This angler bought a Nova Scotia Island to fish for tuna—and wound up declaring war on the USSR

A PRINCIPALITY IS BORN

The Tusket Islands lie a few kilometres southwest of Wedgeport, Nova Scotia, itself in the southwest corner of the province, just outside Yarmouth. During the early- to mid-20th century, the Tusket Islands were home to some of the best tuna-fishing grounds on the planet, and Wedgeport billed itself as the “Sports Tuna Fishing Capital of the World.” Celebrities, tycoons and politicians, including U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt, Amelia Earhart, Ernest Hemingway and even gangster Tony “Big Tuna” Accaro, all visited the little Nova Scotian town, hoping to land a prized bluefin. In 1937, Wedgeport became home to the International Tuna Cup Match, attracting participants from more than two dozen countries.

Not surprisingly, prosperous tuna enthusiast Arundel joined the ranks of anglers descending on Wedgeport. In 1949, he was fishing near the Tuskets when his boat got caught in a sudden storm. As writer Harry Bruce described it, “A squall blew up and Arundel’s vessel took in the lee of a flat-topped, storm-tossed, utterly treeless island called Outer Bald Tusket.”

Unlike most people who ever laid eyes on it, Arundel developed an instant affection for the tiny island. Not only was it located next to world-class fishing grounds, he realized it could also offer safe haven for anglers in an area notorious for fierce weather. So, after weathering the storm, he returned to the mainland and purchased the island for US$750. In short order, he unofficially renamed it Outer Baldonia, and the dream of a fishing nation was born.

In a 1953 interview with Esquire magazine, Arundel said, “Back in Washington, with the deed in my pocket and a drink in my hand, the Principality of Outer Baldonia began to take shape.” He gave himself the title of “Russell the First, Prince of Princes,” then began creating institutions of nationhood. His new principality also established its own currency called the “tunar,” minting coins from real gold and silver, complete with the embossed image of Prince Russell. Later would follow a Baldonian calendar, trade policy and rules of citizenship, all tongue-in-cheek and focused on fishing and revelry.

Arundel contacted mapmaker Rand McNally, which eventually agreed to include the principality on at least one of its maps. He also managed some degree of notoriety by having the country listed in the Washington, D.C., phone book (with the number going to his office). Rumour has it the principality received invitations to state dinners, and possibly even the United Nations.

Along with his nation-building buddies, Arundel didn’t stop there. The pièce de résistance of this merriment—which would soon lead to even wider notoriety—was the micronation’s declaration of independence. Written by Arundel and his friends, the document’s content were rumoured to have been fuelled by drinks and fishing stories.

Borrowing themes from the U.S. Declaration of Independence, it stated, “We hold these truths to be self-evident; That fishermen are a race alone. That fishermen are endowed with the following inalienable rights: The right to lie and be believed. The right of freedom from question, nagging, shaving, interruption, women, taxes, politics, war, monologues, care and inhibitions…which shall forever be respected and recognized as the Principality of Outer Baldonia.”

Enlisting the help of some locals, along with some of his fishing buddies, Arundel also began construction of what he called the “Royal Palace.” Measuring roughly 20 by 30 feet, the one-room building was almost entirely constructed of beach stone from the island. Arundel only ever spent one night there, calling it “windy, cold and miserable.” Instead, he preferred a hotel in Wedgeport for his royal lodgings.

Arundel and his fellow nation-builders also recognized the need for national defence, so they formed a standing navy complete with 69 registered admirals (anyone who purchased a tuna-fishing licence was granted the title). There was also an army known as the Knights of the Order of Bluefin, which was said to be largely, if not entirely, unarmed.

The trappings of nationhood aside, fishing and fun remained the island’s main focus. “By 5:30 in the morning you’re out fishing,” said Arundel in a Time magazine profile. “You have breakfast on the way out, usually lobster stew, cooked on the boat, and masses of coffee. You sit in the riptide, and some of you hope you get a tuna, and some hope you don’t.” Then at night? “You find some convenient bar or table to collapse on.”

It wasn’t long before Outer Baldonia unveiled its own version of the International Tuna Cup Match, hosting an annual fishing derby that showcased somewhat different awards than the renowned and prestigious tournament held on the mainland. The Outer Baldonia Tuna Cup proudly provided prizes for the ugliest fish, the most intelligent-looking fish, and even the smallest fish caught.

A STATE OF MIND: A micronation is defined as a small area or political entity that claims national sovereignty, but is not recognized by other sovereign states. This isn’t a new phenomenon. Although Outer Baldonia represents one of the few examples found in North America, micronations of various sizes, degrees of influence and questionable validity have been formed throughout the world. One of the most famous examples, the Principality of Sealand, is on a decommissioned military platform off the east coast of England. For the most part, micronations are often merely tourist destinations, and rarely reach any real level of notoriety—let alone make it to the front pages of international newspapers.