Labrador’s Damhnait Doyle rekindles her love of music
FINDING HIS FOCUS
Lab City photographer Keith Fitzpatrick
Spotted Island Insights
The Saga of Prisoner’s Island
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to work in local media for over a decade here in Newfoundland and Labrador. Now, full disclosure, I’ve never been to Labrador. It’s on the bucket list – high up there in fact –and one I’m looking to check off in the very near future. Stay tuned on that front, dear readers.
But there’s been a constant in my dealings with those who call ‘The Big Land’ home, and that’s an immense sense of pride. Pride of place, pride of people, of culture, heritage, food, art. It’s a deep rooted love and fiercely passionate attachment to the land they call home, one that binds to the blood and synapses of the mind no matter the distance between where one’s been and where they’re going.
One of my goals as Editor-in-chief of Downhome is to serve as a conduit for storytellers, or conversely, to serve as a platform to tell the stories of those who deserve to have their stories told. Labrador – and those who love her have often suffered from various forms of neglect from those on ‘the island.’ As editor for not only the island of Newfoundland, but of the entire vast and majestic space that is Labrador, my goal is to expand those networks, to broaden those narratives and, more simply, to tell those stories.
Enjoy our latest look into Labrador and all that she offers. We’ll have many more stories to share in the future.
Everyone has a tale to tell. And we want to see your stories about Labrador. Maybe it’s a recollection of the way things used to be, a historical piece, or a story about somebody doing great things in your community. Maybe it’s a travel story about a trip somewhere in the Big Land. Whatever your story, in verse or in prose, our readers would love to see it and so would we.
If you’re better with a camera than a keyboard, you’re in luck, too - we’re also looking for photos of Labrador. From snapshots while berry picking to compositional studies of the landscape and everything in between, we love looking at your images.
Published submissions will receive $20 in Downhome certificates to spend in our stores and online at www.shopdownhome.com.
Send your photos and stories to editorial@downhomelife.com or upload them to our website at Downhomelife.com/submit.
Damhnait Doyle opens up about her rekindled relationship with songwriting and life growing up in ‘The Big Land’
BY DILLON COLLINS
An unflinching honesty and remarkable authenticity are hallmarks in the career of celebrated singer-songwriter Damhnait Doyle.
Born in Wabush –not Labrador City, as the internet may lead you to believe –Dav, as friends call her, carries the soul of a storyteller, one who’s not shy to examine life’s frayed emotional edges. But her longstanding love affair with the music business navigated rocky terrain in recent years.
“There’s been a lot of change in my life, and I’m somebody who writes in a very cyclical manner. I didn’t write a song for five years,” Dav explains during a candid one-on-one with Downhome.
“It was just after Christmas and I came back after being home. I was at a party when I was home, and I had a couple of people come up to me to talk to me about how my music has made them feel throughout the years. And it was just not something that was on my radar or that was expected of me. It was kind of like I broke up with music. Music and I broke up. I was like, ‘I am done with you. I am out of here. I don’t want any part of this!’ And then I realized, oh, okay, I’m ready to get back on that horse again.”
One must look to the past to properly examine the present of an artist who wears her heart on her sleeve. For Damhnait, some of her formative years were spent entrenched in Labrador amidst cool isolation and comforting home-grown artistry.
A young Damhnait in England, taken when her father taught at Memorial University’s Harlow campus
Early Doyle family life. Above Damhnait with family members at the provincial drama festival. Right: Baby Damhnait with her mother Loretto. Right bottom: Damhnait and sister Ceara
“Where I grew up in Wabush, it was established as a mining town. My father’s family were there working, but they’re from Avondale. So they’re there for 20, 30 years just to work in the mines. So the whole family moved. There are elements of it where people have a fierce love of the time they spent in Labrador when they were working there. I know so many people who worked there, had kids there, maybe were there for 20 or 30 years, but they have friendships that have lasted for 50 or 60 years,” she says with a smile.
“I’ve been back a bunch playing at the Arts and Culture Centre and it has
always been an amazing hoot. My dad’s friend Ray Condon, who’s now passed away, the last time I was there he took me for a tour. He was like, ‘this is the hospital you were born in, this is the house you grew up in, this
has been so cold in Toronto. And I’m the wingnut who’s walking to work with a jacket and three wool sweaters on, happy as a clam. That’s Labrador. That’s how Labrador has stayed with me.”
“If Labrador sticks with me, it’s no bad weather, just bad clothes. And it has been so cold in Toronto. And I’m the wingnut who’s walking to work with a jacket and three wool sweaters on, happy as a clam. That’s Labrador. That’s how Labrador has stayed with me.”
was the school,’ Smallwood Collegiate. It was just incredible to go back there. The audience is amazing. They’re so appreciative. And I still have family there.
“If Labrador sticks with me, it’s no bad weather, just bad clothes. And it
A multi-time JUNO, ECMA and CCMA nominated artist, Dav cut her teeth in the St. John’s music scene when her parents moved to the island during her youth. Now, holding down a full-time gig as the host of Weekend Mornings on CBC Music, the deco-
rated multi-faceted artist reflects on her newfound ability to give back to Canadian songwriters.
“Being able to discover new Canadian artists and bringing them to the national broadcaster is an unparalleled joy for me, a joy that I never had for myself as an artist,” she shares proudly. “That’s just the way my brain works. I am my father’s daughter. The joy and excitement it brings me to make connections with other artists to elevate their careers, because I know what it means. I understand the significance of it and it brings me crazy amounts of joy.”
Describing the east-coast music scene as having a “real raw honesty,” Dav acknowledges that Newfoundlanders and Labradorians punch well above our weight on a national and international scale.
“I saw Alan Doyle play in Toronto twice last year. No one has a better show in this country. No one has curated a better show than Alan Doyle in this country. Kellie Loder, I’ve never seen anybody work with an audience like Kellie Loder. Mark Bragg ... he’s a one of a kind, one-ofa-lifetime performer. These are all artists who didn’t conform to other people’s standards. They just kind of stuck to what they were doing. And I think that’s a real
Newfoundland thing.”
Fast-forward to the present, Damhnait’s love for crafting a song that can cut to the listener’s core is rekindled ten-fold as she leaps head-on into her first new material since 2019’s Liquor Store Flowers.
