Like an estranged stepfather, these Stygian mounds smoke incessantly and remain far removed from society. However, the Canadian Weather Network says their smoking comes as a result of carbon and sulfur-rich rock meeting oxygen rather than from a troubled past. The hills are located in a remote region of the Arctic north, with the nearest village more than 60 miles away. Despite the distance, the village is known as Paulatuk, meaning “place of coal” in the native Inuvialuktun language.

While the hills generally only have eyes for smoking and turning the surrounding landscape into an acidified Martian grotto, they have managed to find their way into history. They first became known to Europeans around 1850 via arctic explorers who were searching for the ill-fated Franklin expedition, which had gone missing five years earlier. From a distance, the explorers may have mistaken the billowing columns of smoke from the hills to be signs of human life. Imagine their delight to have found a blood red, spontaneously combusting wall of doom located in some of the coldest and most inhospitable territory in the world.

After attempting to show the hills some TRUTH ads and Juuls, the CBC says explorers brought back a piece of rock to ship captain Robert McClure’s quarters which ended up burning a hole through his mahogany desk. Not ominous in the slightest.

Habitat 67 looks like dormitory housing for man-eating wasps. Despite its regurgitated wood-paste aesthetic, this cube-like, minimalist monolith was built for people and is considered an architectural marvel, with Architectural Digest citing its “trailblazing design.” Built for the 1967 Montreal World Exposition as an affordable living concept, it is the brainchild of architect Moshe Safdie, who initially designed the complex as his thesis project for the architecture program at McGill University using Legos, according to The Star.

Constructing the prefabricated steel and concrete modules ultimately proved to be way too expensive, costing altogether what would now be around $100 million. Despite being considered a failure for its cost, Habitat still made quite an impression, garnering worldwide acclaim for its ability to incorporate gardens, privacy and open space into its multi-tiered design. It remains a highly desirable piece of real estate, with the original 354 modules now comprising 148 residences for Canada’s gentry.

Perhaps the oddest part of Habitat 67’s complex legacy is its popularity as a surfing destination. The New York Times says it’s home to a standing wave, a gnarly byproduct of its construction on the banks of the Saint Lawrence river. Capable of reaching more than six feet in height, the wave draws thousands of surfers and kayakers each year, with multiple “river surfing” schools in operation nearby.

In South America, there was Pablo Escobar. In the USA, there was Al Capone. In Canada? The maple syrup cartel. Funny as it sounds, the Federation of Quebec Maple Syrup Producers is real, and has been described as “the OPEC of maple syrup.” These maple makers produce over 70 percent of the world’s supply and maintain a maple syrup reserve The Globe and Mail says is valued around $240 million.

Unfortunately, the Financial Post says the cartel isn’t nearly as sweet as its product, leveraging its position to strong arm independent syrup producers into paying increasingly expensive levees, and sometimes searching sugar shacks, impounding syrup, and threatening seizure of property. If all else fails the cartel goes to court, where its deep pockets make it easy to force the hand of independent producers. 

The cartel rarely loses, but when it does, it loses big. In the summer of 2012, it was discovered that almost 10,000 barrels had been stolen from one of the maple syrup reserve facilities. For comparison, Vanity Fair says each barrel of syrup was worth around 26 times a barrel of oil at the time, meaning the cartel had been robbed of more than $13 million. The event came to be known as The Great Canadian Maple Syrup Heist, the sweetest, costliest heist in Canadian history.

Anyone who’s seen Saved by the Bell has been “Screeched-out” for decades, but in Newfoundland people have been getting “Screeched-in” for far longer. Screech-ins are a tradition where non-natives can become honorary Newfoundlanders by kissing a codfish and downing a shot of high-powered rum. The initiation process traces its roots back to when Newfoundlanders would trade salt fish for Jamaican rum, giving each country a taste for their respective imported good. The Boston Globe says kissing the cod represents a farewell to those leaving for Jamaica to return with the goodies.

Obviously, the whole enterprise is rather unofficial, but there are certain Screech-in customs followed in Newfoundland with varying degrees of formality. The official name supposedly came around World War II, when an American soldier emitted a shrill shriek after downing a shot. The CBC says that back in the day, screech was slang for cheap, harsh rum that locals enjoyed giving to “come-from-aways,” or CFAs, to see their reaction. Over time, this morphed into all manner of ceremonies including official certificates printed for those who followed the cod call of duty, bologna ingestion, limerick recitation, and even a Screech brand of rum, imported from Jamaica and bottled in Canada.

Technically, Screech-ins can occur anywhere and with any beverage, but the most authentic Screech-ins are executed by Newfies in their homeland with pithy couplets, circular meat, and stinky cod in-tow.

Canada and Denmark have been warring for almost a century. The stakes? According to the CBC: bragging rights to Hans Island, an uninhabitable half square-mile piece of rock with no natural resources smack dab in between Canada and Greenland, which is an autonomous Danish territory. The casualties? A few bottles of whiskey and schnapps.

International law dictates that countries have the right to claim any territory within 12 miles of their shores, which means both countries have a claim to the desolate rock. As described by Business Insider, in 1933 the League of Nations’ Permanent Court of International Justice decided that Hans was property of Denmark, but the League was not so permanent, dissolving a few years later along with the Danish claim. Both countries would agree to disagree until 1984, when a Danish official raised his country’s flag on the island and left a bottle of schnapps at its base with a note reading “Welcome to the Danish island.” The two countries have gone back and forth ever since. As told by author Michael Byers, when Canadian officials visit, they leave a bottle of Canadian Club whiskey and a sign reading “Welcome to Canada.” 

Despite having formed a joint task force to solve the issue in 2018, the countries still haven’t come to a resolution. With free booze on the line, who can blame them?