Opinions and Philosophy Archives

Walking Distance

Sip. After about 65 years of taking pictures I can assure you that it is not about equipment. It is about developing an eye for the simple beauty all around us and understanding the basic science of light. For the last few years I’ve insisted on using a mobile phone to capture images to prove that. Frankly, phones are now much more than cameras used to be but the process is still the same. AI will never exceed human creativity.

Yesterday I was in a recycled furniture shop. Laughing and joking with a group at the till I made a silly mistake and then mentioned a T-shirt for sale that said “ I had potential.” The cashier brusquely replied that I didn’t need a sign for her to see that. Gotta love a girl with a sense of humour!

One more from the notice board. Thar be a push-pin pirate!

Somehow, for me, June has meandered through my existence and we are well into July. I am looking out my office window at the harbour. There is a brassy light as the sun ladders through an overcast sky. The Westerly wind is rising and stirring the water with catspaws. Soon there may be whitecaps in the bay.The temperature is pleasantly moderate. It’s time to get the girls and go see what’s up in the woods before some citiot sets fire to them. Another beautiful day in a wonderful place to live. Oh Canada! Later I’m back sitting again at my desk staring balefully out at the world. This sitting is getting to be a bad habit, one that urgently needs breaking.

An artechoke morning. What an amazing plant! This photo is about life-size.

I try to avoid political comment but I feel the need to say this. I think our current prime minister is doing well. He waded into the Trump swamp, has a mess left behind by dear Justin and is trying to secure his own political future with every step dogged by Mr. Polynever yipping like a jealous puppy. Here’s my thought. Mr Carney has vowed to do something positive about affordable housing in Canada. He has annouced plans to manufacture affordable homes which can be delivered to the jobsite.

I was flummoxed to hear him announce yet more plans to spend $100,000,000 to refurbish 24 Sussex Drive. Apparently no PM has lived there since Stephan Harper’s day. (He must have had some wild parties! The joint is trashed) I’m wondering why pre-manufactured housing won’t work there. A nice double-wide trailer should do the trick and make a noteable political statement. If it’s good enough for the likes of we, then why not he? Just sayin’. Lead by example.The balance of that hundred mil. could build several more shacks for the people. Oh, leave the old stone doorway standing as a monument to an era long gone.

I say old chap, where has the ocean gone?

This baby bunny won a stare-down contest with my dogs. It is about six inches long.

And verily the fir sprang forth from the cedar.

This is the bottom of Haslam Creek. In a few months salmon will spawn in its rushing waters. It is hard to grasp but it IS normal.

So we have teetered over the fulcrum of mid-July and this blog is still sitting on the back of the stove. There is wildfire smoke in there air but not much else is going on in our sleepy little town. I have decided that Ladysmith is indeed the finest community on Vancouver Island. We have small town politics while we continue to sell ever more building permits and then worry about our water supplies. Ever bathed in beer? The City Of Ladysmith just doesn’t have a ring to it. We’re still a town, We like it like that. It is why we moved here. Allegedly voted to have the nicest mainstreet in Canada. Uhuh!

Some days it may best to stay home and smell the flowers.

Today I went to the local harware store. There were some ladies selling donuts for a local baseball charity. A rather rubenesque soul tried flogging me a box. I said, “No thanks, I’m allergic. They make me swell up!” Her response was, “That happens to some people.” So of course I had to reply, “I can see that.” I know why I don’t have many friends. You’ve got to have a sense of humour if you want to hang with me. There is no-one so poor as a person without a sense of humour.

The shameless bather. In the dryness of summer a tiny puddle can mean life itself. The snail is about 3/4.”

A workshop shot. I’m refurbishing an 80 year-old Aldis lamp (Navy signal lamp) for a neighbour. These allowed ships to communicate using Morse Code. No radio signals could be intercepted.

As Vancouver Island closes its pulp & paper mills, toilet paper farming has taken on a new urgency.

Oh Canada! What a wonderful place we live. The mountains of the mainland loom over the mayhem of Vancouver. I’m happy to be an islander. I love that wee wooden boat.

It has occured to me that, with broader thinking, most places are within “walking distance.”

Five Hundred

As I sat down to begin writing this I was flashed an e-ad for a T-shirt with the caption, “I had Potential.” End of blog, what else is there to say?

In the end we tried a few. They’re tasty enough but a lot of work. I’m an artichoke virgin no more.

I started this wee blogging endeavour with the notion of providing yet another travel bog, a way of showing photos and perspectives that engaged folks and offered ideas a little out of the box. To do that you have to travel. There has been precious little of that although not all journies are measured in miles. Of course I’ve been providing myself yet another creative outlet with this blog. Along the way my readership has developed a following of folks who tell me they look forward to what I offer. Their interest in turn gives me reason to keep looking for good photos and perhaps a reason to live beyond my own selfish parameters. I have made some wonderful friends, upset a few others and documented both the interesting and the mundane. The world is not a better place for anything I’ve done, but damnit, at least I’ve done something!