“It’s happening. I’m back and I’m writing songs every single day. I can’t walk by a piano or a guitar (without writing), but I’ve always been like that. I’m a very cyclical writer. I will go years and not write and then everything will come out,” Dav shares with a smile, confirming that she’s set to record alongside long-time friend and JUNO-winning engineer Hill Kourkoutis.
Armed with a renewed energy and outlook on the business of the music business –not to mention equipped with a warmer, altogether more comfortable headspace –Dav readies long time listeners for a music filled to the brim with an emotion she’s held in spades of late: joy.
“I’m not going to stray too far from my lyrical center, which is always a little bit dark. My Mom would always say to me, ‘can’t you write a
happy song?’ And I’m like ‘God, Mom, that’s so boring. No, I can’t do that.’ But what I will say in this next iteration of me, the music is going to be joyful. You’re going to want to move
to it. And if you don’t want to get depressed, don’t listen to the words. No, I’m just kidding. No, they will probably be joyful too, because I’m in an extremely happy time in my life.”
For Keith Fitzpatrick, photography is much more than a hobby; it’s a passion that’s helped fuel his recovery.
BY LINDA BROWNE
People take photos for many reasons – to remember those special moments in life like the birth of a child, or Christmases and holidays spent with loved ones; to capture a beautiful sunset or a landscape that takes your breath away; or just to document the everyday experience of being alive. For Keith Fitzpatrick of Labrador City, photography has also helped him find his way back to himself.
While the content, colour and composition of his shots (which mainly focus on the beauty of the Big Land) would suggest the practised hand of a professional with years of formal training, Keith is self-taught and got his start at home, turning the lens on his loved ones.
He got his first Canon Rebel some years ago, using it mainly to snap photos of his two young sons at school events and activities, like many a proud parent. However, a spiral into drug addiction that started in the early 2000s with prescription pain medication forced him to put the camera aside and give up on the idea of further developing his photography skills.
But just over three years ago, Keith experienced a wake-up call that would lead to the beginning of his journey to recovery. He picked up his camera again and rediscovered the simple joy of snapping a photograph.
“First it was my cellphone, going on walks and trying to explore nature. And then I got another Rebel,” he says.
Each photo he took was another small step on the road to recovery and another opportunity to slow down, be present and soak in his surroundings. Photography, Keith says, has given him a new way of seeing and a renewed appreciation for all of nature’s miracles, big and small.
“I love every sunrise and sunset because it’s never guaranteed. I may not be here tomorrow, so I want to catch tonight’s sunset, just in case. And then waking up to greet a new
day that I’m blessed to live – it’s kind of how it started,” he says.
“And then experimenting with photography and trying different things, focusing on the little things that people just ignore. I’ve lived up here most of my life, and I never noticed things before. Either I was too busy, or just too focused on myself... I’ve never noticed the butterflies until the last couple of years. Trying to catch a butterfly or a dragonfly, which is always fun to try to do, or a little bee – there’s so much beauty in the small things that people miss in today’s tech age.”
When Everything Clicks
Browsing through the stunning photos on Keith’s website offers a glimpse into the everyday beauty he’s fortunate to witness in his own backyard. From brilliant purple and green auroras dancing in the night sky, to waterfalls cascading over mossy rocks, his work is a tribute to Labrador in all its rugged and pristine splendour.
Photography, Keith says, is “90 per cent luck and 10 per cent skill. You just got to be in the right place at the right time.”
Stroll around Lab City or Wabush and you’re likely to spot Keith with his camera and faithful companion by his side – his dog Misty, a husky that he adopted from Sheshatshiu about nine years ago. “She’s the rescue that probably saved me more than I saved her,” Keith notes.
One of his favourite spots to photograph the sunrise and sunset is Harrie Lake. “It’s also a great spot for the
www.CFMWS.ca
gbmfrc@nf.sympatico.ca
P.O. Box 69, Station C Goose Bay, NL A0P-1C0 (709) 896-6900 ext. 555 6060 (709) 896-6916 (fax)
Keith and Misty
Northern Lights that are literally a couple hundred metres from my door,” Keith adds. “It’s pitch black down there in the night. You get the Northern Lights reflecting off the water; you can see the Milky Way above it.”
While there are lots of lovely walking trails in the area to explore, Keith says, there are many surprises just waiting to be discovered in those “untouched areas” off the beaten path.
Chasing the Light
Photography, Keith says, has been a boon not only for his physical health, but his mental health as well, offering quiet moments of contemplation and reflection.
“If I have a stressful day or something’s burning in my mind – grab the dog, grab the camera, go out for an hour or two, have a campfire, during the winter especially… everything boils down to that small moment that you can actually find a lot of peace,” he says. “My mind can run 1,000 miles a minute if I let it. But if I’m sitting on a rock on the side of a lake, my mind quiets pretty quick.”
While it’s played a crucial part in his recovery, Keith says, photography has since turned into a passion. And it’s one that burns brighter than those magnificent auroras that he’s fortunate to so often see glowing above him. After spending two decades lost in the darkness of addiction, he says,
photography has helped him find the light.
“Some of my early days, when I really wanted to go back out and use, I’d pick up my phone with the camera on it and started taking some pictures and just staring at the beauty and realizing I would miss this if I went back to that. You’ve got to replace the old habits with new ones that are healthy and positive. And there’s nothing more positive than seeing the beauty in the world around you, because it reminds you that you’re never alone,” Keith says.
“They tell us in recovery [to] find a power greater than you – that’s the world for me, that’s nature… there’s nothing more beautiful than two o’clock in the morning, lying down in the snowbank, watching the lights dance above you. If that’s not spiritual, I don’t know what is.”
To see more of Keith’s photography, visit Keithfitzpatrick.artfunnels.com.
BY MASON WOODWARD
It’s that time of year again!
June is typically referred to as Pride Month, which is a time to celebrate and commemorate the 2SLGBTQIA+ community. But what does Pride look like for one person in Central Labrador?
My name is Mason and I’m queer. If you read my last piece in the 2023 fall issue, you may remember me sharing what my life’s been like as someone from Happy Valley-Goose Bay returning home after 15 years away.
While I touched on the pros and cons of readjusting to remote living, I didn’t even begin to talk about what that’s like as a queer person.
