-morning, i would like to buy 7 stamps to the u.s. to avoid the hst i understand that if i put them on in front of you and hand them in to you they are tax exempt. the seven stamps will make it over the required $5,00.
-$7,51
-excuse me a stamp to the states is 98¢ multiplying an even number by any number gives you an even number how can it be $7,51?
-the tax.
-but... and i explained it all to him again.
-never heard of that as he went to get his supervisor.

the supervisor arrives.
did you tell him that you were going to put them on here?
twice and put them on over there.
where’s your receipt.
he threw it out.
never heard of that. piped in the clerk again.
with the refund i headed out with the chorus from the clerk of never heard of that.

it wasn’t a good start to the day as i realised awaking at the econolodge, that i had forgot to ask for the c.a.a. discount and they weren’t going to give it to me now.

hung around woodstock thinking that to-day would be nothing but driving as i wanted - not sure why - to make it into ontario. after the super highways of new brunswick the driving was pretty automatic any way. most of the road bypassed everything and here heading north toward québec there was a fence to separating the road and the fauna. no moose signs. the scenery along the saint john river was beautiful but there was no slowing down to see it - no glitches in the road so that if one needed an excuse to stop one would be provided. it seemed that new brunswick - at least here - was living up to its identity of a drive through province. never the less - even though spitting out the driver’s side of the machine i would hit the states, i was more than happy to stay on this side of the border for as long as possible. i wasn’t ready for the paranoia and suspicion of the states quite yet.

road fatigued i decided to try to find a motel in woodstock, i had diverted through town with no luck. trying to be more human, i decided that if i had to stay on the transcanada, i would at least go into town for a meal.

that lead to a wander about town as i thought that there was potential for some snaps. i was wrong woodstock was a bilingual beloit - people packed into the tim’s, a small farmers’ market downtown, a decent bookshop felt sorry for buddy as he seemed lonely, and a food market for coffee.

-wow depressing is this - said the owner of the pawn shop i was in when to people came in who knew each other but hadn’t seen each other in some time - meeting in a pawn shop.

a person fishing from a boat in the river waved.

ah québec. as soon as the road it the border, the super highway stopped back to two carriageways, trying to pass winnebagos, towns to go through and construction.

stopped at the border to stand over the provincial and time zone borders. i should have sped through woodstock and stopped in dégelis, or cabano and of course a wander through st-louis-du-ha!-ha!. if this were the outbound journey - or even a few days earlier, it would have taken me a day to travel from rivière-du-loup along 185 to st jacques. entering québec i had left the efficient moving of traffic around populations and back to having it move through it. if new brunswick was the super-highway of the future - beating out even the 401 - route 185 was the road of the recent past.

here were chain-less motels and cheap also - the prices were half what i was paying in the maritimes - local shops. the temptation was augmented by the constant construction in the area. i reckoned that i could have pulled off and made snaps without losing too much time but i was in making time mode and wary of what would happen if i went back to exploring - the expense of the trip was now getting beyond what i was comfortable with. next time.

at rivière-du-loup the circle was completed headed south along the st lawrence - already forgetting the specifics - didn’t realise that saint-jean-joli-port was so far south - then bypassing québec reckoned that i would run out of gasoline in drummond, stopped. a mistake made by a novice. everyone stops in drummond, meaning that every gasbar every restaurant was packed, chose a tim’s as surprisingly the queues were the shortest.

craned my neck to get a glimpse of montréal again - this time the site of expo 67, had plenty of time as i hit the island during rush hour. i was back into the 21st century as there were speed cameras, red light cameras and the sureté but this didn’t seem to bother anyone.

the 40 to the 401 to dark where i try once again to try to stay in town rather than out on the transcanada. dark at trenton which also had a women’s soccer tourney and once again no rooms, got the last one - a smoker - out by the 401 once again.

