When I first saw the boat, I have to admit that I was disappointed. I mean, it certainly looked stylish, complete with gleaming sides and a cosy bar and lounge, but it didn’t fit the idea of whale-watching as I had imagined it – the orange pangas that roared ahead of us out of the small harbour were more what I had had in mind. Our larger, slower vessel, once we had boarded and got underway, seemed to chug depressingly, and I worried that my friend Ali, who had never seen whales before, would be disappointed if we didn’t see any today. I also knew, that although I had seen a few Orcas when I was last in Canada, I would feel equally let down if no whales appeared.

We took our places at the very front of the boat to maximise our chances of seeing something. This essentially meant resignation to getting soaked, since the weather had been variable all morning in a very British combination of greyish sunshine and torrential downpours. The landscape, however, was breath-taking. The lightly inhabited quality of Quebec, away from the colourful village of Tadoussac, was startlingly apparent as we moved down the Saguenay Fjord, toward the open basin where whales are most often seen. I was reminded of the West Coast of Scotland and a trip I had made a few years ago by ferry to the Isle of Mull – not just by the rain and the few signs of habitation, but by the ample curves of the hills (in fact ‘Tadoussac’ is amusingly said to come from the Algonquian word for ‘breasts’) and the abundant pine-forests. But I had seen no whales in Scotland, and they were a priority today.

The first whales we saw, though far away, were thus a very pleasant surprise: a pod of belugas, their backs shining palely like wave-crests, could be seen faintly in the distance. Ali had seen her first whales! Hopefully there would be more. But twenty minutes passed and we had seen nothing but seaweed. We were now almost in the wide expanse of water that we had been aiming for: the pangas had reached it long before, and I took it as a hopeful sign that they had stopped, it surely meant that there was nothing to be seen.

And sure enough, there was: we soon came upon a group of finbacks, the world’s second largest whale, as well as some minkes. Fortunately for us in our large boat, the whales were completely fearless, surfacing playfully around the boat and spraying water through their blowholes – one of the younger finbacks even rolled over completely to show its white stomach. We were soon rushing about the top deck of the boat trying to see as many whales as possible. When the whales first appeared I took several photos, but after a few minutes I forgot to take any as I was enjoying the experience so much. Then, suddenly, an even rarer sight: a humpback whale and its baby on the opposite side of the boat! Now even the announcer was excited, shouting into the microphone, and I rushed over and managed to take a picture of the humpback lifting its dripping tail out of the water and smashing it down again. It was a perfect moment.

After about half an hour of excitement it was time to turn around and return to Tadoussac. I was amazed at the sheer number of whales that we had seen and realised that I needn't have worried about missing out: I knew that we had as full an experience as possible and surprisingly we hadn’t even noticed the weather. But by now we were glad to retreat to the lounge: I wasn’t so jealous of the pangas anymore.