In my previous blog I once again admonished readers to never go anywhere without something which takes photos. If you want to get good photos, you need to have a camera to capture the moment. Timing is everything, technical skill is a distant second. My six best photo opportunities, ever, are filed only in the back of my skull because I did not have a camera. I usually carry my mobile phone which I acquired because of its photographic capability. It does not replace a shelf full of professional equipment, and often offers a stubborn attitude at critical moments, but it does produce some superb images. I’ll say no more. The photos in this blog were all taken with that mobile phone within an hour during a recent morning amble with Jack. Here is some light and cheer in a very dark season.
Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth. Buddha
Our gravel lane which angles down from the paved main road is called Abbey Road. There is a grass knoll above it which I have named Abbey Knoll. It is a spot which has beckoned to me all the time I’ve been here and finally I’ve gone for a wander over the knoll. There are many things in life we don’t get around to. Places nearby, things to see and do or taste or hear and we never just go do it. I marvel at both visitors and staff who come to this magnificent wild area and see none of it. They roar around in their flashy boats, ATV’s and off-road vehicles with stereos throbbing and see nor sense any of the magic they are helping to destroy. Many of the employees here are unaware of the incredible forest and lakes all around us. They have no interest in the wildlife and don’t even seem to see the mountains.
I arrived at my jobsite here in the Southeast Kootenays in early April. Now we are already in the declining days of summer. Time flies whether you’re having fun or not. I notice a few limbs of tamarack turning gold already and one morning in the next few weeks there will be frost. The evenings darken ever earlier and there is a chill in the air. Soon I’ll be gone from here.
Wild deer fascinate me. They are always a joy to simply watch. This old hunter may not come home with venison anymore but I savour some of my photos with deep satisfaction. My only weapon now is my camera. The remainder of thisblog is images.
“It’s a strange and insufferable uncertainty to know that monumental beauty always supposes servitude. Perhaps it’s for this that I put the beauty of a landscape above all else- it’s not paid for by any injustice and my heart is free there.” …Albert Camus
This once mighty great white hunter (I was a classic legend in my own mind) has learned to respect and admire all of god’s creatures, great and small. Photos in this blog are often proof of that. I often conjecture that humans are clearly the only obviously alien life form on this planet. We don’t fit and can’t even get along with each other. I argue that even the lowliest creature we know has a place and a function which, even though we may not understand, ties it into all the other species which we have not yet rendered extinct. But then there is this one goddamned tiny housefly which is driving me crazy.
I’ve reasoned that because the average housefly lives only twenty-eight days this particular vexatious wee monster must, in fact, be several. But I’ve come to see it is a one-of-a-kind and I also think I’ve trained it to be annoying. It lights on my skin, then buzzes off in a second to land somewhere else. Every time I smack at it, the little bugger buzzes away and lands somewhere else. It knows. It flits in front of the computer monitor, daring me to take a whack at that and delights on landing on my knees. They’re both arthritic and I have a job right now that involves constant kneeling so those old hinges are especially painful. The last thing they need is an angry blow. It bloody hurts!
What sort of sound do flies make when they laugh? It is only here in the sticky warm evenings, never in the mornings and goes home as soon as I go to bed. I’m counting down from twenty-eight and look forward to finding it with its six little legs in the air on the middle of my table. Now that I’ve reduced myself to blogging about a single housefly I’llpost the rest of those Fort Steele photos.
“Just ‘cause you got the monkey off your back doesn’t mean the circus has left town.” George Carlin
Where I live in my camper there is an adjoining parcel of land. The small lot is rented by a family who keep a large holiday trailer there. They spend a lot of time here and their two lovely children are often in the yard with a screaming mob of their friends. Last night, the small blond freckled girl sat alone in her swing and began to sob. Between choking wails I heard her repeat “my puppy, my puppy.” I believe she was grieving for the old family golden retriever ‘Roxy’ who had to be put down recently because the old girl was suffering horribly. Of course this “grumpy old bastard” (as I’ve recently been labelled,) was in tears himself. There was no way I could comfort the poor wee thing without someone taking umbrage. I sat thirty feet away and shared her sorrow.
