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The 15-25cm turned out to be more like 5cm changing the landscape into a black and white wood cut - the pines against the ground of Shoe Cove.

I was planning on having my usual day, out in the morning here wandering the town and the hills, breakfast, then another wander until the evening where I will develop film.

Am getting more and more nervous about my lack of action on this part. Wandering the hills, it hit me that Ubirajara may have a minor problem that I know nothing about as I have yet to see the negs.

Call it paranoia but after having the digital turn Diana and the Leiquinha develop a wobbly lens from loosen screws – now fixed – I tend to worry.

The morning walk was again trying to get far enough into the woods above Pouch to see the ponds. This time up Strugnall’s Marsh out of town following a path that I knew until I came across one that I didn’t and, well, took Robert Frost’s advice.

Finally it was a dry one. Photographed well especially when I ran into a clearing for fire wood that doubled as a dumpsite. Strange this as while an ATV could make it here it would be difficult it would be easier to dump the stuff off a cliff.

The usual rules applied walk until the path ended, then turn back,

Never made it to the pond – or a pond but found this well kitted out cabin looked in – chairs and mini bottle of whisky - complete with nice looking outhouse 20 yards away.

Stopped in at the pipe house.
-did you get a phone call?
-nope
I talked to angela antle asking about this week’s show and she has nothing I told her you were in town.

The afternoon was a trip into St. John’s to have the machine checked out by TJ. It would take about an hour. I would drop off the film at Dominion, then walk about the area.

The area of choice was due to the conclusion that I came to that I am a fraud. Here I am stating that I want to photograph the province that isn’t all landscape and “characters” but it didn’t even cross my mind to photograph the East Side of St. John’s – those subdivision type of houses with lawns instead of trees. Treeless areas on the Avalon – outside of the Barrens looks even stranger than those suburban tracts in the States.

I wanted the dichotomy but not much of a difference. While I wasn’t aware of it, it seemed that I was still going for the salt box, the rooms, the traditional ikons of the Rock and allowing some newness or habitation to show up. I wasn’t allowing for the fact that while there is a Wal-Mart and Eddie Bauers, I wasn’t allowing for the fact that there were places that looked like any other place in North America.

I was going to venture into this territory. Dropped off the machine, crossed Torbay Road just south of the Trans Canada and walked down Highland Drive. I was in an older “suburb” – still trees, hills - I tried to somehow incorporate Signal Hill into the image.

When I had the chance however, I headed for the Virginia River walk. The walk through the neighbourhood wasn’t all that successful. The division of property wasn’t all that pronounced. I couldn’t find anything formally nor enough street furniture.

The Virginia River walk was little better. Except for a ball park, I simply wandered, passing a woman with her two granddaughters, someone who looked like they lived in the newer sections – lycra running suit wearing pushing a racing pram - and a few couples.

I do better when I reach Newfoundland drive as people have covered their plants and the houses are closer together.

Turning north as the machine should be ready by now – pass the same woman with her grandkids who stops to chat.

-I think that I know you. You photographed me in St. John’s.
sure enough it was Theresa England. I photographed her with her son who is in MUN now and in the reserves. I had photographed her after photographing her husband in King Street as they were working on his car. Her daughter works in Hallidays. Their friend is now 80 and still around the corner. Photographed her grand daughters talked a bit longer and headed we went our separate ways.

TJ’s wife said they took the machine out and the wobbling I feel disappears at 100, the fuel gauge doesn’t work but I should get around 300 km.
-but I cannot fill the tank
-yeah I think that there is a pinhole that fills the car with the smell of gasoline.

There is no charge. I thank her and off I go. Leaving their place the car sputters. It almost stalls crossing Torbay Road.

I stop at Stavengar Drive to get everything I need to work at home in case of the blizzard.

Heading up to Pouch just outside St. John’s the machine sputters and stops. I cannot turn it over. Try over and over and nothing happens. Go across to a metal foundry and use the phone to ring TJ. They cannot think of the problem except maybe lacking gasoline.
I cannot photograph the people as it is dark and I hate myself.

Turn on the flashers, walk the mile back to the North Atlantic gas bar buy a tank and 4 litres of gasoline and head back to the car. The RCN pass and I worry, a broken down machine with expired registration.

Almost to the machine buddy stops and offers me a lift. It is less than 10o metres but I accept.

-sorry I didn’t see you sooner.
Again I cannot make a photograph

Gasoline in but the battery is dead. Stop into Garland Auto Body to ask if someone can jump start the engine. A couple of minutes later a mechanic comes out and the car starts, how much do I owe?

-Nothing

-Well I am trying to photograph everyone I talk to on the rock can I come back and photograph you and your assistant?
- I know who you are.
- -you do?
- Yeah you are out in flatrock and make those giant sculptures (Peter von Tiesenhausen)
- Nope I’m in Pouch and only make snaps. I give him my website.
I left it at that.
(someone just moved in behind me across the road)

Drove back to Pouch to drop off stuff then race back to St. John’s to meet the evil twin and go to Paul Kennedy’s lecture at The Rooms.

Gave a lift to a hitcher- again no snap – heading into town from Torbay. He’d been to the states and found yanks not all that bright – ignorant of anything that isn’t the States. He was asked where Newfoundland was, if there were roads and if they lived in igloos. I related the story of a post office thinking that Newfoundland was in Finland or Norway.

The twin was in his new St. John’s office – the Duke now wireless – how tempting I can now spill my Smithwicks on my laptop.

John came in and we exchanged news, Clyde came in said hello again looking… hoping…

We were debating on how decorous we should be at the lecture and for some reason we were pretty demure.

IT seems that Kennedy becomes the social butterfly when he reaches the Rock. Couldn’t make it out to Pouch, or to the Duke because of interviews. Angela Antle has roped him into cooking a Newfoundland dish while she interviews him for her programme up at the pipe house to-morrow – that explains the lack of a phone call.

Dinner at Casbah before the drive north, the machine behaving itself.