Remember Melanie and “I’ve got a brand new roller skate….” This is a new variation of the geezer’s electric scooter. You can even get a heater and A/C!

And so this is blog number five-hundred. It is no great personal achievement but I wonder if there will be a thousand some day. This continuing effort has given me clarity and purpose. I thank all my readers for their support and input.

There’s a four-letter word I have come to hate. FIFA. I am not a sports person in any way although I do not begrudge anyone else their passions. If soccer is your religion, bow down and remain devout. But World Cup my ass! We’re forced to endure the endless drivel about the seven World Cup Games to be played in Vancouver. Look! The whole world is not gaga about kicking a ball about. In fact there will be less intererst after all this manic irresponsibility has been forced on us. If the fuss was about all the World Cup games I could be more tolerant. But seven, a mere seven games! The media’s focus is almost exclusively on this. (Gaza, Iran, the Ukraine are all in the “Oh yeah” file but Trump’s name still makes it into every newscast.) Multiple billions have been spent to turn the city of Vancouver upside down, roust the homeless, disrupt weeks of commerce for many small buinesses, brigades of extra police have been brought in. The price of everything for both locals and visitors has been jacked outrageously. This mayhem provides no lasting benefit other than the hope of having some temporary global attention. Soccer is a noble ancient sport but we have other desperate issues needing the focus our wealth and passion.

Captain Peck. He’s got an eye on you. A stinkeye!

A prettier bird in flight but they have a very ugly stink eye. If you see Turkey Vultures circling overhead… worry.

Chemainus Beach, Low tide, Father’s Day, Summer Solstice.

Well it is coming on to mid-June. There are no clouds in the sky this morning, water use restrictions have been advanced, river levels are desperately low and we all live in terror of wildfires. I’ve spent my five-hundredth blog growling at a football corporation and the dogs need a walk before it it gets too warm. Onwards and sideways. 501 or bust! Today is now already summer solstice and so I had best get this posted. The weather is perfect, no conflagrations in the forest although I’m sure some idiot is working on it and life goes on. Let’s get a piece.

A view from the deck of the Rampart Scottish Pub in Maple Bay. Thanks to a tip from a friend we found it after 39 years of going by. Everything there was grand.

More Swallow Tails. Note the pollen on its wing.

“It is generally inadvisable to eject directly over the area you just bombed.”

US Air Force Manual

Life Inside A Painting

A morning view from my desk. It is a very much like an E.J. Hughes painting. I live here!

On Sunny mornings I look out from my desk and realize that my view is a stunning live E. J. Hughes painting. The hard morning light on sparkling water, greening leaves, several varieties of fruit blossoms, bird songs, boat traffic and a hidden water tower on the ridge that glints in the light. I think of all the poor folks who never have the luxury of even thinking of a scenic view and I wonder at my decadence with such a panorama.

Our front yard welcomes you. We’re very fortunate.

As if we don’t have enough flowers outside there are a few inside as well. Our sinus’s scream.

Downtown in the evening. That’s me in the room with the plywood in the window.

Isn’t it funny how one thing leads to another? Last blog was about the new gazebo. There’s more. I can’t abide having something completely generic. I need to add something or modify things to make it uniquely mine. First I installed some overhead hanging lights. The eves of the new edifice neccesarily tuck themselves beneath the soffits of the house. You know what happens when it rains. A gazebo with runnin g water. My solution was to install rain gutters beneath two sides of the edifice to direct the runoff overboard from the deck. They had to be innocuous. That meant installing them as high as possible which in turn meant cutting down a drill bit to fit the narrow gap I had to work in.

Rain Chain. The end of a process that involved assembling a gazebo and then finding a new window. I think of the child-slave somewhere who assembled this lovely copper spirals.

That process sent the severed bit pinging off like a bullet, right through my shop window. Fortunately the old window was tempered glass and in slow motion collapsed in a heap of jagged crystal shrapnel. I had trumped myself.The gutter job slid to the back of the stove while I spent a very long time collecting all the crumpled bits of glint. It is not good for the dog’s feet, or mine.

The new doowindow. It almost looks meant to be. That extra workbench outside is a grand idea. It helped sell me on the house.

Then began a quest for a replacement glass. God forbid I spend more money! Amazingly I found a pair of sliding French doors a few blocks away free for the picking up. Git ‘er gone. Now I have the sexiest shop window in town. With all its small lead-framed glass panels it is much safer from the whirling mad blacksmith inventing stuff inside. “Like a bull in a sex shop.” Of course after all that, with the next rain, the gutter leaked. I fixed it.