I began living as my true self while living in Montréal, Québec, which is known for its large and vibrant 2SLGBTQIA+ population. It was a wonderful and frightening time in my life as I navigated the world differently, living my truth as a transgender man. Given that Montréal’s queer population was so visible to me, I never had to look very far when it came to finding acceptance. Because of this, I took a lot of my privileges for granted since I didn’t have to fight to find spaces where I belonged.
Then when COVID-19 struck and I suddenly found myself very alone, I realized that I missed having my family to share my life with, especially this new and wonderful side of my life. But thinking about returning to Labrador was daunting since the queer community wasn’t as visible to me as it had been everywhere else, especially in Montréal. I was afraid that coming back to Labrador meant
going back into the closet. Nonetheless, I eventually made my way back to HVGB in 2021 with my cat and various aquarium fish in tow.
When that summer came around, I went to my very first Pride Week in HVGB, which was organized by Safe Alliance, a grassroots volunteer group putting in the work since 2010. By 2010 I wasn’t out and I had already moved away as a young adult, so I didn’t know Safe Alliance existed until I returned home years later.
I was in awe. HVGB’s Pride Week was smaller and more modest than the massive Pride events I’d seen in Halifax, Montréal, or even London, England. But it impacted me in a way that no other Pride celebration ever did, changing the course of my life.
These gatherings were more intimate, with genuine connections and friendships made among queer community members and allies alike. I was able to fully participate and was
Mason has become heavily involved in the 2SLGBTQIA+ community.
seen, and heard, in a way that I never was in other places. I vividly remember listening to Two-Spirit folks sharing their powerful stories and walking proudly in the Pride March with my mom, brother and oldest nephew at
volunteering, I’ve met the most incredible group of people who continue to help me grow, not only as a queer person but as a human being. It’s not always easy being proud in Labrador, but these beautiful people make it easier.
my side. Through these moments and more, I felt a huge weight lift off my shoulders as I was filled with hope that, just maybe, I wouldn’t have to go back in the closet after all. Maybe I’d be more out and proud than I ever was before — something that I never thought possible when thinking about Labrador.
From 2022 onwards, I became a volunteer with Safe Alliance. Through
I became even more involved with the queer community in other ways outside of Pride Month, trying to do my part to help raise awareness, especially for other transgender and gender-diverse Labradorians. Through attending various focus groups, political meetings, and community events (locally and provincially), I’ve met even more amazing, inspirational people.
When I first started to write this piece, I had every intention of talking more in depth about all of those amazing people and organizations to elevate the queer community. I had a list of new people and organizations I wanted to contact to learn more about Pride in other parts of Labrador outside of HVGB. But I quickly realized that I would never be able to showcase the full diversity and resilience of queer Labradorians in just these few short paragraphs alone.
All of this, the connections I’ve made in the Big Land and the strongest sense of self I’ve ever had, is why Pride is important. Not just during Pride Month, but always.
We’re here and queer in Labrador, and I’ve never been prouder.
Tranquil Labrador
Last Day of Fishing
Fishing till dark on the banks of the Ashuanipi River, on a 30 degree day in September.
DEANNE
HUSSEY Labrador City, NL
Morning Calm
Took this picture while on the way to work.
STEPHEN COLBOURNE Hopedale, NL
Kayaking at Sunset
Kayaking in front of our cabin at Ashuanipi River.
LORILEA EDWARDS Wabush, NL
BY STANLEY OLIVER
Domingo Dichoson photo
The idea of ethical space
is creating a place for knowledge systems to interact with an approach of mutual respect, kindness, generosity and other basic values and principles. By creating this place, connections can be made that advance working together in a safe environment. This fundamental approach reminds and encourages us that the integration of knowledge systems can occur for the benefit of all.
Often as Indigenous people, we find ourselves engulfed in discussions that relate to how we, in particular, view the world. The Indigenous worldview exists and operates in a state of relatedness. Everything (meaning everything that walks, flies, swims and crawls) and everyone are related. The acceptance that people, objects and the environment are all connected is the essence of this belief. Further, this connectedness is reinforced by customary Indigenous laws, principles, kinship and spirituality. From a Western science perspective, in my opinion, this connectedness is viewed more as scholarly and academic rather than actual biological, physical and/or environmental interactions.
The term Indigenous Traditional Knowledge (ITK) reflects this Indigenous viewpoint and perspective. Where western science is meant to be objective and quantitative, ITK is considered mainly subjective and qualitative. Western science is based on academic and formal scholarly transmission of information; Indigenous Traditional Knowledge is often passed on orally from one generation to the next by the elders.
In the ITK system, this is our oral culture approach. It’s the retelling of stories where people, including community elders, come with specific information and sit to share with others. This, on occasion, leads to Indigenous decision-making and conflict resolution processes. At minimum, it provides an understanding of previous established learnings. These recognized teachings have informal rules and protocols, and they provide the opportunity (especially for the young people) for the transfer of specific knowledge and lessons. A concrete illustration/example would be the harvesting of game (whether hunting or fishing), and the Indigenous principle to “Take only what you need, not what you want.”
The written system of knowledge sharing is the result of western science and structured civilizations. The foundation/premise of western view is that of territorial control by individuals (non-Indigenous) who view themselves as superior to others through a process of a hierarchical structure, with the ultimate authority belonging to the government/crown. This hierarchical authority is based on
the perceived ownership by someone else through a process of verified requested permission of users (Indigenous hunters and fishers) through permits, licences and approval. These governance, education, science and decision-making practices are expressions of a foreign system that has, for the most part, followed a colonial government approach.
So the question I pose: if this is the situation we find ourselves in, how do we as Indigenous people find ways of working together to work in parallel with Western science to create an ethical space and ultimately another view?
Indigenous Traditional Knowledge
and western science can symbolize two very different ways of viewing the world around us. Western science attempts to understand natural resources and the environment by researching and studying individual parts. In comparison, ITK seeks to understand the natural resources in a holistic way, by observing connections between all parts (remember, everything is connected).
So the question I pose: if this is the situation we find ourselves in, how do we as Indigenous people find ways of working together to work in parallel with Western science to create an ethical space and ultimately another view?
