Chasing Leaks

Abstracto! It’s just some faded paint on a car fender but eye-catching none-the-less.

Friday the 13th. The weather forecast shows the date and a thick grey cloud with heavy raindrops. That seems about right. At the moment however there is an attempt at a sun rise. A thin brassy light reflects from the neighbour’s windows and that damned insidious street cleaning machine is out there growling away again. It’s on a fourth pass now. The wind will blow everything back in short order. A day later the weather is the same with a cold rain in a gusting wind like only it can in November. By the following Tuesday when I finally post this, not a lot has changed.

There are two leaks in the camper which have eluded me despite all my attempts to find and cure them. All that was left to do was to remove the inside panelling and insulation. What the hell? There was some faulty wiring to trace as well. Between the inner skin and the outer I found some soggy insulation. I’ve removed it. The taking apart is done…I hope. It has rained sporadically for the past few days, the kind of cold rain that can leak into anything. I just checked; there is no sign of moisture! Grrr! I knew of course that this little old box would require some attentions but I had no intention for it to become a career. To keep things in perspective I know that there are plenty of people who’d love to have this one as a home, leaks and all.

I wonder what the weather is like in the desert today? The leak project.
Aha! That tiny pinprick of light is the great dull light of the rainy outdoors shining through. The wood frame is good so patch and go is the order of the day. The piece of metal above the beam is galvanized steel which is the source of electrolysis.  It may be no warmer or dryer in the woods but I prefer being out there.

I managed to strip out the final bit of forward interior in perfect co-ordination with a horrific rain storm which went on and on. The problem is now that the ambient humidity inside is so high that condensation forms instantly on the bare cold metal skin. Still I tracked down, or up, the source of ingressing water. In one corner just below the roof I found a mysterious cluster of tiny pinholes. I’ve concluded the cause is electrolysis, something I’m all too familiar with in boats. When dissimilar metals are placed in contact they begin to produce minute electrical currents known as a galvanic action. Add an electrolyte like water and an insidious corrosion occurs. Introduce an electrical current and things become really weird. What I found was that when the camper had been built small galvanized pieces of metal had been used to reinforce corners of the frame. So, combine thin aluminum, steel, zinc, 12 volt wiring, possibly lead-based paint, 40 years of time and copious rain. Bzzzt! Still learning after all these years!”

Just off the main street in Ladysmith sits an old building just behind our tiny museum which is a remnant from the town’s rustic past. It is flat-roofed and covered with a faux brick heavy tarred material which I recall was named ‘Insul-brick.’ It was an old store of some sort and for a long time displayed a faded sign that said ‘Food Bank.’ It has been boarded up for a very long time. On one corner of the building is a small porch built into the structure. A homeless person moved into that space and set up camp under a green tarp. They have been evicted and the empty porch is now caged in. A tent has been erected in the back of the soggy lot.

Don’t fence me out. Plan B is in the background. Plan C is under the bridge, if there’s any space left. Someone is always in a worse situation. The siding is called insulbrick.

If I could wish myself into a larger fibreglass camper I would donate this one to someone who needs a shelter. In the meantime I’ll keep this old tin and stick box as a sort of earthquake plan. Isn’t that all we need now in winter on top of Covid?

Living behind the waterfall. My neighbour’s overflowing rain gutter. It is a low-quality photo taken by mobile phone on a very dark afternoon. That’s a hummingbird sitting on the feeder. Imagine flying around in weather when each pelting raindrop is nearly half your body size and three times its weight.

I’ve just returned from a quick trip to a building supply store. As I drove out through the parking lot a character leapt in front of me oblivious to all except to be fumbling with their covid mask and text messaging in hand. I managed to stop in time; they never noticed. What’s that term? “Eyes wide shut.” We’ve even abandoned the primal self-preserving instinct of fear. “The Lemming Syndrome.” I’ll get back into my box.

Whodathunk? Ten months ago I could not have believed I’d ever be seen looking like this. With a fierce second wave of Covid washing over us it seems a respectful thing to do toward my fellows. Masks are designed to prevent a person from spreading their own germs and maybe help keep you safe from others…and to prevent you from licking door handles!

