Open to the world. Port Renfrew from Pacheedaht Beach. The fog over the Strait of Juan de Fuca can be on the beach in minutes.
It races through the tree tops. Tumbling through our campsite, it appears so thick that you feel able to grab a handful of the vapour in the tiny clouds. But it’s only fog. Even in the brisk onshore wind it invades like a tumbling army. Then it is gone but only to reappear again without obvious explanation. Pacheedaht Beach, near Port Renfrew, is an indigenous people’s sand beach that curves for a couple of miles along a bit of the North Pacific. Surfers love it in winter. We come here often.
A massive amount of huge driftwood bears witness to the size and force of winter storms. Children love the logs, surfers love the waves.Everyone loves the idea of home. Tomorrow’s engineers and architects stir their creative juices.Here it comes againAn empty log barge is towed to a remote logging camp somewhere up the coast. It reminds me of lost days when full-rigged ships were towed north the Cape Beale and then released into steady winds.
August on the West Coast is dreaded by mariners and aviators for its thick fogs. It can form almost instantly and at times lingers for days, holding everyone in a tight fist. Clear blue overhead, yet a thick grey wall lays over the Strait beyond. Miles out there ships blast their horns as required every few minutes. Those bellows boom over the shore.The open curving horizon calls. This old salt and every fibre within him aches to be back out there again with the pulse of the liquid planet beneath my feet. On shore the lazy crash of summer surf mixes with the sound of happy children and their dogs. Bliss.
Bumponimbulous cloud. There have been some interersting skies in recent days.
Thunder, lightening, rain, frightened dogs under the bed, a certainty of wildfires. Over six hours of crashing delight on Saturday night. It rained heavily, a desperately needed bonus. I grew up in a place famous for vicious thunderstorms but I’ve never seen one that lasted a quarter of a day. Across the South Coast there were over 11,000 lightening strikes! Now we’re back to cloudless skies and late summer warm temperatures. Every year there is a weather event that turns the page from summer to a sense of autumn and here we are, already!
Smokey MoonSmokey Dawn
The air is thick with smoke from the three wildfires started during the storm, the afternoon air is thick and sultry. Days like this need to be stored in our memories when the brutal autumn rains are coming sideways. Much like the shit storm from south of the border.
We had a bumper crop of grapes but they aren’t table fruit so we gave them away in exchange for canned salmon.Some of the harvest.
Former presidents are apologizing and explaining why Donny boy is so wrong. American citizenry are embarrassed and begging pardon. The fool is trying to rename Lake Ontario, perhaps reversing the earth’s rotation is next in his considerations. Along history’s path, to be allied with a good neighbour has always been a good thing. We’ve been at it for a very long time. Now we are blessed and cursed to live at the same time as the biggest fool the planet has ever known. Oora! From the shores of Lake Amurica…..I am so happy to stay hidden away on my little island.
There is plenty of industry in other corners of our garden.We are starting to look like tomatos. No worries! Winter’s coming.Wild flower seeds, a gift that keeps on giving all summer and requires only a little water.
This has been a year when there is a constant watch on the likes of Clint and Willy. They are icons of our culture and each hold a piece of nearly everyone’s hearts. In the middle of that old Dolly quietly jiggled her way out the back door. I am not one for the rhinestone cowboy culture but Dolly wrote and sang her way over it all, was a determined philanthropist and a treasured personality. I, for one, will miss her wireless ebulence and simple raw talent.
The leaves beneath this trout are nealy a foot across. Big Daddy and a school of over a dozen hang around the outfall of the local salmon hatchery.I wonder how many folks go by this image and fail to see it. I also have little doubt who the aliens really are.
And so I stumble on into September. There is a vague promise of rain. Cooler temperatures have arrived. It’s a nice time of year in this wonderful corner of the planet. It is drizzling out as I write. Tomorrow will dawn fresh and bright.
Out of the wind in the warm sun with a view that reaches to Japan.
“Should I ever make it to heaven and discover that there are no dogs, I shall ask to be sent where they go.” Will Rogers
Mid-summer; already. Time flies whether you’re having fun or not. Yet another wild fire burst out near Port Alberni last evening. It appears that we have not escaped another vicious fire season and that once again the center of the island is drawing fire bugs. Keeping all people out of the summertime woods seems the only solution to me, drastic as that is. South of the border, as fire-ravished as they are as well, Jabba The Trump is mumbling about more tariffs on Canada because of our invasive smoke. There is a long list of natural disasters in the U.S. that Canadians have always helped with, without charge. Nothing like good neighbours eh Jab? Maybe we need a wall along our entire border, four hay bales high. It will help filter the smoke. Friends? You’re working on it Donny!
BC Day. Seems an odd way to celebrate in the middle of a severe fire season.What do I know? I’ll just stay home and water my beans and grapes. They seem to do well together.