Despite these very different approaches, ITK has the capacity and capability to complement the knowledge systems and data offered by western science. Further, it is important to recognize that both western
science and ITK have distinctive qualities, but it may be valuable to be aware of and respect the similarities between the two knowledge systems. As we move forward and work together to better understand these similarities, we may find out that we are not so far apart after all.
Here are some of these similarities (but of course, not all): both knowledge systems attempt to describe very complex natural resource systems; both aim to better comprehend the physical characteristics of the environment; both are based on actual observations; both are affected by changes in the environment (such as climate change); and finally, both are based on historical repetitive notes.
Further thinking about these two methodologies, which are distinct, and finding a way for them to work in parallel offers the exceptional opportunity to now create ethical space.
That’s reflective of another view or way of doing things without weakening what already exists within each knowledge system. When we link these two systems together, we allow for the natural connection of both learned values and principles, and this will result in the creation of a culturally safe place that allows for the considerate sharing of ideas. It is with this respectful understanding and approach that we may be able to move forward, using another view.
Stanley Oliver was born and raised in Labrador; his father is from the North Coast (Rigolet) and his mother is from North West River. Stan is an Inuit and has spent the last 30 plus years working in the natural resources and Indigenous government field. He currently holds the position of manager with the Labrador Office of Indigenous & Northern Skilled Trades.
Downhome History
Downhome • June 1994
Tanaya Travers photo
BERNIE HOWGATE
In this flashback through the Downhome archives, our June 1994 issue published the first of 14 episodes from author and adventurer Bernie Howgate from his eight-month, 4,000-kilometre solo trip up the Labrador coastline. The first part of the journey was on foot, dragging a sled in the dead of winter. The second part was by kayak during the summer. This is the first excerpt from his journey through Labrador:
January 5, 1992: For the last six weeks I’ve been suffering from lack of sleep. In my dreams, I’ve just made camp. Suddenly a snow drift moves. It’s a polar bear and coming in my direction. My brain says run, my legs say no. I don’t know what happens next, because at that point I always woke up.
For someone who is planning to leave on an eight-month, 4,000-kilometre solo trip of the Labrador coastline and has little experience of snow camping, let alone sea kayaking, dreams like this are understandable. I can trace my present state back to 1980 and my first visit to Labrador.
Since then I have crisscrossed North America, hopped, walked in Australia and New Zealand, and spent years off the beaten track in Asia and America, but nothing has come close to the hospitality I experienced on Canada’s east coast.
The seed of my coming trip took root a year ago with a chance meeting –two travellers exploring new challenges over beers. During the evening, the question of travel between Labrador’s remote coastal communities surfaced.
A map of Bernie Howgate’s journey originally published in June 1994’s Downhome
“There isn’t any coastal roads,” I told my friend. Access in summer is by ferry only, and for the winter I just don’t know. “That sounds like your kind of place, Bernie.” He was right, and by the end of the evening, I had planned to go.
It was easy enough to obtain maps to the coastline, but quite a different story putting together a route. I spent weeks of research in libraries looking for travel books on the subject, but getting nowhere. Then I got my first breakthrough. I dropped the idea of book research and turned to another source for advice.
One phone call to the RCMP detachment in Forteau, Labrador and soon the doors of information opened. I was told it was feasible to travel from Red Bay to Goose Bay by foot in winter and in summer the waters from Goose Bay to Nain were
definitely navigable.
At first, I addressed the winter portion of my travel from Red Bay. It would be impossible for me to live off the land and to pull four months of provisions on a sled over 1,000 kilometres of frozen trails. This time, Canada Post came to the rescue.
Soon I had five parcels of freezedried food packed and marked ‘Hold For Pick-Up.’ Then I notified the postmasters in Port Hope Simpson, Charlottetown, Black Tickle, Cartwright and Rigolet of my travel plans, and by mid-October my food parcels had arrived.
Next, I turned my attention to clothes. I had been out in sub-zero conditions before, but cross-country skiing on marked trails, surrounded by fellow enthusiasts, was a far cry from solo travel on barren windswept ice fields.
All through October I watched my budget drop as I put together a new wardrobe of heavy down, pile and gortex-lined clothes. In November, a cold snap found me camping in my back garden for three nights trying out new equipment, much to the amusement of my neighbours.
In December, I flew to Vancouver to try out my new sea kayak. The first day I capsized. My escape underwater was flawless. My re-entry, no problem. It was the frigid cold seawater that frightened me and this precipitated yet another burst of spending, and before I left the west coast I had purchased a wet suit, a dry suit and every flotation device known to man.
Back home in Toronto another problem surfaced. I had originally planned to travel the traditional way in winter with a solid wooded sled and to camp in a highwall canvas tent, heated by a wood stove.
All through Christmas their combined weights played on my mind. I began asking everyone for advice. Speed was essential between settlements, but cutting back weight would leave me at the mercy of the
elements. In the end, I threw up my arms and went with my gut feelings and by January I had traded the heavier, but warmer traditional equipment for a high-tech fibreglass sled, all-season tent and arctic-rated sleeping bag.
Now, I’m ready. Everything is packed away in my basement. I have at least two of everything with more socks and gloves than I care to admit. No one can say I’m not prepared. All I have to do now is start and that can’t come too soon. Next stop, Red Bay.
Labrador was the site of the largest staking rush in Canadian mining history
BY VICTOR A. FRENCH, P.GEO.
The discovery of the rich Voisey’s Bay Nickel-Copper-Cobalt deposits by Newfoundland based prospectors Chris Verbiski and the late Albert Chislett in 1993 triggered the largest mineral claims staking rush ever recorded in Canada.
This discovery, 20 kilometres south of Nain, attracted mining companies and promoters throughout North America and around the world to rush into the Mineral Claims recorders office in St. John’s, lining up for hours “to stake their claim.” While claims in Labrador could be staked by drawing out the boundaries of claims on a map (versus having to go in the field required for staking in many other jurisdictions such as on the island), Labrador was virtually covered by mineral claims within days.
As the prime ground around the Voisey’s Bay –Nain area quickly filled with claims, staking flooded all over Labrador, stretching from Cape Chidley in the north to the Québec border in the south and extending inland from the coast to the Québec border in the west. The claims map of Labrador published by the Department of Mines was a mosaic of hundreds of names from every corner of the globe.
