Here We Go Again

Here we go again! Southbound, looking down on Pruth Bay on the northwest corner of Calvert Island.

Here we go again!
Southbound, looking down on Pruth Bay on the northwest corner of Calvert Island.

The nook An embracing anchorage facing the open Pacific

The nook
An embracing anchorage facing the open Pacific

Port Hardy Potty Pause A Saab 340 of Pacific Coastal Airlines on the flight south from Bella Bella. Ten minutes for fuel and more passengers and a chance at the washroom. A clear, cold beautiful day.

Port Hardy Potty Pause
A Saab 340 of Pacific Coastal Airlines on the flight south from Bella Bella. Ten minutes for fuel and more passengers and a chance at the washroom. A clear, cold beautiful day.

February first, Bella Bella airport. Calm, clear, bloody cold. Again! I’m off south to the big smoke to see the vets again, for the same thing. The flight is uneventful but I can tell you that travelling with a UTI (Urinary tract Infection) has reduced my sense of manliness to a new low. Perhaps I’m just living out my life as a dog but moving about with the incessant urge to piddle becomes an incredible burden. It pisses me off. There are just not enough bushes out there some days. A residual effect from my bladder surgery at Christmas, it is definitely a gift that keeps on giving. Jill accompanied me to Vancouver for yet another heart procedure. It snowed persistently and on the crossing it was announced that all the Vancouver buses had been shut down. A big burly fellow began wailing loudly. He wore an interesting costume which included a studded dog collar. He whined loudly that he’d put all his money into attending a “Metal Concert” to the point of missing meals and now what would he do? I truly felt the urge to apply some slap therapy and wanted to ask him how he’d deal with being a Syrian refugee. Feckwit! More on the stupidity of our species shortly.

As it turned out, the buses were running, on time, and once again I was amazed at the efficiency of the Translink system in the lower mainland. People still find room to complain, but for less than the cost of one hour’s parking downtown, you can buy a day-pass that allows you to be whisked anywhere all day long without risk of theft, accident or parking problem. Jill and I were bemused to recall the panic on the ferry about how foot passengers were going to get themselves downtown. There were negotiations for rides with driver-volunteers and while I admired the obvious milk of human kindness, It was intriguing to see how easily blind panic was induced with a simple pre-emptive inaccurate announcement.

A view with a crane. Looking east from the hotel room at Lonsdale Quay. Yes that's snow!

A view with a crane. Looking east from the hotel room at Lonsdale Quay. Yes that’s snow! No, ‘Attessa’ is not my boat.

Lonsdale Quay The hotel is on top of the market.

Lonsdale Quay
The hotel is on top of the market.

Beautiful Downtown Bella Bella. The public wharf and center of the community. A very different world, perhaps planet, from Vancouver, two hours away by air.

Beautiful Downtown Bella Bella. The public wharf and center of the community. A very different world, perhaps planet, from Vancouver, two hours away by air. Note the perched eagle surveying his kingdom.

Back on Vancouver Island, also snowy and slushy, I ventured forth in my new-used truck. It is a lovely thing and will take my little off-road trailer on many future adventures. I have seldom acquired a vehicle, new or used, which did not provide some sort of an initiation break-down. Today was a repeat performance. In the middle of a slushy street, my lovely new used truck died. It turned out to be a corroded computer module which shut off the fuel supply; expensive, but easily remedied. My capitalist pride turn to instant frustration. A previous time when I’d just put a fresh set of tires on a new used vehicle, the engine promptly blew up at the top of the Malahat Summit. Yes, there’s another set of new tires in the store this time!

A nasty surprise. Fresh snow at the Nanaimo Departure Bay Ferry Terminal.

A nasty surprise. Fresh snow at Nanaimo’s Departure Bay Ferry Terminal.

The stunning part of that wee adventure was the incredible stupidity of many motorists. Some folks stopped to offer assistance which was dead lovely. Many others, although my full-sized black 4×4 truck, stalled in the middle of the snowy road with emergency flashers pulsing, could be seen for several blocks beforehand, would pull up immediately behind the vehicle. They would either sit with a blank look on their face or begin sounding their horn. In the hour it took a tow truck to arrive, this occurred many dozens of times. With my leaky plumbing issue, it was not at all a pleasant experience. Mein Gott! These folks are licensed to hurl themselves around the planet in large, deadly projectiles at high speed, yet apparently have the cognitive skills of a mudflap. No wonder the Trumps of the world can so easily take control. Living in a backwater like Shearwater clearly has some advantages. The only fool I need worry about here is myself. Fortunately, while repairs were being made, my dear old pals, Grethe and Niels, took me under their wing and soothed this sorry beast. Thank the gods for good friends.

Checking my e-mail I discovered that other friends has just completed the very long passage from South Africa to Trinidad on their sailboat ‘Sage.’ Tony and Connie left Victoria on Vancouver Island a few years ago and now have sailed over half-way around the planet. Where they go from Trinidad is anyone’s guess. What an intrepid pair. You can find a link to their blog site on the right hand sidebar of this blog. Another friend is sending me amazing photographs from Thailand. A sailor friend wintering in Mexico is urging me to just “Do it” and get my old buns down there. As soon as I can take the next breath, and the next pee, for granted, I’ll be on it like never before. The tears are running down my leg. (there’s a lot to be said for kilts.)

Monday morning, back to Vancouver today. It’s still snowing. Another adventure lies ahead.

Outflow Wind. Looking up Howe Sound from the deck of a ferry in Horseshoe Bay. Outflow winds from the snowfields and glaciers beyond Whistler accelerate down the Sound and head out to sea. It is bloody cold!

Outflow Wind.
Looking up Howe Sound from the deck of a ferry in Horseshoe Bay. Outflow winds from the snowfields and glaciers beyond Whistler accelerate down the Sound and head out to sea. It is bloody cold! The ferry to Langdale and the Sunshine Coast can be seen in the distance.

I find myself worrying about ‘Seafire’ languishing in Shearwater without me to look after her. There is another strong wind warning up for the area and within the next few days they’ll be blasting a monster pile of rock that has been being drilled for several weeks near my dock. I’d like to be able to take my beloved boat away a mile or two from the blast site. What will be will be and there’s enough to worry about right where I am; after all, it’s just a boat. Right? I have to haul myself, the old “wutless gonder,” off to the meat shop and get probed and zapped some more. That’s all that matters today….and a place to pee. Damn! How the mighty are fallen. There are so many kinds of courage and I marvel at those folks who bravely face horrible illness and injury and the ubiquitous poop-brindle beige halls of medical institutions. Then there are those who go to work in those places on a daily basis. I could not do that. We took a room in the lovely Lonsdale Quay Hotel. I’d planned to take Jill for an early Valentine’s dinner in a favourite restaurant; there was a gas leak and all the local restaurants were closed. We ended up enjoyed a fabulous meal in a Thai restaurant a few blocks away. You never know what’s around the corner!

