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"... RISK-TAKING IN SPORT IS AN AFFIRMATION AND CELEBRATION OF LIFE."Professor C.E.S. FRANKS - "THE CANOE AND WHITE WATER" the treatise on Ontario paddling. |
|  View Class Action Lawsuit Submission against the Province of Ontario: link HERE  .
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12/11/2008 |
Well, who else?
Who else would have two boats inside the house, in the livingroom/dining room area? We have an old Peterborogh cedar canvas canoe above, on the beams, as a permanent exhibit. Rather splendid, what with the woven basswood portage basket with its leather straps, nearby on the wall. Well there is something that isn't quite as asthetically pleasing. It's the Zodiac. It fills the room with all the ambiance of ... maybe a garage ... or a boathouse.
I brought it in so it would dry. It has been outside, but the weather didn't allow it to dry properly, so in it came. Today is "pull the plug" day. I'll let it deflate, then roll it up, tuck it into its storage bag and set it under the Bosendorfer.
Got a nice slash on the forehead from a piece of deflected wood. Sometimes I wear safety glasses when doing splitting. Not this time. I was lucky it didn't hit my eye. Who would think splitting for tinder would be hazardous? Every day's a lesson, to me.
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11/11/2008 |
REMEMBERANCE DAY 2008
Thank you to the men and women who serve, and for those who've gone before. My mother was an anti-aircraft gunner during "the Blitz" in England. She's still alive. In her day, it was an extraordinary woman who would join the forces. She displayed that fighting spirit throughout her life. I see her, in my minds eye, in her uniform. I remember the stories she told me.
What comes back to me every year, since I was about 16, was this: We lived in "Sunshine Valley", a development of wartime housing. There were small linen closets in those houses. My brother and I were very small, but he, I, and mum would hide in that linen closet. When a great thunderstorm would pass through the area, she would gather us together and we would huddle under the bottom shelf for I don't know how long.
It took a great many years for me to realize why. Somewhere in that laughing woman, "the Warrior Woman", the hell of that war hovered just below the surface. As I get older, and know how well I can recall events from childhood, I understand how clear must have been the memories of the horrors of her youth. I still am in awe to picture the three of us huddled in that tiny space. Dad served in the Engineers, as did my uncles. They too have their memories.
But these men and women didn't talk about it an awful lot. They were setting those episodes aside, to build our country into what we almost take for granted. I say "almost", because we have Remembrance Day to remind us. Thank heaven.
Especially, I keep remembering the man just outside Perth. His house is on the edge of number 7 highway, a main east-west corridor. He maintains a memorial there. With that memorial he brings forward the issues of valour. He has posted the words "Never Forget" above the crossed flags of two neighbours, the U.S. flag and the Canada flag. I will remember that old man. And I will remember how grateful he was to be handed a letter from me, saying "THANK YOU".
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06/11/2008 |
God Bless America!
Wolves on the hunt at 4:30 am. A starlit night. They seemed to be across the river, and downstream. I often wonder about letting Jake, the Flying Dog out at night. He blasts out into the darkness and heads his target area. Often he seems set on something; as if he's smelled something there. We know that the deer often come to that area. Lynda tells the tale of her big Bouvier being left overnight out in the yard. She was kenneled by chain link fence. When Lynda went out to let her loose in the morning, the snow was packed by canine tracks, assumedly wolves or coyotes, all around the kennel. She imagined Gypsy's fear, and after that, Gypsy spent the nights inside.
Often I think of how fast a harmless dog like Jake can be. Then I consider the practiced precision of a wild animal such as a wolf or coyote, or a bear. Given that these can move at far greater speed than humans, and given that they make their way over such rough terrain as we have here, I can imagine how swiftly they could take down a person. Sometimes I think about the man in the Yellowknife area who was eaten by wolves, and the prelude to it. That's what the call of wolves are to me, and I don't want little Jake to meet that fate. And then there's the fact that our neighbour reports that there's a porcupine next door. Jake's alreacy met with that pain, and we, the veteranarian's bill. |
05/11/2008 |
CONGRATULATIONS to the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, our neighbour.
You have shown the world a brand new America. One which upholds its ethics.
I have walked the streets of downtown Detroit, gone through its ghetto streets. I have been to its university campus, and sat amid the mix of America's peoples. I have been there at the time of turmoil, just after the riots that inspired Gord Lightfoot's song "Black Day In July", (banned from airplay). I recognize and celebrate this new America. I applaude its choice of a President who repeats the word "we", for this is what is America - its people being united again. Much is expected of Mr. Obama. He is an incredible individual who will bring change.
