07-09-2026 Sailing the Labrador Sea

Morning in the Explorer Lounge

We had finally settled into the rhythm of life aboard Viking Neptune. Another full sea day stretched before us as we crossed the Labrador Sea, with moderate swells beneath us and a blanket of clouds overhead.

We were slow getting up this morning and decided on room service for breakfast again. A perfect choice. Plenty of real coffee, an omelet for Mo, and some Greek yogurt with very good granola for me.

By now I was becoming aware of something I hadn't anticipated. My body was arguing with the constant need to rebalance itself. Even though the seas were relatively calm, every muscle seemed to be making tiny adjustments to the ship's motion. It felt as though I had been running a marathon without ever taking a step.

Once again we nabbed our favorite chairs for the day in the front of the lounge

The Labrador Sea had a different personality than the Gulf of St. Lawrence. The water looked darker somehow, deeper and more serious, as though we had finally left the sheltered edge of North America and entered the North Atlantic in earnest. Greenland was still beyond the horizon, but you could feel it drawing closer with every mile.

Our resident naturalist with the huge camera was on deck to help id what we might see

The Explorer Lounge had become the unofficial observation deck. Every now and then someone would spot a seabird or something unusual on the water, and heads would all turn in the same direction. Then someone quietly called out, "Whale." Not close to the ship, but well out across the water.

At first there wasn't much to see. Just a dark shape breaking the surface. Then it happened. The whale rose in a long, graceful arch, its immense back curving above the sea before slipping beneath the surface again. There was no spectacular breach, no crashing splash, just a smooth, powerful motion that somehow seemed even more elegant. Later I learned we had been watching a fin whale, one of the fastest and second-largest animals on Earth, traveling through the cold waters that are its summer home.

Obviously not my photo and we saw no baby, but otherwise this is what the sighting looked like

The moment lasted only seconds. Then the sea was empty again. But somehow it wasn't. For those few moments, the Labrador Sea had revealed one of its giants, and every passenger standing at the rail knew they had witnessed something special.

Fin whales are often called the "greyhounds of the sea." Reaching lengths of 70 to 80 feet, they are second only to the blue whale in size. Unlike humpbacks, they rarely leap dramatically from the water. Their beauty lies in efficiency: a sleek body built for speed, rising in that characteristic rolling arch before disappearing into the depths.

The Labrador Sea isn't just another stretch of ocean. It's one of the places where the North Atlantic's great engine is at work. Cold, salty water sinks here as part of the Atlantic Meridional Overturning Circulation, the "conveyor belt" that helps move heat around the globe. As a soil scientist, I appreciate the analogy: just as unseen processes beneath the soil sustain life above it, unseen currents beneath the sea help regulate climate for half the planet.

looking out at the sea it is fun to imagine what lies beneath

We weren't sailing over a flat plain. Beneath Viking Neptune lay thousands of feet of water covering sediments dropped by icebergs and glaciers during the Ice Ages. Greenland's glaciers had been grinding rock into fine flour for hundreds of thousands of years, carrying it out to sea where it slowly settled onto the seafloor. Even in the middle of that vast ocean, the fingerprints of ice were everywhere, just hidden beneath the waves. It was impossible not to look out across that dark water differently after that.

Looking back, that fin whale now feels like a bridge between continents. Behind us was North America. Ahead lay Greenland. Its graceful arch seemed almost like the Labrador Sea itself whispering, "Welcome. You're entering another world now."

After a long day in the Explorer Lounge, we slipped back to our stateroom to rest a bit before our second specialty restaurant dinner. Once again we dressed just a little more elegantly than for a regular evening and arrived at the Chef's Table for our reservation at six.

waiting for time to go to sinner

Like Manfredi's, the room itself was surprisingly understated. No tablecloths, just contemporary décor and that dramatic wall of wines. But that's where the comparison ended. Our service was superb and the food... oh my!

We were early enough this time to get a window table

One of the few times I actually put on makeup

I took photos but was so busy enjoying each course that many of them weren't my best. The Chef's Table features a different menu every few days, and we were lucky enough to arrive on Asian night. The shrimp first course was so delicious that I honestly have no idea what Mo chose. My main course was equally memorable, perfectly cooked beef in a rich Korean-inspired sauce.

Our mango crème dessert

But the star of the evening was dessert. It was called a mango crème, and it was one of the most creative desserts I've ever eaten. It looked like a perfect egg, its shell fashioned from white chocolate. Breaking through revealed a silky mango cream that tasted like the sweetest ripe mango imaginable. Nestled on a delicate pistachio base, every bite had us smiling and saying "ooh" and "ahh."

It was a wonderful way to end a long day crossing the Labrador Sea, knowing we would sail through the night and wake the next morning to our first glimpse of Greenland.