Lord Baltimore’s Mistake

Am in the second colony of Avalon - Baltimore Murderland – my birthplace to help my mum after her back surgery. I had also come to see if I could make some sort of work about the place. After a semester of being a true member of the full time photographic faculty – in making nearly no work, even worse I didn't even have a higher paying second job to have to worry about – I had finally focused. Plane travel will do that to you. Being forced to only two bags this was to be the analogue trip with Ubaldo and Joãozão and the surprising amount of film that I had left over from the summer when in any other case would have been long gone by now.

I was looking forward to seeing how my mixed feelings about Harm City had modified after the short trip out here after Yanksgiving. I wanted to see if I had got over the overly paranoid city and its inhabitants. I was wanting to photograph another North American water based colony with a unique accent hon. I wanted to deal with the wetlands and wooded areas that abound in the city I wanted to get lost in twisty streets with real neighbourhoods.

The weather was perfect for this – at least coming from the Frozen Tundra south – about freezing and at times as much as 10C, I could have coffee outdoors wander at will it was like spring.

I can see why Lord Baltimore would have left the first colony of Avalon after a year having to put up with gale force winds off the North Atlantic for Avalon South has a better climate. But if any of his relatives are about I would hazard that they would set sail north and east again.

Despite the warm weather there was no one on the streets, except around the Inner Harbour, There were a few souls at the Starbucks in Mount Washington but the streets were deserted. It seems that Balamereans don’t walk. There were traffic jams everywhere but no one without a car.

The constant vigilance supposed to make me feel safe made me feel uneasy. I felt more safe in Rio/Niterói where at least the vigilance was a human and the streets crowded. I imagine a crime in Baltimore will be video taped but not stopped as there is no cop about.

It is truly a gun culture, as I am waiting in a bank and see three inch Perspex protecting the tellers from the customers. This goes for gas bars. Receipts are checked when one leaves shops, i.d is needed to use a bank card, Nothing is ever left unlocked ever.

Wanted to visit the places my father worked but it would be safer visiting Cidade de Deus.

I think back to the summer when nothing was locked ever.

It is a pity Balamer could be a liveable city, again the parks, the rivers, the harbour, the bay, and the neighbourhoods. Want to photograph just south of Ravens Stadium, Along the Jones Falls, just have to build up my courage.

On the return after Christmas – am driving out so I ‘ll lose that focus one has when flying and can pack the machine am thinking – will I ever learn? – the Hobo. I want all the film from the summer gone by the start of term.

Multitasking Monothinking

I am in my usual “doing too many things at one time” mode. In the process of printing the snaps made this summer – the platinotypes, the colour digital and the snaps of people that I spoke to – I find that I can look at the black and white images with a detachment where I can – I think – determine whether the snaps were good or not. This is the case with both the platinotypes and the snaps of people – which once again I say should stop as some of them just get beyond the snapshot stage. While those snaps will make it no farther than the cataloguing phase I could have saved some film in not turning the endeavour into a conceptual exercise – I blame the ‘tute for this.

The colour ones though – the ones made as records of the trip to be posted here – end that detachment. Looking at those I remember Bonne Bay vividly and stop to try to imagine that I was in a place so breath takingly beautiful. The colour brings back the reality that I am supposedly beyond as we all know that photographs aren’t real.

They are bringing the minutiae of the place and I have to imagine less about the time spent there – the tickle from Curzon Village, the gulch, dinner at the picnic table even the poorly stitched together panoramas are more direct memory aids than the black and whites. I don’t know whether this is a good thing or not.

Seeing them however brings up my second favourite pastime, looking for real estate on the rock. On the Avalon I can go through pages of places worthy of consideration – my favourite right now is in Witless Bay overlooking the ocean for $69.000. I find almost nothing along the Great Northern and when I do I realise that I cannot afford it.

I also realise that I don’t know how people who live there can afford to stay. Bonne Bay is being overwhelmed by people like… well me. I think about the regulars at the Seabreeze and wonder if their days are numbered. I remember the conversation at Edward’s shanty where he was debating whether the nearby resettled town Chimney Cove would be re-inhabited at least he could afford it. I remember Elaine telling me that she sold property in Trout River overlooking the ocean for $5000 and now someone trying to sell land overlooking Bailey’s Point for at least ten times that amount. I could afford it – yeah right – but could those who actually live there?

When there, we were remarking about the parks people and the townies and how they seem to be in parallel universes, looking through the real estate section I am beginning to see that the park is winning.

I am gobsmacked every time I look at the colour snaps, like being at the end of the road in Woody Point and would like to hanging around the place, but more people like me moving in can only hasten the change of the area.

THANKS

REENTRY

Didn’t really have a plan when I left the ferry in North Sydney, simply knew that I didn’t care much to see the ferry dock nor to look at that expanse of water.

Saw Klunder and his brood in his machine and went over to say good-bye. It was somewhat reassuring to see him off island as from now on I would be searching for things newfie as a hint of some connexion.

Wanted to hit the Tim’s in North Sydney but missed the turn off. Didn’t want to go to the next as this was where everyone was stopping. Kept going, watching the Newfoundland number plates become fewer and fewer.

While Cape Breton was a nice build up for the rock, not quite tenuous enough to be the island but good hints as what is to come.

Now it worked to ease the shock of not being there. Newfoundland with the “messy bits” taken out. A bit tamer, a bit more hospitable in the lay of the land respectable bodies of water but not quite the same. Here humans have tamed their surroundings.

Raced across the island getting lost when I was to leave Cape Breton by a rotary which led me to my double double and two cranberry muffins. Couldn’t eat the muffins.

It slowed me down a bit a made some snaps of phone boxes and a tiny boat in a pathetic pond.

Photographed a puffin statue for Jen missed the McPuffin outside the McDonalds.

On the mainland, the road became a proper freeway and once again Klunder passed me in his escort. Played tag with me until Sackville when I pulled off for a pit stop.

New Brunswick was preparing me for the states as the Trans Canada to Fredericton was the type of road I hadn’t seen even on the Avalon, no pot holes, missing cities – the type of road that doesn’t connect but moves people efficiently. There were more machines.

Making Fredericton meant that I could make the journey back in the three days allotted. Pressed on and the Trans Canada reverted to a road for a sparsely populated land. Welcomed the frustrations of having to wait to pass slow cars.

While there was no turning back when I saw the sign for I-95 I could see more doors closing. Turned off on provincial 95 and sooner than I expected I hit the border.
- where were you born?
- Baltimore
- What was the purpose of you trip?
- I was artist in residence at Gros Morne National Park
- And exactly what is that?
- What do you do in the States? What is your job?
This is why I have come to hate this States. How much more exact could I get than saying I was artist in residence and what defines one more down here than what your actual job is.

Mentioned that I had a bunch of photographic equipment in the machine another question was asked which I don’t remember but mentioned that I had Kendra’s bag in the boot.

Red flags. All of a sudden I was a threat. They asked what exactly, clothes a printer, a camera. Who is this person. Where I tried to explain the size of planes that leave Deer Lake and how all her belongings wouldn’t fit. She is a grad student.

I had to pull over fill out forms – one officer went to the computer the other to the car. I explained yet again what was going on.

The place was plastered with memorabilia from 11 September.

Remembered the trip up with the Customs Canada official and the idea of trust. Coming back trust would become a rarity.

When it was over I was called out to the motor to show that my argyrotype chemistry was leaking and had done so over my film boxes luckily the ones with raw film in them and thus completely sealed.

Thanked him again thinking that they feel that they are just doing their job and thus have to be hard edged but they were really normal joes. Pity all this fear and paranoia.

After being a bit out of sorts – not knowing where to put the leaking bottles – they didn’t offer to dispose of them. placed the stuff on the back seat protected and headed down I-95 seeing that I had only 300 miles to cross Maine and I had just gained an hour.

Stopped at the Tim’s and felt strange paying in funny, smelly green money. The shock of seeing Tim’s competing with a Dunkin Donuts, an Irving Gas Bar beside a Citgo.

Even though the road was efficient – so much so that I took the road to Portland also in an attempt to save money – it was still unpopulated.

The ended with New Hampshire, it only got worse with Massachusetts. It was getting dark and I was close to 900 miles that day.

The rains from Katrina were beginning to hit, I was in a mood for a pizza so Worcester was the goal for the first day.

Thought about stopping to say hello Anna and Stasiu in Boxford but thought again,

Arrive in the city at 9PM but got lost and only found a hotel and a restaurant at 10. I had to wait a good 30 minutes while the person at the Comfort Inn had to deal with someone on the phone. Chose the place as it had internet access.

The pizza was replaced by some dreadful aubergine parmagian and almost a Smithwicks but my rule of having something local over came my nostalgia and had a local pint. The monitors in the bar showed sports. The men my age had women half that all falling out of their blouses with hair so blond that Scandinavians would wonder.

THE LAST CROSSING - this time

The day I had been dreading, the day when I would start to return to a former life that I barely remembered but wasn’t all that satisfactory. A day when I had to get and early start so as to return a Brake to her environment – and see Woody Point one more time - but one where starting early seemed to bring an early demise – racing to the execution.