While in discussion about homelessness I had an epiphany. Our national economic system is based on debt mis-management. If the feds go on racking up billions more in national owings they are only participating in the culture which nearly every Canadian is following. Our personal finances are generally deep in the red. How can we expect our MPs and MLAs to do other than represent our lifestyles? Financial solvency now means covering minimum monthly payments. Clearly I qualify to run for office.
For all the help we discuss offering our poor and disenfranchised there is something which we do not consider. Their lifestyle clearly precludes accumulating any debt load. That is very clever because in today’s culture, if one is able to live debt-free, they are wealthy! Hmmmm! “Verily, the meek shall inherit the earth.” Just sayin’, ya know?
Genoa Bay. As seen from a friend’s boat.The way we were. Once a floathouse that allowed folks enough space to stand up, lay down and be warm and dry was all we needed. all this well-kept example lacks is a peace sign.Say no more.The way we do it now. Living over your boat. Imagine the rock’n roll on a stormy day. And…think about what happens if the marine owner decides your moorage contract is terminated. Freedom? Not!Getting away from it all.
The last movie we’d been to see was way back before the mayhem of Covid; can’t remember what it was. Finally we were drawn to see ‘The Odyssey.’ The process of buying tickets online is horrific and fodder for a movie in itself. An IMAX high-tech three hour flop where Odysseus, with his gleaming Hollywood teeth, is constantly addressed by Telemachus his son, as Dad. This classic Greek myth is a cornerstone of all literature but this wonderful yarn has been looped, cut and added to. The script is an attempt to demonstrate AI miracles and clever special effects. To Christopher Nolan the producer, “YA MISSED!” I did love the portrayal of Cyclops but was dissappointed with the scene of all the good guys crammed inside the Trojan horse. Not one fart joke! Great imagery but this old geezer could have stood an intermission. Pee happens!
The summer sun. Half of Southern BC seems to be on fire, then there is the smoke from the US fires and though no-one mentions it, the Russian Taiga is burning. You want to put a tariff on it Donny?SkygoatA gift of rain. Unfortunately it, and some lightning, mostly passed on by.
On this first morning of August I sit and look out on the harbour as vultures patrol the skies over my backyard. Either they are waiting for me or there is some more fresh roadkill on the highway below. Speaking of roadkill I must throw out a kudu to a local motorcycle shop. Mile Zero Motorsports is a local dealer and bike garage. They are not a Yamaha dealer but took my wee bike into their moto hospital. It was there for two months until I finally came up with the correct parts. They cured the problem by refusing to let the bike go until it ran right. Then they washed it, oiled the chain and checked the tires before presenting me with a minimal invoice. They lost money on this one. It is sad to shout out about being treated very well when all businesses could respect their clients like this. All they did was treat me like I mattered. I’ll be back to spend more money on gear and…. maybe even a new motorbike. I’ll market these people every chance I can.Thank you guys.
They’re here!A happy bee.The best thing to add to your garden is a package of wildflower seed. It keeps changing as the season advances and the bugs love it.
On that note, I’ve gone for a ride on my motorbike.
A few days later the Entire Okanogan Valley seems to be on fire. I have neither uninformed opinions or sage observations to provide. Soon evacuees will be sleeping under cardboard on the lake’s beaches. There is no place left to put them. I have some broad perspectives on why this is happening but this is no time for anything other than the immediate. Some folks are wondering when they can go home when the massive fire is not yet even contained and under control. That attitude goes a long way to explaining why we are in this mess. Enough said. Let’s be glad to live where we do and not in one of those other places.
Ya missed!Seize the moment. It’s all we have.
If you’re not making someone elses life better, then you’re wasting your time. Your life will become better by making other lives better. Will Smith
Magic. At a last moment we decided to take our trailer to the woods for a few days. What magic led me and my lense to be at exactly this moment in exactly this place. This beauty had flown thousands of miles to be precisely here for me. WOW!
Tuesday, May 5th. Another brilliant sunrise in a cloudless Raincoast sky. There is not even one shower forecast ahead but maybe we’ll have one of those rainy summers. There are folks actually whining about the heat already. They’re probably the same ones who go south for a little of this same weather in winter. And, it’s not hot; temperatures are only in the mid-thirties! We do have forest fires already.
Fly me to the sun. A highway in the sky at sunrise.In the pink. The glories of spring, which include sinus tortures, are a surreal affirmation of life.
At the head of our driveway, where it conjoin’s the neighbour’s, sits a large, ugly cast concrete planter guarding the straggling hedge between the properties. I hate it but it belongs to the reclusive lonley soul next door and I want to respect her. Although not only an eyesore, it is a hazard to navigation and lurks ready to savage any vehicle which gets too near. It has severely gnawed my front bumper.
Eyes wide shut.
Yesterday as we were heading out my wife Jill said, “You’re getting awfully close to the urn.” I replied, “Yeah well, we both are!” And so, with laughter, we launched ourselves back out onto the road of life. As another dawn spreads I realize how true it is. Tick Tock.
