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That is a question on the minds of many as we come face to face with our mortality. Some seek to preserve their history and legacy through the written word: prose, fact, fiction, and poetry. What is written can never be unwritten, and for generations of writers, putting pen to paper (or digit to key, in today’s case) is as good a way to secure an everlasting thought which will, hopefully, live on generations after we’re gone. Others prefer the oral medium: campfire tales, recitations and songs passed down from generation to generation. This issue of Inside Labrador is dedicated to the art of the story, and the storytellers who pride themselves on keeping tradition, culture and history alive. We profile a group of Newfoundlanders and Labradorians who keep the voices and memories of our province alive through traditional tales, ballads and many medium in between. There’s the Labrador Creative Arts Festival, celebrating 50 years of ingenuity, expression and vibrant collaboration between Labrador’s youth. Then there are the stories of greatness, of tragedy and triumph, loss and gain. Those stories are kept alive by the teller, which we proudly share in every issue. We continue to take pride in serving as a living memory for this province, and we’ll continue to take pride in telling your stories.
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.
Cain’s Quest endurance snowmobile race celebrates its landmark 20th anniversary
BY DILLON COLLINS
A big land needs a big race, and no event has captured public curiosity and need for speed quite like Cain’s Quest. Launched in 2006 in an effort to highlight Labrador as a premier snowmobiling destination, Cain’s Quest endurance race has attracted thousands of viewers and hundreds of participants ahead of its 20th anniversary.
“We wanted to mark the 20th anniversary in a big way, in reflection of the race’s uniqueness, the dedication of our racers, and the support from our communities and sponsors,” said Todd Kent, President and Founder of Cain’s Quest, in a release, outlining what will be the biggest race
yet in both size, but also in total prizes for the field. “This race continues to showcase Labrador as a premier snowmobile and winter destination, along with celebrating our peoples and cultures, and the $125,000 prize purse shows that this event is about more than just competition and
Cain’s Quest Timeline
2006 Start Your Engines
The pilot event featured 15 teams racing from Labrador City to Churchill Falls and back. The 1200 km race set the stage for what would become the largest race of its kind in Canada, attracting three teams from Quebec, 10 from Labrador City/Wabush, one from Goose Bay and one from Forteau/L’anse au Loup in its inaugural year. Interest in the event showed a serious appetite for an event of this kind, with heavy traffic to the Cain’s Quest website from across North America. The stage was set for a continually evolving sporting event that would take the nation by storm.
2009 A Race On The Rise
Registration for Cain’s Quest ballooned a whopping 333% in four years, attracting millions of viewers who tuned in from more than 70 countries worldwide. The event continued to grow in size and scope, community involvement and the winners’ prize purse.
bragging rights; it’s about endurance and teamwork, and we’re excited to recognize that.”
An unparalleled adventure through Northern Canada, Cain’s Quest sees teams of two trek through Labrador day and night in a test of skill, strategy and will. The topography ranges from deep snow and thick woodlands to vast frozen lakes. Teams must cross various checkpoints with mandatory layovers through various communities across Labrador.
Complete with a new board of directors, reintroduction of “Flex Time” and the inclusion of a “Time Differential” checkpoint in Fermont, the race has evolved, shifting gears once again in 2026 to accommodate demand as well as everevolving weather patterns in the region.
“The 2026 board is committed to preserving the history and integrity of Cain’s Quest, while pushing for growth and innovation. Safety, community collaboration, and racer experience remain at the core of this event,” says Kent, explaining that due to safety concerns, the South Coast has been omitted from the 2026 race. “Racer safety is our top priority. This decision was not made lightly, but was
made based on data collected from Environment Canada, the area’s complex weather patterns, and the challenges we have faced in the past. Because of these factors, we believe this is the safest path forward for the 2026 race.”
Downhome’s relationship with the nation’s most extreme endurance snowmobile race dates back to its formative years. Way back in our
2010 Weather Woes
Unseasonably warm temperatures in 2010 resulted in unsafe ice conditions across the region, making the Cain’s Quest route unpassable. For the first time since its inception, with caution and racer safety in mind, the race was postponed until March 2011. Changes in weather patterns have led to route evolutions and cancellations in subsequent years.
2020 Making History
Before the COVID-19 pandemic swept the globe at the dawn of the decade, Cain’s Quest had a year of firsts. Among the highlights were the first two all-female teams, the representation of four countries (Canada, the United States, Finland, and Switzerland) on race day, the addition of the first-ever signature sponsorship with Rio Tinto, and the field of racers filling out in just 18 days after registration. Despite global changes, the race showed no signs of slowing down.
2024 Roaring Back
Following further weather-related postponements, Cain’s Quest was back and better than ever in March 2024. The event saw 32 teams take on the rough and rugged Labrador terrain. Racers covered over 3,000 kilometres and battled extreme weather, with the father and son team of Randy and Sebastian Malleck of Sheshatshiu coming out on top after four and a half days.
12 inside LABRADOR
FALL 2025
November 2007 issue, correspondent Andrew Goldworthy described in detail the palpable energy on race day: “The next morning, the excitement of the event hit a fever pitch. Have you ever witnessed a dog team being held back by their driver? The intensity and eagerness to go is incredible. That’s what a Race Day was like.”
The following year, seasoned racer Gerard Rumbolt, who would win the event alongside partner John Efford, described strategizing for the gruelling race: “You don’t get on a machine and put it through the handlebars. The machines won’t last. You’ve got to try to outsmart your opponents. There’s a fair bit of strategy. You’ve gotta have something up yer sleeve in case you get behind.”
Fast forward a decade to our December 2019 issue, and racer Mark Nui of Natuashish described
the unbridled feeling of tackling Cain’s Quest: “I love the feeling that comes with it, but it could just be the craziness. It’s a sport that I love to do, and it’s a way of life.”
The 2026 Cain’s Quest race will officially start from Tanya Lake, Labrador City, on February 22, 2026. For more information, visit cainsquest.com and follow the race on their official social media, Facebook and Instagram.
Snowden Walters captures the humour and the heart of growing up in Labrador.