Tried to make it like any departure – well the CBC were on strike so I couldn’t hear the Ode upon awakening, there was a beautiful sunrise just east of Ted’s shed. Didn’t see Ted this time, wanted to congratulate him on the completion of his boat that both Paul and me saw from its inception As if I were heading to the airport in a rental, stopped at the Irving in Torbay to fill up. Stopped at the Tim’s for a double double, unlike the other times, craned my neck to point out Cape Spear in the microsecond that it appears between Signal Hill and Fort Amherst just beyond the narrows. It was a bright sunny day.

If I hurried – did I want to hurry – I could still have a coffee at Granite before it closed, I could still buy phone cards at Pete’s for the phone ins on the way back. I could still buy souvenirs that I hadn’t had a chance to get at the Discovery Centre – even that horrid Koch Art in the Park shirt – as a memento.

Again the plan was Gander halfway, eat then make the final push to Bonne Bay – be “home” a bit before racing to the ferry, the mainland and exile – it may be hyperbole but it was what I was thinking.

Leaving the island meant the start of negotiating the return. This time had been different for it was under the auspicious of Parks Canada and the A.G.N.L. so not a pleasure trip. This time was great for while it wasn’t the entire summer, it was a good six weeks thanks to the “perfect storm” of Ally getting married within a reasonable time. This time was great as I had acquired a new ideal life.

I feared the token fortnight that would return if I couldn’t find another sanctioning body and another daughter for Jim to marry off – there are only two left and the next will do so in England.

All along the way I noted the irony of wanting to make it to Bonne Bay but not wanting to hurry to get of the island. Conjectures were made as to when I would have to leave to make the ferry, I forgot when it actually left – thought that it was 23:30. Knew that it took 45 minutes to get from Deer Lake to Woody Point – had been making that calculation for about a fortnight now, kept checking the distance from Deer Lake to Port aux Basques – two hours from Corner Brook, three from Woody Point if you were a bar keep, if you didn’t drive at supersonic speeds it was more like three and a half to four hours.

Was told about the Wreckhouse, worried about fog, road work.
Stopped at the Subway in Gander. Earle kept phoning progress reports to family in Bonne Bay, Shirley wanted to see the snaps I had made of she and Brud.

Gasoline and off where again proving how small the island is – or how I now felt more at home – passed Bruce and Irene Martin driving the bus he left Woody Point with 10 days ago – outside Grand Falls/Windsor. Was hoping that we would be in Woody Point long enough to have him drive up. The day before I had seen George Anderson’s son turn left in front of me into Indian Meal Line in Torbay.

A pit stop, the long stretch from Springdale to Deer Lake where with Kendra I almost ran out of gasoline, then the turn off to the Great Northern.

It was Sunday, people were out and driving slowly, not even making it to 70k/h when the limit was 90. I saw the time lessening due to them.

There was talk of next time taking time and doing the outports, relatives in St. Anthony, exploring the island, people’s cabins along the way – exactly what I had hoped to do this time between the residency and the wedding. Thought about that long road to Burgeo, Buchans.

Passed the hut where I first went to find out about the residency, to announce my arrival and find out where to go, where I was shocked to find out that I was in Woody Point – not Rocky Harbour – glad that I was mistaken about that. The turn off down 431 to Bonne Bay relating how I hated this road for its length but was glad it took so long to get to the end, how I now looked for the barachois of Glenburnie, how it seemed to take forever to make it to Lomond – never went to a dance there, looked for the places that Irving and Crystal showed me, the B&B in glenburnie, tried to see if Lou and Maisie were in, Kris, George Brake and the Roses, that I had not photographed Bailey’s Point. Wondered if Darlene was back up in Roddickton, passed Elaine’s Crystal at the Hunky Dory. The lookout over Woody Point was empty.
All these little events would be a memory in hours.

We went for a coffee noting the new shortened hours on the door starting the day I hit the mainland. Fred came in so I said good-bye to him once more, he sat and volunteered the time I would have to leave Bonne Bay for the ferry, went to buy phone cards at Pete’s he was out, headed over to the liquor store. Ina said that she would see me soon and gave me a hug. Joked with Crystal Blanchard a bit while having my herbal tea.

Headed over to Paul and Amanda’s to see their house and have a Cohr’s light all this being so normal that I felt that the separation would be like the one heading to the Avalon not three time zones away.

Dropped Earle off at her place and said good-bye and headed down to the Seabreeze hoping that Owen was still there with his car as I wanted to photograph him with it. He was leaving/stumbling as I arrived and managed to use a good roll of film on him his friend and the car. Someone was driving him back to Trout River.

Up to the Discovery Centre to buy t-shirts for people, the clerk said that I had been there a while and had hoped that I had liked my residency. Was shocked that she knew that I was the artist in residence, she said, however, that she had seen me around.

Went down in a fit of vanity to look at the wall of photographs that were up one last time, chatted with Jessica, told her about the wedding, the best man being her beau, was invited for tea but it was already past the time that I should be heading out.

Next time. Would she be there next summer?
‘hope so’
‘so see you then.’
mentioned that I took a half deaf bar keep with looks that kill to the wedding and headed off seeing the announcment for Kendra’s show at the Seabreeze on the official hoarding for the park.

Back into town to say good-bye to Elaine who was now mowing and not making any crack about getting a salad ready for my supper. Made a final loop running into Deb and Viola then out to the highway, Deer Lake, Corner Brook and the ferry, thinking of Shirley and Brud when I saw the sign for Cox’s Cove.

Was too conservative in my timing arrived in Port aux Basques with three hours to spare – it seems that I do drive as if I were selling Cohr’s light and Canadians – three hours total driving time even with a few stops to make snaps. Had a pizza slowly then drove around the town then went to take my place in the queue.

Went through quarantine checked my machine for food stuffs and dirt, the car in front of me was being pressure washed thought that I would have to go thought he same thing but was waved through. Parked the machine and went into the building to find an outlet to catch up on the entries. Instead found wireless internet access so emailed and tried to write as much as possible before heading to the ferry where although I would still have internet access had to try to sleep so that I could hit the mainland running.

The call came return to our cars and get ready for boarding. While parking saw Klunder and his brood leaving their machine to climb the stairs looked for them briefly. All the good seat were taken so picked an aisle one in the same area that I came to the island in but not before I wandered around in a daze, went on deck to look one last time at the rock but didn’t really want to see it diminish – it could have been the want to sleep. Didn’t want the entertainment rooms – big screen videos or gaming machines chose my seat until the person behind me took off his shoes and had his foot come on my side of the chair where I moved up a seat to now see the bright Windows PC screen of someone who would play solitaire the entire trip.

Didn’t feel like seeing Nova Scotia appear on the horizon – just wanted to turn back.

ONE BAIRD DOWN...

Angela rang at about midnight to inform me that I could hold off coming in until about 11AM for the preparation snaps ‘we’d all be in our knickers until then’. Great as I felt a bit guilty for bringing the Bonne Bay bayman all the way out to sit in Martin and Gabrielle’s through rain storms, and as this would be my last day in Pouch and on the Avalon I wanted to show her the school, the area and do little things. Had yet to pick blueberries – or any type of berry, hadn’t got in touch with Ruth and Peter nor Peter and Julia, had run into no one in town. All she had seen was the interior of the Pipe House and that was a scarring moment.

She didn’t seem to mind though. In Woody Point she puts in long hours at the Seabreeze and welcomed the time to sit and read. So after breakfast – a purely vegetarian affair – I headed down to Rennies Mill Road. Took Ubaldo two flashes the 40 rolls of film, and some batteries – was going to stop off at the Wal-Mart in Stavenger Drive for more batteries especially one for the camera but was running late. I also brought the digital.

Arriving the house was more calm than the day before but I heard that it was an uneasy quiet. Angela was locked in her room upstairs, Ally was having her hair done. Her sisters and bride’s maids sitting quietly trying to figure out what style they wanted looking through magazines.

Made some snaps but wondered why I was there so early. Someone said that Angela was getting ready and if I were brave enough…

Went upstairs, knocked, ‘official photographer’, no answer, retreated. Everyone seemed to agree that this was wise.

Tem minutes later Angela appeared on the steps in her black camisole, hair in curlers telling me to make a few snaps,

Seeing a lull in the activity I headed out to Wal-Mart to buy more batteries. There was a debate on which one to go to and chose the new one out Kenmount Road. St John’s is becoming the city of Wal-Marts,

Was shocked was back in the rest of North America for a moment, passed the Home Depot for the Wal-Mart, the area looked like any strip on the edge of any city anywhere. The traffic was approaching the same sort of congestion found in these areas.

Like zooming around St. John’s. I feel as if it is home knowing the streets this way and being able to find short cuts in the non grid layout of the city. While there were more cars and stop lights than I had seen in some time, there was still a sense of getting someplace. Hated this area, it was all stop lights, construction and delays. One day I have to document the area where St. John’s and Mount Pearl are growing together.

Bought more batteries than I needed - six sets – but it seems that my whole premise here has been overstocking.

Back for a few more snaps, to watch Sarah turn into drill sergeant making sure that everyone would be ready on time, and finally the final rush to the church.

So far everything seemed to be working.

Some snaps of people awaiting the beginning of the ceremony, it seemed to go off without a hitch, some people outside the church afterwards.

We did the standard snaps – Ally helping making sure that everyone was photographed at least once.


Raced over to the park across the house and did the same outdoors – here I hope that the fill in flash will kill the heavy contrast falling on peoples faces, tried just about everything here to combat it. was happy that the rain had stopped and it was sunny just wish that for a couple of minutes a cloud would have passed overhead.

