A False Spawn in Nanaimo Jump Starts Our 2025 Herring Run

There’s a certain art to chasing events that never arrive on schedule. For weeks, we’d circled dates, compared notes, and swapped rumors—always half convinced we’d either miss the herring spawn entirely or show up early to empty water. That’s why, when the call came from North Nanaimo—“Turquoise, right now!”—I left emails unsent and batteries half-charged, letting anticipation carry me out the door. Robin was already idling in the driveway, both of us hiding a grin: the game was on again.

Finger Crescent isn’t the kind of spot that makes postcards, but it hides its secrets well. Down the short, narrow path—where the air shifts from neighborhood static to green silence—the water opened up, flat and blue. From shore, nothing looked unusual. But the drone told a different story. North, a subtle wash of turquoise curled along the coast, a tentative signature that kept us guessing. Was this really it? Or just another tease?

We doubled back, found a new access point neither of us had tried. That’s the thing—half the magic is in the not knowing, in the possibility that each unmarked trail might deliver something no one else will see. The forest always feels like a hush before revelation this time of year, eagles drifting above, and the city left somewhere behind.

Out on the shore, the light was doing wild things—patches of blue, then sudden flare-ups of that elusive green. The drone swooped, lenses swapped, every shot framed as if it all might vanish. There’s a tension in the air, the kind that comes when you’re sure you’re on the verge of something, but no part of you wants to say it out loud.

We worked the scene, collected moments, then retreated with that subtle, shared thrill you only get from chasing the unpredictable. The drive home was filled with hopeful playback and a little bit of silent pride.

But the coast, as ever, had its own plot twist. That evening, combing through the footage, a nagging doubt started to surface. The turquoise was… too uniform, too pristine. A little digging and some quick texts to local biologists confirmed it: we’d been outfoxed by a false spawn. No herring, just an artful arrangement of current, wind, and bottom sand.

And you know? I couldn’t even be disappointed. The wild isn’t here to perform—sometimes it teases just to see if you’re paying attention. If anything, the false start made the hunt richer, sharpening the appetite for what was still to come. The coastline had given us a playful nod, a reminder that magic out here is as much about the chase as the catch.

With the season’s curtain-raiser out of the way, it was time to reset. The real show, we knew, would demand patience, luck, and the willingness to follow every unlikely whisper along the shore.