There is one more anecdote about this online-ordered gazebo/shelter/pergola/pagoda. The shipment came in two awkward huge boxes weighing about two hundred pounds. One box finally arrived, sitting sadly on its own on the front step out in the rain. Days later, we finally called to inquire.The other box was out there in the ozone, we were not having an uncommon experience apparently, it would arrive. Jill employed a high charm setting and were subsequently told an entire replacement unit was going to be shipped. “No, no,” we responded “all we need is one only, box 2 of 2. Apparently that does not compute. A second order was being expedited at no extra charge, don’t worry about the missing box. Hmmmm!

Several days later, box 2 arrived, lugged to our door by a lady driver working alone. Next day, gazebo 2 arrived. Both of those boxes were each carried by two burly men. (Just making note!) To bring this story to a conclusion let me simply say that a nice lady is now the happy owner of a brand-new gazebo at a very fair price. Of course so are we! I am still waiting for an invoice for all of the entertainment.

Almost paid for. This mid-sixties Mercury even has a complete second for spare parts. Damn! They were ugly!

High water slack. Both vessels are beginning to turn as the tide goes to ebb.

Spring is indeed in the air. The lilacs are producing an industrial-strength perfume that tingles in my sinus cavities and leaves me gasping. The dogwood blooms are suddenly everywhere, flourescent day and night. The sun now rises almost forty five degrees further north than in winter. Each day begins with the soft chanting of morning doves, swallows pelt through the air and baby birds hop across the lawns. Still people bitch. There’s always something to find wrong but I like to point out to folks that if you’re truly unhappy here, the nicest thing about our country is that you are still free to leave. Piss off! It’s that simple. Maybe should you go spend a week in Gaza or the Ukraine or Iran. They’re not free to leave and the notion of a holiday is totally abstract, a decadence beyond imagination. Interestingly, while the price of fuel is a howler, folks still drive like demons and burn fossil fuels as quickly as they can. As Donald Trump said on a Sixty Minutes interview last night, “There’s a lot of crazy people out there.”

Knotweed. It is so a bloody weed! It is insidious, very aggressive and relentless. This a fully severed 2″ piece of root that survived the winter and then began to sprout. I swear you can watch the stuff growing and trying to strangle every other plant.

Bikes and boats. Once in a while I get out on the trail. I am trying to teach myself to ride again after fifty years away from it. I’m not intrepid any more but you can’t take the boy out of me.

Trying to prove to yourself that you still have full mojo is tough when your joints feel like this!

Fawn Lilies. Beautiful but fast and fading.

God is a name we give to the blanket we throw over mystery to give it shape.

(Quote attributed to an AC/DC roadie)

Clever People

From where I view the world. In the murky dawn I can hear sea lions. Later a little sunlight appears.

There are nearly one and a half billion Chinese. This is a nation of folks who can eat soup with chop sticks; an art I am yet to master. I mention this only as admiration for ancient skills beyond my understanding. They also understand patience and long, hard work. Some of the world’s largest earth-filled dam’s are in China. They are mostly built by hand, one hatfull of soil at a time. It is a nation of formidable determination. We could learn things.

A courier delivered a heavy box today. My wife had ordered an open wardrobe for our guest suite. Yep, it was made in China. My job was to assemble it. Me, the jaded old mechanical guy. The first trick was opening the box which was emblazoned with a warning “DO NOT USE SHARP KNIFE TO OPEN.” Uhuh! Of course one has to use a knife and with that accomplished there was the ubiquitous explosion of white styrofoam insulation; statically charged snow stuck to everything. “Well golly” I muttered as I surveyed a cleverly-packed heap of bits and pieces. There must be a university degree available for packing boxes. You’ll never get the contents back in again. Bags of screws all counted out to the exact amount required, marked tubes of various lengths were all to be assembled into a single fuctional contraption. Frankly the heap of bits looked a bit like a home-built airplane kit; yes a real airplane. Serious business. Where to start? The manual, including a tool kit, was in the bottom of the package, of course.

Contraption complete. I used my own tools.

More instructions. First I need new glasses.

It won’t fly. But everything eventually fit together perfectly and it is solid as a rock. The only tools I needed were two proper screwdrivers. All I had to do was look carefully at the drawings in the manual. I recall that the worst diy assemble-at-home furniture I’ve faced was neither from Asia or Scandinavia but from Quebec. I can read French and the instructions still made no sense. Pictures are good.

When I think of Canada’s new agreement to buy Chinese Electric Cars I wonder if the low price means they have to be assembled by the buyer! Clever people those folks!

Anenome fading. Perhaps the most beautiful time.

It is Monday morning, Friday the 13^th has passed, Saint Patrick’s day is now in the rearview mirror. It is cold, damp, grey. The week ahead is forecast to be a continuous rain storm. Flood warnings are posted. The wind at times is filled with a mix of wet snow flakes and cherry blossoms but by week’s end the biblical deluge has not arrived here. Friends describe their vacations in Mexico. Good for you! The news from around the planet is filled with doom and gloom, suffering and hopelessness. Clearly, there is an invasive species that is out of control. We know who we are.