Tuesday, May19th. There’s half the month gone by. Tinkering this, tinkering that, times flies whether you’re having fun or not. Spring so far has been cool and clear and very dry. There have been a few days of summer-like warmth but nothing to match the “Hot” predictions of the weather girl in the tight dress. We finally broke out the old travel trailer just to change our perspective, and partly due to the outrageous price of fuel, decided to travel briefly to a place less than an hour from home. What a dream to find an overlooked location right under our noses that meets most of our expectations. Just Google up “Nanaimo Lakes Camping” if you’re interested. No explosions, just simple in the trees escape. And best of all, few people. Enough said, the photos can do the rest.
With over a century of logging these lakes still offer a recreational beauty for folks. Second-growth timber is now being harvested. Despite one’s environmental persuasions the logger’s skill and tenacity have to be admired. Without their efforts there would be no access for the public.Nanaimo River, between First and Second lakes. This river is so clean that it hosts freshwater clams, trout, crayfish and other marine delights.
Roughing it. There was a time when if it rained a tarp and an overturned canoe provided my comfort. How the mighty are fallen!Writing this blog.No bugs. A breeze from the lake kept them away.The way it could be; everywhere. This is how underbrush should be cleared in the proximity of people. With a huge surplus of homeless folks needing a meaningful purpose in life and a dignified way of earning themselves a living, an affordable solution to a few social and environmental issues is obvious. We have an endless supply of second-growth timber to be thinned and fire-suppressed. It is not an ultimate answer but we have to start thinking of possibilities instead of excuses.Spring once more. At a higher elevation the season lags and trilliums still add their final glory in the woods.
Strange. I have never seen these fungi before and am eager to learn more about them.
There is a campfire ban in effect with which I heartily agree. “Cityots” the campground caretaker said. I concure. Most folks have no bush sense at all and on an afternoon like this, where the wind screams across the lake and into the trees, there’d soon be a nasty situation with an explosive inferno racing up the mountain. I’m content to let the wind whistle clean and free through the swaying timber. I’ve heard the now-too-rare chatter of a red squirrel, the cries of loons and geese, the sonorous duet of two barred owls. There has not been one siren. Funny what you can get used to!
For PEGGY. This image appeared outside my window just as I sat down to post this blog. Peggy left this world a few days ago at the age of 97. I never knew her as well as I’d have liked. She was the mom of a man who has been a friend of mine for over 44 years. I can honestly say that she never had a quarrel with anyone and raised some mighty fine kids. She was cherished by all who knew her. Fair winds dear soul.Does the Monarch Butterfly know its own beauty?
I got up early to catch the ferry. With the wait in the terminal it took half a day to get across to mainland Canada. I spent the actual two hour crossing in my own dark, cool, comfy bed in my trailer. I have my own bathroom so there was no need to go to the upper decks for anything. What they don’t know won’t hurt them or me. The drive eastward was hell. With clear blue sky above It was hot and smoggy. The traffic was horrific as I drove through the murk. There is random construction. The roads were clogged both ways. Nearly everyone is a road warrior and recent gruesome fatalities on this highway slowed no-one.
A clever homebuilt expedition vehicle from Nevada. I had to stop. SWB, 4×4, diesel, someone smart fitted a trailer to the flat deck to make this beauty. Don’t laugh, she’s paid for!
So, finally I made it to Hope. Now all fuelled and grocery-ed up I’m parked in the bushes beneath the Hope slide. Odds are, all those car- sized boulders perched thousands of feet above me will stay put for one more night. If not, well it is meant to be and it probably won’t hurt a bit. I am just off the highway but well hidden. The flies are bitey friendly and it’s toasty warm (31C) but once it cools down I’ll go to bed in hope of an early start. My little truck clearly does not like dragging the trailer up long steep grades on a summer afternoon. Even the front fenders were too hot to touch.
Faces in the rocks above at the Hope Slide
My early start shuffles past eight o’clock. Rain spattered sweetly on the roof through the night. Now thunder rumbles and echoes between the towering cliffs above me. The purpose of this frivolous trip is to visit a dear old aunt in Manitoba. I am doing this on the generous means of my dear wife. I have to remind myself that I am to meander, there are no deadlines and I need to restore my soul which has suffered after two dreary years of death, illness, surgery and poverty. Just be, old man, just be and remember, how you once travelled with a backpack and your thumb. Best years ever. As for Jill, getting me the hell out of her face must be a reward on its own.
Forest fire smoke has proven to be a constant all the way across the prairies.
Yesterday’s inferno has passed for the moment. There were spatters of rain through the night and at the break of day it was gloriously chilly. I ( had hoped to drone the Hope Slide but the wind was gusting and there were squalls of rain, neither are good for the drone, especially at the hands of a rookie. I headed east and groaned up one long, steep grade after another. The engine wanted to overheat on each one and I stopped more than once to cool things down. The worst was the zigzag crawl up to Anarchist Summit from Osoyoos. All the day long the temperature was as hot as yesterday and thunder rumbled overhead. Finally, nearing Greenwood the truck began to steer oddly and once in town I discovered a nearly flat rear tire. I changed it myself as thunder-rain spat down. A lady stopped, but not to offer help. Her dog was missing. Gabby the collie had run off. I hope that girl is home safe and healthy.