-how long does it take...

she asked seeing the wisconsin plates.
about three good days but i didn’t come straight through.
what? asked the older woman in the machine, her mother who was from cape breton, she was from montréal
i’ll explain in the car, she’s deaf.now it was official i had been on my way back, left the motel with reasonable ease as there wasn’t any continental breakfast to be had, not even the saran wrapped muffin of the knights inn in kingston.

after chatting, the gasoline and giving up on a double double from the tim’s, i was off. fredericton was the destination as from there it would be an easy two day drive back. i knew that i could make it as i had driven the opposite direction the first time i drove. not being in a rush i stopped to make some snaps that i passed over on the way to the ferry a pair of signs for bible camp and a poker run. stopping once had me stopping quite a bit a panorama of bras d’or, the englishtown ferry - i decided to take the road on the way to north sydney when i looked at my luck with ferry, but i was curious. then to find the twin buildings somewhere between mabou and inverness along route 19.

again it was about choices made. being fixated on the shore, again due to being used to roads that had nothing on them between the main road and water, i ignored the interior of cape breton, what i was seeking on the coast of the rock was in the interior of cape breton - quite distinct independent villages but now surrounded by farmland. heading up to margaree hoping to turn off on the forks. irrationally stopped for some souvenirs in north east margaree it could have been the façade of the building or curiosity why a shop would be what seemed so far from the town, then for a coffee and the best scones i had had in some time just down the road, thanking tim’s for being so popular, and margaree too small to warrant one. this opened another option for the day. trying all the small cafés in cape breton.

missed the turn off at margaree forks - the size of the town threw me - and ended up in margaree harbour, and a wait due to road construction. closing in on mabou while i found other points of interest, i still hadn’t come across what i was looking for. road construction tends to bunch up traffic and tempers start to flair as one cannot simply pass one car but have to queue up behind the slowest machine. one nova scotian, tired of waiting behind an upper canadian passed while waving the finger. the queue of machines also means that i have to be aware when i pull off.

at one spot pulling off meant spraying rocks at some beach people, another had people slowing to see what was so important.

i was fully aware of the stopping but once i start it becomes difficult to stop. found the scene, i remembered it correctly. decided against the café in mabou - as it seemed to cutesy. retracing my route meant that i could place the snaps made coming up but not clear about the placement.

stopped again at creignish as the sun was in a more favourable position, stopped again in port hawkesbury as a way of commemorating the return to the mainland and the fact that the transcanada would now have me focussing on driving.

this was now the return ride, only slowed in antigonish because i had to, played car tag with someone heading - i am guessing - to the ac/dc concert at magnetic hill. passing me they waved. i considered this a conversation so passing them i made a snap, passing me again for the last time they did the same.

stopped on both sides of the nova scotia - new brunswick border again to document it. which broke the making time mind set that i was in so i headed out to jolicure to see where the sackville snapper lived. which meant a couple of more snaps.

this was a mistake and i knew it before i set out on the diversion. at the new brunswick welcome centre people were flowing in say how the trans canada in moncton was a mess due to people flocking to the ac/dc concert. heading east was ok but westbound it was backed up kilometres from the city.

reckoned that this would be a good way of showing my road knowledge of the sackville area and a reason to get off the road by diverting through the town then up past dieppe. rationalised that i would prefer moving slowly through scenery than sitting on a super highway.

woulda shoulda, i wanted to stop in sackville not to see how i could oust the current photography professor at mount allison but because the town centre seemed welcoming. gobsmacked by the tides on the rivers flowing into shepdody and cumberland bays grand banks of mud all the way to dieppe, i wanted to get close and spend the time i spent going along route 925. didn’t was too aware of the concert trying to get through moncton to think about slowing down.

until pré d’un haut and parc massé in the early evening light. the ballpark with the church behind it was a nice counter to creignish and arisaig. spent more time that i wanted or needed as reloading someone drove up and parked in a place where i couldn’t get their machine out of the image.

next time more villages, more sackvilles, shediacs, new glasgows, more turning in the direction that i wouldn’t normally go - inland. although minor cbc presenters will think me mad more time in new brunswick for looking back the best times were in towns - mme gagnon of st. flavie, les monitrices de ste luce, the divers of arisaig, rocco’s familiy in merigomish, herman and sam in charlottetown, paul and frank of cox’s cove.

the maps for the moncton area aren’t all that accurate found myself in dieppe in the middle of rush hour and the ac/dc crowd, made the wrong turn onto the transcanada heading back to nova scotia, snaked through moncton watching the crowds make their way to magnetic hill.

bypassed fredericton - not by choice but because i was on autopilot - stopping in woodstock needing gasoline and a place for the evening.

