Finding a Muse Along Newfoundland’s Coast

Open Hall, Red Cliff, and Tickle Cove

These photographs come from some of my earliest explorations of Newfoundland with a camera in hand. They are not my strongest technical work, and in many ways they reflect a photographer still learning how to truly see.

But they capture something equally important.

A moment in time.

These images represent the beginning of a relationship with place. The beginning of long drives down unfamiliar roads, stopping at every coastline and abandoned structure that caught my eye. The beginning of understanding that photography, for me, was never just about taking pictures.

It was about atmosphere. Memory. Connection. The feeling certain places leave behind long after you’ve gone home.

Some places entertain you.

Some places stay with you.

This stretch of coastline did both.

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Open Hall

A Reflection of the Past

When I was first dipping my toes into photography, I began exploring my own “back yard,” the Bonavista Peninsula. One day, almost by chance, I decided to take the turn off Route 235 and explore the small communities tucked away there.

The first stop was Open Hall.

Dominating the community is Sacred Heart Catholic Church, a structure that almost feels too large, too regal for a place of that size. But in many ways it speaks volumes about the importance the church once held in Newfoundland outports. Rising above the landscape, it immediately caught my attention.

I was fortunate enough to photograph the interior of the church as well, and it was just as incredible inside as it was from the outside. Quiet, atmospheric, and filled with character, it felt like stepping into another time.

Open Hall itself was dotted with old and abandoned homes, subject matter I was leaning heavily into at that point in my photographic journey, so I was immediately pulled in. Every weathered building felt like it had a story attached to it.

The real treasure for me, though, was an old abandoned house set back from the road, sitting alongside a rusting vehicle slowly being reclaimed by the elements. It was exactly the kind of scene that fascinated me at the time, and I remember feeling thrilled to have discovered this place.

These photographs are early in my journey and certainly not my strongest work, but they are important to me. They represent evolution. Exploration. The beginning of discovering not just photography, but the kinds of places that would ultimately inspire me most.

At the time, I truly didn’t think the experience could get much better.

Then I rounded the hill into Red Cliff.

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Red Cliff

Like Stepping Into Another World

Leaving Open Hall, I truly did not think it could get much better.

Then I crested the hill into Red Cliff.

I will never forget that first view. Jagged ridges rising from the sea like the spine of some ancient dragon. Sharp fractured rock stretching along the coastline in shapes that almost did not feel real.

Below them sat clusters of old homes huddled together against the violence of winter, leaning into one another as though they had spent generations trying to protect each other from the storms.

Even the old gas pump felt surreal to me. Sitting there weathered by time, it looked less like a forgotten roadside object and more like some ancient artifact left behind from another era. Out of place, almost magical.

Everything about Red Cliff felt heightened. Wilder. Mythic.

If Open Hall felt like a reflection of our past, Red Cliff felt like stepping through a portal into another world.

I remember standing there already thinking about returning. Different seasons. Different weather. Different light. The kind of place you instantly know you have not finished exploring.

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Tickle Cove

Finding a Muse

Tickle Cove changed everything.

Moving farther down the highway, I admit I was already a little giddy. Open Hall and Red Cliff had felt like revelations. My mind was racing with thoughts of future visits, different seasons, different weather, different light.

Then Tickle Cove came into view, and something shifted permanently.

Have you ever visited a place and instantly felt connected to it? Somewhere that feels familiar even though you know you’ve never been there before?

That’s Tickle Cove for me.

From the astounding sea arch, to the old crumbling homes, to the graveyard slowly being reclaimed by the earth, its white headstones standing like beacons across the cove... everything about this place feels different. The geology feels like a continuation of Red Cliff, but larger, wilder, almost mythic in scale.

I often talk about sitting beside the sea arch with my camera laid at my side, not even taking photos for stretches at a time, just feeling transported somewhere else entirely. I always say the veil feels thin there. Like I wouldn’t be surprised to see fairies appear among the rocks, or some ancient giant rise from the sea itself.

 

“Magical” is an overused word, but honestly, it’s the one that fits best.

I return here often. I feel connected to this place in a way that’s difficult to explain. One of my photographs now stands as the welcome sign for the community, and somehow that feels exactly right.

I never imagined those early explorations would change my brain chemistry so completely. I never expected a place like this to become my muse.

But it did.

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Go Explore

Go explore.

Find your place.

Find your muse.