Desperately Seeking Shanawdithit

I reckon that the only way that I can get Kennedy out of Martin and Gabrielle’s is through scandal. I tried stink bombs that that popular US technique, loud soft rock music but to no avail.

So I offered to drive him out to the interior of Newfoundland then send photographs of him being driven by a person of colour to the CBC.

Always wanted to see Buchans and when Paul said that he was heading out to Red Indian Lake to interview someone how is an authority on Shanawdithit, I offered to drive out.

Why Buchans, because it as a far inland as one can get easily, because Michael Crummey is from there and it is the end of the road in the middle of the island. Every time I did the TCH passing through Badger I wanted to do the diversion, once I actually turned off but I had to be in St. John’s and not far down the Buchan’s Highway turned back.

The plan was to drive out with him – me driving – I also thought off calling this entry Driving a Kennedy – but not a real one. There would be a stop along the way in Grand Falls/Windsor at the Mary March Museum to talk to a curator there – and for me to get her name in the hopes of the work that went moulding at Pouch would be shown again on the island.

Then to Millertown to find this person who was to take us out in a canoe on Red Indian Lake to the sites of the last living Beothuk.

It seems that Paul was going to use his radio documentary card as he wanted to only hold a microphone to Albert’s face so that he could talk, I would be rowing.

He also needed photographs – ah yes RC-D photographer for radio.

There was no rush so a civilised start, was over on the front deck checking e-mail and talking to Ted about his boat being in the sea finally. He was taking the kids out to-day but there weren’t up yet.

- if I were in bed this long people would be calling 911.

Made it to Tim Horton’s in Stavenger Drive before we switched off – I think that he didn’t want to be seen not driving in Pouch Cove. Had a coffee – I heard that Tim’s put MSG in their coffee and was told to tell them to hold it.

No problem on the TCH – the usual weather nice fog through the isthmus a stop in Goobies for gasoline, and uneventful ride through Terra Nova as we both stare at the landscape, fog at Joey’s Lookout.

I forget how far it is between Gander and Grand Falls/Windsor which now seems like it is called Pinsenttown. We get lost as the Mary March museum is so small that I pass it and am heading out of town again before I do that most unmanly act and ask directions. – I also needed to pee.

Find it but decide it is time to eat and head to Tai Sun restaurant specialising in Chinese and Canadian Cuisine – neither really well.
I have the mushroom foo yung and the vegetable – read cabbage – chop suey with noodle – six crispy noodles.

Kennedy asks for the beer list.
-tell me what you want it will be faster the server says.
As he is mentioning Tsing Tao, she rattles off Cohrs Light, Canadian, Canadian Light, Blue and Budweiser.

After the leisurely lunch we head back to the museum to see if the curator is in.

Nope.

Will she be in to-morrow?

Nope

We leave with time to spare. I head over to the ball park to photograph it while Paul has other business to attend to.

I leave the film in the machine so have to head back to pick some up when the heavens open and really open. The streets become rivers, I pick up Paul head over to the Museum to pick up a to find Millertown – which spookily is already marked on the map – and in doing so become a contestant in the GFW wet t-shirt contest.

There are people standing on the steps waiting for the downpour to stop and one speaks to me – damn her.

Race to the machine pick up the camera, go back and photograph the people waiting.

Leave, saying that no one should be a slave to the weather, and stroll back to the car where we wait out the rain.

When it finally stops we head over to the ball park complex which is nothing but soggy ground and deep puddles but doesn’t stop some footballers from practicing.

Buddy comes out and tells us that he hasn’t seen rain like that before and in fact states it many times.

While he is talking to Kennedy I am heading off to the lake that was once a ball park.

Nice park not so much for what it is but where it is, dangerous stands, it is below the TCH with all these steps that lead to nowhere.

At first I thought that the Grand Stand was the ball park even when I knew it wasn’t made sure that I made some snaps of it.

My new found inefficiency was still present as I had to keep going back to the car for something or other – don’t know what I don’t carry the bag. To-day with the low sky was not a day to dally.

Wondered why there was a beach volleyball court in GFW.
-bikinis.
-ah.

Seeing the ocean has one forget how great rivers can be. Lake Gander was impressive but the Exploits…

We had nothing to do and time to kill so to Buchans 50 km off the TCH not even on Red Indian Lake, I wasn’t sure what to expect Buchans was definitely below anything that I could think of. We should have had a clue when at Buchan’s Junction there was the Mary March Lounge and Beothuk Street.