The grind up from Osoyoos called Anarchist Hill. “Oh Lord, your hill is sooo big, and so is this damned trailer!”
Now in Grand Forks, I am parked in a large feral field beside a fleet of logging trucks. A young boy is riding his tiny motorbike, with training wheels, round and round in a cloud of dust. A friend tries to follow on a small electric John Deere tractor. I’ve been told that I can stay here by the folks at KAL Tire. I wheeled in there with my sick tire just before closing time and wholly expected to be told I’d need a new one. They could have, I wouldn’t have known. It was simply a bad valve stem. They refused to charge me. It follows that I inspected the other three tires and they need the same treatment. I’ll go back in there asking about the problem with being nice to a pain in the ass. Of course the answer is: they come back! I have a friend here whom I’ve known for fifty years. A visit is due. I already like this town and mucho kudos to the tire shop boys.
A smokey moon over Grand forks.
The next night finds me parked in a gravel pit beyond Yahk, which is not at all romantic as it sounds. My poor little truck staggered up the numerous long steep grades. If it were a mule it would be on its knees with tongue over shoulder. It is frustrating when you cannot go over 50kph whenever and wherever you’d like just like all the folks passing you at 140 kph. I just don’t want to cook my motor. There was a car and then a motor-home burned to a crisp along the roadside. I got the warning. Haste makes waste. In days past, even at my trundling speed it might have taken two weeks instead of two hours. From the top of the passes you can see valleys and mountains stretching into apparent infinity. The smoke adds a mystic touch to the scenes. It is still hard to grasp how big our single province is. There are all those others beyond. The grand thing was being able to smell the fragrance of the sub-alpine forest at the summits, those indelible aromas of balsam and spruce and buck brush that waft out into the summer air. There must be an air freshener called ‘Alpine.’ What memories those aromas bring!
You just never know what you’ll find. This delightful fusion of odd bits is in the lovely bakery in Greenwood.This one too! A twang for your coffee.
In the morning it turns out I’ve backed into a spot on the edge of an impromptu fire-fighting depot. A helicopter comes and goes and I remember my heli-days so long ago. One whiff of jet exhaust and the clap of rotors brings so many recollections. That was me? In a single life?
Still a thrill for me. Helicopters have always amazed me and later ones are an incredible blend of technologies.
The day wears on. Leaving Cranbrook, a lovely spotted fawn suddenly appears in front and there’s no chance to stop. There is the expected sickening crunch and I bound out to have a look. The fawn has disappeared and truck in not damaged. It is not my fault but I feel sick for the rest of the day. I wonder what happening to this once great white hunter.
Finally at the Frank Slide, just into Alberta, I stop and get out the drone. This is where an entire half-mountain crumbled and buried the town of Frank. Itis horrific. I’d promised myself to make this my first good drone footage, so first a test scan. Out a hundred metres, up fifty then I press a wrong button. The drone lands instead of returning home. The last image I receive is a bleary view between rocks. I activate the “Find My Drone” and go hobbling down between the treacherous rocks with my cane. I slip and fall, loose my glasses, manage to retrieve them from a narrow crevice. By the time I clamber over to where I think my drone is, my controller has a message that says a rotor was jammed so the drone has shut off its power to prevent overheating. No more homing signal. Then came the return clamber, empty handed and feeling like a very stupid old man.
The Frank Slide. There is an entire little town, and its inhabitants, buried beneath that crumbled mountain.I don’t know the story but it looked to me like part of a building sticking out of the massive lumps of rubble. Can you see my drone?It is a place that leaves one completey humbled.The limestone rocks are house-sized and smaller. Jagged, sharp, loose and dangerous it is no place for an old man with a walking stick.
Fortunately I’ve bought some insurance for just such an event but I do not feel any better. I was not employing my own advice about caution and certainly feel the diminished rookie.
Drive on old man, drive. Eastbound was a spectacular show of wondrous clouds, rainbursts, lightening, brilliant ladders of light between the clouds onto the foothills. They were all juxtaposed over columns of massive whirling windmills. I could not photograph any of it. The rocketing traffic made stopping too dangerous. Tonight I am parked on the side of the road at the former townsite of Whiskey Gap. It was a smuggler’s town in the 1930s. Now there are only cows bellowing from the ridge at the top of the coulee. A few miles back was a signboard noting the location of Aetna. But it’s not on the map either. This will be the norm I think.
In Fort McLeod. There’s a definite flavour of the old west.In the Silver Grill. A Chinese menu with margaritas.We’ve got your back!DRAW! Downtown Fort McLeod on a Sunday evening. “Git his boots.”
And so I progress into the prairies. I will meander along the southern roads and explore the beauty of this vast and windy land. It’s a long way from the sea.