More photographs at the reception - where the caterer was from Django’s – still have the $100 gift certificate in my billfold. When Angela asked after Elaine and if she was coming to the supper and dance at the Fluvarium, I didn’t know so got on the phone to ask,

No – even though she had met the Bairds – or perhaps because she had met the Bairds – she was still feeling a bit timid.

Angela took the phone and tried to reassure her one bayman to another.

Headed out to Pouch to pick her up.

The dance was a mirroring of my experience on the rock. There were the artist crowd – Klunder and his family, Sonmor, Marshak -the Bairds, in varying degrees of being staid – none with Jim to total with his mother – the Sergeants – with their cultivated outport ways. Feel comfortable with all of them – and with all of them there are time when I feel socially inept.

Like the preceding paragraph, I forgot the groom’s family who sort of sat at a table the entire night. Luckily I caught this and made some snaps.

Everyone was shocked as Jim made a touching speech few jabs one could see the relief come over his daughters’ faces.

Couldn’t help comparing the dance portion of the programme to that of the Rusty Jigger where everyone would be on the dance floor, walkers and all. Here there were few people and those who did after the prerequisite first dances, were Angela’s family – the baymen took over. Still pretty staid affair one could still see the dance floor, Danced high rock and roll with Angela twirling her and swinging arms all over, so much energy that we had to stop half way through.

Her family got up when a Newfie Waltz would be played – the floor was empty when the standard wedding rock hits were played. The floor always sags with people in Trout River. I could imagine the phone calls back to Woody Point on the dancing habits of townies.

This did change later on when even newer music came on and Ally’s friends took to the floor but still there was plenty of space.

Marshak showed me his images made while on a Russian trawler in the Arctic Ocean, he was shocked to know that I was leaving to-morrow – no more than I was, Ally and John wanted to take me out to eat the coming week – I’d be gone – even joked with Elaine that I wouldn’t be making bingo this coming Wednesday.

It was strange last day on the Avalon. There has been a ritual built up. A wander around buying souvenirs for people, a walk up to the Craft’s Council, a meal, the collecting of books for the next year, the buying of the Globe, a couple of pints at the Duke, a Big Zig to soak up the pints, a wander the streets of downtown, if there is a game on a couple of innings at St. Pat’s ball park, a couple of pints at the Duke (again), then the careening ride back to Pouch to prepare nervous that I will miss the alarm and thus the flight – such a bad thing? I think not.

This year did none of that meaning that I am more secure about my status as an accidental Newfoundlander or simply the days were too full.

The next day it was still pouring rain, so much so that the streams were rivers the falls were making a racket as the water cascaded over the rocks – George mentioned this when out on the boat in Bonne Bay but it never really rained like this. Of course the weather along the Great Northern was great sunny 18-20 degrees…

I was in panic mode as I wanted to make sure that Ubaldo was working. I had made a promise that wouldn’t use it until the wedding as it is in a delicate state – but I was making snaps of people with it from time to time. I needed the film from Ange as I was going to shoot a roll with flash, take it over to Churchill Square and have them develop it to see if everything was fine.

Was more nervous than the bride.

The house was in chaos, tried to carry on three conversations at the same time. Found out that not only was I wanted at the rehersial dinner that evening but now Ally wanted me at the house at 10AM the next day to photograph the women getting their hair done - ah women in knickers getting their hair done… Angela was on the way out, introduced her to Earle ah the clash of accents – Fogo V. Trout River. They seemed to hit it off Angela talking like crazy, Earle in a daze.

Over to the Bagel Café for breakfast my St. John’s ritual the townie version of Granite Coffee, me gloating as there were quite a few vegetarian items on the menu. Had my samosa breakfast and hands sweating ordered for the bayman barkeep getting it wrong. No cheese on the omelette sausage, they gave her two other items instead of the cheese. White toast not wheat. She likes small cups as coffee gets cold in large ones like them large as I don’t have to keep asking for refills besides if you drink them fast enough…

She found the samosa interesting, got sausage chopped up in the omelette and wheat bread – heads would roll in Bonne Bay but here out of her element…

Headed over to the gallery where Jim showed me the article in The Telegram about the opening two paragraphs devoted to me we both said another line on the CV also he had sold a piece from the studio visit.

Angela was giving Elaine the third degree in that oh so endearing outport way.

Headed up to Bauline to photograph in the pouring rain – don’t know why I went so far – the roll finished headed back to drop off the film and well with nothing to do for an hour, the Duke and finally a Smithwick’s.

The usual afternoon crowd was there. someone was sitting in Clarke’s Beach so had to make do with another spot.

Again no one was using the pool table, or the dart board, something unthinkable in the Seabreeze.

She was to meet Clyde Rose later here as he was going to take her to Breakwater Books and show her around. Mentioned that the bookshop was closed and he actually lives there.

The film was fine.

Ah the evening I was in full townie mode. At the rehearsal, not being able to resist stood up when the priest asked if there is anyone here who knows why these two should not be joined…

Made digital snaps. The priest gave me pointers. The groom’s parents being Pentecostal, Jim thought that instead of friend of the bride or groom, it should be teetotaller or alcoholic.

When finished we headed over to Pretty Penny which was just sold – Jim’s mum asked after mine – for a light snack and the opening of presents. Railed against the Rooms, chatted with his sister that lives in Britain about life there now, talked with her husband – an unfortunate Telegraph reader, I know this for I saw The Guardian in the trash and dumpster dived for it. I do miss the Guardian it taught me that misspelling are not a problem. We chatted cricket and the ashes.

Again showing my bicoastal personality, needed this needed to argue the virtues of being what Orwell said – vegetarian and Guardian reader – needed to make snide comments about Tony Blair and the Labourlites, wax nostalgic for the true Labour and ignore Churchill’s comment.

Left caressing the Guardian taking the back road to Pouch thinking this is the life or yet another nice option – I could be the visual version of Clyde Rose – minus the 20 year olds – going back and forth between the ocean and the gulf of St. Lawrence.

BAYMAN TURNS TOWNIE

The idea was to make an early start so as to get to St. John’s before my evil twin closed the shop. That way we could head over to the Duke for a pint or two and one of my moments of great insignificance – from the Seabreeze to the Duke in a day, where the deaf barkeep of Bonne Bay would encounter the chimney of McMurdo’s Lane.

The reason that Elaine was going was to add to the lack of baymen that would be at the wedding – and a buffer for the Fogo Islander and her family – beside I was tired of always doing things by myself.

That was the idea. Needed coffee so down to Granite Coffee for breakfast. If you catch them at the right time – no one in the shop – and order right away you can get the meal in oh about an hour.

Normally this is great but I wanted my pint of Smithwicks and driving the roads around here at night brings on the same fear as walking in Transylvania at the same time of day only here it is moose.

For some reason I had to order – worrisome for the name of Earle with food brings fear in the hearts of all servers in the Gros Morne – well am not sure about Norris Point or Rocky Harbour .

The most asked question of the people from the chicken coop when ordering for the Seabreeze barkeep is ‘are you sure?’

This day I ordered my usual – thankfully no snide remarks, at least about my eating habits – from Linda and place the order for the soon to be displaced baymen.

‘For Elaine?’
‘OK we know.’
I just kept out of the way.

Finally hit the road at noon where again logistics would come into play for with the precision of a drill team we were to meet up with her daughter, son-in-law and two grand kids at the McDonald’s in Grand Falls/Windsor giant indoor playground.

Again surprised as I was not in the got to make time mode that hits below the 49th. There was no reason to rush, Jim could be found when we arrived and if it were a bit later who cares. I needed the levelling effect. The stopping for meals when Kendra was the co-pilot, the ritual dinners at the picnic table, now the slowness of breakfast attempt to meet up with people in central Newfoundland. The trips before this I raced out and back only stopping when I needed gasoline or a double double. I hadn’t actually stopped to prepare a meal since Kendra left. Now that I was in Pouch Cove I was having my fill of Montréal bagels from the Georgetown Bakery and chomping down on a baguette with cheese. Also boiled up my dozen eggs for snacks.

The moderating aspects of people with some sort of social decorum help to no end even …well you know.

The dialling of mobile phones the positions of both of us along the Trans Canada – they had started earlier – despite two kids – but had further to go. Everything was going as planned and we arrived only five minutes before they did – the Wisconsin plates are a dead giveaway.

Ah McDonald’s the hotbed of vegetarianism… well to my surprise there was a vegetarian sandwich on the menu. Oh Canada!! A couple of years ago they were grilling up veggie burgers – um yum on the same grill as the meat now they had wised up and wrapped their subs in foil before warming them in the microwave.

A chat one kid threw up in the carpark, the other was farting up a storm and announcing that they kept coming out.

Headed out when the kids wanted to play thinking that we could still make good time – old habits die hard and besides this was the Trans Canada and the fifth time I have been on it.

With the end of “real” Newfoundland and the beginning of the Avalon came a downpour. The last three hours of the trip were in pouring rain. It was raining so hard that when we got to St. John’s there was no way that we could get to the Duke without looking like drowned rats.

I was preparing for townie mode, had bought my Globe and Mail and was read to have seat in Clarke’s Beach for my two pints before heading out to Sullivan’s Loop not being able to get to the door had me at a loss. Bought coffee instead at Dominion.

