Wednesday 31 December 2008

michigan avenue mosey


the first time i headed to the south side it was with a friend from beloit whose sister lived in kenwood - wherever that was. remember getting down from the greyhound and taking the number 1 bus down passing my uncle’s house but also empty lots, vacant and boarded shops and bars on any window where someone lived. when we walked into kenwood, i said that when the next riots come people won’t have to go far. down the block from l’s house lived elijah mohammed, mohammed ali and now supposedly barack obama. it was the first time i encountered burglar alarms.

i remember getting down from the el at tech 35 heading up to teach in the i.d. and being told that the glass in the windows overlooking the robert taylor homes were bullet proof waist level down. i found this a pity as the south side always seemed more interesting than the north when i would venture down and then there was hyde park.

i did walk across 87th street - state street to the lake in 2000.

so when i said that i would meet someone at the southside community arts centre. i thought of walking. walking for many reasons. while winter isn’t bad it is convincing myself of that. when people say how horrible it is and seem to be one step removed from hypothermia. the morning walk from the train to the world’s third greatest art school wasn’t promising, my fingers were yellow from the cold the bald spot, stinging. i also hadn’t been on a wander for sometime.

it was a wander of curiosity and arrow straight, i was heading down michigan avenue not deviating from the street 38 blocks. curiosity as looking south now one can see the new utopiaville being built between the green line and the lake. while west of the loop there are tall buildings here it seems that chicago is trying to imitate hong kong with the highrises.

chicago is always trying to imitate something - what originality the city had is no longer apparent. i was looking for the transition from the brave new city into the old black one. it was further south than i thought, chess records is now surrounded by urban pioneers in fake loft like buildings. the chicago defender building boarded up awaiting the defender lofts. odd how these new living areas in the city feel like suburbs, no one out, no shops with anything useful to the neighbourhood - unless everyone is over 20 stone and need their nails done. everything is so regular and regulated that if one came across something by chance one would suspect that it was placed there for that effect.

my search for the local didn’t happen, crossing the stevenson while it was definitely more tawdry, there was now a buffer of mercy hospital, a car dealership and the i.d. what few people i met greeted me. it was only when i passed 35th that remnants of the old southside tried to appear - a store front church, mansions alternating with vacant lots but then there was the dunkin’ donuts. one last outing with the leiquinha as the term is over i can head back to the usual suspects. not a good one to end on as snaps were forced. made more poking around the art centre than on the walk.

Sunday 21 December 2008

history by default

thought that the scars had healed enough to finally work on some negs from the now more distant past. the negs were from the overreaching project run by a person so incompetent and self loathing that he could have a promising career as a minor dean in institution of higher education. i would have made nice income as one of the official staff but i couldn’t take the rampant stupidity of the person running it. the great plans for this archive ended up moulding in a basement of a college somewhere in the area.

i was pursuing what has and still interests me borders - as everything had to be done within the city limits,i was heading to where chicago stopped - and long walks of wonder.

it was on one wonder chosen in my usual illogical way - a walk across 87th street in chicago from the dan ryan east to the lake. it was a street i had never been down in an area where most would supposedly feel nervous - don’t know why except that it is on the south side.

it was february.

in trying to be systematic, and actually finish a project, was going through the sheets one by one when i came across this.

another reason why film trumps digital.
the image is not interesting at all, the only reason it was kept as it is attached to other negs and to cut it out would be more trouble than it is worth. if it were a digital file from someone who has been trained on a digital camera i wonder if it wouldn’t have been deleted soon after the image was taken. history wouldn’t have been allowed to build up around the image.

i didn’t know who obama was and while the neg beside this one had another political poster - and there were quite a few placards for politicos in the series, don’t even know if i made the snap due to that or if i was feeling particularly atget that day and wanted the penetrating light and needed something in the foreground.

now though there is this time based ping pong - what i know now what i saw but didn’t know then. the peripheral coming to the forefront. ironically this is one of the things photography because of its ease does so well - although fewer and fewer people with artistic pretensions for the medium actually deal with it - as at one time remnants were kept because it was easier than discarding them. now photography being made even more user friendly, the documenting of history by default is being obliterated by the wee trash can ikon on every camera.

Monday 15 December 2008

my 35mm paradox



with my want for slow photography i go for the usual suspects – exceedingly large camera, alternative usually iron based processes and the hope for sun. it works. there is slowing down at every part of the process which implies time to think and with the degree of difficulty a better chance of editing – is this neg really worth the time i will have to devote to it.

oddly though the slowest time for me is 35mm. while wandering the streets and note taking everything works smoothly, i experiment, don’t fear the blur, almost question nothing. development is also more straight forward as i don’t go for the overly toxic versions – choosing hc-110 to pmk pyro.

things screech to a halt when i head to the darkroom. with images from the hernia inducing cameras as well as the medium formats i head down and blissfully print with little problems. it is slow – tests, develop – repeat until satisfied – but steady.

the 35mm hand camera slowness is due not to the above but to dust, water spots etc. when working in the large formats it seems i that can drop and trample on the film and still print with little problems – admittedly with the hernia inducing cameras it is more due to the iron based processes than the cleanliness of the film but even they are more defect free.

with 35mm i get as close to a clean room mentality as is possible when i am processing – good wash – precise photoflo measurements , squeegee with webril pads – and still they look as if they were developed using water from the late lamented bubble of st. john’s harbour.

it has nothing to do with the relative size of the formats as looking at the films there is more gunk on the base of the 35mm film.

i am guessing that this is yet another reason why i have trouble with 35mm. not only are there too many images for me to edit at one time – i have the same problem with digital files thus the reason for the lack of images from this past summer’s version of clarke’s beach, i cannot break them down into manageable sections – but once chosen the amount of time needed to prepare them for enlarging. it causes an extreme version of editing – choosing nothing. the 15 week experiment with 35 is coming to an end i wonder if i’ll actually do anything with them or will they be archived until some date in the future which will turn into never.