Buchans was dismal, a mining town – all around it the beauty of lakes and in the distance the Long Range Mountains. There houses that look like they could be moved when the mine closed. Instead of a greenbelt around the city there was a brown belt.



It is the type of place that I would want to spend more time in. If there were a Newfoundland version of Deadwood this is were it would be filmed.


As I was going to get out to photograph another downpour – we now realised that we both cannot get out of the machine at the same time I would have to exit, Paul would count to ten then leave the car. As every time we opened the door at the same time a drenching rain would happen.

Photographed around the old mine – just off downtown, a forlorn ballpark – where the RCMP passed but I reckoned that even they know that there is nothing in Buchans.

Headed over the hockey arena where we walked out of town again gob smacked it seemed that the mines had this scorched earth policy for the town.

Seen enough we head over to Millertown and the Bed and Breakfast passing the Mary March Lounge again this time with cars in front killing any sort of aesthetic snap that I could get.

Nevertheless after supper we have to try it out.

We guess what the place will be like. Paul is hoping for Mary March Lounge souvenirs – swizzle sticks, beer mats etc – poor deluded Upper Canadian.

I drew on my experience at the Seabreeze and with the exception of people in the bar and things that I forgot but were pretty obvious I was closer to the interior – No draughts beer – LaBatt’s and Molson Products only we would be drinking something other than Cohr’s light, pool table darts. I forgot the video gaming, TV and said that there would be eight people in the bar. There were four.

Two beers – me Jockey Club, he Black Horse - later we call it a night. The three people are still at the video gaming machines.

As I had stated, I hadn’t planned to leave St. John’s so early. I was hoping to arise at seven or so in order to wander about before the city woke up – Saturdays and Sundays are great for this and this would be even greater as I was sure that there would be a mess due to the George Street Festival.

The plan was to wash the sheets and curtains so that I could stay a bit longer but I realised that I couldn’t start any of this until the group downstairs woke up.

Finally left at nine for my read of the Globe at Hava Java as the city was already at it and George Street pretty clean.

Arriving back, the downstairs people were waiting as they were going on one of those puffin and whale watching ships and needed to know when they could move upstairs.

I was going to pack the machine and head out for a walk but then realised that with milk and other perishables in the machine it would be best to head up to Pouch Cove then back down to do what I want.

Somehow I ended up in Witless Bay Line leaving the photographs with the people that I saw on Thursday.

Was recognised by Kay and Al. Invited up on their deck for a chat and spent about an hour hearing more about the area and meeting more of their relatives.


Photographed a sign on one of the cabins – where I met the only person who was suspicious as he thought that I was going to make money off it – if only.

Others had joked about me being with the government but John here was more interested in money. Bob – his son – said if don’t have to do with money he ain’t interested.



Leaving the plan was to see Tors Cove – don’t know why I kept passing it and thinking that it would be a great place to wander, looked picturesque enough, some people that I am acquainted with live there why not.

Stopping at the North Atlantic just outside Bay Bulls, I thought that since I have the other snaps why not do a Newfoundland version of what I do in the States all the time. Cappahayden wasn’t all that far. I could rattle off the towns between here and there and – well why not again.

It is strange what I consider a waste of time right now, organised get togethers are a waste of time, I get antsy, don’t have much time for openings only go suppers to talk to people whom I haven’t seen and who don’t show up anyway.

It isn’t a waste of time – however – to stop overly long for a mug up and to drive the same road over and over again. It is also worth noting that Route 10 to Pouch Cove is driving me crazy with the traffic but even though I can rattle off the towns on the Southern Shore the ride is still interesting – a couple of years ago though it wasn’t.

Didn’t really worry about making time instead I turned off at places that at one time piqued my curiosity – La Manche - not the park – was an example it was an example also of not living up to expectations – nice cottage country but the provincial park won in the long run as it blocked getting to the ocean.

In my ironic mood stopped in Ferryland as the ball park was empty and not under construction photographed it thinking that this was the original home of the Orioles – The Ballpark at Avalon Yards – Baltimore Ferryland.

There were also some quite nice weather patterns as mauze had covered the Colony of Avalon and the temperature must have dropped 5C, kept rolling down and up different combinations of windows to adjust the temperature. When I started photographing the pitch there was a slight haze by the time I had finished it was bright sun and sultry once again.