Because of the frenzied rush many of those looking to stake their claim did not take the time to come to St. John’s, instead making contact for the first time with provincially based people both in and outside of the mining industry. Once these contacts were made, money was immediately transferred into bank accounts to pay the staking fees.
Being a Newfoundland-based geologist, I had one mining company –who did not know me –call asking me to stake many claims. If I was available they would deposit a substantial amount of money into my bank account for staking costs. The money showed up
“Throughout most of the next decade… Labrador was a beehive of exploration activity.”
within hours, and off I went with a pile of cash to the recorder’s office in St. John’s to successfully complete the staking.
Those selected to stake claims often charged a healthy commission or fee. Many also availed of their cash reserve or bank credit limits to stake ground for the purpose of owning claims to sell to the highest bidder. And there were many bidders, resulting in a major auction. Getting a claim in Labrador was a must! As a result, many of those staking ground for sale greatly improved their financial sta-
tus, and their lot in life, so to say.
My objective as a mineral exploration consultant and service company with years of experience working in Labrador was to secure contracts for follow-up exploration work. Throughout most of the next decade, into the early 2000s, Labrador was a beehive of exploration activity with hundreds of millions of dollars from all over the globe being spent. The competition for those dollars was intense, and for the field crews working for the stakeholders, Labrador was the destination target.
For many geologists the demand was so high that many received their first taste of the industry. This proved challenging for many, including the claim holders, as Labrador is a vast and largely
blowing snow and temperatures of minus forty degrees celsius, not counting the windchill! It took us two days to get out by our camp-based helicopter and make our way to Nain to catch the plane service to Goose Bay.
remote area, taxing the ability of those not used to the rigorous demands of working in a remote region with severe winter conditions. Many of the exploration projects, with the urgency to “find the next Voisey’s Bay,” were expanded. In some cases the operations ran through the winter months.
One project I operated for one of the companies was located in the Okak Bay area, 100 kilometres north of Nain. One year I closed the camp on December 3rd. At the time there were severe winter conditions with
The geography and names of Labrador became known to many, especially Nain. The most northern community and hub of the exploration activity, Nain’s airstrip and terminal were used to service many of the remote exploration projects. It was suggested that at any given hour during the day in Nain there could be more flight takeoffs and landings than air traffic at the Toronto airport. This traffic also included many daily flights by Air Labrador and other flight service companies, as well as a number of Labrador and Québec based companies offering float plane charter services, using Nain Harbour and the wharf facility. The Atsanik Lodge, being the only motel, was constantly blocked, serving as a meeting place and a watering hole for the thousands who passed through during the heydays of the “Voisey’s Bay Rush.”
Other Nain based business interests also benefitted, providing various
Most claim sites were only accessible by air.
Right: A typical exploration base camp
services during these highly active exploration years. Local residents worked as prospectors or other field support members at the many exploration camps. The availability of these local businesses and the residents with their heritage and immense knowledge were valuable to all looking to run a successful exploration program.
I too availed of these services throughout my time “exploring Labrador.” During those years I would gather together my work crew of
island-based geologists, prospectors, field technicians, cooks, etc, for the flight into Goose Bay. From there we’d fly into Nain to meet up with the contractor providing helicopter services for the exploration camps. In Nain I would meet up with the Labrador based workers I used for the exploration season.
The exploration camps were usually insulated tent camps constructed by the crews or Nain based contractors, which proved to be adaquate accom-
modations for the crews to work comfortably and safely during the exploration season.
Working in remote regions for extended periods required a comfortable and appealing camp, food, and other digressions to fill up the time.
One Halloween night, at the remote Okak Bay camp (not the most hospitable setting at 1750 feet above sea level), two of the crew dressed up for trick or treating, which certainly lightened up the October evening!
The normal exploration program and daily work routine would include geological mapping, prospecting, geophysical surveys (electrical and magnetic surveys) and, if successful, a follow up with core drilling. This proved to be the most expensive work as drills, equipment and fuel had to be transported by helicopter to the drilling site.
We had the pleasure and benefit of working in many areas of Labrador including Umiakovik Lake, Kiglapait Mountains “the Kiglapaits,” Okak Bay, Harp Lake, Flowers River and Cabot Lake, to name a few. These and many other places in Labrador became household names.
It wasn’t all work and no play. A pair of crew members decided to go trick or treating one Halloween night in the Labardor wilderness.
The beauty, vastness and various regions of Labrador linger for those who had the privilege to travel this land during the “Voisey’s Bay Exploration Days.” It continues to this day based on this and more recent globally-significant discoveries.
Get Outside!
Sunset Adventures
Even Pops couldn’t resist the view of the sun setting over beautiful Hopedale.
Hopedale, NL
VANESSA FEWER
First Mate
Our Beautiful cat Nala, who enjoys one of many trips to the cabin. All hands on deck.
ROXANNE MICHELIN Happy Valley-Goose Bay, NL
Plenty of Fish
My grandson Reid Carew with his catch of the day. He sure was happy when he caught this one.
BERNADETTE CAREW Happy Valley-Goose Bay, NL
Home of Another Labrador Legend
PHOTOS & STORY BY DENNIS FLYNN
THE OUTBOARD MOTOR’S
buzz-saw cadence fades into the serene stillness of the September 2009 morning as our small crew of two visitors and a guide step out of the open speedboat and onto the sandy shore of a remote island. This location near the mouth of Sandwich Bay is accessible only by boat and thus easily missed by casual travellers, but it’s famous in local folklore.
A passing comment from the friendly guide working with Experience Labrador Adventures piques my interest. He notices me photographing an old wooden fishing vessel hauled well ashore and sporting sun-bleached planks aged the colour and consistency of ancient whalebone. “For a long time this particular island had been called Newfoundland Island, but most of the locals in this part of Labrador know it as Prisoner’s Island,” the guide explains.
He tells us there’s a fair number of variations on the story, with history and folklore mixed in. “Still, most agree that back in the days of sail, several members of a fishing crew got into a scuffle aboard the ship and one of them ended up, perhaps totally by accident, killing
another. The captain of the ship did not want to forfeit his fishing season and return so early to Europe to have the matter dealt with through the proper legal channels at that time,” adds the guide, explaining that the captain had the man brought ashore and chained to an open rowboat. “It provided no real shelter from the elements or wild animals,” the guide surmised. “The ship left him with only a tiny amount of food and provisions, and checked in during the season to ensure he was still chained to the boat … They say they kept him there until the fishing season ended and then he was returned to England to stand trial.” While the outcome of the trial was unknown, locals have long
referred to the area as Prisoner’s Island in his honour.
