This article is part of a series celebrating communities, culture, traditions, and adventure throughout Canada. We’re spotlighting exciting people and places across the country’s provinces, from British Columbia in the west to Newfoundland and Labrador in the east. Read more stories at afar.com/canada.
One clear fall morning in Halifax, the capital of Nova Scotia, I board a helicopter and fly 180 miles east across the Atlantic. An hour later, a sandbar appears, grinning from the blue expanse. As the helicopter descends, hints of the abundance below come into focus: dunes blanketed in swaying marram grass; sun-warmed scads of gray seals hemming the shoreline; and, meandering among the freshwater ponds, horses with dramatic manes who’ve become a symbol for their domain. This is Sable Island—an ecological marvel and one of Canada’s most idiosyncratic national park lands.
Waters near Sable Island were so dangerous for ships in the 18th century that the area became known as the “Graveyard of the Atlantic.” Today, little remains of Sable’s 350 recorded shipwrecks. Technology advancements in the 20th century decreased the number of incidents, with the last known wreck documented in 1999. The Skidby, which sank in 1905, is one of the only lingering signs of this past. Its hull can be seen from a helicopter on a clear day.
Photo by Brendan George Ko
I am not a horse girl. Guiltily, I’m more excited to see the seals, who look downright goofy on land, lacking the grace of their equine neighbors. But what intrigues me most about this island is the romanticism of isolation, of these creatures and this place. Sable—which belongs to the ancestral and unceded territory of the Mi’kmaq Nation—is 26 miles long and less than a mile wide, set on the edge of the Atlantic’s continental shelf. Due to currents, winds, storms, and its namesake geological makeup (sable is French for “sand”), the landform exists in constant flux.
Much of Sable’s early history is fraught with shipwrecks and failed settlement attempts, but by the late 19th century, interests shifted toward the island’s natural bounties and geographic uniqueness. In 2013, the Canadian government enshrined Sable Island as a national park reserve; today, Parks Canada oversees conservation, biodiversity engagement, and restricted but encouraged public visitation.
There are no trees on Sable, but lush vegetation grows, including goldenrod, juniper, sandwort, yarrow, beach pea, and sea rocket. The island’s buildings are primarily concentrated at Main Station.
Photo by Brendan George Ko
Spirited day excursions offer a glimpse of these efforts. Photographer Brendan George Ko and I, accompanied by park manager Mathieu D’Astous, are among the fortunate few, alongside researchers and staff, permitted to stay overnight. Together, we hope to better understand the allure that draws curious travelers to Sable’s shores every year, and to learn from the people who help protect the island itself.
After disembarking, we unload our gear at Main Station. Soon, we’re in a Jeep, zipping toward South Beach, when we encounter our first band of horses—a deep brown trio, backdropped by the Atlantic. “Little pony there, eh?” D’Astous says with a smile, noting how unbothered the horses are by humans. As of 1961, under Canadian law, it is illegal to touch, treat, or feed the animals. Living here feral for centuries, “they’re pretty accustomed to this environment,” he says.
The Sable Island horse—of which there are about 400—is known for its stocky stature and, come winter, a thick shaggy coat. In 2008, the animal was named one of the official symbols of the Canadian province of Nova Scotia.
Photo by Brendan George Ko
By that, D’Astous means the tempestuous conditions that have kept the terrain otherwise uninhabitable. No one really knows how the horses got to Sable. They’re likely of Acadian origin, introduced with other livestock by a merchant in the 1700s. Only the horses remain. Since the 1800s, they’ve subsisted independently on Sable’s vegetation.
The following five days on the island drift from one marbled sunset to the next. We traverse lush heaths, fragrant with peppery bayberry; a ridgeline unveils an arced panorama of the island’s west and east tips. One morning, we search for Fabio, a swarthy chestnut stallion with flowing flaxen locks, but instead spy a glossy ibis pit-stopping at the gulf ponds.
As the site of the largest gray seal breeding colony in the world, Sable Island counts roughly 85 percent of the total gray seal pups born in Canada (left). All island tours are on foot, with topography alternating between sand and scrub (right).
Photos by Brendan George Ko
Throughout our stay, D’Astous furnishes us with facts, including that Sable is home to the largest gray seal breeding colony on the planet, and sprinkles his commentary with witty cheer. (While we were being pummeled by a windblast: “Good day for an exfoliation!”) Although D’Astous has visited the island 19 times over four years, his enthusiasm has not eroded. Perhaps it’s the “oceanic vastness” or the “quiet enormity” that he occasionally mentions.
