the fog closed once more and daylight faded, and so the coastline disappeared.

By early evening, the ship altered course, and we turned away from North America and pushed into the ocean. Between Newfoundland and the British Isles lies the North Atlantic, a stretch of ocean that has shaped the fate of nations for centuries. Vast, volatile, and seemingly empty on a map, this expanse has long acted as both a barrier and a lifeline - separating continents while binding them through commerce, migration, and empire. For Britain, the Atlantic world was the basis of its imperial ambitions for centuries. Later, these same waters became the arterial route of the Atlantic convoys, the channel through which food, mail, troops, and trade sustained Europe during the World Wars.

Even in peacetime, the North Atlantic remained notorious for its unpredictable weather, sudden storms, and long, rolling swells born from distant systems. To cross the Atlantic may be possible in the modern world, but the dangers of such a crossing remain tangible.

The stretch of the North Atlantic between Newfoundland and the United Kingdom is one of the most complex environments on the planet, shaped by the interaction of powerful currents, steep temperature gradients, and an atmosphere that produces rapid, energetic storm systems. Here the Gulf Stream and the Labrador Current converge, creating sharp contrasts that fuel cyclogenesis - breeding the deep low-pressure systems that give the region its legendary gales, long-period swells, and steep, confused seas.

Winter wave heights routinely exceed 8–10 metres in mid-ocean, with significant wave heights among the highest measured anywhere outside the Southern Ocean. Sudden wind shifts, cold fronts racing off the continent, and fast-moving extra-tropical cyclones make this a corridor of constant variability, where conditions can deteriorate dramatically in hours rather than days. It is precisely this dynamic environment that ocean liners like Queen Mary 2 were engineered to withstand - allowing them to navigate waters that have challenged mariners for generations.

Dinner and Theatre

By eight o’clock, we had dried off, showered, changed into appropriate clothes and made our way back to Britannia for dinner.

The dining room felt familiar now - the calm choreography of service and the soft murmur of conversation greeted us as we were escorted to our table. Tonight we were seated with a Canadian couple from North Vancouver, an American couple from Oregon, and a woman from Carcassonne in southern France.

Surprisingly, the conversation at our table was about trails – with stories moving from Oregon forest footpaths, to Camino pilgrimages in France. The common thread of the conversation was simple and familiar – travel while you are able, walk while you are healthy enough to do so.

Courses of food arrived and disappeared. By the time we rose from the table, we realized we had missed both the jazz in the Chart Room and the orchestra in the Queen’s Room.

Fortunately, the evening was not finished.

At 10 PM, we made our way to the Royal Court Theatre for the late performance by Till Brönner, the German jazz trumpeter. The theatre was nearly full, and for the next hour we enjoyed an amazing performance by a wonderful musician.

Evening Routines on QM2

By the time we stepped back into the corridor after 11 PM, the ship had quieted once again. As we have our morning routines – coffee in our cabin, a check of the navigational channel, reviewing the daily itinerary, and breakfast - so too do we have an evening routine.

Leaving the theatre, we wandered briefly through the ship’s evening offerings before retreating to quieter spaces. Typically, after catching the evening show in the Royal Court Theatre, we spend the remainder of the evening in either the Chart Room lounge or the Commodore Club – it’s become our tradition to relax and chat at the day’s end in one of these elegant spaces.

Tonight we chose to settle down in the Chart Room. Here, instead of my usual pint of Cunard Black or glass of wine sampled one of the Commodore’s gin cocktails – part of the trio of Cunard gins served on board. Sean stuck to having a glass of house rosé wine.

As we sat and listened to the live jazz music, we watched as outside the windows, small points of light appeared intermittently. Our guess was that they were fishing vessels working just off our route. As the evening progressed and we turned decisively eastward, the motion of the ship shifted. The gentle roll we had grown accustomed to gave way to a deeper, more deliberate pitch. We had left Newfoundland behind. The Grand Banks lay somewhere to the north. 

Without a doubt, we were now unmistakably in the open ocean. Our next sighting of land will be either Ireland or the UK.

By midnight, we returned to our cabin to bring the day to an end. Outside the cabin walls, the Atlantic continued its steady, indifferent motion.

See you on board!

Nautical Term of the Day – Over the Horizon - The point beyond which all coastline disappears. For days, mid-Atlantic, passengers experience this same timeless horizon that guided navigators for centuries.