The rain killed my – now second – favourite view on the rock – the curve at the top of Main Road when all of Pouch opens under Cape St. Francis. It has been edged out by the first view of Bonne Bay from Glenburnie – the barachois, the bay and in the distance Woody Point.

Not a great way to point out the advantages of the Avalon.

WOODY POINT LIFE (again)

For some reason I still awoke at the same time as I had but now I don’t dally, I had a reprieve and wanted to make the most of it. Trout River Earle was taking me to the Sunset Café for breakfast before heading to the Seabreeze, I had a snap to give to Bonnie and I was ready for Bonne Bay barbs flying fast and furious. I think that Clyde Rose came into the club to see what would happen. No preliminaries this day with warm ups at Granite Coffee straight into it on her home turf. Don’t know if it is heartening or worrisome when after ordering Bonnie – and/or her daughter say “no meat” but it cannot be any worse than the Brake turned Earle who demanded that Bonnie put both salt and pepper in her egg and when it came with so much brine that the Dead Sea would be considered sweet, Bonnie retorted next time come back and salt your own eggs. I know that I am not the only vegetarian in Gros Morne I can only surmise that the others don’t venture out to eat.

It seemed that the entire area knew that Elaine was going to the wedding with me, so the conversation centred around who would survive the outing. It would be the topic of conversation everywhere that day.

Breakfast finished, I planned on trying to fill in the blanks of places that I had missed but since it was already about 1PM Rocky Harbour was out of the question. We headed over the falls in Middle Brook that Irving and Crystal told me about.

My townie ways vanished. Instead of trying to over do the day, I would look for minor achievements acting as if I would return and do all that which I missed would then be accomplished. Headed back to the Seabreeze – after checking my e-mail – one from the art school that all others envy – to be trounced yet again in pool – I need to learn how to play like a girl.

Went out to photograph the papier maché moose that was in Curzon Village before heading over to the Legion to play bingo – more later – in my usual way of working I ended up wandering a bit – more Dominion bags hanging around a veg garden, this time with Gros Morne and the tickle in the background, more wood piles a snap of a worker up at the Discovery Centre building a shed, a couple of sheds, a few laundry lines - and to make matters worse I loaded one roll incorrectly – not boding well for the wedding.

Checked e-mail again and in true Bonne Bay fashion got a lift for the three block distance to the legion.

This was serious, Elaine needed her table, Marilyn was there saving it but the seats were wrong, how would Marilyn, Elaine, Shirley and Ina fit not to mention the novices, Brud and me. There were a half dozen sitting arrangements before it was decided.

I got what seemed like the phone book for Western Newfoundland’s thickness of bingo cards, all in a sheet. The hearing impaired barkeep allowed me to use one of her daubers. Everyone had a version of red except Marilyn who had blue – blue supposedly doesn’t bring luck.

Was almost as bad at this as I was at pool, I couldn’t manage the six cards per game that I had – Brud only had three – smart chap. Marilyn kept looking over saying that I missed a number on one card or another.

I acted like a proof reader after that.

Thought that a bingo was a simple affair five across down or diagonal but no. There were “Y”s “T”s, “X”s full cards and mail
boxes.

Said good-bye yet again to Paul and Amy’s mum, she asked if I were stopping by before I left.

Toward the end we all became – well almost all – a bit silly as Ina and I started trading jokes, I blame it on the beer. Once again I started to miss numbers and couldn’t keep up.


But shock, horror, I won, not only did I win but I won alone brining in $25.00. I think that I even came out ahead for I only bought $15 in cards. Better still Earle had wanted to pool cards and as she won twice – but having to share – it was a lucrative evening and to celebrate Earle, Shirley, Brud and me headed over to the Rusty Jigger where we saw Amy and her boyfriend. In a fit of optimism thinking that if I bet in the loonie pool I would be there when I one – bet once again.



Made it through the gulch twice with no moose sightings boding well for the trek – yet again across the island.

FROM COAST TO COAST TO COAST- to coast to coast to coast.

Well here I am at Granite Coffee after crossing the province once again. This time to make it interesting in a constant downpour coupled with the streams from the tyres of the juggernaut.

Left at 7AM with the plan of entering the Seabreeze by the front door, walking through it and leaving by the side door. I reckoned that it would take about eight hours and it did. I saw it as practice for next Sunday when it will be the real thing.

It was the usual stopping at the Tim’s in Major’s Path for the extra large double double and then the Trans Canada. Reckoned to make Gander before stopping but the double double had me stopping in Whitbourne and then again in Goobies. My butt hurts, I don’t think that I’ll be able to bend my knee again but I am back until Thursday.

Despite this the trip wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. The wireless helps. Even in it diminished capacity Radio One made the time fly and truth be told except for what replaced the Current it is not that much the worse for wear.

The constant rain began to wear on me especially when I entered areas of the Trans Canada that I am not all that familiar with – the Badger to Deer Lake stretch. Between the hydroplaning and the potholes, I made good time and again have an idea as to when I will have to make this final journey. I was in “got to make time” mode chomping at the bit for the passing lanes, using a machine from Québec for the pace car. No RCMP. The constant rain did have me concentrating – I think for I did notice scenery that I hadn’t noted before. The rock is nothing if it isn’t weather. The grey heightening the pine, the fog cutting off the summits of the mountains, the water of the Exploits, Gander Lake and the bogs being brighter than the sky. Still want to make a slow outing across the Rock and now that I am bicoastal like all those townies who come out to The Great Northern, I am sure that I shall.

Never expected to be Bicoastal

I like m(artin and Gabrielle’s)y place in Pouch I like watching the waning light on the new front deck, the sound of the ocean after dark is nicely soothing. I get a lot of work done there in relative isolation.

I am glad that I saw Russell and Shirley, joked with Henry, finally met Joe Dunphy. Liked my Smithwicks at the Duke while reading the Globe. Had my Big Zig at Ziggy Peelgood’s, my samosas at Auntie Crae’s, ventured into THE ROOMS, saw Christina Parker, Sold some stuff at the opening of James Baird @ Pouch Cove, which is an ego boost.


I miss however the abuse heaped on me at the Seabreeze lounge by half deaf, cod tongued bar keep.


Seeing the barachois at Glenburnie, I looked for Woody Point. It must have been high tide as the water was lapping up against the boardwalk, did the mental road marks, the B&B, Katie’s cove, Kris’s place, George’s and Irvings and Crystal’s place, Bailey’s Point, Darlene’s, Crystal’s, the overlook with all the digital camera’ed wonderful people. Made a loop around the town passing The 3T’s Pete’s the Chicken Coop and up Blanchard Road before heading over to Granite Coffee. Passing the residency, I looked for signs of life. No one seemed to be using the picnic table.

Waited the usual 20 minutes to get a tea. Being here though I wasn’t in a hurry, after all I am homeless now, and have plenty of time to waste. Had bought a Telegram and Globe to pass the time and when I had read them I had the daybook to work on. Talked to Linda about the writers festival, the mayor being in the Telegram. I saw him with Sheilagh Rogers while I was looking for the quote that I gave a the opening as I need more lines on the CV so that I can once again humiliate myself at the Art School which is to art schools what the roman empire was to empires in an attempt to become full professor.

We chatted about the progression of the weather, the fact that I looked tired – reminded her that I was homeless. She mentioned that since I was here in the rain it must be love.

Spent some time watching some wonderful people asking about the car ferry to Norris Point – it stopped some 15 years ago - about the brown mountains – the Tablelands, was Trout River a dead end, was Woody Point the same, would they have to take the same way back to the highway. Their tea was wonderful.

Hayden – is the correct spelling editors at the 3T’s – saw me and headed over to the Seabreeze to announce my arrival. Spoiling the grand entry. News travels fast but here also people are supportive and protective.

Got the key and the mobile and took a nap Bonne Bay and Gros Morne seen the window, further than the ocean from Sullivan’s Loop but for some reason that doesn’t matter.

Smithwicks tastes better than Labatt’s Light but I don’t care.

A RETURN TO NORMAL – sort of

It is 22:30 I was going to start this at 19:00, but better late than never. I am “home” as Gabrielle and Martin welcomed me, in the window of 14 Sullivan’s Loop overlooking the cove. Last night there was a full moon and finally I have returned to the ritual that I initiated last year when I was here. I think that I can actually relate the events of the day on the day that they happened – am still lacking a few days from the residency.

Have finally unpacked rearranged the stuff that I junked into my bags trying too get out of Bonne Bay at a decent time. I have my tea and in deference to Paul Kennedy am listening to Leonard Cohen.

To-day James Baird @ Pouch Cove opened. The old gymnasium at the school is now two exhibition spaces quite impressive as two years ago the school was a mess. To promote not only the gallery but foundation Jim had the current residents have open studios and with one extra I show some of the work done out in Gros Morne.

The media were there, I was interviewed by the Telegram and know people who work on the Current. The residents took this seriously – rather perhaps I didn’t take it seriously enough – they cleaned, lit their studios well, hung their work tastefully and some even had ambient music going. They swept the hall, and sat in their spaces while people passed through.

My space – Studio A – looked like a bad undergrad crit at the ‘tute – except that there was actually work on the wall. Printed the images over the last two days again reminiscent of ‘tute practice. Spent no time in my space rather was down in the main gallery, eating Timbits – my dietary habits, like the green dollar, are still declining.

I guess that I hold no hope of selling anything so don’t see the need to answer banal questions.