A favourite view. I have long loved the northerly view to the north from the ferry lane between Nanaimo and Bowen Island. Texada Island looks like a small country, bounded on the west by Sabine channel and Lasqueti Island and Malaspina Strait on the east. Low clouds on the island's peak are usually the harbinger of bad weather.

A favourite view. I have long loved the view to the north from the ferry lane between Nanaimo and Bowen Island. Texada Island looks like a small country, bounded on the west by Sabine channel and Lasqueti Island and Malaspina Strait to the east. Low clouds on the island’s peak are usually the harbinger of bad weather.

February eighth, Campbell River Airport. At the hospital in Vancouver yesterday, in preparation for yet another “Cardioversion” (It sounds a bit like a religious experience …and it is!) the anaesthesiologist asked me if I remembered anything of the previous treatment. I replied that I did. I said I recalled a helluva bang and then the smell of bacon. She berated me for being a smart ass, although the rest of the attendant crew seemed to appreciate a little humour. This time I don’t remember a thing and the application of high-voltage has brought my pulse back to a normal rate. Now I can focus on getting my plumbing problems under control. A prescription has turned my discharges a brilliant orange. Tracking me in the fresh snow will be no problem.

Seriously, it ain’t no fun. Loss of bladder control is an agony, night and day, and I’m in pursuit of a new urologist for a second opinion and to see what’s going on. The one who did the reaming and ripping is arrogant and dismissive. Tests have revealed that there is no infection. Something else is wrong. Bugga! I understand why some folks launch malpractice litigation. I’m almost ready to rig up a bucket and hose tied to my leg. Patience I tell myself, patience, this too shall pass. Meanwhile the fluorescent tears run down my leg.

Collateral Damage. The Bella Bella water taxi shelter...where it meets the jetty ramp during storms.

Collateral Damage.
The Bella Bella water taxi shelter…where it meets the jetty ramp during storms.

Jill drove me to the Campbell River airport this morning and I hope to shortly be back in Shearwater. The trees and roadside were laden with snow. There is more forecast for later today. Up in the Great Bear Rainforest, there was a fire on Denny Island along the power line from Ocean Falls. Aerial photos on the TV news show miles of power line in flames. How that could happen, in rain forest in mid-winter is everyone’s mystery. The high winds must have fanned the flames. Some local local natives are trying to use this as yet another example of whitey’s disregard and neglect of First Nation needs and priorities because they were without electricity for a while on the weekend. No comment!

Gravity wins again! Buoyancy ends when that final drop of water trickles in. Bilge pumps are wonderful things!

Gravity wins again!
Buoyancy ends when that final drop of water trickles in. Functional bilge pumps are wonderful things!

Meanwhile we’re holding our breath about the weather being good enough on for today’s flight. I’d rather be sitting under a palm tree wondering which cantina to go to for dinner. Finally back in Bella Bella, there is a sinus-pinging north wind blowing. The wait on the dock for the water taxi was interminable. I returned to Shearwater a short while after the blast. A few rocks fell on the far end of my dock but ‘Seafire’ sat unscathed. A rock was fired through the wall of a house above the dock. It emerged through the ceiling into the kitchen. Collateral damage and all’s well that ends. In the afternoon I soon found myself head-down unbolting an engine for removal from a water taxi. Life goes on. This morning, as I write, a fresh blanket of snow is descending. Ordeal or adventure, life is what you make of it. Suddenly it is nearing mid-February and I’m still here. It is the Saturday of the year’s first long weekend but I’m going to work today. The weather is crap and the work in the shop is piling up. Too much time away gallivanting around in southern hospitals!

It's not spring yet!

It’s not spring yet!

TILT! As I post this blog a neighbour boat rides out the storm. 'Anarchy' is a Contessa 26. This design, tiny as it is, is famous for carrying many sailors on round-world-voyages.

TILT! As I post this blog a neighbour boat rides out the storm. ‘Anarchy’ is a Contessa 26. This design, tiny as it is, is famous for carrying many sailors on round-the-world-voyages.

Wind warped. The same boat on a much calmer evening.

Wind warped.
The same boat reflected on a much calmer evening.

On Sunday morning any plans for the long weekend have dissipated. A full storm has raged all night but fortunately with steady howling winds. No slamming gusts! I slept peacefully most of the night! Sleep has become a rare commodity because of my health issues which demand I visit the loo several times through the night. I’ve discovered Tibetan and Mongolian throat singing among other soothing types of music I can stream from You Tube. It’s weird perhaps, but it works and to be able to nap for two continuous hours is now a rare treat. As the day drags on the rising wind begins its slamming gusts. I clean and tinker on the boat as I upload the photos of this blog on our flickering internet. It will be a long day. I’m not complaining, just explaining. There will soon come a morning when the skies are clear, the wind will be warm and dry. The old verdigris-stained sails will fill and the compass will read due south.

Textured Moon

Textured Moon. Between the back-lit scudding clouds, a chance to make a creative photo of last night’s full moon.

Now is the winter of our discontent.” William Shakespeare

Cream and Scum

Seafire Dreaming some dark and stormy nights it's hard to remember perfect moments like this in Clatse Sound

Seafire Dreaming
Some dark and stormy nights it’s hard to remember perfect moments like this one in Clatse Sound…and to imagine what can be ahead.

Warning: This blog contains a photo which some may consider offensive

You’re getting past your shelf life.” How’s that for a remark from your doctor? He’s a great guy, one of the last country doctors I know and an avid permanent local. He has a great sense of humour which is a tremendous virtue for a doctor. On the water taxi ride back from the Bella Bella Hospital to Shearwater I began to reflect on what he really meant. The life I’ve lived has already taken me decades past my shelf life. I’ve done a lot of dangerous and stupid things in my time and know full well that none of us has more than the moment; no matter what we might think. I am not afraid of dying but I certainly hate not living. And living up here alone in the boat, through the winter, is proving to be nothing but an existence. After enduring a winter here in the Great Bear Rainforest I know I must make some immediate moves to change the prospects for the rest of my days. I don’t quite know how to change my status as an economic refugee, a common whore, especially when this old bilge ape is just not able to work as hard as he used to.