BY NICOLA RYAN
Snowden Walters has spent a lifetime drawing.
“I would have to say I was born drawing. Always. Even as a form of communication, my mother used to ask me what I did when I’d be out playing and that, and I’d draw it for her. So I’m told – I don’t even remember that. It’s always been there.”
Recently, Snowden has drawn more than 220 comics in a series titled SculpinTickle, which brings a childhood growing up in 1960s Labrador to life.
“We moved up to Schefferville in 1960, and in ‘62 we moved down to Labrador City. My father was working at IOC,” he explains. “Schefferville was a small mining town. I don’t have a whole lot of memories, of course,
because I was a toddler. But Labrador City was, I don’t know, maybe 20 or 30 houses when we moved there, if that. Our house was a hole in the ground,” he laughs.
The practical realities of life in Labrador City shaped Snowden’s early experiences and shine through in his illustrations.
“We’d walk down and watch our house being constructed. I can remember that. And everything was dirt road then, the pavement came while I was learning to ride a bicycle, and construction and drainage,” he recalls. “We got up to no good, of course. You know, the usual summer stuff. We went to the movies and we
hung out in the playground. We spent a lot of time in the woods, seeing as how we were surrounded by 500 miles of it in any direction. Later on, there were organized sports and stuff like that, but I wasn’t a team sport player, so I didn’t partake a whole lot in that.”
Instead, he skied in the winter, played tennis in the summer, and was always drawing. At the time, Labrador City was a unique place.
“Labrador to me was quite special. Partly because we were kind of an environment unto our own selves –we were a state-of-the-art mining community in the interior of the Ungava Peninsula, which is pretty isolated,” Snowden says. “The Iron Ore Company, back in those days, companies weren’t building camps and hav-
ing people flying in and out; they were building communities, satellite towns. And they provided a lot of the amenities that people would want, like sports and theatre and housing. So that attracted people from all around the world. Like, Lab City Wabush area was cosmopolitan before that was even a thing. I had kids in my class from Jamaica, Korea, the UK, and Central Europe.
“The company got the ball rolling, and once the community was wellestablished, it kind of grew on its own. It was organic. So it was a very interesting place. And yet you had all these Newfoundlanders who were typical Newfoundlanders. Any house that had Newfoundlanders living in it, you could be smelling fried fish and caplin
and everything, and the next-door neighbour might have curry cooking, and you’d go to a potluck, you never knew what you were going to get.”
Now a resident of Maddox Cove, Snowden recalls the Big Land’s long, cold winters.
“Yes, it’s very, very cold, but I would
prefer a Labrador winter over an island winter, or at least what we get here. We started getting snow, serious snow by October, and it stayed on the ground and in the hills until April. Here, around -5, -10, everything is damp and chilly. But in Lab City, I can remember as a kid just hauling on a
ski jacket over my t-shirt and going out in the dead of winter, it’d be like40. But it’s so dry that as long as you’ve got warm clothing, the damp doesn’t get into you. You have a few really, really big snowfalls during the fall, and then it kind of gets really cold and you have blue sky then until springtime.”
While longtime readers might recognize Snowden’s sketches from the pages of the Downhome, the Sculpin Tickle comics were initially intended as a personal archive for his children.
“At the time I started drawing them, my kids were still living at home. And I was thinking, you know, it would be kind of neat if I had something to show my kids,” he explains. “They always hear me talking about growing
up this, growing up that, so I figured I’d maybe start to draw my memories.”
What began as a daily exercise soon accumulated into a substantial body of work: over eight or nine months, Snowden produced more than 220 comics chronicling his early life, which he shares on social media. The decision to post them on Facebook came at his wife’s suggestion – “she’s the business-minded one,” he says.
When asked if he’d ever thought of compiling the comics into a book or collection, Snowden says he’s considering it, but the publishing industry can be difficult to navigate.
“I’m actually compiling it now. I’ve contacted several publishers and have gotten shag-all back from them. But
looking at other avenues,” he says, adding, “I retired last fall. I’m going to say semi-retired cause I’ll probably look for a contract over the winter. My professional training is in naval architecture. I design ships, or parts of ships. Let’s put it this way: so far in publishing I haven’t made enough to cover my costs, and with shipbuilding I raised a family!”
For now, Snowden’s enjoying his semi-retirement and hopes to make it back to Labrador. “My wife and I have a map of Newfoundland and Labrador in our car and we’ve highlighted everywhere we’ve been on the map so far,” he says. “We’ve done one tour of Labrador, but we hope to get
back up there again and do more of the coastal parts. We’d like to do a couple of nights out in Battle Harbour and look at the possibility of getting a boat ride up the coast or something. So, if you know anyone who’s looking to have some ballast aboard.”
Through Sculpin Tickle, Snowden captures the idiosyncrasies of a unique time and place, the experiences that shaped him.
From train rides to blackflies, mischief, school days and summer jobs, Snowden’s comics preserve the humour, warmth, and wonder of growing up in Labrador.
Check out Sculpin Tickle: www.facebook.com/snowdenw
Labrador Life
Catch of the Day
The fishing was good this day at the Gabbro Water Control Structure area near Churchill Falls.
DEBBIE BAILEY Churchill Falls, NL
At the Helm
The name of this fishing boat is ‘Flat Out’.
SHELLY TOOMASHIE
Black Tickle, NL
Frosty Friend
Amelia spends the day at Nana and Papa’s cabin at Demille Lake.
BRENDA HODDER
Labrador City, NL
A Pilot’s Memories of the Big Land
BY TOM GREEN
Years ago, before flying for the Mission, while working for Eastern Provincial Airways of Gander, I did many trips to Labrador delivering the mail. Sometimes I’d fly Beavers or Otters, depending on the mail load, out of Gander for all communities along the Labrador coast.
The routine was to go from Gander to Roddickton for fuel, then on to Forteau, Red Bay, and Camp Island, where I’d throw a letter bag out the window. I’d fly over to get someone out of their house and make another pass to see if they received it.