I’ve decided that a sign of aging is losing the ability to be amazed. That amazes me.”

Say What?

Hairy Inukshuk. A positive aspect of the current pandemic is that there now appears to be families out walking together. Children are doing creative things like painting rocks and erecting little stone piles. It’s lovely.

I am just a dumb-assed average guy who is not entitled to dispense uninformed opinions about things like a pandemic. I know that I know very little. I understand also that I am free to challenge, at least for myself, the edicts and mantras of others who thrill at the notion of control over us. I tend to be reclusive normally so the idea of social isolation is not new or unusual. I’ve practised it often at sea and ashore and continue to be a loner. I don’t mind my own company at all. Crowds induce an instant psychosis for me so I avoid them if at all possible. So, I am not about to join arms with a few strangers and go staggering down a city street kissing all the door handles we come upon. My concept of common sense may be skewed by other’s standards, but it has kept me alive for several decades.

Social isolation. Smell the woodsmoke, the fresh bread, cinnamon buns, gingerbread and maybe a roasting piece of venison. Could do worse!
Beach houses looking into Ladysmith Harbour. The weather is bleak, cold and damp but the free air is bliss.
Proof of previous global warming, when glaciers melted away and left boulders like this.
All steamed up. Wet, dry, cool, warm, sunny then not. It’s spring weather. A neighbour’s roof dries after the last rain shower.
The toilet paper factory. I don’t actually know what sort of pulp this mill in Crofton produces, but it’s as stinky as any other paper mill… The smell of money some folks say.

I am blessed to live in a small coastal community where with a few minutes walking I can be in a forest that will surround me all the way to the west side of Vancouver Island and the open Pacific Ocean. I think there are only two or three logging roads to cross on the way. To be in some apartment in any city must be a horror even if you live up in the free air of an upper floor. You have the gauntlet of those possibly-infected elevators and stairwells to pass through to get down to the streets in order to see which stores are now closed. There are probably highly-stressed people in uniforms with hands on guns watching you carefully. Then you have to return home, up through the labyrinth of passages to your retreat where even your water supply depends on someone somewhere running a pump. Just think of what it might be like to endure this in a place like India or Syria. We are the lucky few. Dreary, depressed, flat-broke and in debt, plans and dreams shattered, we’re still doing alright so long as we don’t panic.

More coal flowers. Incongruously this forsythia bush grows alone among the brambles in the middle of the old coal terminal.
I spot my first Fawn Lily of this spring.
Then suddenly, they’re everywhere.
Purple delicates too.
And even more
Beach blossoms as yet another rain squall advances through the Gulf Islands.
Da-ad! Let’s go see what’s around the next corner.

There are plenty of movies about pandemics, there are many apocalyptic scenarios and of course the strangely popular zombie themes. The notion of the world we are now suddenly living in has fascinated and entertained us for a long time. We seen fascinated with doom.  Be careful what you wish for. Here we are. Sadly, our national leaders do not inspire a lot of confidence and so we all endure this terror with a sense of fear and rising panic. A US aircraft carrier captain has been dismissed for informing his massive crew that a few cases of the Covid virus had broken out in the very close quarters of the ship. He is punished for being responsible and respectful of his charges. Yep, military intelligence. And of course, there is the incredibly expensive US Navy hospital ship ‘Comfort’ sitting nearly empty in downtown New York. Well, I did not promise to not ask questions.

Singing a song of spring.

If there were squadrons of bombers or UFOs overhead, or masses of invading troupes in the street we could see something, some-one to push back against. A virus is something we cannot see or fight with any tangible effort other than the feeble measures we can think of. One day, one moment at a time, it is all we can do. Self-love and loving one another is a worthy endeavour many of us need to grasp or relearn. This is the perfect opportunity. And remember, don’t believe everything they imagine. Flower photos, for the time being I’ll stick to that.

The sage old one. Jack’s legs are getting wobblier but his eyes are bright and he is always up for another adventure.

…”They lived in a country where believing had taken the place of knowing.”

from ‘Stones From The River’ Ursula Hegi