Lo and behold there is interest in three snaps.

Was in the space, however, talking to someone when someone comes up and introduces himself. It was Joe Dunphy with whom I had been corresponding ever since he saw my work in the shops along Duckworth Street and wanted to collaborate on a book of poetry with photographs. Ah again the serendipity of life on the Rock. Ah the tragedy of life on the Rock. It seems that the job that he was working on is coming to an end and he will have to go off island – Toronto – to find work.

This has me wondering again what the difference between a Newfoundlander and me really is. We both work off island and come back whenever we can.

This is my crowd. We chatted about art - the making of it not the thinking about theorising about making it – conversations run wild, we all being CFA’s talk about experiences here and on the mainland. The conversation leads from one subject to another not all art or art world related.

Being probably the person who has been returning the longest without actually having a place, I knew a lot of people. Klunder’s partner even knew that we tried to buy Henry Langmead’s place – the third best view in Pouch.

All of that is pretty much impossible now. Costs have soared there is no place left on the ocean and when one becomes available.

If these are the people I am supposed to be hanging out with why was I wishing that I were on the Great Northern? Why was I shocked when I realised that everyone in the room was a CFA? Why did I want to lose yet again at pool to “if looks could kill” Earle? Hear that she demolished yet another pro pool player from Britain. To get my own refill at Granite Coffee? Listen to Marilyn who always tells the truth?
While intellectually I should have been quite content as these were my peers, I think that I have been spoiled by the engagement with the work that Kendra had when she put up her snaps at the Seabreeze. No polite remarks, but real questions and comments.

That is not entirely true. The people at the opening for the most part were genuine and the people with whom I had a conversation were engaged and thoughtful with no platitudes. I simply wanted to be elsewhere – and making work.

It is a little better now. It is quiet, I can hear the ocean and see the lights of southern Pouch in the distance.

FINALLY MEETING MARTIN AND GABRIELLE CHEZ EUX (moi)

Am still getting my footing around St. John’s. woke up with the sun at the pipe house. Jim taking a shower first while I was on the phone. Forgot to make coffee – which could be a good sign for while it meant that I was distracted I didn’t get my lack of caffeine headache. I cannot remember a day when I went without coffee.

Once again it took forever to get going and nothing in Pouch was making it any easier. Wasn’t running into the usual suspects. Missed Henry and his early morning coffee at Bruce’s, missed the morning group looking out at the cove, missed Sharon on her walk, missed Russell Langmead when I headed over to Martin and Gabrielle’s. It looked as if they were not up yet.

It was then – well it was the fact that I had roughly $20 - that I remembered that I had a cheque awaiting me at THE ROOMS CORPORATION.

My head cleared heading in and I also remembered that the machine was overdue for a oil change so out past the Avalon Mall to the Saturn/Saab dealer to schedule one.

The next opening was 29 August and while it would be tempting to stay on for that – it would be a hard decision who wouldn’t want to return to the greatest photography department in the greatest art school of all creation – I thought not. I was told that perhaps perhaps if I brought the machine in at three they may be able to do it then.

Headed to the ROOMS CORPORATION. Entered the monstrosity on the old Fort Townsend site which it there were a few potted plants would like a hotel lobby.

Lost on the far side was the admissions stand – no reciprocal agreement with other ROOMS. Asked for Wanda Mooney or Caroline Stone. Wanda was off Caroline came out.

Hadn’t a clue as to who I was – after all how could they keep track of three artists in residence that go to Gros Morne every year. I said that I was here for my cheque that was awaiting me.

A pause. It seems that Wanda Mooney was off because her mother had died and the cheque was locked in her office. I said that ai was assured that I could pick up the cheque here and off we went to look for it.

Talking to someone who seemed to know, she said that the cheque had been posted to the US. Blew a gasket. I was broke was expecting the $500, they said that it would be here for me.

She said since I didn’t show up they sent it on. I said that the residency ended yesterday when exactly did they expect me to show up? Should I have spent $120 in gasoline to pick up a $500 cheque?

They could cut me another one. How long would that take ten days. So I would be in the States when it was ready?

I should have expected it. Who can take an art entity called THE ROOMS – seriously especially when they have fired their director last week. I had dealt with Parks Canada, I should have been prepared but my guard was down. I was still in the afterglow of Bonne Bay.

Caroline made the mistake of asking how the experience with the park was and got an earful from the fact that no one above Jessica and Kris even bothered to get in touch through the outright hatred of the park by the townspeople to the laissez-faire attitude of the administration on some things but tight fistedness on others.

Boy was she sorry.

Parked in Gower Street, headed into the family barber shop and had George cut my hair. The article from the Newfoundland Quarterly was on the wall complete with the large sized picture of them to the pictures of Ricco in Milwaukee that I sent them.

Over to Jim’s to email people and await lunch. Angela came in and I had a chat we joked with each other. She asked about Kendra and said that she liked her from the photograph I had sent lifetimes ago. She asked about the residency and I mistakenly showed her the slide show of the residency at ofoto.com and she saw the photographs of Patricia’s birthday party and Samantha.

Lunch was at the Duke – pint of Smithwicks with chips and a spinach salad. Glad to be back where vegetarians aren’t spit at but missed Earle’s wise arsed crack about grazing on her lawn as it needed mowing. The place was split into two groups those at the bar and those far away from it. Someone was sitting in Baird’s Cove so we chose alternative seats. Spoke to Ros about her stint on the CBC Newsworld. Jim gave me some advice that was befitting an evil twin.

I raced off to the oil change. Well not raced, Forgot about all the machines in St. John’s and how they barely get up to the speed limit. I had noticed this between Pouch and St. John’s where once one would have been mowed down going only 10k/h over now one barely can get to the limit.

Surprisingly they fit the car in and surprisingly it was finished early. In the meantime feeling lost headed over to Chapters but couldn’t concentrate. Felt at a loss, uprooted, while everything felt familiar nothing felt comfortable.

The machine finished I headed back to the gallery picked up some stuff to take back to Pouch – Jim was headed to Brigus South – and while I wasn’t ready to head out I had no money for a pint at the Duke so out it was. Stopped at Kent’s to buy a knife hoping that I could start printing at the school.

Remembered that I hadn’t seen Martin and Gabrielle yet and headed over to say hello – not to hasten their departure heavens no it is after all their place. They had been at Angela’s last evening when I passed by but now turning the corner in Sullivan’s Loop, Gabrielle saw me. She was on the phone ringing Angela wondering where I was and when I would be over.

A short visit turned into supper at their place. Beer first as we chatted in the living room. Showed some of my snaps. Then wine with dinner – spinach ravioli with roasted peppers– strike two for the carnivorous deaf Trout River bartender.

We chatted about everything from books to newspapers – he is a correspondent for Swiss Radio - to art and back again. Martin was reading a book a day while here. It was my first time meeting Martin. Gabrielle was supposedly relaxing but really couldn’t. it seems that like me she has to be working – writing in here case - to be happy.

It was what I needed not only because they reaffirmed my welcome at their place but we even came up with a plan which will never come to fruition where a car – since we have three - could be left to save on rentals. I arrived at 6 and stayed until 11PM and while Pouch was still a bir foreign to me they helped me readjust. It was raining when I left.

Pouch has changed, the RNC seem to be cruising the town a great deal. I remember when I first came I never saw a cop now it is hourly. There is more noise, from ATVs to music, more traffic and more people from St. John’s moving out.

Went to the pipe house shut the door and like the old days put my feet out the window over the Atlantic and wrote the day’s entry

BAYMAN TO TOWNIE IN SEVEN HOURS

Like the beer at the Duke – the Smithwicks tasted so good after countless Labatts. Like the people at the Seabreeze better – I’ll even put up with half deaf Trout River bartenders. No one is using the pool table at the Duke. The usual crowd is sitting at the bar I – since Jim isn’t there am reclaiming my corner as Clarke’s Beach.

It is 7:00 seven hours after I have left Bonne Bay. Seven hours from the Gulf of St. Lawrence to the North Atlantic. From looking out to Québec to thinking of Iceland. I have become a townie again. Was planning to make the drive to the Avalon a nice slow reasoned affair seeing all the places along the way that peaked my interest. It was going to be an anatomical trip – all the arms. Jackson’s, Robert’s etc. heading out to Buchans before speeding past Dildo – been there done that.

But I couldn’t. I didn’t want that time alone, I just wanted to be someplace. So except for three stops Birchy Narrows to photograph a strange caravan park, in Badger to photograph a giant coffee cup, and to photograph the WELCOME TO GREEN BAY SIGN – to balance the Newfoundland Pennsylvania. I wanted to be someplace familiar. I wanted to pretend that I was heading to St. John’s for a break and race back to Woody Point.

It took more time that I had expected to pack the machine. I had something to drop of at Dorothy’s house, a few cards for the post office and a bad panoramic from the deck of the Granite Coffee house. I also needed coffee.

The large mugs, said goodbye to Fred once again, did the same with Lou and Maisie, Elaine, Crystal and Linda started chatting and again said that I should come in winter.

When I had sufficient shakes, I moved the machine and was walking to the post office when Pete called out my name and said that he was sorry we didn’t talk more that it was nice having me around. It meant a lot. On the way back I made a snap of him in his doorway.
Drove up to the Discovery Centre to say good-bye to Jessica and Kris then one last loop around town and I was off.