Tuesday 9 December 2008

headed out to give some of the snaps i made - buddy at clark and congress and the people at graziano’s. the first image i was pretty proud of the second not so much. when making the snap i had the lens that places an aura around people when photographing contre-jour on the leiquinha. i made an inkjet print to prove that i did make something but went to photograph him again.

even though i combed the area, buddy at clark and congress wasn’t there, a wander over to randolph street the long way as i thought i would also get culture. photographed some movers, made some other snaps and confirmed that there is no reason for a gallery like flatfile to exist outside of a tourist resort.

headed to pick up my sandwich and hand over the snap and pick up my veggie hoagie. was recognised and was asked to make snaps of the people making my sandwich, then handed in the snap to what i guessed was the owner of the shop, apologising for the quality and if buddy were there offered to make another.

buddy comes in loving it and wants a photograph of him with his father. take out the digital not wanting to have another disaster and so that can show them immediately what happened. made two as the sony has this quirk where the lens hood casts a giant shadow over the bottom third of the snap. made another without flash as i wanted more of an atmosphere. the father said that the son did everything, we chatted about parmesan cheese - like eating it straight - so we had a cheese tasting. got the sandwich and said i’d be back with the snaps.

there is a reason that i hate digital cameras - all digital cameras. i assume things from dealing with film that aren’t the case with digital. with film there would have been enough light to make the snap in the shop digitally it sounded fine but i forgot that it defaults to iso100. the atmospheric image was blurred. i cannot see the screen without spectacles so i use it for composition not for piddly bits. while the snaps of the people making the sandwiches were fine, the two of buddy and his father were flawed.
so i head back over first chance i get - a rainy chilly day - to give them the decent snaps and to show them what had happened and to offer to do it again. wondered how digital slrs work in the wet. arriving, the shop is closed due to a death in the family. try to squeeze the snaps under the door but no luck will have to head back. finally during the excessively long lunch period, i mosey over to the shop - like mosey and am upset that william least heat-moon used it first.

the son sees me coming up the street and greets me, inside the preparers ask about their snaps. i express my condolences for the death. as i am ready to hand him the photographs, he says that it was his father. hesitate a moment then hand him the image. he’s grateful, i feel sheepish as all i worried about was the quality he is only concerned about the memories, i still apologise. he thanks me and asks me if i need anything say no as i have to head back as i plan to photoshop the dark lens shade shadow out of the other image.









Sunday 30 November 2008

boyceville


i don’t think twice about spending months in villages of 100 people a good hour from the main road. wandering about i want to stop and spend some time along the port au port peninsula where while the population isn’t quite as sparse, the main city is a good two hours away. heading up to boyceville - well five miles outside of boyceville fills me with dread.

i try to understand this irrationality but cannot. i think it has to do with smaller places on the rock are more self sufficient but boyceville is that typical small town in the states - not far from a larger city - menomonie - made famous by as it happens turning it into the u.s. version of reading - but deemed worthy of a city by having a wal-mart. in boyceville one has the choice of cable-less television from eau claire and st. paul / minneapolis - only 90 minutes away.

it would seem that this would trump - deer lake corner brook but no. i am drawn to minnesota’s north shore. i want to drive and stay in dawson city so while i like being at the end of a road, there are places isolated places that are on the way to someplace else. i can only place this dread of this particularly empty space as there being no compensation for it. places that i seem to be interested in are due to actually seeing people out and about. what is lacking in amenities is made up with human interaction boyceville seems a ghost town.

there were signs that there were people about - a chair outside an open door of a factory - the designated smoking area - machines outside the gas bar, real people outside a church having their wedding portraits taken - but i imagined them racing back inside as soon as possible. five miles outside of town it was bleaker - a minor film still like moment as at the intersection of two dirt roads as a pickup stops to chat with someone walking a dog. a lone cyclist passes.

at times i worry that being the imperialist photographer that i am, i seem to need a lot of space and am interested in how little area i would need before i would feel that there was nothing left to photograph. i once i worried about the island of newfoundland as it could be too small now i have lessened my land grab to say bell island. but here with infinite space i found myself feeling more limited, more trapped. i felt that this had to do with the dependence on a machine to get about but i had one.

i can only go back to lifestyle. i attribute my lack of interest of the boycevilles of the world due to it being an interior world - a life based around being in the house. when the world outside is mentioned there is a danger involved - the badger sets along the driveway and a neighbour being chased by one, the chance of encountering bear - one goes out when absolutely necessary. so even on an abnormally and exceedingly warm november day most didn’t leave the living room. i paced the long driveway.

Saturday 22 November 2008

one upped by a painter

on the 4:13 back up to peasants pissoir while trying to make a dent in the backlog grantas to be read - the economic downturn has fewer people reading and discarding their new york times on their ride home - amidst the lasalle street types and the kenoshans calling it a day, an i-podded art student is working away two seats from me on the upper deck.

at highland park he leans across the breach and hands buddy on the other side the sheet of paper he was working on. buddy - whom i recognise as he gets down in winthrop harbour - seems puzzled not knowing what to do with it.

-you can have it - the art student says. it seems that it is a drawing of buddy.
-i am going to throw it away if you don’t want. buddy stares at it a bit and tries to find a way of not folding the paper as the student packs to leave the train.

Friday 21 November 2008

obamarama day

on obamarama day, it being a nice sunny oddly sultry day for november, packed joãozão and ziquinho into the machine and headed out. i had spent one globally warmed november day trapped making slides and i knew if i didn’t take advantage of this one...well actually nothing would have happened as i tend toward days around 10c for wandering. i had to break what was becoming a pattern of not bothering to head out for perceived lack of time.

i was going to head along route 16 to route 19 to find this old amusement park before heading into madison having a coffee out in the back garden of zoma either before or after i headed over to the big o’s place standing out and staring until he showed his face. didn’t want to take an interstate as i needed to get back into the habit of stopping, and i seemed to remember the towns along the way being somewhat interesting.

windows down, blugrass from wort alexander cockburn saying that if one were really brave a madisonian would put out a palin sign.

a bit of a culture shock, i catch myself nodding to people as i pass, but forgetting that this is rural wisconsin, find that people do stop to talk and aren’t filled with the paranoia across the state line in illinois. i also forget that i cannot simply park anywhere as i pull off the road into a carpark that once out of the machine and across i notice parking only with permit sign. stopped in waterloo to wander the town - empty except for a few voters,

-where is everybody?
-out at the outlet mall in johnson creek.

watched the obama signs increase as i neared dane county

stopped outside marshall for the amusement park thinking that i’ll be chased off the grounds but no ask if i can have a look and buddy shrugs as he goes back to fixing his ride.

closed for the season but just closed i wander by rides that i thought has disappeared decades ago as they simply weren’t big or scary enough to-day - a wooden racer dip, bumper boats, go cart track.

not racing but it still being early wonder if i can push the outing. why stop at madison, there are sights to be seen farther afield, i was curious about the dells, baraboo, but while i knew that getting there wouldn’t be a problem leaving would be as there would be just one more thing to photograph.

settled on the free ferry across lake wisconsin a lame attempt to recreate the crossing during the navegatio. more back roads with the windows down but now there were curves and hills more towns but now smaller and less self sufficient

pulled up as the ferry was leaving parked and waited watching to see if the cable tensioned al all, some snaps of the closed concession and seeing the park, decided to be a foot passenger.

i am sure in summer this is quite aggravating as the ferry is part of the state route system and while the crossing is maybe 10 minutes there is only one boat. now though it was simply an extension of the slow roads that i was on. six cars a motorcycling couple and me boarded after one car and six bicyclists disembarked.
spent two ferry crossings photographing merrimac mixing objects and cheesy formalism people in the bar at the crossroads craning their necks to see what i was interested in before taking the slow diagonal route back to the outskirts of madison and a race down I-90 hoping that i would still be light along the rock - walworth county frontier where the land the once again flat the roads straight and you and can hear the air.

