According to the laws of nature — or the uncompromising realities of business — Fogo Island should be an uninhabited, wind-swept footnote in Canadian history, an example of rurality retreating in an era of relentless urban centralization.

The island is, after all, reachable only by ferry — a 50-minute voyage from the village of Farewell on the “mainland” of Newfoundland. The ferry ride is just the final stage in a lengthy journey to this isolated corner of Newfoundland’s northeast coast; only the truly dedicated would voluntarily travel the moose-infested highway to reach Fogo’s granite shores.

But Fogo is an island of survivors, a never-say-die enclave of 2,700 people who have stubbornly clung to their fishing stages and who resisted former premier Joey Smallwood’s relentless campaign of resettlement for small isolated communities during the 1960s. Towns such as Joe Batt’s Arm, Tilting and Seldom were slated for eradication.

Rather than accept relocation, the people of Fogo established a fisheries co-operative in 1967. And despite such challenges as the closure of the cod fishery in 1992, the Fogo Island Co-operative Society has managed to survive, if not thrive. The co-op has built fishing boats, taken over abandoned fish-processing plants and sought markets for its products. The co-op now owns a fleet of 30 fishing vessels, three fish plants, a laboratory, a welding shop and a marine service centre.

With a name that means “fire” in Portuguese, Fogo’s spirit of independence continues to burn like a torch. Most recently, in May, the co-op was kicked out of the provincial Association of Seafood Producers when it broke ranks with other processors who refused to pay fishermen $1.35 per pound for snow crab. That price, which was set by an independent panel of experts, was supposed to be binding on both sides. Processors, however, alleged that they could not afford to pay this rate, given market conditions in the U.S.

After almost two months, the association capitulated, but not before casting out the co-op. The response from the evicted was predictable, given Fogo’s history. “I think we can, and I think we will, and I’m sure we’ll survive for the next 44, 45 years, too, if that’s possible,” said Roy Freake, who chairs the co-op’s board of directors, when asked by the CBC how the organization will cope.

Fogo Island is also undergoing another kind of transformation, thanks to a real-life “local girl does good” story. In 2001, in the midst of the high-tech glory years, Zita Cobb retired from California-based JDS Uniphase Corp. after playing a central role in making it a world leader in manufacturing fibre-optic components. When Cobb cashed out from JDS Uniphase, she reportedly walked away with hundreds of millions of dollars.

Since Cobb’s retirement, she has turned her attention to philanthropy; today, her focus is firmly set on Fogo Island, which she left behind in 1975 at the age of 17. Through a registered charity called the Shorefast Foundation, Cobb is harnessing Fogo’s culture of entrepreneurship and collective action in order to ensure the long-term survival of communities on the island.

Cobb’s vision for Shorefast is certainly ambitious: “We need to find the means to connect through all that we do: the ocean, fishing, farming, hospitality, tourism, the environment and our traditions. If we can do this successfully, we can become a world model for rural economic transformation.”

Shorefast is providing funding for a variety of projects, including Canada’s first e-cinema film house, an arts corporation and a five-star inn that features a heritage library. Cobb believes that a new model can be forged to rebuild Canada’s rural economies — and that Fogo Island will show the way. IE