I don’t know what I would have done if the mailbag had ended up in the water. It was a small island with no place to land a plane. From there it was on to Mary’s Harbour with mail and to refuel, and on to Fox Harbour, Port Hope Simpson, Charlottetown, Norman Bay, Bateau, Black Tickle, Spotted Islands, Paradise River and finally Cartwright.
At each place, I’d drop off the mail and pick up the return. In Cartwright, I would refuel and, afterwards, head straight for Gander, not knowing if I would make it before dark. We were not supposed to fly after dark. If not, I’d overnight somewhere along the way. Sometimes in Mary’s Harbour, I’d stay with Hewlett and Madeline
Acreman, always radioing ahead to Madeline to make a claim for the night to sleep in their comfortable feather-mattress bed. Sometimes there would be two or three pilots, and the first to ask got the bed. Everyone slept well after a hard day’s flying! Occasionally, I would get stuck in Cartwright because of a storm or darkness. One time, I can recall myself in a Beaver and another pilot, Bill Turner, in a Super Cub, were overnighting because of a big nor’easter due in the middle of the night. We stayed at the Grenfell nursing station, where we were well looked after by two nurses, Shelia Cree and Louise Greenfield, and the maintenance man, Albert Bird.
I can recall tying two full drums of 45 gallons of fuel to each wing and the tail to keep the plane from flipping over in the storm on the harbour ice. We took the airplane’s batteries out and stored them in the heat of the furnace room of the nursing station until
Spotted Islands
www.c-and-e-museum.org
Bateau, Black Tickle and Spotted Islands were three places on the coast where you didn’t want to get caught in weather and have to overnight.
the storm was over. We were completely weathered in for two days, during which time the wind was howling at around 100 mph. One couldn’t see a hand in front of you if you went outside.
Eventually, the storm blew itself out, and we ventured down to dig the planes out and get them started, and the engines warmed up. My plane had been blown 180 degrees into the wind when it changed direction, even with six fully loaded oil drums tied to it. Both airplanes, I recall, were halffilled with snow drifting in through the cracks during the storm, but we managed to get them going and slowly warmed up so we could take off and make our way back to Gander.
Spotted Islands had an American military presence built on the island. If you Google Spotted Islands, Lab-
rador, and look closely, you can see a big oil tank installed on the shore near the town. You can also view the remains of the radar site and the concrete foundation that are still there today, with a road built from the town to the site, with the oil line buried along the side of the road.
You can also see where the water supply was from a nearby pond. These sites were all self-contained with everything in them for the winter, or until the ice allowed shipping to get in after the winter.
Bateau, Black Tickle and Spotted Islands were three places on the coast where you didn’t want to get caught in weather and have to overnight. There’s not a tree bigger than your little finger, and it’s right out on the coast itself with little or no shelter at all for airplanes. The people had to
travel long distances for firewood or bring it in by boat during the summer. They worked hard, those people did, from those communities.
I can recall numerous trips flying out of Gander to the Labrador coast delivering the mail for two seasons, and I got to know the coast very well. Great memories for sure, which a lot of people never experienced. And of course, I met many people who became friends to this day.
I quickly found out that the people of the coast would give you a helping hand if you needed it and the shirt off their back if you asked. Wonderful people!
I can remember one spring, after delivering the mail to Bateau, Black Tickle and Spotted Islands, flying south back down the coast. I could see hundreds of thousands of seals as they were being harvested by the sealing
fleet, which was in the area. As I flew past, I could see a bunch of men, 30 or more, walking back to one of the ships, which was about three-quarters of a mile away. They were following a big bunch of seal pelts, which were tied to a long cable being winched back to the ship.
The article that John Russell wrote in InsideLabrador about Alfie Spearing of Mary’s Harbour – I recall him too – and if he was flown to St. Anthony in the mission plane between May of 1966 and May of 1967, I flew him. After that, the Otter CF-MIT was replaced by the Turbo Beaver CFUKK.
It’s difficult to remember everyone’s name, but I do remember this gentleman, Alfie Spearing, after I saw his picture in the Downhome magazine. I can’t remember names, but I never forget a face!
The longest-running children’s festival in Canada hits a milestone anniversary
BY DILLON COLLINS
Theworld has undergone significant changes in the past half-century. Innovations, maturations, technological advancements and societal shifts. We are more connected, but arguably have never been more isolated. It is in these days of TikToks, reels and swipes left and right, when folks need more than ever to get out and touch grass, in which the unifying force of the arts is more valuable than ever before.
Launched in 1975, the Labrador Creative Arts Festival proudly celebrates its milestone 50th anniversary in 2025, owning the distinction of being Canada’s longest-running children’s festival. Its core principles, direct from the source itself, are twofold: to aid in the young people of Labrador, be they Innu, Inuit, Metis, or resident, to know their past and their role in the developing Labrador community, to aid them in becoming active in the preservation of their heritage, as well as arbiters of their future.
Further, the festival aims to provide individuals with an opportunity to come together and share their creative experiences and spread awareness of the varied and composite lifestyles in Labrador.
Co-founder and current co-chairperson Tim Borlase has been involved with the program since its inception, sharing with Downhome that, “Originally, there were two or three things that were unique about Labrador at the time that I got my job.
“We were under a denominational school system. So we would have Catholic schools and Pentecostal schools and integrated schools, which were Protestant. We were in the same towns and we didn’t know each other. We never met the other teachers who were teaching in a different denominational school. We never met those students. And there seemed to be a need to develop a sense of what it is to be a Labradorian. Happy Valley, for example, the Catholic school and the
integrated schools were 100 feet from each other, but we never met each other. So there was a need to share creatively what we felt about being ourselves and how we could share those things by creating an original play, which said something about who we were, who we wanted to be and how we could determine our own identities as we grew up.”
Launching with eight schools from Happy Valley-Goose Bay, Northwest River and Sheshatshiu and featuring 40 short plays and a variety of themes
performed across various locations, the festival has grown and evolved across 50 years. New ideas are embraced, consisting of diverse and multicultural programming across a variety of different genres and media, while never losing sight of the core pillars at its heart.
