Boy have I put my foot in it! In my last posting I described finding a dead eagle and how I took its skull and some feathers. A friend’s raised eyebrows induced me to do some homework. I soon learned that possessing any parts of any wild life without a permit can put a person deeply in the nick. I understand that the law is to prevent folks from trafficking in wild animal parts and so, ostensibly, to prevent poaching for profit.
The way the act reads allows that just having a racoon’s penis bone, or a set of deer antlers without a permit can cost thousands of dollars in fines. I don’t know how severely the act is enforced but seeing as I advertised having these eagle bits I have to now announce that I’m putting them back in the wild where I found them. I understand the special spiritual value our indigenous citizens put on eagle icons and everyone can sleep easier with my meddling undone. I once worked on a fish packer with an all-native crew who finally bestowed me with the name “Walking Eagle.” It turned out to mean that I was “Too full of shit to fly” and I’ll live humbly and happily with that honourable handle. All due respect is in it’s proper place. The term was intended as an endearment instead of an insult. Understanding the wry humour of these guys made the term funny if I liked it and hilarious if I didn’t. Sometimes I miss those fellows.
Well isn’t it strange how life’s path twists and rises and falls.
Despite my firmest intentions never to go north to work again, it is beginning to look a lot like my route to Mexico is going to have to be via Shearwater. I can’t seem to produce a reasonable income in southern latitudes let alone provide what I need to pursue this wonderful dream. Tentatively my old job on Denny Island awaits me. No one else seems to want it. I love the country up there, and certainly some of the people, but after last night’s rain here, my creaking old arthritic bones remind me of the long dark, wet, winter ahead. I want to weep in frustration. The depression demons won’t let go and this is not the place to go to exorcise them. I’ll have to dive into a massively creative project to survive. Perhaps a third novel is about to be conceived.
Going north, instead of south, defies all of my remaining sensibility. Every two points on this planet are joined with a rhum line, and a rum line, and so my heading changes with the same destination in sight. Sometimes when the gods firmly point you in a specific direction, it’s best to do what you’re shown even though it makes no sense at the time. I have wasted a huge part of my life trying to make things happen instead of letting the universe unfold. I bought the lie, at least for this guy, that it was the noble thing to do. Now, I am a dreamer. If you’re not having fun and losing sight of your dream it’s time to make the changes that only you can. Old Einstein once said that you can’t solve a problem with the same thinking that created it.
I thank all of my readers who have offered their messages of support both moral and immoral, kind thoughts, prayers and wishes. It really makes a difference. I know there’s a cheque in the mail and hopefully I won’t be at the airport when my boat comes in.
MUCHO GUSTO!
“Life is either a great adventure or nothing.” Helen Keller
Hi Fred. today I put a notice on myself for everyone who came to speak to me to read, it simply said. don`t ask. Hope all is well.
Tim, good to hear from you. Things in a muddle at the moment, will e-mail soon.
Best to all, Fred
The elusive dream. Sorry to hear the north beckons but perhaps the flying boat will land and you’ll be able to climb aboard to warmer climes. Thinking of you and hope you keep having technicolor dreams as without those our lives would make it hard to keep going.