Tuesday 18 November 2008

Saturday 15 November 2008

i have been a bit frustrated with my plans for the time when i wasn’t seeing grad students on friday, i was to pick an area of chicago and wander - something that i did with ease when i wasn’t doing it as a project - but haven’t been able to bunch the therapy sessions so that i have chunk of time where i can explore.

i do like carrying the leiquinhas as the cameras du jour when i do go a wandering. in fact i have been making it a point of having it on me when i pass through the homeland security wgas style and enter the wide world - even if i am only in transit between the ivory towered buildings. not only are they carried but visible and at the ready - which draws a lot of stares for while photography is talked about a great deal actual picture making is rare.

as a result when i conjecture about a potential picture i actually see if i am correct or not. i not only wonder but also experiment. this brings back the time when i had to walk between wgas and uic at lunch where i would try to take a different path. i am starting to notice light, patterning, surreal juxtapositions and as i don’t take it seriously, i don’t hesitate to let the film fly. i have even stopped on the way to wgas immigration/passport control put down the courier bag, dug out the leiquinha and made snaps.

the hardest part of this has been when i do head out on “official” rambling where i would normally carry joãozão for the detail and to feel like a real photographer. this is the reason why i only bring the leiquinhas as it is either one of them or nothing. while i haven’t been able to make it to say albany park or beverly,there have been walks to the west loop for lunch and trying to find some galleries, has produced not only snaps but again snaps of people - movers who have dared me to make a snap, the person who made my sandwich at graziano where i have photographed everyone there and been given samples of cheese. returning for another sandwich means i leave another snap. even in the loop i am prone to taking long ways to destinations, linger at corners, and walk on the side of the street where the sun penetrates windows.

it is still difficult for me to look at the results of 35mm film - so many images and they are so small on proof sheets. i, now, don’t worry about the image quality falling apart as i have lost interest in making large snaps and find engagement with my surroundings much more interesting.

Friday 31 October 2008

take it easy...





but take it, studs.

Tuesday 28 October 2008

Friday 24 October 2008

excuses

so i wonder, while i am on the train, why didn’t i make his snap while i was talking to him. thought about it had my hand on the leiquinha in the bag but raced off. still had plenty of time to make the train but i feared that i would talk so long that i would have to race for it. didn’t think about it – the snap – at first it came when talking about invisibility. photographically it had potential – a night portrait on the streets with the security of the instant review of a digital slr. would have control my breathing, slowly squeeze the shutter and repeat if necessary. he wasn’t going anyplace he was in a wheel chair. my excuses were had the leiquinha which is disrespectful to people. i want something larger, slower levelling the vulnerability factor between the subject and me. it was night and i had a train to catch. but i was showing him disrespect by not treating him as i would anyone – nearly – that i run into. we chatted so a photograph – or at least an attempt at one – should have been the result. in not doing so i – unbeknownst to him – treated him with the same invisibility that he was bemoaning when people pass and not see him. i added to the justifications of my actions that i don’t want to photograph the homeless, disabled as i don’t want people to find fault and thus justification for their situation – no wonder he’s…-you can see why she’s… i regularly run into another homeless buddy, we chat, joke, i dip into his cup of change and pocket some quarters, give him a dollar and ask for change etc. but never raised a camera. i have a preference for their belongings, it leaves more to the imagination it also extends the awareness of them without their physical presence. but he wasn’t homeless he was buddy – forgot his first name – representing only himself. in the end it comes down to my guilt as to why the shutter wasn’t opened. to-day brought joãozão and between making grad students cry i race over to the customs house to see if i can find him and he remembers me. crossing state street i see him in his usual spot, a bus passes and he is gone. walk up look down the streets and find him chatting with a worker in a read doorway. he yells out a greeting, remembers me from last night. say that spoke to him last night and when i speak to people i have to make a snap. – sure. bend down to make one, with the leiquinha, in the alley as i want to be lower than he. make two. he says let’s head back to where we were last night and he wheels to congress and clark. make two more with joãozão one with a woman walking one where she dodges out of the way. getting up a taxi honks and the driver hands him a wad of money - i see what you mean. we chat longer when two more cabbies honk and put their hand out with cash in it. – yeah blacks won’t give me the time of day but these africans… not wanting to hinder his cash flow say good-bye and head back to the building where i.d’s are scanned to keep these type of people out.

Thursday 23 October 2008

congress and clark


turned down a ride to the train as it was too early, i like to wander, finding different routes, putting the leiquinha to use something that cannot happen in the mobile isolation unit of a machine.
– you just yawned but you can’t be a tired as i am been out here since 9am and made nothing, a one armed, one legged man said as he was wheeling his away toward me at clark and congress.
– jeezus no wonder who is out here? does anyone walk along congress? why don’t you get to a train station.
-turf wars, too many people fighting over their space. you know if one black man cannot help another what’s a black president going to do. if it weren’t for the african taxi drivers.
– hey, leave the guy alone, says buddy crossing the street – he talks crazy but he’s my cousin. we shake hands exchange names.
he continues with obama and how he’d vote for mccain if it weren’t for biden who came from workers where you going he yells at his cousin now crossing clark buddy signals something.
oli passes on his bike, calls out somewhat perplexed.
– most people won’t look at me.
– i try to nod.
– yeah then i know i am not invisible.
– we don’t look because we’re embarrassed by you, embarrassed that you are still around.
– embarrassed because they know it could be them but you’re right. his cousin pipes in. i am introduced to a worker at the boutique hotel and i take my leave.
– come around to-morrow.
- can’t am rarely over here work in the park.
– what church you go to?
– don’t live around here when you are back down head over to the customs house i’m always here. leave with his cousin who is chasing after a beemer with a punctured tyre, wishing i had made his snap and wondering why not.

Sunday 19 October 2008


i drove to get the papers because it was raining. pulling out of the circle and turning left i noticed that things looked strange. closing one eye everything looked fine. the other was missing a contact. strange. bought the paper came back to look in the machine and around the house finding nothing.

