QNS&L (Quebec North Shore and Labrador) Railway
To the untrained eye, the Quebec North Shore and Labrador Railway (QNS&L) might appear to be just another industrial transport line. But to the inhabitants of the remote Canadian North, it is the “mechanical spine” of the entire region. Without this ribbon of steel, the towns of Labrador City, Wabush, and Schefferville simply would not exist.
Operating in some of the most hostile terrain on the continent, the QNS&L is one of North America’s most unique railways: a private industrial juggernaut that, for decades, functioned as a vital public utility. This is the story of how a nightmare of engineering became the heartbeat of the North.
The “Impossible” Construction
When the Iron Ore Company of Canada (IOC) first proposed the railway in 1950, engineers didn’t just call it difficult; they called it a nightmare. The plan required laying 360 miles (579 km) of track through a hellscape of swamps, mountains, and the unforgiving rock of the Canadian Shield. To make matters worse, there were no existing roads to bring in supplies.
Faced with this logistical wall, the IOC launched what was, at the time, the largest civilian airlift in history. Since trucks couldn’t reach the camps, everything had to fly. Small aircraft ferried bulldozers, cement mixers, and armies of men into the remote wilderness. By 1952, the makeshift airstrips carved along the railway route were logging more traffic than Dorval Airport in Montreal.
The route itself was a testament to brute force engineering. It climbed from sea level at Sept-Îles, Quebec, up through the steep, jagged canyons of the Moisie River, crossed the desolate Labrador plateau, and terminated in the iron-rich interior. To escape the clutches of the Moisie Canyon, crews had to blast a 2,191-foot tunnel through solid granite—a feature that remains the line’s engineering crown jewel.
Against all odds, the “Last Spike” was driven in February 1954 by Jules Timmins and George Humphrey. The impossible railway was completed a full year ahead of schedule.
The Steel Pipeline
The QNS&L was not built to move televisions or grain; it was built as a “Heavy Haul” railway designed for one purpose: moving iron ore. It functions less like a train and more like a steel pipeline on wheels.
The trains themselves are monsters of the industrial age. A typical ore train stretches 2.5 to 3 kilometers long, weighing in at approximately 24,000 tonnes. These massive convoys, consisting of roughly 240 cars, are pulled by three or four massive SD70ACe diesel locomotives.
Moving such weight requires innovation. Because the trains are so incredibly long, having engines only at the front would cause the physical forces to snap the train in half. The QNS&L was a pioneer in using “Locotrol”—a system of radio-controlled locomotives placed in the middle of the train to push and pull simultaneously. The traffic on the single-track line is a logistical ballet, requiring precision to pass these massive behemoths on “sidings” spaced every few miles without stopping the flow of ore.
The Lifeline of the North
Unlike most mine railways, which are treated as private driveways, the federal government designated the QNS&L as a “Common Carrier.” This rule meant the IOC was legally obligated to carry passengers and freight for the general public, not just their own employees.
For fifty years, until the highway was finally completed, the QNS&L was the lifeline for Labrador City. Everything arrived on the freight train—from fresh milk and lettuce to new pickup trucks and living room furniture.
For the locals, the passenger service—known affectionately as “The White Train”—created a unique culture. It was the only way out of town. A generation of teenagers grew up taking the train all the way to Sept-Îles just to eat at McDonald’s before Labrador City had one of its own. Residents would even ship their cars south by train, flying out via company planes to meet their vehicles for vacations.
For a kid growing up playing hockey every year the Minor Hockey teams from Labrador City and Wabush made the annual train ride to Sept Isles Quebec to play in hockey tournament. This annual pilgrimage was as much fun for the kids as it was the parents who went along with the kids. If Labrador City or Wabush were on the ice it was guaranteed that players, coaches and parents were at the rinks cheering for the team from Labrador West.
The Great Split
In 2005, the railway underwent a historic shift. The IOC decided it no longer wanted to manage the passenger service to Schefferville after the local mine closed. In a landmark deal, IOC sold the northern section of the line (from Emeril Junction to Schefferville) to a consortium of three First Nations: the Innu Takuaikan Uashat mak Mani-Utenam, the Naskapi Nation of Kawawachikamach, and the Innu Nation of Matimekush-Lac John.
This new entity, Tshiuetin Rail Transportation, became the first Indigenous-owned railway in Canada. Today, the line is split: the IOC retains ownership of the QNS&L from Sept-Îles to Labrador City for moving ore, while Tshiuetin owns the track from the junction up to Schefferville, moving people and freight.
The River and the Monopoly
Despite modern advancements, the railway is never safe from nature. The southern 50 miles remains the most spectacular and dangerous section of the line. Here, the track crosses the Moisie River—known as the “Nahanni of the East”—on a bridge towering 155 feet above the raging whitewater. In the spring, rockslides and avalanches are a constant threat. The IOC utilizes specialized “Hi-Rail” trucks equipped with sensors to patrol the tracks, ensuring a boulder hasn’t crushed the line before a 20,000-tonne train comes around the corner.
Today, the QNS&L is also a source of tension. It represents a strategic monopoly. Other mining companies, such as Champion Iron at Bloom Lake, require the railway to get their ore to port. Because IOC owns the tracks, they charge tariffs to their competitors, sparking numerous legal battles over “access rights” and fair pricing. The IOC argues that because they built it, they control it; competitors argue that the “mechanical spine” is an essential public utility that should be open to all.