On a cheerier note I have a chipmunk living in my woodpile, darned if I can get a photo of the tiny beauty…yet. And, we’ve had a lovely, steady two day rain. It was bliss to drift off to sleep in my bunk with the drops drumming over my head, and to awaken with the same music. I guess I’m a coastal boy, through and through. For the moment the dust is settled. I took advantage of the weather to visit Fort Steele, a preserved historic town site a few miles north of Cranbrook. I reckoned that with the unpredictable weather, and soft light, it would be a great day to take some good photos. There were few people there and I had a grand time with both still and video cameras. So here is a photo essay about a wonderful place.
Fort Steele was an outpost set high on a bluff overlooking the tumbling green waters of the Kootenay River. I stood looking down on the river and thinking what a good fishing hole I was seeing when a movement drew my eyes up the opposite bank and into a small meadow beside a clear pond. Three whitetail deer, two does and a fawn, were frolicking. They hopped and bucked, whirled round and leapt. They seemed to be dancing. I was too mesmerized to raise my camera. As so often happens, the best photo of the day was the one that got away.
“ Discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” – Marcel Proust
There seems to be signs for every occasion and every level of stupidity. Here’s one I saw recently which I liked. “I don’t like being old so it doesn’t take much to piss me off.” On a T shirt I read “the older I get the less life sentence means to me.” A caption on a short video I just watched says, “Everybody wants to be the captain until it’s time to do captain stuff.” That’s certainly been my experience. And then there are really dumb-assed road signs which say things like “Be Prepared To Stop.” Are there really folks out there who aren’t? There probably are!
The recent Virtual Fisher Poets Gathering went extremely well. I’m amazed at the talent which coordinated all the performers from around the planet and threaded them together like pearls on a string. Kudos to all and let’s hope we don’t have to do it again. Here’s the link to my little gig, I am on right at the 1:18 hour mark.
Following is a little piece I wrote in tribute to the wonder of it all.
Fisher Poets 2021
I sit mesmerized in front of my computer screen
absorbing all I can of the lights and depths of musicians and poets,
my peers, my muses, my confessors and affirmers, my fellows
from around the long curves of the planet
who are possessed by the common bond of sea-bound masochism
and the thrust and sway and plunge of living water beneath our keels.
This strange gathering was all made possible by the discovery of the electron
and the spreading wake of technology
and now we take for granted our instant ability to see the universe
through the pinprick camera lense of our computer screen.
Try to explain this to someone fifty years ago,
We would have been considered as mad as a hootchie.
I watch as a senior fisherman named Gary reads to the world
from the confines of a spare room and uttered wisdoms
you only gain from the peace and terror long-lived at sea.
Through the open door of that room
I can see a lady, presumably his wife, in another room,
sitting in front of a window
through which I see lights of other buildings in the night.
She is busy with her own endeavors
painting a picture perhaps or maybe knitting
I feel very much an intruder in that home
and I marvel at the different worlds
so far apart
even though we touch mutually oblivious to our passing.
This particular poet lives in old Port Hadlock
A place I know well
I have anchored there on more than one long winter night
sheltering from a brisk Sou-easter
in front of the wooden boat school and a fine quaint restaurant
and who can resist a place with names like ‘The Old Alcohol Plant?’
I feel a familiar ache as I imagine the gentle rumble of
anchor chain on bottom, the flicker of my oil lamps.
I hear the echoes of my own addiction to the sea
duplicated in the words and tunes of my fellows
I am in the affirming company of fellow mariners
who I’m sure all long to reach out and
draw each other into firm embrace
but we sit safe in our homes
like goldfish in a bowl
only an arm’s length away.