Down in my workshop I’m building a doghouse. Springtime. Uhuh!

Walk quickly, you don’t need any hairy sticks.

Happy people produce. Bored people consume.”
― Stephen Richards

Looking Up

“Oh Camilia, you’re breaking my heart” Much too early this camilia flower on the tree in my front yard adds brightness to the winter gloom.

Well Happy, Happy New Year! Ain’t it all a flock of bluebirds flitting about under a triple rainbow!

Can it be the Easter Bunny already? With high grocery prices it may well become someone’s supper.

I have just sat outside for a few minutes on my front porch. There is a street lamp outside our hedge. In its cone of light a thick soaking drizzle sheets down in waves. It looks like a Hollywood film set. Humphrey Bogart could appear in a trench coat, collar turned up, fedora low over his eyes. “Gotta light sweetheart?” It has rained steadily all day, there are two more days and nights of this in the forecast. Happily, it’s not snow. Yet.

No man is an island. Especially when he’s out of rum or firewood.

We’re already well past the middle of January. It seems we’ve already had enough woes thrust upon us to last until next Christmas. “Can’t have gravy all the time” a former boss used to say. I’m not asking for anything but a happy news story or at least an intelligent one. I am happy to not be spending the night in a doorway and I’m glad enough to be here versus so many other places on the planet. We’re doing fine. The only ambitious thing I did today was to walk the dogs on a sopping path in the woods nearby. They were happy to be home again. The hammering rain continues.

My tide guage. In the extreme spring tides just after the New Year, or “King Tides,” I use this dock across the bay as a tide guage. When the ramp is nearly horizontal, it is near high slack. At lowest low tide, in the dark, it will be tending toward the vertical.

Sunup 08:00. A gift. Mount Baker, our own volcano about ninety miles away, sits just over the wire.

Finally the weather breaks and we are caught in the chill damp of mid-January. The sky is clear overhead but before the frost has melted away my backyard is in shadows for the rest of the day. Within that gloom I look up to the glittering spectacle of high altitude flights glittering in the azure lofty sky. This nutter is trying to accomplish some landscaping projects while the rain holds off. What other goofs are out there trying to reshape their little world in the middle of winter? Passengers in those aircraft are thinking ahead to tepid seas, warm sandy beaches, palm trees and icy citrus drinks. Bugga!

Winter ducks. Isn’t your ass getting cold?

Did a manic winter-bound sun-starved pagan carve this?

Aliens. Lenticular clouds over the Strait of Georgia.

Today the bay was shrouded in fog. It lifted and fell, swirled and drifted, twisted and rose then fell again in a heavy bank. The day was dark and forbidding. Late in the afternoon a ship came in to anchor. Its horn thundered wonderfully and continuously in the thick fog. It sounded as if we would soon see the bow looming over our backyards. Finally there came the thunder of the anchor chain as several shots of writhing steel shot out of the hawse pipe. Then silence. Out in the bay, in the night’s fog, a ship and its crew, from some foreign port rests.

WALK? We’re warm, we’re dry and you want us to go out there in the cold? Leasve sleeping dogs lay DAD!

Somewhere else tonight, coyotes howl under the light of a gibbous moon. A mesquite log shifts in a campfire and little creatures skitter among the brush and cacti. I wish I were there, just for the night. The desert is a splendid place to sleep. Perhaps someone there also wrestles with a troubled mind. What do they worry about? I doubt they think of anyone on a water-logged island somewhere in the North Pacific. And who cares? We’re here; now. That is all there is.

Yippy owooooo.

I love this painting. It adorns the wall in our favourite restaurant in Ladysmith, the ‘Indian Palate.’ The food is fantastic. This unsigned original was purchased by the restaurant owner in India.

“ I would rather die of passion than of boredom.”

“Art is what we leave of ourselves in other people.” – Fredrik Backman ‘My Friends’

One Tiny Light

Winter Solstice. Some rare minutes of sun cast long shadows. These wild elk are an eternal attraction for passing motorists.

It is one thirty in the morning, a few days before Christmas. I face my reflection in the window. It floats on the crushing blackness over the bay. From where I sit at my desk I can see no lights out there, except one. There is a single boat in the anchorage across the bay. It is displaying the required anchoring light which appears to be a genuine oil lamp. It flickers just enough to reveal its authenticity. The tiny thin gold ribbon of its gentle light on the still waters reaches across to my side of the bay.

A very cool change. This is where I bring the dogs on aa hot summer day. Winter rains and wind make a huge difference.

Dark days make mobile phone photos very difficult. This one pushed the limit. Hard to believe this baby eagle was just an egg a few months ago.

