Clickety Clack

Can you hear the bell, the whistle, the hiss of steam, the click of wheels on track? These were common sounds once along our abandoned railway.

I never made it Astoria. Jill endured a last-minute medical issue and off course I could not go and leave her alone. Jill is fine now. Thank goodness! I’m disgusted that I missed my Fisher Poets Gathering but life is a series of dead-ends and disappointments. That’s the way the pickle squirts and you have to look for the good part when you hit a bump in the road. Last weekend was very snowy, all the way to California. I could have been stuck down in Astoria, sampling their wonderful local craft beer and fresh seafood; survival food That’d be terrible! Maybe next year! Because I was home, I happened to discover an article in the “Times Colonist,” our island rag, and wrote the following response. You may not know or care about the debacle which is our island railway, but I believe it is a backbone of our economy and civilization. It is appalling to me that anyone can consider abandoning it forever.

No train today; or tomorrow. The old whistle stop at Cobble Hill.

Providentially, the very next evening I caught a documentary about the Ukraine Railway system. An upgraded number now has the number of evacuated folk fleeing invasion at nearly four million. There is of course no civilian air travel within the Ukraine, roads are impassable and so the rail system there is a prime weapon and defense supply line. The Russians bomb it incessantly and the Ukrainians make repairs with even more determination. Their skills have improved out of necessity. Jobs that once took a week can now be done overnight. It critically underscores the importance of a railway to any country and its regions.

There is an argument that Vancouver Island does not have a large enough population base to support a modern rail line. It has occurred to me that the single piece of infrastructure which became the foundation for the nation of Canada was our transcontinental railway. The population then was a mere fraction of our present and rapidly growing number of Canadians. Enough said. I’ve also sent a copy of this letter to our Provincial Transport Minister, Rob Fleming.

At one time spur lines like this were part of our working railway. We need it back.
The long way to Victoria. The longer we leave it, the longer it will be.

There are lots of snow photos in this blog. I’m trying to see the beauty. I’ll try to find new adventure for my next post.

Look on the bright side
Welcome to the swamp

I respond to your front-page story in today’s edition titled “First Nation says it’s end of the line for Island railway. ” Every progressive nation around the planet struggles to develop environmentally friendly modern railways in a bid to improve their infrastructure. Why do we need to continue this debate? Ukrainian Railways, for example, with over 19,000 kilometers of rail line, has been the life-saving implement in that country’s effort to defend itself. In the past year of it’s horrible invasion, nearly 4,000,000 people have been transported to safety and the network continues to be a prime supply artery.

On Vancouver Island, permission for the E&N Railway was provided to Robert Dunsmuir to help exploit the mineral and timber resources of this island. The Provincial Government of the time even provided funding to that MLA for the railway’s development. Now it lies abandoned, a bizarre story of nepotism, exploitation and gross mismanagement. To turn this valuable asset over to any regressive interest would be a poignant footnote to this saga of epic tragedy.

However: let’s look at our rail line in a positive light. Logging companies, over the past century, have built a macrame of rail grades over the entire island. It would be no great feat to extend the E&N railway all the way to the large population of Campbell River. Employment once required me to travel the Island Parkway (Itself viciously opposed at one time) in the small hours of early morning. That highway is very busy with traffic in both directs in the middle of the night. Where all those folks are going at all hours is a mystery, but people clearly need to travel. Consider a newly built electric rail line which would join Campbell River, Port Alberni, Nanaimo, and all points in between to Victoria, just think of the environmental sense. The passenger service would need to run at regular intervals of a few hours, going both ways, round the clock. Think of the relief to our ever busier highways and the simple savings of fossil fuel. Think green, act green. The cost of the rebuild would prove a wise investment.

I try to recall the days when the heat shimmers on the pavement and a drink of water is a precious thing.
The dogs love it.