A Punter's View Sea-trialing a ubiquitous local punt with a new outboard motor

A Punter’s View
Sea-trialing a ubiquitous local punt with a new outboard motor

This blog was originally begun as a running narration of my vessel ‘Seafire’, myself and those who would join me on adventures and voyages to exotic destinations. It has taken on a life of its own and seems to teeter on a theme of finding wonder, humour and insights from the moments at hand. The years roar past like a runaway express train. For some reason I was cursed with hard wiring which seems to prevent me from ever getting my leg over a financial fence and achieving my simple dreams. Some friends tell how easy it is to just “DO” things but that formula eludes me. I have had many adventures which are too incredible to describe here; yet what I have dreamed of the hardest and longest still eludes me. Now my health is failing me and I have to modify those dreams and my lifestyle. I do also understand that with the correct lifestyle I can regain fair health and still live out some of those dreams. It is a conundrum which only I can resolve. The end of January is fast approaching and I’ve accomplished nothing here except to barely survive. But perhaps that in itself is an achievement.

"Feelin' nearly worn as my wheels." I decided it was time to replace the office chair wheels with something slightly less worn.

“When push comes to shove, Feelin’ nearly worn as my wheels.” I decided it was time to replace the office chair wheels with something slightly less worn.

Some sailors cheerfully go to extreme regions where they freeze-in for the long cold polar night. I’ve done my time in the Great White North. I cannot imagine eight to ten months of this as I sit here in the boat, writing at 03:00 and looking out at the blackness around the bay. There is no wind or rain tonight, for the moment, which perhaps is why I cannot sleep. It is too calm. What a place this is! Endeavours here are a strange waltzing boogie between the practical and the incongruous, the insane and the brilliant. To survive here one must mould themselves to bend around, and into, the culture of a many-faceted work camp community manned by characters, like myself, (Imagine a little town full of Freds) who don’t fit into the mainstream of the Southern Coast. I tend to simply do my job and then retreat into a hermit crab existence within this boat. But enough claptrap about the gloom of winter weather and frustrated dreams. There’s lots else to write about.

I often bemoan how my prime link with the outer world is CBC Radio. The radio and this laptop computer are my only company aboard the boat. (Really! No rubber dollies.) With a patter of human voices in the background, life is a little more bearable although many CBC programs are eternal manure heaps of rhetorical blither. Occasionally, for me, a nugget shines out from within the brown. One of those recent undungings was a half minute playing of an old but recognizable tune. No-one announced what those notes were, but it was instantly clear to me as a snippet of the theme music from a CBC series called ‘The Beachcombers.’ That tune is available online as are many of the 387 episodes aired over eighteen years. The show began in 1972 and was a near-instant hit. Set in beautiful little Gibsons BC the simple plots unfolded along the waterfront and still, even now, hold a pleasant charm. If you know who Relic was, you know the show. That series accomplished two things. First, I believe, its portrayal of life on this coast drew a migration of Eastern Canadians to the West. The image of an easy-going life in a picturesque setting had to be a magnet to a hippy generation that often travelled with only a thumb and a backpack. Those same folks are now entering their geriatric years and became the next generation of middle-class establishment which now owns some of the most expensive properties in the country. There’s a quote that goes, “A capitalist is just a socialist who’s found an opportunity.”

The Real Thing A locasl beachcomber's boat, the venerable and beautiful 'Pender Chief'

The Real Thing
A local beachcomber’s boat, the venerable and beautiful ‘Pender Chief.’ Beachcombing is the enterprise of finding merchantable logs afloat and washed up on beaches. No living timber is taken, it is solely a salvage operation. It is how I began a career which led me to full-time tugboating.

 

I think the second achievement of this TV series was that it portrayed as perfectly normal for whites and indigenous people to work and interact with each other on a fully equal basis. There were no exclamations about race or gender. Everyone was just one of the community. A local Sechelt native and prominent Hollywood actor, Chief Dan George, often guest-starred on the program and added a rare dignity. Anyone old enough to remember the show will soon fondly recall their favourite episode. However, there are now folks old enough to have a driver’s license who have never seen or heard of the production. If you see a geezer on the side of the road, wearing a headband and tattered bell-bottomed pants, they may well be on their way to check out the Sunshine Coast. It’s never too late. The food at Molly’s Reach is great. Peace man!

Knowing the ropes a beachcomber's workplace. a beach skiff and a shallow-draft tug. It's a great lifestyle and sometimes you can make a little money too!

Knowing the ropes
A beachcomber’s workplace. A beach skiff and a shallow-draft tug. It’s a great lifestyle and sometimes you can make a little money too!

Value added Beautiful clear cedar timbers milled from salvaged wood. It doesn't get better than grass roots commerce.

Value added
Beautiful clear cedar timbers milled from salvaged wood. It doesn’t get better than grass roots commerce. Bonus scr

Speaking of peace there is the Trump subject. How many damned times a day do we have to hear something else relating to Trump? I’ve found myself counting the seconds after the radio is turned on until I hear the dreaded T-name. I try to avoid political contemplation at length in this blog but the media has been battering us with all things Trumpety, Trump since the beginning of the long presidential campaign. I’ve had enough. I’ll simply say that I wouldn’t want to spend any time in a life raft with this dude. Same thing, by the way, for Hilary. My dog is so smart he is well able to play stupid as it suits him. I think Trump may be playing a similar game. Listen carefully when he speaks about his “Big beautiful wall.” While it is assumed he is talking about his contempt for Mexico he carefully talks about protecting “Our borders.” Guess who has the only other border Canada. Many US citizens do not really see Canada as a sovereign nation and we have all these resources. Get it? Sleep tight.

Clearly he also has low regard for China so here’s a proposal. Major US retailers, like Walmart and Costco, sell little that is NOT made in China. Maersk shipping built special container ships just to accommodate Walmart’s huge demand. The shipping line returns those tens of thousands of containers to China; empty. So Mr. T, if it’s America first, perhaps US businesses should sell only US manufactured goods. Huh? And you say you will close all your hotels outside the borders of the US? Oh, and please, please bring all those crap fast food American restaurants back within your beloved border. Free enterprise. Ever hear of that Donny? NAFTA. Not A Freakin’ Thing’s Allowed! I’ve done a lot of business in the US and it seems to me that Americans hate being beaten at their own game. How’s that for a rant?

I WARNED YOU! Something under this dock grows, no-one is sure what to call it. Here are some possible captions: Cojone Del Mar But it's natural! No bull A family resemblance Neurotic Photo It must be spring Got DNA

I WARNED YOU! Something under this dock grows, no-one is sure what to call it.
Here are some possible captions:
Cojone Del Mar
But it’s natural!
No bull /Got DNA
A family resemblance
Neurotic Photo/ Old Sea Scrotum
It must be spring/That reminds me
Got DNA /”Well, doc, it kinda’ feels like a barnacle.

