With a sale looming, the Review’s John Law makes what is likely a final trip to the park synonymous with Niagara Falls for more than 60 years.
By John Law, Reporter (July 19, 2024)
Link to Niagara Falls Review article
The first thing you notice is the eerie silence.
The metallic clank of the roller-coaster. The parade of kids at the souvenir store. The buzz of the crowd at Waldorf Stadium. All echoes from past visits.
The sign is the same, but make no mistake — the Marineland you grew up with is gone. The Marineland you either loved or hated no longer exists. The 2024 version of the park is something else entirely, like visiting an old house you used to live in. You know it’s the same place, but it feels completely different.
It had been 10 years since I’d stepped foot in the park for a column I called ‘A Morning at Marineland.’ At the time, the park was going through a public relations tsunami with regular, huge protests. Animal activists, former employees, even marine biologists were coming out against the park.
I visited then to see what was left of the Marineland I remembered as a kid. Turns out, there wasn’t much. Several rides weren’t operating. There was only one killer whale left, the lonely Kiska. Only a few restaurants and shops were open. What was once a crown jewel of Ontario tourism, with its incessant commercials throughout the summer, was a fading memory.
Much has happened since. Owner John Holer died in 2018, legislation passed ensuring Kiska would be the last captive orca in Canada, and Marineland frequently found itself in court over allegations concerning the conditions and treatment of its animals. There was a conviction earlier this year when Marineland was found guilty under Ontario’s animal cruelty laws of three charges related to its care of three black bears.
The park and its vast land finally went up for sale by owner Marie Holer and earlier this year it seemed an announcement on new owners was imminent. Instead, the park announced it would reopen for a “modified experience” this summer as it prepared for “redevelopment under new ownership.”
The restaurants, rides, aquarium and shops would be closed. There were no longer bears or deer. No more “educational presentations” at Waldorf Stadium.
To go with those changes would be drastically reduced admission: $14.95 for adults and $9.95 for kids.
They didn’t come out and say it, but the message was clear: This is it. After 63 years, this was Marineland’s final summer.
At $14.95, I figured one last stroll through the park was in order. To see what, if anything, was left.
So on Thursday morning I headed out, parked in that vast and mostly empty parking lot, and headed to the front gate to pay my admission. And was promptly met with a “Closed” sign.
I can remember summers when Marineland was packed by 10 a.m., even on a weekday. Now it doesn’t open until 11 a.m.
The first of many eye-openers to come.
While in line, the sole ticket lady dutifully lowered everyone’s expectations. She explained, over and over, what wasn’t offered anymore. Some people refused to believe her.
“No more rides?,” one woman with three kids in tow asked.
“All you can see are dolphins and whales, that’s it,” the ticket lady responded in a weary tone. She was clearly tired of explaining.
Some families turned around. Most still paid their admission. I wonder what their thoughts were an hour later.
Once inside the park I made a right turn to walk the long pathway that winds through the park. The one that goes by Dragon Mountain and the other rides. I was met with “Do Not Enter” blockades. Not only were the rides closed, you couldn’t even go down the walkways that led to them.
I was genuinely surprised. Even with everything closed, I figured you could still stroll through this vast park. For all its faults, Marineland still offers one great feature — long, scenic paths you could spend hours on.
Not anymore.
The blockades were everywhere, restricting visitors to a small section I’m guessing is about one-tenth of the actual park. Huge areas were off-limits. What was the reason, I wondered?
The answer soon became evident — they cannot open these sections because there simply isn’t enough staff to oversee them. Marineland employees used to number in the hundreds on any given day. Now, I counted maybe two dozen.
Cut off from the pathways, visitors only had a few options to walk to: the beluga pool, the splash pad and King Waldorf Stadium, where the park’s infamous whale and walrus shows used to take place. Now, it just has three bored dolphins circling around the pool.
The deer park is boarded up. You cannot even see where Kiska used to be, spending her last years in barren loneliness.
The area where you used to feed the bears is off-limits. All land animals are gone from the park. Where’d they go? I’ve asked Marineland twice, with no response.
The Sky Screamer drop ride now stands like a giant steel memorial, no longer eliciting screams from riders you could hear throughout the park.
The souvenir shops where so many killer whale toys were sold now had “Closed” signs in the window. Peering into one restaurant I could see part of one of the defunct rides, likely waiting to be sold to someone clinging to nostalgia, like the baseball seats at a stadium about to be torn down.
Even the picnic area where Niagara’s Polka King Walter Ostanek used to perform most every day is closed off. Dozens and dozens of empty picnic tables you can’t sit at.
This was the area so many people would relax in after walking all day. I had set aside a couple of hours for this visit but when I went to leave I realized I had been there barely 20 minutes.
Even with my lowered expectations, I wasn’t anticipating this. Marineland isn’t much of an attraction anymore, but it was still a park, wasn’t it? A place you could spend a summer day just walking around?
Even at just $14.95 this felt … underwhelming.
But it also felt inevitable. Even before Holer died six years ago, Marineland felt like a relic he stubbornly kept open. Partly, I suspect, to defy his critics. But mostly because he built the place from virtually nothing in 1961 and turned it into a tourist mecca and he wasn’t going to let anyone — activists, animal experts, even the government — tell him what to do.
He would not sell. His wife clearly felt different. And who can blame her.
So, Marineland ends not with a bang but a discounted whimper. A foundational piece of Niagara Falls tourism playing out the string.
Hard to say what will be on these lands next year. Condos? Another golf course? Some mystery attraction that’ll surprise us all?
What I can’t imagine is Marineland returning in its current state.
Contrary to its incessant commercial through the years, not everyone loved Marineland. Many will celebrate its demise, for good reason.
That doesn’t mean we should dismiss its place in Niagara Falls history. Countless millions visited. Several thousand worked here. A park synonymous with this city for decades.
A fascinating chapter, for sure. But time to start a new one.
John Law is a Niagara Falls-based reporter with the Niagara Falls Review, primarily covering arts and culture.