35 years of wearing contact and losing nothing then in three years i am down to my backup. having to buy new ones, tuesday i head into to be fitted for new ones. the usual jokes i cannot see the chart without my lenses, with them i can read the bottom line. he verifies this then starts the fast paced multiple choice quiz - is this better or this - here it was “number one or number two”.

he seemed to be taking more time than i remember. i also noticed that nothing was really improving my sight. he told me to rest my eyes a bit and we would start again in about 20 minutes. read an article in smithsonian trashing jeff wall.

back for round two and again nothing was really improving. he went out to make a phone call. it seems that my eyes had moulded to the hard lenses - from decades of wearing - and that the corneas were changing as he was measuring them. i needed to have my eyes rest before he could get a decent reading. there were two options wear one lens and let one eye rest then do the same for the other eye. five weeks an eye. or i could dump the lenses he would fit me with spectacles and the process would take only five weeks.

i opted for the second.

problem here was that he could only correct my vision to 20/60. to be able to drive it has to be 20/40. heading home would be interesting. found it somewhat ironic that i would be teaching photography blind. however, would bike to the train and in chicago i walk everywhere. my close up vision was fine i could read and look at snaps i simply couldn’t recognise people on the street.

the spectacles gave me headaches and in truth weren’t better than not wearing them objects looked clearer but there was fringing and fun house distortion without them out of focus but none of the other aberrations. the spectacles were only a benefit at night. i preferred the out of focus world, i started to recognise people via their actions and posture. taught with no problem, didn’t like the fact that i couldn’t drive.

still wandered with the leiquinhas - again as viewfinders rely on near vision and rangefinder cameras don’t require perfect vision as the determination of distance is more mathematical. it seemed that i noticed details better which seems counter intuitive.

it was depressing though, a week into this i was wondering how i would make it five weeks. i am of the opinion that if it ain’t broke don’t fix it. my corneas had to return to their natural state after years of hard lenses but with those lenses and my mutant corneas, i could read text at great distances, now they are hoping for 20/20.

Wednesday 15 October 2008

nightly helicopter search
light over upper park heights
avenue

3am gun fire somewhere along
reisterstown road

man urinating in the bush at
the mount washington
light rail station as
commuters pass

beaver trying to climb a wall
in westport

ah baltimore

Tuesday 14 October 2008

walker's wander

i can tell when i am not disciplined as indecision sets in. i was to meet the trotsky of the tute in exile from the stalinist purge from the puppet leader of the department and her minion. hadn’t spoken in some time as i didn’t want to rehash school matters in front of him when he was now free - rancourous but free - and on to better things. he told stories of departments that were enthusiastic and engaged. the indecision came in as i was trying to choose what i was going to the walker’s wander.

actually i as indecisive about everything - the train to catch as i didn’t want to have to race to his place but didn’t want to go too long without coffee. i had determined that this semester was to be that of the 35mm when in cities and i had become quite good at only bringing the leiquinhas when i headed down to the school of archaic ideas in creativity i have even disciplined myself to stop even laden with all the modern didactic paraphernalia. this was different, although i wanted to start “note-taking” this was when i left the little ones at home and brought out the big’uns.

did decide on the leiquinhas, more or less telling myself not to head places where i would regret leaving joãozão behind -alleys, busy street corners anything that would hint at urban formalism. the leiquinhas were the cameras of things. surprisingly the day went fluidly images seemed to present themselves. i once again noticed that i situate myself closer with the leiquinhas than with anything bigger.

it was also nice to be cleansed of the lethargy of the state of anarchic indecisive challenges. down ashland diverting to see where an former inmate lived some snaps of what people had in front of their houses. quite a few snaps when back on ashland of the yet unopened businesses on the west side of the avenue, light streaming in. it was that magic time of the day too early for the businesses to be open but too late for the last prostitutes. i used the penetrating light at a restaurant at ashland and north, a bit early so wandered a bit more than as usual realised that i really wasn’t that early and walked with determination toward the safe house which meaned that now i saw more things to photograph which had me stopping even more frequently.

i tried my best not to talk of the asylum but it seems that lacking a life outside it makes for long silences when i try to think of other topics. wandered he neighbourhood as it was monday and it seems that people in bucktown don’t eat at the beginning of the week.

afterwards there was just enough time to make the train out of chicago if i walked with a purpose to the stop at clybourn, which i did except for the street furniture in wood street and the remnants of the homeless underneath the arches of the kennedy. my method of walking being photographic wind sprints. walk with purpose to make time to stop a bit to have a look repeating this with more urgency as both the station and the time become nearer.

Monday 6 October 2008

so i am back feeling more like a dinosaur at the school of efficient art production. it seems that to be bothered less in the lab they are making sure there are no choices. all the printers now will have inkjet paper in them and to make a print one will simply swipe their i.d, be charged and make a print. the option of the human element in this will be the choice of a generic - glossy, lustre or matte paper. this lengthens the passivity in making a photograph to the entire school experience here. already in intro to photo students to make prints of their images place them into a folder and hit print. there are no options in the printing method and the snaps are done on the cheapest paper possible. now while they will have the option the time at the ‘tute can now be spent with printing being command p. my anachronistic self feels that an art school is all about options and even in a school that touts itself as conceptual - which usually hides the lack of ideas behind bad technique - it seems that the object is still important, to turn a department into a fancy walgreens one hour photo-finishing plant - seems to be against the idea of options. there will be two printers in the department left open so that people can use their choice of papers - and it seems that these printers will be free - so it means that either these two printers will be booked all semester long or the student not knowing how to work epson printers, will be used only for my class in the making of inkjet negatives. my feelings of superfluousness comes not from the policies of the department, but from the actions of the students. even though the new intro to photo is reviled by everyone who has taken it, there doesn’t seem to be a rebellion and a flocking to the analogue classes. people in them say they like the darkroom - although fewer and fewer have been in one but don’t like the frustrations it brings. manipulations is still full but most in the class are printmakers who want to expand their options then those who think direct contact - versus sitting in front of a computer screen - and options are romantic. i am guessing that most will never use their hands again to make snaps. my fear the department is correct and i am wrong due to the fact that no one was in the wet labs, no one seemed to have anything to develop from the summer - well except for baleful the steward and while this really isn’t telling yet, there were only a couple of people at computer stations and they were checking e-mail, i can only see the downward slide from last year. last year there was a hope though for while the wet was declining there was a compensation with inkjets by people making books and series. this may be nullified by the drive toward the generic that seems to be official policy in the department. it is pretty hard to make something small when the roll paper is 17 inches wide.