We soon leave Prisoner’s Island in our wake, making several other stops including a magnificent beach 16 kilometres by boat to the north of Cartwright, the start of the spectacular Wonderstrands. This 56-kilometre-long series of sandy beaches is said to be the same one celebrated in Viking sagas of the past.
Back at Cartwright at the end of an amazing day, I chatted with the incredibly knowledgeable local historian George Barrett of Experience Labrador Adventures. “For us, the Wonderstrands go way back. The folks on the island of Newfoundland have the Vikings coming into the
L’anse aux Meadows area. We think they were here first,” he shares, delving into the Norse sagas, which tell a story of Vikings coming across from Greenland in the fall of the year.
George kindly echoes the main points of the story of Prisoner’s Island told by the guide. I smile, thinking of the resilience and resolve of the long ago prisoner. Perhaps the English Poet Richard Lovelace (1618–1657) in his most famous work, “To Althea, from Prison,” said it best when he noted that, “Stone Walls do not a Prison make, Nor Iron bars a Cage.” I would add that being chained to a boat on a
remote island does not necessarily mean a man remained always a prisoner.
Overhearing our chat, an older gentleman – who wished to remain anonymous – approached and spoke to me privately, sharing another version of the story: “That captain put the prisoner in a bad spot, leaving him out there unprotected and illequipped. The captain didn’t have any authority to execute the prisoner or even try him for murder, but he felt he certainly could detain the man anyway he chose. We’ll never know for sure, of course, so this is only speculation, but some believe the captain might have thought if storms, cold, starvation, bears or wolves killed the prisoner, then that would have solved the captain’s problem of what to do with the man. What the captain didn’t count on was exactly how tough this man was.”
The man explained that the prisoner survived all of the hard-
ships, eventually freeing himself of the boat, and, when the Great Bay froze up, he simply walked ashore on the sea ice to the mainland.
“He escaped and was taken in by a First Nation community, changed his name to avoid any future problems, and married into his new home. They say it was another member of the ship’s crew who was actually picked to stand trial,” he explained, adding that because of the harsh treatment of the prisoner and the lack of hard evi-
dence, nothing came of it.
“Folks like me believe the real prisoner of Prisoner’s Island lived out the rest of his life in peace as a happy and free man here in beautiful Labrador and his descendants live on to this day.”
We shook hands and I took my leave feeling a little better about one possible fate of the prisoner. I love the lore and legends of Labrador and I was pleasantly surprised when, in January 2024, someone reached out to me
about an informative website on the history of Sandwich Bay (mun.ca/labmetis/sandwich_bay.html).
Nestled within the links was a section dedicated to Prisoner’s Island, which contained several versions of the story. One, from the The Edinburgh Advertiser, (dated January 23, 1818) stated that “S.H. BROWN (Samuel Brown) stood indicted for killing and slaying T. PIERCE, on the 15th July 1817, at Dumpling Island, on the coast of Labrador.” In this version, “…the Jury, without hesitation, returned a verdict –guilty of manslaughter.”
What can be said with some certainty is that, in the 1968 print version of the Gazetteer of Canada, published by the Permanent Committee on Geographical Names showed “Newfoundland Island” in Labrador at GPS N 53.51 and W 56.56. The same information appeared in the print version for 1983. By 2024 the document had moved online, with the name officially changed from Newfoundland Island to Prisoner’s Island.
Colourful folklore has, in the fullness of time and tide, become cartographical fact.
Regardless of which version of the story you choose to believe, the island is now recognized on official maps and documents as Prisoner’s Island, just like the good people of Labrador have called it all along.
Perhaps that’s a special form of freedom knowing their tale lives on centuries later in a new permanent place name. Maybe even the long ago prisoner of Prisoner’s Island could take refuge in that.
Labrador is filled with talented individuals who love to share their passion –and their musical gifts – with others
BY PAM PARDY
PTARMAGEDDON
PTARMAGEDDON, an alternative rock band based in Labrador City, formed during COVID. Scott Neary (guitar, vocals), Jenn Edwards (keys, vocals), and Matt Soper (percussion, vocals) became united “as the rest of the world was falling apart,” Scott shared. “This was just three friends doing something they loved in crazy times with no expectations.”
Scott, who returned home to Labrador from Toronto during the lockdowns of 2021, remained in Labrador, teaching music.
“I was living in Toronto as a musician, and I hadn’t been home in almost 15 years. Then coming home and connecting with Matt, a friend from high school, we just started playing and writing, and then Jenn came into the picture a little while later and it just worked,” he said with a laugh.
In May of 2021, Ptarmageddon sat down to write their first batch of original songs, resulting in the six-song EP HoldingPattern, which was quickly followed by a second EP, DreamLogic . Ptarmageddon became the first MusicNL Award-nominated band from Labrador West when they received a pair of nominations in 2022.
Living home has inspired him musically, he says. “Being back in Labrador, the stakes didn’t feel that high. It was easier to just relax and go with the flow and enjoy whatever came next.”
SILVER WOLF BAND
JAMIE JACKMAN OF SILVER WOLF BAND, a four-piece Indigenous folk-pop band from Happy Valley-Goose Bay, Labrador, says that being raised in one of the most “beautiful places on earth,” can certainly influence one’s musical style. “When you come from a place as unique as Labrador in so many different ways – culturally, geographically, and even musically – that eventually makes its way into your music.”
The MusicNL and ECMA nominated Silver Wolf Band is made up of Jamie, his brother Justin Jackman, Matthew Barrett and Brandon Pardy. “We’re really like a band of brothers,” Jamie continued. And while Jamie and Justin are actual brothers, Matthew and Brandon are friends who feel the same passion for their home in Labrador.
“The biggest influence I had growing up as a Labrador songwriter would be Harry Martin. He wrote really beautiful ballads that focused on and told the stories of Labradorians and talked about what was important to Labradorians. He sang about the landscape, the scenery and about trappers and the animals and all the beautiful things about the Big Land. He wrote songs for Labradorians and was important to me growing up,” Jamie shared, adding that where he’s from is often his inspiration.
