Month: October 2017

Bang! It’s autumn again.

Flags, or what is left of them, crackling in the cold, wet onshore wind.

It has already been forgotten by most. Like all the other tragedies in our culture, the recent events in Las Vegas are already well-faded into a blur with all of the other horrific mass killings in North America. Given a little time some sick bastard may try to make a movie about it, just like two films just released about the marathon bombing Boston Marathon Bombing. Of course WWII is still rich fodder for films and books. It’s been over 70 years and we’re still fighting that one…and haven’t learned a damned thing! Greed knows no shame.

It’s not any hurricane, but still enough to draw storm watchers to the beach.
Surf’s up! This is at Point Holmes,just inside Cape Lazo at Comox. The view is Southward looking down the Strait of Georgia. These boulder-strewn tidal flats were so-named by the Spanish explorers. It means the “Snare.”

Life goes on. Finding a parking spot in the mall is as tough as ever, the nine-month television hockey season has begun. In the Caribbean, so recently in our amazement and now forgotten, millions are still without power and water after the hurricanes. Then there are those digging out from Mexico’s earthquake and in Lala land coroners are going from burned home to burned home looking for remains to identify. There are famines, floods and ethnic cleansings occurring around the planet. In Mogadishu, Somalia, a single bombing vapourized hundreds of people and injured hundreds more. That incredible evil has barely made our news. It seems we’re more concerned that our very wealthy Federal Finance Minister failed to report,in his list of assets that he owns a multi-million dollar villa in the south of France. “Oh yeah I forgot about that one.” Now here’s a guy who wants to reboot the middle class! All this comes to mind aboard ‘Seafire’ before going to work on Monday morning. It is still pitch dark outside at seven o’clock. An angry wind swirls around the boat. The mast and rigging are moaning and I sit here sputtering and gasping in the grip of a vicious virus; Snyphlis Exotic. I have decided that I’m too ill to go to work today. Somewhere in the rush of the wind I can hear Louis Armstrong singing “What a Wonderful World.” Then a leg falls off of my table.

Now that I’ve cheered everyone up, I’m going back to my bunk. At the moment I’m virtually useless and there’s no point in infecting the rest of the work crew with this nasty bug. As the thin light of a stormy morning reveals the low scudding clouds I ruminate with a mug of hot chocolate in hand. I think of good things.

A week earlier, before a previous storm. Looking across the Strait of Georgia to Desolation Sound. Calm and pleasantly warm.
North to Alaska. it is much nicer meeting these guys here than in a narrow, fog-bound channel of the Inside Passage. The smoke in the distance is from the paper mill in Powell River. It is an excellent wind indicator. Mittlenatch and Savary Islands are behind the tug.
Godsmile! I soon found out why she was looking so content.
This is why! These photos were taken while delivering a boat from Campbell River. An hour later we were running for shelter. I stood hand-steering in an open cockpit with a bitter cold wind and driving rain with only two hours to go. It’s all about the romance of the sea.
Never look back! I had right-of-way but this fish boat held it’s heading although we were on a collision course. Some things never change, world over. Never trust the other guy to play by the rules. The squall has just passed ahead of us.

I’m not in Shearwater anymore.

I have roads to drive away upon in any direction.

My wife, and my dog, are only a short drive to the south.

There are times when I would have had to work no matter how sick.

I’m free to write nearly anything I want without fear of any kind of persecution.

I am aboard a wonderful boat which I can untie and go anywhere in the world.

I’m not in Shearwater anymore.

The table was easy to fix.

The leaning shed of Fred.
One of my projects, more storage on the docks. It is built on a narrow raft and we have a small shed stability problem.
After the storm, low snow for mid-October.

In the evening the weather has advanced to a full gale. I sit inside beneath the shuddering mast listening to the screeching wind. I write placidly, while safe, warm and dry, recently-fed and still able to dream about a future. Who could ask for more? Someone to love, something to do, something to look forward too; while doing no harm. There is nothing more.

“The sea is the last free place on earth.”… Humphrey Bogart

A Blog About Nothing And Everything

Harvest moon rising through the rigging. Silence, only crickets chirping.

06:30. It’s still dark out there. There is fresh snow on the mountains. An e-mail from Jill tells me she has arrived safely in France. So the setting this morning is cold, dark and lonely. The heater is on in the boat. Tomorrow is the last day of summer. The intense heat of two weeks ago is already forgotten. We’ve had no earthquakes or hurricanes here and I’m sure there are many who would trade places with me. So, no complaining, just explaining.