There were minor diversions for Basketball hoops, closed conveniences, and a bevy of laundry lines. The spectators in these places must have wondered where this tourist belonged as he had never seen clothes lines before.

In Cappahayden it seemed that I hadn’t brought all the photographs with me I had left the one of Cecil someplace lost in the move – with some red tea. I did bring the photograph of the South Carolinians and since they weren’t home. I hung the photograph on their laundry line.

This time no dogs escorted me – with their owners at home I guess they had little use for CFA tourists.

Duckish sat out on the half picnic table writing, happy that the bed and breakfast 200 metres away has such a strong wireless signal. But it was time to be social.

So I am driving up to Pouch Cove, thinking how precarious my state is here. The great thing about Martin and Gabrielle was that they made me feel like Sullivan’s Loop was mine. Theoretically I was grateful but I didn’t realise how grateful I should be. Overstating it a bit this time I was a transient and not in the sense that I was moving onward but moving because the place that I was staying in was booked for a period of time.

After all these years the lingering effect of going to the same school for 15 years has me aware of temporality and thus not being able to feel at home until I feel that I can stay.

Hence the lack of a darkroom in Peasant’s Pissoir, where putting one in would make it feel more permanent – double edged sword there.

Entering Martin and Gabrielle’s felt like being home. Everything is the way that it was left. There may be some new books, another cd and a new appliance, but I don’t have to search for things, Paul and I have made it cyber friendly and I don’t have to get up and move. I didn’t have to worry about how the place looked until I left and then could clean it up. If I had to race out I could. I could entertain there.

It was the same with the Parks Canada house in Woody Point. It was “mine”. It could be left as is. It was a place to come back to.

Am glad that I am back in Pouch Cove finally but having to move with less than a week left is a bit disrupting to the point where I was sort of regretting it – residential Stockholm Syndrome – I had my routine, I knew where the cooking utensils were. There were more areas of the city that I wanted to explore – more ballparks, an area surrounded by Le Marchant Road, Freshwater Road and who knows to the west. I was also realising how much better placed I was downtown when heading west since I was heading west a great deal - than in Pouch Cove. In truth it was more about making do with what I had than an actual preference.

The downing of the show.

I find that I still try to cram too much into a day but also find that I allot way too much time so that it usually works out.

As soon as I got up went straight out to Pouch Cove to take down the show. Reckoned it wouldn’t take that long then I could head down to Hava Java and make a book before meeting up with Beth to talk about a possible exhibtion together – it seems that we both deal with detritus but I tend to leave it where it lays and she wants to pick it up and take it home. All this before1PM piece of cake.

The traffic wasn’t as frustrating as it can be going to Pouch Cove but that could be because I took Bauline Line in. Get to the school and it is locked. It has never been locked. Try other doors get in one but the inner door is locked. This will put an damper on everything as everyone was out late the night before and thus will still be a sleep walk over to Keith’s and luckily Dianne is up, tells me where the key is and I am in and taking down the show.

No panic little time wasted, only one print has visible signs of mould the others are just damp. Place them on some cardboard as I take them down and they seem to be soaking up the damp like a sponge on a wet surface. I look at a wall and can see baseball sized mould growing.

The work is down in less than 30 minutes. It fits in the Volvo – so what – I am to be homeless in a day and don’t have anyplace to store them. Leave them until I can find a home or a bonfire.

Almost hit a moose heading back into town. Try heading down Route 20 but construction has me turn around and in Pouch Cove Line one jumps out in front of the machine. Closer than anything in Woody Point.

In town needing my morning caffeine fix – but surprisingly less than when I am teaching – one café au lait does it. Drop off the snaps of Edward.

-so are you a tourist or what? When you first came in I thought you were a tourist but now I see you all the time – a server asks.
-I’m an unofficial one I come and stay until someone catches on.

Back to Auntie Crae’s to buy my baguette and Globe. There is another server named Trainée at the till.

Print the book but forgot that I would have to put it together and time was short. Feeling that I have to show something - more self-imposed pressure than anything Beth hinted at – I thought that I would make a book but in the end take over the layout and thinking that not enough the whole computer. I wanted to make sure that she still wanted to do this as it was mentioned after seeing only one snap – she seems to be one of the eight who reads these entries – and there was a lot to drink when I was over for dinner.

I have to remember that walks will take longer than in the States – where one tends to walk a bit more quickly to avoid the gunshots. Up pass the crowd in Charleton Street who are out so another chat and another image made.

Still have time.