” A ship is safe in the harbour, but that’s not what ships are built for.”
I did not get a photo. I was laughing too hard. He was a brawny four pounder, four inches across at the shoulders, bristle-faced with two gleaming black eyes. Jill and I have each been awake half the night trying remember his name but we can’t. (Recalling our own names can be a challenge.) It was lugubrious and meant something like unconquerable. What was truly amazing about this wee beast was how he peed. He stood up on his front legs, extended his little pinky and squirted away. How he avoided soaking himself is another trick. We both saw it. Is this an evolution of simply cocking a leg? Is it a provocation of his name?
Pee Fu. A cunning little stunt.
A little research says that it is not that uncommon. It is a little dog’s attempt to “overmark” other dog’s pee mail. No big deal and come to think of it, a huge number of humans do the same same thing, at least figuratively. Everything is a pissing contest for some folks as they try to compensate for a sense of inadequacy. We do tend to wet our own knitting all too often.
The day’s last gasp, the smoked sunset
Temperatures in Ladysmith lately have risen to the mid-thirties. Funny what happens in August. It IS very, very dry and the usual summer westerly wind is howling. I’m terrified of what can happen if there’s one fool smoking a joint in the bushes. Yes it actually keeps me awake. Our Volunteer Fire Department Emergency call-out siren blows regularly. I’ve helped fight forest fires and there is no romance in any of it. With the present winds any flame will become a monstrous blowtourch that nobody can outrun or control. There is a campfire ban for the whole province, I think no-one should be allowed into the woods, anywhere. I suppose the BC Ferry campgrounds are safe enough, all the trees were cut down long ago.
The smoke thickens. It seems half of the interior in BC is ablaze. The smoke has settled over us here on the coast thickly, one can even taste it. I’ll keep my own opinions to myself and hope desperately that no runaway fires burst out here on Vancouver Island. Further to the south, Mexico has been hit from the Pacific by Hurricane Hilary. There is extreme flooding. My beloved Barb’s Dog Rescue, presently caring for four hundred dogs has had its decrepit electrical system wiped out. They can’t even pump drinking water at present. They’re desperately reaching out for any help folks can offer. It’s a perfect time to win a lottery. One of my joys would be helping certain folks out… and telling others where to go.
Does this remind you of anyone? Amazing grain in a maple log on the river side.Faded gloryTextures. Gone but hanging on.A tree springing up from its nurse stump, unfortunately it is not well-rooted.Nor this one…you’ve got to be well-rooted.Sniffing among the fallen. Leaves not making a contribution to the tree, are soon cast off. Yep, another tree metaphor. Nature has no welfare system.
I cannot explain it. I am by nature a creative character; I can make a mess of anything. I do like what I can do with my writing and my cameras but this year I’ve had a hard time forcing myself to make videos. I find that work very challenging and my technical abilities remain primitive. Nevertheless I’ve put this effort together:
I hope you like it and I would love any comments and suggestions. I watch a lot of travel vlogs on YouTube and feel inclined to bend that way. I’ll start with routes and back roads locally. So there, now I’ve posted a commitment and I’d better get out there. Have scooter-cycle, will ride.
MY territory, GO AWAY! This suddenly leapt out at me, after I stood chatting about six feet away. It’s Coast Salish but somehow reminds me of Lahaina. What’s happened to that story?Waterfront Dog House
I should mention that I have not heard a lot of whinging about the heat this summer. That seems most unusual. Perhaps with all the press about our province-wide wild fire devastation we all realize how fragile our existence really is. One flipped cigarette butt and we could face a horrible doom. Life is that close to the edge. The streams are all running dry and we are only mid-way through summer. But then, think of all the other places we could be living. There is nothing we need or want that we cannot take for granted. And so far, we are still free to leave. So far we can still feel safe flying in Canada in our own private jet.
What’s wrong with this picture? Once famous, this ferrocement ketch was designed, built and sailed by John Sampson. He has passed on and this boat is clearly no longer cherished. To leave a mast unproperly stayed is an invitation for serious collateral damage. This old sailor is upset. Her name is ‘StormStrutter’ and was once a beloved home which traveled far and wide for many years.
By the way, it’s a blue moon month (Two full moons in one month) Thursday the 31st, last day of the month. Be on the highest local peak for the moonrise, just bring your dancing boots and don’t worry about what to wear. Get naked!
The calm before the smoke. My beloved harbour with a clear sky.A day laterThe coastal airway bringing more Covid carriers. When contrails hang around up there the air mass is stable and calm which translates to more weather just like this.
A few days ago in mid-afternoon I was kneeling up on the hot aluminum roof of my newly-acquired old truck camper. I was dolloping out roofing tar to reseal a previous repair. The thick black goo had been used previously so there was no choice but to use it again. I thought of how I must look up there, a Fred on a box and came up with various lines about “hot tin roofs.” They were all rude. The roof wasn’t leaking…yet. Wonderfully it is made of a single sheet of sturdy aluminum. But some preventive measures in the heat and dry of late summer seem in order. It’s almost forty years old; a little TLC is due. It’s small and light, and warm and dry. It has a propane cook stove and a furnace! Good enough. There’s no hot tub but sometimes roughing it is just what you have to do.