Zoe Lucas is president of the Sable Island Institute, a nonprofit dedicated to preserving and sharing the reserve’s biodiversity. In her decades on the island, she has spoken with innumerable visitors, including the late oceanographer Jacques Cousteau. Lucas is planning to establish a residency for Canadian artists.
Photo by Brendan George Ko
Parks Canada maintains a small year-round presence on Sable to manage access by air and sea, coordinate supply needs, and maintain base operations for island staff, researchers, and visitors.
Photo by Brendan George Ko
The person who knows the sandbar best, though, is Zoe Lucas. Cofounder and president of the Sable Island Institute, Lucas initially ventured here more than 50 years ago, as a student fascinated by the horses. “Right from the get-go, I felt connected,” she tells us in her lab one afternoon. Lucas has dedicated most of her adult life to Sable, collecting diminishing lichen floras, seabirds for avian flu studies, and data for the institute’s current project: a survey of plastics that wash ashore. Her lab is filled with collected debris, including Crocs sandals, balloon remnants, and bottles of dish soap and ketchup.
The institute’s published findings support environmental legislation worldwide. Lucas also hopes her work will help individuals grasp the scale of ocean plastics. Visitation, which does not conflict with the island’s longevity, is part of this education. It’s impossible to explore such a wild place without confronting humankind’s effect on it and how that fits into a bigger picture.
As we lift off on the last day, Sable shrinking below, I think about simpler revelations: caterpillars inching their crenellations across a dune’s smooth slip face; a mare chomping on blades of marram while nursing a foal beside another horse’s sun-scorched remains. The only constant is the island, marked by its own sense of time.
Researchers visit Sable Island to study its rich biodiversity. It is a refuge for several bird colonies and endangered or rare species, including the Ipswich sparrow, the roseate tern, and the Sable Island sweat bee, which is the size of an ant. The island comes to life with flowers and tall grasses in April, May, June, and July. Visitors are encouraged to snap photographs of plant and animal species to share with researchers.
Photos by Brendan George Ko
At 180 miles offshore, Sable is the most remote island on Canada’s east coast. There is no cellular service on the island, but there is high-speed Wi-Fi—and a tiny gift shop—at Main Station.
Photo by Brendan George Ko
Sable Island has no airport. Instead, winged aircraft land on the packed sand of the beach. There are two helipads for helicopter arrival. Transportation is heavily weather-dependent and is limited to ensure visitor safety and the protection of the island’s natural and cultural resources.
Photo by Brendan George Ko
A walrus skull on display in the visitor room in the house used by the research team.
Photo by Brendan George Ko
Marram grass coats one-third of the island and constitutes the bulk of the horses’ diet.
Photo by Brendan George Ko
How to Visit Sable Island
When to Go
Most of Sable’s roughly 450 annual visitors arrive for day trips from June through October, though winter months offer snow-dappled dunes and an otherworldly quietude, along with more than 300,000 beached seals and pups.
Logistics
Everyone must obtain permission to enter the reserve, which is typically arranged through Parks Canada–licensed operators such as Halifax-based Picture Perfect Tours, Kattuk Expeditions, Sable Aviation, Vision Air Services, and Sable Ocean Adventures. To coordinate arrival via private vessel, visitors must complete a request form, which is subject to Parks Canada approval. Excursion fees, along with government funding, help support continued conservation efforts and research. parks.canada.ca/pn-np/ns/sable/visit
Getting There
Travelers depart from Halifax and journey 75 minutes by air or 24 to 30 hours by sea to the island. Due to changing weather conditions, it is best to account for wiggle room before and after a scheduled embarkation and return. It’s not uncommon for flights to be delayed by one or more days.
Where to Stay
Overnight stays on Sable are not allowed, but Halifax’s 109-room Muir, a Luxury Collection Hotel, offers day trips to the island guided by Kattuk Expeditions. The waterfront Muir hotel has midcentury modern–inspired furniture and custom tartan blankets that nod to the province’s Scottish history.
What to Expect
Guests to Sable Island are required to partake in an orientation and predeparture biohazard checks. Once ashore, they will be greeted by Parks Canada staff who will guide them on a tour of Main Station and walks to scenic stops. There are no ticks, black flies, or mosquitoes on Sable. There is, however, a lot of sand and no trees for shade—so dress accordingly.