A container port could be built near Port of Alberni with a direct rail link to mainland Canada via Nanaimo. Can you think of a better contingency plan in the event of the massive earthquake we anticipate? What an economic stimulus that would provide to Vancouver Island. Add a couple of steam-powered excursion trains for our tourist industry and develop a marine link on classic ships between Victoria and Port Alberni. Run the route both ways, it would soon be a world famous attraction. The possibilities are as limited as anyone’s imagination.

If we give away the existing remnant of our rail line, we will never have the opportunity to reclaim it. We are desperately overdue for this piece of basic infrastructure on Vancouver Island. It is essential for the future of our beloved island. I am a retired caucasian male heterosexual married man who has tried to earn a living in the resource industries of British Columbia. I understand I am part of a group we can call Canada’s “Last Nation,” but if this geezer can think out of the box, so can the rest of us. We just have to think of what we can achieve by working together. Special interest groups pulling against each other ultimately achieve nothing.

Fred Bailey

Ladysmith BC

A little white stuff certainly changes perspectives. I love this graffiti in the woods.
Hazelnut flowers
El pipo. The wooden pipe, four feet in diameter, carries water for miles to our local pulp mill.
Spring grass in the flood plain. There’ll be deer tracks.
Hope springs eternal.
Morning after the last storm.
Noon tide turning to ebb.
Last night, February 3, Venus and Jupiter came together for a brief visit. My big marvel was the clear sky.

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Even if you are on the right track you’ll get run over if you just sit there.” – Will Rogers

Nowhere Man

Spring in the swamp.

I awoke in the morning with that damned old song looping around in my head. From beneath the blankets I could feel the grey outdoors and life seemed pointless. One of those mornings. Bathroom, coffee machine, morning grunts on the living room rug, then open the curtains and confirm what I already knew. Another voice from the past echoed in my head, “Can’t have gravy all the time.”

Leave me alone” I wanted to shout, but still “Nowhere man” wouldn’t let me go. I suppose I’d been pondering the point of life, past, present and future and came up with a foggy zero. Another slash of rain rattled on the skylight. March 26th, Yeehaw!

Currantly blooming. It is a reluctant spring this year.

My habit of late is to check the news and see if there are any significant developments in the Ukraine. The first story to stop me today is about a dog abandoned in a Ukrainian train station. There must be hundreds of them. I want to do something, but what? I ended up making a small donation to PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals)There are so many people who have to come before any dog but in my jaded brain I have a hard time accepting that a dog is less worthy of love than a person. And, no-one has ever been shot at by a dog! Yesterday while making up the bed in the Hemoth I noted a faint odour of Jack in the duvet. I will wash it or replace it, but it is a last link to my beloved friend who has already been gone almost two months. Well isn’t it all too bizarre and depressing? As a tugboat dispatcher in my past used to say, “She’s all bluebirds, just fuckin’ bluebirds.” On that note, the barn swallows have just returned.

I don’t know their name. I don’t care.
That they draw me down onto the soggy spring ground to take a photo brings me back to life.
I’m a sucker for fawn lilies.
Don’t dare step on any!
A cable runs through it. What’s the rest of the story?

Saturday evening passed with me watching ancient Sterling Hayden movies on YouTube then music videos of James Mcmurtry and Ray Wylie Hubbard. All the cheery stuff! All the while I snacked on Cheesies, washing that health food down with straight Demerra rum.

A path well trod. This was a regular haunt for Jack and I. He loved the gravel bars out in the estuary of the Chemainus River.

I’ve decided that it’s time to start looking for another dog. There are no merit points in mourning for Jack. He’s gone, life goes on. He will always be a part of me but my life is not complete without some canine company. I’m not rushing into anything and need to feel that somehow the dog finds me, but I’m open to possibilities. I have no breed or gender preferences, so long as the dog will be able to adapt to life in the Hemoth, or in a boat.

Help Wanted. One dog. Job description negotiable.” Posted on the woofernet, March 31st.

The ache in my heart. How I miss him! He’s a tough standard for any new dog.

A boy can learn a lot from a dog: obedience, loyalty, and the importance of turning around three times before lying down.” Robert Benchley

Invasions

They do tend to leave their beer cans and chip bags laying around.
Horses know. Which is why she won’t go.

