Product of Newfoundland

Cove Pond: Undertow

Mon, 09 Nov 2026 19:38:35 -0330

I've found myself caught in Cove Pond's Undertow, and I'm in no particular hurry to swim back to shore.

The latest single from the Paradise-based alt-folk-rock trio has completely captured my imagination. It is moody, evocative and thoroughly engaging. It's the sort of song that, just like the title suggests, draws you in and holds you there.

I've found myself caught in Cove Pond's Undertow, and I'm in no particular hurry to swim back to shore.

According to band member Laura Penney, the song was inspired by an attempted murder on Signal Hill. That's certainly a dark starting point, but Cove Pond have taken that sinister inspiration and turned it into something surprisingly beautiful. There's an almost haunting quality to the song, with its darker elements feeling more metaphorical than menacing. I think it's touching, relatable and oddly lovely… Or maybe I'm just a psychopath.

But I don't think so. I’m you'll agree that Undertow is a beautifully crafted piece of music.

There's something wonderfully atmospheric about Cove Pond's sound, blending folk-rock with almost ambient textures. The band describes its music as being shaped by fog, forest and the pull of memory. That's a description that feels particularly fitting here. There's something distinctly of-this-place about Undertow, even if I didn't know where it came from, it would make me think of Newofoundland.

Cove Pond brings together singer-songwriter Laura Penney and percussionist Scott Yetman, a husband-and-wife musical partnership, with bassist Desmond Smith rounding out the trio in 2024. Penney has been writing songs for more than two decades, earning a Newfoundland and Labrador Arts and Letters Award for her debut song, Papercuts, in 2009.

Cove Pond's debut album, Moose Waltz, is due in April 2027, and if Undertow is anything to go by, there's plenty to look forward to.

I, for one, can't wait.

PS. Moose Waltz? What a great title!

It Began With Jack Holly’s Legs

Sun, 08 Nov 2026 20:01:06 -0330

“n226_w1150” by Biodiversity Heritage Library, Public Domain

Sailors like a good story, and whether they were telling their tales by lamplight or setting them down on paper, most probably weren’t particularly constrained by the truth. Take the following as an example, it’s based on a letter that appeared in the Daily Review newspaper published in St. John’s in 1899.

I suspect it has only a passing acquaintance with fact.

A Fateful Sunday Morning

A Sunday morning swim in the Caribbean sounds like a pretty good way to start the day. A bit of sunshine, a sandy beach, and a chance to cool off sounds just about perfect… as long as you're not sharing the water with anything that considers you breakfast.

In 1899 a Newfoundland sailor by the name of R. Byrne wrote a letter to the Daily Review. In it he recalled a time he and his shipmates found themselves in Puerto Rico. They had brought salt cod to the south and were due to return north with molasses. After a hard week of work, they were feeling, as Byrne put it, “pretty mushy.” And a quick rinse in the warm Caribbean water seemed the perfect solution, so they took a boat and rowed down to a sandy stretch of beach.

It was a pleasant enough morning until Jack Holly, one of Byrne’s buddies, swam out a little too far.

As he turned for shore, Byrne spotted something in the water about 200 yards away — a shark’s fin.

Byrne and the other sailors rowed for Holly as fast as they could. They were almost upon him when the fin disappeared beneath the surface. Byrne was sure he knew what that meant. The shark had dived to ready to come up —mouth open — beneath Holly.

Holly grabbed for the boat, grasping it with both hands. The shark would be at the surface in seconds; they had to drive it off.

Shark caught in a fishing net, Happy Adventure, NL, Circa 1986

One sailor wielded the oar, while Byrne took up the boat hook. They thrust their weapons at the shark.

But it was no good.

In one snap, Byrne wrote, the shark “whipped the two legs off Jack from the thighs down.”

The men managed to reach the beach, but the shark followed them and stranded itself in the shallows. They hauled it high and dry with a gaff.

Holly died the next day, having bled to death.

A Long-Running Feud

For Byrne, that was the beginning of a long-running feud.

Back in St. John’s, he had a special double-barbed hook made at Molloy’s forge. From then on, wherever his work took him — the Mediterranean, West Indies or Brazilian waters — he put his new tool to use hunting sharks.

By the time he wrote to the Daily Review on August 11, 1899, he boasted that he had caught 83 sharks.

“The shark is such a hungry rover of the deep,” he wrote, “that his number can readily be diminished.” Every genuine sailor, he declared, hates the shark “worse than the devil hates Holy Water.”

Strong words.

Words that, maybe, played better in the 19th century than they do in the 21st.

Post Script

Just before Byrne concludes his letter, he offers a final post-script that takes the reader back to that fateful morning in Puerto Rico when Jack Holly met the shark.

It’s a detail he claims to have forgotten when first relating the incident. It’s not a detail that would have slipped my mind.

“P.S. — I forgot to add,” he writes, “We ripped the shark open, took out Jack’s legs and gave them a decent Christian burial.”

Odd thing to forget, I think.

It's fair to say that Byrne's postscript was... ahem… no small footnote.

1. Wage War Against Sharks, Daily Review, August 14, 1899

A Bullock in the Building Supplies

Tue, 03 Nov 2026 18:33:58 -0330

The next time you’re driving down Pitts Memorial Drive in St. John’s and feeling the frustration of bumper-to-bumper cars, spare a thought for James S. Pitts, the man it was named after.

He had his own traffic woes — and they might have been worse than yours.

J. & W. Pitts

Evening Telegram, May 7, 1894, MUN DAI

James S. Pitts and his father, William were the owners of J.& W. Pitts, a successful business enterprise running on the St. John’s waterfront at the turn of the 20th century. They traded mainly in cattle and agricultural products that they shipped to Newfoundland from Prince Edward Island.

Their ships would dock at the rear of the Pitts Building, which sat on Water Street approximately where the Scotia Centre office tower rises today.

Not far away from their building, was the Bowring Brothers store.

Bowring Bros.

Bowring Bros. Ltd., 265-281 Water Street,St. John's, NL (ca. 1892), Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons

Bowring Brothers was an institution in St. John’s, long before J. & W. Pitts began operation. It had been running since early in the 1800s and by the early 1900s, they operated a popular dry goods store on Water Street. Their business flourished and, eventually spread across North America as a chain of gift shops. Naturally, they attracted a wide range of customers, but none so strange as they received one Wednesday at their Water Street location.

An Unexpected Customer

It was September 11, 1912 and J. & W. Pitts had just had a shipment of animals. Often they had cattle auctions right there, on their wharf. Once sold, the cattle were delivered to the buyer — sometimes via a mini-cattle drive up water street.

Now, as you can imagine, parading cattle through downtown St. John’s comes with its challenges. Even in the early 1900s —when the city was still no stranger to horse traffic — driving cattle was a daunting prospect. Keeping a small herd together and all accounted for was no easy task, amid the bustle of the downtown.

On at least one occasion, it took a bizarre turn.

At about 2pm that day, Mr. Williams, a manager at Bowring Bros, was busy pouring over accounts in the Hardware Department. He was engrossed in his work, checking his facts and figures, and didn’t know anything was amiss — until a shaggy head leaned across his shoulder.

It was a bullock, and it was right behind him. It had wandered off as it was being moved from Pitts Premises and, somehow, had come right into the Bowring Bros. hardware store.

Williams was, as the newspapers put it, “not a little surprised and somewhat scared.”

I’m not sure what the appropriate response is in such a circumstance but I think, at least in my case, ‘somewhat scared’ would probably be a bit of an understatement. If I were doing paperwork at my desk and suddenly a large animal — an animal I had no idea was near the place — peered over my shoulder, I would leapfrog right over ‘somewhat scared’ and land somewhere in the neighbourhood of ‘frightened out of my wits.’

Perhaps, they were cut from different cloth in those days.

In any case, Williams rose to the occasion. He, and the employees of the store, managed to secure the animal before it caused any problems. They escorted it from the shop and ‘not a cent’s worth of damage was done.”

So while it may be true that a bull in a china shop is bad news, a bullock in the building supplies it turns out, is not such a big deal.

1. A Bovine Visitor, Evening Telegram, September 12, 1911
2. Hon. James S. Pitts, Newfoundland Quarterly, Spring 1992
3. Will of James Steward Pitts, Newfoundland’s Grand Banks
4. Early History of Bowring Brothers, Bowring Park

The Spooky Side of the Map: Newfoundland’s Creepiest Place Names

Sat, 31 Oct 2026 15:54:38 -0230

Newfoundland is full of interesting, whimsical and downright strange place names and there’s a story behind each one. With Halloween upon us, I thought it was a good time to dig into some of my favourite Newfoundland place names with a creepy vibe… From names that hint at something sinister to those with curious histories, here are a few of the stories (and mysteries) behind the names on the Newfoundland map.

Isle Aux Morts

Maybe it doesn’t sound too creepy in English, but Isle aux Morts is French for Island of the Dead… and that stretch of coastline earned the name.

The waters off the Isle aux Morts have been home to countless shipwrecks over the years. The community is situated on the southwest corner of Newfoundland and vessels trying to pass through the Cabot Strait (between Newfoundland and Cape Breton) too often misjudged their position and were wrecked on the rocks near the community. With those ship wrecks, of course, came much loss of life.

One of the best known wrecks in the area was that of the Despatch. In 1828, when the ship ran aground near the community, Ann Harvey and her family, braved freezing waters and powerful surf to rescue survivors. Using a small boat and sheer determination, they made rowed back and forth through the storm until no one was left behind.

It remains one of the most incredible true survival and rescue stories in Canadian maritime history.

You can read more about it here.

Gros Morne

Gros Morne mountain looking great and sombre.

This one is not a community, its geological feature, a mountain to be precise.

Gros Morne can be found on the west coast of the island, near Bonne Bay and in the national park that is named for it. It is a beautiful part of the island and, if you haven’t visited it yet, you should add it to your travel plans.

Like Isle aux Morts, the name Gros Morne is French. It has been translated to English in a number of ways — big hill, big lonely hill, or my favourite Great Sombre.

Great Sombre probably has a decent Halloween vibe all on its own, but that’s not why I included it on this list. I included it because of the way it is pronounced.

In Newfoundland Gros Morne is pronounced as ‘gross morn’ which, to me, sounds both gross and mournful. Very Halloween.

Goblin

Between Gaultois and McCallum on Newfoundland’s south coast you’ll find Goblin Bay. It was once home to the settlement of Goblin.

The origin of the name is uncertain but the Encyclopedia of Newfoundland and Labrador makes several attempts at an explanation. First they suggest the name may be isuggestive of the high, haunting and forbidding landscape on this particular stretch of the coast. They also note that some had speculated that there might be "some weird ghost story connected with it.” Finally, they note the name might have come from a nearby bluff which marks the entrance to the eastern arm of Bay d'Espoir, and may, from a certain perspective resemble a face… presumably that of a goblin.

Not too far away from Goblin there is a rock formation known as the Devil’s Dancing Table… Coincidence, or were creatures of the night particularly fond of that part of the coast?

Bay d’ Espoir

Bay d’Espoir as seen from Milltown.

While we’re in the neighbourhood, Bay d’Espoir — a long fjord-like projection of Hermitage Bay — probably deserves a place on this list.

Bay d’Espoir is another French name. It means Bay of Hope —which is beautiful — but in Newfoundland it doesn’t get pronounced that way. It gets pronounced as Bay Despair, which is pretty bleak.

There is debate about the origin of the name. Some suggest it actually began as Baie du Desespoir ( French for Bay of Despair) and then got corrupted to Bay d’Espoir. Which would mean the contemporary English pronunciation may have accidentally converged on the original name.

Or maybe not…

Others have suggested the name is a corruption of Baie des Esprits which is French for Bay of Spirits… which sounds even more Halloween appropriate.

Deadman’s Bay

Situated on the northeast coast of Newfoundland, not far from Lumsden, you’ll find Deadman’s Bay. The community doesn’t really live-up to its spooky sounding name — which is to say, its a bright, scenic community with a lovely sandy beach.

I haven’t been able to track down the a good origin story for the name… though some have suggested it may be due to a shipwreck.

Whatever it is, it can’t have been a happy story.

Damnable Bay

A bell on the Damnable Trail, Salvage

Just off St. Chad’s, on the Eastport Peninsula, you’ll find Damnable Bay and Damnable Island.

According to the books, the name Damnable comes from the shallow waters in the area, which made sailing into port a considerable challenge. Local legend offers a more colourful explanation: the name is said to be a corruption of “Damn the Bell,” supposedly uttered after the bell aboard a pirate ship gave away its location.

Whichever version you prefer, Damnable is a wonderfully dark name. It conjures up images of hellfire and brimstone, which makes it a particularly fitting entry on a Halloween list.

St. Chad’s, itself, was once known as Damnable. Its name was changed when a local minister thought it inappropriate. Not sure how they arrived at St. Chad’s... nor am I sure I like it better. In any case, the name Damnable lives on.

These days you can hike the Damnable Trail network in the Eastport area. One of the trails near Salvaje will take you to Old Harry Cove, which is sort of appropriate, as Old Harry is an alias for the devil.

This list barely scratches the surface.

Newfoundland has plenty more creepy-sounding place names, from ponds and brooks to mountains and communities. Do you have a favourite I’ve missed?

Let me know in the comments.

There are plenty more spooky names (and their stories) out there waiting to be shared!

The Isle of Skye Comes Home

Thu, 29 Oct 2026 07:05:39 -0230

For more than a century people have been telling the tale of strange night in Holyrood, NL. A night when they heard something familiar, something welcome, that quickly turned into a waking nightmare.

The story has appeared repeatedly in Newfoundland newspapers, Christmas annuals and books. The details change with each telling — even the year is disputed — but the story always begins the same: with a schooner, a storm, and a dark October night.

Unidentified schooner, Wilhelm Hester, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

A Terrible Storm

A violent gale was battering the northeast coast of Newfoundland. The wind whipped across the waves, carrying spray far into the night and somewhere in the storm was the Isle of Skye.

The schooner had left Holyrood in June, and now, after a summer off the Labrador coast, her crew of ten men and two women were making their way home.

But Holyrood was still a long way away, and the Isle of Skye was off course. The skipper didn’t know exactly where they were — somewhere in Notre Dame Bay, but whether they had cleared Twillingate or even Fogo, he couldn’t say. The storm had blotted out the sky and swallowed every landmark. Worse still there was little chance of spotting any breakers until the schooner was on top of them.

All hands kept watch, praying they could keep the boat off the rocks.

Holyrood

Holyrood lay well to the south but the storm was making itself known there, too. The wind was stripping leaves from the trees and throwing waves high onto the shore.

Now you have to remember, in the latter half of the 19th century, when our story takes place, things were different. Nights were blacker and shadows could only be pushed back as far as the glow of the oil lamp allowed. And coves were quieter, too. There were no cars, motors or phones to fill the silence. In fact the world was silent enough that many people drifted to sleep hearing only the sounds of the wind and water.

By 10 o’clock many houses in Holyrood were dark, they had douted their lamps and were lying in bed, bundled under heavy quilts when they heard it — from outside came the sound of sails flapping in the wind, and men calling to each other.

It was the familiar sound of a boat approaching shore, and her crew were getting ready to anchor.

The arrival of a schooner was always exciting, but in October it was especially so. It was bound to be a crew back from the Labrador fishery — carrying family that had been away for months. Kitchen tables that had been missing loved ones could once again be filled, and if the news of the fishery was good, their earnings could keep that table well provisioned for the winter, too.

Dennis Penny hopped from bed, dressed and threw another junk of wood in the stove. If there was a schooner in the cove, it must be the Isle of Skye — and with her, his son!

It would be good to see the boy again: to sit together, have a cup of tea in the lamplight, and hear all about his summer on the Labrador.

He pulled on his boots and headed for the wharf. In the darkness he could see the lanterns of a small crowd already assembled by the wharf.

“Breakers Ahead!”