One of the popular truck campers is called an “Arctic Fox.” I’m thinking of hanging the name on this old beauty of “Fartic Ox” and putting a little sign on the trailer that says, “Feel free to feed the Sasquatch.” Neighbours have noticed the box and say “I see you’re going camping.” Somehow I’ve never considered sleeping in an RV as camping. Camping, when I was young, involved travelling by canoe and sleeping beneath the overturned hull if it rained. My fantasy was a ‘jungle hammock,’ a military surplus item that came with a roof and mosquito netting all around. I’ve just checked, they’re still available.
A SUVSWAT. I wannit! Can you order it in pink? How many does it sleep? Either something’s up in our sleepy little town or the boys are getting ready for elk season. You’d certainly have no problems parking…anywhere. Tax dollars at work. Just hope it wasn’t manufactured in China.
Many recreational vehicles now have rooms that pop out, automatic levelling devices, satellite entertainment devices which align themselves to the appropriate signals. By the time all the flip-out items have ceased their whirring, and the generator is purring, there is a fair-sized modern home set up in a commercial “campground” four feet away from someone else’s “wilderness” dream. The cursing begins when all the transformer bits won’t pop back into place so you can go “get away from it all” somewhere else. A diesel pickup truck will easily haul it all at 110 kilometres per hour to re-establish the pitchings a few feet from someone else where you can compare notes. It doesn’t much seem to me like a sensible way of reconnecting with the natural world or of “thinking green.” But…no payments until January!
Another inch. The original RV. No gun ports on this one but the mileage is much better.
Almost a week ago it was Labour Day weekend. Already we’ve arrived in late summer and the hottest part of it. The weather forecast is for clear skies and temperatures in the 30s. The sunrise was red from all the smoke in the air from as far away as California. There is a 70,000 acre fire burning in the Yakima area. What a blessed thing to live here on Vancouver Island. We made it through the long weekend without any fires here. Last night the upper winds began to move the smoke back to where it came from and the stars gleamed and twinkled. I often go out for a celestial meditation before bed in an effort to put the day’s concerns into perspective. My little woes against the vastness of the universe puts everything in place.
The last of the Great Mullein.
On a clear night, one can seldom look into any part of the night sky without seeing at least one satellite within a minute. Dull or bright they zing over in all directions unnoticed. For a while last night I could see three at once all on different vectors. There are also all those man-made stars in fixed orbit also known as geosynchronous satellites which sit up there unnoticed to our eye. Those ones must really piss off the astronomer who thinks they’ve discovered an unknown star! They are as pervasive as electrical lines or contrails marring a view of the natural world. It’s a sad essay that so few folks notice them. Today’s check says there are currently 2,666 satellites up there. And we thought the beer cans in the ditch were a problem.
Anyway, folks ensconced around their portable campfire beneath a string of patio lanterns, safely inside their electronic mosquito net-bubble (yes really) watching the ‘Simpsons.’ That we all know who the ‘Simpsons’ are underscores the age we live in. We are as oblivious to the geosynchronous satellites relaying our television signals as we are to lost primal skills like melting spruce gum over an open wood fire so we can patch our home-made canoe. I am well familiar with the “Old School” and the non-romance of doing things like using an outhouse at -40°, or making a bed from spruce boughs. I don’t miss it.
Fireweed finale
While perusing the latest camping gadgets I can across a small portable cooking stove that burns any “bio fuel.” It also uses the heat to charge a lithium battery which has a USB port to run a small light or charge a mobile phone. So now we live in the age of the electronic campfire. When your rocket stove has started a wildfire, you can call to report it if…there is a geosynchronous satellite in place.
Parts of Oregon have now exploded with wildfire. Cities are threatened with devastation. It seems that half of California is in flames, Washington State is in a critical situation and British Columbia is also adjoined to the crisis as part of the Pacific Northwest. Here we can smell and taste their smoke in the air. With the Covid numbers rising again we are all together in living with a sense of tension. What a year!
Treat?Spencer the minpin. Small dog, big shadow.
I’ve been working on the camper in the cooler part of the morning and then retiring to the shady cool inside the house during the afternoon. About 9am today a thick column of grey/black smoke rose into the azure sky then drifted off in the upper winds. Helicopters with water buckets began passing overhead. I feared the worst. A new bush fire or a serious plane crash could look like that. As it turns out a metal recycling yard, a few miles away at our end of our airport, has caught fire. An online news story had images of heaps of burning crushed cars and a mountain of burning tires. It is the sort of fire which is very hard to extinguish and produces a variety of nasty toxins. Ironically the advertisement immediately following the story shows a young father and son cheerily roasting marshmallows over a crackling campfire.