I salute the United States. Its flag now means something different to me. I may even fly it with the Canada flag. Believe me, THAT is a signal of change. |
02/11/2008 |
ICE ON THE WATER
Yep, ice in the river this morning. A cool look to the river. Smoke merged with the haze of fog and floated on a gentle breeze, down over the roadway and over to the main branch of the river. That's my morning start. Kindle and kickstart a fire. Then the breakfast coffee can be started while a nice frigid milk is poured onto my cereal. I pace about, looking through all windows. Each is a moving picture of North Frontenac Township here in the Snow Road Station area.
Jake's friend Max was at it early today and showed up with his stub tail fanning the air to heat it up, I suppose.
Got a nice new hand winch. It's not what a lot of people find to be a pleasant object that lights their eyes and quickens the pulse. For me, though, it means I may be able to move some of those heavy tree trunks. This one's a 2 ton winch. Wow! Twice the potential workload of the one I already had. Anyway, I'll go lube it.
I like to set thing up to maximize their lifespan. I spent considerable time setting up that snow thrower, and it can almost be worked with just a baby finger. It's a shame the outlets that sell snow throwers don't set them up properly before the sale. People have no idea what an improvement can be made on even a new item, with just a little thought and effort. That makes the tasks ahead that much more manageable. - Now where's that extra part I found in the driveway? |
01/11/2008 |
November! Can the spring be far away?
Well, the last couple of mornings I've heard the wolves, low, and back about a quarter mile. Fresh scat on my route tells me that one day's diet has been different from the next. That Rotweiller was out today again. No gate, just a big open driveway. No chain on the dog, no rope. Bluff charged me, shouting its obsenities in 'dog'.
The big chipper was in and shredded some of the wood. We ended up with a small dump truck load which we can use on the trail, to fill holes or what ever. I took a GPS course today. Nothin' to it. Perfect weather. No cloud, no snow or rain. Perfect instructor. Clear speech, good volume, and repeat, repeat, repeat. He had to do some hands on adjustment for some of us. They'd hoped to get a horde of younger folk. Ended up being mainly men, mainly men who will be hunting on Monday. I guess they want to actually be able to haul that kill back to the transport vehicle and then home. I didn't hear much grumbling. In fact, none.
My neighbour wants me to help with a tree-drop. He's seen my labours here and figures if my accuracy's that good on placing a tree, I could help him. I think I've mentioned that we have lumber jack festivals in the region. Man. Some of these guys are GOOD with a chainsaw. It's not just about how well you sharpen and tune that chain and engine. It's also about logic and perception. In short, it's more art than science.
Thinking of those wolves, take a look at my wolves poem. |
28/10/2008 |
More snow coming. First winter storm warning of the season. 15 cents coming. WAHOO! Notice that the Adventure season extends until the end of October. Now, that's planning. Actually, I remember going into a backcountry area years ago and the only way we got out was by using the kayak paddles as snow shovels. Worked good!
I've tried to connect with old friends. One was a family down in the States. I love to remember the sneaky little things they did. I won't mention it, but the kids had a support network of their own; their own code of ethics to each other. They had a stronger ethic toward their parents. They showed me what a large family can be, in terms of that unity, an infectious joy in life itself. We shared several years of friendship during summers, when they would be at an Ontario town I frequently went to. I wish they would all write me, but I guess they've got lives of their own, and likely very busy ones at that. I remember each one of them, even to the youngest.
In the meanwhile, I'd been trying to find an old friend from my times at Grand Bend, a folksinger. Here was another fantastic individual who would start the day with a salutation: "SOCKS day" or "SHORTS day". That was the weather forecast. I've writtne him a letter, and I hope he's able to reply to me. It's been a couple of weeks now. I think of him every single time I sing that old song that Glen Campbell made famous, Gentle On My Mind. The hook lines are "Though the wheat fields and the highways, and the junkyards come between, and the summer sun might burn me 'til I'm blind ..." He was just so keen on life. Like my Ojibway friend Bill Williams of the Moon River area reserve, he taught me a lot about spirit.
Well, I've got a Zodiac and its gear to dry off, deflate, roll up and store; some kayaks have to be moved above the high water mark for spring, my old trusty 20 foot sea kayak has to be wrapped and stowed, and sundry paddles, pfds, and bicycles, tools, and more have to be put where they won't be buried by the coming snow. A trailer load of milled wood has to be re-stacked for the winter too. Eventually, I'm going to add one more pass of boarding to that little visual barrier I created down by the parking area. It just doesn't look complete.
Anyway, I'd better get after it before the day closes on me. Hey, now I can try that snow blower and see what pattern might work for safe winter moving of wood and cars.