After the numbness of over two years of Covid I am finding it very hard to process the information about the Ukraine. Sadly, like Covid, the media covers the story in a tumbling mix of contradictions, speculations and “essentially correct” information. The one news source I’ve found which is convincingly objective and succinct is Al Jazeera. I know that will raise a few eyebrows.

Damnable human beings! We jabber about finding harmony and natural balance while learning to live a harmonious existence with our planet. Yet we refuse to get along with each other. We have an insatiable need for power and control, refusing to rise above our hostile nature. Clearly, from what we learn, the Russian people, who have endured so many horrors in the last century, do not support the Putinists and there may well be some nasty times ahead in that country if not the whole of the Western World. A grenade has been tossed into the cage and the monkeys are fiddling with the safety pin.

In my mind one of the perpetrators in this debacle was the persistent provocation of the Americans. Old Biden just couldn’t keep his pie hole shut. You’re a member of NATO, just pay up your dues and let its spokespeople there lay out the ultimatums. If you taunt a bully enough, you give him no choice but to lash out. I truly wonder if all of Biden’s rhetoric is not an effort to draw focus away from the desperate mess the Americans have left behind in Afghanistan and as far back as Vietnam. If only the not-so-United States could ever understand, or care, that their missionary compulsion to meddle in other people’s affairs causes nothing but further chaos and misery. Stay home, clean up your own mess. At least media focus has been drawn away from all things related to Covid. Doesn’t it leave you wondering what is real and what’s contrived?

At mention of Afghanistan I want to kick our own Mr. Trudeau’s ass. If only the kid would stop trying to be politically correct. Justin, boy, you’ll never keep everyone happy all the time. Make a stand, on something, stick to it, be a man. He does not understand that he is constantly pissing in his own knitting. He promised to help certain people immigrate from Afghanistan to Canada. That process is floundering in a bureaucratic bog and he now offers a broad welcome to Ukrainian refuges. I support welcoming refuges, but first keep the promises already made.

This Canadian will be seventy years old this year. I know that is not “old” by today’s standards but there is far more of my life behind me than ahead. I’ve passed my “Best before” date. I’m often in pain, can be miserable and cranky and bitter. I don’t have a hell of a lot left to contribute. Send me and other pre-geezers like me off to the Ukraine, or Afghanistan or any place like them. So long as we can still walk and fart at the same time we may prove better warriors than the children we send. The enemy can’t fire a weapon while they’re doubled over in laughter. Think of the old age benefits the country would be saving.

This tiffen was made responsibly, we just couldn’t spell srainless.

Perhaps a solution to world woes would be to load a life raft with the likes of Vladimir, Boris, Joe, Justin, Kim and Xi. Kick it loose on an ebb tide and throw in one oar. But then there would be an issue about water pollution.

Meanwhile here in Ladysmith, we too have been invaded; by a massive film crew making a sequel to a scifi flic called “Resident Alien.” The streets downtown, all parking areas and other random locations have been commandeered by a horde of out-of-towners. A part of town has been transformed into a fictious place called Patience, Colorado. I speculate that should a film be set in Ladysmith, the set would be located somewhere else in a place like Kansas. So far as I know, there has never been a referendum in Ladysmith about the town repeatedly being held hostage by a film company. Its citizens can simply go to hell. These movie folks leave a lot of money behind but I’ve never received a cheque. Beam me up. I’m just a resident alien.

Action! A security goon warned me about taking photos because the camera flash could “Mess up the whole gig” I replied that the filming had messed up my whole gig.
The camera sure caught my eye. Not that I could work out how to switch it on.
Red to red, no not that one! No respect for handicap parking either!
The beam me up machine.
The Ladysmith CPO is suddenly the Patience Colorado postal station. Perhaps this why so much mail becomes lost.

Ever felt like you don’t fit in? Photo was copied from the Ladysmith Chronicle.

I’m not crazy about reality, but it’s still the only place to get a decent meal.”

GROUCHO MARX

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