Meanwhile, up here in Gulag Shearwater the vicious weather has returned. High winds with massive gusts have stormed us for the past two days and nights. Old ‘Seafire’; is slammed repeatedly. The heavy boat is tossed about like a bath tub toy. Sleep for the past two nights was impossible. My binnacle cover, which was tied securely, was gone this morning. There’s another few hundred dollars blown away. It was due to be replaced, but I wanted the old one for a pattern. Shingles nailed to the dock were torn up by the wind and flung helter skelter. The weather was too foul even for our intrepid tugboat skipper to run a freight barge over to Bella Bella. I’ve sold my vehicle to a fellow there and need to deliver it. By water taxi we’re about fifteen minutes apart with rides an hour apart. BC Ferries offers a vague and irregular service which runs bi-monthly on average. Tonight I’ll board the ferry at 23:30 hours and then spend the night trying to sleep in the vehicle once ashore in Bella Bella.

Night Moves Midnight, pouring rain ink darkness, I wait at the ferry dock, the only passenger.

Night Moves
Midnight, pouring rain, inky darkness, I wait at the ferry dock, the only passenger.

All’s well that ends. It pummelled down rain all night, I slept fitfully. The transaction is complete, paid in full along with some fish. Then my new friend delivered me back to my own boat with his. There really are plenty of good folks out there yet.

A gift of fish. It's lovely to do business with gracious people.

A gift of fish. It’s lovely to do business with gracious people.

At least Donald has never heard of Shearwater. Ah, here comes the wind again.

Cream rises to the top. So does scum.” …Ian Graham.

After The Crash

Eagle moon January 12th Cold, clear, calm, icy!

Eagle moon
January 12th
Cold, clear, calm, icy!

January First, 2017

January First, 2017

 

In a recent blog I promised that, despite the winter doldrums, I would find something interesting to write about. How about a runaway forklift? I repaired the wiring on a forklift which had died outside my engine shop. Once it was running, I did some final electrical checks and then gathered up my tools. That was when the back-up alarm began to sound. The heavy machine lurched backwards, accelerating as it went. One hundred feet away sat a row of boats. The first two were aluminium work punts and then a very expensive fibreglass sport fishing boat. In horror I jogged toward the impending disaster, my brain screaming “No, no, no!” The punts were shouldered aside, as the smoothly idling forklift zeroed in on the prime target. Fortunately the ground was covered in ice and the trundling attack came to rest as blocking was flung aside and a pile of pallets splintered. One driving wheel spun in useless frustration. I was able to clamber aboard and shut the engine off.

Beep, beep , beep, bee...Shit! The reverse runaway forklift. Thank goodness for the ice. The expensive boat behind the forklift was spared by one inch.

Beep, beep , beep, bee…Shit! The reverse runaway forklift. Thank goodness for the ice. The expensive boat behind the forklift was spared by one inch.

Safety First!  The ubiquitous local aluminum punt often requires welding repairs after rocky beaches and stormy seas. Stacks of pallets are a great way of positioning the vessel at the best height. Creak, crack, tilt.

Safety First!
The ubiquitous local aluminum punt often requires welding repairs after rocky beaches and stormy seas. Stacks of pallets are a great way of positioning the vessel at the best height. Creak, crack, tilt.

Collateral damage was minimal and the dislocated punts came to rest an actual one inch from the hull of the grand boat. The forklift controls were worn. As it idled the shift lever vibrated itself down into the reverse position. I made appropriate repairs immediately. In my bunk, I dreamed of the machine launching itself over the end of a barge. The reverse alarm beeped its way overboard and then made a most peculiar sound as the machine sank. All’s well that ends. As the daylight faded a near-full moon rose into a crackling clear sky. Hopefully this heralds the end of our cold snap. It has been a rare event for which we are ill-prepared.

The old castle road. Would you believe a WWII jeep trail through local bogland

The old castle road.
Would you believe a WWII jeep trail through Denny Island bogland?

The weather has now returned to the many shades of grey slanting rain and gusting wind. It’s just another long, tedious day after tedious day on the mid-coast of British Columbia. The broken dock chains have been replaced. Slam-bashing winds have wracked the docks every night since and all is well. Yesterday, despite the cold lashing rain, there were rolls of fog on the distant mountains that had a spring-like look. Perhaps it is just wishful thinking but there really was an hour of sunlight in the late morning. One of the joys of getting older is knowing that nothing is forever and winter will eventually end. The trick for me is to find and savour those brief golden moments.

Winter dream.... When the sunlight is high and warm and long each day. ....Many more sleeps!

Winter dream….
When the sunlight is high and warm and long each day.
….Many more sleeps!

The weeks grind on. Donald Trump is plugged in at his newest ivory tower and even up here, it seems, the world is puckered up in anticipation and dread. Yes, even here in the remoteness of the rain forest. I suspect that in four years we’ll discover his rhetoric was largely empty promise and threat, just like a politician. He will have been forced to acknowledge possession of all normal human bodily parts. His ambition as the world’s next fuhrer will be fully deflated. Simply understand to never, ever trust a fat man with tiny hands.

Any sign of spring is desperately cherished. A moment of sunshine, its warmth on one’s face. I heard geese today. They’re local birds, but haven’t called like that for months. Beneath the docks, billions of herring swarm and glitter. That is a sure sign of good things to come. Today while on a sea-trial out in the bay I saw a huge humpback whale. I’m sure it was gorging on the spawning herring. Later, as I walked back to my boat, I heard two wolves howling nearby. There’s hope!

January Moon Rise The long sleepy wait for spring. Beneath the calm surface, the tides ebb and flood, the herring begin to return by the billion. The year's timeless cycle turns as ever.

January Moon Rise
The long sleepy wait for spring. Beneath the calm surface, the tides ebb and flood, the herring begin to return by the billion. The year’s timeless cycle turns as ever.

Politics is the gentle art of getting votes
From the poor and campaign funds from the rich,
By promising to protect each from the other.”
~Oscar Am Ringer, “the Mark Twain of American Socialism.

Look Ma, no batteries!

Look Ma, no batteries!

Cellos And Chicken Soup

Jury Rig A temporary fix to hold the dock in place until a new chain can be installed.

Jury Rig
A temporary fix to hold the dock in place until a new chain can be installed.