As they waited, the voices of the approaching crew grew clearer, they no longer sounded like they were preparing the anchor. They seemed to be in turmoil, like they were yelling to each other.

From the wharf they looked toward the sound, to where — out in the darkness — a ship would soon emerge.

The voices carried over the waves growing more agitated, more urgent, until one phrase rang out above the rest:

“Look out! Breakers ahead!”

Then nothing. Dead silence.

The people of Holyrood stood waiting, their eyes trained on the harbour, looking for some sign, some indication of a crew needing help but there was nothing, only the sounds of the sea in an empty harbour.

There was no schooner in the cove, at least not anymore.

Perhaps if only one of them had heard it, they could have believed it was imagination but they’d all heard it…

The horrible truth washed over them: for a few short minutes the Isle of Skye, or some shadow of her, had been there —back at home— but unless they were gravely mistaken, she never would be again.

Wherever she was now, she was beyond the reach of the living.

The Awful Truth

Soon enough their fears were confirmed. En route from Labrador the Isle of Skye and her entire crew had been lost.

She was last seen crossing Notre Dame Bay on October 10th, and presumed lost in a terrible storm that had swept through the area on the 11th. Her wreckage was discovered near Moreton’s Harbour.

For years afterwards, the people of Holyrood remained convinced that the crew of the Isle of Skye, made it home, for one brief stop on their journey between this world and the next.

An Addendum

In 1921, shortly after a version of the tale written by H.F. Shortis appeared in print, a writer credited as W. B. J. wrote to the Evening Advocate with an addendum to the tale.

The writer said that, as a child, he lived in Western Head Harbour, Notre Dame Bay and recalled being told that one night in October 1865, about midnight, a girl who was sitting up with a sick woman. She went outdoors and heard voices carried on the wind. They were coming from the sea, and they were “shrieking in peril.”

She didn’t speak of it, the writer tells us, until a few pieces of wreckage and personal articles were picked up on the shore.

One seaman's chest, he wrote, was the only means of identifying the wreck. It took several months before the news came and went from Holyrood to Western Head to confirm that it belonged to the Isle of Skye.

In Western Head, not too far from Moreton’s Harbour, they believed the schooner had attempted to sail toward Whale Gulch —a small, protected harbour nearby — but the skipper mistook the light at Western Head Harbour, as his destination and ran upon the rocks, only to sink in about forty fathoms water, just off shore.

For years, men had fished those waters without any particular trouble but after that October gale their nets began catching on something deep below. Their gear got tangled, torn and sometimes lost altogether. They came to believe they were snagging the remains of the wreck — a suspicion strengthened when a human leg bone and a jaw were recovered from the area.

The writer goes on to say that, legends of noises and lights emanating from the site before storms were talked about for years.

He concludes his piece with the following:

On that day "when the sea shall give up its dead" we shall learn the details of the loss of the "Isle of Skye" but I venture to claim from the evidence produced conclusive proof of the spot where these poor souls met with a watery grave.

Yours truly,

W. B. J.

St. John's, Dec. 28, 1921.

Whether you take the account of W.B.J. — or any aspect of the legend of the Isle of Skye as factual — is, of course, up to you.

Like the best ghost stories, it lives on the edge of doubt… there aren’t a lot of facts to back it up. Still, it leaves you something to consider on a blustery October night.

Listen

Listen to the story of the Isle of Skye as part of the Strange Truths and Tall Tales podcast episode The Future Imperfect.

1. Fireside Stories, H.F. Shortis, Newfoundland Weekly, December 20, 1930
2. A Phantom Ship, The Right Honourable Lord Morris, Privy Councillor, The Newfoundland Illustrated Tribune, Christmas Number, 1918
3. Offbeat History, Evening Telegram, Nov 13, 1959
4. Loss of the Isle of Skye, Evening Advocate, December 29, 1921

The Fetch of Proctor’s Cove

Wed, 28 Oct 2026 19:00:07 -0230

In November night comes early on the coast of Newfoundland, and in Proctor’s Cove it was cold and quiet.

Sarah’s footsteps crunched loudly over the frosty path. She hated walking home alone. Her once bustling community had begun to slow down; People were moving away. By day it was lonely but at night, the stillness seemed almost scary. The warm lamp-lit windows were getting fewer and farther between.

The whole place felt as though it were fading — dying before her very eyes.

Sarah shivered. She wished she had a lamp with her now, something to throw some light on the path ahead. Though really, she told herself, the moon was bright enough and, once her eyes adjusted, it would be practically light as day.

Still, she felt uneasy.

A Familiar Sight

She rounded a turn and the road opened up to the broad expanse of frozen marsh. Suddenly ahead of her she caught sight of something was moving. Her heart quickened.

What was it? A person? An animal? In the shadows of the dense spruce it was hard to make out.

Sarah looked into the night. It was definitely a person, she decided.

Suddenly, she recognized the silhouette. It was Jake. He was well ahead of her and moving quickly farther away. There was no mistaking him, his familiar stride. He seemed to almost glide across the frozen ground.

There was no one she would rather have seen.

In the last few months she had grown quite fond of Jake. They had seen quite a lot of each other. She hoped, he might ask her to marry him.

He was, she figured, quite a catch — strong, handsome and fun-loving. More importantly he was a good, trustworthy worker with decent prospects. At the firm, his boss usually chose him to bring supplies and carry messages to and from the settlement — if his boss thought him dependable enough for such an important job… well, that had to bode well.

“Hello, Jake,” she called. “Wait for a body, won’t you?”

Jake continued on at his brisk pace. She noticed a gun slung over his shoulder, it seemed to glint in the moonlight.

“Jake,” she called again. Still he gave no sign that he heard her.

She quickened her pace, trying to close the distance between them. Her breath came in clouds as she ran. Then Jake veered from the path, out into the frozen bog, and seemed to vanish.

She peered across the moonlit expanse. It was a clear night but she couldn’t find him. There was nothing but a breath of mist, lingering above the frozen ground. It didn’t make any sense — there were no trees, no goldwithy, nothing. A house-cat couldn’t have found a place to hide on that bog, let alone a man.

She felt her heart in her throat. She had to get out of there. She re-doubled her efforts, faster and faster she moved down the trail until she found herself at Jake’s house, pushing against the door.

She burst in and found him. He was sitting in the warm kitchen, working on a pair of boots. She sat at the table, across from him, watching him work.

He had been there all evening, he assured her as he tugged on the needle. He hadn’t been out on the road at all. She believed him… and yet, she was sure she had just watched him walk it.

Seeing she was upset, he set the boot aside and made her a cup of tea. They chatted pleasantly and Sarah felt her anxiety ebb away.

When they finished, he walked her back to her house, left her at the gate and sighed. ‘Wouldn’t it be nice,’ he thought, ‘if my home were her home.”

The thought made him smile.

As Sarah got ready for bed, her thoughts turned back to the bog, and what she had seen. She couldn’t shake the image of Jake walking away from her, his gun glinting in the moonlight.

It felt like a nightmare.

By morning she’d convinced herself she’d been crazy, that she hadn’t seen anything at all.

And that might have been the end of it — a strange imagining on a moonlit road, and nothing more.

Except that wasn’t the end of it.

Jake Is Missing

A few days later, Jake went out to work. In many respects it promised to be a day like any other. As he often was, he was sent out on an errand to a nearby settlement. He threw his gun over his shoulder and he never came back.

Hours passed and there was no sign of him. So the men of Proctor’s Cove went looking.

It was dark when they found him.

His body was in the bog. He was face down on the ice. He must have slipped and somehow, when he fell, his gun had discharged.

The shot might as well have been aimed at his heart; it tore through the young man and he died where he fell.

If Sarah had been there, she would have recognized the scene. It was the same stretch of frozen bog, the same moonlit ground, and the same young man she had watched disappear into the darkness less than a week earlier.

Only this time, Jake had not vanished.

He had fallen, and he would never rise again. Sarah had seen it play out — a grim foreshadowing of the death of the man she loved — days before it happened.

A Premonition

There is no neat and tidy explanation for Sarah’s experience.

Old folks along Newfoundland’s shores might have called what she saw a fetch or token. Tales of such sightings — seeing the spectres of living people before they die — have been told up and down the Newfoundland coast for centuries.

And maybe they’re right

Perhaps time moves differently on this rocky island. Maybe on cold and lonely nights, the path between today and tomorrow bends back on itself. And maybe sometimes, if you’re looking in the right direction, you’ll catch a glimpse of things best left unseen.

We may never know.

1. Are There Such Things As Tokens, Charles Jamieson, Newfoundland Quarterly, Vol. 28, no. 3, December, 1928
2. Fetch, Dictionary of Newfoundland English
3. Token, Dictionary of Newfoundland English

A Fate Worse Than Death

Tue, 27 Oct 2026 20:10:15 -0230

In October 1794 a shortage of sailors aboard a naval ship in St. John’s harbour set off a chain of events leading to the gallows… and a grisly post-mortem punishment.

Harbour, Town and Narrows of St. John's, Newfoundland, William Pardoe Clarke, 1845, Public Domain/ Wikimedia

The HMS Boston.

The story begins aboard the HMS Boston, a Royal Navy ship anchored in St. John’s harbour. She had orders to sail for Portugal, but there was a problem: she was short of crew, and her commander had little time to fill the posts.

If she was to complete her mission —and Captain Arthur Morris had every intention of doing so —she needed to have all key posts filled, and they needed to be filled quickly.

Morris tried recruiting volunteers around St. John’s, but there was no interest. Life in the port town may have been challenging but it lacked the strict order and discipline required by the navy, besides many men were obligated to fishing merchants, had family, or would miss the taverns of town.

Still Morris had his orders and he wasn't about to let a lack of interest stand in his way.

So, on October 24th he resorted to one of the Royal Navy’s time-honoured traditions: he sent a press gang ashore.

Press Gang

A press gang is a group of navy sailors tasked with rounding up men and forcing them into service. It was a form of conscription.

If you happened to be a person who had experience with boats — like a seaman, a fisherman, a dockworker, or a fair swath of 18th century St. John’s citizens — it could, very quickly change your life. One day you might be hand-lining cod, the next you might be on a navy warship.

Usually, the gangs went after men with useful maritime experience. But the Boston was so desperately short-handed that the men sent ashore in St. John's were instructed to take whatever able-bodied fellows they could find — or, as it is often put, any men “as they might find idling about.”

So that evening, two of the Boston’s lieutenants — one by the name of Lawry — went into town to find their new crew. They quickly gathered up a small contingent of men, and by the following morning, eight had been deemed suitable for service.

On the afternoon of October 25th, Lieutenant Lawry rowed ashore with two of the newly impressed men. They were headed back into town to collect some of their belongings before joining the ranks of the Boston.

For Lawry, it may have seemed like a fairly ordinary errand. For the two men accompanying him, it was something else entirely. Their lives were about to take a turn they hadn’t chosen, and one they certainly weren’t looking forward to.

A Mob and A Murder

As Lawry and the men made their way along the waterfront, they passed beneath a large fish flake, near modern day Water Street West. Waiting under the flake was a group of citizens armed with heavy sticks.

They weren't happy about the Navy's recruiting tactics. They didn’t want a warship filling its ranks by taking their friends and neighbours from the streets of St. John’s.

The mob was determined to free the impressed men, and send a message to the crew of the HMS Boston that they would not be taken into military service.

The crowd fell upon the party and freed the two men being held for service. In the ensuing struggle, Lieutenant Lawry was struck and lost consciousness. He was carried back to the Boston, where the ship's surgeon tended to him, but he succumbed to his injuries

Manhunt

Now, a violent confrontation on the St. John's waterfront was one thing, but attacking and killing a Royal Navy lieutenant carrying out his duty, was quite another. This was no ordinary street brawl as far as the authorities were concerned. It was an assault on law and order itself, and the response had to be swift and severe.

At the time of Lawry’s murder, the Governor of Newfoundland was aboard a ship preparing to return to England. When news of the killing reached him, he sent word to the Chief Justice that he would come ashore at 8am to deal with the matter.

His orders were clear: the men responsible were to be found, and found quickly.

Newfoundland law enforcement supplemented with navy personnel poured out in to the streets, searching for the culprits. Before long, their inquiries led them to a tavern on the upper path (which we now call Duckworth Street). There, they arrested two men: Farrell and Power.

Both were charged with murder.

Court Convened

With the accused in custody, the Newfoundland justice system kicked into high gear. Less than seventy-two hours after Lawry's death, Farrell and Power at trial in the Supreme Court.

The case was over almost before it began. The men were found guilty of Lawry’s death and sentenced to hang.

But that wasn’t all.

The court decided that death alone wasn’t punishment enough. Lawry’s killing demanded something more.

A Fate Worse Than Death

Once upon a time in Newfoundland, the bodies of executed criminals were gibbeted — placed on a sort of scaffold where they decayed in full public view. Gibbets extended a criminal’s punishment into death and also served as a deterrent to others. They were a powerful reminder of what became of those who broke the law.

In the case of Farrell and Power, the court decided to go in a different direction. Rather than put the men on display, it was decided that their bodies should be delivered to surgeons, where they would be dissected and anatomised.

Musculature and bones of the forearm and hand, Gerard de Lairesse/ public domain

That is, after Farrell and Power were hanged, they were to be cut apart and broken into pieces.

In those days, perhaps even more than now, a proper burial mattered. Cutting up the body denied the traditional rites of death and, for the convicted, knowledge of the coming indignity brought an extra layer of suffering.

As strange as it may seem today, dissection was an accepted practice at the time. It had been written in the English ‘Murder Act’ of 1751

“[I]n no case whatsoever the body of any murderer shall be suffered to be buried; unless after such body shall have been dissected and anatomized as aforesaid…”

—
An act for better preventing the horrid crime of murder (1751),
Statute of Great Britain

Carrying Out The Sentence

On October 30, Farrell and Power were led from their cells to an open stretch of ground known as The Barrens, somewhere near what is now The Rooms.

Waiting for them was the hangman, his face covered in black wool. He wasted no time. Before a crowd of onlookers, Farrell and Power were hanged.

The reports of the dissection and anatomization are brief. But given the timing of the execution, it’s entirely possible that surgeons in St. John’s spent Halloween 1794 doing the gruesome work of cutting up the bodies of Farrell and Power.

The entire affair, from crime to punishment, unfolded in less than a week. As Rev. Charles Pedley wrote in his 1863 book, The History of Newfoundland:

The criminals had been full of lusty life and riotous liberty on the Saturday evening. On the Tuesday they stood in peril before the tribunal of justice. On the Wednesday they heard the sentence of death. On the Friday they were dangling lifeless from the gallows, and on Saturday, all within a week, they had probably become the mangled offensive material of the dissecting room.

According to Murphy’s Old St. John’s the remains of Farrell and Power — or whatever was left of them — were uncovered during roadwork in the 1860s, near the site of their execution.

What happened to them after that is anyone’s guess.

1. Oddities from Our History, Book of Newfoundland
2. Conscription and Impressment, Encyclopedia of Newfoundland and Labrador
3. Days of Press Gangs…, Don Morris, Gander Beacon, June 6, 1979
4. Old Newfoundland : A history to 1843, Patrick O’Flaherty, 1999
5. History of Newfoundland, Charles Pedley, 1863
6. The Murder of Lieutenant Lawry:
  A Case Study of British Naval Impressment in Newfoundland, 1794, Keith Mercer
7. Murphy’s Old St. John’s, John Murphy, 1916

Dead, Buried And Not Quite Done: George Gaulton’s Final Message

Sun, 25 Oct 2026 06:59:19 -0230

Portrait of an Unknown Man (edited), Franchoys Elaut, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

It was December 2nd, and George Gaulton was definitely dead. His final breath had been witnessed by a small collection of family who had gathered to see him through his last hours.

Most people who knew him considered it a blessing in disguise.

