Events & Festivals in St. John's

Ten days of outdoor winter races, kids' snow-sculpture gardens, and night parades where light-bede floats grind up Duckworth Street. Ice bars clink in steaming apple cider mugs while bagpipes compete with north-wind howl.

Mid-winter carnival giving the city a Cajun twist: crawfish boils inside yellow tents, zydeco echoing off brick, and purple beads catching harbor sodium lights. Local breweries roll out pecan-maple ales.

Long-track rowing on Quidi Vidi Lake. Crews swing cedar shells past snow-dusted banks. Crowds stamp on frosty bleachers, wool scarves crackling with frost while hot chocolate ladles steam.

Five evenings of kitchen-party culture: accordions, ugly-stick percussion, and storytellers spinning yarns about ghost ships. The basilica crypt hosts candle-lit sessions where voice vibrates off limestone.

Locals pad through downtown disguised in lace curtains, pillow-case masks, and painted flour sacks. Expect ugly sticks rattling, harmonicas wheezing, and the sweet hit of homemade spruce beer offered to strangers.

Seventy artisans lay out pottery, salt-knit mittens, and jewelry forged from beach glass inside the old railway terminal. Smell fresh cedar shavings while luthiers demonstrate hand-planed guitar bracing.

Silent crowd walks from Basilica to Anglican cathedral. Only footfalls and gull cries break the hush. Participants clutch flickering beeswax candles that drip onto wool gloves.

Fresh traps unloaded at Pier 7, then cracked on communal tables. Taste briny tomalley on grilled sourdough while sea spray needles your cheeks and steel drums bang from a moored barge.

Even-old military barracks turn into black-box stages. Actors troop through gunpowder tunnels while cannon blasts mark scene changes. Wool blankets provided because Atlantic fog coils around the hill after sunset.

Commemorates John Cabot's 1497 landfall with tall ships' cannon salute, children waving paper sail flags, and cod-throwing contest that leaves salty scales on your forearms. Brass bands march to Harbour Drive.

Six closed-to-traffic nights where stages pump folk-rock, shanty punk, and Celtic dub. Bar doors swing open, spilling amber light and fryer oil aroma onto cobblestones. Midnight fireworks paint the narrows gold.

Microbrewery lawn facing the gut where fog horns rumble. Sip iceberg-wheat ale while fiddlers duel on a plywood dock. Smell malt roasting inside steel kettles mingling with salt kelp.

Rainbow streamers flutter beside cod-jigger floats. Drag queens strut past 19th-century counting houses. After-march DJs spin on a barge anchored in the narrows, bass thumping through wooden ribs.

Families launch hand-painted canvas kites above Bannerman Park's elm canopy. Hear kite tails snap in Atlantic gusts while the smell of saucy hot-dog onions drifts from a volunteer-run grill.

Sea cliff amphitheater inside the old fort. Guitars echo off stone ramparts while iceberg fragments glisten beyond the stage. Beer garden pours blueberry ale under lantern-strung wire.

Prize root vegetables laid like cordwood, sheep bleating inside canvas pens, and molasses cookies emerging from iron stoves. The horse-pull arena smells of pine shavings and warm leather.

Ten days of indie premieres inside the 1917 vaudeville hall. Popcorn comes tossed with savory-sweet seaweed salt. Q&A sessions spill into late-night pub debates on Duckworth.

Flat-top grills sizzle with pancake batter studded by partridge-berries; kids squish indigo-stained fingers in pie-eating contests. Local meadery pours tart blueberry-honey wine under canvas.

Travelling midway sets up on the old airport tarmac. Ride motors roar against squawking gulls. Smell diesel exhaust mixing with cotton-candy sugar while neon tubes flicker against North Atlantic drizzle.

Lantern-led walks up alley staircases. Guide recounts 1892 fire ghosts while you smell chimney soot and damp limestone. Black cats occasionally tail the group for real-time jump scares.

Naval cadets drum through silent downtown. Salt spray peppers wool uniforms. After the cenotaph service, veterans serve hardtack and hot toddies inside the Royal Canadian Legion Hall.

Intimate club sets glow under Edison bulbs. Sax riffs mingle with scotch-peet smoke. Featured players often jump off stage to join kitchen-party encores in neighboring pubs.

Trolleys roll past row houses wrapped in fishnet lights. Smell spruce boughs lashed to lampposts. Tour ends at the basilica for a 15-minute candle carol sing that leaves pine and wax on the air.

Ugly-stick percussion, accordion waltzes, and joke-riddled skits inside the 185-year-old Benevolent Irish Society Hall. Mulled cider steams in fogged-up windows while the wooden floor bounces under step-dancers.