Saturday 4 October 2008

re-entry has been harder than usual and it is usually hard. i thought that it was going to relatively easy as i really didn’t get a chance to feel that i was living on the rock - even in the familiar settings of martin and gabrielle’s in pouch cove and the relatively quotidian ritual of walking elke’s dog.
it was - i feel - the missed rituals. coffee at hava java, montréal bagels from georgetown - didn’t make it to christina parker’s, early evening when i would see the regulars while reading the globe at the duke
it was also due - i think - of having people from the lower 48. i thought that it would be trouble free as i wasn’t depressed when the ferry docked in north sydney. i still had the urge to explore - impossible as there we did have to make some time.
i even liked maine. the shock this time was societal - which is strange as i don’t think that i have been with a group of yanks more afraid of the world outside in some time. doors were constantly being locked, windows drawn. it was when openness and curiosity was supplanted by defensiveness and suspicion. the coke machine at a layby in connecticut that took my dollar but the people working there wouldn’t take responsibility showing a sign on a machine no place close to the one that i used saying that i had to contact some company which they then refused to give the number. it was further on outside hartford where taking a snap of a bar patio that the owner comes running out screaming “who are you with?” the shock was go great that i missed ding dong ditch possibilities in new haven and in nyc and when i gained my senses also didn’t bother in north linthicum.
it was made worse heading to the wgas - i have to change this as it lost this dubious status - to find that there no one who shared my interests. i found that i was more excited talking to a security guard who has been dedicated to street photography for 30 odd years who has a real book coming our on south side baseball than anyone in the department, i know that i would have more fun with the coombs of portugal cove south than those here who broaden their experiences third hand. the chair and her mascot, named after the second part of the province, in a purge that would make stalin blanche, not only fired someone invested in the school but also wiped out everything that made the department function - a year erased. it seems that art here no longer will be about experimentation and options as they have streamlined the digital process by loading the printers with generic papers where students will swipe their i.d be charged to make prints. which is fine in a department where the new “direction” is to talk about photography as a cultural phenomenon rather than a device for exploration. week three and the labs are empty. being back used to be softened by those few people with whom who debate would happen. with the new direction i count the weeks until i can escape.

a clarification

to those of you getting the new hard copy version of yyt what i meant by it being off line was that it was not also off line. i reckoned that the guardian, the globe and mail and jornal do brasil all have hard copies why not the blog - only in my usual way doing it backwards. there will still be entries available on the world wide web but they - like the papers will be versions of the hard copies and arrive when i am sure that those who receive the off line version have done so - since it is international i am guessing a weeks delay.

this always happens at this time of year when returning to the asylum, the blog isn’t as necessary, it was set up for write people from away when it was difficult to get hold of the usual writing tools for a pixture postcard. i always came back to it do to lack of time - read laziness - in corresponding with people. digital snap, downloaded with a passage and away i go. i would do it at midnight before heading to sleep.

listening to my evil twin and my pocket book, i have cut back on my postings but need things tangible and need to not do everything in front of the computer. the pressure of balancing everything meant that what i liked to do was losing out. i realised this when i stopped racing for the post and started ordering a lot of books so that there would be something there for me.

working away from the computer is restful, it is quiet time. being in the darkroom means i can only listen to the wireless or think, constantly searching the web for something to do. the deadline changed. it was no longer writing at night but making sure things were done before the post went out. while there is an anticipation time and space, writing it at midnight in newfoundland meant that maybe night owls on the east coast would read it but west coast blogaholics would most likely be reading it about the time that i wrote it. with the post there is the wait for the hint of acknowledgement. so with glitches as i am about three weeks behind on both the on-line and off-line versions - i am back to my preferable manner of communication.

Wednesday 27 August 2008


The mantra from the crew when heading out for another morning of exploring was – is there another road that we can go along.

Nope.

The province is like this there is one road to where you want to go – well once out of the greater St. John’s area. There is the possibility of making a circular trip but there are no options on what route. Trepassey? Route 10. Corner Brook? The TCH. Woody Point? Route 431.

I also realise that at times it could be quite frustrating, Route 20 to Pouch Cove but the lack of options went without notice. There was a reassurance of marking distance by familiar points passed and their change over time coupled with the amount of roadside attractions – Best Friends Restaurant in Cape Broyle, the Last Supper Mural, the erratics of the Gambo River.

Because of this I wondered why another road was needed when I felt that I hadn’t really seen Route 430 enough, the fishing areas still within the park, the towns along the road, the lobster pot storage area north of Port au Choix. I did note that I hated the trip between Rocky Harbour and Woody Point but this was more from me wanting to get to the turn off rather than anything really wrong with the road. It was the western equivalent of Route 20 – one day I’ll stop along that when not in a hurry to get into town or out to Pouch Cove.

Hitting the States, I noticed this urge to see what the optional routes would be like as I realised that there were options. I am sure that there were options once I left the island especially once off Cape Breton but I only realised this once I saw U.S. 1 in Calais Maine and realised that it was the same road that passed the house where I was born.

Here in the States there is a history of road “improvements” that don’t necessarily widen the existing road but build a new one that more or less parallels it at a reasonable distance. In this case U.S. 1 and I-95. Being more efficient, however, the newer roads are stripped of all things interesting.

Taking State Road 9 from Calais to Bangor, I saw old motels, non chain restaurants, towns. Needs were spaced due to some organic growth rather than some formula for rest stops along the interstate. Maine is particularly telling heading north along I-95 there is a sign warning travellers of the last 24 hour gasbar along the toll road. It takes some time before one realises it doesn’t mean no gasoline will be available - as the warning entering Route 480 to Burgeo states - that it simply means that one will have to leave the road to refuel.

I felt tempted and frustrated playing tag with the US routes – 40, 20, 6. I know that it would have made re-entry back into the States better if I had the time to use them.

Monday 18 August 2008

-When are you leaving? the CFA asks.
-To-morrow but the ferry really isn’t until 3:30AM Monday. Plan on taking my time down and seeing places on the way so that i don’t have the Halifax hustle equivalent here. Plan on seeing places between here and the ferry. Maybe head back over to the Isle aux Morts area. Any suggestions?

Can’t make it to Hawley?
No retracing of steps, i cannot be tempted with heading away from the ferry as i may never turn around.
Bay of Islands.
Barachois Brook
Port au Port and Cap St. Georges
No no Cape Spear is the eastern most point of the the Island. Cape Anguille is the western most point. I’d do that it has significance it will be something of note and since you cannot do all of them.
Well that blows my romantic idea of the toilet over the Gulf of St Lawrence as being the most western one.

We did all of them - well sped by Barachois Brook.

For some reason the crew were up early and we were well on our way before the designated 10:30 departure time. Dropped the remains of our food with the poor Bayman and the CFA, i headed for a pond in Norris Point to make a snap of the swimming buoys - don’t think it worked as the waves were too rough and it was drizzling.

