dsc06133-1280x853Dotti is Australian and ended up in Twillingate accepting a job waitressing at the local pub and in exchange for free lodgings at the hostel, she cleans it as a volunteer. A friend of hers turned up before and we knew it, a couple of hours blew passed hitting the road shy of mid-day! As they sat there eating a fried egg on toast that had vegemite spread … we conversed.


Before the cause-way was constructed back in 1973, leaving Twillingate Island was by way of boat and so not many people did. With a population of 2,400, I questioned how finding a partner to wed happened. Yep, just like the King & Queens of yesteryear where they had to marry family to keep the blood line strong, so too did the folk around here. Except over time from marrying brothers and sisters and cuzzies, the blood lines have weakened meaning it’s citizens have the highest Haemaphelia blood conditions in the Province. Heads up West Coasters of New Zealand!

The harbour we could see from the table we were sitting at freezes over. All the fishing vessels get lifted onto dry land so as not to rot and once the natural skating rink starts to melt, pack ice from the Artic floats in. This is when the low scale seal fishery season starts and apparently, seal flipper pie (a welcomed change from the ‘belona’ staple diet over the wintering months) is to die for! Not before we try dying to find a Moose!

The harsh climate gets sadly rewarded with lives lost to the sea conditions here. Somebody knows somebody who has experienced a Dad or Son or Uncle or Nephew who has perished to the abyss of the ocean. Life goes on. Dotti’s friend wouldn’t have it any other way.

It took a bit to get used to the words spoken. The locals here have dropped the “h” from words so “over there” becomes “over tere” and “holy shit” becomes “oly sit.” So every sentence was nearly spoken twice so we could under stand wat was bein said.


Staying a second night was tempting however, we pointed the roller skate for the Bonavista Peninsula (actually, it was the only direction at the start or we too would end up with Sponge Bob Square Pants on the bottom of the Atlantic) and putted across the tandra where another hostel bed was waiting.






Gavin and Martha (young owner/operators of the Skerwink Hostel) had home made chicken broth soup and home made bread waiting for us for supper. What was lovely was them joining us to share in the meal and share conversation about life on this part of the landscape. It was warm. It was homely.



Looking forward to seeing our family in the flesh.  Eat vegemite again too.

Not sure about a fried egg on top toug, tat migt take a bit more tinking.