“I think because it’s centred on young people, and young people are changing and growing up, the festival is ever-changing itself,” Borlase says. “Someone could be in the festival for seven or eight years, doing different
plays at different stages in their life. And every time they perform something, it’s gonna be different. We didn’t predict that, but I think it adds a richness to the notion of the festival, kind of moving forward, and technology has really enhanced that. We have virtual artists now, we have virtual shows, and suddenly, it opens up a whole range of opportunities that weren’t there when we first started.”
Rolling out an eclectic lineup of visiting artists, including children’s entertainer Mark Cameron, Montreal animateur Carloyn Guillet, visual artist Billy Gauthier, Inuit drum dancer and storyteller Stan Nochasak, nature photographer Wayne Broomfield and filmmaker Jennie Williams, among others, the festival includes numerous workshops and community events in music, dance, writing, drama, puppetry, improvisation, visual art, and film, to name a few.
And while much has changed in Labrador, and the means and methods in which young performers create and present their art, the love of the creative process continues across generations.
“There’s still a lot of enthusiasm to do just what we set out to do 50
years ago, to still have young people be the creators. And in some cases, they are the directors of their own shows, in most cases, and oftentimes they turn out to be, after doing it for a number of years, more successful at it than their own teachers, who are just learning, say, how to do a play in their community. So I think it gives power
to young minds that way,” Borlase says, touching on his own personal connection to the event.
“For me, I guess, because it’s been part of my life, I seem to think of it in segments. This reminds me of that particular occasion, or that artist comes to mind when I see something. Now that I’m in Moncton in the win-
tertime, I see something in Moncton and I think, well, we did that in Labrador, or the kids did it 20 years ago ... It’s all a part of an evolution, and I think it’s an important one. And it’s important that people still can make their own decisions about their lives through the arts and grow with it and become more self-sufficient. I believe it has had a positive impact on a lot of young lives. And even now it’s
second and third generation. Grandkids of people who were originally involved in the Arts Festival are now joining it. So you see generations growing together.”
The 50th anniversary of the Labrador Creative Arts Festival takes place from November 24-30. For information, including programming and a detailed history of past events, visit labradorcreativeartsfestival.ca
return of a cherished heirloom over a century in the making
BY DENNIS FLYNN
The
I flick through radio stations in search of something entertaining. Suddenly, I recognize unmistakable notes carried across the airwaves. Unknown singers join in the rising chorus of A. P. Carter’s 1935 version of an older song titled “Will the Circle be Unbroken?” It’s an apt and inspirational accompaniment for the task at hand. I am leaving a cemetery, having helped a once-lost, beautiful heirloom Bible reach the rightful owners. They are located half a continent away, and it has been over a century since the Bible was originally dedicated in memory of their departed family member.
It is a fascinating true story that may never have happened without the kind support of the publisher and sharp-eyed readers of InsideLabrador, which carried the story “The Bible and the Basket” (Spring 2025, Pages 50-53).
To paraphrase, the original article followed Ward and Trudi Mercer of Coley’s Point, Newfoundland and Labrador, who had been gifted a special Bible that was accidentally tossed out when an older church in the area was being torn down many years ago. Though they saved it from being lost forever, the Mercers never considered themselves the book’s owners, but merely custodians and caretakers of what they referred to as “The Lacey Bible.” They sincerely wanted the book to go to any living relatives of the late Josiah Lacey (to whom it had been dedicated and, in whose memory it had been donated to the now vanished church building).
Despite repeated efforts over many years through social media, genealogy websites, local contacts, and even calling folks with the last name ‘Lacey’ throughout the province, they could only get so far.
For those who may not have seen the original story, an inscription page near the front of the Bible told, in flowing handwriting, how Josiah Lacey had been killed in an industrial accident attempting to save his coworkers. The full text read as follows:
Bareneed January 16, 1918
Presented to the Methodist Church. By William and Eliza Lacey. In memory of their beloved son Josiah Lacey born January 18, 1885. Was converted 1910. Was killed by electricity endeavouring to save his fellow workers lives at Boston, Mass. June 25, 1914.
The far-reaching impact of magazines such as Downhome never ceases to amaze me. Within days of the publication of the original story, the grandchild of the man to whom the Bible was dedicated way back in 1918 reached out. The Mercers from Coley’s Point were delighted and graciously gave me the Bible to ship to the mainland for her.
So it came to pass that on a sunny afternoon in March of 2025, the Mercers and I stopped at Josiah Lacey’s grave to take a few informal photos of his Bible with his headstone and to read aloud his dedication page.
In that particular place and position, it seemed appropriate to speak into the calm air of the hillside cemetery a verse from Chapter III of the Book of Ecclesiastes directly from his Bible. That section begins with, “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted.”
It was only when we realized, courtesy of the kindness of strangers on behalf of the Mercers, that it was now the truest season. After approximately 107 years, the Lacey Bible would go to where it belongs: with the descendants of Josiah Lacey living in southern Ontario.
I would later hear that the Bible arrived safely from Josiah’s granddaughter, Mrs. Jean Bell, who shared some of her family tree: “We are delighted with receiving the Bible. My nephew, Gord Lacey, is very excited, as
A dedication in the bible pays tribute to Josiah Lacey who was killed in a workplace accident in 1914
are the other relatives. Even my dad, Josiah Lacey (Jr.) didn’t get to see his father, as he died before my dad was born. Seeing my grandfather’s Bible will be a loving connection. The Bible is subject to many family conversations at this time. The Bible will be treasured.”
Gord Lacey would reach out as well, saying, “I am Jean Bell’s nephew. Wanted to thank you for the family Bible. It is very special to us. Josiah Lacey would be my great-grandfather. His son Josiah “Joe” Lacey, my grandfather, was really close to me.”
Gord also generously went through some family archives and found a vintage black and white studio photo of Josiah Lacey himself. He is resplendent in a three-piece suit and tie with razor-sharp creases ironed in the pant legs, gazing off into eternity.
It is a striking image which helps finally put a face to the man whose remarkable story inspired such interest and effort. So many strangers over such a long time helped to get the Bible home, to close the loop, and finally, in the words of that grand-old hymn, to make the circle unbroken.
