New on Sidetracked:

A Conversation in the Fog

Looking for Connections in Newfoundland
Story by Hannes Becker // Written by Alex Roddie
Photography by Hannes Becker and Frauke Hameister

‘Look,’ Frauki said from the front passenger seat beside me.
‘There’s someone walking towards us.
Maybe this is our chance!’


My first thought was that he looked like a fisherman, but pretty much everyone there did. Rubber boots, lined face, coarse beard, friendly eyes. Perhaps 75 years old. He was carrying something or other in one hand, and he strode straight towards us – purposefully, not exactly hurrying but certainly not pausing to take in the delicate beauty of the fog-shrouded shoreline either.

‘Where are you folks from?’ he asked; ‘Germany,’ I replied. His eyebrows shot up at that. ‘Long way to come. You looking for the icebergs? So many of them this year.’ He raised a hand for us to see what he was holding – several potatoes. I noticed that his hands were caked in mud. ‘Just picking up some potatoes. You have fun – I have my lunch now!’

And with a cheery wave, the man strode back in the direction he had come, leaving no opportunity for a longer chat. ‘He was so nice,’ Frauki said. ‘And busy,’ I added.

It was the best summer for icebergs here in Newfoundland for many years – people kept telling us this. Frauki and I had come to try to get closer to the people who lived there, immerse ourselves in the culture – earn our way a little deeper than tourists with cameras. But nothing was quite what we thought it would be.

People were friendly – perhaps the friendliest I’ve met anywhere – but they were also busy. As we travelled from one isolated fishing village to another, constantly with one eye on the sea looking for icebergs, we found a culture that felt surprisingly European at times. Irish flags puzzled me – until I realised that Newfoundland is closer to Ireland than it is to parts of Canada.

Meanwhile, the icebergs remained elusive. Ghosts drifting past in the fog and rain. When they peeked through, they presented themselves as bright, friendly presences – but only for a moment or two, defying conversation. The icebergs had somewhere to be too.

For two weeks we had been looking for a glimpse beneath the surface – for some unique story or composition or light or insight. Something to let us in. Still the fog shrouded all. Still the icebergs sailed past in the gloom, offering us little more than cheery waves. Shrouded in mist and fog, only small fragments and silhouettes peeking out every now and then. I love fog in moderation – it can add a mood of shy mystery, and I had learnt to appreciate the subtle details. Be aware of the things you notice, I found myself thinking. Nobody else sees them. But, despite this gift, I felt that Newfoundland was hiding a great part of itself from us.

One night, as I stood waiting on the shore, I began to sense that things might be changing. There was a certain unique quality to the light, as if a soft radiance were starting to pierce the mists.

And then it happened. The veil lifted. Fog thinned to vapour and then shreds, tendrils, to reveal stately hulks of ice wandering across the sea, dappled with gold cast from above by the setting sun. It was the first sunset we’d seen in our whole time in Newfoundland, and it hit like a firework going off in my mind. Elation pulsed through me. Frauki gasped. The burning orb hung directly above the pyramidal spike of an iceberg, poised there like a mountain of ice placed by some great sculptor. The greatest: Nature herself. We have been patient, we said to Nature. The wings do not grow of their own accord, nature replied. If the moment is right, one moment can contain a lifetime.

The sun dropped below the forested brow of a hillside and was gone, vanquishing the glittering sparkle-shadow of the iceberg itself on the surface of the water. Slowly, deliciously, the colours melted back to shades of blue once again. The conversation we had been looking for had taken place at last, but it was at once simpler and more profound than I ever expected.

First published in Volume 28


Story and photography by Hannes Becker // @hannes_becker
Photography by Frauke Hameister // @frauki
Written by Alex Roddie // @alex_roddie

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