New Year’s Day. Finally enjoying a good sound night’s slumber, after two long sleepless ones, I was awakened by a frantic knocking on my deck at 04:00. Dreadfully ill with a nasty virus, my chest and head blocked with insidious goo, I had finally slipped off to the roar of a rising wind and the rocking of the boat. I sleep well when it’s like that. I was jarred back to consciousness by some folks who were ending a New Year’s Eve party on the float house next door. A vicious westerly wind had risen. The massive but badly rusted chain which held the end of the dock had snapped. My beloved ‘Seafire’ and the boat ahead of us were in peril of being caught in the bight. Imminent danger loomed of being crushed between two pieces of dock. All of the boats here could well become part of a tangled mess on the beach. New Years was beginning with a bang. I groped around in the dark to find my pants.

Life On A Thread The temporary life line which kept the broken dock from folding up on the boats moored to it. 'Seafire' is one of the boats. It is my home at the moment. Most of my life is invested in it.

Life On A Thread
The temporary life-line which kept the broken dock from folding up on the boats moored to it. ‘Seafire’ is one of the boats. It is my home at the moment. Most of my life is invested in it.

        One Thin Line While we wait for some new dock chain to arrive this frayed piece of line holds  the life of 'Seafire'.

One Thin Line
While we wait for some new dock chain to arrive this frayed piece of line holds the life of ‘Seafire’ and a few other boats.

Stepping into the cockpit was an instant full-body ice cream headache. Uumph! I puckered up. Damn! I wasn’t going to be of much use to anyone. The wind continue to blow. The best I could do was to forestall various inept efforts by my peer’s attempts after their evening of celebrations. Finally some competent sober talent arrived and all’s well that ends. Five hours later the morning sun in the churning clear sky is just now rising up the masts along the dock. “In like a lion, out like a lamb.” Hope so.

Happy New Year!

 SUSHI! Marine growth on one of the old dock chains.

SUSHI!
Marine growth on one of the old dock chains.

T he Pecking Order Look who came to lunch!

T he Pecking Order
Look who came to lunch!

I went back to work next day in the engine shop by checking our fleet of water taxis and planning the days ahead. The cold wind whistled and rumbled under the azure blue where ravens and eagles hovered in the pure sunlight. It was a glorious day. On the ground I’m still stuffed with flu goo. My chest is honking and burbling like a flock of geese. That’s as close to flight as I can get. But I gasped and puffed my way a day closer to my goals. Large pieces of paper towel emerge clean and fluffy from the clothes drier. All those pockets with paper hankies I did not remove. I believe that’s called recycling. Snot funny! I spread clean warm sheets fresh from the laundry bag on the bunk and flop down on top to savour the fading warmth. I will not be here next winter. That is a promise. (As I post this blog, CBC news airs a report that Greece has temperatures of -10 and a dusting of snow.)

It is the time of year where each day can be a dark eternity. Work is a bleak distraction from other harsh realities. Hibernation instincts are high and it would be grand to simply sleep for the next two months. There are plenty of projects on the boat to be completed. They’ll still be there when the weather eases under the influence of spring. I also have many writing efforts sitting on the back of the stove, slowly bubbling away. The problem is staying awake. I find myself hunched over this computer, slumbering fitfully with my banana fingers keying out several pages of Zs or Fs. I’m napping these words out over my breakfast coffee and catch myself nodding’doing the chicken’ once again. Last night I awoke sitting here at eleven pm, and finally went to bed. This morning I crawled out of the warm bedding one toe at a time.

Finding The Leaks Each icicle marks a flaw in the tired old caulking which won't hold rain water in.

Finding The Leaks
Each icicle marks a flaw in the tired old caulking which won’t hold rain water in.

By week’s end not much has changed. My flu is reluctantly easing its grip but it has left me utterly exhausted. I’m spending this weekend simply resting. Posting this blog is my only endeavour. Possessed with all the ambition of a mudflap, I’ll ignore all the work heaped up in the shipyard and on this boat. I need my ‘mojo’ back. Apparently the entire coast is gripped with a flu epidemic and harsh winter weather. In Shearwater the temperature has risen enough for snow and rain but the forecast for the week ahead includes more snow and descending temperatures once again. The evening twilight does seem to be lingering a few minutes more and there are green buds on some of the bushes.

"I'll go to sea no more." After having their bones picked a final time for any pieces of value, these old hulls will be broken up and taken to the dump.

“I’ll go to sea no more.”
After having their bones picked a final time for any pieces of value, these old hulls will be broken up and taken to the dump.

The Indignity Of Death. Private parts exposed, corpses go unnoticed.

The Indignity Of Death.
Private parts exposed, corpses go unnoticed.

Once, the notion of the Great White North seemed a manly thing to me. I recall winter tent camps, thawing ice for drinking water, starting machinery in the dark in minus forty degree weather. The romance of it all eludes me now. Old ‘Seafire’ was not built for these latitudes. Staying warm and dry is an ongoing challenge. On Saturday morning, seven days into the year, I stay buried within the coziness of my bunk until long after the first broke-back pickup has clattered by.

          Beaking It out A pair of eagles sing a hungry song.

Beaking It out
A pair of eagles sing a hungry song.

There is a road on the perimeter of the bay where the vehicles rattle past. Our roads here are rough and folks seem to like to drive as fast as possible. Destroying a vehicle with abuse and neglect seems to be part of the local culture. Body parts rattle, torn-off mufflers do not get replaced, faulty brakes and worn-out tires are lived with. Some vehicles pass by the engine shop daily to re-inflate soft tires. Headlights are left burned or bashed out despite the long hours of darkness.

A Brilliant Selfie One of the few bright ideas I've had in a while...actually the photo is an accident.

A Brilliant Selfie
One of the few bright ideas I’ve had in a while…actually the photo is an accident.

And so life goes on in Weirdwater. Frankly, I’m feeling as road-weary as the vehicles here. In the last few days, the company has been sorting out derelict vessels and storing them in one corner. They were living, working creatures at one time, loved by someone who used them to make a living. Now they are dead shells waiting for the crush and bash of the breaker’s machinery. Where does a boat’s soul go? Probably the same place mine seems to be heading. After my house chores and cleaning up the boat outside I reclined in the main cabin while a fragrant pot of Avgolemono (Greek lemon chicken soup) simmered on the stove. YouTube streamed various pieces of cello music and I snoozed peacefully. It seemed as good a cure for the flu as any. I’m getting good at doing nothing. In fact I’m thinking of retreating into the deep folds of my bunk and hibernating like a bear. No more postcards from Mexico please. Call me when you see the swans heading north again. Meanwhile, a week later, the broken dock still hangs on the end of a single temporary rope. The wind warning for today is forecasting speeds of up to 100kph. The mast and rigging begin to hum and sing and vibrate once again.

Everyone complains about the weather, but nobody ever seems to do anything about it.”