-it won’t be long now...

she said. we had been waiting in this queue for about 30 minutes now. we had ten minutes remaining.

i was thinking by now that someone must have deemed it necessary that visitors to the rock must go through a hazing ritual.

the time on the rock was symmetrical - arrived at port-aux-basques in fog, travelled trough fog crossing the isthmus coming. heavy fog leaving the avalon, and entering port-aux-basques.

had sat in the machine waiting to get on the ferry for an hour after we were told to return to our cars. then there was a discussion on where to go to get on the ferry, i was lucky enough to be place on the long haul truck level but was in one of the last lines to go on.

one has to have a plan. either find a seat or get food, the sooner you board the better your chances of either. i had decided to find an outlet. i was looking for one by a recliner, but they were taken. all in all it seems that unless one has a sleeper there electric outlets are hard to come by.

giving up for a moment i headed toward the cafeteria to see what my chances were for getting something to eat. a mr sub was the good news, the fact that the queue was snaking around the area to the point where i couldn’t find the end. decided to wait

found an outlet in the seating area of the cafeteria nicely remote, sat down to both download the snaps and recharge the battery for the digital - don’t really like this new method of working, i am too aware of my dependency on electricity and thus to some grid.

the snaps at this point are less fragile i don’t have to worry about heat, light and keeping the snaps safe until i can develop them but i know to protect against these problems - it seems in fact that boots of machines are better than the back seat as there is some insulation. i was worried about the damp when by the ocean but again i simply use the contraband announcement bags one picks up at the tourist centres.

saw marc and antoinette - who seemed to be also trying to decide on whether food or a seat together was more important - but still fearing geeking out didn’t go over.

once downloaded and ready for the next day i went for the food the queue was down to 20 people and i realised that i had time to waste. i had to stand here as my other options were roast beef and poutine or pork chow mein. to accommodate the crowd there were two people making the sandwiches, one had to leave as they ran out of some meat.

getting my submarine, i went back to my corner, ate, read then decided i would try to sleep so that i could be somewhat functional when the ferry arrived at 3AM.

the caribou was to arrive at 10PM allowing some time to drive to a decent motel was thinking the fair isle in whycocomagh as it was quite nice and cheap, get a good night’s sleep and be close to the snap that i missed on my way up somewhere between mabou and inverness.

marine atlantic, however, was sticking to its schedule no matter how late it was. wandered the seats for some time before finding a place that i could try to sleep - passed the person who was behind me in the queue on the floor by an electrical outlet. pointed her to the seating area of the cafeteria. it was by the lounge but at at midnight with people kipping in the bar...

there was a band and the band was going to play no matter how late it was at midnight 30 buddies came on and played a set until 1:30.

off the ferry i pulled into a vacant lot between trucks across from a tim’s in north sydnet to sleep. i thought it would be pretty easy as again it was a good hour after we had to return to our cars that we actually left the ferry, and, since i was on the long haul deck and the lorries had started their diesels creating a carbon monoxide fog, my fumed clogged brain would give me a head start.

it didn’t tossed and turned a bit, photographed some closed restaurants across the road, before trying to find a motel that was open.

passing kelly’s view motel, the only one with the light on. took a room - and wasn’t the last - and tried to sleep.

-excuse me...