Some Diana snaps – for some reason I feel like I should try again with the distancing that the camera does but I think all of that stuff is over – the digital seems to be taking the place of all things primitive. I say that now without having seen anything but feeling like I am forcing the issue with the Diana.

Stop to photograph two chairs symmetrically placed around a cat – I could do without the car - in Cabot Street. The owner comes out to chat thinking that I am a Leafs fan

-oh st. john’s I thought…
-habs fan!!! Leafs, gimme a break.
We discuss the value of the cap how I left one on a bus in Baltimore. HE shows me his pink white and green wrist band. I mention the Free NFLD ones at living planet. He hands me his.

I try to make the snap but he still stands there. I can only hope that they will be there when I come back – they weren’t.

Still have time – barely.

Crossing LeMarchant Road at Longs Hill.
-got a cigarette?
-don’t smoke.
-you know that they robbed a tourist here a couple of days ago and broke into another one’s car.
-I know seen a lot of RNC around this time back when I first came hardly heard a siren.
-it is the drugs this is a drug area, cocaine, oxycontin, it hit the island two years back this area has a lot.

am now late.

Nice place. If I had to live in the city it would be perfect – except for the lack of view. nice size good back garden and we sat outside. Debated the etiquette of detritus – would I photograph something that had been touched by a “hoarder” would a “hoarder” still take something that had been “documented”.

Arrived at a date more or less and would let everything go to see what happens – personally for my work I want small work I also want triptychs so as move them from the ikon to the metaphor. I also want a casual hanging.

Chats about the art world, the types who choose Newfoundland – I see a similarity to those who were in the colonies during the British Empire – briefly (did I write that!) the locals, the one’s who are out there hoping for better things back in the mother country and are growing more embittered by the day and those who stay on because they like the place.

Walked back wanting to clean the streets of litter so that Beth will have nothing to pick up.

At the first extended stop of the outing up the Bonavista Bay side of the Bonavista Peninsula, I started to wonder if I am somehow a new incarnation of John Berger.

It could have been the people cutting the hay for their horse. It could also have been the fact that I was glad that I was out of St. John’s and wandering around the province again and it was a lovely day.

I also worried that I was somehow intellectually slumming it as every time I pick up the camera I worry that I am adding to the stereotype of the place while attempting to do the opposite. There were a lot of empty, unused buildings, of rooms, overgrown playgrounds and someone using scythes instead of something motorised does tend toward the nostalgic and quaint rather than energy efficient – the human version of laundry lines.

It was also brought up to me - although indirectly – how the area was being changed by the CFA’s. It was then that I realised that I was driving the ultimate townie machine – saw no Volvos parked around the houses when I was out.

Up early to get to the Clarenville for breakfast at Tim Horton’s - packed dinner but forgot breakfast – two Danish then what I thought a race to the junction of routes 230 and 2355 for the part of the area that I was interested in.

The plan up the Bonavista Bay side – more interesting - to Bonavista to wander then back to Catalina before heading home.

What kept the speeding in check was road construction just outside Georges Brook where I saw a ball park, then again at the Clarenville Airstrip which is used for drag racing.

A stop in Summerville for the church which was balanced by lobster pots and crates for shipping assuaging my worries that I was documenting only those things not in use anymore.

Also saw another saw mill which would be a recurring theme on the outing – came across more in Plate Cove and Stock Cove.
a minor delay here as i am at hava java and am in more shock than usual a starbucks is opening across the street and i have been going DSL crazy answering e-mails and chatting with someone whose work i respect Battery Radio - now ed has come and sat down.

My photographic process was pretty much inefficient. I am still in the mind set that I will hop out of the machine make a couple of snaps of the place then hop back in. Due to this I pick up ‘Bira, and the digital and head away – note to self when I am deported back to civilisation, remember to lock the car, here I leave it unlocked with the windows down.

This isn’t the case anymore. The times away from the machine are longer, I run out of film and at times go back for the Diana when I am feeling particularly moody.

I became the subject of curiosity when I kept returning to the machine in Plates Cove. Stopped at first due to the rooms close to the road and the ex-lax thermometer on the side of a garage, then found out that there was a saw mill and a mural, so returned for more film, then saw some new lobster pots so back for more film and a different camera – got me why the different camera – although completely different in temperament ‘Bira and Zequinho more or less interchangeable. I use Ubirajara for precise framing and Zequinho for snaps of people but now I am used to both and know where the edges are on both.

