The moment of truth had arrived. Not the result of downing an uncounted number of Jager shots; nor the facing of a mildly enraged bull. No, those pale in comparison. With camera in hand and way too many rolls of film, I venture out to start what I came up here for… taking photographs. But, as I practice my personal conceit of not taking pictures I’ve seen before, I’m faced with a land like I’ve never seen before.

It was not a “dark and stormy night.” It was a cloudy day: the first of many and the type of which I grew quite fond. Cloudy in Newfoundland was not the boring pale grey skies I was accustomed to. Oh, no. These were skies with intent. In a land with so much character, defined largely by the sea, these skies had their own opinion. Shooting in black and white, I came to the realization that here was a brand new palette. Oh yes, this is going to be fun. My real education in Newfoundland was about to begin and it would open my eyes.

Earlier I wrote of the isolation I sought to portray and I found it. But looking back, I came to realize I was imposing my own projection of that onto the landscape. It didn’t need my help. In doing so, it took me quite some time to realize that I was missing the real story here. Really, quite some time. But I pressed on…without a license and without a clue.