...she said as i was trying to consolidate everything i would need for the ferry.
i know i am taking a big risk here...but...
as she lifted her minox 35mm
-i saw that you use film and i was wondering... if you had an extra battery for this.
-ah nope it is a px 27 i answer in true geek style pretty hard to find in fact you may have to find an alkaline substitute.
-dommage.

when i awoke i still had inklings of driving back to bonne bay and then on to the ferry. after all the late ferry was going to leave even later and there would be - most likely - enough time. if i were early i would make snaps around port-aux-basques.

but no. i went across west street to have a coffee at brewed awakening while reading the globe pretending i was in water street. walked into the bike shop next door to tempted to counter obama’s buy american by getting a rocky mountain bicycle. used to hate corner brook now not so much.

odd sitting like that not rushing just preparing for the day when i wanted to explore some places along the tch on the way to the ferry. not too far off the road mind you and without too many options.

knew someone who lived in cox’s cove so decided that to be a destination. the north shore of the humber, the bank of montréal building where i stayed during the corner brook residency stood out from this shore. worried as i headed to cox’s cove as i was passing many potential picture points that would only get me into trouble.

parked and walked as the place was hopping the fish plant was in operation, there were people on the beach - two - buddy out on his front porch would head inside every time i passed thinking that i would want to sneak his snap. maybe he saw me chatting with frank and paul. grimier than salvage but busier.

what took me aback again was the disparity between nautical miles and road miles. i could see the tablelands, and but they were two hours away in the opposite direction by machine.

i met frank and paul when i asked if the buildings i saw on the opposite shore were chimney cove, a place i was to go to. frank didn’t know as he was a newcomer, born in gaspésie and here via ontario, paul had been here longer and answered in the affirmative, showed me another cove.

wandered the water front, this time juxtaposing as like salvage there was an odd space around objects there was the crowding i would see in some places but also definitely not the isolation in others. here i preferred working establishments.

stopped in mcivers because of the ball park with one of the best home dugouts. the best is still in burin. while i walked slowly through cox’s cove making sure i allowed it enough time, i was to hop out of the machine head up to the park make the snaps and be on my way.

but then there was the harbour, the seniors centre, buddies and their dog, wondering why the tablelands can be seen from the village - they cannot, it were the blow-me-downs - and the clothes lines over the gulf of st lawrence.

a stop at brake’s convenience - closed - before putting on the blinkers - pun intended - and trying to get back to the trans canada.

it is regret that makes me stop. i was barrelling toward that final stretch, until i realised that the structure that i saw turning the bend in irishtown could be a drive-in screen. this would haunt me the way those two missed buildings in mabou were doing.

turned around, headed as far up the road as i dared then walked and lo and behold a screen with the humber and mountains in the background. this is the reason why i want to turn down every road. while cox’s cove was fine for a walk although a bit lacking in snaps, it led to mcivers and this. i begin to think of all those roads that i could turn into while heading here. i then thought about how was i possibly going to choose which road i would take on the way to the ferry. trying to eliminate choice, the roads chosen were those that were short and had no options.

i had to go to st george’s so that bethy what’s her name one have been a place that i haven’t. then chose flat bay for the name. actually there were better place names but they would cause all sorts of problems.

a few potential snaps, the houses again that hid their habitation, lounges, but i was drawn to barachois brook, the bar and the hint of industry over the water. this was atv land, having to make sure that i didn’t hit people on the trails crossing the road than anything on the road.

flat bay, st teresa was disappointing as i couldn’t get close enough to the water and there didn’t seem to be any centre. two cemeteries because i thought that i had to photograph something.

a stop at the burgeo highway to imagine.


if i headed straight through i would be at the terminal at the required time. like north sydney i could park the machine, walk into town to make snaps and have something to eat before leaving the rock.

how long before we actually start to board?
two hours
can i make it into town?
where’s town.

it seems that i point in the wrong direction, he sets me straight. i was pointing to a pizza place he was pointing to the centre.

