Capital's a wonder in the wilderness

I spun round to catch the sound’s source, but all that remained was a boat-sized patch of calm in the lolling swell – the whale’s watery footprint.

We wouldn’t have long to wait for a sighting. Newfoundland’s Witless Bay is one of the world’s key whale sites.

The humpback was feeding, scooping up vast gulps of silvery capelin fish just below the surface. Another five minutes and it would return with a deafening exhalation of air.

Whale watching is by its very nature, a trying experience. You spend a lot of time not actually seeing very much. I felt ashamed to admit it, but my thoughts were drifting towards lunch.

Then, just feet away from our inflatable boat, the spout emerged – a javelin of air and mucus, shooting four metres up into the air, the spray cascading on to our faces.

The surface parted to reveal a giant, its skin, dark and gleaming, all gnarled and barnacle-scarred. The exhalation again, so near this time I could smell the humpback’s fishy breath.

With balletic grace the massive cetacean gently sank below the waves, momentarily fluking its vast lobed tail skyward before heading into the deep.

Remembering to breathe again, I discovered I was now dangling over the side of the boat.

I regained my composure and watched a chain of five huge whale spouts rupture sporadically through the sea fog.

Many people come to the unruly, sea-blasted rock that is Newfoundland for its wilderness and empty space.

But this is only a part of Newfie’s charm, for this ancient land off the eastern coast of North America is a treasure trove of history, culinary delights and eccentricity.

Take its capital, St John’s, for a start. Where else can the mournful sighing of a fog horn be reliably used as a wake up call? Where else can you dislodge your sleepiness by strolling down the high street to watch icebergs lumbering past the harbour. And where else can you banish your early morning hunger by feasting on seal flipper pie and a plate of cod tongues?

Newfoundland has a long and proud history. It’s all to do with cod or “codfish”, as its known almost religiously in these parts.

St John’s lies within spitting distance of the Grand Banks, a raised platform in the sea bed where nutrient-rich, freezing waters from the Labrador Current mix with the warmer Gulf Stream. The resulting plankton blooms attract the fish, whales and now the tourists.

Isolation has shaped the Newfoundland character of rugged independence, friendliness and eccentricity.

This sense of oddness manifests itself everywhere, starting on arrival as you switch your watch forward or back half an hour to fit in with Newfoundland’s own time zone.

The next shock is the accents. You can’t help feeling you’ve stumbled upon West Cork rather than the other side of the Atlantic, as the strong Irish and Scottish lineage has meant many slanders still speak with a strong Celtic burr.

Our guide, the venerable Jim McCarthy, knows everything there is to know about the province. He tells us that in a land where television arrived late, islanders made their own entertainment, hence the live music everywhere you go.

And one unexpected side effect of TV’s belated arrival is that Newfoundlanders hold a deep and confounding love of Coronation Street.

St John’s is the beating heart of Newfoundland and to get to grips with the place – an enchanting mix of pretty clapboard houses and ungainly modern structures – head for Signal Hill.

This outpost overlooks the harbour and the freezing emptiness of the North Atlantic. It was here that Marconi received the first wireless message from England in 1901.

I stayed in the elegant Banberry House, a Victorian bed and breakfast boasting sumptuous blueberry muffins. The clapboard house sits just a stone’s throw from St John’s infamous party area – George Street.

With the feeling of a bawdy frontier town, George Street is where the capital’s drinking holes are annexed together.

It’s worthy of a trip if only to become “screeched in”, an elaborate ceremony in which you down a shot of strong local liqueur, screech, and then celebrate by kissing a frozen cod.

St John’s has an unusual dining scene, which focuses on the raw products of the sea and the forests beyond the city limits. Caribou streak, moose livers, halibut cheeks and, of course, seal pie make it on to most menus.

Newfoundland also produces fantastic beer. The wonderful Quidi Vidi micro brewery, in a former fish processing plant on the edge of St John’s is an institution is the perfect place to sample exceptional beverages.

But the province’s soul burns in the wilderness; from the endless carpets of lupins to the eerie sunken bogs.

Newfoundland boasts a magnetic beauty. Its coastline is harshly rugged, held hostage by the churning sea. Ferocious storms and impenetrable fog banks emerge in seconds, seemingly from nowhere.

Icebergs drift by in the spring, carved from ice sheets in Greenland. It was one such berg that put paid to the Titanic off southern Newfoundland.

The collapse of the province’s cod stocks, however, was catastrophic. As the jobs disappeared, so did the youngsters. But help is at hand with the burgeoning oil industry and the resource that Newfoundland has in abundance – its wilderness.

Thankfully, ecotourism – whale watching, walking, bird watching and boat trips – is increasingly popular. And at only four hours or so by plane from the UK, the province is suddenly catching on as a viable holiday destination.

TRAVEL FACTS

- Liam Creedon travelled with Atlantic Canada and Air Canada, which offers return flights ex-Heathrow to St John’s, Newfoundland and Labrador, from £430. Thomas Cook Signature (0844 879 8014) offers seven nights’ room-only at the four-star Delta, St John’s, from £1,078, including Air Canada flights ex-Manchester from £1,159. Atlantic Canada travel information is available at Atlantic CanadaHoliday.ca. Air Canada reservations: 0871 2201111 and aircanada.com.