Rock otter. I always pass on the other side of this rock to admire the pair of salmon carved there. Surprise!This lovely spring was chasing the otter.
By evening the wind has shifted in our direction and the tang of burning rubber is heavy in the air. You can see it and taste it. There are no hydrants near the burning scrapyard so all water has to be trucked to the inferno. It’s going to be a long night for those fighting the fire and for those with adjacent properties. It will be a long night for those of us trying to sleep downwind. Damn! I miss having a boat.
Wow that BBQ stinks! Our air quality at sundown, I can smell and taste the burning rubber. Not nice but at least our houses are not in flames. No star gazing tonight.
“Civilization is a conspiracy. Modern life is the silent compact of comfortable folk to keep up pretences.”
First things first! My friend Kerry, who has a deep passion for our First Nations People, and also canoes, was given this beautiful dug-out. It is believed to be from Haida Gwaii and up to 150 years old. Its symmetry is almost perfect, the hull thickness is exact. No computers, no lasers, no 3D printers. It is a fine little boat, about ten feet long and suitable for smaller folks or children who could have used it for harvesting clams and so forth. It may also have been used as a serving bowl at feasts and potlatches. The real thing!I took this photo in False Creek in Vancouver several days ago. This country bumpkin was a bit uncomfortable there. Friends (See their blog: Sage on Sail) are anchored in New York…and liking it! This scene would be Hooterville in New York City!Our town. I can’t help but love a small town with a traffic roundabout at the foot of main street built around a genuine antique ship’s anchor. We’ve still got some water and, apparently, a bit of detergent. Note the auto body/ collision shop in the background. Some folks have difficulties negotiating roundabouts.
I have always wanted to have a boat named the ‘Brass Monkey.’ As I contemplate selling my beloved boat and replacing it with a smaller trailerable boat, I believe I would name it the ‘Brass Monkey.’ I’ve never seen a vessel with that name. ‘Seafire’ was very close to having that handle but fate intervened and she ended up with the name of a previous and beloved vessel. It’s a complicated story best saved for another time. The Brass Monkey fixation has to do with my perverse sense of humour. Over breakfast this morning I mused about a new blog called “Tales Of The Brass Monkey.” It could begin: “Hello my name is Balls; Claude Balls. Perhaps you are familiar with my first novel “Tiger Hunting in Burma.”
A “Brass Monkey” candidate. It is an Albin 27 and a perfect boat for “Frederizing.”
“Bah ha ha, I get it, I get it!”
It’s a tired old joke from my elementary school days so very, very long. I recall we could get ourselves doubled over in gales of laughter about ‘Rusty Bedsprings” by I. P. Nightly. Was I ever really that innocent and so easily amused? Such are the weird mental meanderings of a creative old sailor on the Saturday morning of the beginning of a long weekend. It is BC Day this time. Years ago an edict was issued that declared there would be a statute holiday in every month of the year. That’s very civilized I suppose.
Taken late in the day on ‘Seafire’ with all the hatches open and a breeze wafting through. Just as we become acclimatized things begin to cool down. Today, it is a frosty 22 degrees CNot bad for a temperate rain forest.
It meant moving Thanksgiving from November to October. Halloween was apparently not an adequate excuse for an official day off with pay. I don’t think Remembrance Day should be a legal holiday but there’s no point in blowing against the wind. When you retire, every day becomes a sort-of holiday and all too often you have to grope to remember what day it is. Too soon it will be guessing the month; and then the year. Your existence can become something measured by the space between medical appointments. I’ll tell you right now that I’m becoming increasingly suspicious of the whole damned Western Medical system and wonder about how many Porsche payments I’m helping make.
Hey Dad, it’s walk time. I’m waiting!“I’m waiting again! Let’s go to the boat and have a treat. Huh?Huh?”Jewelry store security. Bono is an 18 month-old Irish Wolfhound. He’s bloody gorgeous! The local kennel where his likes are raised can be found at TyrconnellIW.SPACE (that’s a capital I before the W)
The weather continues to be clear and hot. There are several forest fires burning on just on Vancouver Island including a local one of over 190 hectares. All due probably to some idiot with a cigarette. So each day is smoky and airless. Last evening, even with hatches open, the boat’s interior was 43º C, that’s 108ºF! I’m painting the boat’s cockpit so for me it is up in the early morning to put the next coat on before the baking sun rears its angry head once again. I’d love an ocean breeze but I’m glad the firefighters don’t have any more wind than the fire itself creates. I know, from younger years working in the woods, what a hellacious ordeal forest fire fighting is. There is no romance in any of it.
The day the tree ran dry.Ah c’mon! No jokes eh?There’s certainly dick in the brook. Sorry folks, but if it doesn’t carry running water all year, it ain’t no salmon stream.Our local forest fire, still burning and threatening almost eighty homes and farms.The smoke settles in thickly at times. The ‘Averie Rose’ in the foreground is the gorgeous home of a couple who built her deep in the interior, then trucked her hundreds of miles to the coast. She’s very much “Eye Candy” and a good boat too.There’s nothing like fresh sea air. Cough! Cough!There is an expression about being “Drier than a popcorn fart” Here’s a meadow full of them. Pffft.
