Written by Daniel MacGregor

Thumbnail and Header Photo by Shea McInnis

Throughout history, the world has always seen islands as places of mystery. One of these islands, which many of us may glance at daily, is the speck of land sandwiched between Halifax and Dartmouth: Georges Island, a shell of green land jutting from the water with only remnants of human occupation left. I decided to take a journey to this enigmatic island to unravel its story as a fixture in the centre of the Halifax Harbour.

If you plan on visiting Georges Island, make sure to check out what you need to know to stay safe as a visitor. Furthermore, you should know ahead of time where you are allowed to go and what there is to see, so make sure to visit the island's Parks Canada web page.

If you ever wish to journey to this island and do not happen to have a boat, the only way to reach it is to book a trip with Murphy's On the Water during the summer months — at least when the sea is willing to let the ferry pass. Nasty weather prevented trips for the Saturday I originally planned to visit, but luckily the weather was less horrible the following Sunday.

Walking to Murphy's section of the Halifax waterfront, Cable Wharf, it was dreary and rainy. However, since I was 40 minutes early for the first trip to the island, some preparatory exploration occurred. Cable Wharf's base is a giant red building flanked on either side by piers lined with the company’s ships, such as the Kawartha Spirit and the ferry to the north and the sailing ship Silva to the south. Entering the red building to find temporary shelter from the rain, I found it was home to a well-stocked gift shop with mugs, Nova Scotian flags, and a desk where you could buy tickets for a trip to the island in person.

While passing time to escape from the rain, a small cohort of tourists and families slowly gathered at the gangway until the ferry was prepped and ready. After pamphlets were distributed, the boarding began. Most passengers quickly retreated into the covered lower deck while I ventured to the open-top deck. After investigating the deck, I was thrown back in time as out of the rain, a small army of poncho-draped soldiers marched onto the pier. Of course, these were not the soldiers of old, but rather interpreters whose jobs were to welcome guests and give tours of the island. But, like everyone else, they needed to get there somehow.

The ferry then turned towards the open harbour and made its way over to the island. From the top deck, the island came closer and closer into view. Jumping onto the pier, a crew member tied the ferry to the island, and from there, a few adventurers set off to explore the island. Though Halifax was still well in sight, it felt as if we had entered into a different, more miniature world.

Except for the hollow remains of structures and the buildings used by the Parks Canada staff and the interpreters, there was not much to gawk at for long from the pier. So, the crowd surged the only way they could, which was up. Most regrouped at a small clearing halfway up the island before eventually charging into the narrow gates of Fort Charlotte. Journeying around to find anything off the beaten path before reaching the main attraction, I heard a warning to watch out for snails. The warning came too late though, given the crunch that then sounded out from underfoot.

After giving a brief ceremony for the fallen comrade, I carried on with my journey (I am happy to state that there were no more casualties). However, keeping to my curiosity, I noticed a solitary panel titled "The Mi'kmaq' Interpretive Panel'' off to the side of the island. This panel told of a history long removed from the island of Elpaqkwitk – known colonially as Georges Island. Before the entrance to the fort, there was a panel dedicated to the Acadians that the British detained on the island during and after the Acadian expulsion.

After those sombre reminders of Canada’s colonial history, I entered the fort proper with a line of interpreters waiting. The only place to go from here was down, where you had to explicitly follow a guide through the fort's tunnels. It was remarkable to see how the entire inside of the concrete and stone fort was wet, with every hallway floor coated a dark grey (though apparently, as told by the interpreter, this was a drier day). The first stop was a small empty room, intended to hoard piles of gunpowder. After that, our group went down narrow steps with added modern handrails into the bowels and trenches of the fort. How underpaid soldiers could bear such a cramped, dark, and wet environment in the winter is hard to imagine.

Entering the steep trenches, the interpreter told us that the island retained a particular ecosystem despite the military presence, being home to an army of mice, a horde of mutant snakes (living on an island has brought the snakes down a different evolutionary path than their mainland comrades), and an endless host of snails. In these quiet trenches, the group discussed the fort's history, as it was built for battle but was never attacked. The interpreter mentioned that it was created during a conflict between the Mi'kmaq and the British, who established many forts with narrow halls throughout the former's land. When the fort was active between the establishment of Halifax to the end of World War Two, the cannons watched out toward the Atlantic, waiting for threats that never came, only to rust and later become a tourist attraction.

After returning to the tunnels through another narrow set of stairs, the tour ended at the gun emplacements at the top of the island. Hoping to get a better view of the surrounding coastline from the heights of this small world, I walked up a little flight of stairs to reach the cannons. After watching the modern shorelines of the mainland, curiosity had me look into the barrel of one of the cannons after checking many other emplacements. Even though the cannon barrel was filled with cans of beer, I assumed the British never lobbed Budweiser buckshot at invading ships. How they got there is a mystery.

Returning to the parade square, I saw there was not much else to do, and the rain showed no sign of halting, so I made my way back to the pier to wait for the ferry. In the middle of the path at the fort's entrance was a plastic wrapper of a snack bar, slick with rain, seeming like it materialized from the ether. Putting the wrapper where it belonged, as it was far too big to be a shell for one of the island's many residents, the ferry promptly returned for the second return trip of the day. From the Atlantic, a large cargo ship slowly emerged from the fog as I boarded a ferry that would take me back to the real world where the ship's cargo would be unloaded, far from the trails of snails.

Sitting on a plastic lawn chair, as the island faded back into its role as a backdrop feature, I couldn’t help but think of the snails. The Mi’kmaq called the island Elpaqkwitk ("water splashed on it by the waves"), where the snails and their kin were left to their own devices. Then France came, who knew it as Île de la Raquette (Snowshoe Island) and mainly used it as a burial ground for perished admirals, who were not much company for the snails (as was told by the pamphlet so nicely handed out). Then the British came and converted the snail's paradise to an installation of defence and colonization. The snails crushed by polished boots were leagues luckier than those who found themselves in the barrel of a cannon on training day. Then, more out of a lack of threats than compassion for the snails, the guns fell silent, only to be replaced by a horde of tourists helping the tourism industry stay afloat with their wrappers and beer cans.

The island itself was a stark reminder of our dark past and is still home to perching sparrows, shielded snails, and mutant snakes (perks of living on an island). Though some people drop wrappers and try to substitute beer cans for cannonballs, most visitors are genuinely respectful. Despite all of this, the snails will still be there for whatever the next stage of the island's life may be.

A Snail's Paradise: A Journey to Georges Island

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