Then saw a man harvesting hay with a scythe – hence the John Berger reference – Into Their Labours, my version, Once in Bonavista – Cod Sea and To the Soiree. While de did the Newfoundland nod and I asked if I could head down on the path, I felt this not sufficient to make his snap and felt that if I did I would be more anthropologist than documenter –again an olde worlde habit by backwards people when I saw a man who looked half his age not contributing – unlike me – too global warming and almost zen like in the movement – very compact very close to the ground.

Went to photograph lobster pots – which I needed so that I wouldn’t be aiding the idea of the province as a lost cause steeped in its past. Then saw a gutting table, so needed to head back to the machine to pick up the Diana and more film.

All of a sudden there were three people in the field now more bemused by my comings and goings than their job two were cutting one was sharpening.

Back to the machine in case to get the digital and more film.

- how much film do you have? The one who was sharpening asked.
Ah the introduction I needed. We chatted.
From Baltimore. They’ve been there.
Were they clearing the field?
No hay for the horse.
Will this be enough for winter?

At this time the first guide dog of the day approached - a puppy - with his owner running behind him.

Started with the real camera, then made some digital of which I think the digital point and shoot were the best. I like the twin lens like waist level aspect. I can still carry on a conversation.

Joke a bit while the woman went down the path chasing her dog, they still astounded on the amount of snaps I was making and wondering if I would come back.

Headed onward and one would think that I would learn and carry the courier bag but no in Point Cove East I did the same thing and worse photographing the freshwater wading pool by the ocean. The pool being full of people threw me off.

Talked to two Upper Canadians one who was born there but left when she was three, a quick snap and went on kicking myself for I knew that could do better but this realisation only came when I got to King’s Cove.

Kings Cove and Stock Cove was pretty much alone but still didn’t take the bag- I chalk it up to some new exercise regimen – Newman’s Cove by far the least picturesque was the one that I liked the best.

The others were real coves that brings into question on of the debates on water – pond, inlet, open sea. Pond for its friendliness one can swim, fish and not worry about hyperthermia or riptides. Inlets are picturesque with the far shore in the background and the houses climbing the hills. There is usually a twisty road. Open Sea, however, there is no other side, there is an horizon line no things placed to let your eye wander – it goes to the horizon and then back to the shore.

This was Newman’s Cove. This is where the Bayman-Townie Skitching Residency would be – but then again the day before it would have been in Cappahayden.

Parked and walked the main drag photographing the sadness of all the shops that were closed, looking at all the places that could be bought with Canadian Tyre money but also seeing people out for the food fishery and a working harbour.

My precarious position and my worries about my status on the Rock were stated by a man, who stopped mowing his “lawn” to have a chat. He was born in the house. He now lived in Marystown (why?) and was selling it.

He had moved away some time ago and his father had let the house go. When he died, it was sold to someone who let it go and defaulted on the mortgage so he bought it back.

Now it is not feasible for him so he is going to sell it and put a camper on a lot overlooking the sea that he also owns.

His family had a deep history here – owned a shop knew everyone. Now there was only one convenience. The place was hardly self sufficient when at one time it was. We discussed the fact that the hope of areas like this will be as retirement communities and he pointed out some of the new residents – no need their houses didn’t fit in at all but there were quite well off. There were people who were better off than I had anticipated.

He also mentioned how the place has changed.
- with the people who used to be here I could walk through their yards as shortcuts but with these new people and their ideas of property I am not sure.

Felt sheepish hearing this as I was scoping out property – yeah right like I’ll ever move here – but proud that he could confide in ma about this.

Then showing concern about my photography told me to go down and ask the watermen if I could go out with the food fishery

-good photographs from out there. A two hour wander about the town – don’t know where the time went – escorted once again by a dog.

Spoke to a woman on her front porch – I wanted the porch empty when I went up but I hesitated.

Down to the launch where came up with a quicky book CONSTELLATIONS.

Bonavista was too big, I couldn’t focus and by now I wanted to get back to the fresh water pool in Point Cove East. Drove through not even stopping.

The same almost happened in Catalina but I went back to the place we were on Saturday, parked the machine and walked. Ran into the two lads selling painted rocks – bought one 25¢ - and photographed them. Then a boat launch some laundry lines, wood piles, bus shelters, root cellar, rooms, some formal stuff and more images for the quicky book. The battery in the digital was dieing and I thought – wrongly that I had brought another. So no digital snap of the kids as I wanted to photograph the pool in colour.