…..Willard Scott

Unplugged And Almost Blown Away

Dreaming of A Red Christmas. The storm arrived later in the day.

Dreaming of A Red Christmas. The storm arrived later in the day.

A blood-red Christmas sunrise! Really. Look! “Red sky in morning, shepherds warning.” The forecast is for a stout sou’easter to blow up this afternoon and hopefully push this damned cold air away. ‘Seafire’ is ice-bound at the dock despite the kindly ice-breaking efforts yesterday of Keith and his little steel dozer boat. The Prime Minister has issued his Christmas “Statement.” Yep, that’s what they call it on the Environment Canada website. Isn’t that just so warm and fuzzy? Even the old British Queen, despite a severe cold delivered a Christmas “Message.”

Iced In. Christmas morning.

Iced In. Christmas morning.

A Good Samaritan. Voluntary ice-breaking at Christmas time. Very much appreciated. Ice and fibreglass hulls are a poor mix. The ice always wins.

A Good Samaritan. Voluntary ice-breaking at Christmas time.
Very much appreciated. Ice and fibreglass hulls are a poor mix. The ice always wins.

A Russian aircraft bound for Syria with a load of entertainers has crashed just after takeoff from Sochi. Ninety-two dead on their way to entertain the Russian troops in Syria. The question is, of course, what the hell Russians are doing in Syria. Neither they, nor the Americans ever learn. Afghanistan? Vietnam? Ukraine? The missionary complex of world powers seems to be an irresistible compulsion. The concept of staying home and cleaning up ones own mess has always eluded we humans. Sadly, I am sure the Russian song and dance troup was fantastically talented. They always are. Part of the group was also known as the “Red Army Choir” I actually have a recording of them and I especially like their traditional renditions of the “Vulgar Boatsman.”

What?

Oh, “Volga” not vulgar! Сожалею! .So sorry! I know, and I’m not making light of a tragedy, but then that’s what they were on their way to do. Mr “Put it in” has declared a day of national mourning; quite unlike the aftermath of his repeated bombings of Syrian civilians. Now we are about to have Commander-In-Chief Trump joining the mix, with his already eager pro-nuclear rhetoric emerging from his itching twittering fingers. Happy New Year.

At the same time a 7.7 earthquake in Southern Chile had everyone on Tsunami standby. It never arrived there, but might show up here and hopefully, it’ll get rid of the ice. There’s something to look forward to. Enough! I’ve shut off CBC radio with all the dark news I can do nothing about, as well as the damned mutant Christmas carols. Where do they find them? Somehow a blues version of ‘White Christmas,’ left me craving for a little Tibetan throat singing. It would be a tad more Christmassy. A week later both these events are nearly forgotten, although up to a million Chileans are homeless.

Jill reads me the riot act. Actually, she's taking photos of Edgar the Eagle with her I-pad.

Jill reads me the riot act.
Actually, she’s taking photos of Edgar the Eagle with her I-pad.

Jill arrived back in Canada a few days ago from a quick visit home to Scotland. On the connector flight she contracted a severe bout of the Queen’s own snifflis and has been honking and coughing drastically ever since. Maybe my wife was aboard with a cargo of immigrants from Europe and what she has, and I’m getting, is an exotic strain of camel virus from Syria. I was south for a few days which involved surgery to remove a creature with no eyes that was growing in my plumbing. I’m sure it’s not the dreaded C-word, I’m too damned fat for that, but the recovery is a bit miserable. So we’re having a low-key Noel.

The brilliant red sunrise of this morning was rapidly pushed inland by a mass of warmer air. A stormy night is forecast with heavy wind, rain and snow forecast. A heavy ominous overcast has arrived. The cabin lights have been on since 2 pm. As darkness settles flags are beginning to crackle and the trees are flailing. It seems that yon virgin went south in search of a silent night. Meanwhile, in the midst of all this doom and gloom, we have a loaded barge with, among other things, a beautiful new crane, slowly listing further and further to one side. The freshening wind may capsize the whole rig but that’s life.

On Boxing Bay, the barge is listing badly and there’s a vicious variable wind blowing. Apparently instructions are to leave things alone, but it frustrates me to not try and prevent an apparent inevitable tragedy. No-one will be injured but the old adage of a “Stitch in time to save nine” seems appropriate. Finally a local working mariner gave in to his compulsions. Rob went out after finding a working pump, levelled up the barge and drove some wedges into the worst of the leaks. There are some great folks here.

 The Lst


The Lst

Rain and sleet are pelting in the swirling, gusting wind. It is a miserable winter day. Jill and I are confined to the boat. Friends invited us to a wonderful Christmas dinner yesterday but now we sit like two rats trapped in a small cage as the boat lunges and rolls at her lines. I feel badly that Jill has come to endure this. We are both ill and miserable. She will have an indelible impression of Weirdwater and I doubt it will be positive.

The next morning yields a grudging release of blackness just after eight o’clock. Barrages of ice pellets and thick rain drops have bulleted the boat all night. Jill is not eager for the boat to leave the dock. This is the first full winter I’ve spent here and I find myself marvelling at how the Heiltsuk and other coastal nations survived millenniums of winters. How did they stay warm? Fed? Sane? I can’t imagine sitting around in cedar-bark long johns for months with the incessant taste of fish in my mouth and a permeating dampness everywhere. We can romanticize the “Good Old Days” all we want, but clinging to select parts of an ancient culture does not seem to inspire anyone to return to a fully authentic aboriginal existence. I certainly do not have any interest. I like warm insulated rain gear, dry feet, electric and diesel-fueled heat.

I extend my speculations to being a pioneer on this coast. Not only did you have to live with, and learn from, the indigenous folks, yet felt compelled to implement white man methods whether they worked or not. If you wanted a little farmland each tree had to be felled by hand, then removed or burned. Considering that one tree might contain nearly enough wood to build a barn it was a lot of work. Then you had to deal with the stump. There are photographs of hollow stumps so big that people built homes inside them.

Vancouver Housing Crisis-100 years ago. Downloaded fro the archives of www.vancouverisawesome.com

Vancouver Housing Crisis-100 years ago.
Downloaded from the archives of http://www.vancouverisawesome.com

Many folks must have worked themselves to death. In many places along this coast, where people worked so very hard to carve out farms, or even whole communities, there is little or no evidence remaining of these human dreams. Perhaps a small feral fruit tree is the only monument to a hard and futile existence. That’s depressing, but then, how many of us will leave something of value to succeeding generations? The population on the central and north coast once supported a large fleet of coastal steamers and supply vessels. Now that population has dwindled to a tiny fraction of its former numbers and getting supplies in is an ongoing problem despite the availability of modern aviation.