I am always anxious when these characters look down on my wee doggies.

For a closer look come back at low tide.

Recently, most nights and days have been raging gales with pummelling rain, torn limbs and general mayhem from wind damage. Fortunately on our hillside we have known no flooding. If I bend my head a bit I can see further down the shoreline where waterfront homes blaze with festive lighting, even now in the wee hours. In the other direction there is the harsh glare of work lights from the log sorting grounds. I focus back on the the little flickering light and realize how that speaks to me of Christmas so much more than all the crass glitz and din of this massive commercial season. I refuse to get caught up in that.

Surf’s up. Cox Bay, Tofino, full gale on a high spring tide.

People go out there for fun with a surf board.

I’ve already deleted one blog. It dripped of loss and jaded views. This is not a time to look for negativity and regret. There is already far too much of that. I ache for friends passed on and a daughter who is no more. This season can bring such loneliness. Being naturally bent toward depression it is far too easy for me to swerve into a spiralling tunnel. I have to look for all the wonderful things we have and don’t see. How blessed we are to live where and how we do. No one is shooting at us, we’re free to leave this country at any time, we have clean air and water. Despite cries of tough times, most of us have a surplus of rich food. Enjoy it.

Snug. Pounding rain outside. Inside the smell of wood smoke, kerosene lanterns, fresh coffee.

Refined to its base elements life is about someone to love, something to do, and something to look forward. That is it. I wish you all plenty of those three things and perhaps the ability to help others find the same.

Happy Christmas.

Christmas: the only time of year you can sit in front of a dead tree eating candy out of socks.
~ Anon

Shouldering Season

Remember Norman Rockwell? You have seen his work. He was a revered and iconic American painter of the last century. He produced a mountain of somewhat kitschy yet warm and fuzzy images of Americana. One of those paintings was called ‘The Stay At Homes.’ A bent and gnarled geriatric sea captain stands above a village and looks out onto a broad bay. His left hand rests on the shoulder of a young boy in a sailor’s costume. Beside the child stands a small spotted dog. Upon the bay there goes a top’sl schooner sailing on a broad reach before a stiff breeze. In the air above, gulls soar as the pair gaze out to sea. There is an air of the sea’s mystery and a sense of wisdom imparted.

I have held that image in my mind since I first saw it. For a long time I was that young sea-lusting lad. Lately I realize I am fast becoming the old salt. It hurts. The aches and pains of an arthritic winter are upon me. Somehow I have to get my carcass south for a while and then there is this wonderful place to come home to. The cost of everything, it seems, is prohibitive and then there is this bloody BC Ferry fare. I guess it is part of the price of island life but it does leave folks with a sense of entrapment. Just to get my truck and trailer over to mainland Canada costs approximately two hundred dollars, one way. Imagine the ticket for a commercial truck load of lettuce! And then there is the fuel and the tax on that. So, as usual, low finances stand in the way. Or, is that just a lame excuse?

Allie is a six year old girl rescued from China. Now she needs a new home, Her eyes melted my heart but I already have two wonderful rescued dogs.

Finally. After decades of looking I get a quick photo of a tree frog. These tiny guys have a booming call but are masters of staying hidden. My dog Libby sniffed this one out where it sat three feet beside the path. It is about two inches long.

There is no point in lamenting things you can’t, or won’t, change. Just let it be and find something good to focus on. It is why I continue to take photos and write blogs. There is beauty in everything, but first you have to want to find it. By focusing on those tiny joys all around us life remains bearable, sometimes even worthwhile. That quest is life inspiring. Sadly, last night, I was awakened just before 03:00 by the sound of an airplane flying low and slow. It sounded as if full flaps were employed and the engine was labouring. It was a rotten night out with blasts of rain and intermittent fog. As a pilot, I knew something was wrong but then dismissed the noise as some unusual vehicle down on the highway. In the morning I learned the single-engine aircraft I had heard crashed only a minute later. The pilot was dead.

Low and slow is always a recipe for disaster especially in the middle of a nasty night. I will not speculate but can easily imagine the terror and panic as things went wrong. Those would have been long seconds before the merciful oblivion of the crash. I was taught long ago that altitude is money in the bank and airspeed is money in the pocket. Spend your assets wisely. The sense I cannot shake is of being alone in that cockpit that night. Rest in peace mate whomever you were.

Autumn Pond
Salmon lurk beneath, exotic waterfowl stop to rest on their way south.

Flying south over the pond. Actually, it’s landing at Nanaimo Airport.

Today is “Light Up Day” in Ladysmith. After local volunteers have strung up millions of Christmas lights over the pavement and buildings of main street, crowds will gather in the cold rain and “OooAh” as the grand blaze is switched on. Tomorrow is Black Friday as the orgy of Christmas credit spending goes into full launch mode. The general excesses of the season will sustain many retailers for the year ahead. Meanwhile the food banks can’t meet demand.