“The older I get, the more I’m finding ways to work Labrador into my songs and it comes naturally. A big part of our music is taking other Labrador songs and making them our own, celebrating the music that’s already existed here for years by adding our voices to the voices of those who came before us,” Jamie said poetically. It’s been quite an interesting journey, he added. “We’re quite proud of where we’re from. And I think that shows through in our music.”
CAROLINA EAST
CAROLINA EAST has a spirit that matches her voice: Beautiful. She laughed at the compliment. “That’s what I love about Newfoundlanders – the kindness,” she said with a smile.
Carolina’s mother was from Labrador, so the artist has experienced both the joy and the musical talent of the area, she shared. “I never did meet my grandfather. He passed away when I was born, but I’ve heard lots of stories about the musical side of the family in Labrador. While he’s gone, he was quite gifted musically I’ve been told, and any time I visited family there we had big kitchen parties with lots of music. And if the flies didn’t pick you up and take you away, we’d do campfire singing and that kind of thing,” she said with a chuckle.
And Carolina has a big heart. One person who holds a very special place in her heart is Felicia Power. The two met about a year and a half ago when Felicia and her mom approached Carolina after a performance. “I loved Felicia’s energy right away. We took a picture together, and the rest is history. We quickly became family.”
Since becoming close, Felicia often joins Carolina on stage. “Felicia has Down Syndrome and she proudly represents that community. I call her my sunshine. There’s no way to be crooked around her. She sees everything in a positive light. She has no fear. She has no insecurities. I think
it’s just such a beautiful thing that we can all learn from her.”
Carolina’s best advice to others? “Don’t ever put restraints on the ability of a person – including yourself. Felicia has Down Syndrome and she doesn’t know what it is to be self-conscious. My automatic reaction when I see a picture of myself is to find all the negative things that I don’t like, but when Felicia looks at a picture of herself she says, ‘I’m gorgeous.’ And she is! If more people in society were like her, what a happy life we’d all live.”
Carolina and Felicia Tobin Photography
PETER DANIEL NEWMAN
CELEBRATED SONGWRITER and producer, Peter Daniel Newman, may have been born in Ontario, but with roots in both Bay Roberts on the island and Red Bay, Labrador, he says his love of this place he now calls home is embedded deep into his core.
“My mom’s parents, Max and Flora Pike, were fishermen out of Red Bay, and we used to go out there every summer, and then my dad’s parents were Pentecostal ministers, George and Joyce Newman. While Dad was born in Bay Roberts, they travelled everywhere and moved from church to church. It was while my grandfather was pastor in Goose Bay that my mom and dad met and they eventually moved to Ontario where I was born,” Peter said, explaining that he moved back to Newfoundland when he was three.
Peter’s so proud of his roots, he is designing a clothing label, “When Sun Rays Crown,” to reflect his heritage. “It’s a way of tipping my hat to where I’m from and it’s my way of sharing this place with the world.”
Peter has had one incredible music career to date, collaborating with the likes of David Guetta, Megan Moroney, Nathan Carter and Clint Black. But he also loves working with artists from Newfoundland and Labrador, having written songs with Jason Greeley, Rodney Slade, The Secrets, Kellie Loder and Jackie Sullivan, to name a few.
What’s next? Peter has partnered with Vaughn Rowsell of VaughnCo Entertainment to create VinylVerse Creative Group. “It’s a publishing company with plans to expand and include a label and management. Just more and more music. My life has always been about music, from singing in the kitchen to the church to now. It’s a beautiful thing.”
Brad Clarke photo
Reflections on living in Labrador
BY TODD GOODYEAR
I remember growing up in rural Newfoundland and Labrador and accepting my province for exactly what it was. A vast land made up of two separate regions combined: the island portion and the Big Land, Labrador.
I can honestly say with conviction that at no time did I not include Labrador as part of the province and am I ever glad that I was raised to think that way. My personal life and professional life would end up woven with Labrador. Today, Labrador is at the very heart of my existence.
Unfortunately, not all residents of this great province can say that they’ve been to Labrador, let alone feel like they know anything about the Big Land. The geographical differences between the island and Labrador are but the tip of the iceberg.
Many are aware of the differences between a townie and a bayman, or they should be. The same goes for the differences between Labradorians and Newfoundlanders, but also within
Labrador. The lifestyle, culture, heritage, transportation challenges and even the weather are vastly different depending on where you live. These differences in some ways mirror living and working on the island as well.
No one can convince me that growing up in St. John’s is anything like growing up in Coachman’s Cove, Raleigh, Baie Verte or Marystown. For me, growing up in Baie Verte was nothing like living in a place like St. John’s or Labrador. I would find out first hand why that’s so.
I made my very first visit to Labrador, if memory serves me correctly, around spring of 1986. It was May 24 weekend, I do believe, to visit friends. One of the things that stood out to me on that first visit was the
isolation and how fascinated I was with all the fighter jets flying around. That isolation has changed so much over the years. I became a frequent visitor and then a resident of Labrador, eventually. I witnessed firsthand the changes and would like to share some of my experiences.
Fast-forward to my next visit to Labrador to the summer of 1992. This trip would take me to the south coast town of Port Hope Simpson to visit
a rural area, isolation was not a factor at all. We seemed to have everything we needed and the town was more blessed than most when it came to recreation facilities, employment, schools and a fully functional hospital. The feeling of isolation was never a part of my growing up.
I was so impressed with Port Hope Simpson on that first trip. That little town of less than 1,000 people, in my opinion, had everything it needed.
My personal life and professional life would end up woven with Labrador. Today, Labrador is at the very heart of my existence.
my girlfriend’s family. She would become my wife in 1993 and we have since visited many times over the last 32 years and the changes have been massive, to say the least.
I may add that not all those changes were positive, in my humble and maybe selfish opinion. There’s no doubt that connecting the South Coast communities to the rest of Labrador is definitely positive progress, but I cannot help but remember my first impression of that region when I first visited.
