This past weekend, I took a day trip to McNab's Island. Situated in the middle of Halifax Harbour, it is not regularly accessible by boat and thus, not often visited. At times throughout its history, it was home to a few families, but more often used as a recreation destination for Haligonians during the late-19th and early 20th centuries and as a military post in colonial times and during the world wars. Now, it is owned jointly by the provincial and federal governments, who may or may not develop it as a historic park.
That brings me to my visit.
Two or three times a year, a preservation society arranges day trips to the island and yesterday marked their "fall foliage" tour. It was overcast and cold and windy and recent storms ensured that little foliage remained on the trees. Nevertheless, we had bought advance tickets. So we got on the boat. We weren't surprised by the absence of bright autumn leaves. But we were surprised by what awaited us on the island. There was much to see.
The former site of a popular fairground. Now the overgrown site of its lone dilapidated ticket booth.
The tiny cluster of abandoned houses. Retaining only traces of their former glory.
The once-cheerful gate pointing the way to the abandoned houses.
The rusting and forgotten military outpost.
The cove that witnessed the quarantine and eventual death of a ship full of cholera victims.
The beach on which the corpses of navy deserters were left hanging as a warning to others.
If the government decides not to make use of McNab's Island, it simply begs to become a haunted attraction. No preparation necessary. No chainsaws. No strobe lights. No artificial fog. Just bring a boatload of people over at night and let them wander. It's naturally terrifying.