Wood. As if I haven't handled enough. A guy's coming tomorrow, EARLY, to chip a lot of the cut stuff and blow the chips wherever. I just never ends. "Life on the farm is kinda laid back, there ain' much an' ol' country boy like me can't hack ..." |
22/10/2008 |
SNOW!
Yes, we got our first snow. On my way home from the bluegrass jam down Kingston way I ran into snow. It was about midnight, and it was just alight snow drifting into the headlights. I hadn't heard the forcast, but someone there commented "I hope we don't get that snow." She commented that it was predicted for Pembroke, and up that way. Well, it's a long way from Kingston, and you cross a weather line between here and there. We don't have that lake effect of the warm St. Lawrence River. Well, maybe it's going to be another dandy winter like last year. I haven't heard any comments about the Farmers' Almanac.
I sat in on a super session last night. Some of the best players were there. Even a fellow from the Snow Road area. Too bad we couldn't have gone togetther on fuel costs. These guys and gals come from across the border, way east in Ontario, north up our way, and west to the islands in the St. Lawrences. Surprisingly, the host of the Amherst Island radio station , Ellis and his wife Mary Lou, (among the nicest folks I've met in my life) wasn't there. He usually makes it to all these little gigs.
I should pack away the Zodiac soon, winterize the engine, and wax up the snow blower.
Anyway, I always make my trips to the area worthwhile. I checked out a couple of music shops, and other places, and picked up some groceries. I'm set for another month. (not)
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20/10/2008 |
Crunch! Crunch! Crunch! Crackle! Crunch! That's the way the McDonald's Corners (or as I sometimes call it, McDonald's Scorners) Church sounded as I made my way around the p.u.'s. Apparently the Snow Road church was much the same. Mice and flies are actively hunkering down for the winter. There were more flies there the other day than there has been all season from May 'til now. They all went up the super vacc. Shirley, there can't bee more.
Can there?
Well, apparently the river wasn't as high up through the Chutes as I'd expected. I presumed, on the basis of the amount of water here at our place. But I should know better than accept that as a measure. It's strange, but the main branch, just a hundred yards away seems to have a quite separate level to that of the McLaren's Depot Snye. It's all to do with topography and water flows.
Anyway, I'm hoping to hear from the crew that ran the river, and I love to hear river tales (and river tails).
I did a little work outside, but knot mush. Yesterday I made my humungus tarp into a truck. Works great. Pile all yer leaves onto the thing, fold, and drag slowy, so as not to get friction melting that plastic tarp and making holes, to the off-loading spot. What we kneeded was a kid. Someone to jump in again and again, to crush the leaves down. Jake the Flying Dog tried his best, but at a whopping twenty pounds, he didn't have much impact on the pile. In fact, because of the depth, he had to practise up his Snow Train routine. That consists of lunging up to the point where his eyes can see over the crown of the pile, and then crashing down. This is how he does his mogul routine when he tries to spook deer down by the river in the winter. By the time he gets where they were, he's completely baffled, because of course, he couldn't see. He's only about twelve inches tall.
I worked on a guitar accessory today, and tried to keep the woodstove stoked. It was like lighting a wet cigarette. Know, I've never tried. Anyway the accessory is going to go through trials for the next long while. I'm sure there's a way to improve it. Then. I'm sure, m i l l i o n s of players around the world will want to buy it. (?) |
18/10/2008 |
Today's going to interesting. When I first moved to Snow Road Station, I tried to find an old friend of mine. I'd dated his sister when I was sixteen. Ah, first love.
Then I hung out with her eldest brother. He and I drove here and there. We went up into the Madawaska Valley where there was a couple of Mennonite camps. I lived in the old farmhouse with he and his wife, one winter.
He, his wife, two kids, and I went out to the Alberta pipeline in the early 70's. Whatever winter it was, it was the winter of minus forty in Frozenheight degrees in Ontario, but as we hobbled along that icy highway, heading for the frontier, the temperature just kept dropping and dropping. We hit the hills at minus sixty Frozenheight degrees. I nearly got frostbitten lungs, when we touched down, because I decided to explore on foot.
Then we headed up into the higher country, past Tiger Lilly to Swan Hills. We stayed in the oil company's camp. I was told "Don't go out of camp. You won't be found". Whether that was a warning about man or beast, I don't know. But later I learned the area was a grizzly bear sanctuary.
I could go on about the rednecks and the redneck lifestyle. Anyway my friend designed some interesting, very heavy duty machines for building oil tanks, those great, steel barrels. This Canadian technology was sent to the Mississippi disaster area. The brother who went with the machines improved them, and they can "walk" a huge tank from one spot to another.