An old friend reappears. She was once a marina neighbour. ‘Beluga Spray’ is about 44′ by 14′ She’s a beast. I recall that below she was finished in varnished oak and reminded me of a Baptist church. After thirty plus years I hope the dream is still alive. Maybe someday she’ll get a set of spars and sails and truly go to sea.

A dipper bird. This amazing creature can walk underwater along the bottom of rushing stream beds feeding on what they find. Right now there is a feast of salmon eggs. Always moving, they are hard to photograph especially in the dull light of autumn.

Here, old Mr. Bumhug hisself will turn his back on the bizarre and abstract frenetics to warily watch the season .pass from afar. I have repaired the neighbour’s snow blowers and will sit huddled next to my electric fireplace watching the wee birds at their feeder outside my window. Winter approaches. I’m ready. Good cheer, and warm wishes to all.

Two eagles watch my wee dogs pass. They are enjoying a bountiful salmon spawn.

Ready for spring. Artechoke seeds and starter pots in the garden shed.

Now is the season of trying to keep the bird feeders full. The little bandits can empty them quickly.

Those who wish to sing Always find a song. Old Swedish proverb.

November Blahs

Ruffling its neck plummage and clacking its beak with steaming breath, this Raven cut an impressive image. That all began when I pointed my camera at it. “Nevermore.” Sitting on a limb above our path I think the bird was trying to hurry us along.

I went for my annual Covid and flu shots four weeks ago last Tuesday. Within two days I had fallen into the clutches of what seemed to be terminal snyphlis. It may have been a coincidence. “When you’re with your honey and your nose is runny, don’t think it’s funny, ’cause it’s snot.” It has been almost a month. I am now slowly recovering but still feeling like what fell out of a high-flying goose. I spend most of my time in bed decomposing.

Against the wind. Poor Ayre! The leaves blasting past were bigger than her.

Between rain showers, the wind blew away evaporating moisture.

A bleak alley in downtown Duncan. To me it looked like an abandonded movie set.

Anny. A new friend we met on the trail. She is fourteen years old and has just been adopted.

While I was trying sleep last night I had an attack of the farts. It was a weary barrage of short sharp reports. (FLAK Fart Like a King) When I finally drifted into a troubled sleep I dreamed that my body had become covered with open, suppurating lesions that all farted unstoppably. I sounded like a spring pond full of toads. The doctor called it a terminal case of “Deterioritis.” Doesn’t life get better when you can hang a name on something? I survived my dream although there is a bad odour in this room. Ah yes, the writer alone in his garret. There’s a reason!

I call it the Tiger Moth Cafe because of the models. It’s a lovely step back in time, complete with original dirt from the sixties. But, the food is very good, the service is excellent, the servers are friendly, and the vibes are excellent. Downtown Duncan.

On another wall in that cafe this map from 1939 hangs.

Today, deep in the wretched state of this damnable flu, my cell phone pinged with a text message. “Are you in the store today?” Clearly a wrong number but I sardonically replied, “Yes, but we’re out of edible panties.” I sniggered at my cryptic wit and drifted back into my snotty coma. A while later came a response. “Is this Dr. Mary?” “No.” Now I’m looking for Dr. Mary’s porn shop. Yep, that’s me, a right old bull in a sex shop. Then another text came. “Do I have a wrong number?” I didn’t reply.

Dawn Patrol. Over the crow hole a Remembrance Day flypast at 10:55 am. The lead aircraft is a Yak 3, Russian designed, Chinese built. It has an amazing thunderous sound. The other two are homebuilts.

Lunch time by the front window. Little birds need love too.

Rain- wet mushrooms. Or is it a cluster of umbrellas at a bus stop?

Still the calls are coming from people who promise to be my literary saviour. It’s an atmospheric river of false hope. Yeah right! I wonder at this avalanche of scammers all singing a similar song. How did they appear all at once? It must be a new idea they picked up at a scammers convention.

And so I stumble on into mid-November. On the first day of the month I stared through my reflection on the window into a jet black sunrise at 07:30. There are swirls of fog but nothing else. We turned back the time that night, the dark season is upon us. I’m still staring out.

So what the hell am I writing about? Everyone knows what time it is, everyone has their own box of tick-tocks slowly emptying itself. The sound of that gets louder and louder. I’m fighting the old man blues, desperate to do something meaningful. I can’t seem to get beyond repairing the neighbour’s snow blowers. One friend is in Mexico on his motorcycle and sending me videos of it all. My little antique Honda Trail bike is still in the workshop waiting for parts. There is a whole damned black winter ahead.

