There is a place on the edge of the Atlantic, not quite land, not quite sea. It has names in Mi'kmaq, Acadian French, German, Old Norse and probably others. 

If you ask, you'll hear stories about this place from rural folk, old people, local historians. It's home to poisonous flora and fauna, they say. Turbulent weather and wicked tides thrash the coast all year long. It’s dug so full of mines that holes open up in the ground and swallow whole houses.

Weird souls live there, moongazers and dirt dwellers, fungus eaters and fish worshippers. Few maps show it, none in detail, not any that we have found. It is unconnected by any major roads. Getting there is difficult even if you think you know the way.*

We got involved by chance, then became compelled to find answers for ourselves. What is this place and how did it come to be? Why have strangers from across the world continued to seek it out? And why, against the full brunt of nature and sense, does anyone stay?

*There will be no specifics given anywhere on this website or by anyone associated with this project about the exact location of the Autonomous District of Pokelogan, also known as Backwater. Please observe from afar. Curiosity is not a good enough reason to interfere.

THE WORKS ON THIS SITE ARE BOTH COLLECTED FROM BACKWATER AND INSPIRED BY IT.