Today I'm heading to see the other brother. He decided to build the impossible. Posessing no degree, and the restrictive knowledge that goes with it, he decided to build a "perpetual motion machine". The impossible dream.
It was an exercise in tenacity and promise. He progressed from wooden disks and circles he assembled to his purpose, then to fibreglas (that's the correct spelling, folks) components, he then build a lathe to machine metal parts.
For forty years, give or take, he worked on this machine, gaining and losing supporters along the way. Engineers alway balked, because that's what academia does when it runs up against a genius who isn't couched in the language and tradition of restrictive training. Anyway, he ended up with a spectacular machine that runs as smooth as an electric motor, with the potential to run at 36,000 rpm.
It was good to finally locate him. My phone search certainly got me into some interesting responses. Turns out he lives just down the road, you might say.
Today's a gathering of the clan, and it's a large clan. It should be quite interesting to see folks I haven't seen since the seventies. You can view his engine at the following link. I warn you, though, that while the machine is light years ahead, potentially a plasma engine, and is concrete proof of his genius, his communications on site is baffling. Nonetheless, you can view this awesome labour of love and passion at mass dispensation engine.
My son was headed to be an astrophysicist, until he decided to go into social work. He said it was beyond his comprehension.
It's gonna be a great day. Clear, colors, no trees to cut, just a fine day, thank you.
Tomorrow I take a few guys up into the wilds to paddle down the Miss. Cool paddling, and the water's high, meaning the staircase rapids will be an interesting encounter. |
16/10/2008 |
Cut down three really big trees. One fell harder than I've ever heard before. Real tall. They basically went according to targeting. The biggest, however, had to be persuaded to go opposite its natural lean. Rope and pulley, wedges, hammering, good notching, and the classic persistance of Dave did the job.
Once down, I immediately lopped branches, sectioned the larger branches into handling size, and neatly placed these in group piles. Next I had to get the main trunks off the driveway and parking area. I decided I wouldn't block these yet, due to space and effort. I think spring will be soon enough to tackle this again. Hey, why not enjoy the harmonious sounds of chainsaws and blackflies? So I had to maneuvre them into a nice collective group. The largest was just too, too heavy to manually get there, so I had to use the old 4x4 and the pulley, with judicious levering with a track bar. (Not anything like a computer trackball.)
I preceded this with work on that screen I mention below. It's nice enough to look at, but it's made of the same materials I made the gazebo from, so it's not the primo thing, just a great improvement, visually.
Then I followed up by raking the top part of the drive and parking area. Nearing the empty point of the energy scale, I decided to leaf (ha!) the last one third for the next day.
Pre-heated the tub, and soaked. That's the first bath I've had in a long time. I usually shower, but this was a back-bender day. I deserved the heated water.
But overnight, Jake, the flying dog, heard or smelled something and went ballistic. I let him out, to do his great tracking thing, and found it was raining. The leaves won't rake well. Then this morning, the wind dumped whatever it could of leaves onto the cleared part of the drive.
Ah, life in the country is kinda laid back ... |
15/10/2008 |
Took a trip to Kingston Town yesterday. Me and my black friend Jake. Jake wasn't in the best state of mind, so to speak. He hasn't eaten for the last couple of days. I guess he's had some water from time to time. He always seems to have energy to cavort with his French friend Max. Jake goes into some sort of singing mode whenever Max is near. I have no idea what makes him run around, singing in high, then singing in low and yippe ki yo ing. Then I finally see Max.
Anyway, we - I shopped in the Re-Store. The monies they get goes to "Habitat for Humanity", and it is staffed by volunteers. Every penny helps, so find one near where you live. They sell recyclable and brand new home materials. Bought a few nails after doing trench work first thing in the moaning.
Actually it wasn't the pits. I just dug a single post hole. But, you know, that stuff just under the leaves is mostly rock. Layers of it. After I went down about three feet I decided it was sufficient. I know it should be 4 or so feet, but hey. And, no. No concrete. The way designs get affected here, it's a good thing to look forward to the spruce post rotting out in about ten years. O.K. Five.
I'd determined that I would commit only 30 minutes to the task. But I have this completion thing nagging at me always. So I satisfied myself to hang two horisontal stringers for the four foot fence that will be tacked onto them. Yes, I did. I did tamp down the backfill of sand and rock, rock, rock. Pretty stable for a temporary screen. This whole thing is to simply screen the dump wagon (yep the conveyance for trash on dump day) and the recycling bins etc.