Well, like the little pig stuttered, “Tha, tha, that’s all folks.” There are some big (to me) changes coming which will upgrade this blog to make it more suitable for plans ahead.
You’ll be the first to know.
“All I know is just what I read in the papers, and that’s an alibi for my ignorance.” ― Will Rogers
They’ve freakin’ blown it. The Republicans will not win an election for generations. That’s my humble uniformed bog trotter’s opinion. I’ve promised to restrict my political rhetoric but this is so pathetic it demands comment. If the Republicans truly wanted to restore trust and belief in their party all they needed to do was to make a stand and declare that they do not support or condone the abhorrent attitudes expressed by Mr. Trump. “He was our mistake.” This way they have virtually guaranteed a Democrat win next election and probably the next as well. Some Republican senators did vote in support of the impeachment. It is encouraging that these politicians chose to put their country ahead of their party. They will probably be punished for their historic stand. A quirk of politicians, in particular, is that they seem unable to admit mistakes. If only they could confess their human frailty they would be demonstrating a strength which would take them much further than any lie or denial.
As far as I am concerned one party is no better or worse and ongoing political chess games have nothing to do with reuniting the country and putting it back on the rails of peace, prosperity and “In God We Trust.” The “united states” may well dissolve in anarchy and the Second Civil War will be upon us. Yeah, I know we are Canadian but if you don’t see yourself as a North American, you will be rudely awakened when the troubles erupt in full blossom. We’re part of the fiasco.
Yesterday I watched a video clip sent to me by a friend. It was a cell phone recording taken while some goon sat on his ass and watched as a police officer was assaulted by a madman with a large stick. Ultimately the cop shot his assailant twelve times, point blank, before the nutter finally fell down and died, twitching and jerking just like some of the deer I have taken. What appalled me more than the actual graphic detail was the shallowness of the man recording the event. The videographer cheered the policeman and expressed pleasure as a fellow human gasped his last breath not ten feet away. The event was entertainment to him. This pathetic soulless son-of-a-bitch is not alone. There are millions like him…on both sides of the border. Here’s the link if you have stomach enough for a dose of harsh reality. That the perpetrator/victim may have chosen ‘Suicide by Cop’ does not devalue human life.
I’ve confirmed that this is a real event which occurred on Feb. 6th. It is ironic that this is an area where several fatal shootings of black people by police have occurred. Here a black man encourages a policeman to shoot a white perpetrator. I can’t help wondering what might have happened if he’d gone to help the cop.
After I wrote the above I wrestled with myself while I showered, vacuumed, ate breakfast, walked the dog and shovelled a heap of snow. Dark tabloidism is not my genre. I prefer to provide hope and cheer, introspection and humour with my blogs. The darkness here doesn’t do much to make the world a better place, but sometimes a little slap therapy is in order. I desperately need to find another boat.
By the way, Happy Valentine’s Day. It has something to do with love I’m told.
“Thou shalt not be a victim, thou shalt not be a perpetrator, but, above all, thou shalt not be a bystander.” ― Yehuda Bauer
Well we’re all trying to smile and grin and bear it, or is that bare it? I once heard a situation described as hanging off a cliff with people dancing on your fingers and peeing on your head. Don’t look up!
More than a few of us know the feeling and there’s not much comfort in realizing we’re not alone. It’s raining and sleeting today, one of those miserable dark damp days when a warm sandy beach with palm trees seems to only be a distant fantasy. In the newsletters I receive from places like that, there are gringos like me down there complaining about Covid travel restrictions and how they are stuck down there. Well, bitch on! They want to come home, I’m willing to trade places if that helps them.
No civil war II has broken out south of the border, yet, and it seems, for the moment all is calm, all is bright. Ain’t it nice? On that note here are local recent images taken in the ongoing pursuit of finding beauty where we’re planted. Look all around, we live on a beautiful planet. So far, it’s still free to appreciate things.
“Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people.”
October twenty-second. A first frost is on the roofs of my neighbours. The brassy thin light of a reluctant dawn slowly sweeps over the town. The stars were brilliant last night, a few were especially bright as they beamed down between the clouds. Old Jack is snoring softly where he is nested on the couch, I’m reluctant to stir him for his morning walk but I need it as much as he does.
October 25th. It’s over. The provincial election has passed with a predictable result. Our minority government is still in the saddle, now as a majority. May the gods help us, any majority government seems eventually to lead to dire consequences. At least we’ll have a slight change of rhetoric.
There’s a humid chill in the air this morning, with a dusting of fresh snow on the nearest hills. Jack loved it and frolicked along on his walk. The tang of burning damp leaves filled the air and someone was burning coal in their stove, an unmistakable odour. What must air quality have been like when nearly everyone burned the stuff? No-one noticed, that was the way it was. I’ve been in China where the air was thick with the stench of coal smoke, (Cheap Canadian coal at that) copious dust and other human effluents. Life went on all around me as I stood almost gasping for a full breath. For me, coal smoke is synonymous with forges and blacksmithing, something I dearly love. I can almost hear the clang of hammer on anvil as I write. Amazing isn’t it? All of that came from one whiff of coal smoke! It’s blowing a near gale outside this morning. Leaves and debris blow past the window horizontally. The street sweeper just ground by hard at work. Daft as a brush!
Unfortunately my life is dull these days. I spend far too much time sitting in front of the television. Recommended by friends, I watched a Netflix program called ‘My Octopus Teacher.’ The footage, accumulated over ten years, is stunning and some of the insights provided are amazing. You know I’m impressed if I’m offering kudos. In my next breath I’m promoting my own next video. It’s something I put together for the Fisher Poets group, who may not be gathering this spring in consideration of Covid. That gathering in February is a guiding light through the winter and many of us use it to steer toward through the gloomy days of that season. Who knows what will happen this winter.
BEWARE OLD PEOPLE The older we get the less “Life in prison” is a deterrent.
… and I thought, probably a better retirement plan than what many of us have.
It’s a blue moon Halloween coming up. A full moon on October 31st is scary, but a second full moon in the same month in the midst of a plague is reason to hide under the bed. All those mini spooks in T-Rump and Biden masks are a sobering thought. Trick or treat indeed. I’m leaving town. Hopefully I’ll have some interesting new videos and photos when I return. Stay safe.
“Our fears are like dragons guarding our most precious treasures.” Ray Wylie Hubbard
How can those few words from a Texan country singer not tug at your heart. They apply to all of us. Consider how you feel about our present times. They really hit home for me as I regard a present visitor. Ayre is a 3½ month old tiny dog. She weighs less than 3 kilos (about five pounds.) This five-pound monster has stolen my heart. I find myself taking to her in silly voice puppy-speak. Jack gives her a deep warning growl when she comes prancing at him; he’s doing his part in mentoring her. She’s cute as hell even when she tries to sink her tiny needle teeth into my fingers, growling with all the ferocity she can muster. Of course that bravado is a mask for all that frightens her. “The best defence is a good offence.” Who could want to harm her? There are those who would and some creatures see her as a tasty snack. I can’t imagine how the world must look to a being so tiny and newly arrived. When I pick her up I’m afraid I’m going to break her frail-feeling bones but soon the warm wriggling fragrant bundle of puppy licks my big old hand with a tiny soft pink tongue and there is a moment of joy and a gush of paternal instinct. Awwwww.
Of all the negative things we can find about human beans one of the rays of hope is our indefatigable instinct to care and protect tiny creatures. This little dog can soon prove itself a pain in the ass, demanding attention and food then more attention. Yet an old bush ape like me finds patience and tenderness much to my own amazement. She’s running the whole household, both innocently and deliberately. I’ve know little of the horror of a screaming baby in the night but I suspect this is much the same. There is some override wiring which brings patience and caring without contemplation. Mothers possess a courage and stamina I don’t grasp.