In his younger days, he had been fiery and independent. He was doggedly determined to keep his fishing premises —and all of Savage Cove— to himself. He rebuffed the attempts of any other would-be settlers to his stretch of coastline. For years, he, his wife, and their children were the cove’s only year-round inhabitants. In time, his resolve softened and other families began to settle.

By the time he turned 90, he was thankful for it. The once-vital man was confined to his bed. He lay there for months. His days were long, and the autumn nights longer still. By the end, one of the few pleasures left to him was the company of neighbours and visitors who came to sit at his bedside.

One of those visitors was the local missionary, Frederic Lloyd. He stopped by Gaulton’s homestead in Savage Cove whenever he could.

In Lloyd’s estimation, the old man had made peace with his fate and, indeed, with his life. Lloyd welcomed him —practically begged him— to unburden his mind, to confess any misgivings or troubles. But Gaulton assured him that all was well, that there was nothing bothering him, and that he would die with a clear conscience.

It seemed to Lloyd that he was sincere.

So, on December 4th, 1883 when they laid George Gaulton in the ground, it was with a certain degree of peace. He had lived to a ripe old age and, to all appearances, his final rest was well-earned.

But well-earned or not, George Gaulton would not rest. At least not for some time. Frederic Lloyd recalled the strange events of the weeks following Gaulton’s burial and chronicled the incident in his book Two Years in the Region of Icebergs: And What I Saw There.

James Shenicks

In the late 19th century it wasn’t easy to get word from one Newfoundland coastal community to the next. It took time. Word of Gaulton’s death hadn’t yet travelled as far as Port aux Choix, where Gaulton’s old friend James Shenicks lived..

It was December 15th, a full eleven days after Gaulton was laid to rest, and Shenicks was in the woods, cutting timber. He had no reason to suspect that Gaulton had died, and no reason to suspect the day should not unfold like any other.

He expected it to be hard work. And it was.

The best trees, he thought, always seem to lie just slightly too far off the path than and always just beyond a snowdrift, or in a tangle of half-frozen goldwithy.

As he worked his way deeper into the forest, the sound of his steps seemed to die almost as soon as they fell the snow. This time of year the woods seemed too quiet. Winter brought a stillness, he thought, that was absent the rest of the year; a strange silence that could be felt as much as heard.

Then came a sound — a soft crunch in the snow. It sounded as though it were directly behind him.

He stopped.

Maybe it was a rabbit moving through the undergrowth.

Then came another crunch.

This one sounded unmistakably like a footstep. And it was close.

He turned quickly.

There was nothing there. Nothing but the trees and the snow, and behind him, the trail of his own footprints weaving back through the forest.

Before he could turn back, he heard it again, the footsteps. This time someone was on the path ahead of him! He spun around, but there no sign of anything. The path was an undisturbed sheet of white. Nothing had been moving there, no animal and certainly no man.

It must have been a trick of the forest, he decided. Maybe the creak of a tree, or snow toppling from some high branch.

He tried to laugh it off. After all the winters he’d spent in the woods, for him to be jumping at falling snow, well, it was ridiculous.

Still…

He paused and looked at the trees around him. They were probably as good as any he’d find deeper in the woods. There really was no reason to push on any farther.

He lifted his axe and swung at a nice spruce. The sound seemed dead, just a dull thud. There was no reverberating crack, not like you’d expect to hear when a heavy steel blade hits a tree, and no echo returned from the surrounding hills.

He couldn’t help but notice that no snow fell from the branches, either. In fact, there didn’t seem to be any snow lingering on the trees anywhere around him.

That’s when he heard the footsteps again.

This time, they seemed to come from all around him. A soft crunching just ahead of him, then to the left, until it seemed to be directly behind him.

He turned slowly, trying to see between the trees.

Nothing.

Shenicks called out.

There was no response.

The footsteps continued.

He listened for something, anything else — the rustle of a branch, the snap of a twig, maybe a grouse bursting into flight — but there was nothing. The woods were completely still.

Except for the footsteps.

He sighed. He must be hearing things.

He looked at the tree to his right and swung the axe. Again, and again he struck the trunk trying to drown out the sound of the footsteps but they didn’t stop.

They seemed to be moving through the trees all around him. He felt the hair stand-up on the back of his neck. It was unsettling, not just the sound, but the whole atmosphere of the place was wrong. Part of him wanted to go home, to leave the woods and to never return, and another part wasn’t sure if he could live with himself if he did. He didn’t like to think of himself as cowardly, as man that would run from a sound in the shadows.

So he stayed, and worked. All the while the pacing continued to circle around him.

By mid-afternoon, he had cut and limbed a decent pile of spruce. The December sun was low, and it was time to head home to a warm fire and a cup of tea… and away from the infernal footsteps.

He hoisted his axe to his shoulder and started down the trail.

Was it his imagination, or were the footsteps getting louder? Even closer?

Crunch after crunch, they followed him. The faster he moved, the faster they moved. Until he was running, running to keep ahead of them.

By the time he reached the edge of the woods, he was out of breath. He couldn’t bring himself to look back. As he broke free of the forest, the sound seemed to stop.

He didn’t look back. He kept his eyes fixed on his homestead ahead.

By the time he reached the house he was out of breath and dizzy.

He burst into the house, shook the snow from his boots and settled himself beside the fire with a cup of tea.

The warmth seemed to help.

He turned the day’s events over in his mind. He’d let his imagination run riot, he was sure of it. And once he’d started listening for “footsteps,” he’d begun hearing them everywhere.

There was nothing to be made of it. It was foolish to have been frightened. By bedtime, he had almost convinced himself.

Back To The Woods

Morning dawned grey and damp. He lit the fire and, while the kitchen warmed, went to check on his animals.

He had a small number of cattle that required tending. The hay he’d cut the previous summer was holding well and, in the cold months, it provided the bulk of the feed for the farm. He left a generous meal for the cows, enough to last them the day, perhaps two.

For a moment, he thought of spending the morning there, in the barn. There was no shortage of work. He could be productive, right there at home.

Shenicks glanced toward the trees and sighed.

Winter was the time to work in the woods. It was much easier to haul the trees across the ice and snow than over the wet, boggy terrain he’d have to contend with the rest of the year.

It was better to do it now than wait.

He went back to the house, ate breakfast, and pulled on his coat.

He paused at the door for just for a moment, pulled his coat tighter and headed back toward the woods.

His footprints from the day before were still visible in the snow. He stopped for a moment and looked at them. They were so far apart. His strides had stretched him across the snow at a distance he’d have hardly thought possible. He had certainly run home.

The snow-covered field soon gave way to scraggly spruce, which in turn gave way to a thick tangle of taller trees. It was dark beneath them. The grey morning light barely reached the forest floor.

He looked up. Already the clouds were considerably thicker than when he had left the house. A change in the weather was coming, and it wouldn’t be for the better.

He picked a good tree and swung the axe. The crack of the blade had barely died away when he heard them again.

Footsteps. Behind him.

He was determined to ignore them. He swung the axe again and again. With each strike, the footsteps seemed to come closer. Again the hair stood on his neck.

He glanced over his shoulder. Nothing.

He turned back to the tree and swung again.

The footsteps came closer.

Another swing.

The footsteps were almost upon him now.

He raised the axe and brought it down with all his strength.

The tree shuddered and the trunk gave a deep, splintering crack and began to fall.

He watched it topple through the trees, branches tearing against branches, until it crashed heavily onto the forest floor.

For a moment, he simply stood there, staring at it.

The footsteps had stopped but he knew there was someone —something— right behind him. If he turned around, if he reached out, surely he could touch whatever had been pursuing him.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move.

The world seemed to have narrowed to the space between his back and whatever stood behind him.

Then everything stopped. And in that stillness, he felt it.

He had no words for it. Only the sense that whatever was there had come a great distance and it wanted him. He could almost imagine its icy fingers on his shoulder, drawing him closer. As though it needed him to lean in. As though it needed him desperately —

Cold rain struck his face.

He blinked. Then another drop hit his cheek, cold enough to make him shiver.

He blinked again, and the forest came back into focus. The fallen tree lay before him. The axe was still in his hand. The branches above him were moving in the rising wind.

He turned his head.

There was nothing behind him. Nothing but trees.

He looked up into the darkening sky. The rain wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. There was nothing to do but head home.

He started down the trail, listening —waiting- for the footsteps but they didn’t come.

He walked a little farther. Still nothing, just the soft patter of rain on snow.

For the first time since he had entered the woods, he felt alone.

By the time his house came into view, he felt the tension of the morning —and of the last day and a half— beginning to leave him. Whatever had come with the footsteps, whatever strange stillness, seemed to have been washed away by the rain.

It wasn’t something he could properly explain. Not to himself, and certainly not to anyone else.

Back to the Barn

Shortly after noon, Shenicks was sitting in his kitchen, finishing a second cup of tea. The room was warm and comfortable. Part of him wa

Moses Power and the Torbay Ghost

Fri, 23 Oct 2026 07:49:46 -0230

By August 1877, Moses Power’s house in Torbay, NL had become something of a local battleground.

If the Morning Chronicle is to be believed, forty men had assembled to protect it, standing watch against an assailant who had no intention of respecting their numbers… or the ordinary boundaries between the living and the dead.

Morning Chronicle, August 11, 1877

Power’s windows were being smashed, his clapboard torn away, and his stockpile of saltcod was disappearing. And all the while, people were insisting that the culprit was a ghost.

Witnesses, including Power himself, claimed to have seen the apparition, whom they described as a young woman dressed in white muslin.

According to the Chronicle, disturbances began at seven o’clock each evening and continued until midnight, with much of the destruction taking place in broad daylight.

The newspaper offered no further information, but its writer seemed considerably less interested in supernatural explanations than in seeing somebody brought to justice.

It was time, the writer declared, for Inspector Carty (Head of the Constabulary) to demonstrate his detective skills by visiting Torbay and catching the ghost.

Whether Inspector Carty accepted the challenge, I don’t know.

Whatever was really happening in Torbay, Moses Power had apparently discovered that forty men are no match for a sufficiently determined soul hell-bent on a home reno.

1. Fearful Doings of a Ghost, Morning Chronicle, August 11, 1877

Margaret Campbell Macpherson: St. John’s to Paris

Sun, 27 Sep 2026 14:51:46 -0230

Picture it: Paris, 1894.

The newly constructed Eiffel Tower dominates the skyline, the streets are bustling with people, and the galleries are crowded with paintings by artists from across Europe and beyond. Among the works on show is one by a woman born more than 4,000 kilometres away, across the ocean in St. John’s, Newfoundland.

Her name is Margaret Campbell MacPherson.

'Church interior in Brittany' (ca. 1897), Margaret Campbell MacPherson, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Margaret Campbell MacPherson

In 1894, Macpherson’s work was being exhibited at the Paris Salon. It was a significant accomplishment. At this point, she was in her thirties, and had already spent much of her life pursuing art far from her home in Newfoundland. After completing her early education in St. John’s, she moved to Edinburgh, studied painting in Switzerland, and, in 1889, went to Paris, where she enrolled at the Académie Colarossi.

Macpherson’s showing at the Salon was really just the beginning. She would return to the Paris Salon again and again in the following years, and earn accolades on both sides of the Atlantic.

Signing her work simply “M. Campbell MacPherson,” she was a successful, professional artist with an international career — a remarkable achievement by any measure, and particularly so at a time when the art world did not always recognize the accomplishments of women.

“[W]e do have an interesting example of a woman from the 19th century, Margaret Campbell MacPherson, who left Newfoundland and, amazingly, made a full [art] career living mainly in France. She is probably the most exhibited woman of her particular era.”

— Madeleine Trudeau, Library and Archives Canada, co-curator of Ladylikeness: Historical Portraits of Women by Women (2019).

MacPherson painted a range of subjects but she found particular inspiration in Brittany, where she depicted the people and landscapes around the artists' colony at Concarneau. It was her paintings of the people of Brittany, often shown in traditional dress, that would become among the most celebrated works of her career.

Through much of her career, she was accompanied by fellow artist Josephine Hoxie Bartlett, who had become an important part of both her professional and personal life. The artists shared a studio in Edinburgh, exhibited together, and eventually made their home in France.

But she didn’t leave Newfoundland behind. MacPherson returned to the island, painted landscapes and, in 1899 was the subject of a large exhibition at the Colonial Building in St. John’s.

The choice of venue — the legislature — gives us some idea of how highly she was regarded at the turn of the 20th century. She was clearly respected, and recognized for the formidable artistic talent that she was.

MacPherson returned to France. Her work was shown at major exhibitions in Europe and North America, and in 1900 she won a bronze medal at the Exposition Universelle (World’s Fair) in Paris. Gold medals followed at other French exhibitions.

She continued painting and exhibiting for decades, maintaining a life in France while still identifying herself as a Newfoundlander. In her 1919 will, written in Paris, she described herself as “of St. John's, Newfoundland but temporarily residing in France.”

She died in Versailles in 1931.

And then she seems to have slipped from local memory.

Remembering M. Campbell MacPherson

Her paintings remained in private collections, and one was included in a Newfoundland Historic Trust exhibition in 1972. But for much of the twentieth century, Margaret Campbell MacPherson seems conspicuously absent from the story of Newfoundland art.

Then, more than 70 years after her death, she began to reappear.

In 2006, the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia organized Two Artists Time Forgot, an exhibition devoted to her work. When the show came to The Rooms in St. John’s in 2007, Macpherson’s paintings were once again on display in the city where her story began, which seems fitting.

Newfoundland never lost its place in MacPherson’s story; we should make sure she never loses her place in ours. Perhaps the best way to do that is simply to keep looking at her work. The Rooms’ online database lists eight works by Macpherson in its collections, that gives us a pretty good place to start.

1. Curator Conversations: Ladylikenes, Glenbow
2. A Pastel and a Photograph Propped up on a Windowsill, caralockhartsmith
3. Exhibition of Seventy Paintings, Evening Herald, Dec 14, 1899
4. Margaret Campbell MacPherson, ArtUK
5. Gathering Apples in an Orchard – Brittany, Leighton Fine Art
6. Two Artists Time Forgot, Internet Archive
7. M. Campbell Macpherson Will, Newfoundland Grand Banks
8. Artist Margaret Campbell MacPherson, Genealogy.com

Adam Staple: Supervillan

Sat, 26 Sep 2026 07:30:50 -0230

Adam Staple has been making music for a long time. First as a drummer and percussionist with a whole host of local bands, and then, in 2020, when health issues forced him to step back from the stage, he pivoted to writing songs, building a home studio, and making his own records.

Since then, he’s released some great music. SuperAntiHero (2021) and Quiet Part Loud (2023) were both full of well-crafted rock songs, with lyrics that were as personal and thought-provoking as the music was compelling.

Adam Staple is back with SuperVillain, a five-track EP that gets in, packs a punch, and leaves you thinking.

And now he’s back with a new EP.

Released in August 2026, SuperVillain is a tight 5-song collection that continue the honest, introspective lyricism of his previous releases. It clocks in at about 16 minutes, so there’s not much room for hanging around — the songs get in, pack a punch, and leave you thinking.

My current favourite is “Underneath My Tongue,” which brings along mentions of silver bullets and Universal monsters (and how they come to life in black and white). It’s a clever bit of writing that’s about a whole lot more than The Wolfman, I think. Like “Michael Myers” — one of my favourites from 2023’s Quiet Part Loud — it uses a movie monster to get at something considerably more human.

SuperVillain is another solid addition to Staple’s growing catalogue and is well-worth your attention.

You can find it wherever you stream music, or pick it up on vinyl, with SuperVillain on side one and the 2021 EP SuperAntiHero on side two. It’s available from Fred’s Records, or you can order worldwide through Elasticstage.

I’m obsessed with music from Newfoundland and Labrador…

It’s fresh, wild, and full of surprises. The artists here are pumping out so much new stuff, it’s hard to keep up. So, I started a playlist of my faves—tons of genres, but the only rule is they’re local and totally repeat-worthy. I update it regularly, so follow along (on Spotify, Apple Music or Youtube).