Trudi and Ward Mercer visit Josiah’s grave in Bareneed with the Bible
By Gord Follett
Left: It was thrilling to fish schools of Arctic char around Adlavik Bay
Below: Dave Chaisson, left, and Gord, ptarmigan hunting near Lobstick Lake
Where to start… I was asked to submit an outdoor-related piece about my many adventures in The Big Land, but narrowing it down wasn’t easy.
Atlantic salmon and Arctic char fishing at Flowers River, which I’ve done many times? Huge brook trout and Northern pike at Igloo Lake? An absolutely incredible four days of fishing for char, sea-run brook trout and salmon around Adlavik Bay? Ptarmigan hunting and ice fishing in the Lobstick Lake area? A three-day snowmobiling trip from Nain to Goose Bay? What about salmon fishing on the Eagle or Pinware River? Like I said, tough choice.
I’ve written about most of these in the past for the Newfoundland Sportsman magazine, so I wanted to take a slightly different ‘slant’ this time.
When I mentioned this minor dilemma to my wife, her immediate suggestion was to “write just a few paragraphs each on three or four of your trips and focus on some of the more memorable parts.”
Game on! Thanks, Dianne. I knew I married you for more than your looks.
First up would have to be Flowers River, the most northerly scheduled salmon river in Labrador.
It’s been about 25 years since my first adventure with hosts Vince and Jim Burton, the father and son outfitting industry legends for whom I have always held a tremendous amount of respect and still consider good friends today.
It was around 2006-07, and my first “no work, no pressure” excursion to Flowers, following a few trips for
One of many groups of seals Randy Edmunds and I spotted on small icebergs from Makkovik to Adlavik Bay
Sportsman magazine articles and TV shows.
Never had I landed a salmon more than 12 pounds anywhere in the province up to this point, and again, there was no TV camera or pressure, so I approached each day with the utmost relaxation.
On the third or fourth day, I was fishing Max’s Pool – a three-minute steam and the one closest to camp – when I decided to tie on a No. 8 dark wing Blue Charm with red butt, given to me earlier by another guest, Barry Sparkes.
I was casting towards the far bank, throwing the longest line I could manage, when it went tight.
“Got one,” I said casually to guide Carl Mugford.
I had no idea just how large it was, even after the first couple of jumps, until I managed to bring it to more shallow water towards my wonderful guide, who has since passed away.
Gord with a couple of lake trout for the smoker
“You got a dog there, Gord b’y!” Carl exclaimed.
We managed to land this magnificent specimen for a quick measurement before cautiously releasing it: Just under 42 inches, which the salmometer registers at approximately 27 pounds.
Mind you, I was pretty certain the fish wasn’t quite that heavy, but even at 21-22 pounds, I was thrilled and had a new personal best, which still stands today.
In 2011, I visited friends Randy Edmunds and his wife, Lori Dyson, in Makkovik, from where Randy and I steamed to his remote cabin in Adlavik Bay, passing numerous icebergs and sunning seals along the way.
Within 12 hours – seven one day and about five the next – I hooked so many Arctic Char, Atlantic Salmon and sea-run Brook Trout
Flowers River is known for huge Atlantic salmon
my arms and shoulders were tired, which is part of the reason I fished less the second day.
Char fishing in the bay was something new for me, and my level of excitement grew each time the fish “bubbled” 60-80 feet on one side of the boat or another for a couple of minutes, disappeared, then bubbled again from another direction.
Even on spinning gear, char put up an incredible fight and have been known to snap the odd rod and 12pound mono.
The fillets I took home from that trip proved to be quite a treat for family and friends.
Moving west to Churchill Falls, friends Dave Chaisson and Paul Clouter were our hosts in 2005 for five days of ice fishing and ptarmigan hunting, right from their cabin on Lobstick Lake.
While we did catch numerous Lake
Trout, what I remember most –besides the friendships formed – was the partridge hunting part of the trip and how the trained eyes of Labradorians could so easily pick out snowwhite birds against backdrops of snow.
Time after time, Dave – the lead snowmobile rider – would raise his right arm to get us to stop, then point to the birds ahead, to the left or the right. Many times, I couldn’t see them until they started walking away or went to wing.
Talk about having a blast – literally! Partridge feathers everywhere!
I’ve never had a trip to Labrador that I didn’t thoroughly enjoy, and while I’m not sure that at this stage of my life I could handle the cold of the long northern winters, I still recall every memory with a huge smile and a deep respect for those who live there.
Sky Stories
Just Ducky
A beautiful sunrise over Little Wabush Lake. KEITH FITZPATRICK Labrador City, NL
Bird’s Eye View
Drone photo of sunset on Flora Lake, Labrador West.
LIAM VOSMAN via DownhomeLife.com
October skies were amazing in the Big Land. MARLENE COFFEY via DownhomeLife.com
BY JIM MERCER
Sixty years ago, in 1965, Premier Smallwood –ever an opportunist – decided to coerce some money for Newfoundland out of the Churchill Family Fortune in England, by renaming the magnificent Hamilton Falls in Labrador to “Churchill Falls”. Sir Winston Churchill’s son, Randolph, was invited to be the Guest of Honour at the ceremony by the Falls.
I was one of several camera guys that Premier Smallwood arranged to have transported by train and truck ahead of time to the brink of the Falls. It was a desolate place, with no trees and very little vegetation. On arrival, we set up our cameras on their tripods to await Mr. Smallwood’s helicopter, when suddenly it started to rain as a shower approached.
What to do? We put our rain covers over the cameras, but what about ourselves?
“No problem,” I said. “Let’s just take off our clothes, and put them in the now empty camera cases; and when the shower passes, we’ll quickly get dressed.”
So we all stripped down. But before
the shower passed, we heard the thwack, thwack, thwack of a helicopter’s blades. Decisions, decisions; what to do? Retrieve our clothes from the camera cases and miss the dramatic helicopter’s landing, which was the reason for our being there, or, dignity be damned, stand by our cameras. We chose the latter.
