These family cabins held decades of memories. The Chance Harbour wildfire destroyed them within days
Some residents chose to stay back and fight the flames themselves
Broken glass crunches under Marguerite Pike's green rubber boots, as she walks through a pile of ash-covered debris.
She bends down and picks up a couple of glass plates that have melted together. Beside her is the blackened, twisted metal frame of what used to be a bathtub.
This is the ruins of Pike's happy place — the cabin she owned with her husband, Ken, for over 30 years. It was destroyed by the Chance Harbour wildfire, which was burning out of control on Newfoundland's Bonavista Peninsula for nearly two weeks.
"I choose not to think about it," said Pike, as she stands on her wooden dock holding a large, framed photograph of her cabin before it was wrecked by the flames.
"That's how bad it is. That you don't think about it at all."
The wildfire, which began in the Chance Harbour area on July 14, has burned an estimated 1,820 hectares of land over the last two weeks, according to the provincial wildfire dashboard. As of Monday, it's labelled on the dashboard as under control.
Residents estimate at least 40 cabins have been lost in the Chance Harbour wildfire, mostly in the small inlets of Warrick's Cove, Pudding Cove and Deer Island Tickle along the Bonavista Bay. The people with cabins in these coves describe the area as a tight-knit community that feels more like family.
While many cabins in the area are people's summer getaways, Pike says she and her husband spent half of the year at their place in Warrick's Cove, including on holidays such as New Year's and Christmas Day.
Fishing with the grandkids and family cookouts are moments Pike reflects on fondly as she stands on her dock. But she can't point to a favourite memory.
"Every day was a memory," she said.
Decades of hard work destroyed
Ryan Pitts guides his boat along calm waters on a coast he knows like the back of his hand.
Pitts has lived on the Bonavista Peninsula his whole life. He docks his boat at a wharf in Canning's Cove, the community he was born in and where his parents still live. It takes about an hour and 15 minutes to drive his boat from that wharf to the heart of cabin country.
Ever since the fire broke out, he's made that journey in his boat — aptly named the "Moral Support" — nearly every day, braving the flames and thick smoke to help people salvage what they can from their properties.
During his journeys, Pitts has also been capturing the destruction on his cellphone, sending videos and pictures to friends to update them on the status of their cabins. He also shares what he sees on social media, scenes he describes as looking like a war zone.
He opens his phone and clicks on a video that shows thick plumes of black smoke billowing into the sky and huge flames quickly eating up rows of evergreen trees.
"I just started recording it cause cabins mean a lot to us here," he said. "Some people think you're losing a cabin, it's not a big deal, but to us, it's a huge deal."
Pitts says Newfoundlanders pour their hearts and souls into their properties, which are sometimes situated on land that has belonged to family or friends for generations. People save up every bit of money they can get to build a cabin, he says, and spend decades working on renovations and upgrades.
As Pitts sits at the helm of his boat on Wednesday morning, there's a bit of a chill in the air. It's overcast, but the water is calm, almost still. A couple of helicopters circle over a forested area about an hour away from cabin country, dropping buckets of water onto hot spots that are puffing up grey smoke.
The chaos he's witnessed over the past week has mostly subsided, but the destruction it left in its wake has transformed the picturesque landscape he's known since childhood.
He points out a fully intact dock with a red picnic table sitting on top of it that leads to a plot of scorched, black earth. On another plot of land, one of his friend's cookout sheds is now a flattened piece of metal roofing and shattered glass.
He docks the boat in Pudding Cove at his aunt's place. What used to be a bright yellow cabin with red trim is now a pile of debris and ash. Twisted metal bed frames and curtain rods lie on charred ground. Pitts's dad Marvin lifts a pot and pan from the wreckage that he hopes to bring home and salvage.
"Hard to see. Hard to believe what I'm looking at," he said. "A lot of memories, gone, just like that."
While many families are grieving the loss of their safe havens, there are a number of cabins still standing. Pitts says this is thanks to the hard work of residents who chose to battle the blaze themselves.
'There's times I feel a little guilty'
Ray Little bought his cabin in Deer Island Tickle seven years ago, a place his father and four brothers helped build in 1991.
While his cabin is still fully intact, traces of the fire's wrath are within reach, as charred tree branches and blackened bark lie just a few feet away from his cabin.
The reason the flames didn't reach his place is because he spent eight days battling through plumes of smoke and dowsing his property with water.
Despite the Department of Fisheries, Forestry and Agriculture advising people in the Great Chance Harbour area to leave their cabins, Little and a few friends travelled back and forth from their homes in nearby communities to Deer Island Tickle to fight the blaze with a water pump and hose.
Little has been a firefighter with the Musgravetown Volunteer Fire Department for over 20 years, and he says he always made sure he was far away from any flames, and when the smoke got too thick, he'd hop on his boat and wait until it cleared.
Wearing rubber boots, a mask, and his regular street clothes, Little and his friends saved three cabins in the area.
"To save something that we loved, it means something," said Little. "On the other side, there's times I feel a little guilty. Why is mine standing, somebody else's is gone?"
Perry Ash also saved his cabin in Deer Island Tickle, though he had no firefighting experience until his property was in danger.
When the wildfire first broke out, Ash rushed to his cabin and discovered his brother Ricky's place next door was already destroyed, and the flames were coming up to his house.
Ash spent two days throwing five-gallon buckets of water onto his deck and cabin, fighting through smoke without a mask. Eventually, he got access to water pumps and after a week of hard, physical labour, he saved his property.
His firefighting uniform was a pair of jeans, a button-down shirt and new sneakers from Costco.
"I had more strength than I ever thought I ever had," said Ash, standing on his deck.
Little says he and most other people he knows in the area don't have insurance on their cabins. It's either too costly, or they haven't found a plan that covers fire insurance, as there are no fire hydrants in the area and fire trucks can't get to the small inlets.
Trevor Holloway also didn't have insurance on his cabin in Pudding Cove, which was demolished by the wildfire. The only things his family was able to save was a generator and a scooter.
He says his family put as much as $80,000 into their cabin, which they have slowly been renovating and building for around 30 years.
It was a place "built by hand and love." Other family members had a cabin next door, and he says everyone would get together to share meals and laughs.
Many people who lost their cabins won't be able to rebuild what was lost, says Holloway. It is either too expensive an endeavour, or family members are growing too old to do physical labour or travel by boat to their properties.
Holloway says his family might build a shack on the beach to replace what they lost. For now, he says many people in the community feel lost, and are finding solace in memories of their happy place.
"It was devastating to see, such a mess," said Holloway. "Of all the memories just gone in smoke. Hard to explain how much joy is gone."
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