Today is August 3rd, a provincial holiday, BC Day. The weather is languid, the streets are quiet (After a bout of wailing sirens at 04:00) The mourning doves are hoo-hoo-hooing and all seems calm, Covid be damned.
Recently some friends and I held a conversation about the correct, and also the legal way, to merge into traffic. I found myself contemplating this again while out walking Jack this morning.
I’ve some some research online. In BC there is a bit of a grey zone about this with references to “being socially handicapped” and “it’s the polite thing to do.” It is clearly stated however that a vehicle making a left turn, or entering traffic on it’s left is always the give-way vehicle. If there is an accident involving any merging vehicle it will be always that vehicle deemed at fault. A vehicle in the moving traffic lane must not impede the flow of traffic it is in to accomodate a merging vehicle. Our traffic laws were generally written based on marine traffic rules and it makes sense that a vessel entering a busy channel must give way to others already underway. In the air, or on the water, a vessel with another on its right is the stand-on vessel.
I have a notion that folks demanding you merge ahead of them, or go before them at a four-way stop for example, are often actually empowering themselves rather than trying to be nice. There are no “Nice Police” and usually simply playing by the rules is the nicest thing to do, then we all have a notion of whazzup. I’ve held a drivers license for fifty-two years without any crashes. With all of the driving I’ve done I like to think I’ve done something right. I’ll certainly admit that as I age, my reaction time is beginning to slow as well as my ability to see things as quickly. Being honest about your abilities is a good way to help stay safe. Ever notice how no-one admits to being a poor driver? It’s always the other guy.
Blackberry season is now in full swing. Men with plastic buckets lean into the brambles picking the succulent treats. Except for one. He stood watching and holding a full pail while his elderly wife worked on filling another, all the while she was holding a big German Shepard on a leash. It did not like the brambles. I wanted to kick that old misogynist’s arse but he would have spilled the berries and the dog would have bitten me. Isn’t it interesting what one can assume from a glance? Everyone seems extra testy these days so it’s best to keep to oneself. At least we’ve had no explosions. Working in the backwoods I learned how even twenty pounds of ammonium nitrate could crack away a big piece of granite mountain. Nearly three tons of the stuff in downtown Beirut is like a nuclear bomb. That thousands, out and about living their daily lives, were not killed is a miracle. Bang. How quickly life can change!
Jack and I have just come back from our morning walk, or in other words, shuffle and sniff. It rained last night and there is a subtle perfume of freshness. We met that old couple with the dog again. Pops was holding the dog this time and his wife was breakfasting on wet blackberries. All three seemed pleasant and amicable. So…three friends, instead of enemies.
The fourth agreement: “ I will respect the power of my words.”
A good friend of mine grumbles about books that are written with “Twenty dollar words.” I agree. If an author tries to impress readers with obscure words and establish themselves as a scholastic superior they are demonstrating a large sense of insecurity. No-one should need a dictionary to read a novel. So says this bog trotter blogger.
Communication is about understanding each other, both transmitting and receiving. While digging through my Chambers Dictionary to learn a new word I’d found I tripped over this beauty. “Lemniscate: the locus of the foot of the perpendicular from the centre of a conic upon the tangent.” I’ll let you look up locus. It IS English but you could have fooled me. Next time someone pisses you off, call them a “Pathetic little lemniscate.” UHUH! This on-going pandemic has the masses lemmingscating in ever more frantic circles. Six months ago if someone had approached a bank and lurked outside wearing a hood, sunglasses and a facemask, the wail of sirens would have been imminent. You might hear them now if a person is not wearing a mask. And what’s with those folks driving around alone with the windows rolled up, wearing a mask and surgical gloves?