So not to have to race to the ferry, i gave myself a time limit on each of the diversions done - complicated mathematical equation taking the distance to the ferry dividing that by 80 then adding construction time.

All of the diversions took longer than i had anticipated but none went over the time needed to get to the ferry but this had more to do with me not stopping, how frustrating it was to see all these potential snaps and simply have to hope that there will be a next time. In most places it would be almost useless to drive as it seemed that everything was fitting into place - Lark’s Harbour, The Port au Port peninsula. I now know that i have a definite attraction to places at the end of the road. So much so that not only if there is a next time - but if i can afford it - these places play havoc on budgets - i want to spend time along the west and south coasts. I want to broaden the idea of accessibility so that i won’t only go to places accessible by ferry but those places that seem to have water as the faster means of transport. Cannot help thinking that i could get from Rocky Harbour to Lark Harbour more directly by boat.

Sensing that it was the last day the rain only fell when i wasn’t near anyplace where i want to make a snap. Just north of Cap St Georges there was heavy fog which aided in the distancing i was feeling in these places. Again i wondered why some places on the rock - or just about any place - are sanctioned attractions while others aren’t.

Bay of Islands while i liked Lark Harbour was too built up for me. It seemed to take a lot of time to get out of greater Corner Brook - cannot believe i just wrote this.

Liked Port au Port better even though the scenery is more stunning in the Bay of Islands - there seemed to be an individuality there - more lawn decoration but also more vacant houses.

The plan was to see the sun set at Cape Anguille but the crew was restless and wanted something in their stomach - even though they never stopped grazing. So watching the sun lower in the sky and me in another funk as i saw this as another goal of the trip not being met, sped to Port-aux-Basques to the hotel and dinner.

Sensing my funk after dinner i was allowed to back track - St. John’s 850km - to the cape, the sun had set and i cannot really blame it on the Irving Gasbar server who insisted on chatting with her friend or the fact that i was in such a hurry that made the wrong turn out on the TCH. No mean task as it ends not 500m from where i was. I was hoping to catch the afterglow.

Balancing speed and fear of moose we made it when the sky was still red. I preferred this area around Codroy the best. It could have been time of day when so many houses only had one light on. It could have been the lone conveniences still lit but with no one in them, here there seemed to be more a sense of community in the scattered houses than in other places seen to-day. While i liked the place because of its end of the road quality - it being the furthest west on the island didn’t come into play.

I was also somewhat relieved that it was dark as i didn’t see all the potential that was there.

The leisurely ride back to the ferry still left us with five hours to kill.

Good-bye Hello

I decided to make an assault on Woody Point by water. The ferry left at 9AM there would be a coffee at Granite then a walk before returning on the 13:15. Being an early assault Mum stayed behind to prepare for whatever was to be that afternoon.

Eight were in the group including two people from France.

The town was deserted. There was a big breakfast at the Red Mantle Inn that the CBC said was in Woody Point - it’s really in Shoal Brook and the
Wonderful People were there being on the Morning Programme of the CBC.

The people who lived there were just starting to move about.

George Anderson raced by.

Sat out having a leisurely coffee desperately trying to finish off the post cards.

Lou drove up to get something for a big to-do at their place this afternoon. Gordon Pinsent was staying with them and Ian Brown was over learning how to cook something. The summer had been good but they were leaving before the rush.They didn’t want to be there when the place shuts down for the winter just after Labour Day. I could imagine tailbacks of foreign plates heading up the 431.

Pete Roberts walked down the pathway.

Amanda drove up and like her mother almost ploughed into me.

Debbie had just opened the 3T’s. Colleen’s daughter was getting married to-day.

Saw the Sarah Elizabeth pass on the bay and knew that George Anderson was taking people out.

A wonderful person told me where i could get a Globe and Mail.

A figure eight walk around town up past the Parks House through the woods to the Discovery Centre then back down to town via the bay before heading over to Curzon Village.

Baleful the steward begged off the Curzon Village walk wanting ice cream and to sit. It was a nostalgia walk to see what had changed in front of the photographs i had made there.

Crystal outside Granite having a smoke.

The boat was bigger than i remembered.
There was a wood pile in front of the basketball hoop.
The rope into Bonne Bay now had kelp hanging from it.
The “thingy” was in use in fact i don’t remember the pier there with so much activity.
The table was still standing stalwartly on the wooden pier.
There was a lot of activity at Colleen and Edward’s house - machines covered with balloons.

Made snaps of minor domesticity - a building seeming to be held up by a stick, a shovel neatly leaning against a shed.

Back into Woody Point where the people who clued me into the Globe asked if i got one - they were staying at the “Seabreeze” and were part of the writers festival. Asked how it was as i couldn’t understand the choices.

Kathy Reichs?

She was on the board and sort of agreed. An exchange of people we both know.

An double scoop of ice cream at Granite coffee a sit by the wood pile then one last walk around town delaying the inevitable.

Told Amanda not to drive like her mother.
Scolded Debbie for having a town so likeable that i kept wanting to return.

Sat on the pier like waiting for the ferry like other tourists as i suddenly felt in limbo between tourist and resident.

Two Wonderful People hold up the ferry. As it is puling away buddy who seems to take his fashion sense from Jerry Lewis - comes up to the dock with his stroller. We had seen him earlier at Granite Coffee. The ferry docks again only to find that his wife is at the Chicken Coop and coming as fast as she can.

A joke about Marine Atlantic ensues.

Heading to Norris Point i look back at Bonne Bay.

Clyde Rose and his daughter speed by on their boat heading over to Katie’s Cove.

What i stated two entries ago i take back, This area is too pretty too self contained but there is something about precisely that that as me drawn to it.

Remember a debate with people who maintained a studio away from their abode one where they actually had to do some travelling to get to and asking what if a moment of elucidation happens at midnight.

I now realise that their studios are not far enough away from where they live. While i wondered if the self containment of Bonne Bay and Trout River would start to have my snaps turn into recurring clichés, i could see setting up a my lab over here and working the way that i did during the residency. Having a place somewhere on the island, probably the Avalon but coming here to actually finish work, make the books.

Back it seems that the steward wanted to mellow out and my mother wasn’t sure what was left to see - huh? so it was left to me to find entertainment for the afternoon. This meant no stopping at the fishing areas that i had sped past yesterday. was at a loss as all seemed to not want to travel 430.

In the end i went to finish off some business for Kmack at the Trout River Heritage Society - yes an hour’s drive back to Bonne Bay. Thought that i would also prove to these people that i was born by introducing them to my mother.
Everything settled - Kmack now has an outlet for sales of her prints - and back no photograph made.

A note hanging out of the drying vent of the Cabin.