It was the perfect time of day, the sun low the temperature changing as it does when it is duckish, the sea on the Trinity Bay side was calm. The exposures were racing the setting sun.

Arrived at the pool and made a snap. Moved a bit to make another and …

Memory card full.

What it couldn’t be.

Checked again and yes the memory card was full. A panic edit so that I could get two more images. Thought as if I were using a plate camera, made an exposure.

Left. Saw another potential snap so another image was culled.

The cameras are put away and I look for a picnic table for my supper and decide to eat it pond side in Summerville a popular place to hang out as there is a stonehenge of Canadians. One more digital and film snap and this time for sure the cameras will go away and I eat.

A man and his daughter are walking along the pond.

Halfway into the picnic – British style in the machine – three cars and two dirt bikes pull up to have their evening meetings.

Don’t rush, finish my meal then start the journey back, but divert into Brooklyn as it was only three kilometres off the main road.

My last dog guide shows me around and there is just enough space on the memory card for a jpeg. Use the ‘Bira to make a snap of a bus shelter then see a gutting table below with the rising moon.

Then worrying it won’t come out go back to the machine to get more film and Zequinho for more attempts in the near dark, the dog now bored with my indecision.

bonavista bay

Cabinland

I try to be mature. I really do. When I was at Hava Java I had all these plans to market my work, do all those things that some people are desperate for me to do, but it simply doesn’t come.

As soon as I was finished with the cantaloupe, carrot, orange juice, I was thinking outing on this lovely day.

Not a large one but a leisurely one to clear the mind of those places I have been annotating that I should return to. Thought the wetlands along the Southern Shore only to where Route 10 heads inland after Cappahayden maybe as far as Chance Cove Park no further, and – why not – go via the Witless Bay Line for the cabins and mini barrens. Nothing special, something quick to work up to the reprieve from the land of the Bushwacked.

Peter mentioned a road in Cape Broyle that was rife with cabins.

The machine was loaded with the usual crowd. Am now taking a film shield bag on every outing although I never go through it all. Ubirajara now being the camera of choice when there are no people involved and when I absolutely have to know where the edge of the film is – was on the front seat. Am still bracketing and second guessing the meter readings still fearful that nothing will turn out.


Am surprised that I revisited Split Rock but did start the day off on an ironic note – a chip van that had broken down near the TCH – but most of the day was as irony free as I can get.

Along the road I seemed to focusing on isolation but more on voluntary isolation – cabins in the distance, empty, neglected corrals only big enough to hold one animal. Tried to photograph the
Water that would gather in the bogs but too much vegetation got in the way.

Empty cars with people in the distance picking bakeapples. Every thing seemed vacant.

Then I came to this caravan park that I had seen a couple of winters back and remarked upon every time I passed, and pulled in.

There were people everywhere. All out and enjoying the day. Felt sort of strange in the multitude so I parked the Volvo and went up to someone and asked if I could wander about a bit.

-yes sir wander at will take pictures, no problem.
Why do I like this place? South of the 49th there would the option of facing shotguns or having the police come up and tell me to move on.

Here there is curiosity, there paranoia.

Coldly, calculatingly, I realise that asking to wander gets me all sorts of information but it does slow down the process a bit.

It slowed it down to about three hours as I stopped and chatted with about everyone I met.

It seems that this is gravel pit cabin life where the lots are free so people come set up their caravans – school buses are popular - and spend the summer.

Some have been coming for 30 years – before the Witless Bay Line was built. There is a pond behind the camp and week-ends are the big times when there are bonfires and music. Most take their caravans away in come winter as there has been vandalism and some cabins have been burned but for the most part it is safe as everyone looks out for each other and it is quite the little village.

The Williams family – no relation to Danny - was waiting for the wife to finish planting as they wanted to head back to Bay Bulls to go fishing for cod. I was shown the gun he carved out of wood, invited me to see his boat on the pond behind the place and gave me some history of the place. He found it funny that his best friend was Harper.


Spoke to a woman who had been coming for 30 years and when the season is over detaches the caravan from the deck and drives off. It seems that there have been attempts to close the place down.

As I stated this was an irony free day as this place was rife for condescension, but the people really took pride in what they had and have made those who are less tidy clean up. I photographed those things where people tried to make their place seem like home and different from the others – lanterns, their decks, gardens etc.

