Twillingate’s fame as one of the best places on Earth to spot icebergs plunged into the deep freeze during COVID
It’s April on the northeastern coast of Newfoundland, and Chris Scott is having trouble containing his enthusiasm. In his mind’s eye, the proprietor of Twillingate Adventure Tours can see an iceberg the size of the small office building heave into view from his boat dock. When it actually does appear, he’ll be in business again, taking tourists out to gawk at something big enough to sink the Titanic. “Coming off the past two years of pandemic lockdowns, I could have questioned what I do, really,” he says. “But this year, I think I have the highest number of pre-bookings ever.”
For Scott, unrestricted travel has returned in the nick of time to Twillingate—one of the world’s premier locations for iceberg-spotters, where 2,200 permanent residents increasingly rely on tourism, not fishing, for their economic well-being. So have assurances from experts that after two years of no shows, at least a few icy behemoths will ply the North Atlantic this season.
“According to Marcus Hirschenberg and Michael Hicks of the International Ice Patrol, which monitors the movement of icebergs in the north Atlantic Ocean, 20 icebergs have drifted past the latitude of 48 degrees south, roughly the same latitude as St. John’s, and icebergs have already been spotted in Bonavista, Mobile and other locations this month,” the CBC reported on April 22.
“It’s all welcome,” says Twillingate born-and-raised Scott, “I think it’s going to pay off.” Even so, if the COVID era provides any lesson it’s that nothing ever goes according to prediction, let alone plan. “The last two years have been a struggle for us,” he says. “It’s hard for your business to do well when you’re not allowed to have your normal customers. We were happy to get something to survive.”
To others here, that raises another question: Are they sure they want to put too many of their economic development eggs in one basket? If anything, the past two years have made them less desperate and more skeptical of anything that smacks of economic precarity in an area that has, for decades, seen industries fall, businesses shut, and people leave.
Julian Earle Photography
Where’s the ice?
It’s quite hard to forget this breathless account of endless promise published by the online magazine phys.org in 2019: “While the rest of the world nervously eyes the impact of global warming, the calving of Greenland’s glaciers—the breaking off of ice chunks from its edge—has breathed new life into the remote coastal villages of Newfoundland and Labrador. Once a hub of cod fishing, the province now plays host to hordes of amateur photographers and tourists hoping to capture the epic ice melt for posterity. As winter ends, iceberg spotting begins.”
Three months later, the bergs stopped coming.
It’s also hard to ignore distinctly sober warnings from the likes of Michael Hicks at the International Ice Patrol, who tempered his otherwise encouraging statements to the CBC with the following caveat: “Normally by this time, the end of April actually, we have near 350 icebergs that have drifted south of that latitude. We’re not going to see that many more this year. And while the ice conditions have been somewhat supportive of a larger number of icebergs—particularly along the northern Labrador coast, where sea ice has actually been above normal—south of, say, Goose Bay, the sea ice coverage has been below normal.”
The bottom line, says Twillingate mayor Justin Blackyer, “Our icebergs are great…no question. But we’re trying to let people know that we’re more than a bunch of icebergs. Tourism right now is the main industry here. We still have a fishery and companies that still have fishing boats. But our biggest push is keeping our main tourism industry alive by extending it beyond the spring and into the summer and even into the winter months. How do we extend it to six months? How do we promote that? How do we market that? The icebergs are not going to keep us going forever. We have a lot of other things to offer here.”
Onshore attractions
In fact, Twillingate’s stunning beauty is not merely an offshore phenomenon. It’s also blessed with extensive, glacially carved coastlines where 30 kilometres of walking trails meander around deep lakes, balsa fir and black spruce forests, and up and over steep, spectacular lookoffs. In 2020, the town’s Trails Regional Committee received funding from the Atlantic Canada Opportunities Agency and the provincial department of tourism, culture, industry and innovation to enhance and expand the network and turn it into a “world-class” destination for hikers.
What’s more, over the past 20 years, Twillingate has worked with the provincial government to recognize and protect its build landscape, conferring “heritage” status of many local buildings. In 1998, the Heritage Foundation of Newfoundland and Labrador completed a heritage inventory for the Twillingate Islands of several pre-1920 structures with cultural significance. Currently, the town maintains 19 such properties, all of which regularly draw tourists, as do 27 registered archaeological sites significant to the many European, Maritime Archaic, and Paleoeskimo cultures that have been significant to the in the area.
“To me, this is the definition of a Newfoundland ‘bay’ community,” Blackyer says. “It’s sometimes hard to explain to a visitor, but you know what I mean if you’re living here. We’ve got the bay, the coves, the boats, and the properties are well maintained. There’s not something like littering or garbage anywhere. It’s just a beautiful, scenic, coastal community. Once you are here for any period of time, you understand. It’s really got the full package.”
In fact, the town’s most recent vision statement, approved just last year, says as much. “In 2030, Twillingate will be a community where the year-round population and economy are growing and diverse, and where every person, no matter their age, ability, or income, are able to access the services and amenities they need,” it declares. “Residents will continue to feel safe and secure, and a strong sense of community will prevail. The Town will be proactive in protecting the community’s heritage, and adapting to the impacts of climate change.”