The comet Neowise has also left me bewildered. I’ve successfully photographed Hale Bopp when it adorned our sky and the images I’ve seen of Neowise looked like something very similar. I’ve hiked mountain trails in the middle of the night and sat on beaches for hours watching the night evolve and revolve. A seasoned amateur astronomer finally pointed it out, exactly where I’d been looking all along. It is a faint, blurry dull light; not at all like the exotic imagines I’ve been seeing online. Apparently I’ve missed it, repeatedly although I’m not entirely confident in that old stargazer. No wonder binoculars were recommended! Clearly the icy celestial blob is moving along quickly and the show is over.
One night I’d set up my camera on a beach, all ready for what might come. A small group of people soon planted themselves on a log in front of me and began yukking it up, completely destroying the ambience of the beautiful lingering sunset. There was some marvellous a cappella singing coming from across the lagoon which perfectly enhanced the evening. Bliss! It was drowned by the newcomer’s gormless blither. Apparently my silent presence bothered them because finally they asked just what it was I waiting for. My instant reply, “For you to leave.” There were no threats or fisticuffs. They left. Funny thing is, they were speaking in a Quebecois dialect and didn’t grasp that I understood their rude comments about things local. Tabernac! It’s fun being a fly on the wall; n’est-ce pas? “Si vous n’aimez pas notre île, prenez votre Covid et rentrez chez vous.” Oh the things we’d like to say!
After my efforts to photograph the comet I’ve come up empty-handed. My neighbour then shows me a spectacular image he has taken with his mobile phone. I am suitably humbled. Summer wears on in the wake of the comet. The days are noticeably shorter, the afternoons hot, the evenings pleasantly cool. The highways this summer seem especially busy although there are few out-of-province license plates. I can only imagine the tense manoeuvrings in campgrounds as people try to find social isolation all the while being jammed together as closely as possible. There is an amazing parade of monstrous RVs careening along at high speed in their quest to “Get away from it all.” I suppose that if pandemic economics prevent being able to make the bi-weekly payments, you may as well go hide in the woods.
Out and about in my dinghy, looking for a chance of a cell signal, I came across a US-registered sloop in a local anchorage. Hello? The border is closed, perhaps I should have reported the boat. I admire a rebel spirit so I’ll let someone else deal with the invader. There are certainly plenty of vigilante types out there looking for a cause. The vessel was displaying a Canadian courtesy flag but no US ensign or markings other than their Washington registration number. So, they knew they were in a foreign country but had not bothered trying to go through Canada Customs. It would be interesting to hear the far-fetched explanation.
For the time being, the closest I can get to my southern dreams is to listen to that beloved radio station in Goldfield Nevada. A country band they featured was called the ‘Sonoran Dogs’ which of course translated instantly to ‘Snoring Dogs.’ Their music was fine but was the nuance of the band’s name intentional? I watched a low-budget movie last night called ‘Hard Times’. Set in an impoverished Irish village the plot develops around a few locals who hijack a truckload of Viagra being shipped from the local pharmaceutical factory. They hide their plunder in a roadside well which is part of the village aquifer. Soon everyone is sporting about with a wildly enhanced libido. The nuance of that groaner title finally hit me this morning. By the way, the CCleaner anti-virus program I bought and described last blog in disgruntlement, has now been fully refunded. That’s nice to report. I guess it takes a while to respond when you’re based in the Philippines. I feel obligated to mention an honourable conclusion.
Finishing some work on a backyard sundeck I painted it with a viscous deck paint that has the colour and texture of plum butter. I haven’t seen or thought of that delightful substance since my childhood. Now I have a craving. There are plenty of recipes available. Isn’t it funny how life goes? All I did was paint a deck. That becomes* plum butter. Go figure!
(* Could have said extrapolates)
“One of the great cosmic laws, I think, is that whatever we hold in our thought will come true in our experience. When we hold something, anything, in our thought, then somehow coincidence leads us in the direction that we’ve been wishing to lead ourselves.” Richard Bach