Spent some time talking to Tom from Mount Pearl, who went around telling me where all the people came from – Mount Pearl, Bay Bulls, CBS, Paradise and St. John’s. He was in the pick up listening to the CB and had been to Baltimore, Margaret was in the caravan watching her soaps thanks to the generator. He wasn’t down on week-ends as he doesn’t drink or smoke.

When I thought that I had finished, buddy comes up to me and asks if I am with the government sent out here to see how dirty the place was and close it down.

-can a government official afford a Volv… then remembered the scandal and laugh.

He and his friend were long haulers, most wanted to know if I were a Newfoundlander and why I was alone.

I finally left at about three.

No problem, there was still time to do everything that I wanted and it not this was great. While making official photographs I was also photographing them with the digital as Paula Williams wanted me to send her the snaps. As they are close plan on printing them and dropping them off before I leave.

At times I worry about slumming but frankly prefer spending time here joking and chatting than with the crowd I am supposed to hang out with, while both seem to add to my knowledge of the province but here is seems more experienced than read about.

The rest of the road was negotiated without incident and was well into driving when I came to another road that I was curious about while racing by – another dirt road through better cottage country again people-less and less interesting as the houses along here were tasteful.

Photographed an aquaduct that was leaking so much water that it looked like a giant lawn sprinkler hose.

Back in the psyche of the open road was racing to get past Renews where the land really got interesting – except that for stops in Mobile - cabins – outside Brigus South – a pond, Acquaforte – the view. Renews – a basketball hoop and a multicoloured saltbox.

In truth, the real reason for the trip wasn’t all that great and even though I made it, if I depended on this for the images I would have been disappointed. I romanticised the area forgetting the barriers, I wanted the planes and wet areas but forgot that they are nearly impossible to get to and didn’t want shrubbery in the foreground.

The same happen with an erratic filled river. Great idea but without waders…

The trip back was to photograph these woodpiles that should be placed among the wonders of the woodpile world in Cappahayden and two drying nets somewhere around Cape Broyle – I miss them at 110 km/h and while there are times that I do back up 100 metres and more for some reason to-day I felt responsible.

Missed the turn off for Cappahayden but didn’t matter as there were these nice iconic images of southern shore populations.

Was greeted by a dog who knowing that I was a stupid human and didn’t speak dog – couldn’t even recognise his dialect – picked up a rock, chewed on it and dropped it at my feet.

Thought that a branch would be better – although rocks were easier to find. So I am trying to make snaps between the time the stick leaves my hand and the dog brings it back.

I must throw terrible as he finally goes off and I go on my way this time to be met by a smaller yappier dog who only wants to bark until I ignore her – the owner comes out to watch I ask some questions and all is well, spoke to a person who lost his keys – or locked them in his trailer.

I was photographing objects and juxtapositions

By this time the first dog thought it was time to give me a second chance and walked with me to the cliff where he climbed down and seem put off that I wouldn’t.

Headed back to be met by another dog – a yank – who owned some South Carolinians who had bought the land that their caravan was on. Bill came out to chat tell me about the trip up that this was their second year here and bought the land. She – Laura - wants to launch a house, he wants to build a new one. They love it here. I embarrassed her in coming out as it seems that the women hide in the cabins while the men folk come out to chat.

Took my leave to get down to the road with the good woodpile on it this one had a decent one but everything would now be a pale comparison to this one.

But not before one more time at fetch with the dog who now brought a friend and to make it interesting roll around in the only mud puddle - more mud than puddle – in sight.

A long throw and a dash in the machine passing buddy still looking for his keys.

What a wood pile tried to find the owner to ask but couldn’t he was having his tea and found me and said it was no problem. He asked where I was from and that he was from Eire family came over during the potato famine. Mentioned wayward Wisconsinite as the history seemed equal and mine wasn’t quite the same.

Invited me for a mug up the next time I was down. His dog kept his distance.

Photographed the nets found the road that Peter said that I should head down as it is cabin country for sure.

As It Happens was signing off as I unlocked the door.

while i prepare to-nights entry at the duke...

to-day's outing was brought to you by...

in the Witless Bay Line Gravel Pit Camp Site

the Williams - no relation to the primier

Paula Williams

Tom - Margaret his wife wouldn't leave the caravan

a woman who showed me her bakeapples

someone who thought i worked with the government
because the st. john's plates

his friend

in Cappahayden

Laura and Bill
up from South Carolina on their own land
Cecil who offered me tea.

and various guide dogs