You urbanites don't get to have that glorious experience of delivering you own mess. And the sorting is a review of all your purchases. It's always a good time to do a little bear recon. I've got it down to going to the dump once every six weeks. That's the other advantage of the fence come screen. The neighbours won't see the bears at work here. Actually, I've only once had an indication of a bear. It punched about four nice, widely spaced, in a snout-shaped pattern.
I often remember my uncle Laval warning me to be on the lookout for bears when I'd boat to the dump that was somewhere out in Georgian Bay. I was sixteen, and had no idea at all how mean a bear could be. Luckily, I never encountered one. Mind you, I expected all bears to be like 800 pounds, noisy, and clearly visible. Right away I hung the trash cans from trees, just as if I was camping. The worst offenders are crows, squirrels and mice. But even THEY aren't a problem now.
Oh. I got Jake's spirit up a bit when I bought a can of President's Choice gravy and steak. He ate the whole can contents. He's definitely in better spirits now. |
14/10/2008 |
Some of the best rivers I've seen are right here in eastern Ontario. One river I only floated once, and it was in my "personal canoe", as some purist paddlers like to say.
My personal canoe is the Swift Raven. It's a nice canoe with about a two and a half inch rocker. Designed by John Winters, one of Ontario's contemporary canoe designer, it's intended purpose was for the solo whitewater paddler, to a payload of about 275 lbs. Mine is all cherry wood trimmed. A sliding seat makes it a dream to paddle. Punch the seat this way or that and you have a different handling, entirely.
It's something of an old Chestnut Prospector design, in that it's difficult to tell from looking at it that it is asymetrical. It's higher in the bow than the stern, and it has pulled in gunnels. That's supposed to be a designer's answer to ergonomics for paddling. It's beam is about 31 inches. And it moves right along, thank you.
I've personalized it. Prob'ly a lot of you would say I've bastardized it. I treated the cherry wood with linseed, but didn't remove the excess. It grows to a nice dark appearance of aged wood, instead of the superb yet bright orange hugh of natural cherry. I covered the beautiful, alomost pearl gelcoat with a series of camouflage paints. You can hardly see this boat, even when you know where it is. Great for approaching wildlife, in my opinion.
My paddle is a cherry wood paddle, and it too, like my Swift canoe, is of Canadian design and construction. I picked it up from the manufacturer up in Coldwater area. I have its twin with a longer shaft, of lightweight white walnut (butternut). It is what is refered to as a "deep water" paddle. That simply means that it's designed for calm waters or deep waters. It's like Chief Harold Perry's (Ardoch Algonquin First Nation) "rice paddle". It's not really a whitewater design, and it's a lot more fragile than the fibreglas paddle for whitewater.
I use a very short canoe paddle. I might add that I use an extremely short sea kayak paddle as well. Shorter than most playboaters'. If you get a chance to see the rare footage of former Prime Minister of Canada, the late Pierre Trudeau, you'll notice that he had a quick tempo and cadence to his paddle stroke. My style is quite similar. I have developed my own style of paddling for each discipline of canoe and kayak. But it was the influence of Canada's National white water coach and team that affected my paddle length preference.
The waterway here is not conducive to a long "travelling" boat, and certainly the rapids here are dangerous enough to discourage much whitewater paddling. The rocks are broken to square-cornered, sharp-edged chunks. But the ballet of movement, the harmony of the paddle, boat and paddler are what appeal to me. So I love to paddle, pivot and sideslide along on my journies.
So my memory draws me back to the one river I floated only once. It is the Bonnechere. It starts up in Algonquin Park. All along its length it is a river of picturesque charm. It's one of those rivers that ambles amicably among the hills. It wends through forest and fields. Log, stone and brick structures along its length are a visual history lesson of the region. But, she's pretty of voice as well, and while she has her cascades and falls, it is her long stretches of shallow, but swift moving water and short, babbling swifts that I remember most.
On my "colour tour" the other day, I stopped in at the local grocery store in Eganville. They have fresh-baked bread and sticky buns. I bought each. The grocery is right at the Bonnechere.
There's the connect. |
13/10/2008 |
When I read my previous comment, (which follows this one) about entries here, this is a record for time-lapse.
But I'm not surprised, really. I've been cuting trees, moving woodpiles, blocking-up the trees, splitting the blocks by axe, stacking, and building a small trail. I moved some of the rustic furniture which had been at the water. I built a structure I call "the window on the river", which a small bench for those quiet moments. All of it only took a few months of work.
I've got other plans to follow through on as well. A couple more trees to drop, block, split and stack. The question is whether to do it now in the fall, or wait until spring. I prefer the fall. No blackflies, no mucky mire to slide around in and sticking to your boots, clothes and tools.