Trust me, there’s a ton of good stuff coming your way.

Ana and Eric: Autumn Bliss

Tue, 22 Sep 2026 19:08:51 -0230

Autumn is here… which always gives me mixed emotions. Fall in Newfoundland is beautiful, but there’s still something difficult about letting go of summer.

This year, though, I have some new music from Ana and Eric to ease the transition, and the timing couldn’t be better — as I write it’s the first day of Fall and I’m staring down an Environment Canada frost warning.

It’s the perfect soundtrack for the season.

“Autumn Bliss” is the first single from the duo’s upcoming sophomore album, Older Than Sadness. Blending bossa nova and folk, the song reflects on the ways places and memories become part of us.

According to Eric, the song explores “the ways in which places and spaces inhabit us. It is about how songs come alive and how memories inspire and shape the present and our future.”

There’s a distinctly Brazilian influence in the music, while the imagery draws from Newfoundland. It’s a reflection of Ana and Eric’s experience as Brazilian and Newfoundland-based artists — and of the space created where those two places meet.

As they put it, “Autumn Bliss only exists where Newfoundland and Brazil meet, a space that has been little explored but is filled with ever-flowing beauty.”

I like that.

I also like what the song has to say about transitions — about leaving a place or season behind. Just because you’re no longer there doesn’t mean you’ve left it entirely.

“So everywhere I go,” they sing, “I take the sea, I take the summer breeze.”

And really, that sounds like a pretty sensible approach to Newfoundland autumn: take a little summer with you, there will be plenty of cold and windy days ahead when you’ll be glad you have it.

Check out “Autumn Bliss” now — it’s the perfect soundtrack for the season. It is available now wherever you stream your music.

And stay tuned for Older Than Sadness, coming in early 2027.

I’m obsessed with music from Newfoundland and Labrador…

Trust me, there’s a ton of good stuff coming your way.

Funk the System: Cabot Power

Sun, 13 Sep 2026 14:00:31 -0230

You don’t put 11 people together to play funk because you’re aiming for subtlety… And Funk The System, the long-awaited new album from St. John’s-based Cabot Power, is anything but subtle.

The album is an energetic, groove-heavy collection that sounds like it was made by musicians who know exactly what they want to do, and are having a good time doing it.

This record has plenty of musical muscle.

Formed by Josh Chancey in 2015, Cabot Power has become a staple on the St. John’s music scene. Funk The System, the band’s first album of original material grew out of Chancey’s opportunity to travel to New York City and study with some of the musicians who had influenced him. He subsequently teamed up with Halifax-based, former Cabot Power guitarist Kenneth Pasher to write the album, with Christian Berglander providing the horn and string arrangements.

The album was three years in the making, but the result was well-worth the wait. The record has plenty of musical muscle, and, With an 11-piece lineup, there’s no shortage of sound competing for your attention, but it works. Funk The System keeps everything moving, with the grooves front and centre.

You need to check it out now.

The song Reason to Smile is a great place to start. It’s upbeat, infectious and hard to imagine listening to without at least some involuntary toe-tapping.

Then there’s Whatcha Wanna Eat?, which takes a more playful approach to the universal fear of asking someone out. Beneath the funky groove is a nervous would-be romantic trying to work up the courage to say what they’re feeling. Their stomach is turning, palms are sweaty, and they’ve already chickened out once. It’s a relatable bit of romantic anxiety, delivered with enough humour and energy to keep it from getting too serious.

Recorded primarily at Chancey’s home studio, Funk The System is an impressive first outing for Cabot Power’s original material.

It’s funky, it’s fun, and built to make you move.

The official release is happening this Friday at The Rock House (in St. John’s) with special guest Baraka. You can get the album on Bandcamp, and wherever you stream your music.

Below: Netflix

Sat, 12 Sep 2026 13:52:48 -0230

A Newfoundland outport. A mysterious creature. And six episodes to find out what’s lurking Below?

Count me in.

If you’re familiar with my work at all, you probably already know I’m eagerly anticipating Below, the new Netflix series. It checks just about every box for me: it’s set and filmed in Newfoundland, features local talent, explores local culture and —just to sweeten the deal— it has a sea monster.

You know I love a good sea monster story.

And while I’ve written about quite a few Newfoundland sea monsters over the years, it’s not every day one turns up with a Netflix budget.

The six-episode series follows a fisherman who must fight to protect his family when a mysterious sea creature begins terrorizing his outport community.

Below also brings together some impressive talent, both in front of and behind the camera. The cast includes Josh Hartnett, Mackenzie Davis, and Charlie Heaton, while the writing team includes Karen Walton, Perry Chafe, and Natty Zavitz. Episodes are directed by Jamie Childs, Helen Shaver, and Stephen Dunn.

The trailer, released this week, looks fantastic. It’s cinematic and high-energy, with plenty of tension, and it manages to show just enough to make me curious without giving too much away. Which is probably a good thing, particularly when you’re dealing with a mysterious creature!

Needless to say, I can’t wait to dive in.

All six episodes of Below will be available on Netflix, October 8th.

I’ll be waiting with bated breath… and buttered popcorn.

Sister Gertrude’s Miracle

Sat, 12 Sep 2026 13:16:34 -0230

When Sister Mary Gertrude walked down the gangplank of the SS Polino onto the wharf at St. John’s harbour, she was greeted by people who had come for one reason:

to see her for themselves.

They had heard her story. It had appeared in the local papers and beyond, and it was the kind of story that seemed almost too astonishing to believe.

When Mary-Gertrude, better known as Sister Gertrude, left Newfoundland, she could barely lift her head. She could barely walk. And those closest to her, feared she was dying.

Now she had returned, walking with ease, looking as though nothing had ever been wrong.

What had happened to Sister Gertrude?

Well, if you asked her she’d tell you it was nothing short of a miracle.

Sister Mary Gertrude

Sister Mary-Gertrude was born as Agatha Kennedy in Conception Harbour, NL, on February 5, 1876. Her early life was like that of many in her hometown. She went to school and received her early education from the Irish Sisters of Mercy. Eventually, her path diverged from that of her schoolmates, and she travelled to Ireland, where she furthered her education at a church-run boarding school.

At 16 years old, she returned to Newfoundland and joined the Sisters of Mercy, taking her official vows in 1894.

It wasn’t long before things took a tragic turn for Sr. Gertrude. In September 1895, she had an attack of what was then called St. Vitus’ dance, accompanied by seizures. St. Vitus’ dance causes the body to move in quick, uncoordinated movements, affecting the face, hands and feet. These days, it is better known as Sydenham’s (or rheumatic) chorea.

The disease struck Sr. Gertrude again and again. She experienced attacks in the spring and fall of 1896, which left her with curvature of the spine and contraction of the muscles.

In the spring of 1897, the disease appeared again and left her with partial paralysis, causing her to lose the use of her right leg for several months. Another attack followed in November. Then she had a brain hemorrhage. Mother M. Joseph Guinane, her Superior, recalled that the illness “made our Sister a complete invalid and took away her appetite.”

Sr. Gertrude was forced to use an steel collar to hold her head up. Her physician, Dr. Freebairn, later wrote that he considered her case to be hopeless.

Turning to Faith

Church of Ste. Anne de Beaupré (1901), Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

After two years of worsening health, at the suggestion of the bishop, Sister Gertrude made a pilgrimage to the Shrine of Ste. Anne de Beaupré in Quebec.

The shrine, which is about 30 kilometres from Quebec City, had long been credited as the site of miraculous cures, a place where the sick and injured were healed.

Joined by her mother and the Mother Superior of her convent, Sr. Gertrude began her pilgrimage. They arrived at the Shrine of St. Anne in the middle of July and started to pray. They were completing a novena —a nine-day prayer—which was set to end on July 26, the feast day of St. Anne.

Day after day, they completed their devotion, and when they reached the end, Sr. Gertrude was no better than when they began; her neck was twisted and her head was bent forward. It seemed St. Anne would not answer her prayers.

Gertrude hoped she would have the strength to make it back to Newfoundland. Once again, she turned to God for strength. On the morning of July 27, Sr. Gertrude decided to receive Holy Communion.

With the aid of her companions, she approached the altar, knelt, and suddenly everything changed.

In Her Own Words

“I was kneeling by the rails earnestly praying for strength to enable me to go home,” Sr. Gertrude later recalled, “when all of a sudden, without any physical premonition, I felt as if a cord within me burst and I found myself unconsciously straightening my body and my head which, without the steel collar, I had not been able to lift for years. I now raised without the least difficulty. I got on my feet and without any assistance walked down the church as well as I am now.”

It was the miracle they had been praying for — Sr. Gertrude had been restored to good health.

“My mother and Sister Joseph were both surprised and overcome,” she remembered, “and we remained a considerable time in the church praying. After leaving the church, I ran up the fifteen steps leading to the hotel as briskly and with as little effort as when I was a child. The pains had all left me, the deformities of my body had disappeared, my appetite came back, and I have not had any of my old trouble since.”

“I believe,” she said, “that I am thoroughly cured, thanks to the Almighty God and good St. Ann.”

Returning to Newfoundland

On August 13, 1899, Sr. Gertrude arrived back in Newfoundland. Her homecoming was covered in local newspapers and marked by a special sermon from Bishop Howley, who summarized the event by saying:

“The Sister, in whose behalf the miracle has been wrought, had been given up by medical men as one whose disease could not be cured. She was so infirm that it was thought, by those who saw her, she would not reach the Shrine. She now returns, full of light and grace, cured of her infirmity, and furnishing a wondrous proof of the power of God.”

The next day, Sister Gertrude returned to the convent and, as her parish priest recalled, was “never better in her life.”

Her mother presented a statue of St. Anne to the local church.

Sister Gertrude would live for another 63 years, dying on February 9, 1963, at the age of 87.

Miracles and Mystery

Whatever happened to her in that church in Quebec on the morning of July 27, 1899, it changed the course of her life.

For Sister Gertrude, there was no mystery about it. She believed she had been cured through the intercession of St. Anne.

Even for the doubters, there was no denying that something extraordinary had happened to Sister Gertrude. The woman who had gone to Quebec wearing a steel collar and barely able to walk, returned home on her own two feet with her held high.

And whether you consider it a miracle, a mystery, or a medically plausible recovery, Sister Gertrude’s extraordinary transformation at the altar remains one of Newfoundland’s most remarkable strange truths.

1. The Marvellous Cure, Daily Review, August 14, 1899
2. Sister Gertrude’s Return, Evening Telegram, August 14, 1899
3. The Miracles of Beaupré, 1908
4. The Annals of St. Anne, Decemeber, 1899
5. Obituary, Sr. Mary-Gertrude Kennedy, The Monitor, February 1963
6. Brief Historical Sketch of St. Anne de Beaupre, Rev. Philip Toque, Evening Telegram, Sept 2, 1899
7. Catholic Notes, The Casket, August 10, 1899
8. Robert J. Freebairn, Who’s Who In and From Newfoundland in 1927, 1927
9. The Bishop’s Sermon, Evening Telegram, August 16, 1899
10. St. Anne, Britanica
11. Sainte-Anne-de-Beaupré Shrine

Sheep Dead, Strange Animal Caught

Thu, 03 Sep 2026 11:30:16 -0230

I like solving little mysteries and I do it a lot here on Product of Newfoundland.

I find some intriguing historical snippet, start digging and, after a lot of reading, the whole story begins to emerge.

But just as often, maybe more often, I never find the complete story. I discover some tantalizing mystery but never the conclusion.

As a case in point, take what happened near Little St. Lawrence in the winter of 1958.

It began with 15 dead sheep.

Sheep Attacks

Sheep were being attacked and killed around the community, but nobody knew what was responsible.

Not too far away, in Mooring Cove, they were having a similar problem. There, however, they had a suspect: lynx. Locals had seen one kill a lamb and a farmer even had a frightening face-to-face encounter with one himself.

But in Little St. Lawrence, the problem wasn’t lynx. Or at least it wasn’t only lynx. Something else, something they couldn’t identify, was attacking their animals — and they had the proof.

They managed to capture the creature.

Strange Animal Caught

On March 6, 1958, The Evening Telegram reported the capture under the headline “Strange Animal Caught: Killer?”

According to the story, Mr. R. Clarke of Little St. Lawrence had trapped an animal in a cove near the settlement. It looked like a fox, the newspaper reported, but had an “extremely long nose.”

And it was big. Very big.

Fox skull

The animal measured more than five feet long— way larger than a typical Newfoundland red fox (which is usually in the 3 to 3.7ft range).

No one in Little St. Lawrence could identify it, so the animal’s skull was sent to the wildlife division of the Department of Mines and Resources in St. John’s.

And that’s where the trail goes cold.

A Mystery

I wasn’t able to track down another mention of the creature. I couldn’t find a follow-up story explaining what they found in that trap.

Perhaps the experts in St. John’s identified it immediately and the answer was so mundane that it simply never made it into the newspapers.

Or perhaps that strange skull sat in a laboratory somewhere, waiting for someone to figure it out… and they never did.

A Guessing Game

Of course, once I realized I didn’t have an answer, I started trying to imagine the animal myself.

My first thought was an Arctic fox.

They do occasionally make their way to Newfoundland, crossing the sea ice from Labrador. So perhaps one had wandered all the way down to the Burin Peninsula. Arctic foxes are also somewhat larger than Newfoundland’s native red fox.

There was just one problem.

They aren’t that much larger—and their noses don't fit the description particularly well.

The Newfoundland and Labrador government describes the Arctic fox as having a “compact body, short snout and small ears to minimize heat loss.” A creature with an “extremely long nose” doesn't sound like a great match.

Then I wondered about something else.

A coyote?

Coyotes can reach five feet in total length, and their long, pointed muzzles certainly sound more like the animal described in the newspaper.

But coyotes weren't known to be living on the island at the time.

According to the Newfoundland and Labrador government, the first reports of coyotes on the island came in 1985, when “wolf-like dogs” were seen crossing the ice near the Port au Port Peninsula.

That’s thirty years too late for our mysterious animal.

Of course, that doesn't necessarily rule out a coyote. Animals don't generally ask permission before expanding their range. Could a coyote have crossed the ice decades earlier, and made it all the way down the Burin Peninsula and into Mr. Clarke's trap?

It’s not impossible… but not exceedingly probable either. Eastern coyotes hadn’t established a strong population in coastal regions of eastern North America at the time. If one made it to the Burin Peninsula, it did so after a long, lonely trip.

How about a wolf, then?

Well, the last confirmed Newfoundland wolf was killed nearly 50 years prior to the Little St. Lawrence trapping (though there were some reported sightings after that). The trapping of a Newfoundland Wolf specimen in 1958 would be quite a find… one that was worthy of some news coverage.

From time to time, Labrador wolves do make their way to the island… and that certainly could have happened in 1958. But I’m inclined to think that the citizens of Little St. Lawrence would have recognized a wolf, and not been puzzled about what they were seeing.

So I'm back where I started.

No Answers

1958. A strange, five-foot-long animal with an extremely long nose. Fifteen dead sheep. A skull sent to St. John's…

And no answers.

Maybe someone reading this knows what happened next.

1. Strange Animal Caught: Killer? Evening Telegram, March 6, 1958
2. Sheep Killed, Lynx Reason, Evening Telegram, October 18, 1958
3. Red Fox, Forestry, Agriculture and Lands, Gov. of NL
4. Arctic Fox, Forestry, Agriculture and Lands, Gov. of NL
5. Wildlife Preys on Domestic Animals, Evening Telegram, Sept 15, 1961
6. Reynard Has A Field Day, Evening Telegram, Sept 16, 1959

Is This the World by The Little Phrase

Tue, 01 Sep 2026 19:18:25 -0230

Is This the World by The Little Phrase

There are albums you put on when you want to disengage, relax, and forget the world. And then there are albums that look you in the eye and start asking question. Big questions. Questions like, ‘Have you ever really thought about what it means to be a person?