As the helicopter landed and its door opened, Premier Smallwood and Mr. Churchill emerged. Upon seeing the tall, skinny, bedraggled, rainsoaked specimens standing by their cameras, Mr. Churchill was heard to mutter, “I say, Premier Smallwood. Do you suppose that these chaps have been up here in the bush a bit too long?”
Downhome History
BERNIE HOWGATE
Kindra Blake photo
In this flashback through our Downhome archives, our September 1994 issue published the fourth 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 fourth excerpt of his journey through Labrador:
February 20: There are some things better left for outsiders to find, and bad ice is one of them. I had been warned about springs, tickles and seal holes, but I never thought a burst pipe would be one of them.
One moment I was walking on firm ice, the next breaking through it. There was no sudden fall, more a slow-motion dive. I wasn’t even frightened; the only thought passing through my mind was one of embarrassment. Who, but a fool, could freeze to death in the middle of Port Hope Simpson? Imagine the headlines, “Toronto man drowns in two feet of water.” I had no matches, no changes of clothes, but luckily for me, I was only a five-minute walk from the Alex Hotel. “Been for a swim, my son?”
What a sight I made. Iced from waist to foot, at -30 degrees Celsius, my clothes had freeze-dried instantly.
I have now been travelling for three weeks and covered nearly 300 km. Every day I saw skidoos. They break up my day and bring with them the inevitable invitation to spend a night, or at the very least, “Do you want a ride?”
Since leaving Red Bay, I had not once put up my tent. Between communities, I took shelter in government cabins. Built at 20 km intervals alongside the groomed skidoo trails, these emergency shelters were always well stocked with wood and varied from the five-star, pots and pans included, emergency rations, sleeping bags and split-level accommodation down to the primitive. They acted as drop-in centres to meet the ‘walking man’ and more often than not, had in them a welcoming committee of smiling faces and a warm fire.
Communities were always announced by the sweet smell of burning wood and once spotted by a chorus of its barking dogs. Every day seemed to be laundry day, and freeze-drying clothes tapered off in all directions in streams of colour. All houses were wood and box-like. The odd one still retained the add-on look and a few more with the picture postcard window and door mouldings painted in vivid green and red. The interior of most was no different than that of a city family with its one to two
children, central heating, and microwaves. But you only had to scratch the surface to find the East Coast’s flipside. To cross their threshold was like entering a time machine. Wood-burning cast-iron stoves were still used for both heating and cooking, black and white televisions constantly crackled, and clothes hung as they fell on the floor. Every room had that lived-in look where you would just as easily see a skidoo stripped for repair on the kitchen floor as baking on its table.
Blood ties on the Labrador coast run deep. In Lodge Bay, nearly all surnames were Pye. In Mary’s Harbour, every other a Rumbolt and in Port Hope Simpson, the Pennys ran everything from the post office-cum-store, to its only hotel. In Charlottetown, the Campbells and Turnbulls were evenly matched, and in Norman’s Bay, all except two were Wards.
I would, on arrival, go straight to the post office, pick up my mail, then check in on my host’s house. Once an invitation was accepted, it was sealed with a drink of tea. Water was always on the boil, and it wouldn’t be long
Bernie’s route in March 1992 originally published in September 1994
before the kitchen table was full with oven-fresh bread and homemade jams. The next ritual would take me into the living room, where the family history was framed in pictures from black and white to colour on all four walls.
Conversations at first were guarded, but once the ice was broken, open and animated. I never once heard sunspot activities, ozone levels or black holes blamed for the inshore fisheries.
“Everything has its season.” If I’d heard that phrase once, I heard it a dozen times. “You can’t just harvest year-round. Fish need time to breed.”
To these people, it was as easy as that – overfishing. Once thriving, these communities are now on the brink of collapse. Here, men still take pride in working with their hands, but for how long was anyone’s guess.
A seaman’s face resembles that of a rocky mountain route map, and with fists like sledgehammers, shaking hands could be a risky business. Imagine here is just a word with little currency, but it’s slowly creeping into the younger generations’ language.
To be ‘cool’ among the young means not to be warm. Fashion has its price, and frostbite is the payment.
In Labrador, women hold the key to its future, and many a well-rounded figure bears witness to this fact. Family life is everything, and here children run free in a wilderness playground second to none. All this could change, but that is still in the future and to a large degree tied to the stocks.
I’ve now come a long way. I’m not treated like an intruder anymore, but as a kindred spirit. Maybe I get it because I am walking, or maybe it’s because I take them as they take me: with a pinch of salt and a little humour.
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)
BY HEBER MCGURK
The MV Alcala. What became of her? Well, I was on her in 1957. As we left Carbonear at 4 pm, we headed for the Labrador with 950 hogsheads of salt, 10 drums of stove oil and 15 drums of gasoline for Battle Harbour. We moved north. When we went through Baccalieu Tickle, the wind was northeast. At 8 am, the engineer said, “Looks like something on the radar.”
We were 6 miles off Cabot Island. The Skipper said, “That’s a schooner.”
William Badcock and Lewis Simms said, “It looks too big for a schooner.”
Bill Badcock ran up by the forecastle, and Lewis stayed by the wheelhouse.
Bill sang out, “Iceberg, hard to starboard, iceberg!”
So Naus Piercey turned the wheel hard to starboard. The Alcala cleared the big berg, but she ran over a spur of ice under the water, which put her starboard rail underwater. When she came clear, we were taking on water. Men manned the pumps, but we couldn’t keep against the water coming in. So the engineer, Burt Power, opened four Briggs and Stratton pumps, which were going to Battle Harbour.
After the pumps got going, Burt said we were holding our own. An SOS was sent out, but the nearest boat was 10 hours away.
Captain Guy Earle said by phone, “Head for the nearest port.”
The Alcala headed for Seldom Come By, where we unloaded salt and some freight. We then headed for Twillingate.
After leaving Twillingate, we headed to Snooks Arm and unloaded more salt and freight, after which we went to Englee and St. Anthony and did the same. Then it was on to Battle Harbour, where all the remaining salt and drums of oil and gas were unloaded.