I did a little plumbing as well. A small build-up of mineral from the water made the kitchen sink drain slowly. Tried from topside, then went underground. I cut the drain pipe and used a snake. It wasn't the rare black rat snake. Couldn't find one. I used the metal kind you buy in that Mennonite hardware store called "Home Hardware". To think - I'm still dealing with Mennonites. Must be all that history of being the Mennonite Youth President at our church and other things like Frontier Camp, and Fraser Camp, both in the Palmer Rapids area. So, once I'd cleared the problem and confirmed that, I installed a "clean-out", so in ten years, when it may happen again, the task will be more simple.
Did a drive tour up toward the Foymount area. This is one of the higher points in the region. Put on a couple hundred k's. Then I got to Stump Lake, just down the road 2 k's from here, and found that the very best colours again are right in our own yard. They say "The Bluebird is always in your own yard".
The other morning, on my routine run, some cowboy dressed in camo stopped me. He could see I was loping up that hill, but it didn't seem to matter. He asked where the K&P trail is. It's really hard to tell someone. I mean, you godda hate those rural references such as "there's a sign face down in the grass at the roadside ...". I did my best to describe this almost invisible trailhead, and repeated it twice, because of the bewildered look on his face. By the time I'd finished, my pulse was probably down at 50 again. Kicking off felt like I was starting all over again ... up ... that ... hill.
On the water, the otters are at play, but that's about it. I had a little fender bender when I drove to Ottawa about a month ago, and I had a big boney lump up on my collarbone, and some of my innards have been really sore. The airbag didn't deploy. (She wasn't with me.) So I may have slammed the steering wheel, or it may have been just the seat belt. But, oh, nice pains from the gut and chest area as well. But hey, it's getting better. It only hurts when I breathe or move, and all the plumbing in the crawlspace, coupled with my lumberjack antics is helping to beat me into condition. Classic male sydrome.
The river's been quiet. If you call my shrill 62 cc saw quiet.
The river sings the song: "An autumn walk on a country road, with a million flaming trees. I was feeling uneasy. There was winter in the breeze. She said oh baby, look over there. The geese are southward bound." Jessie Winchester. Maybe I'll start logging (oh! PUN!) in here again. |
14/07/2008 |
I can hardly believe I've been not updating this blog for a few weeks. Yesterday was a wonderful day, with a vibrant family here for an eco tour. Two young men and their aunt headed out with me. We toured up the Snye, got a little history of the island here, the logging industry here, the uranium mine, some talk about the natural splendour here, and politics.
Down we paddled, to the High Falls. That Lady sure had stamina. The yound men? Well, they played and played endlessly. They had so much fun, I felt like I was back with my old elite O.C.C. Whitewater paddlers again. In the process, I learned that this woman had moved from Toronto to Calgary in order to be near the mountains. She's a mountain climber, and leads a lot of the trips she goes on. That explains her tenacity.
Heading back to base, we were heading into a fairly strong and certainly continuous headwind. She hung in and kept up the good fight right to the take-out.
Thanks to her and her nephews, I had one of my best times on the water here yesterday.
Those boys most certainly should be into whitewater boats. I suggested that they join a club. They've got the stuff that makes for an outstanding whitewater paddler: the joy of movement in the natural environment, and the physical drive to keep having fun. Just like their aunt.
I'd read that the weather was going to be overcast, so I didn't wear a hat, and didn't shower in sunscreen. Every day's a lesson, and my reward was a nice reddish hue to my skin, and that chrome dome of mine even got a burn. Red nose. Sunburned eyes. Take your shades. Take a hat. Take the sunscreen.
You can have that kind of fun, too! Take a trip with Adventure Agent. Link here to find out what people have been saying: Adventure Agent.
The big dump truck droaned along by the house at5:50 a.m. today. And the guy who runs down the lane hollering "SLOW DOWN "? Today a little Miata left his place at 6:45 am, roaring out toward the main highway as if it was a major car rally, with a big prize to be won. I didn't hear anyone yelling "slow down " though. Seems to be a selective thing. |
24/06/2008 |
Well, the big dump truck rumbles by the house at3:50 a.m. these days. Ah, tranquility.
We found a bird on the water the other evening. Brought it aboard, dried it out, kept it warm for the night. Next moringing it was raising a ruckus, so I took it outside and released it. It flew a short distance of about thirty feet and landed near the base of a birch tree. It seemed like it was wondering where it was and how it got there. I left it for a while and when I returned it was gone. No doubt we'll hear it singing, soon enough.
