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.
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