- Not when it’s raining.
- I head out with you to-morrow then?
- Not if it rains.
I had wanted to head out with Russ on one of his walks one winter when I heard that he walked over the frozen pond up behind Pouch Cove. For some reason it never happened.
This year I got a scare as when i arrived – as I stated - his shed was not open. When he told me he had cancer and he thought that he wouldn’t see me again, I couldn’t postpone it for another year. he has cheated fate many times – fingers cut off by a buzz saw and re-attached, diabetic that doesn’t need insulin. I feared that this time he may not be so lucky.
So at 7:30 when I look out and see him looking over the cliff I race out – my mother didn’t know what to think about this man in the front garden.
- oh I forgot can I walk in these – pointing to the trainers.
- no b’y you needs boots you should know not to come to Newfoundland with your boots. I’ll take another path but you comes here you needs boots.
Chastised I sneak out with the digital. It is an hour walk a brisk one up through the paths behind the town. I hear of the history gossip, who is well who isn’t. He stops I smell something pungent in the air – fox. I am heading down a wet path with him
- take your hands out of your pocket b’y.
I feel like a school child learning proper walking etiquette.
I can tell he is taking pity on my with the townie shoes but won’t show it. we don’t go as deeply in as I would like but that is because he thinks that I don’t want to get my shoes wet. In truth my feet haven’t been dry in days.
He drops me off at the Main Road and Sullivan’s Loop as his fuel has arrived and he has to pick it up.
The next morning there he is showing me his hip boots saying how he walked a wetter path and when he came to a pond he pulled up the hip boots and walked across the water. That he was here at 7:30 but no one was moving.
The day held out promise for that work ethic I was searching for. Back at 8:30. The group headed out for a short excursion of re-photography along the Witless Bay Line – here I reasoned that third time is a charm.
There were chores to be done as now it looked like the Regatta would be held on Friday and thus everything around St. John’s would be closed. So the bank – I was grateful for the falling loonie – then up to Signal Hill via Pleasantville and Quidi Vidi. Both mum and Baleful the steward are besotted by antiques so we headed over to Mallard Cottage.
I went in to see if they would be open Regatta Day
No
Mentioned Peg whom I photographed last year.
- Oh you’re the american she has been talking about! As a friend of Joanne’s ran across the street to fetch Peg.
The crew bought the place out so it looks like even though I am getting rid of a big box of my books more books and things will take its place. I bought some stamps for the Column and a post card that I may need for the new format of snaps. Peg threw in a rare Queen Victoria.
The day was off to our usual productive slow starts as everyone chatted with everyone else and I went to see Peg’s veg garden.
Up to Signal Hill as again one cannot bring people to St. John’s and not see Signal Hill. For some perverse reason I kept trying to imitate the first transatlantic signal background noise and all.
There it was though one side the ocean – in the distance to the south the end point of the continent. On the other the city the harbour all nestled under the monopoly pieces all quite accessible. Why would one need to go farther west.
Took the slowest way out of town possible – up Waterford Bridge Road to Route 10 through Kilbride and the Goulds.
Stopped at the Gravel Pit Park again to pacify the steward’s pond predilection. It was empty, the people I saw last year weren’t there. Left my mother in the machine terrified with all the caravans around her as we headed off.
Spoke to a couple to see if it were all right to leave a old age pensioner in the car when she didn’t want the windows crack
-you can do what ever you want b’y.
Asked about everyone
– they’ll be down on the week-end.
Tom has moved his trailer to the entrance of the park.
We headed to the pond.
After a pound of picturesque postcard like pond pictures, heading back, buddy and his wife asked if we were with the government.
-is this about the rumoured closure of the place?
-they closed the one down Salmonier Line and all it takes is one bad apple and we have plenty of them.
Chat a bit he shows up his caravan offers a beer but we leave as I can see my mother starting to wonder where she is.
Getting into the machine – Tom pulls up so another short chat before heading up Witless Bay Line for the re-photographic project. My mother clearly relieved and the steward breathing again.
What I was looking for along the line was a corral that was off by itself and on a hill but there was also the steward’s irrational erratic investigation, it seems that she was fascinated by them and it was magnified when they came popping out of the water.
There was also a pining for pitcher plants.
The erratics were no problem, the pitcher plants had the shoes wet immediately, the corral was difficult to spot but when found there was a slight meal of blueberries around it. Frustrating if this were a week later I wouldn’t have to search for the ripe ones.
Up to Pouch Cove for supper a French bread quiche planned, but not before a stop at the Wal-mart for something. I ran around to other shops mainly to buy provisions for the final days on the Avalon, Baleful was keen to see Kent’s.
The tripartite day continued. As back I took Baleful pond hunting in the woods behind Pouch Cove. Up Connor’s Hill out on the path past the caravan with the plastic lanterns that I photographed that morning down to pond which while looking all peaceful and romantic in the evening light with the glass surfaced water, was only that way if the clothes in the water, the Wendy’s cups, the bottle of Power Aid… were ignored. Good photographers can do that.
When I finished photographing the used condom hanging from the tree, we headed off to another part of the pond – Old Pond is the name according to Ted. Passing another of his potato patches, following a moose trail to a dead end but finally making it to the shore again complete with new detritus.
Dropped Baleful back at the place as there was writing to do and headed down to see the evil twin as I hadn’t spent much time with him on this trip. Heading down the main road. Dave and Barb Bragg who have the arguably the third best view in Pouch Cove – their house hangs over the Main Road – invited me in for a chat and some Screech.
Couldn’t say no.
I was shown pictures of icebergs in the cove and down in Flatrock, Eider ducks and learned that the slits in the cliffs by Shoe Cove are mouseholes.
Headed to Jim’s to chat but also to ask what the Sackville snapper has that I don’t photographically.
-you don’t market yourself. How much do you spend on those cards you send out?
He then proceeded to list people who have published books for less.
To make matters worse in the Flower Studio window in the Hotel Newfoundland saw the book of a photographer up here that I know – puts the blurb/lulu stuff to shame.
The twin mentioned that I like books why not go all out.
Point taken it will be a contest to see who can procrastinate more on his book me or the minor CBC presenter.
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