It was full moon last week. Folks still seem edgy. The evening is bracketed by the usual November gales. I turned in to the local grocery store just after darkness fell. Two young boys careening through the parking lot on a grocery cart barely missed the front of my truck. If I had not braked it could have been a sad story. They were having a grand old time. Two people were standing nearby. I asked politely if the two kids were theirs. Mentioning that they were very hard to see I suggested many drivers would not have seen the two. The response was angry and aggressive. Who am I to care about anyone’s child? “Just stay calm and carry on and… mind yer bizniz!” When I told my wife this little story she had her own from the same parking lot. She pointed out to a man in his car that he had one headlight burned out. He flew into a rage and began to curse her. Say wot? November grinds on.

Monday morning practice. The boat is worth about $250 k, the volunteers are free. They perform an invaluable service.

An old marina neighbour from thirty years ago. The wheelhouse and the junk have been added since. ‘Beluga Spray’ is a beast. 44 feet long, 14 foot beam. She’s huge! The interior is finished in varnished oak, like a Baptist church. Sadly she still has no mast or sprit. Hopefully there is still a dream of voyaging ahead.

Smokey Cove, across the bay. A little autumn cleanup.

I recently heard a lyric from a cowboy song that says “I’m not anti-social, I just don’t like people.” Uhuh! It is now past already Remembrance Day. I’ll keep my thoughts to myself. With all the suffering of innocent people at the hands of military actions there’s not much point in remembering anything if nobody is prepared to learn a damned thing. Eleventh hour, eleventh day, eleventh month, think of Gaza, Ukraine, Somalia, Sudan to name a few.

Yeah, remember!

“Often people are the least lovable when they need love the most.” anon

Lost For words

Against the wind. Autumn is still able to catch me by surprise

October fourteenth. Thanksgiving day now past. I sit watching the sun rise in a clear sky. As it rises, a skim of frost forms on my neighbour’s roof. It is always coldest right at dawn. There is an explanation but I’ve never quite bought it. Perhaps it is an atmospheric compression factor but I think I prefer the simple mystery of not knowing. Why does everything need to be dissected and put in boxes?

And there I sit clicking away. It must be scary looking in.

Lately there has been a storm of people contacting me in an effort to scam me about one of my books. They all have an eloquently-worded AI preamble which praises my literary skills and promises to lead me into the light of commercial success. There are now dozens who have promised fulfillment for this jaded old given-up writer. They carefully do not mention upfront what their fees are and I carefully do not mention the laughable state of my finances. I went bust long ago trying to market my work. It is very cruel that folks would prey on other people’s faltering dignity and false hope; especially faded geezers like me. Cold and heartless knacker crackers! The lot of them.

“Once you’ve got the lawn mowed, drop in for a spot of breakfast.”

Really? It’s hard to look ahead if you’re texting.

It is a terrible thing to watch a friend waste away. I’ve gone to see him twice in the last week, he has been asleep. He is fading and I recognize him first by his mechanic’s hands. How many times we have worked side by side, handing over wrenches, prying on a stubborn part, covered in black muck. Now they lay at his sides, clean and still. We are both mechanics, ( he a splendid one) sailors and rough-necked men who see and share a love of the natural world. It is hard not being able to do a damned thing for him. I know some of his family regard me as an interloper although this man and his wife have treated me as family for a long time. All I can do is be there, standing by for any need I can fill. My wife and I went to the hospital today and looked in on this now breathing cadaver who has for a very long time been full of life, humour and much wisdom. I feel so very weary and guilty. Yet while he still lives I miss already him horribly.

The proprietress could charge admission.

When we arrived home this afternoon it was still light enough to do what I call my scat patrol. It was between fierce cold blasts of precipitation. Already in a splendid mood I bent down and scooped up the rain-hammered dog turds wondering those eternal questions about life’s meaning. Now I sit at my desk, staring back blankly at my reflection in the black window. Long will be the night.

Meet me there, where the sea meets the sky,

Lost but finally free.”

Inscription on memorial bench, M-y-grib Point, England.

From ‘The Salt Path,’ Raynor Winn.

A Twenty-Two Thousand Dollar Camping Trip

What’s warmer and fuzzier than a child playing with a dog, especially when it’s a dog who usually doesn’t like children. This moment made my day.

Nearly everybody loves a parade. Especially if it is their own. Yesterday while driving home from Nanaimo the highway was clogged. Our sleepy little island has become what I call “Surrey West.” There is every style of driving at play and how our roads are not heaped with bodies daily is indeed a miracle. The passing lane was backed up yesterday although everyone was hurtling along well above the speed limit. There was no room for error.

At the head of that zooming parade was a pickup truck with Washington license plates pulling a very large Grady White powerboat on a trailer. It had two 300hp outboards hanging on the transom. A thirty foot boat with 600 horsepower is insanity! Nevertheless what what I really noted was the huge American flag flapping from the boat’s rigging as the T-Rump undergraduate declared his self-absorbed arrogance. When I described this aberration to my wife she declared it an act of aggression. I think she is right. It seemed an American solution was in order, one which involves several machine guns. Do NOT come into my country to piss on my head. This Canadian is not inclined to be warm and fuzzy toward such an affront; eh! Maybe we should build a wall!