Summer is clearly over.
On the beach. A vicious early-autumn squall tested every boat’s ground tackle. This one failed.
Help arrives.

A week later, I’m taking a day off. I’m totally exhausted and have taken to the decadence of sleeping in until mid-morning, like normal people. I go back for a nap after brunch and sleep again despite the sounds of a busy marina all around me. I’m missing Jill, and Jack and have plenty of chores here on the boat to accomplish. Mornings now bring a blast of cold air descending from the glacier. Winter seems to be advancing aggressively. Through the efforts of a friend I’ve been reconnected with a lost friend who bought my last boat, ‘Pax.’ That cheers me immensely and there will be a reunion in the weeks ahead.

PAX, my beloved former boat. Dan, the current owner strolls her decks. Late-breaking news is that Dan has just had emergency bypass surgery. He has my most urgent best wishes. Don’t ever take the day, or even the moment, for granted.
Photo by Byron Robb.
They keep on coming! Billions of them. Herring are the datum of our fish stocks, They eat little fish then are eaten by bigger fish and so on. I wish we would stop the spring herring roe fishery for a couple of years to see what happens to the rest of our fish populations.
A flash of herring. Millions swarm beneath the docks.
Moon Jellyfish by the billion. Salmon fingerlings, baby eels, and perch crowd beneath the docks.

 

 

A mid-afternoon fog lingers beneath the Comox Glacier
Waiting it out. the fog slowly dissipates late in the day. Mount Arrowsmith in the distance.

The world staggers under the aftermath of various disasters, both natural and man-made.Friends on their boat in Saint Lucia managed to survive the path of wrath of bumper to bumper Caribbean hurricanes and have sent out an appeal for Dominica. This island is an agriculture-based economy and it has lost both 90% of it’s infrastructure and housing as well as it’s crops. It is not getting much notice. The rest of the Caribbean is in dire straits and the gringo tourist haunts will surely receive prime attention. Southern Mexico has been devastated with two major earthquakes. Resourceful and energetic, the country will look after itself although nations like Japan have provided rescue assistance crews without notice or fanfare. In contrast there is a marauding global low named Trump which meanders erratically on the planet trying to foment disaster and dread, including nuclear war. How I ache to hear the nation say, “Donald, you’re fired!” Every newscast is loaded with fresh accounts about millions of refuges whom nobody wants to help. The planet swarms with human tragedy, the dark news of which we use as entertainment. And sorry Donny Boy, it is REAL news.

Sea Lions on the Cape Lazo buoy. Notice how the big guy gets the level spot in the middle.
Say no more!
I agree. This grumpy old mechanic has asked, “Mister, if you know so much about it, why’d you hire me?” Testosterone and wrenches are a bad mix.

I live in a very nice place where there is not really much to worry about. It is an area where one missing baby whale is a headline story. We tend to forget that here we are all a privileged few. I can’t imagine trading places with any of the millions who cannot take even the next meal for granted, let alone clean water, ready medical support or even walking to school without being shot at. Thanksgiving in Canada is here and it is not about any sale at the mall. As I proof-read this blog I blanched to read my words now in the wake of events in Las Vegas. While I browsed various news stories online I tripped over an ad for the current film “The Hitman’s Bodyguard.’ The abuse of weapons is an ongoing theme of entertainment. There’s something very seriously wrong with our culture and it is not all those guns out there. They’re just a symptom of a grave illness. I’m glad I have a boat.

The swimming raft abandoned. Mid day in Deep Bay. The Chrome Island fog horn sounded in the distance.

It has been quite a year. There has plenty to write about. At the moment we’re hove-to and speculating what the next adventure will be. As usual, old ‘Seafire’ is tugging at her lines, ready to head out. In a few more weeks, when the winter wind is howling in the rigging and the rain is driving horizontally, it’ll be time to move on southward, like the birds.

“Red sky in morning, sailor’s warning.” Not a sight to warm you heart, summer is coming to an end.
Going down in flames. A southbound flight catches the evening light.

“…only then did he understand that a man knows when he is growing old because he begins to look like his father.” …from ‘Love In the Time Of Cholera’ Gabriel Garcia Marquez