Is This the World, the debut album from The Little Phrase, is very much the latter.

Fronted by Shannon Hoff, a philosophy professor at Memorial University, The Little Phrase describes themselves as an art-pop indie band. And that feels accurate, although it doesn’t really prepare you for the diversity of sounds you’ll encounter on their album. There’s indie pop, certainly, but also jazz and even moments of, I don’t know, progressive rock(?). Whatever the genre, it’s got lush arrangements throughout and lyrics that ask bigger questions than your typical pop song.

thoughtful, adventurous and full of unexpected turns

Identity? How we relate to the world around us? The body? It’s all there. But while the album ventures into some pretty hefty territory, the songs engage and entertain as much as they encourage reflection.

If I were you, I’d listen to the album in its entirety. But, if you want a quick taste, start with the title track. It’s a song that becomes more the longer you listen to it — it’s beautiful and slightly unsettling.

Turn it on… and tune in because it’s so much more than background music. Is This the World deserves your attention — and rewards you when you give it. It’s thoughtful, adventurous and full of unexpected turns.

You can hear Is This the World on Bandcamp, and check out Hoff discussing it on CBC’s Weekend AM back in May 2026.

I’m obsessed with music from Newfoundland and Labrador…

Trust me, there’s a ton of good stuff coming your way.

The Trouble with Newfoundland Thunderstorms

Mon, 31 Aug 2026 10:30:55 -0230

A rainbow in New World Island, Newfoundland and Labrador

I’m not one of those people who enjoy thunderstorms.

When the sky darkens and the first flashes of lightning appear, some people head for the window to watch the show. I start wondering whether I should unplug the television and hunker down in the basement.

I blame old newspapers.

I’ve spent years reading old Newfoundland newspapers, and they are an excellent source of strange stories, local history and reasons to fear the weather. I’ve come across too many accounts of thunderstorms crossing the island, with lightning striking houses, windows exploding, chimneys falling and worse.

In my rational moments, I know that most Newfoundland thunderstorms are nothing to worry about. I mean, these days our houses are better grounded, right?

Still, rationality has to compete with the power of those old stories. And, more often than I’d like to admit, the newspapers win.

So when the sky flashes, I don’t just see lightning; I see a catalogue of horrors.

Like what happened in Plate Cove in July 1948.

Plate Cove

It was a perfectly ordinary Friday afternoon until about 2 p.m., when a heavy storm blew in and, for the next twenty minutes, the town was pelted with hail. Most of it was about the size of peas, but some stones measured more than an inch across — large enough to take a serious crack at the community.

More than 100 windows were smashed. Hail tore felt from the roofs of houses and stores, and when the ice finally stopped falling, a heavy rain followed, flooding many of the already damaged buildings.

And then there was the hail itself. So much of it accumulated on the ground that, in the middle of July, Plate Cove was left under a thick white blanket.

It took hours for the last traces of ‘winter’ to disappear.

That sounds bad enough, but the storm had something much nastier in store down the coast in Hant’s Harbour.

Hant’s Harbour

At the Smith family home, the lightning struck with devastating force — hitting the house, not once, but twice.

The first bolt hit the house with enough force to send a radio flying across the living room, crashing through part of the opposite wall. That would have been quite enough excitement for one afternoon.

The storm, however, had more in store.

The next bolt hit the chimney, demolishing it. Taking a chunk of the side of the house with it. Inside the kitchen, the force of the strike tore the wood stove loose and sent it tumbling over.

Mrs. Smith was spared serious injury by a matter of seconds. Just before the lightning struck, she had stepped into the pantry. It was a small decision that kept a frightening story from becoming a tragic one.

They were very lucky no one died.

Trouble With History

It’s stories like these that explain why I’ve never quite learned to enjoy thunderstorms.

Of course, I know most storms pass without incident.

Usually, there’s nothing to worry about.

But then the sky flashes. The thunder rolls. And the past doesn’t seem so distant. Then I imagine someone, a hundred years from now, researching the early 21st century and wondering why I was standing so stupidly close to a window during a thunderstorm.

See, that’s the trouble with history: you can never be entirely sure when you’re about to make it.

1. Furious Downpour of Hail, Evening Telegram, July 20, 1948
2. Bonavista Notes, Observer Weekly, July 27, 1948
3. Lightning Causes Damage, Observer Weekly, July 20, 1948
4. Dwelling Hit, Bay Roberts Guardian, July 24, 1948
5. Hailstone Storm, Bay Roberts Guardian, July 24, 1948

What the Heck is Newfoundland Nectar?

Sun, 30 Aug 2026 08:38:39 -0230

St. John’s (1892), Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Writing for Product of Newfoundland, I get sidetracked. A lot.

I’ll be reading everything I can find about some murder, old superstition or heroic deed when — out of the blue — something completely unexpected catches my eye, and suddenly I’m off on some weird historical side quest.

That’s what happened with Newfoundland Nectar.

Newfoundland Nectar

I was reading a newspaper from 1875 when I came across an advertisement for soft drinks — or “aerated waters,” as they were then known — from John E. Roach. He had recently started a business in St. John’s selling a surprisingly wide range of bottled carbonated beverages.

John E. Roach Ad, Terra Nova Advocate, Aug 11, 1875/ MUN DAI

Some of them were familiar to me: lemonade, ginger ale and soda water. Others I’d never heard of: Kessingen water, congress water and, most intriguing of all, something called Newfoundland Nectar.

I had no idea what Newfoundland Nectar was.

Naturally, I had to find out. So I dug further into the old papers.

I learned that Roach seemed particularly proud of his product. He described Nectar as the most palatable of all aerated drinks and claimed credit for introducing it to the country. And it appears to have caught on.

Later that year, a newspaper article specifically mentioned Nectar as an alternative to alcohol. And in a 1907 article reminiscing about life in 19th-century St. John’s, the author recalled the pleasures of Roach’s Nectar after a day of berry picking on White Hills.

In the years that followed Newfoundland Nectar wasn’t the only nectar on offer. As early as 1876, Roach seemed to have some competition The Mineral Water Co. of St. John’s was selling something they called ‘Aromatic Nectar,” and by the 1890s the Riverhead Brewery was advertising “Aerated Nectar”.

All of which was interesting, but it still left me with a fairly fundamental problem: I still had no idea what Newfoundland Nectar actually was.

I didn’t know what was in it. I didn’t know what it looked like. And I had no idea what it tasted like.

So I started assembling the clues.

The Clues

What did I know?

It seems to have been non-alcoholic.
It seems to have been sparkling.
It was sold in bottles.
It was popular enough to attract competitors.
Roach “introduced” it to the country.

That last clue seemed the most promising. If Roach had introduced Nectar to Newfoundland, then presumably he hadn’t invented the idea from scratch. The drink — or something sufficiently similar to it — must have existed somewhere else.

So, after all that digging through 19th-century newspapers and advertisements, I did what any curious reader of history would do.

I Googled it.

And that’s when I found nectar soda.

Nectar Soda?

In the 1870s, a beverage called Nectar Soda was becoming popular in the United States. It was described as a syrup made with milk, almond, vanilla and red food colouring, which was then diluted and carbonated. You can get a recipe for a homemade version here.

And a soft drink called Nectar Soda is still available through President’s Choice brand in Canada, which they describe as “a rich, dessert-inspired taste with a smooth sweetness and lively carbonation in every sip… Its distinctive flavour makes it a fun addition to celebrations, family gatherings, and everyday moments when you're craving something a little different.” The only flavour cues from PC are pictures of strawberries and bananas on the label.

And suddenly, I had some leads — was the 1870s American recipe the basis of Roach’s Newfoundland Nectar? Was it a soft drink with a vanilla flavour… some sort of cousin to cream soda? Was it something fruit-flavoured? Was it something else entirely?

Well, I still have no idea…

Either way, what I’m most curious about is, what made it Newfoundland Nectar? Did he alter the recipe? Was there some local ingredient or twist that made his version distinctive? Or was “Newfoundland” simply a bit of homegrown marketing that he attached to an imported soda?

I mean, it certainly sounds patriotic — although “Newfoundland Nectar” does make me picture a very large, very drooly dog, and that doesn’t exactly scream ‘refreshment.’ I digress.

Mystery

So, after spending far too much time digging, my historical side quest was a bit of a failure. While I learned a few things, Newfoundland Nectar is still a mystery to me.

But that’s the nature of these side quests. They rarely end in a neat and tidy package. Sometimes you find an answer; sometimes you find another question; and sometimes you just spend a day musing about what people were drinking in 1875.

But that’s what keeps writing Product of Newfoundland fun. I never know where the next question will lead me.

If you know what was in Newfoundland Nectar, or what it tasted like — I’d love to hear from you.

The comments are always open.

1. Aerated Waters, Terra Nova Advocate, August 2, 1876
2. The Man in Milwaukee, Newfoundland Trade Review, Sept 21, 1907.
3. The Chronicle Advises.., Morning Chronicle, Sept 23, 1875
4. Nectar Soda, Gastro Obscura

Insensitive by Carolina East

Thu, 20 Aug 2026 19:00:48 -0230

Carolina East is one of my favourite local vocalists, she sings with a power and passion that's hard not to love. It doesn’t hurt that she’s released a string of infectious, genre-blurring country-pop songs, either. I've written about my love of her songs 'I'm Not Scared' and ‘Isn't It Nice' on Product of Newfoundland before.

As per usual, East absolutely kills it vocally — the power and sincerity that have won her fans for years are on full display.

I'm such a fan, I asked East to appear on the Strange Truths and Tall Tales podcast a couple of Christmases ago to chat about her Christmas album. During that conversation, she teased an upcoming cover of a Jann Arden classic. Now in 2026, that cover has finally arrived — and East’s version of Arden's “Insensitive” was well-worth the wait.

It has all the charm, emotional punch and beauty of the original, but with a contemporary production that feels fresh while still respecting what made the original so good. And there’s a good reason: East worked with Arden’s longtime collaborator Russell Broom on the track.

As per usual, East absolutely kills it vocally — the power and sincerity that have won her fans for years are on full display.

“Insensitive” is out now wherever you stream your music.

Check it out.

I’m obsessed with music from Newfoundland and Labrador…

Trust me, there’s a ton of good stuff coming your way.

The Grim Secret of the Three Brothers

Tue, 18 Aug 2026 10:30:06 -0230

Royal Museums Greenwich, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

It seemed like an ordinary Sunday in Little Codroy River until word came from offshore: three miles out, a schooner — or what was left of her — was being battered by the waves.

Five boats set out expecting a salvage job; it quickly turned into something they’d never forget.

A Mystery Ship

It was September 14, 1873 and, along the Little Codroy River in the southwest corner of Newfoundland, it was a fine late-summer day — or so it seemed from shore. The skies were clear and visibility was good, but the sea was running high, throwing white spray against the rocks.

It was just before noon when word started to spread: a ship had been spotted offshore, three or four miles from Northwest Cove, labouring in the heavy swell.

From shore, there was no way to tell exactly what to expect but it seemed unlikely to be any sort of rescue mission. The men who had seen the ship said she was badly damaged and barely still afloat.

In Little Codroy River they had little trouble imagining what happened. Just three weeks earlier, on August 24, a terrible gale had swept down the coast, battering vessels all along the shores of Atlantic Canada.

Some boats had never been heard from again.

“We have by telegraph some particulars of the terrible storm which swept over the Eastern part of Nova Scotia and over Cape Breton on Sunday night last. Nothing equal to it has been known nearly a century. Some thirty Newfoundland or Newfoundland bound vessels are amongst the sufferers to a greater or lesser extent...”

— Morning Chronicle, August 30, 1873

This schooner, they assumed, was another victim of the storm. But where she had come from — and what had happened to the people aboard her — they couldn’t say. It wasn’t likely they were still on the ship, not this long after the storm.

Even if no lives were at stake, the boat was worth investigating. Despite her damaged state, she might be a valuable find — if she could be brought ashore, repaired and refloated.

If they stood a chance of saving her, they needed to get to her before she sank, or was battered on the rocks. So, despite the high seas, five boats set out toward the damaged ship with all the gear they would need to secure her and tow her home.

Fighting against the waves, through the afternoon they crawled toward the unknown vessel. It was almost sunset when their prize came into view. She was a fishing schooner, and a decent-sized one too, perhaps 50 tons or more. Her hull was battered, her sails and spars gone, and there was no sign of anyone aboard.

Painted across her stern in stark white letters was:

Three Brothers

Petite Riviere, NS

In the fading light, the white letters seemed to almost glow against the dark hull.

An abandoned ship was what the expected to find. Still, there was something unsettling about finding an empty ship at sea, especially one of this size. Whatever had happened, it was clear that the crew had not simply rowed away from her. Men did not abandon a fishing schooner in the open Atlantic unless something had gone terribly wrong.

If they left, they must have felt staying aboard meant certain death.

A Grim Discovery

Whatever unease the salvagers felt, it didn’t change the task at hand: they had found a deserted Nova Scotian wreck, and a potentially valuable one, if they could keep her afloat and get her into port.

They began long haul toward shore. For three days and three nights, they laboured to bring the Three Brothers in.

When they finally had her safely ashore, there was still work to do. The schooner was waterlogged, and before they could properly inspect her, they had to pump her dry.

It was then they made their grim discovery.

As they peered into the darkness of the forecastle — the small living quarters in the bow of the vessel — they saw someone, or something peering back.

On the floor, was a body. Beyond it another, and another — the crew, at least some of it, hadn’t abandoned ship after all.

Altogether, five bodies lay in the forecastle, their remains badly decomposed, but still dressed in their oil clothes. They looked as though they had gone below when the storm became too fierce, seeking shelter from the wind and sea.

It was impossible to know for sure how long the men had been dead, but if they had been victims of the hurricane. It meant their corpses had been sailing the seas off western Newfoundland for nearly three weeks.

The Burial

Coastal Graves, Musgrave Harbour, NL

Among the things recovered from the Three Brothers was $5.25 in cash, which the people of Little Codroy River used it to help pay for the men's burial. They placed the bodies in wooden coffins and laid them to rest near the English Cemetery.

There were other things too, things that told a more personal story. Scattered among the wreckage were the crew’s belongings: a handkerchief, stockings, clothing, a hymnal and a Bible. There was a fish jack (or boat), too.

The hymnal had the name James L. Riesey of Petite Riviere written on one of its pages. The Bible carried the name Milford Fralick, written several times, along with a reference to his having been aboard another schooner, the Alliance, in 1870. On the back cover was another name: David Abbott, born in the year 1825.

There were other clues, too. The handkerchief and stockings carried the initials M.M.H., and the fish jack was engraved with the letters J.V.

Among the belongings were boots and clothing that clearly belonged to a boy — but there was no small body among the five they had found.

The boy was missing.

They could only assume he had been swept overboard, and that somewhere in Petite Riviere, a family was still waiting for him to come home — a family that would never know what became of him.

A Letter

It was a terrible thought, and one the people of Little Codroy River couldn’t abide. They didn’t have good news for the families of the Three Brothers’ crew, but it was better they know what happened.

Rev. M.F. Howley, who would later become Archbishop of St. John’s, was early in his career. In the summers of the early 1870s he was serving the churches along the island’s west coast, including the area around Little Codroy River. He took it upon himself to spread word of the tragedy. He wrote to the newspapers, sharing what was known about the wreck, detailing the five bodies and the belongings that had been found aboard.

His letter was printed in several island newspapers, and soon the five dead men, who had been buried anonymous, had names and a story.

Lost on the Labrador

The Three Brothers left Petite Riviere, Nova Scotia on June 12th, bound for the Labrador fishery. Captain Stephen Sperry, one of the schooner’s owners, was in command, with his brother William serving as mate.