When the Alcala was empty, she was hauled in stern on between two piers. Drums of fuel were loaded on the starboard side, and tackles were lashed to the top of the mast. This listed the boat, and she was hauled down.
The port side, which was damaged, was then raised out of the water. The broken planks were then covered with canvas and boards. This kept the water from coming in. Then, after repairs and being emptied, she was up above the damage. She left for Day Spring, Nova Scotia, where they repaired her and sent her back to Battle Harbour like a new boat. Then, after loading with 4200 quintals of dry fish and cod liver oil, she left Battle Harbour at 11 pm for Nova Scotia.
Blundon, and he was crying. I said, “What’s wrong, George?”
“We lost her, boy,” he said.
I said, “Not the Mountie’s wife?”
“No. The Alcala. She’s on the shoal called the Ribs,” he said, explaining that everyone was ok.
I ran out by the bunkhouse and rang the bell. Captain Guy Earle sang out, “What’s wrong?”
“The Alcala is on the Ribs,” I explained.
“Keep ringing,” he said. Then Battle Harbour came alive.
Captain Earle got two small schooners, the MV Shortswave and the MV Tweedsmuir and headed for the wreck to see what we could salvage.
The Mountie’s wife, Doris Davis, went on board as a passenger. She was going home to Nova Scotia to have her baby.
I watched the Alcala leave Battle Harbour on a beautiful, calm night and went up to the bunk house. An hour later, I heard someone coming. When the door opened, it was George
The next morning at 5 am, she broke up and drifted off the Ribs. The bottom half, fish and motor oil and all, went to the bottom. Other drums of fuel and cod oil were drifting up and down the coast.
The two smaller schooners towed the floating deck into Tizzard’s Harbour. After some things were taken off, the rest of the deck was towed to Battle Harbour and then scrapped. So ended the beautiful Alcala.
The MV Alcala in Battle Harbour MUN Archives
A gift from overseas keeps the memory of Forteau’s John Dumaresque alive.
BY LESTER GREEN
Editor’s Note: The following is a companion article to the feature “From the Ground Up,” published in the Spring 2025 ‘Inside Labrador.’ The article details how John Dumaresque was tragically killed on September 20, 1944, when two Lancaster bombers collided in mid-air above the skies of Earls Colne, killing all 15 aircrew members.
On May 16, 2025, Gordon Brown, Chair of the Earls Colne Heritage Museum in Essex, England, sent me an email stating that a framed print drawn by local British artist David Smith of the memorial service held on September 20, 2024, was being sent by courier. This gift was to be delivered and displayed at the John Dumaresque Community Centre in Forteau, Labrador, to ensure that John’s memory would live on in his native home. He asked if I would be interested in delivering this gift.
I accepted and contacted Mayor Dean Flynn to initiate the process. He suggested that an appropriate time for presenting the gift would be on August 7, during the opening of the town’s annual Bakeapple Festival. Family members of John Dumaresque, particularly his nephew John (Johnny), would be in attendance to accept the gift on behalf of the town and family.
Forteau
I was looking forward to meeting John Dumaresque’s great-niece, Sheena King, who had helped tell his World War II story, but was now in St. John’s for medical reasons. At the time, I was informed that her dad, Johnny, would be in attendance. Just before our trip began, we received news that Johnny had passed and that his wishes were for the presentation to proceed as planned, and that the family be in attendance.
My wife, Helen, and I began making the arrangements with the St. Barbe’s to Blanc Sablon ferry for the August 6
ing day to ensure that the projector was working for a short video of John Dumaresque’s overseas World War II story and to discuss who would accept the gifts of the framed print and two booklets titled “Fifteen Remembered.”
I was informed that Johnny’s widow, Audrey, would likely attend to accept the booklet on behalf of her daughter, Sheena King.
Approximately 85 guests arrived at the community centre. I was introduced by the mayor following a delightful meal. Briefly, I explained my role in this project and that I felt
crossing. It would provide an opportunity for us to take an extra day to revisit some of the towns in Southern Labrador that we last visited in the late 1990s as well as meet some of the Dumaresque family.
Our first stop in Southern Labrador was on a hill overlooking Forteau, a scenic town nestled in a glaciated Ushaped valley. Bordered by a sandy beach that formed a boundary between the valley and the ocean, the evening skies were slightly overcast. We met with the mayor and other volunteers who were busy preparing the community centre for the opening night of the festival.
A brief meeting was held the follow-
honoured to act as a liaison between the Earls Colne Heritage Society and the town of Forteau. The following message from Gordon Brown was read:
To: The Community of Forteau
On behalf of the Earls Colne Heritage Museum, a small, volunteer-run museum located in Essex, near the east coast of England, I extend my greetings. During the Second World War, the skies over our village were filled with British and American aircraft, and we were also the recipients of German bombing.
On September 20, 1944, a time of relative quiet in our area, tragedy
Forteau
struck. Two Lancaster aircraft from RAF Mildenhall, about 80 kilometres away, collided in poor weather while heading out on an operational mission. They crashed into farmers’ fields just outside our village. Fifteen young men died.
Over the next 80 years, the story of this accident was slowly forgotten. Fortunately, the discovery of a newspaper article decades ago led the museum to research the crash and commit to unveiling a memorial. This memorial was unveiled on September 20, 2024, the 80th anniversary.
The young men who perished came from all over the world: New Zealand, England, Scotland, Wales, and, as we were to discover, from what was then the British Dominion of Labrador.
It was a humbling experience researching their lives, which led us to locate family members, including two sons who attended the unveiling and a daughter in New Zealand, among
Presentation of the framed print which wil be displayed at the entrance of the John Dumaresque
Heritage Centre in Forteau
many others. More than 150 people attended the ceremony, which can be viewed online on our website.
The research into John Anley Dumaresque was particularly interesting and rewarding. It brought us into contact with his great-niece, Sheena, and then with Lester, who helped us understand how John came to be in the UK. Their assistance was invaluable to our research.
Today, you will be unveiling a print of a drawing by David Smith, a local artist who attended the ceremony. He is delighted that his work will be on display in your new centre as a permanent memorial to these men.