A few neophyte kayakers are on the water now. Not unlike the bird, they are getting their wings wet, paddling up and down the McLaren's Depot Snye. They missed last night as a beautiful evening for paddling. It was immediately after the storms rumbled through. The air was cool. A thin veil of mist hung along the river. The water was glassy smooth in the still aftermath of the storms.
I'd taken some risk during the storms. Thunder dragged across the sky above while I clambered up the aluminum ladder. Perched atop the ladder, I poked a long, aluminum-handled pruning saw into the cedars. Some thirty feet and more up, I was trying to cut some "windows" into the scene. It takes a lot of ladder climbing and hill climbing to get it done.
I did my volunteer run to the Perth Hospital, taking a neighbour there for a quick check. Five hours, all tolled. It's always interesting to go there. Seems like you see old friends there. Other people who have come from "away" as well. I had a chance to catch up on the newsfront, that "before-it-happens" preview of impending news. Such is the rural community; one perched on the interface of the traditional wilderness community and the future economic development of uranium and it's terrible toll on the immediate land and the surrounding regions as affected by wind and watershed. It will affect every living thing in this Highlands and Ottawa Valley Region. Thank heavens for the tenacious and courageous stance of the likes of John Kittle and First Nations Peoples. Where are you now, Farley Mowatt? |
11/06/2008 |
Well, First Nations peoples have an apology from Canada. I know the apology doesn't fix it. But would China have apologised? I know from my own experiences with Catholic orphanages and foster homes that some things will just not be erased from memory, and that life is a bit bumpy from the hurts. I never did, and never will get an apology.
And talk about unusual events, we just saw a battle that is rarely played out before human eyes. A great blue heron and an osprey. They were shouting at each other, and pecking at each other. The less maneuverable heron took shelter beneath a rock overhang, and that settled the battleground for the while.
Today I finally saw mamma osprey. I've seeen papa carry long distance and then drop a fish, but tonight he got home to the happy little fem. She jumped up on top of the fish, I guess, because of her visibility. She's generally so low that you'd not believe there is anyone home there.
Loons are out and about, but I haven't seen their nest sites yet.
I have seen the bald eagle's nest, though. Ya gotta love this region. Fantastic. Fantastic nature, people, music, and events.
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09/06/2008 |
" DEERFLIES ! "
Yep, the next round of Mother Nature's testings is at hand. Woderful woodland creatures, these. I never knew about them until at about age sixteen or so. I went to work in Georgian Bay as a fishing guide. I did some of the guiding, alright, but I also did some other " grunt " stuff as well. My dear ol' uncle had me go out back, without any warning or material, to dig a septic bed trench. Now, if you've dug the garden by hand in the city, you know that some bugs can get to you.
Well. Take a trip into the Bay. Shuffle back into the woods with a shovel and try, just TRY to dig a nice, even trench in the Canadian Shield. I learned all about my uncle's dry sense of humour. Something big me REALLY, really HARD! I yelped like a wolf in a blueberry patch. They probably heard me on the mainland, which was very, very, very far away. That, of course begged the question of " What the ... was that? " My uncle pleasantly identified that as being characteristic of the deerfly.
So, here at home I've been doing a little silvaculture. Actually, quite a bit. Of course, the weather's just perfect, what with 45 percent humidity, and 30 plus temperature. Everyone came out of the woodwork to greet me: Dearflies, blackfies (yep, still here - come on in, I'll show you) and the ever-present mossies. It's always refreshing to reaquaint yourself with the woods and its creatures each year. Canoeing, anyone?
I've had cause, recently, to remember my old friend, Bill Williams. Along with myself, Bill also played host to the aforementioned flying hoards. But Bill was an attractant to the human pest, as well.
You see, Bill Williams was a Canadian Ojibway Indian, from Moon River. He and I shared just about everything that year. I even got to tast some of the hatred that he had to endure. It's particularly interesting to remember this, because the problems he endured have carried forward to today, some 45 years later.
I rememember Bill going out into the Bay, to pick up something at the local store, which happened to be on an island. Bill told me to " Wait here. I'll be back. " I sat in the boat, tied to the dock. I watched Bill step out onto the dock and start his way up the grey (yep, Canadian spelling) wooden steps. As he made his way ashore, and up those steps, the " hood *quot; had a special greeting set up for him. They assembled themselves on each side of the approach to Bill's destination.
They taunted Bill in a way that was unfamiliar to me. They called him names. They said " They shouldn't let Indians drive boats! " They pushed him and shoved him. They knocked his hat off. This was racism, though at the time, I didn't know what racism is.
