On December 21 0f 2025, the Winter Solstice, I lost my loyal friend, dear companion, and eternal muse. Robert fell asleep on the longest night of the year and didn’t wake up. It became his longest sleep.
Robert and I got to know each other in 2016, and we first met in person in 2017, when I came to St. John’s as a tourist. Robert volunteered to show me around, and he was an amazing tour guide with a great sense of humor. I still remember how he “proposed” to the swans in Bowring Park, told me the story behind the Peter Pan statue, complained about getting fresh paint on his finger in Battery, and how we climbed Signal Hill together to watch the sunrise over the ocean. Because of him, Newfoundland was no longer a foreign place I was visiting for the first time—it became a place filled with color, laughter, and connection.
I returned to Newfoundland in the summer of 2018 to pursue my graduate studies in folklore, and my friendship with Robert continued. Many people came to know us through our trips and my photography, but to me, Robert was far more than a travel companion or a model for photos. He was my best friend, my eternal muse and my family in Canada. I came to Canada on my own, and because of Robert, I never felt lonely. He helped me settle in, grow, and stay strong with his enormous kindness and patience. Only a few people in this world are lucky enough to have a friend like him, and I was one of the lucky ones.
Robert loved adventure, and so did I. In the summer of 2018, soon after I returned to Newfoundland as an international student, we made a plan to travel extensively around Newfoundland by road over the next few years—and we did. We started with loop trips around the Avalon Peninsula in the summer of 2018 and gradually expanded our travels to other parts of the island in the years that followed. Robert was an excellent driver, and he always proudly said that he had been driving for more than fifty years without a single accident. I sat in the passenger seat for years, until early 2024, when he decided not to drive anymore and I became the chauffeur.
On our road trips, we always brought a paper map with us, since Google Maps didn’t work well on my phone at the time. I usually read the map and gave directions, but every now and then Robert liked to take it over and offer a few “strategic opinions.” Robert had the heart of an adventurer and the soul of a curious child. During our travels around Newfoundland, he always wanted to visit every community on the map, no matter how small. It wasn’t unusual for us to drive thirty minutes down a dirt road just to see an abandoned community, or to take a long detour to visit a tiny town barely noticed on the map. I have never met anyone with such a passion for exploring. Robert taught me to keep a child’s curiosity, to stay passionate about discovery, and to never be afraid of adventure. Travelling with him was not only fun—it was also enlightening. It gave me a completely new way of seeing the world. If I hadn’t met Robert, I would never have thought of becoming a photographer and visual artist. Robert took me on journeys of discovery—and self-discovery. Over the years, we travelled not only around Newfoundland, but also to Toronto, St. Pierre and Miquelon, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and Prince Edward Island.
Robert was also a photographer himself and always carried a camera on our trips. Whenever we found a good spot, we pulled over, jumped out, and started shooting. Whenever I spotted a view I wanted to photograph, he always pulled over without hesitation and never complained. Looking back at the photos he took, I was often amazed by his eye—he captured things we might easily have overlooked. He would say things like, “Do you see the face in the clouds?” or “That piece of ice looks like an old man.” Sometimes it took me a while to see what he saw, and then I had to admit he was right.
We shared so many joyful memories on the road. I went on my first-ever road trip in Newfoundland with him—and my first camping trip as well. We visited Tilt Cove, Canada’s smallest town, twice. We cooked freshly caught lobsters in seawater in Leading Tickles, borrowing a pot from the locals. We found a restaurant in St. Anthony that served fried chicken even better than Mary Brown’s. We travelled by ferry to the tiny community of South East Bight and hiked four hours round trip to visit the abandoned fishing village of Little Paradise. There are so many more memories like these.
Travelling with Robert was never just about seeing places—it was also about meeting people. He loved chatting with everyone he met and had a special ability to make friends wherever he went. He was a wonderful storyteller, and people loved listening to him. Because of him, we made many friends along the way. When meeting someone new, Robert always liked to introduce me by saying, “This is my friend Ting Ting. She takes great pictures.” Then he would proudly add, “Ting Ting, show them a picture!” I would pull out my phone and show them my photographs. Robert’s favourite “show-off” image was my portrait of him, The Duke. It was his favourite picture. When people reacted with that “wow, this is a great photo” look, Robert would break into a big smile. He asked me to show off that picture so many times that sometimes I got a little annoyed. Robert, how I wish you could ask me to show off the photos again. I promise this time I would never get annoyed, no matter how many times you asked.
Robert was not only a passionate explorer and a great storyteller, but also a hardworking man. He was often in his “work outfit,” whether it was an orange coverall or an old red shirt splattered with paint. He was strong, energetic, and constantly on the move—cutting wood, mowing grass, renovating the house, cleaning floors, or sorting things out. I used to think how much I hoped to be as energetic as him when I reached his age. Robert had an impressive collection of tools—screws, screwdrivers, chainsaws, wrenches, you name it—and unsurprisingly, they weren’t always well organised. When I helped him with work, I became the human “metal detector,” searching for whatever tool he needed at the moment.
Working with Robert was fun, too. I still remember hauling wood together in the snow on snowshoes—snowshoeing and wood hauling, a very Newfoundland thing. I helped stack the wood he cut. We worked together to fix the pump and draw water from the river. We did insulation work in the attic of the Tilley House, which was not easy. I helped him sort things in his shed, and we definitely had different opinions about how everything should be put back. There are so many memories like this—vivid, warm, and full of life.
Even when we weren’t doing anything special, simply spending time together as friends was joyful. He liked watching The View with Whoopi Goldberg and following the news on VOA and CNN. He loved Monty Python and crossword puzzles. He liked Mary Brown’s chicken, but didn’t like Chinese tofu or avocado. He loved his boat and was always talking about fixing the engine and getting it back on the water. He liked working with clay and said he could teach me. He enjoyed puns and wordplay, and his jokes always made me laugh. He loved humor, joy, sailing, adventure, and freedom. His life was always in motion. I believe that now he is in a better place, surrounded by everything he loved.
Saying goodbye to Robert is something I am still learning how to do. But I know this: our friendship did not end with his passing. It lives on in the places we visited, the stories we shared, and the way he taught me to look at the world—with curiosity, humor, and an open heart. For that, and for him, I will always be grateful.
And if Robert is still here somewhere, I bet he would say, just like he used to: “Smarty pants, no flies on you!”
In loving memory of Robert.