The bayman and the CFA are at the motel in town and want to meet up.

Thought they were in Steady Brook at some tony resort and had planned to head over an see if they were there but this time has been all about plans.

Headed down to see if they were in. No. left a message then headed out to see if their machine was there. What seemed to be their machine was someone else’s - one of the pitfalls of ding dong ditching - as they had rented an SUV as Ray was headed way off road with for his work.

when you mean scratches... he asked the car rental dealer

Am naturally jealous of Ray as while i think that i am the great explorer, he has walked across Newfoundland while i feel special to have been to Millertown he tells me about Hawley. He and Beth have just finished some work for a job they are working on and are heading up to Labrador while i am heading back to some sorry arsed leaderless department that doesn’t realise that to re-invent there had to be something there to begin with. There is something ironic about the way the word vision is used there. It is akin to someone deaf saying it doesn’t sound right.

It is funny that a bayman would be the one who is tired of Newfoundland outport cuisine and follows Beth’s advice in heading to a non traditional restaurant in Rocky Harbour. The problem is that the CFA confuse Jackie’s good Newfoundland cuisine with Java Jacks new upscale cuisine. I have never seen menus put down so quickly and a race for the door as i did at Jackie’s.

Good thing. i am pretty tolerant in my herbivore ways here, always finding some bad salad to eat or living off omelettes but walking into Java Jacks and having the server mention that the soup was vegetarian friendly...

Then the guilt hit. this is the place that people from St. John’s or worse Ontarians come to eat. In Woody Point it was the Old Loft not the Chicken Coop. Here i feared the same thing. Art on the walls - Spotted an Holownia as soon as i walked in, then the omnipresent Koch and other Great Northerners. These servers had no accents, the menu had a vegan offering. I asked for scrunchions. The food was great and not expensive in an Ontarian sort of way.

Talked cameras, he actually brought one to supper with him. Ah these baymen don’t they know to be a photographic artist you have to incessantly use noun-verbs have sub clauses to your sub clauses when you speak. Talk about what you are planning to do if there weren’t so much other work and don’t forget to mention your salary but never ever be seen with a camera. I think that i actually saw him use it.

The French couple from the Bonne Bay ferry sat at the next table and looked baffled at the specials.

Talked about the province and how it is depicted, talked about his off road and what i should see.

We parted after watching the sun set behind the glow of the Bank of Montréal all of us stopping to make a snap.

Sunday 17 August 2008

So a day of retracing steps to places that require a lot of walking without the fear of senior suffocation. We has hoped for a early start but I had to wait for the bank to open as this was the week-day on the rock. Starting Sunday there would the marathon driving sessions back to the States.

I wasn’t so worried about the time as i was about trying to get into a stopping frame of mind. Road side attractions come up quickly on the 430 by the time one reacts one has to turn around and that may mean a few kilometres before there is a chance.

The usual plan race to the destination of the day then make our way back slowly. We both were allowed two exceptions. I used mine immediately in St. Paul as i wanted to photograph a gospel church. Baleful the steward wasn’t far behind in the use of her exception just down the road in Parson’s Pond

After pit stops at picturesque places - well for me - we were in Port au Choix ahead of schedule.

Made a mistake during the walk as i thought that we would break off and do our own thing whereas the steward thought that we were on this together - i think it had something to do with the bear tracks we saw on a path leading through some deep woods. It was a mistake on my part which had her a bit peeved as it seems that she was racing after me through the park - past a giant majestic caribou - and into town calling my name. i thought that i had heard someone call out but when i looked around there was a person but i didn’t recognise her and thus thought that it was my ego in overdrive.

Supposedly i was tracked through town by her asking people if they had seen a person with a florescent courier bag and a camera - she should be more specific.

Spoke to two men asking if it were quicker to get to the welcome centre of the park by retracing my steps or simply continuing on. It was about even so not liking to retrace steps i continued.

I was in my own world liking the actually working fishing area and while i made some snaps within the park, i was more in my element once i left. Places that are in use and where people cannot be bothered on how they look are more interesting than theme park places. I like that some sheds had bird houses on them.

I liked minor moments of tidiness.

In town i photographed around the fish plant. There were too many machines in front of Wu’s Chinese Canadian Restaurant to do it justice but did get the house with two garages one with a basketball hoop on it the other with three moose antlers.

An ok two hours spent and now it was time to do the random stopping. Well not really on the way up the steward couldn’t find the sea of lobster pots that seemed to clog every dirt road for about a kilometre or so. Obviously it was north of Port au Choix - asked Parks Canada buddy - 30 minutes away.

I bargain a couple of stops away to be able to photograph that but then leaving town think it stupid i have enough lobster pots even it these go off into infinity away from the gulf and into the mountains. Here was an air field to document, the Foodland was begging to be discovered, the club in Port Saunders would be ignored. I did a take back and instead photographed a bit around the area.

Then i took back my take back and said that if we didn’t see the lobster pots in 30 minutes, i’d turn around and head back for the real part of the now late afternoon.

Twenty eight minutes later....

It was good that i photographed them, it was good as i would have been frustrated in thinking that i had come so far and not done anything but then i would be frustrated about anything - L’Anse aux Meadows, St. Anthony...

It was good as there was this homestead almost lost in the foot hills of the Long Range that was a summing up of the area.

It was bad as i knew that Baleful the steward wanted to go out to the fishing area behind St. Paul’s and while it was only 90 minutes away any sort of real stoppages would mean it would duckish when we arrrived.

So a race through -except for the stop in Hawke’s Bay for the Ball park, oh and Bellburns for a closed convenience on the road through town and Daniel’s Harbour for a seaplane, and Parsons Pond for a Gospel church sign of damnation and the pond park.

Been to St. Paul’s many times - well three like where it is situated on the edge of the gulf as far away from the town as possible but there being only five buildings in the whole place there was some trepidation as to what i might do there while the steward was exploring. i didn’t have a problem with all the racing around, it was nice to be “forced” to come to terms with such a minimal space.i simply had to look with more concentration and ignore the razor sharp weeds that were slicing and dicing my feet.

The return trip seemed promising photographically and wanted to try not to race and make more snaps at the other fishing areas along the way. it was duckish and there was something a tourist has to see when on the Great Northern.

After spotting another moose - cow and two calves - this time there were even more machines on the verge to photograph them an they were much closer, we headed to Western Brook Pond to look up the fjord in the setting sun.

Path was longer than i remember, barely made it Baleful just wanting to get back to the cabin but it was worth it. The change of colour on the rocks, the way light was changing rapidly it was worth fact that i had thought the trek a tenth of what i was.