Bill and I shared, as I said, just about everything. We lived in what I called " The Doghouse ". We went portaging into little lakes that hardly saw any people, as they were back a ways, where one had to sweat, carrying the old tumpline and cedar canvas Chestnut. Ah! Bill knew where the fish were. He showed me much; bear dens, gar pike, and I don't know, just a ton of stuff that you learn when you eat, sleep, play, and work with someone who has a lifetime of wilderness experience.
Bill took me out in his home made boat. I mean, this young guy build his own boat, and bought his own motor, and fed it gas. We were out somewhere in the Bay when a group of the same or similar locals spotted Bill the Indian. They circled and circled us. They hollered obscenities. They tried to swamp us. I suspect that if they had, they would have left us there.
Another time, Bill and I went to a big party in the islands. Now, I never really knew where the heck I was, because we didn't use maps. But I was alright with that, because I had years of experience of just heading into the bush, wandering around in the beaver ponds and lakes and rivers without a compass or map. I always seemed to come out of that within a few feet of where I'd gone in. Just an uncanny knack.
Anyway, Bill took me out to this party. And there were guys who were about to be ordained Priests, a woman who worked for my uncle, and I don't know, just a lot of people arrived at this old lodge somewhere in the Bay's islands. Well, some people hit rocks and shouted " I've been running around here twenty five years, and this is the first time I've hit a rock! " Others were stepping out onto the water, drunkenly saying they could.
Toward the end of it, we were all back at the big resort. Somehow. Bill said, " Well, time to head back, David ". Bill stepped aboard his flat-bottomed punt and settled into the pilot's seat. I followed, aiming for the passenger seat. But before I got down into the boat, my uncle's female employee said " You're not going home with Bill, are you, Dave?
" "Yeah, why? " You know how those Indians are, when they're drunk. " No, I didn't know how those Indians are when they're drunk. But no-one there was exemplary, or even able to say it, I'll tell you.
But by this time, a large contingent of the party-goers had lined up along the dockside. They were all staring at me, in silence. It actually made me feel like I'd made a mistake. But as I still am today, I gave my word to Bill that I'd go home with him. I was honour bound to keep it. But the crowd made me wonder about my wisdom. I grabbed the old kapok-filled lifejacket and started to tie it on.
Bill asked " You're not scared, are you, David? "
" No! "
By now I'd got pretty used to reading the treeline, and remembering routes through the islands. Remembering one very, very tight spot on the route (and this was my first trip through that area) , Coon Gap, I asked Bill " Hey, Bill. Isn't that rock somewhere around here? "
Bill said " Yeah, right there. "
I had to lean over the gunwhale to actually see the rock. In the black and starry night, I could see the rock, which " just " broke the surface, and it was only a third of a meter away. There was nothing impaired about Bill's ability that night.
But there was something impaired about the people who were at the party. They tried to give me a picture of someone, and the picture was distorted. It was based on their own biases and prejudices. I may have been naive. Perhaps it was my Mennonite background that made me want to be honourable and honouring to an individual, to my own word. In the end, Bill proved to me what integrity and courage are. I have long borne a grief in knowing how Bill died. In part, though, I know it was the way that greater community treated and abused a gentle man, and a man of courage and integrity, that killed him.
In a similar way, I have watched the mirror image of what happened to Bill Williams in those lonely places out in the Bay, where no-one would see or bear witness. I have seen it right here in the community of this subdivision of Palmerston Highlands.
It's funny how a group can make itself to be quite righteous, even when it violates its own moral and legal positions. It is strange to me that persons can make a judgement about an individual whom they have never even spoken to. It's difficult for me to understand how they would make a judgement without enquiring about the " Other side of the story ". It's hard to beleive they wouldn't want to view the hard facts of black and white, before make a judgement about someone. It's hard to beleive that they wouldn't even investigate their own situation and reflect on that whole picture.
At least the men who were spoken about in the Bible, who were about to kill a person by the slow, cruel means of throwing stones, stopped. They stopped, because of their huge dignity, honour and integrity. They respected the comment " Let him who is without sin cast the first stone. "
That kind of integrity didn't exist for Bill Williams either. Those people on the dock were probably quite comfortable in their condemnation of Bill, because of his race. I have learned that often times the only way to walk softly is to indeed carry a big stick.
I like to live believing in honour, integrity, courage and others. However, sometimes there are giants who gang together to harm the meek.
Moon River - a song about change in the environment - remembering Bill Williams
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ARCHIVEAL POINT
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ABOUT THE LAND, THE WATERS, THE PEOPLE, AND LIFE IN GENERAL AROUND SNOW ROAD STATION, ONTARIO, CANADA