Stephen Sperry (Captain)
William Sperry (Mate)
Frederick Vogler
Philip Vogier and young son.
William Vogler
James Vogler
Isaac Risser
Enos Harman
Martin Harman
John Johnson
Edward Dagley
J.W. Falt
Milford Frelick

In all, fourteen people were sailing aboard her — among them three sets of brothers, one of whom had brought his young son.

After a summer cod fishing off Labrador, they were working their way south when a terrible hurricane struck. All the men were regarded as excellent seamen, but the storm was too much. The ship was battered, her spars and sails ripped away. More than half her crew were swept overboard; the rest died below deck.

It was a terrible tragedy, one that must have struck the families of Petite Riviere very deeply.

Nine people were lost without a trace. Five others were buried far from home. For the families, the news from Little Codroy River was certainly no happy ending — but, at least, it was an ending.

Too often, ships vanished into the North Atlantic and took their stories with them.

The Three Brothers did not.

After nearly three weeks at sea crewed by her dead, the Three Brothers finally came ashore, carrying the last chapter of their story with her.

1. Wreck of The Schooner Three Brothers, Morning Chronicle, October 06, 1873
2. Tidings of the Three Brothers, Morning Chronicle, October 14, 1873
3. Vignettes of the West, Western Star, May 24, 1975
4. Ghost ships bore cargoes of mystery and death, Compass, June 12, 1991
5. Stories and Events in Volger Lives, RootsWeb
Note: In the article identifying the crew (Morning Chronicle, October 14, 1873) it states that seven bodies were found in the Three Brothers. For my re-telling I kept with the five mentioned in M.F. Howley’s letter. I’m not sure if there is an error in one of the numbers, or whether more bodies were subsequently found in the ship.

The Nose in the Snow

Sun, 09 Aug 2026 13:49:50 -0230

Let me begin by saying: this is not a light-hearted story.

It begins with two boys, a snowdrift, and something moving beneath it.

They had no idea what they had found. Their discovery would lead to a dangerous situation and, unfortunately, a tragic end for a creature that never meant anyone any harm.

A Nose In the Snow

It was early March 1877, and though there had been a spell of warm weather, winter still had a good grasp on Newfoundland’s Avalon Peninsula.

Two boys from Long Pond had walked nearly an hour into the woods to cut hoop-poles — slender, flexible sticks used for barrel-making to bind staves together. They noticed a strange black object poking through a small hole in the snow. It was moving back and forth, barely above the drifts.

It looked like a nose!

And whatever animal it belonged to, it seemed to be sniffing the air, surveying the surroundings.

The boys quickly decided it must belong to a fox, and they descended upon it.

A Cruel Mistake

I don't know what the boys were thinking. Perhaps they hoped to add a fox pelt to the day's tally of hoop-poles, regardless their excitement seems to have clouded their judgement.

They couldn't even see the animal they were creeping toward, and they were hardly equipped for hunting. The only tool they carried was the axe they'd been using to cut hoop-poles. That alone should have given them pause.

But it didn't.

With two quick blows they struck the protruding snout.

Instantly, they knew they'd made a terrible mistake.

The snow erupted.

The animal roared to life, thrusting its massive black paws through the drift toward them.

Whatever lay beneath the snow, it was no fox.

Wounded, furious, and suddenly wide awake, the mysterious animal was nearly on top of them.

The Den

The creature thrashed wildly, clawing frantically at the ground. It snagged one of the boys' feet, tearing the toe clean off his boot.

The boys turned and ran, their hearts pounding.

With every stride they expected to feel the animal upon them.

They didn't stop until they reached a man cutting firewood.

As best they could, the boys described what had happened. Whatever had been hiding beneath the snow, it was large, powerful, and had nearly caught them.

As soon as they had finished, the man encouraged them to take him back to the den.

When they arrived, everything was still.

There was no nose this time, and nothing stirred beneath the blanket of snow.

The woodsman approached cautiously. Taking a long stick, he reached into the darkness of the den and gave it a hard jab.

In an instant, a broad, dark head lunged from the opening.

The axe was already falling.

With a single blow, the woodsman killed an impressive black bear, and its body collapsed onto the snow.

The truth washed over the boys, in their haste they had unwittingly attacked a bear; they had walked right up to its den and struck the first blow.

They were lucky to be alive.

Strange Truth of Tall Tale?

It’s a remarkable story. But, like so many remarkable nineteenth-century newspaper stories, I find myself wondering how much of it actually happened.

The account names neither the boys nor the man who killed the bear. It offers no clue as to where the story came from, nor quotes from the principal players. For such an extraordinary encounter, these omissions feel curious.

The setting raises questions, too. Black bears are familiar animals across much of Newfoundland and Labrador, but they’re not common on the Avalon Peninsula — a bear hiding beneath the snow near Long Pond would have been a rare discovery indeed.

On the other hand, the report gives a specific date —"last Saturday evening" — and, perhaps most importantly, it indicates that the bear itself would be exhibited at the Drill Shed the following Friday and Saturday.

That said, readers of Product of Newfoundland will remember that in 1877 a promised bear didn't always mean an actual bear.

So, who knows?

Perhaps the story happened just as it was told. Or perhaps, like so many nineteenth-century newspaper accounts, truth took a backseat to entertainment.

1. A Bear Caught In His Cave, Morning Chronicle, March 8, 1877
2. History of Long Pond, Conception Bay South
3. Black Bears, Gov. of NL

The Scandalous Swimwear of Harbour Grace

Sat, 01 Aug 2026 12:59:33 -0230

Most of the stories I share here begin as something else entirely. I'll set out researching one corner of Newfoundland history and end up discovering a story I wasn't looking for. That's exactly what happened when I came across the following letter in the August 4, 1877 edition of the Harbour Grace Standard.

The writer's complaint? Young men weren't wearing enough while swimming. Their proposed solution was every bit as interesting as the problem.

Here’s the letter:

Dear Sir,
For some time past, numbers of boys, and even young men, have been almost daily in the habit of disporting themselves in a state of partial nudité in and about our public coves and wharves, much to the disapproval and disgust of the inhabitants.
Now, we think these places referred to should on no account be made the resort of bathers, when a more retired and convenient place can be availed of near at hand. Public decency demands its discontinuance; and if young persons persist in openly violating the claims of common decency, and are themselves entirely lost to all sense of shame, they should not be allowed to carry on such practices - which are so revolting to the feelings of others. We wonder why the Police Force whose duty it certainly is —allows this conduct to pass unchallenged. Why does not High Constable Fallon — who is ever on the qui vive to discover offenders against the law — place his men under orders to take cognizance of the perpetrators, and introduce measures to prevent the recurrence of this obnoxious practice - this outrage on the public decency? Horse-whipping, in our opinion, would be the most effectual method of dealing with the delinquents. One or two dozen feelingly applied, would no doubt go far towards removing the nuisance. Should this course prove unsuccessful, we shall be prepared to recommend another modas operandi.
Yours, &c.,
NYMPH

In short, the writer took a very dim view of the swimming habits of Harbour Grace's young men and boys, who apparently weren't wearing nearly enough while splashing around the town's wharves and coves. Their suggested fix was decidedly Victorian: have the police catch the culprits and give them a whipping. If that didn’t work, well, the writer was willing to entertain other consequences.

Water Nymph, John Reinhard Weguelin (1900), Public domain, Wikimedia Commons

Whether the writer was in a genuine moral panic or just entertaining themselves with a jab toward those who were clutching their pearls is difficult to say with absolute certainty but the signature line strongly hints at the latter. It's signed "NYMPH." Water nymphs from Greek mythology weren't exactly known for prudishness, and a water spirit writing to complain about scantily-clad swimmers. Well, that's a rather good joke… and not one likely to be perpetrated by someone who had a genuine concern.

And then, there is the proposed remedy. It comes across less like law-and-order and more like the premise of a Victorian fetish magazine, at least to the modern reader.

It probably read that way at the time, too.

All-Wool, DoublE-Yoke

All that said, the late 1800s was a time of diverse and changing values when it came to acceptable dress for swimming.

In the 1860s laws were passed in England to halt men from swimming nude. Prior to that, it wasn’t an uncommon practice. Some 20 years later, the following illustration appeared in the Strawbridge & Clothier's catalogue from the United States:

Bathing Suits, Strawbridge & Clothier's Quarterly, Internet Archive Book Images, No restrictions, via Wikimedia Commons

It was advertising a one-piece, all-wool men’s bathing suit with a double yoke and wide belt. It was described as close-fitting and adapted for swimming. There was certainly nothing scanty about it, I’ll give them that.

The Newfoundland Attitude

I don't know what the prevailing attitudes toward swimwear were in Newfoundland at the time. But considering how divided opinion was in England and the United States, it's reasonable to assume Newfoundlanders weren't all of one mind either.

Perhaps this letter reflects that debate… or maybe pokes fun at it.

1. Correspondence, Harbor Grace Standard, Aug, 4, 1877
2. Promiscuous Throng, Jane Darcy, Times Literary Supplement
3. History of Swimwear, Wikipedia.org
4. Strawbridge and Clothier's Quarterly (1883), Wikimedia Commons

Mystery Lights At Port de Grave

Sun, 12 Jul 2026 11:48:50 -0230

These days, mention the lights of Port de Grave to almost any Newfoundlander and they'll probably think of Christmas.

Every December, the fishing boats in this Conception Bay community come alive with thousands of colourful lights, transforming the harbour into one of the province's must-see holiday displays.

But this is not a story about decorations.

Long before anyone thought of hanging a bulb on a fishing boat, Port de Grave was already known for its dazzling lights. Nearly a century-and-a-half earlier, Reverend Philip Tocque, who’s sometimes called Newfoundland’s first man of letters, recorded a tale of a mysterious illumination seen off the community’s shores in his book, Wandering Thoughts, or Solitary Hours.

An Awful and Brilliant Light

In the summer of 1841 Philip Tocque was in Port de Grave spending the evening in the company of gentleman by the name of John Butler. The men were talking when Butler said, “We shall have a gale of wind from the north-east.”

Tocque was curious; there was nothing in the evening’s atmosphere to suggest a change in weather.

“I saw the light,” explained Butler.

It was local knowledge that prior to a north-east wind a light would be seen moving across the surface of the water.

Tocque had to see it for himself.

He stepped out of the house and peered into the darkness of Conception Bay. There it was, just above the waves: a pale light. It seemed to be about five miles from shore, in the direction of Kelly's Island, moving slowly westward. He didn't know what it was, but it looked far too large to have come from a ship's lantern.

As strange as that distant light sight must have been, it paled in comparison to some of Butler’s sightings. He had seen the light approach the shore and, as Tocque put it, “burst out into a mass of awful and most brilliant light.”

A week later Tocque saw the weather light again and, within 10 minutes, he heard the gale whistling around the house.

Weather Lights

The phenomenon Tocque described is a familiar piece of Newfoundland folklore, usually known as a weather light. I remember, as a child, hearing similar stories told of lights off the shore of my hometown in Bonavista Bay.

Even today, I'm not sure anyone has offered a truly satisfying explanation for what people were describing.

Tocque suggested that tiny insects or some other organisms on the surface of the water might have been responsible for the glow. Perhaps, he speculated, they could sense an approaching change in the weather and behaved differently before a storm.

But if that were true, he wondered, why did the Port de Grave light appear so consistently in the same place — between Port-de-Grave and Kelley's Island?

He had no answer.

Back to Christmas

Something we know a lot more about is the modern lights of Port de Grave — the holiday tradition of lighting the boats in the community.

Check out the episode The ‘Gift of Light’ from season 50 of CBC’s Land & Sea to learn more about the origin of the colourful contemporary custom.

1. Trinity, Evening Telegram, October 28, 1922
2. Wandering Thoughts, or Solitary Hours, Philip Tocque, 1846
3. Philip Tocque, Encyclopedia of Newfoundland, 1994
4. Philip Tocque, Dictionary of Canadian Biography
5. The Port de Grave Boat Lighting
6. The Gift of Light, CBC’s Land & Sea

Charles MacKay and the Two-Year Iceberg

Fri, 10 Jul 2026 19:07:50 -0230

An iceberg off Salvage, NL

Icebergs off Newfoundland don't need the imagination of a storyteller to make them spectacular. They tower over the waves, drift close enough to shore to dominate the view, and seem to glow in the sunlight with pops of blue and green. They are truely impressive.

Just because icebergs don’t need any embellishment, hasn’t stopped people from trying and, when it came to iceberg tall tales one nineteenth century writer was in a league of his own.

Charles Mackay’s 2-year Iceberg

Scottish writer Charles Mackay published Under the Blue Sky in 1871. It was a collection of essays inspired by his observations of nature and everyday life. One essay, simply titled "Ice," includes a remarkable story from Newfoundland.

Now, he doesn’t give us any dates to work with, but Mackay reports an iceberg that grounded in St. John's Harbour "some years ago" and remained there for two full years. The heat of the short summers wasn’t “powerful enough to dissolve it.”

He estimated the iceberg stood more than 243m (800 ft) above the water. And, by his reckoning, roughly two-thirds of an iceberg lies beneath the surface, so he calculated its total height to be about 2,400 feet, or "about six times as high as St. Paul's."

A Tall Tale?

Iceberg off Twillingate, Newfoundland & Labrador

An iceberg 243m above the water... that sat in St. John's Harbour for two years?

That's quite a claim but nature is full of surprises. That said, I’m dubious and, as it turns out, I’m not the first person to suspect Charles Mackay had let his imagination come unmoored.

In September 1877, The Morning Chronicle published a letter from a reader in Salvage who politely —but effectively— skewered Mackay's story:

What a pity [Mackay] has failed to give the length and width of this extraordinary berg; it would have been so interesting to calculate the number of cubic inches it contained.
Is it to be wondered at that strangers avoid a coast around which such terrors as this are found prowling? The boundless misconception existing with regard to this island is not likely to be lessened, I imagine, while writers of Dr. Mackay's excellent scientific and philosophical standing continue to tell the world such tales.
In my very humble way, like Mark Twain, I admire science—it pays—"one gets such handsome returns of conjecture out of such a small investment of fact."
— F.J.J.S.

Victorian-era sarcasm? I enjoy it.

The Biggest Iceberg

Mackay's towering iceberg stretches believability to the limit of the Guinness Book of World Records and beyond. If it were real, his iceberg would be far taller than any ever reliably recorded in the North Atlantic.

The tallest known iceberg in the North Atlantic was spotted in 1957 by the icebreaker USCGC Eastwind in Melville Bay, Greenland. It rose about 168 metres (550 feet) above the water (almost exactly the height of Signal Hill in St. John’s).

Signal Hill and the harbour in St. John’s, NL with an imaginary 800ft iceberg

The International Ice Patrol describes any iceberg rising 75 m (246 ft) above the water to be “very large,” and the one spotted in 1957 was more than twice that! You can see a picture of it here. It must have been an astonishing sight, and it still was only about two-thirds the height of the Mackay’s unbelievable berg!

It’s also worth remembering that the USCGC Eastwind berg was observed far north of Newfoundland. By the time an iceberg drifts south into Newfoundland waters, months of melting and erosion have usually reduced it considerably. So even this massive berg would have been smaller by the time it reached the island.

How Long Do Newfoundland Icebergs Last?

Speaking of melting and erosion, the two-year stay in St. John's Harbour is even harder to accept.

Once icebergs reach Newfoundland, they are already nearing the end of their journey. Their lifespan depends on ocean temperatures, wave action, winds, currents, and the time of year, but they don't normally linger for years.

Most icebergs arrive off Newfoundland in April and May, with the season typically winding down by late July or early August. Even in 1816 — the year without a summer — I can find no mention of remarkable or long-lasting icebergs in or near St. John’s.

So, I think the idea of an iceberg surviving in St. John's Harbour through two summers belongs firmly in the realm of storytelling rather than science.