We hope your event goes well, and I look forward to the day when I can visit Forteau.
Kind regards, Gordon Brown
After the video presentation, the mayor, along with members of the
Lester Green and Audrey in front of the John A. Dumaresque Town Centre
town council, were invited to unveil the framed print, which would be displayed at the entrance to John Dumaresque’s Town Centre. He also accepted the booklet featuring the stories of the 15 crewmembers, including John Dumaresque.
her home the next evening.
I was gripped with emotion when the mayor invited Audrey to come forward. I could see her struggling to keep her composure as she accepted the booklet on behalf of her husband, her daughter, and Dumaresque’s family. After the ceremony, Audrey and I went outside and stood next to the town sign where our picture was taken. It was then that we finally got to chat, but for those of you familiar with Labrador and the biting black flies this time of year, our conversation was very brief. I was invited to
When I arrived at Audrey’s home, the kitchen table displayed cherished documents belonging to John Dumaresque, which her husband had kept, alongside other information uncovered by Johnny in his research over the years. I was drawn to the counter, where John Dumaresque’s suitcase sat upright. Showing signs of its age and having travelled with him during the war in Scotland, the suitcase had been returned to his parents after their son’s tragic death and was now a treasured family heirloom.
In one of his letters back home, John explains the crossing on the Svend Foyn in the company of Convoy HX.140, a convoy of 110 ships. He notes, “…Say we had a very glorious trip across the Atlantic. Never sighted
a thing, only the British. Guess the Germans were too much afraid of the destroyers which accompanied us. I bet they would put anything belonging to the Germans to the bottom. Ha! Ha!”
Another letter was sent to Raymond and Bessie Flynn, offering optimism that the war would soon be over. John writes: “…Well, Bessie and Raymond, I am in hopes ‘please God’ next year by Xmas we will all be back home again.”
Audrey struggled to control her emotions as she handed me a photo of John in his RAF uniform. Her sister explained that as Johnny lay on his
deathbed, he wanted a photo of his uncle to be placed on the wall of his hospital room, ensuring that he would not forget as he prepared to join his uncle in eternal rest.
As we boarded the ferry back to the island, I reflected on how fate allows us to become friends with individuals that we are instantly drawn to due to circumstance. A series of events that occurred on September 20, 1944, connected the Earls Colne Heritage Museum and the town of Forteau, thanks to the willingness of volunteers, ensuring that the memory of John Dumaresque will be forever remembered.
John Dumaresque’s suitcase and letters
Wild at Heart
Woodland Watcher
A beautiful great horned owl in her element.
KEITH
FITZPATRICK Labrador City, NL
Preserving voices, memories, and traditions across Newfoundland and Labrador
BY PAM PARDY
Karen Carroll, with St. John’s Storytelling, says preserving the artform across Newfoundland and Labrador is essential. “Recitations, traditional tales, ballads, poetry, throat singing –there are so many ways to tell a story,” she explains.
Karen’s passion for preserving storytelling came naturally. “I just felt the calling to act before the art was lost,” she says.
St. John’s Storytelling grew out of the Folk Arts Society, founded by a core group determined to preserve the province’s oral traditions. “While we’re based in St. John’s, we’ve always aimed to represent stories from across the province. We’ve been able to do that through our large network of wonderful storytellers,” Karen notes.
Stories, she adds, “exist in all kinds of nooks and crannies throughout Newfoundland and Labrador.” One fellow member, Dave Paddon, was born and raised in Labrador and is deeply dedicated to preserving its unique stories.
As part of his travels, Dave began recording elders, creating what became the “In Our Time” video series. “He’d capture conversations and tales from their childhood –stories of how things were when they were growing up,” Karen says. “These became an important part of our annual storytelling festival.”
This year’s St. John’s Storytelling Festival runs October 14-19, 2025, and will feature master boatbuilder Joe Goudie, sharing stories of his life and work in Labrador. “Most of these are Indigenous stories, passed down through generations,” says Karen. “They’re powerful pieces of history, memory, and identity.”
The “In Our Time” project soon grew into “In My Time,” a YouTube series making Labrador stories accessible to everyone.
Karen’s love of storytelling is rooted in family. “Like many of us, I grew up with my mother and grandmother sharing stories of life long ago. I was always fascinated by their memories,” she says.
“Everywhere I go now, I find myself listening for the story behind a place, a person, or an experience.”
And in Newfoundland and Labrador, she adds, there’s no shortage.
“Newfoundlanders, we’re natural storytellers. Everywhere you go, the stories you hear aren’t necessarily about big adventures –they’re about ingenuity, survival, community, and building a life in this place.”
Recording those tales adds another dimension. “Part of the beauty of “In My Time” is you see people in their own environment, telling stories of their childhood, their parents’ lives, and their communities –some of which no longer exist,” Karen says.
“Once Churchill Falls was built, once
communities were moved, once sea ice began to recede, so much changed. Without Dave capturing those memories, many would be lost forever.”
For Dave, it’s a deeply personal project.
“I’m from Northwest River in central Labrador. I grew up with some of the people in these stories,” he says. “Later in life, I realized how important it was to record them. Some are anecdotes; others are about traditional skills, like making baskets from grass. That craft meant income and survival for families.”
Hunting and trapping were everyday parts of life, too. “It never occurred to me as a boy just how important these stories were,” Dave reflects. “There’s a real satisfaction in
Northwest River native Dave Paddon
preserving them. Life was different then, and hearing about it makes you appreciate what people went through.”
Some memories are strikingly vivid. Dave recalls a post–World War II plane crash near Northwest River.
“Medicine vials washed up on the beach, and I was one of the youngsters
who picked them up. I’ve always wondered what others remembered from that time.”
For both Karen and Dave, the work is about more than nostalgia –it’s about safeguarding cultural heritage.
“Storytelling is an art,” Karen says. “And capturing it for others? That’s our honour.”
photo finish
Take Flight
A juvenile eagle stretches its wings wide. TIM COLLINS Labrador City, NL