It’s that time of the year again. The annual salmon spawn is on.

The elk are getting into the mood. The incumbent patriarch is chasing off an usurper. His defeated rump is dissappearing into the brush on the left.

One of the issues on our national plate these days is to continue the plan to purchase a load of several F35s from the US. At this summer’s Abbotsford Air Show an F35 was part of the spectacle. A news story had an expert describing the wonders of this aircraft and how it was “The most technically advanced fighter aircraft ever.” The flight demonstration was cancelled at mid-point due to “technical difficulties.” Say no more. Through my lifetime of being around things mechanical, the ultimate sophistication is always about simplification. A friend recently described problems with his electronic kitchen faucet. He loved the device but parts and support were in Toronto. I suggested a simple turn-the-knob tap from the local hardware store. Yeah but…

In a documentary about a village in rural Russia running water there involved a well with a windlass and a bucket on a rope. The water was murky. You run home with a pail in each hand. Everyone gathered around the well waiting to crank up their daily water declared Russia to be the best country in the world. Da! Perspectives. Here, we’ve had a rainy twenty-four hours. The earth slurped it up greedily. But now it is early autumn, all teetering on that one day of desperately needed moisture. Hopefully a majority of gringos are going back into the woodwork as we grab a few days of residual summer.

The sad state of our island railroad. We desperately need it back in service. There is little hope apparently.

In the interior, Indian Summer comes after a first frost. Here it is after that first serious day of rain. The weather at the moment is perfect so… we know that only fools and newcomers predict the weather. Frankly those girls on TV wearing tight skirts can go to hell with their atmospheric rivers and predictions with newly invented words. I am an old-school pilot and mariner. I can still out-predict them usually with an eye on the barometer and the sky; and know that I’m no smarter than I look! Just get in tune with the home planet.

Last week we went to a place called Saratoga Beach Resort. It is halfway between Courtenay and Campbell River. It looks out across broad white sands to Mittlenatch Island, Desolation Sound and the coastal mountains beyond. We have been driving past this place for forty years and wonder how we have missed it. The RV park is small and patronized by quiet and friendly people. The beach is stunning with spectacular views of the the mainland coast and the rugged mountains inland. I know that part of the coast intimately and take great comfort in seeing old familiar haunts even if from ashore.

A view to mainland Canada and Desolation Sound.

On the drive up from Ladysmith it was once again obvious that our old yellow pickup truck was a little too light for towing our trailer. While doing a quick search online to see what decent used trucks were available, and affordable, (virtually none) I found one at a used car lot only two miles away. Go figure! We went for a look. All I’ll say is that this is the story of a twenty-two thousand dollar camping trip. Any other similar used truck was easily twice the price. Jill has done an amazing job of shaking our scrawny money shrubs and she gleaned what we needed. We’ve just bought a house and the ribs on the piggy bank are showing. My imagination is beggared at what folks are paying for used vehicles with very high mileage. New vehicle prices, for me, are incomprehensible. How the hell do people survive while supporting such high prices? We have an enviable lifestyle and nobody is shooting at us, yet, but we seem determined to live within a growing hairball of need and greed.

Das Voody. Locals line up for burgers cooked in the old bus.

A Dodgy truck, a 1960 D100. The Dodge I bought is 68 years newer. It is very nice but I think I’d rather have the old one. Despite the rust-hole, it is in amazing condition.

At this time of year many folks are able to flaunt a well-bronzed body. However every year one of the signs of summer’s end is men in shorts with a glaring fluorescent pair of shanks. Where they’ve been since spring, with their legs hidden away, is anyone’s guess but Geez Louise! They sure stand out. It is an annual phenomenon which perhaps precludes the winter shorts gang who are out in several feet of snow with glowing red legs. There are also other folks already in wool toques and parkas which leaves me wondering at the togs they’ll sport come winter. It is a cute wee conundrum to have along with taking for granted having food, clean water, hospitals and other infrastructures for all who want them. God bless us every one.

On a final note of how we are so blessed here I sat yesterday on a bench beside the Nanaimo River. The dogs and I were out for our daily walk. The water was crystal clear. I soon noticed that I could see spawning salmon swimming up in mid-stream. I am always drawn to think of their incredible journey, out into mid-Pacific and then back to exactly the same place they were spawned. To have fish and a clean river full of fresh water is an abundance we take for granted. Autumn arrives and the cycle of life continues.

Is this a sign of autumn or did a passing dog leave a pee mail?

“When you get to the end of your rope, there’s often a little more rope.” anon