Frosty Bog. Bleak beauty where deer and wolves roam.

Frosty Bog. Bleak beauty where deer and wolves roam.

The Devil's in the details. Finding beauty everywhere.

The Devil’s in the details.
Finding beauty everywhere.

The weather is dreary. Rain, wind, snow and clear skies can occur all withing twenty minutes. Our daily walk devolved to a 20 minute drive on sleet-slick roads and then checking my spam. First I was warned of a sexual predator in my neighbourhood and then someone from Mahé in the Seychelle Islands wanting to “Date me” tonight. I didn’t realize that Shearwater was so close to the Seychelles. I feel no warmer. I’ve managed to inherit Jill’s flu and have coughed myself to a near-death feeling. There are some residual effects of the surgery and every minute for the past few days has been misery. The weather is bleak and raw, at best, we have about seven hours of light. I fear Jill will never want to see this place again and I certainly understand. Today she flew home. The taxi operator in Bella Bella was not answering his phone and we began the long uphill walk to the airfield. A very kind lady summoned a relative and Jill had a ride. I am repeatedly amazed with the spontaneous kindness of many folks in Bella Bella and am cheered with the hope that provides. The airfield was fog-bound for most of the day. Late in the afternoon Pacific Coastal airlines sneaked in through the fog banks and Jill is now hundreds of miles to the south. It is one lonely night. I have a few more days to recover from my infirmities and adjust my head to the new year ahead. The daylight is supposed to be slowly increasing and there be more adventures ahead . Happy New Year.

Weirdwater. Weird Ice.

Weirdwater. Weird Ice.

Kliktsoatli Harbour. "Can't have rainbows without rain."

Kliktsoatli Harbour.
“Can’t have rainbows without rain.”

Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I’m not sure about the former.”                                                                                                  ….Albert Einstein

Iwannasayphukit

"Must've been something in the eggnog!"

“Must’ve been something in the eggnog!”

It took me a while. I’ve been threatening to delete my account almost since I opened it. Told that I can’t succeed as a writer without a Facebook account I’ve decided to rename it Assbook. I DO NOT have over seventeen hundred friends and it is hard to believe there are more thronging to have me on their page. I’m weary of checking my e-mail to discover that someone else has determined I need to review images of their neighbour’s grandchild eating cake. Or their dog wearing a dress. C’mon! Sadly, there are several friends and relatives with whom I lose my link but the internet and cell service up here in the backwoods is too sketchy to wrestle with something which has proven to be more nuisance than benefit.

Winter solstice moon. Bitter cold, extreme tides, wolves howling.

Winter solstice moon.
Bitter cold, extreme tides, wolves howling.

Same moon, same night. A few miles down the beach. Photo downloaded from the La Manzanilla online bulletin board. Mexico on my mind.

Same moon, same night.
A few miles down the beach.
Photo downloaded from the La Manzanilla online bulletin board.
Mexico on my mind.

I became completely disillusioned when I tried to unsubscribe. It was a fight. Clearly Facebook does not want anyone closing an account. It is difficult to even find a Facebook has grudgingly conceded control. The account is deactivated for a couple of weeks until it is finally deleted. That ordeal confirmed, to me, I was doing the correct thing. I’ve learned there is a large group of frustrated former Facebook subscribers who hold similar concerns and also don’t want their personal information filed away in perpetuity. Trying to unsubscribe from Facebook has confirmed that I was doing the right thing.

It was extremely difficult. Is there life without Facebook? It feels better already.

"Not a word! I don't believe one damned word."

“Not a word! I don’t believe one damned word.”

I’ll readily admit I hold some “Big Brother” conspiracy paranoia. The masses seem mesmerized by the weaving tentacles of social media. There are insidious aspects of giving up information and control to some faceless force. Whether in Vancouver or Shearwater folks can’t seem to move without texting, texting, texting. Anything that can insidiously persuade masses of people to enslave themselves in common mindless activities frightens the hell out of me. I refuse to say “baa” and I challenge everyone to ask questions.

It is Christmas time. We’ve had a long bout of sub-zero temperatures. Ice and frozen snow cover our world, including the ramp down onto my dock. At low tide it is very steep and too dangerous to use with its slick crust of ice. We’ve had extreme tides in the last few days with a range of up to nearly eighteen feet. For a couple of days it seemed the ramps were inclined upwards at high tide. We were very close to being inundated. Thank the gods there was no wind. In a few more days, our daylight begins to increase in minute amounts. We won’t notice for several weeks.

WHOOSH! The ramp at mid-tide. As seen from the cockpit of 'Seafire.'

WHOOSH!
The ramp at mid-tide.
As seen from the cockpit of ‘Seafire.’

 On frozen pond. a deep freeze in the bog.


On frozen pond. A deep freeze in the bog.

My obtuse humour is ever-present. A few days ago, while bent to my work I came up with the name of an ancient village. I’ve already invented a community named Klem-Three which is a few miles up the coast from Klemtu. Now I’ve decided that Shearwater is sitting on an ancient site once named Iwannasayphukit. I don’t know what brought on its demise, but there’s still a feeling about the place. Everyone leaves. At this time of year, the name makes perfect sense.

What's Christmas without children? This is the local elementary school Christmas play, "The Elves And The Shoemaker." The school has an enrolment of nine.

What’s Christmas without children? This is the local elementary school Christmas play, “The Elves And The Shoemaker.” The school has an enrolment of nine.

I wish everyone a wonderful Christmas however you celebrate it. May all have someone to love, something to do, and something to look forward to. And…BUMHUG!

A Seafire Christmas Best wishes for all.

A Seafire Christmas
Best wishes for all. (I’ll replant the tree in a few days)

 

The main reason Santa is so jolly is that he knows where all the bad girls live.”

… George Carlin

"Thas' better. Happy New Year and keep yer pecker up."

“Thas’ better. Happy New Year and keep yer pecker up.”

Frozen Weirdwater

Wrong Way Train Trust me...sitting at the head end of a sky train car hurtling into a tunnel marked DO NOT ENTER. A strange part of the journey on the way to the place in this blog's last photo.

Wrong Way Train
Trust me…sitting at the head end of a sky train car hurtling into a tunnel marked DO NOT ENTER. A strange part of the journey on the way to the place in this blog’s last photo.

CLICK ON PHOTOS TO ENLARGE

All photos taken with my cell phone)

Weirdwater is a term of endearment I gave to Shearwater when I first arrived. It is a ‘Hooterville’ sort of outpost manned by unique characters, aberrant personalities and general misfits. I am one of them. I make no apologies for clinging to my individuality. After a few days in a large city I’ve affirmed my refusal to join the vast ranks of the faceless and mindless. As my hero Billy Connolly says, “Feckin’ beigists!”