I was fine until I got to Wiltondale. Noted all the houses where people lived, places that I had visited, places that I had meant to.

Wiltondale to Deer Lake I was still ok at it was part of my extended area. After filling up at the Irving on the Transcanada and not making the turn back to St. Anthony, I knew that I was gone.

Am 600km from Deer Lake, which was 60km beyond the known world. Broke the trip into two halves, Gander being the midpoint. West of Gander made great time 120k/h for most of it, no traffic, no RCMP, still sort of the emptiness that I had got used to.

Stopped in Gander at the Tim’s for a double double – nice energy boost and two muffins. Forgot to eat before I left.

After Gander the road became crowded more cars than I had seen in a long time even on the road up to St. Anthony. Could barely do 110, reckoned that it would take me six hours to get to St. John’s but I was slowed by people barely doing the limit. Even though there was more to see, I was beginning to feel impatient – perhaps because I knew the stretch - but this didn’t bode well for the final trek off the island.

Stopped at Whitbourne to refuel just before the overpass and raced to Duckworth Street.

Fittingly as I hit the Avalon it was foggy and rainy, Duckworth Street was crowded had to park by the court house, Went into the duke and saw the familiar crowd, John and Anita, Sue came later, New glasses for the Smithwicks. Paid and sat. About as many people as the Seabreeze but not as much action. Three television screens, one person was watching some sort of poker. Instead of smoking in the car park on the water here they were smoking on the steps of McMurdo’s lane.

Tried to think that this was a good thing. That I was home everything was familiar, that everything would be alright. But then again everything out in the park was familiar now also. Headed out to Pouch after getting coffee at the Dominion, The road didn’t seem so long this time. The view into town was reassuring. Just wish that after a few hours here I was heading back.

MEETING OF THE MAMMOTHS (cameras)

Am trying to make these last days here as normal as possible but with an added emphasis of not wasting time.

Wasting time is NOT sitting and chatting at Granite Coffee, exchanging insults with Debbie at the 3T’s, walking everywhere, the late afternoon bottle of Labatt Lite. Rather it is trying to do more things than are possible at once, trying to decide what to do and in the process do nothing going online.

There is the added problem of making priorities. There is a potluck at Kris’s’ place this evening but this will mean not being able to develop the last 18 negs that I made to-day, it will mean not having time to develop the 12 rolls of 120. It will mean not making those last prints that I want to see before life as I have come to know it ends.

I was invited into Corner Brook to-day and while I wanted to go I was loath to leave the Park much less head out to Wiltondale. I’ll see Corner Brook again on the long trip into exile. Wanted to be around here – well around here meant a 150 km drive up the coast to Cow Head but who is nit picking.

Morning did start out normally, since I haven’t been to Corner Brook I ran out of coffee so have been heading down to coffee shop for three cups. To-day I arrived as George was leaving. I must have been late.

It was a mistake not heading out daily to have coffee there as I missed out on knowing the area better. As everyone now is asking when I am leaving I am finding out things that I would have been great the first weeks that I was here. Pity that I so desperately need caffeine as soon as I awake.

While there a woman comes up and introduces herself to me saying ‘I was wondering what you were doing out here writing then they told me that you are the artist in residence with the park, my son is the next one’. While I knew that my tenure ends to-morrow, this solidified it.

The talk of what it is like in winter, I hear that things start to close come Labour Day which seems early to me but am curious to see what it would be like to be left on one’s own resources. The debate between large and small towns B.C. v. NFLD which was more or less the same topic, the constant availability of just about everything countered by a life where one has to actually take and active part. Mentioned that I have spoken to more people here in five minutes than I do in Peasant’s Pissoir in a year and the conversations are more intelligent. Some see small towns as support others see as prying I live in a place where there is neither. Apathy, lethargy come to mind. Places I should have gone – Chimney Cove has come up yet again – along with other fishing areas along the coast.

George yesterday after he asked how far north I had gone mentioned that after Port au Choix the land becomes barren. My eyes lit up. I like barren but am staying within the greater park – this time.

I needed 16 negs to make what I develop in a session so I took 8 film holders, and the Hobo. For insurance I took Ubirajara and the digital for more badly made panoramas. I gritted my teeth and headed out along 431 to Wiltondale and turned north.

The plan was to make it to Cow Head without stopping and then do all the stops on the way back. I took the prints of the fishermen in Sally’s Cove to drop off.

What I wanted to photograph was the flats between the road and the Long Range Mountains – I didn’t want to photograph any more shacks, I wanted to see if I could do anything with Cow Head as this would be my third time there. I wanted to stop at all the lookout and lay-bys that I kept passing up at the speed that I was going.

I also wanted to photograph some pines that due to the prevailing winds in the gulch had no branches on southern half of them but that was later.

Thankfully the day was normal, I had my usual anxiety moment when I thought that I was taking too much time – I wanted to get back to develop everything tonight so that I can repaint a table that I stained horribly with the platinum chemistry – that passed.

Cow Head again while I saw the potential this time was a bust as I needed to swarve and even though I am more adept now wandering with 10x8 cameras is not easy. They tend to kill the nonchalance aspect of marling.

Some cheap panoramas of the sheds at the harbour, Another made in an area which the village look nicely domestic. Finally in the last moments of my time here I am hitting a groove.

The negs of the barrens weren’t much but the work along the coast and especially the Anglican Cemetery in Cow Head and the remains of the shipwreck. I slowed down. I had fun, I let things sink in. Thought about kicking over an inukshuk that was made by the Shipwreck but knowing that the park doesn’t like them let it be. Well I photographed them of course.

Stopped into the Centre in Rocky Harbour to see about staying until Wednesday morning but the person behind the desk seemed to know no name that I was asking for. Made the long trek back to Wiltondale stopping at the lookouts and making panoramas.

Back in Bonne Bay I went for a milkshake at the Restaurant but once again they were out of milk. I dropped off the used holders and with the three I had left headed over to the gulch to photograph the wetlands and the trees there.

The wetlands photographs seem forced but there is one tree that looks good. Also photographed a telegraph pole again the Green Gardens trail.

Returning to the machine I spoke to someone who thought that the Hobo was a pinhole camera. He works in Corner Brook but has a relatively easy job. He is thinking of setting up his darkroom again.
Poor sod, it seems that black and white is becoming extinct as quickly as colour. Mentioned that fact and the trouble I have getting supplies outside of St. John’s – even Grenfell doesn’t carry much - a little later I will make the argument that with planning anything can be done here.

Driving back I see a man in the gulch with a camera the size of mine aimed at the tablelands.

-Thaddeus? I yell as I pass.
-Yes
-So we finally meet and I introduce myself to him. Mutual friends in St. John’s – Baird – exchanged e-mails he and his partner are heading up to Labrador but seeing rocks he just had to stop. He is staying in Rocky Harbour tonight then heading north. Again the serendipity of the Great Northern. Now I knew how I had looked these past weeks as people passed. His banquet camera levelled car parked as far off the road as possible – but still on it.

Said that his book is at the printers and should be out soon when hearing that I was heading over to the Avalon told me to give his best to Jim. We both drove off - he to Rocky Harbour me to the Seabreeze to try to write this.

Once again a good thing as Irving and Crystal were there. he was practicing his fishing by catching conners off the deck she was drinking a MGD (?!). The conversation came around to the salmon steps at Lomond and how they were all trapped.

Off in the pick-up to see it. walking out on the river jumping from bolder to bolder to get to this pool that was packed with trapped salmon who couldn’t get any farther. The was little water in the river and all of it was rushing down the stairs. The problem was at the bottom where there was little water for the fish to navigate.

Then it was off to Little Bonne Bay in the waning light. A caravan park on crown land, Irving wanted to show me a spring that came bubbling out of the ground that was ice cold. The water was still except when the fish jumped out of it. he wanted to launch the boat and fish. Made some post card like snaps of the symmetry, the stalks in the water and more rocks close to the water – so close that the strap was wet.

Again thought great two days from the end and now this happens.
Irving wanted to take me to the falls in Middle Brook but I had to get back and develop the negs - both 10x8 and 120 – something I had planned on doing three hours earlier. Made it to bed a 4AM

So I am walking in Curzon Village - cannot remember why. I had gone up the hill to the sports arena and photographed the two hockey goals outside, walked through the cemetery, documented some wood piles and tried to find – Paul’s house. But now I was in Curzon Village when up to a pick-up comes Clyde Rose we greet, introduces me to his brother up from the Boston States and says to come over at four and bring Kendra.

The day between then and four was spent wandering – had to race back to the house on the early ramble as my paper was through hydrating – Curzon Village again to see where Marilyn lived out past Robert’s place on toward Summer House Cove.

Then we had a wander along the rooms on Bonne Bay before a couple of drinks at the Seabreeze and a discussion about the dance that evening over in Trout River.

There was a debate on whether to go as it seems that there was a fight at the Rusty Jigger the night before. Most of us were oblivious but Shelly said to Elaine let’s get out of here as the RCMP were called.

Ah good times… good times.

Everyone was knackered since we didn’t get back to Bonne Bay until 3:30 and the non CFA’s had to work the next morning

Clyde was driving up as we made it there. Met Max again and Max’s grandson also up from the Boston States. They were on the beach that morning picking up driftwood so that Clyde could decorate his deck.

The house is great, a saltbox that was launched from Glenburnie, owned by someone of renown of the time. dragged up the hill from the bay by Marilyn’s grandfather. Once again I noticed the attachment of everyone to everyone else and now like that sense of bonding that is here.