Some lovely people came up on the trail and said
-if you don’t mind the extra length on the circular trail there is a moose
-there is also one on the road near the ss ethie just now.
Off they raced.


The first night of two of refrigerator clearing leftovers.

Friday 15 August 2008

Labrador is sighted

or was it Québec.

This was day brings out all my frustrations. It was the day to head up the Great Northern at one time - in the days when i was going to one of the corners of the world in Fogo, or down the Burin Peninsula - to ‘L’Anse aux Meadows. This was curtailed as it was too long for the crew and i didn’t want to do a drive of death three days before three days worth of such drives.

It was to head up to Port au Choix to see the French Coast then slowly head back making snaps on the way. The frustration comes from too many potential areas that no one wants to stop in -oooh Three Mile Rock!!!! - and too little time.

The crew couldn’t get up so again what would have been good light was wasted - it was raining when we finally departed.

It wasn’t raining by the time we were passing Western Brook Pond. the Long Range Mountains rose into the fog, the clouds over the range were beautiful distancing the fjord even more.

Speeding up to a place i make mental notes on what to photograph on the way back hoping that i will remember the spots. it becomes more difficult as at 100k/h it takes some time to realise that there was something. Coming back the markers are wrong they are after what was to be photographed. Worse i was finding too many places to stop and i knew there would be no time for this.

I could rationalise maybe stopping when potential picture spots are found along the road but there were whole towns that i wanted to spend time. It was disheartening.

Reading from the Frommers, Baleful the Steward mentioned an archeological dig in Bird Cove. A mere 70km north.


We zoomed past the off ramp to Port au Choix - a rest stop in River of Ponds where there is a family picnicking in their machine by the gasoline pumps of the Hometown Gasbar, wanting fresh air they had their doors open - and into town trying to find the interpretive centre for the digs.

It seems that this doesn’t get much traffic - well they stopped digging in 2000 - as while the two workers were fine with us helpful, patient as i couldn’t read the map on the wall at all and chatty, when they saw what looked like some ten machines pull up they wanted to lock the doors.

Once again i made sure that the windows were cracked in the machine so that my mother wouldn’t suffocate - i do fear P.E.T.S. People for the Ethical Treatment of Seniors - while we wander off to explore.

It was a perfect example of the two archeologies that are occurring on the navegatio. We wandered the board walk looking for the sites of the digs and when we thought we had gone to far, i drew on my knowledge from the Millertown excursion last year where seeing large, roundish indentations meant most likely a mamateek and thus an aboriginal settlement. i saw a few clearings with blue ribbon taped around trees in the area, that fit the Beothuk encampments and started mentioning this to Baleful the steward.

It was only when we hit the real sites - we knew from the giant plaques telling us what was in front of us - that i had realised that the other clearing was where buddy hangs out for a smoke a couple of Canadians and maybe a hot date.

Heading back i hit my type of site - an abandoned playing field that couldn’t have been more iconic, hockey goals piled by the volleyball nets with home plate where first base should have been. The ground hasn’t been used in ages guessing from the height of the weeds. It spoke tads about the area. Was so giddy about my find that i forgot to load Ubirajara correctly and had to run back leaving my broasting mum in the machine a bit longer.

I was thinking that Bird Cove like most Newfoundland towns, was losing population and there were so few kids in town that the playing field fell into disuse. I judicially ignored the well appointed play set at the house by the playground. Walking to the machine my thoughts were justified as we met Patrick who was wheeling his wheelbarrow toward his allotment to pick some rhubarb.

I asked him if he were the taxi service in town as my steward was a bit tired and needed a lift to the machine. He told me that a decade ago Bird Cove had 700 people living there now it was down to 100. He also said that if we could wait we could have some rhubarb.

-is that white machine down by the stage yours?
-yep
-we were watching the old lady get out of it for a bit.

It was about now that i noticed that ‘bira was loaded incorrectly and i was trying to remember what photographs i had missed - one for sure a the person of the house with a trampoline, basketball hoop and skidoo with laundry in the background came home and parked in front of my scene.

As i enter the playing field once again buddy - actually Wade - yells out from his ATV watch out for the moose. i say thanks but he comes over anyway. Of course i don’t have the digital which and i have only been using that to photograph people - i look like a real photographer this time cameras dangling from my neck lightmeter in rear pocket it would be hard not to be impressed by my presence.

We chat, he said be careful for the moose was saucy. It seems that it is a bull and a cow and to steer clear. Of course it was the area we had just walked through luckily i always send the steward ahead as a scout.

He then mentions that there is also a brown bear in the same area and we discuss which is worse i think bear he moose, bear tend to stay away from people angry moose charge. He says that this one - the bear - is about 500 pounds and all muscle he’d be on you in no time

-i heard that the best thing to do when a bear attacks is to play dead.
-or climb a tree.
-i hear that bear stink.
-nope they reek.

Walked past Patrick picking rhubarb.

although Wade has ditched his ATV he is walking with me to meet his friends.
-bet you’ll be glad to get out of here as there cannot be much for you to do here.
-don’t wants to ever leave. lived in St. John’s and didn’t like it gave up too much of my freedom. People don’t talk to you. I likes it here and wants to stay.

he had stopped at his place - the place with the trampoline etc - to pick up his bike and headed with me to the machine where i made a snap while his friends watch.

Mum was peckish and dehydrated and Wade suggested the Plum Point Motel for food and away we went getting in just before a busload of O.A.P.’s get down for a potty break and tea and muffins. Luckily mum wasn’t wearing a badge or she would have been swept up in the crowd and loaded on the coach for some destination south.

Heading toward the motel we saw the big land - or maybe Québec.

The motel itself had a floor fan in each room.

The leisurely dinner crept into our photographic time so we high tailed it back to Port au Choix which was the original destination of the day - don’t remember why but it could have been a lighthouse quest or more on dead civilisations.

It was here that we found out that Baleful the steward had somewhat over inflated her skills as a translator

-bon soir ça vå?
-oui ça va
-d’ou venez vous
huh? - well it was more like silence.
we wanted to see the hours a lay out of the place so that we could come back to-morrow but first - a trip to the lighthouse and what could be the western most outhouse on the island - well not really there must be one in St. George further west but the scenery was great.

By now it was getting late, so a beeline back to Rocky Harbour - after stopping at the Arches Provincial Park where the toilets are somewhere hidden in amongst dead sun-blanched trees. Which gave the impression of a terribly leaky septic system.

Then on to the S.S. Ethie, after i astutely noticed the signs of a moose nearby - machines parked every which way along the 430 with point and shoot flashes going off.

By now everyone was hungry and wanting a drink so straight back after stopping at the Lobster Cove Lighthouse and wading through the crowds in town heading for the water to watch the setting sun.