Despite being involved with hurtling endeavours most of my life, I still have a fascination with the speed we creatures nonchalantly get around on our planet. Yesterday I started out within the nest of a few million people. It took me less than an hour and a half to cover the congested miles from North Vancouver to the airport terminal. There is no way anyone in a car could cover that distance within a multiple of the time and cost. I sat at the very front of the Canada Line Skytrain as we hurtled between stations. Two ladies in the seat behind spoke in loud Arabic. A wonderful language to listen to, both musical and staccato. It sounds as if that language is spoken from the back of the mouth, instead of the front as English is spoken. I need to develop a better grasp of my mother tongue before worrying about anyone else’s. At least today I write without the brain-addling effects of residual hospital medications and the resultant poor grammar. Within the muddle that Vancouver has become, as it morphs into a world-class city, I think it is wonderful to realize the richness of ethnic diversity and how that enhances our collective Canadian identity.

Oddly, contemplating communications, the night before I watched a splendid new movie called ‘Arrival.’ It was largely about learning how to find a common working language with aliens who had dropped in to help us resolve our global issues. No graphic violence or sex but very absorbing and thought-provoking. It was well done and kept me awake, (which may be due in part to a defective theatre furnace.) So now that I’ve survived the adventure of a hospital visit, fondled fresh produce yesterday on Lonsdale Street, watched a movie and savoured various ethnic cuisines I’m back to the blunt reality of being back here and living within parameters that are presently frozen hard. Despite the warnings of global warming it seems we are in the grasp of an advancing ice age.

Above the storm. Beneath the clouds a winter storm rages with blasting wind and bulleting snow. Warmer, moist Pacific air comes ashore rising over the colder heavier outflow air descending from inlaid.

Above the storm.
Beneath the clouds a winter storm rages with blasting wind and bulleting snow. Warmer, moist Pacific air comes ashore rising over the colder heavier outflow air descending from inland. Snow, snow, snow!

Holy Snappin'! The flags crack in a stout winter wind. The boing sea at the edge of the Port Hardy airstrip. The green stain on the wing is residual de-icing fliud applied in Vancouver.

Holy Snappin’!
The flags crack in a stout winter wind. The boing sea at the edge of the Port Hardy airstrip. The green stain on the wing is residual de-icing fliud applied in Vancouver.

Say no more. This photo explains it all. A very ugly weather day.

Say no more. This photo explains it all. A very ugly weather day.

Are we having fun? I was very happy to be inside the airplane instead of in a boat down below.

Are we having fun? I was very happy to be inside the airplane instead of in a boat down below.

Whoosh! Down underneath the solid overcast we hurtle northward past Safety Cove on Calvert Island. We have a wonderful tailwind.

Whoosh! Down underneath the solid overcast we hurtle northward past
Safety Cove on Calvert Island. We have a wonderful tailwind.

Yes! Readers know it by now. Hakai Pass country.

Yes! Readers know it by now. Hakai Pass country.

Any port in a storm. A safe enough anchorage but a boat on the hook there would be twisting and grinding on its anchor chain. A big catspaw is clearly visible well into the bay. Been there, done that. All too often!

Any port in a storm.
A safe enough anchorage but a boat on the hook there would be twisting and grinding on its anchor chain. A big catspaw is clearly visible well into the bay. Been there, done that. All too often!

The peaks of Denny Island. White patches beneath are snow-covered bogs.

The peaks of Denny Island. White patches beneath are snow-covered bogs.

My flight home was put on a reduced schedule because of a dire weather warning. After a treatment in the deicing station we ascended into the encroaching blizzard and flew north with the front tickling up under the edges of our kilt. We landed in Port Hardy in weather conditions that were on the edge then raced on up the coast with a brisk tailwind. The good old boy up front threw his IFR book out and dove underneath the clag to slap us safely down at Bella Bella in record time. This old pilot always loved flying low and fast. I enjoyed the ride thoroughly and wouldn’t have done a thing differently. (high praise indeed!)

Bella Bella no, not the big white patch. that's bog. The community is strung along the shoreline in front of the bog land. It is the center of the Heiltsuk Nation. The airfield is to the west of the village, on the right side of the photo.

Bella Bella
No, not the big white patch. That’s bog. The community is strung along the shoreline in front of the bog land. It is the center of the Heiltsuk Nation. The airfield is to the west of the village, on the right side of the photo.

On short final, a few seconds before landing in Bella Bella, Shearwater is at approximately the two o'clock position above the bright gleam, at the top of Kliktsoatli Harbour. HOME IS WHERE THE BOAT IS.

On short final, a few seconds before landing in Bella Bella. Shearwater is at approximately the two o’clock position above the bright gleam, at the top of Kliktsoatli Harbour. HOME IS WHERE THE BOAT IS! The view is Eastward over Seaforth Channel, Rithet Island is to the right of center, Lamma Pass in the distance on the right.

Now here I sit in old ‘Seafire’ trying to stay warm. The forecast is for a long spell of cold weather with temperatures about fifteen degrees below normal. A massive Arctic high is parked in the middle of the continent and outflow winds all the way from Saskatchewan whistle through the rigging. The water supply is frozen, the cabin is sixty degrees inside with a forecast of descending temperatures over the next several days. The dock pops and squeaks in the cold. Well I have complained incessantly about the eternal rain! BBBBugga! Be careful what you wish for.

Where the blogs come from... SEAFIRE is moored behind the islet beneath the arrow. Lamma Pass is beyond Denny Island. Past that is Campbell Island and on its Western side the waters open onto the open Pacific. To the right of the arrow the large building is the remaining WWII aircraft hangar where I work. The T-shape of the guest dock is visible. Between it and the hangar are the restaurant/pub, grocery store, hotel, fishing lodge, laundromat, a grocery store, marine store and novelty store. The postal code is V0T 1B0: Very Odd Town Only 1 Bar THAZZIT! Downtown Weirdwater

Where the blogs come from… SEAFIRE is moored behind the islet beneath the arrow. Lamma Pass is beyond Denny Island. Past that is Campbell Island and on its Western side the waters open onto the open Pacific. To the right of the arrow the large building is the remaining WWII aircraft hangar where I work. The T-shape of the guest dock is visible. Between it and the hangar are the restaurant/pub, grocery store, hotel, fishing lodge, laundromat, a grocery store, marine store and novelty store. The postal code is V0T 1B0:
Very Odd Town One Bar Only
THAZZIT! Downtown Weirdwater

You haven’t seen a tree until you’ve seen its shadow from the sky.” — Amelia Earhart