The house was nice in size small rooms lots of light, view to the bay but not from the sunroom or the deck. It is nice a private.

People kept coming, Lou and Maisie, Joyce, a friend sang a lovely song. Anecdotes were told and of course photographs made. Some of the driftwood was rearranged by Kendra – maestra of signs – to spell out CLYDE.

A moveable evening as we were invited over to Lou and Maisie’s for supper. Fish cakes cole slaw and baked beans.

I was feeling antsy as I wanted to work, my work ethic had been suffering due to the activities at the Discovery Centre and knowing full well that the last week would be difficult. I wanted to get back into the routine of going home developing a batch of film, heading to the club for a couple of Labatt’s then back for round two. I wanted to make more prints so that I could have a selection for Martin and Gabrielle. This time it would be called either THREE IMPORTS or FOUR IMPORTS.

I get nervous and moody when I cannot make work and it had been a long time. Top that off with a bout of social ineptness and I wanted to head back and print.

Clyde was smitten by Kendra – showing her the Maisie’s boat house, along with three bottles of wine, sitting beside her at dinner and inviting her to the bonfire in the pit in Glenburnie. She, however, also wanted to go back and hang out at the Seabreeze.

Departed but too late for me to pick up water in town to develop the film, still wasn’t used to the relatively early closing of the shops of Bonne Bay, I also wasn’t use to the late opening on Sunday.

THAT WACKY CFA DUO minus one

Couldn’t decide whether to stay up or take a short nap as I had to drive Kendra to the airport in Deer Lake at 3:30AM. It is only an hour ride but at night I was told to go more slowly due to moose. 3:30 is only 90 minutes later than I have been going to bed recently and thus the debate tough it out or a quick nap.

The nap won and it did seem to help. Strange to think that this would be the last outing we would do on the rock but it was typical as soon as we were in the machine. The talk began. It didn’t end until I pulled into the Tim Horton’s on the Trans Canada.

By the way Kendra was acting I would guess she either hadn’t any sleep or had drunk all the coffee in Bonne Bay.

That we had become used to Bonne Bay was apparent as when seeing the lights of Deer Lake we were shocked. Hadn’t seen so many lights bunched together in a long time. I had been complaining about the few lights in Woody Point as it lessened the night sky, now Deer Lake looked enormous.

Incident at the Tim Horton’s
Kendra – I’ll have a large coffee and a blueberry bagel
RC-D – I’ll have an extra large double double and cranberry muffin
Time Horton’s – What do you want in your coffee my love?
Kendra (baffled) -…uh… coffee?
RC-D (whispering) – Cream? Sugar?

Like asking Patricia when her birthday was on her birthday coupled with her fatigue, this kept her in stitches until she got into the security area of the airport.

The airport reminded me of St. John’s before it got pretensions imtimate more like a bus depot than and airport. Stood with her through check in, the baggage check then went out to parking lot to watch her walk to the plane. Saw her lumbering gait leave the terminal, cross the tarmac and climb the steps, Minutes later she was in the air headed pointed toward Corner Brook headed for Halifax and the world.

That all seems a lifetime ago to me, can barely remember a time before Bonne Bay, vaguely remember pulling up to the Parks Canada booth in Route 430 and announcing myself – and saying that I would be back to take her picture. Seem to remember the trip out to St. John’s but it all seems like the distant past. Looking at the desperate tourists trying Pete’s door on Sunday remember the time that I was doing the same. Still haven’t really planned for Sunday being a day of rest.

Grown to like the routine that I got into here- the breakfasts when hungry, just before the outing of the day, the constant chatter in the machine, don’t think there have been better crit sessions nor will there ever be. The afternoon beer, which again seems like we have been doing it forever was a recent modification of the day. Supper which seemed without looking to be at 7:00 and on the picnic table in the garden.

The developing of film with a beer during the rinse times.

No matter how I would try I know that this would change.

Thinking that the return trip would be easier – and faster – since the sun would be up and I wouldn’t have to worry about moose, I raced up 430 to just past Cormack where – of course - there were three moose standing in the middle of the road. Turned off my lights stopped and waited.

The ride down 431 to Bonne Bay was even more awe inspiring. Never have done it this early in the morning and the light was just hitting the Tablelands in the distance. Try to be patient for I think I know how long the road is but am always a bit taken aback when I think I am almost there and I am only in Lomond.

Seeing the bay in Glenburnie again has me thinking that it is not long now but again it seems to take forever to get to Woody Point. It was longer without the talks, the poining of things odd, the attempt to read new meaning into the pictograms. Wondered what Bonne Bay would think now that one half of that wacky yank CFA couple was gone.

Kendra’s departure only heightened my feelings of mine. Didn’t want to sleep but collapsed for two hours, didn’t want to waste time sleeping so I did what I usually do stop eating.

Awake and it being a nice sunny day headed over to Trout River one last time.

It seems that enlightenment came lately this trip, while I had been ranting against the park, I was still doing work that was mainly landscape even though it was in populated areas. My hope was to show how despite the park people here do live in balance with nature and do respect it. I wanted to show that life is a bit harder here and thus people make good use of materials. Wood piles were degradation of the forest but a useful way of heating ones home in the long winters, laundry lines – even though most centred on what was on the line and wondered why I was photographing dirty underwear – was again a great use of nature, sun and wind to not waste other resources. Indirectly I was celebrating the province’s resourcefulness – laudable as the province is so resource rich, water, oil, and never gets any profit from it.

Things seep slowly into my brain. I am over in Trout River eating at The Take Out with Marilyn, Elaine and Kendra - they want to show me the notorious Muriel who is in Corner Brook. I am at the Sunset Café at the top of the hill talking to yet another cousin, I am joking with Linda and Viola at Granite Coffee – names ok so far editorial board at the 3T’s? – I see Pete and Amanda in Pete’s I am talking to Bruce Martin and his father comes out so I make a snap of them at the garage. It hits me make snaps of those who actually work here at their establishments.

I was over in Trout River to start the process.

It was the best of starts I put it to fatigue. After breakfast at the Sunset, I went down the road under construction to photograph two woodpiles. Took out the Hobo and everything was Hunky Dory©, then saw two ikonic sheds across the road reached in to get the Deardorff and tripod. Set it up then reached for the lens… back in Woody Point.

On the way back talked to two road workers and made a snap when the bevy of Brake’s passed, first Amy and her mother in her mother’s car, then Paul. Don’t mind the ride through the gulch, had to photograph the cross again and did like talking with the road workers. It also wasted some time.

Bonnie wasn’t in at the Sunset that morning, Muriel, and Marlene at the Interpretation Centre – who as at a family reunion. Photographed Brandie instead.

Used the Deardorff, a mistake from the onset as both of us were nervous, I didn’t want to waste their time and they were self conscious. Luckily brought Ubirajara and made some more as I am hoping that the people will be more relaxed in those.Saw Wade Barnes and Gilbert Crocker across the street and photographed them with the Deardorff and then again with ‘Bira, Gilbert senior took me out to where his cod was drying hanging on the line and had me make snaps of him with it. Want to make images like this as it shows the resourcefulness of the province people – people other places have vegetable gardens why wouldn’t a sea faring land have places to dry and salt fish but am afraid it will be misread quaint.

Sandra ran into the house.

Laundry line potential across the street.

Headed to the port to make a digital panorama and I seemed to remember other snaps made when I was there. As usual I forgot what I wanted made a snaps of. Made two of the sheds and tried some Newfoundland formalism before heading up to Bonnie’s.

It wasn’t the best of moments. I couldn’t decide where I wanted to make the snap, with the sign behind her, on the deck seated, standing. The light wasn’t the best but although most realise this whole time here has been a period of photographic experimentation.

To make things better there were some wonderful people who seemed baffled by the array of soft serve flavours. One had a look at the camera and made some comment.

The snap was ok nothing great, I was too tense she was too tense as I mentioned.

Headed over to Muriel’s who wasn’t there but did photograph April before heading back, I had run out of film. Made the snap in the gulch of the cross, went home to reload and head back.

A phone call from Kendra in the throes of culture shock, she was on the “L”. I forgot about all the noise in big cities.

She was there when I returned and like the regatta I drew a crowd people from the houses on the other side of the road. Set up and again while I tried to calm down I feel that I am putting people out and I rush. Made 6 snaps to make sure and still feel nothing came out.

Dragged out ‘Bira and tried to work while I was having some chips. Muriel introduced me to her daughter and wanted a snap of the two made.

All of a sudden she was relaxed, I made a closer snaps two them one where Joanna was blurred but the other was fine.

Left quite pleased. my old habits were back. Unfortunately my old habits were back. Supper was a bowl of cerial Headed straight for the darkroom to see what I had done, the evening ritual of preparing supper and having it on the picnic table went with Kendra.

MAYBE I SHOULD CALL IT THE BONNE BAY BULLETIN

Now I have to be more careful here in the journal, as I found out that it seems that it is replacing the HUMBER LOG with the morning crowd down at the 3T’s. Last evening at the going away party/show for Kendra at the Seabreeze, Helen - I am sure she will correct me if this is incorrect - said how much she liked the entries.