1. Under The Blue Sky, Charles Mackay, 1871
2. A Middling Sized Iceberg, Morning Chronicle, Sept 25, 1877
3. A Complete Guide to Icebergs in Newfoundland & Labrador, Newfoundland & Labrador
4. Charles Mackay , Pan Macmillan
5. Iceberg Formation, www.navcen.uscg.gov

The Captain, the Bear, and the Sea Serpent

Thu, 02 Jul 2026 19:56:13 -0230

Most Newfoundland schooner captains spent their days worrying about storms, icebergs, and cod catches. Captain James Walsh of River Head, Conception Bay seemed to have stranger concerns — a bear in the belly of his boat, for instance, and even a glowing sea serpent. Both figure into his story, but neither was his real problem.

Captain Walsh's real problem was the local newspapers.

A Bear In The Belly of the Boat

I discovered James Walsh by accident while browsing an 1877 edition of the Morning Chronicle. I first met him in a letter submitted to the St. John's newspaper — a letter that, as I would later discover, had also been sent to other papers around the island.

It began:

Dear Editor,
By the arrival of the schooner Fox, Capt. Walsh, from northern Labrador, we have been put in possession of a wonderful species of Bear, captured by the said Captain and his crew on a small Island near Cape Mugford.
The animal has been brought home alive.
I have been requested to write a description of it for the press, which I have much pleasure in doing

By then, there was no turning back. I needed to know more.

The animal described was a striking specimen. It measured, from the tip of its nose to the end of its tail, nine feet and four inches long. It was covered in jet black fur, with short and drooping ears, and a large “pulvous” brow. I don’t know what pulvous means, and the dictionary was no help. Could the writer have meant fulvous, as in tawny-coloured? Was he describing a black bear with a tawny brow? If so, that still wouldn’t have been its most remarkable feature — that distinction belonged to its feet. The bear was said to have six toes on each foot.

However interesting the animal looked, the tale of its capture was stranger still.

As the Fox, Walsh’s schooner, was passing by a small Island, some of the crew noticed a large animal pacing to-and-fro in a gulch at the waters edge. Their curiosity piqued, they decided to get a closer look.

They lowered a punt, and five crewmen — supplied with only a gun, pews, and rope — began rowing toward shore. As they neared the coast they realized they were looking at a huge bear. The animal seemed to return their interest, rising on its hind legs, peering toward the approaching crew.

They considered shooting the animal and bringing the carcuss back to the boat but, they reasoned, if a dead specimen was good, wouldn’t a live specimen be that much better? So they decided the best course of action was to lasso the beast and take him alive.

As the tale goes, they rowed close enough to toss a rope around the bear’s neck, then began rowing away from shore, drawing the animal into the ocean. They kept it swimming until exhaustion set in, they drew closer and tightened the rope around its neck until it neared the point of strangulation. At that point they were —somehow— able to hoist the enormous beast aboard the punt, and from there to the schooner.

The animal was moved to the hold. Sadly, the means by which this feat was accomplished are left to our imagination. But once the bear was situated, the ropes were cut and he “displayed wonderful indifference.”

It was such a remarkable specimen that the writer felt it might be worthy the attention of naturalists who might make arrangements to have the animal sent to the Zoological Gardens in England.

The bear, in due course, made its way back to port in Harbour Grace, where the writer invited townspeople to visit Capt. Walsh's schooner to see the bear for themselves.

The piece concluded with an invitation:

The utmost curiosity is at present manifested by all our towns-people to visit Capt. Walsh's craft, and have a peep at this wonderful inhabitant of the northern regions.
Thanking you, Mr. Editor for your valuable space, I am, &c.,
Yours,
H. L. C.

The letter ran in the Morning Chronicle and the Public Ledger on October 23, 1877, and I’m sure it caught the attention of many readers. It was, after all, a fantastic tale; one that aligned with the adventurous tales of Arctic explorers that were popular in the era.

It was, unfortunately, a complete fabrication.

Setting The Record Straight

On October 27, the Harbor Grace Standard countered the tale:

We beg here to state that the Fox, Mr. Walsh's schooner, had not arrived in port at the time the above communication was dated that she did neither see, capture, receive on board, nor convey hither, any bear small or large, and that consequently "the utmost curiosity" is not "being manifested by our townspeople…”

None of it happened. There was no bear, six-toed or otherwise. The writer, H.L.C. had invented the entire episode. And that might have been the end of the tale but for one other revelation, via the Standard:

The joke — if such a heartless deception can be called joke — is rendered doubly atrocious from the fact of its being perpetrated on Walsh, of River Head, the victim last year of a similar trick.

If this was the second fabricated adventure bearing his name, it seems the hoax wasn't aimed at fooling readers, as much as it was targeting James Walsh.

A Glowing Sea Serpent

On November 25, 1876, not quite a year before the bear debacle, a letter appeared in the Times And General Commercial Gazette, purportedly written by Walsh, himself concerning a voyage aboard the Zebra.

It began:

Sir,
Having recently returned from. Labrador, the seat of my Summer avocations, I wish to lay before your readers, and the people of St. John's, through the medium of your journal, & short account of an adventure which my crew and myself experienced on our voyage to the Labrador coast the past season.
The following will, perhaps, be more particularly interesting to those possessed of a scientific or reflecting turn of mind.

What followed was nothing short of a terrifying tale.

At 3 p.m. on June 12, 1876, Captain Walsh's schooner was bound for Labrador. About ten miles off Baccalieu Island, one of the crew spotted a large black object floating on the sea. The moment he pointed it out, it vanished.

The crew kept their eyes fixed on the spot for some time, but nothing more appeared. Just as they began to wonder if the sighting had been a trick of the light, the object surfaced again.

This time, however, it was no longer merely floating.

Whatever it was, it was alive.

The creature rose ten or twelve feet above the water, revealing what the letter described as a truly horrifying sight:

[T]he head appeared to be like a horse's, but much larger; the eyes projecting out from the forehead, like large bags or pouches, of a dull whitish colour.

As if that weren't unsettling enough, the writer claimed that two horns, each extending two or three feet from its nostrils, completed the monstrous appearance.

After about 2 minutes, the creature submerged, and for two hours nothing more was seen of it until it was glimpsed in the wake of the schooner.

At midnight it made another appearance, as ‘Walsh’ put it:

I descried, about a fourth of a mile from us, a bright phosphorus train shooting rapidly across our track ahead. We continued on our course, — this moving train of light coming nearer and nearer. We were actually stupified with fear.
When the object was within about 30 yards of our bows a tremendous shower of water, all alive with phosphorus, shot up into the air a distance of at least twenty yards, lightning everything around.
In a short time nothing unusual was visible; — we continued on our course all that night, and saw nothing more of this wonderful animal.

The letter ended with the writer hoping that some reader might be able to identify the creature’s whereabouts and habits, and a bit of a confession:

I hope never to experience the same dreadful fright again,
Yours truly,
James Walsh.

Though originally printed, as if genuinely written by Walsh, a year later it was being described as a joke perpetrated on him.

If the anonymous author had been looking for a laugh, they got one. For nearly a year, Captain Walsh's imaginary sea serpent seemed to surface wherever newspapers were read. And if the editors enjoyed poking fun at him in print, you can imagine what happened once the papers reached the wharves. Around the stagehead, where stories have always grown a little taller with telling, Walsh's mythical encounter was probably recounted with much enthusiasm, teasing, and laughter.

Excerpt from A Clue to the Great Sea Serpent, Harbor Grace Standard, Sept. 8, 1977

The Unwilling Hero of Two Tall Tales

Unfortunately, this story doesn’t end in a neat and tidy package.

I can’t tell you who wrote the letters. I don't know why James Walsh was singled out, or whether he ever discovered who was behind the prank.

What I am sure of is that somebody, somewhere, took the time to invent two extraordinary adventures for a seemingly ordinary Newfoundland schooner captain — and somehow managed to convince multiple newspapers to print them as fact.

If storms, icebergs, and cod catches were the usual concerns of schooner captains, then Walsh’s problems were something stranger: not the sea itself, but the stories told about it.

I don’t know if the whole episode turned out as the prankster would have hoped. After all, whoever invented Captain Walsh's adventures has been forgotten, and Captain Walsh, who never lived them, is the one we're still talking about.

1. A Bear Story, Morning Chronicle, Oct 23, 1877
2. To The Editor, Public Ledger, October 23, 1877
3. Bear Captured, North Star, October 27, 1877
4. We beg to inform…, Harbor Grace Standard, November 17, 1877
5. The Sea Serpent Again, The Advocate, Sept 25, 1978
6. Our Old Friend, Harbor Grace Standard, June 2, 1877
7. To The Editor, Times and Commercial Gazette, Nov 25, 1876
8. A Clue to the Great Sea Serpent, Harbor Grace Standard, Sept. 8, 1977
9. The Sea-Serpent Again, Harbor Grace Standard, July 14, 1877
10. Truth Stranger Than Fiction, Harbor Grace Standard, December 02, 1876

Claire Porter: Chokecherries

Sat, 13 Jun 2026 07:47:55 -0230

I like a good story song. As it turns out, I may especially like a story song that leaves me with more questions than answers.

Claire Porter’s latest single, Chokecherries, is exactly that kind of song.

Porter’s evocative performance, gives the song an emotional weight that lingers.

The haunting folk ballad was inspired by Porter’s memory of a high school classmate who ran away from home and never returned. She describes the songs as “a meditation on memory, anger in loss, and the mysteries that linger in small communities.”

It feels personal in the best way.

Porter’s evocative performance, gives the song an emotional weight that lingers long after the final note. Like the unanswered questions at its heart, Chokecherries stays with you.

It’s a powerful piece of work.

You can hear the song in the video above, accompanied by Porter’s hand-drawn visualizer that takes viewers through a mysterious, dream-like forest — an ideal companion to the track’s atmosphere of memory and mystery.

After Chokecherries, you should consider taking an emotional detour via Porter’s previous single, Yellow Spider — a whimsical, jazzy conversation with a web-spinning arachnid that showcases a different side of her songwriting. It’s great stuff.

Both tracks are set to appear on Porter’s forthcoming EP, Precious Memories.

Listen to them now!

I’m obsessed with music from Newfoundland and Labrador…

Trust me, there’s a ton of good stuff coming your way.

Come From Aways: Newfoundland’s Invited Animals

Sun, 31 May 2026 20:24:55 -0230

The wilds of Newfoundland have changed a lot in the last two centuries. Some, once abundant creatures have disappeared from the landscape. There Newfoundland wolf and the great auk have been wiped out. In the same time, a handful of new, ‘come from away’ species have found a comfortable foothold on the island.

Some of Newfoundland’s new animals made their way to the island on their own, by crossing on ice bridges from mainland North America or by hitching a ride aboard a ship.

Other animals were deliberately brought to the island and released to increase biodiversity — sometimes for the benefit of hunters, sometimes in an effort to bolster native species. It's these animal "come from aways" — the species that were invited to Newfoundland — that I want to explore today.

One, after all, was accused of crawling into ears and eating brains!

The following is a non-exhaustive rundown of Newfoundland animals that wouldn't be here today if someone hadn't decided the island would be better off with them — not that the newcomers always received a warm welcome. One, after all, was accused of crawling into ears and eating their brains!

It's a surprising list, ranging from animals so familiar it's hard to imagine Newfoundland without them, to a species some people don't even realize calls the island home.

Let's get into it.

Moose

A moose crossing the road on the Bonavista Peninsula, NL

Moose feel about as traditionally Newfoundland as rain, drizzle and fog. They're one of the island's most iconic animals—but they're actually newcomers.

Before the late 1800s, there were no moose in Newfoundland. Hoping to create a new large game animal for hunters, officials decided to import some. The first attempt came in 1875, when two moose were released near Gander Bay. Unfortunately, the pair never managed to establish a population.

A second attempt in 1904 proved much more successful. Seven moose were captured in New Brunswick and shipped to Newfoundland. Three died during the journey, but the remaining four were transported by train to Howley and released into the wilderness.

Those four moose took to Newfoundland with enthusiasm.

With few natural predators to keep them in check, their numbers exploded. Within a century, Newfoundland had one of the highest moose densities in North America, with the population at times estimated at more than 125,000 animals.

Their success has been so dramatic that they've literally reshaped the landscape. Hungry moose browse young trees faster than forests can replace them, transforming some wooded areas into open "moose meadows." As the trees disappear, fast-growing plants move in, making it even harder for forests to recover.

It's a reminder that introducing a new species can have consequences nobody sees coming.

“Rabbits” aka Snowshoe Hare

A rabbit aka snowshoe hare

It may come as a surprise to some, but Newfoundland's "rabbits" aren't rabbits at all, and they aren’t native to the island.

The long-eared creatures that destroy our flowerbeds are actually snowshoe hare, and they were brought here in the 19th century.

The island has a native population of arctic hare, but they are far less common than their snowshoe cousins and are found mostly in the Long Range Mountains and the higher-elevation plateaus of central and western Newfoundland.

The snowshoe hare arrived thanks largely to one man: Stephen Rendell, an English-born politician and outdoorsman who became convinced the species would thrive in Newfoundland. In the 1860s, he began importing hare from Nova Scotia and organized their release across the island.

The experiment worked almost too well.

Over the following decades, snowshoe hare multiplied rapidly. By 1879, their numbers were high enough to support a hunting season. Today, they're one of Newfoundland's most important game animals, pursued by thousands of hunters each year.

Just like the moose, their arrival also transformed life for other species. Before snowshoe hare became widespread, lynx were relatively uncommon on the island. The sudden abundance of prey helped the lynx population grow dramatically.

In other words, Rendell didn't just introduce one new animal to Newfoundland—he gave a major boost to one that was already here.

Red Squirrels

A Red Squirrel in Salvage, NL

It’s hard to image the evergreen forests of Newfoundland without hearing the chittering of squirrels — their alarms calls are the soundtrack of the woods but it wasn’t always that way. The first red squirrels didn’t make their way to Newfoundland until the latter half of the twentieth century.

Compared to the previous two ‘come from aways,’ the story of the red squirrel is less clear. The first known apparent introductions happened in the St. John’s area as early as 1955. These proved unsuccessful, or as Dennis Minty of the Salmonier Nature Park once wrote, “a population was established for approximately two years before it was exterminated.”

In 1963 squirrels were released near Roddickton, followed by another introduction in Notre Dame Bay in 1964. Perhaps a dozen releases were made across the island and, by the early 1970s squirrels, were being spotted across wide swaths of the island.

So, why bring squirrels to Newfoundland?

Well, the introduction of squirrels the island was less-planned than the introduction of the moose, so the reasons are less clear. The 1963 introduction was not sanctioned by the island government, though subsequently the provincial department of wildlife came on board. It’s said the squirrel was introduced to provide a new food source for the pine marten, a new source of revenue for fur trappers, and for the enjoyment of island residents.

I guess I enjoy squirrels… so, mission accomplished?

Eastern Chipmunks

An Eastern Chipmunk

hile red squirrels took Newfoundland by storm, eastern chipmunks have kept a much lower profile. That may be because they prefer deciduous forests, which are relatively scarce on the island. Even so, sightings of the tiny striped rodents have been reported on both the east and west coasts.

Their Newfoundland story began in the early 1960s, when the provincial government released 27 eastern chipmunks into Barachois Pond Provincial Park. According to a report in the Western Star, the newcomers "were tame and are already providing pleasure to park visitors."

Of course, entertaining tourists wasn't the only goal. Like red squirrels, chipmunks were introduced in the hope that they would become an additional food source for the endangered Newfoundland pine marten.

Whether they succeeded in that role is debatable. As people-pleasers however, they seem to have done just fine.

The Masked Shrew

Adam Baxter: 21s

Mon, 25 May 2026 19:04:10 -0230

Award-winning Newfoundland singer-songwriter Adam Baxter is in a reflective mood. His new single, “21s,” from the upcoming album OTIS, is a thoughtful, folky meditation on youthful friendships and how they change as we grow older.

a strong slice of modern folk.