Wot a life! I met an old man this morning racing down the sidewalk in his electric scooter. He was resplendent in flowered Bermuda shorts flapping around his skeletal legs which were wrapped up in knee-high socks. He wore thick, huge sunglasses beneath a broad straw hat. A smouldering cigarette was stuck in his pie-hole. He complained about the smoke in the air. How do you respond to blatant idiocy? The smoke is acrid enough but nothing compared to the weekend past when a dock caught fire in Port Mellon over 30 miles away. The choking stench of burning creosote filled the air for most of the day. It is a toxic funk that sticks in your throat and nose, strongly reminiscent of a time when everyone used either coal or wood for cooking and heating and thought nothing of whatever might be spewing from local industrial smokestacks. Bleaach! Despite our local air quality warnings, there are millions of folks on the planet still living daily in far worse air pollution and know nothing different. Oh, the things we take for granted!
The pirate ship “Wannabe.” She’s a beauty in her own right. At least she’s flying a courtesy flag.A very handsome boat. It must have taken all of the owner’s money…he had nothing left for a courtesy flag!My kind of boat. A Bill Garden design, built of steel, dead shippy and able to go anywhere, any time.It’s wood! Really? This is the bow of a classic Monk cruiser, immaculately kept and named ‘Thelonius’ You’ll get it in a minute.The forehatch, “A ting of beauty.”
Our marina is so crowded with transient vessels this year that member’s slips are being assigned whenever possible. The revenue is most welcome I’m sure as we continue to expand and improve our facilities. Two temporary neighbours this week were tied on either side of the same finger. One, a typical fibreglass trawler, clone was crewed with two pre-geriatric couples. Drinks flowed copiously accompanied with loud guffaws and “Golly-gee, I think we’re having fun” raucous, imposing laughter. I said nothing (because I seem to have forgotten how to have fun.) Their dock mate was a cruise and learn vessel belonging to a lady who has run a successful sailing school on her boat for many years. In the morning she held class in the cockpit and then coached a teenage girl who, incidentally, backed the big sloop out and away; quite possibly for the first time ever. She did a great job. All the while, the trawler’s matrons stood up on their top deck with hands-on-hips, watching and making comments, especially during the backing out manoeuvre. The body language and mindless quips were entirely inappropriate and distracting to the student. Gormless people, finding entertainment with someone else’s dire circumstance, infuriate me. I tried to keep my head down but finally spontaneously offered that the student really did not need an audience. Two blank faces turned and regarded me with the all the deep wonder of pigs having a pee. I know, I’m just a cranky old curmugeon, but the instructor grinned and waved. The next day another guest dumped out the dock’s dog water bucket because he “Didn’t know what it was for.” Later he complained about the purple martins “Picking on him.”
As Jack might say, “Grrrrr.”
‘Puffin,’ another Bill Garden design. She’s decades old and pristine. She should be in a glass box on someone’s fireplace mantle.How boats should look. These are the mast bands and the pin rail for the gaff-rigged mainsail. This twenty-six foot boat has sailed uncountable miles over very many decades…and, I think, she’s just getting started.‘Puffin’s’ boom gallows, carved in the South Pacific more than twenty-five years ago. I think it says something about Lulu’s hand-made grass skirts and ukuleles.
For every goof there are also very many lovely people, with gorgeous boats and even some with wonderful dogs along for the cruise. I’m quite proud to be a small part of the Ladysmith Maritime Society which has become an ultimate cruising drop-in spot for vessels from as far away as the bottom of Puget Sound and even Southern California. One appeared the other day with home port displayed as Isle Grosse, Michigan. I don’t know where the boat is really kept but… goshdernit;we’re famous!
At the moment, I’m finishing up the final licks of the face lift on old ‘Seafire.’ The cockpit has lost its grubby tugboat ambience. Now if someone could do the same for me. I’m also working on an engine in a friend’s 1946 Chris Craft. This beautiful old wooden classic is the sort of boat I watched in the harbours of my youth. Whodda thunk that one day, nearly sixty years later….! Actually I do work on these old beauties every once in a while and it is always a bit of pleasure. No computers!
‘Django,’ a buddy’s 1946 Chris Craft. It has just been sold. Bittersweet indeed.
The final painting in the cockpit is now done. That, in itself, feels good. Also, the heat has eased and we have actually had a few sprinkles of rain today. Does this mean we’re on the slippery back side of summer already? Between the showers, the sun breaks out through a brassy pall of smoke. At least we’ve had no fire-starting thunderstorms, here, yet. I might be frustrated with my little life but I’m not bored. Summer wears on.
All finished. My outdoor office is back in business. It’s time to go sailing!
“Don’t judge other people’s ability by the level of your own incompetence.” … Old Grumpy hisself