Surprise. Bafflement. Horror. That was the order of emotions. How did they find out about it. I know that Joe Dunphy’s friend read it as it was passed on but he lives in Corner Brook far enough away not to have to worry,

Bafflement as I thought that writing an online journal would be the equivalent of throwing a bottle into the ocean.

Horror, as I racked my brain to try to remember what I had said. One woman said that she passed and did the Newfoundland nod to see if she would get one in return. Another asked if Kool was my daughter. One was going to give me a list of things that I got wrong – it is Shelley, I had already changed Granite City to Granite Coffee but now knowing that I have a bevy of proofreaders within sight of the duplex.


It seems that Sheena was the one who happened upon the site – damn her – because of this my head will be bobbling more than ever and will have corrections come racing in.

Am editing what I was going to enter for yesterday making sure that there will be glowing adjectives for the good people of Bonne Bay.

By the way don’t worry about reading about what was said yesterday at the club. I have the hearing that would rival that of a Trout River bartender at the Seabreeze.

sorry ladies at the 3T'S.....

it is 2AM and i haven't got a chance to write yet check back to-morrow.

What is being missed

Took the trail to the Discovery Centre to drop off yesterday’s rushes, I take it as pretty soon walking through fields without a shot gun aimed at me will be a rarity. I take it as I can see the entire illage of Woody Point and I can pick out the houses and places of work of just about everyone. I choose the path to be between the Bonne Bay and the mountains. I choose the path so I don’t have to do the Newfoundland nod every five seconds – now even the RCMP are waving at me.

I was well on my way once again realising that this online daybook has fallen short due to the minutiae of what makes being here so enjoyable. Until now my favourite view was of Pouch when I descend the main road in the machine, there it is all of the city nestled under Cape St. Francis. Pouch, though, looks like a metropolis in comparison one has to pan the horizon to see it all.

Here is Woody point which it is – it cannot be more than an kilometre from one end to the other it is even narrower between the mountain and the bay. I can always take it all in.

Walking to the Centre – dressed incorrectly as it was cold at the house but here not 100metres away it is hot, there are micro climates within microclimates – I ran into Barb Daniels – the person who is in the other part of the duplex and a former Gros Morne artist in resident.

She stayed on afterward. We chatted about my frustration about the disconnect between Park Canada, the artists, the residents of Bonne Bay. I was given the background but what was strange here we were on a trail above a village that would fit into any sports complex in the land above Mexico, with room to spare and talking about art.

This happens all the time. I was down at the Seebreeze having my afternoon “tea” Labatt’s Light – no am mot proud of it but I don’t want a beer gut and I am not a Canadian placing Molson out of the equation. When I head out to be outside on a lovely day. I get this idea for a booklet so go crazy photographing around the bay.

A man who is fishing with his family sees me and comes over to talk
-where are you from?
-Baltimore the colony that took
-Up here as a tourist?
-No am actually working for the park, I’m the artist in residence.
-Where are you staying?
-In the blue duplex above the Heritage Theatre.
-Do you know Joe Dunphy?
Mouth falls open.

This is Art “Dick’ Dawes of Corner Brook who is a friend of Joe’s. I haven’t met Joe – that will happen in St. John’s – but we have been corresponding after he saw my snaps in the windows along Duckworth Street and wanted some photographs to go along with the book of poetry that he was trying to publish. A long chat on the pier for the Norris Point ferry while his family are catching Connors and throwing them back.

Earlier that day dropping off prints in Glenburnie and speaking with the owners of the Mountainside Bed and Breakfast – she had come to the lecture and liked the prints and I had photographed their daughter in the group photo of the photogram workshop.

She mentioned that someone saw my name and knew mutual friends in the states. (wonderful I thought).

It is meeting people from Trout River and asking if they are a Brake or a Crocker.

If Molson were to do an I AM NEWFOUNDLANDER campaign there would have to say “Why yes I do know the Alan Earle from Robert’s Arm and he is a nice guy”.

After dropping off prints, I walk the shore path into town to pick up milk and bread, Pete was in his shop, Elaine having coffee at Granite City, Dorothy waved as she drove by, Debbie was in the 3T’s

Except for the parking, the day went well

Even though I was following the Newfoundland habit of going to bed at 3AM, I was up at six the day of the kiddie workshop. I panic every time I have to depend on the sun to make a workshop successful and while this time I was using the light box, I wondered how patient 5-12 year olds would be. I wanted to make sure everything would go smoothly – coating 16 sheets of paper with argyrotype chemistry – didn’t want to poison the little darlings – making sure I got the exposure times down correctly – five minutes would do.

Was pacing about the place in my usual hyper caffeinated way when Kendra gets up early, pours coffee, sees the frenzy, dumps the coffee back in the carafe and heads back upstairs.

Walk over to the Discovery Centre and get there by 9AM as usual 30 minutes before the workshop was to start. There were to be 12 of them, three I knew. We were to walk from the Discovery Centre to the house via the path – Jessica telling them that they were off of Parks Canada property so they could pick what they wanted.

It was her idea that the walk would tucker out the tykes and they would be more manageable. No need it seems that they had just woke up and were still groggy.

Asked Amanda at Pete’s about this later. She said that this is summer no one goes to bed before midnight and rises before 11AM. Another Parks Canada disconnect with the communities it surrounds. I also heard that the next Kiddie Workshop will be poorly attended as it is the day of swimming lessons.

Walking over and not knowing how to pace themselves, they all picked things within 50 metres of the Discovery Centre. One kid picked up rocks to make photograms. We hinted that this may not be the best thing to use – Jessica even drew silhouettes so that the kids would have an idea. It started to drizzle

The workshop went smoothly. They were patient as we had to do each photogram one by one, they amused themselves by ganging up on me with feats of strength, most of the work while looking the same – how many images can one make with ferns, flowers and pine needles, oh and rocks – showed some sort of decorative sense, I promised the prints the next day – again I didn’t want the little dears to put their fingers in the rinse water or the fixer.

It was heading back where they became tired, too far from the house to turn back but not really on the path yet three were thirsty – tirsty – one was tired and didn’t want to make the climb. Tried coaxing, saying that there was water at the Discovery Centre – for a fee at the lunch counter, carried one kid up the hill, and tried generally to distract them. Jessica shared her water which perked them up and they were back to their usual hyper self – races through the grave yard, wanted to see moose.

Walked back to the house at 12:30 and with a dinner commitment it seemed like a good day to stock up on provisions one last time in Corner Brook. Kendra also wanted a book so it meant entering the world of the mall for the first time in a blessed long time.

First to the old mall by the Sobeys. Gutted out, the Coles was gone it had moved up the hill. Of course in this being a small place, we ran into Shirley our neighbour in Bonne Bay coming out of the mall and yet another person from Bonne Bay waiting in a car, driving up to the other mall we passed the Bonne Bus bus again we knew the driver. Western Newfoundland is certainly small.

Buying a book was harder than buying the food as the Coles is stripped down if you don’t want a best seller or self help buy online.

Getting the food we raced back to the Trans Canada and Deer Lake once again didn’t see the Man in the Mountain and then the road up the Great Northern.

Relaxation came with the turn off to Woody Point and the 35km drive to the house. Hate going into Corner Brook but it was drizzly and it was the best use of the afternoon that I could think of.

Dinner/supper was at Kris’s place which was George’s (of the Seabreeze) aunt’s place in Shoal Brook.

We drove over, parked at the top of the steep incline to her place and me thinking that I had parked to closely decided to try to get out to see if it were possible. I put the machine into reverse and went up the incline then stopped.

I had stopped because only three wheels were actually touching the ground the passenger side rear wheel was in the air.

A man with a British accent was the first on the scene. He suggested that we all sit on the rear bumper to get the car up – once it was up I don’t know what we would do as that would mean that the other three wheels would be off the ground.

More people show up even some that we know from the Seabreeze. Now to them it looks as if we went over the cliff rather than backed up and got stuck. In the end we had about a dozen cars stopped and willing to help.

Kris in the meantime saw us but thought that we had planned it to photograph more people.

Finally sense prevailed and once people were out of the way I was pushed down the hill. While this was happening I had the presence of mind to photograph the people – after all I had met them – I only hope that I had the presence of mind to take off the lens cap.

The crisis diverted, the crowd dispersed as a thanks I said that I’d buy them all drinks at the Seabreeze.

The house is nice on the bay but with trees blocking the view – we reasoned that with the amount of trees here they could be thinned a bit. there was a nice view of Woody Point from the living room window. Big deck on the back, it was a nice size. Her daughter – Rhya – and I made pictures with the digital for a bit. It was too cold to eat outside a pity – not only had we wanting to make our own dinner after we once again had food from Corner Brook, but it is now strange to sit inside.

Dinner was uneventful in comparison. Kris had made a curry dish. The table talk was around our involvement in the community and our unofficial home being the Seabreeze. It seems that Kris prefers dinner parties and some of the other Parks Canada people like kitchen parties.

These are all nice an good but the people allowed in are controlled and because of that the possibility of meeting someone new and interesting is limited. There is no “quality” control at the Seabreeze so anyone can come in. Sometimes that could be problematic but in my case it only broadens the knowledge of the area from what I hear from the diversity of the crowd and their state of inebriation.

Due to the Kendra couldn’t wait to get back there, so we thanked Kris and Jessica at about 10:30 and headed over so that the story of my parking could be told complete with pictures. A good time was had by all - well almost all. Cannot complain about Elaine’s driving and her attempts to run me off the road anymore.