Inspired by Baxter’s memories of life in the early 1990s, the song reflects on the strange reality that people who once felt inseparable can slowly become strangers. “The song,” Baxter says, “is really about remembering those friendships and recognizing how meaningful they were.”

While the lyrics look backward, the sound feels firmly rooted in the present. Driven by warm acoustic guitars and produced by Dean Stairs, “21s” is a strong slice of modern folk — nostalgic without feeling like it’s stuck in the past. It’s well worth a listen, and an easy addition to any folk-inspired playlist.

Check it out now, and stay tuned for more on OTIS, which is expected later this year.

I’m obsessed with music from Newfoundland and Labrador…

Trust me, there’s a ton of good stuff coming your way.

Yes, Officer: Ignore the Town Crier

Sat, 23 May 2026 08:04:38 -0230

Yes, Officer is an alt-rock project out of St. John’s making, as Jeremy Harnum — the person behind the project — puts it, “loud and abrasive music for those who like loud and abrasive music.” I never would’ve described my own taste in music that way, but after spending the day with Ignore The Town Crier — the project’s brand new album — maybe I need to rethink that.

I’ve had the record on repeat and I’m thoroughly enjoying it.

Yes, Officer sounds like a callback to the best of hard-edged, alt-rock… and the ethos is right. It’s about making “no apologies for who you are,” Harnum’s bio says, and making sure your noise is heard.

It’s loud but subtle, energetic but reflective, and incredibly well-crafted.

Yes, Officer began back in 2017 in Harnum’s hometown of Winterton as what he describes as “a creative outlet while living alone in the bay and working through a personal coming out journey.” In the early days, he wrote, performed, recorded, and produced everything himself at home. By 2019, he’d assembled a live band for performances. Now, in 2026, Harnum has released a new collection of tracks featuring production work from Mark Feener, Robert Kelly, and Grammy Award-winning producer Greg Wells.

It’s an impressive trajectory.

Just this week, Wells wrote: “Jeremy wrote every song, played every instrument, sang all vocals, and has delivered Ignore the Town Crier, a world-class explosive rock album…”

It’s a strong endorsement, but one Harnum has earned. Ignore The Town Crier is the kind of album that grabs ahold and doesn’t let go. It’s loud but subtle, energetic but reflective, and incredibly well-crafted. This is a collection I’ll be coming back to again and again.

Standout tracks for me include the title track, ‘Let Him Sleep’ (which started making me think of Placebo circa 1998), and ‘Early Grave’.

Check out Ignore The Town Crier now on Bandcamp or wherever you get your music.

I’m obsessed with music from Newfoundland and Labrador…

Trust me, there’s a ton of good stuff coming your way.

The Way East: Poor Decisions

Fri, 22 May 2026 07:16:02 -0230

There’s something exciting about The Way East.

The four-piece band from St. John’s, NL blends alternative rock, progressive rock, and melodic modern rock into a sound that feels polished and energetic. Their strong songwriting, memorable hooks, and catchy melodies have been helping the band steadily win over listeners, and their recent run of singles has only built more momentum.

Strong songwriting, memorable hooks, and catchy melodies.

Thankfully, with their latest release, Poor Decisions, they show no signs of stopping.

Poor Decisions leans into a feeling just about everyone can relate to: messing up, learning from it, and moving on. As the band puts it, “We make bad choices sometimes, but it doesn't define us.” Instead of dwelling on mistakes, the track pushes toward optimism, encouraging listeners to look on the brighter side of things, sing loud, and keep going.

It’s a fun song and totally deserves a place on your playlists.

And there’s more to hear.

“Poor Decisions’ appears on the band’s album In-Yun, which is available right now. Check it out.

I’m obsessed with music from Newfoundland and Labrador…

Trust me, there’s a ton of good stuff coming your way.

Kitchinparti: Golden Jubilee

Sat, 16 May 2026 07:57:09 -0230

I’m a fan of Kitchinparti.

The family band from Pouch Cove — made up of Tyler Humber (vocals and guitar), Terri Lynn Hickey (vocals and tin whistle), and Justin Hickey (vocals and bass) — have been making some of my favourite high-energy trad Newfoundland music since they burst onto the scene five years ago. Now they’re continuing that streak with a spirited new take on the traditional Irish classic Golden Jubilee.

tailor-made for crowded kitchens, raised glasses, and downtown dance floors.

The song tells the story of a 50th wedding anniversary and has long been a favourite during the band’s live performances. “It’s about honouring the miles travelled and the love that stays true through the years,” the band writes. “We wanted to capture that all-hands-on-deck party feeling and share it with listeners everywhere.”

As usual, they’ve succeeded. The energy here is absolutely infectious.

From the lively instrumentation to the soaring group vocals, “Golden Jubilee” feels tailor-made for crowded kitchens, raised glasses, and downtown dance floors. It captures the warm, authentic vibe that makes Newfoundland and Irish traditional music so popular in the first place.

The timing couldn’t be better, either.

Golden Jubilee is now available on all major streaming platforms, just in time for May 2-4 kitchen parties, campfires, and long weekends with friends.

Check it out.

I’m obsessed with music from Newfoundland and Labrador…

Trust me, there’s a ton of good stuff coming your way.

With Violet’s With Friends

Wed, 13 May 2026 19:09:40 -0230

If there’s one thing With Violet have proven over the past few years, it’s that they know how to craft a pop song.

a bold, genre-blurring exploration of song.

The St. John’s-based alt-pop group has steadily built a loyal following with their signature blend of jazz-infused pop-rock, danceable energy, and sharp songwriting. Now, just in time for summer 2026, they’re back with a new release that feels like the perfect soundtrack for warm evenings, long drives, and late-night fun.

Their latest EP, With Friends, delivers exactly what the title promises: a collaborative collection that pairs the band with a range of artists, each bringing a different energy and flavour to the project. Rather than feeling disconnected or experimental for the sake of it, the EP is a bold, genre-blurring exploration of song that’s as confident as it is compelling.

Among the featured collaborators are Rachel Cousins on the guitar-forward “Failing Fortune,” Dacoda on “Dancing Where You Left Me Alone,” and Jing Xia on the exciting “Trippin’ On Sunshine.” Each guest artist leaves an imprint on their song, but none of them overshadow the band itself. Instead, the collaborations feel natural — like the work of artists who genuinely enjoy creating together.

Usually this is the part where I’d single out one standout song and tell you where to start. But I can’t do that here. Every track brings something different to the table, and the EP works best as a full listen from beginning to end. It’s one of those rare releases where skipping around almost feels like missing the point.

With Friends is bright, reflective, a little nostalgic, and probably, as the title suggests, best enjoyed with friends — so take a listen, then tell your friends. This is music that deserves to be heard.

You can stream With Friends now wherever you get your music.

I’m obsessed with music from Newfoundland and Labrador…

Trust me, there’s a ton of good stuff coming your way.

SPARKS by The Way East

Fri, 13 Mar 2026 07:32:48 -0230

The Way East is a St. John’s-based four-piece, rock band that has been releasing single and winning fans from all over. It’s easy to see why.

Their brand of alternative/ progressive rock brings to mind the best of the Canadian alt music scene of the 90s — think high-energy production, infectious hooks and anthemic choruses.

The Way East? Think high-energy production, infectious hooks and anthemic choruses.

I was a big fan of their first two singles — High School Locker and Closer — but they may just have been the warm up. Their latest offering Sparks, written by band member Chris Hibbs and produced by Krisjan Leslie, takes the song craft to the next-level, doubles down on the 90s-vibe, and easily establishes them as one of the most exciting local bands making music today.

Thematically, the track explores the struggles within relationships and how hard it can be to ‘start a spark’.

The song is worth your attention. Add it to your playlists today… It’s on all the usual streaming platforms.

Keep an eye out for The Way East’s debut album Broken Memories. It’s due in the spring of 2026.

Idling by Paper Tyger

Mon, 29 Dec 2025 20:20:04 -0330

ep 1 by Paper Tyger

Paper Tiger is?

That’s the entire Bandcamp bio line for the St. John’s–based indie rock outfit. No background and no explanation — just a question mark.

Weirdly, it turns out to be a pretty accurate introduction, because their brand new ep 1 isn’t interested in spelling everything out either. It lets mood, tension, and restraint do most of the work.

ep 1 is a tight four-track release that hangs together beautifully. Each song has its own personality, but they sit comfortably as a whole, like chapters in the same book.

Paper Tyger’s ep 1 is tight, moody and completely captivating.

The opener, ‘You Will Suffer What You Leave Behind,’ sets the tone immediately. Its first line — “is the magic gone?” — feels like a thesis statement for the entire EP. This is not a record about happy or uncomplicated relationships. It feels more like a meditation on relationships that are unraveling.

All four tracks are strong, but if you want a quick entry point, start with ‘Idling’. It’s a mid-tempo gem that feels like the emotional centre of the EP. The refrain — “oh I can’t sit idling / watching you watching him” — is simple, relatable, and quietly devastating.

Check it out.

ep 1 is available on Bandcamp, and is well worth your time.

I’ll Be There Christmas Eve by Bryan Adams and Alan Doyle

Wed, 24 Dec 2025 11:01:17 -0330

Here we are: Christmas Eve, and the final entry in this year’s Product of Newfoundland Holiday Music Advent Calendar.

It’s hard to believe we’ve reached the end. Most years, if I’m being honest, there’s usually at least one moment in December when I find myself wondering why on earth I committed to posting something new every single day.

That never really happened this year. Instead, the calendar became a lovely way to settle into — and stay in — the holiday spirit all month long.

This year’s closing song is a brand-new 2025 version of Ron Hynes’ Christmas classic I’ll Be There Christmas Eve, made famous by the Ennis Sisters and Alan Doyle. This new recording comes from A Great Big Holiday Jam by Bryan Adams and friends, and — brace yourself — features Bryan Adams and Alan Doyle alongside Barenaked Ladies, Alessia Cara, and The Sheepdogs.

It’s a wonderfully diverse gathering of artists, and hopefully it helps Hynes’ beautiful song find new listeners who may be hearing it for the first time.

You can find it wherever you stream your music.

And finally — I hope you find yourself exactly where you want to be this Christmas Eve. I know that isn’t always possible. Here in Newfoundland, the weather has a way of making plans uncertain, and in my part of the island forecasters are calling for as much as 80 centimetres of snow in the days ahead.

Wherever you are — whether it’s where you hoped to be or not — I hope you still find reasons to celebrate.

Get more Christmas music from Newfoundland and Labrador! And check out the whole 2025 Advent Calendar.

Old Toy Trains by The Once

Tue, 23 Dec 2025 08:54:37 -0330

Get more Christmas music from Newfoundland and Labrador! And check out the whole 2025 Advent Calendar.

Old Toy Trains is one of those songs that feels like it’s always been around. It’s hard to believe it was written in the late 1960s (by Roger Miller).

Maybe it’s the train imagery that does it — in Newfoundland, references to trains tend to feel instantly historical, as if they belong to another time entirely.

I’ve always had a soft spot for the song, and this new version by The Once, from their brand-new EP Fallen Tree (Side B), only enhances that feeling.

It’s a beautiful, simple rendition that lets the song breathe.

Oh, and if you’re suddenly searching for Fallen Tree Side A — don’t worry, you haven’t missed anything. It’s not out yet. The band promises Side A will arrive next year.

It’s kind of nice to have something on the 2026 Christmas list to look forward to already.

Give ‘Old Toy Trains’ a listen.

Doug White’s Christmas Time Once More

Mon, 22 Dec 2025 14:39:00 -0330

For the second time this season, Doug White is popping up on my NL Music Advent Calendar — and I’m more than happy to make room.

Get more Christmas music from Newfoundland and Labrador! And check out the whole 2025 Advent Calendar.

Earlier this month, his collaboration with Kathy Stock, Hope at Christmas, featured during the first week. Now White is back with Christmas Time Once More, a 2024 release that leans comfortably into folk territory and celebrates the quieter, simpler pleasures of the holiday season.

The song has an interesting origin story. White explains that it came together when his band was invited to take part in the Health Care Foundation’s Making Spirits Bright broadcast. Rather than navigate the maze of permissions required when covering Christmas songs, he decided to write something original instead.

“It turned out alright,” White says — a bit of an understatement.

Christmas Time Once More feels sincere and joyful. It’s the kind of song that sits comfortably in my holiday playlists.

You can find Christmas Time Once More wherever you stream your music.

Winter Solstice Night by Matthew Hender

Sun, 21 Dec 2025 08:12:00 -0330

Last year, musician and singer-songwriter Matthew Hender released Winter Solstice, a five-track winter and holiday-themed album that feels right at home in the long, cold stretch of a Newfoundland winter. The record blends traditional carols with original songs inspired by the season — its perfect listening for those quiet December nights when winter seems like it has settled in for good.

Get more Christmas music from Newfoundland and Labrador! And check out the whole 2025 Advent Calendar.

One of the standouts is “Winter Solstice Nights,” an original that plays like a meditation on winter, change, and the steady turning of the years.

Hender sings: “And the grey cold days they thaw away / It won’t be long ’til it melts away / And the wind and the snow, oh it blows!”

It’s hard to tell whether he’s encouraging the listener to look ahead to warmer, more comfortable days, or simply reminding us that winter —and everything else— moves in cycles.

Maybe it’s both.

Winter Solstice is available now on physical release and across digital platforms. If you’re looking for something to soundtrack a quiet winter evening, it’s well worth your time — check it out.

Product of Newfoundland

Cove Pond: Undertow

I've found myself caught in Cove Pond's Undertow, and I'm in no particular hurry to swim back to shore.

It Began With Jack Holly’s Legs

A Fateful Sunday Morning

A Long-Running Feud

Post Script

Sources & Further Reading

A Bullock in the Building Supplies

J. & W. Pitts

Bowring Bros.

An Unexpected Customer

Sources & Further Reading

The Spooky Side of the Map: Newfoundland’s Creepiest Place Names

Isle Aux Morts

Gros Morne

Goblin

Bay d’ Espoir

Deadman’s Bay

Damnable Bay

The Isle of Skye Comes Home

A Terrible Storm

Holyrood

“Breakers Ahead!”

The Awful Truth

An Addendum

Listen

Sources & Further Reading

The Fetch of Proctor’s Cove

A Familiar Sight

Jake Is Missing

A Premonition

Sources & Further Reading

A Fate Worse Than Death

The HMS Boston.

Press Gang

A Mob and A Murder

Manhunt

Court Convened

A Fate Worse Than Death

Carrying Out The Sentence

Sources & Further Reading

Dead, Buried And Not Quite Done: George Gaulton’s Final Message

James Shenicks

Back To The Woods

Back to the Barn

Moses Power and the Torbay Ghost

Sources and Further Reading

Margaret Campbell Macpherson: St. John’s to Paris

Margaret Campbell MacPherson

Remembering M. Campbell MacPherson

Sources & Further Reading

Adam Staple: Supervillan

Adam Staple is back with SuperVillain, a five-track EP that gets in, packs a punch, and leaves you thinking.

Ana and Eric: Autumn Bliss

It’s the perfect soundtrack for the season.

Funk the System: Cabot Power

This record has plenty of musical muscle.

Below: Netflix

Sister Gertrude’s Miracle

Sister Mary Gertrude

Turning to Faith

In Her Own Words

Returning to Newfoundland

Miracles and Mystery

Sources & Further Reading

Sheep Dead, Strange Animal Caught

Sheep Attacks

Strange Animal Caught

A Mystery

A Guessing Game

No Answers

Sources & Further Reading

Is This the World by The Little Phrase

thoughtful, adventurous and full of unexpected turns

The Trouble with Newfoundland Thunderstorms

Plate Cove

Hant’s Harbour

Trouble With History

Sources & Further Reading