I had resigned the fact that it would be mop up day, washing clothes, arranging files, printing out images to leave, and short wanders about the city.
Heading down to Hava Java it was cool, heading back up Pleasant Street it was quite warm.
Seemed like a good time for another road trip so with clothes in the drier and a damp sweatshirt just in case knowing that it would dry along the way set out once again to hit the area around St. Vincent’s once again – Gannet watching and I wanted to photograph Peter’s River. Looked a perfect day for it. Finally no cold and no fog, me in half sleeves.
The fog returned just outside Cappahayden as did the chill not the really dense mauze of the day before I could still go 100km/h but a very wet fog.It was definitely not the weather for which I was dressed.
This time the Interpretive Centre for Holyrood Pond was open, brief chats with the people there then back to Peter’s River the last sighting of the Gannets where I headed into town, trying to remember what I found interesting the night before.
The sweatshirt was still damp but the wind – one where one has to hold on to just about everything – tried to dry it while I walked – a competition between the heavy mist and the wind.
A day of photographing objects, large objects houses, St Anne’s, wood piles, a day of photographing juxtapositions, a day of making sure that I wasn’t prying as the most interesting places were those that could be misconstrued as trying to make the province look bad – less than pristine façades, buildings scattered about the property, the clothes line and animals. In context with what I am doing it would have been fine but the people here wouldn’t have seen the context.
Photographed community buildings.
Walked to the edge of town by the ocean where there looked like there was either a fishery or a fortification – by now it was in ruins – neglect and fire. Walked it but wasn’t really interested in it.
Made my way back to the machine where the Wisconsinite was waiting – the gannets had disappeared.
To the Interpretive Centre for tea – after I photograph some post boxes along the way – was thinking … (dot dot dot).
The place was packed with other tourists, who thinking it was the free buffet bar at Cracker Barrel had descended on tea table decimated rhubarb preserves taken all the crockery and left only two tea buns. The Wisconsite elbowed her way in and secured them – evil stares begin.
After they had left implying that we didn’t pay for our tea, the people – teenagers – who worked there stopped and chatted for a good amount of time - in fact past closing.
Outport life, aspirations, the exotic of other locals, their first pay cheque.
Another go at the beach at St. Vincent’s. heavy damp fog, photographed things left realising that the point and shoot digital has replaced the pinhole as I can get extraordinarily close with both.
Caplin, seaweed, party favours, broken lines until the battery went, the damp having me constantly cleaning the lens.
Leaving when it is duckish wary of another trip through the barrens in the fog, which now seemed like a piece of cake.
Pick up a hitchhiker outside Cape Broyle who is heading into St. John’s – with hindsight wondered if it was so that we wouldn’t have to listen to the inane summer programming on the CBC. He was certainly optimistic as at that time of night the cars are few and far between.
Life, food, outports v. town, jobs, the dream and reality of the rock, diversions, wanting to stay although it is more profitable to leave.
Again another lesson of the rock that surfaces at unexpected times, The tragic. His girlfriend had died two years ago due to an infection from a piercing in town, he has two children who now live with her mother who blames him for the death. Light heartedness that turns tragic but where he is trying hard to take it as being part of life.
Drop him off me thinking that the “function” in town is probably over and being thankful for my anti-social tendencies
.jpg)
No comments:
Post a Comment