Acknowledging a darker history
Fair enough, though this wouldn’t be the first time Twillingate has attempted to diversify its economy—and not always benignly. The town’s own municipal plan, which contains
the vision statement, also spins a woeful tale of its early European settlement.
“What is now known as the Town of Twillingate was first inhabited by the Maritime Archaic peoples around 1s500 BCE,” it says. “The Beothuk First Nation eventually moved into the area, with a population of up to 2,000 residents, organized in bands of up to 50. [They] remained the sole inhabitants of the area until the 1700s, when English colonists arrived.”
Eventually, the community grew to 2,348 residents including clergy, doctors, mechanics, fishermen and merchants who occupied the coastline and built a port with 400 fishing and 40 sealing boats. They established farms and raised crops. They traded with Spain and Portugal. And they squeezed out the Beothuk peoples.
“In response to this violent colonization of their territory, the Beothuk largely refused to communicate or trade with European immigrants,” the plan reports. “Violence, loss of traditional resources and the exposure to European diseases essentially exterminated the Beothuk First Nation within 200 years of contact.”
Subsequent social and economic wounds, it’s safe to say, were largely self-inflicted. According to the plan, “Twillingate was deep in decline by the 1930s. Attempts to diversify the economy were largely unsuccessful, and the Crow Head copper mine, which opened in 1913, lasted only a few years. Twillingate was incorporated as a Town in 1965, and a causeway was built in 1973, connecting the isolated villages to mainland Newfoundland. When the cod fisheries collapsed in the 1990s, many young families moved out, and Twillingate’s population dropped again. In 1992, the towns of Twillingate, Durrell, and Bayview amalgamated into the Town of Twillingate.”
All of which may be the worst piece of town propaganda ever produced. Still, Twillingate seems to understand that it can’t afford to pull any punches about its past. Facing the effects of its legacy is a fundamental part of building its future, starting with somehow reversing or mitigating the impact of decades of perennial unemployment and demographic damage.
Statistics Canada says that between 1991 and 2016, the town saw an average yearly population decrease of 1.3 per cent. Over the same period, the province’s population overall grew by a meagre, though still measurable one per cent. Meanwhile, apart from seasonal tourism, Twillingate’s year-round employment base is heavily dependent on health care and social services (22 per cent), followed by construction (14.5 per cent); manufacturing (11 per cent); retail (9.5 per cent); and agriculture, forestry, fishing and hunting (seven percent). It’s shrimp plant shut down in 2018, throwing 100 out of work in a full-time labour market of barely 1,000 individuals.
The plan afoot
According to the municipal plan, seasonality exacerbates extremes. “Based on employment insurance claims, Statistics Canada has also identified manufacturing and trades as seasonally fluctuating,” it notes. “Likely reflective of this, the town struggles with unemployment, with [a] rate of 26.5 per cent, compared with a provincial rate of 15.6 per cent.”
Exactly how—and how well—Twillingate tackles these challenges is, of course, the proof in the economic development pudding. But there are a few bright spots. The town does host more than 50 accommodations and 15 restaurants, which testify to the strength of its tourism economy. And the goals are, at least, articulated: Grow the number of available housing units and housing options; enable a healthier community; protect environmentally sensitive and significant areas; support improved reliability and capacity of municipal services; preserve and enhance the community’s character and identity; develop and reinforce community capacity and accountability; and, above all, expand local economic opportunities.
As the plan reminds: “There has been a shift in Twillingate’s key economy in recent years. The once prominent fishing industry has given way to the growing tourism industry, although fishing remains an important part of the community. Visitors are drawn from around the world to take in the natural beauty and culture that Twillingate has to offer. However, [there is a] need to prevent putting all the town’s eggs in one [economic] basket.”
Ultimately, for Blackyer—the town’s high school principal who was born and raised here, left for school and work, and came back with his wife and kids—it’s about fulfilling the distinctly human potential that’s increasingly available. “I am biased. I’m one of those guys who moved away in 2001 and never, ever gave up on Twillingate. A lot of the kids who grew up in my generation are back in Twillingate. You start to realize that you want your kids to experience what you did. It’s not going to be the same economic possibilities, but I am seeing people come in with different careers.”
People like Jonathan Galgay, perhaps. A career public servant who has worked across Newfoundland and Labrador, he spent a rewarding seven-month term serving as Twillingate’s Chief Administrative Officer last year. He’s since moved on to a posting in a nearby community, but he says fondly: “I’ve never worked with such dedicated, passionate people in all my career. They essentially keep [the town] going. And they do continue to do so today, even while they’re faced with challenges. It’s nice to see young families returning … and I think you’ll see more of that.”
As for Chris Scott, he loves the bergs and the business they promise. Who, in his position, wouldn’t? In high season, which is right about now, he runs tours out to the ice in his 40-foot, rigid-hull zodiac, and his 60-foot marine vessel Daybreak. But he also agrees that Twillingate is much more than the sum of its dramatic, titanic frozen parts. He also runs a heritage inn in town. “I’m glad I stick with all of it,” he says.
That’s as good a motto as any for the rest of Twillingate’s citizens who are, like Scott, perfectly comfortable tempering their optimism with a healthy dose of practical wisdom: See things as they are, take things as they come, and make the most of what lies just beneath the surface. And, oh yes, don’t forget about eggs in baskets.
Stick with itz, indeed.