The Grandeur of Petites

Story & photos by G. Tod Slone Barnstable, MA, USA

mouths open, eyes open. Petites, on the southwest coast, seemed always to be on the top of my two or three places to visit in Newfoundland. As we entered the inlet this summer, I quickly became awe-stricken even though I’d been there before in 2016. Petites seemed a bit more flattened out than it had appeared during that first visit. Still, many houses stood tall, though often without doors and windows. It was a beautiful morning: sunny and not windy. That beauty seemed to contradict the death of the outport, or maybe it rather highlighted the beauty of those old wooden structures.

At the tourist office in Port aux Basques, I mentioned Petites. One of the women there quickly made a phone call. And so, over the phone, Chris of Margaree Outfitters and I came to an agreement. The next morning at 8:00, I drove to the wharf in Margaree. There I met Chris and his Uncle Regge, who was along for the ride. We stepped onto Chris’s boat and he set a course.

Man, it was nippy! I almost froze to death. We cruised past Isle aux Morts. I recognized the abandoned green fish plant; I’d slept in my car the night before parked in front of it. Then on to Burnt Islands and Rose Blanche, where we had a beautiful view of the lighthouse. It took about 50 minutes to finally arrive at Petites. And as soon as we did, I stepped onto the old dock and off I went, mesmerized by the beauty of the abandoned dwellings, even more so than the last time. I walked all over, taking tons of photos. I stepped inside of a few of the houses: peeling paint and wallpaper, a wrecked chair, a rusting oven.

Down the old, half-overgrown concrete walkway to the old power station, I hiked. Then over to the church, I walked. It had recently been fixed up. And indeed, inside it looked amazingly perfect. But the roof still needed to be shingled. I gazed out at the vast barrens, wondering what it would have been like to walk from Harbour Le Cou. A couple of fellers had done that about a decade ago. It took them two full days. The thought of doing it, of course, had entered my mind... but stayed there.

And so I walked. Such a beautiful place! Chris and Regge walked a bit, too. Regge seemed to be checking everything out like me, though we went our separate ways. He picked up a few souvenirs, including a little doll. I grabbed a Rose Blanche Gas Bar cap, dirty as hell, so I stuck it in a plastic bag. Then Regge and I met up at the bottom of the inlet and

explored inside one of the houses. I spotted a doll that had no face due to wear and tear, like one would see in a horror movie.

Lastly, I walked alone around the other side of the inlet, which I hadn’t done the last time because I only had an hour to visit. This time I had three hours – just right! From the wharf, it didn’t look like much was there. But, wow, at the far end was a huge fish flake, beaten by time of course. It was a beautiful and clear testimony to Petites’ past as an important part of the fishing industry. There were also a number of shacks and houses.

Eventually, I returned to the wharf and Chris’s waiting boat. On the way back, Chris went closer to the shore here and there to give me a tour of some places, especially where a few cabins were, like Brazil. He kindly gave me a beer. Then Regge gave me three ham and cheese sandwiches. Nice! He also gave me a juice. So I drank and ate. I’d hardly stopped walking for three hours, so I was somewhat beat and hungry.

When we arrived back at Margaree, Chris told me he had some red wine, so I should follow him to his house. And so the three of us sat outside there in the sun, drinking away. The wine was from Cape Breton and without a label, but was very good. Chris’s wife was from the Cape. She worked on the ferry for 14-day shifts. Then Wally from St. John’s arrived and sat with us. What a day it had been!