In 1992, the only way into Port Hope Simpson was by plane or boat. This was so foreign to me. While growing up in Baie Verte was certainly nothing less than the true meaning of
On one occasion we took the coastal boat M.V. Northern Ranger from St. Anthony to Port Hope Simpson, stopping in Red Bay, Mary’s Harbour and St. Lewis (Fox Harbour). Once my brothers-in-law heard that we were coming by boat, you know it, we had a full pickup load of ‘stuff’ to take with us, everything from new toilets to furniture and supplies. The only thing we didn’t have room for was some clapboard and windows.
I confess that years later when I took my last flight out of Port Hope Simpson to St. Anthony –flying over the new gravel road winding its way from Red Bay –I felt strong, bittersweet feelings. I know the local people wanted this link, but I felt a sad, albeit self-
ish thought. I wondered how the road could possibly have a negative impact on the way of life that I was so intrigued by.
That’s as much as I will share about those feelings. We all know now that the road, today completely paved, extends all the way to Happy ValleyGoose Bay.
My family lived in Happy ValleyGoose Bay from mid 2009 to mid 2011. We saw the road connected, we were at Kinsmen Park when the Olympic Torch was in town in 2010, and were fortunate to attend the Labrador Winter Games, events that we still reflect on to this day.
We saw first-hand the excitement when the road from Cartwright Junction was finally connected to Goose Bay. We witnessed the economic buzz as the region was on the cusp of the Muskrat Falls project nearing sanctioning. All of these things made the stay in Labrador memorable, but nothing compared to the people I’d meet.
Working at the newspaper, The Labradorian, in a way forced me to become immersed in the communities right off the bat. My involvement in the school council, the Rotary
Club, church and golf groups led to strong and lasting friendships.
That said, I was often the target of controversial conversation when people learned I was from the “island.” Don’t get me wrong, anyone who knows me is aware that a good banter session keeps me ticking, so I was never offended at all.
As a matter of fact, it gave me a clear chance to discuss the fact that I always considered myself a “Newfoundlander and Labradorian,” literally. I was proud to say that my entire life. Of course, being married to someone from Labrador gave me an edge, for sure.
I was reminded many times when we moved from Happy Valley-Goose Bay to Paradise in 2011 to never forget Labrador. I said it then and I will say it now, how could I ever forget Labrador? It’s not just a place or another rural town. It’s an experience, one that engrained a true love of Labrador in my heart.
I am proud to say that Labrador’s been a very important part of my life and always will be. I cherish its culture, heritage and, most importantly, the people.
God guard thee Newfoundland… and Labrador.
BY K. ERIN SNOW
Growing up
as a Spotted Islander, I was as wild as the grass, thick as the mud, free as the wind, and perhaps a little more like a pirate than a princess. But I wouldn’t change it if I could.
Coming from a broken home has been challenging, but I was fortunate to spend my early childhood during the summer months on Spotted Island, Labrador with my father, who was a fisherman.
Every June, from the age of two until I was around twelve years old, when school ended my Mother would ship me off with my Dad, an Elson, for the summer. As a young girl and daughter of a fisherman, I spent ten years of my life during the summer months on Spotted Island learning and understanding the traditional ways of our people, the fishery, food and the land. These are some of the happiest and most cherished memories of my childhood.
Part of what makes me who I am today is my time on Spotted Island. I truly loved the ocean, being out in a boat with the sun glistening off the water while watching the fish and whales jumping. How times have changed. Today, what was once a tra-
ditional way of life feels like a luxury. Under the wing of my Dad, Nan, family and friendly Spotted Island folks, I learned to appreciate and respect our heritage, culture and traditional ways. Through many summers on the island, I created memories with friends, family and fellow Spotted Islanders and went on many adventures. Some of my most treasured childhood memories –in the 1980s –involved building and playing with wooden boats, along with community events and games.
I was always fascinated with what was under the water, so much so in fact that I’m in the process of writing my first children’s book, What Do You See Under the Sea From A-Z.
As a child I loved picking mussels, lugging drinking water in buckets from the brook, unsuccessfully making ice cream, going for picnics and boat rides, picking berries, fishing sculpins off the stage wharf, jigging, and family boilups. Let me tell you, there’s nothing like
Above: Spotted Island today.
Right: A trip to the island some years ago.
toast and tea on a stove or campfire.
Spotted Island was a quiet and peaceful place where I developed the freedom to let my imagination wander freely and allow my storytelling creativity to grow. Looking back, growing up on an island with limited communication and one telephone on the entire island was certainly a unique upbringing.
I’m fortunate to understand my own culture and to have seen history in the making. I watched the fishing industry grow while Spotted Islanders struggled to keep up with the latest developments in emerging fishing vessels and technologies. The Spotted Islanders who once fished for food and employment to sustain their livelihood struggled in many ways, but always remained grateful and humble. Spotted Island fishermen did what they could to adapt, but there
were many barriers, namely access to capital and finances. History shows that in the 1990s, fishing stocks went lower and lower, while the longliners were rolling in our area from the island portion of the province, filling their large boats to the gunnels. Then came the cod moratorium restrictions and gone were the days for the Spotted Island fisherman of traditional fishing and sustainability. For some, including my Dad, it was the only way they knew. Some returned to school, some did not. I cannot help but wonder if the cod moratorium was ever lifted, how many people from Spotted or living in Labrador would still have the resources and means to fish? Or know how? Generations of lost skills and for some, lost souls perhaps, searching for their futures.
Well, let me tell you about the souls I have known from Spotted Island.
They were not empowered or privileged. They were captains of their ships. In a world where empathy seems to be lost, you can be sure that the friendly, kind and gentle souls of Spotted Islanders will put a smile on your face. They’ll share a joke or kind word and spread joy. I’d argue that being a Spotted Islander gives a person gratitude and warmth in their heart and soul.
It’s a place like no other, an island off the South Coast of Labrador nestled away from the chaos of city life, surrounded by the Labrador Sea and Atlantic Ocean. It’s a place that once stood as a World War station with little to no written Indigenous histories. It’s a small and special fishing village, a place many Southern Labrador Indigenous people called home.
There’s a serenity to be had, respected and secured on Spotted Island. There are treasures for the soul and peaceful views with peaceful people.
As my Dad would often say, “They’re from Spotted.” So in future, when you hear this you too
will know Spotted Islanders are some of the kindest, funniest, most genuine, good-hearted people you can meet. And being able to go to Spotted Island is one of the best treasures someone can ever have.