-thirty minute walk each way, eating two hours, you don’t have time. - he was thinking st christopher’s which would be true.

at that time too short to do anything too long to simply wait.

i was preparing for the boarding, changing film, moving cameras about when she saw me.

she saw that i was using film and decided to ask. i said that i had to make her snap and since her beau was too cowardly to get out of the machine i need to make his also.

it seems that she is a documentarian, who had done what i had wanted to do - she had been to baie-comeau and beyond up the north shore of st. lawrence beyond sept îles. she was making a video of the area. mentioned the anglophone settlements there she was familiar with them. told them of my frustrated plans and the book i had seen that was part of my curiosity.

show them the book, he had seen some of the snaps in gros morne. i was intrigued.
we had similar interests, they had eaten at java jakes, mentioned trying to get snaps into the gallery there.
being quebécoise i mention the residency in conche, they want to do gros morne, mentioned that i was on it, then the call to get ready to board. back to the machines, and an hour wait as the confusion continued.

i wanted to ask about how they managed on the north shore, how they got about, did they take ferries to the more remote places and had hoped that they would make more contact on the ship, i didn’t want to initiate another meeting for fearing of geeking out on them.

they were more concerned about sleeping and eating while i was trying to use the time to download - they were racing for seats that recline, i was racing for electrical outlets.

howley

-howley?
-howley.
don’t know if it was bethy what’s her name or the other fellow but over dinner one of them came up with the solution to my problem with time on the rock. i was heading back and i said that i cannot go down a road with too many choices as i shall never make the ferry. as it was i had to leave a day early as the crossing was at 4pm and i didn’t want to drive the tch when the moose come out to play.

howley!

i had also planned on heading back up to bonne bay to see about what had been determined about my book with the park.

i knew of howley as once heading back to bonne bay i was driving on fumes and saw that there was a gas bar in howley - it was only when i realised that the gasbar was some 20 clicks down the road that i hoped for deer lake instead.

howley seemed safe. it was the interior, not as interior as buchans but then again that was good as there would be less options. it would be in wander out nice and surgical.

took my time the last morning as i had to go to the post office to for a final bit of mailing it didn’t open until 9am and then to the bank for some cash. hoped to be on the tch by 10.

except that the post office didn’t understand that tax isn’t paid on postage when it is internatonal, one spends more than $5.00, and the stamps are placed on the envelop in front of the worker.

she’d never heard of it so she called first the other worker, who hadn’t either, then down to torbay who also was clueless.

this meant a trip into st. john’s to the main post office wasting time getting through the traffic, parking etc.

was on my way by 11. focussed, in control pacing myself for the drive across the island once again.

until the salvage turn off. it is salvAGE by the way age rhymes with stage. i read crummey’s book of poems, knew that yet another minor cbc presenter stays there - there are like cockroaches on the island all over the place and more come each year so why not. it was not far off the road. i could see eastport which supposedly had a gallery, and be back in an hour tops.

it was that picturesque outport that makes it to all the post cards. colourful houses, clear sky, etc. it has a working fish plant but didn’t get the charm. of course found two houses that i would take - these so separate from town it seems that an atv is needed to get to them.

tried photographing but went more for formal arrangements than things, spoke to a couple of people, saw a cat puking. picked the best blueberries i have ever had on the rock - think it was the heat, they were juicy as i was eating them by the hands full.

i found that what kept me wasn’t the big things but here there were more subtle aspects of habitation. ladders placed at odd angles, things left, it wasn’t along the main drag that i kept me there but walking behind houses looking around corners.

three hours later... i see the sign for the ferry to st brendan’s again a place i would have liked to go and while it was a little out of the way i could still make it to howley and bonne bay if i didn’t dawdle i could have a look at burnside then race back

seeing the path to the look out at st chad’s i climb i as who knows there may be something at the top. a mistake as i saw st chad’s from above and wanted to head back over burnside taking the dirt road.

but no i had to stop the outing was coming to an end. i reckoned that if i went over the speed limit by ten clicks - hardly anything while i wouldn’t be able to make it to bonne bay tonight i could stay in deer lake head up first thing in the morning and still make the ferry.

the drive was a painful. all these places i couldn’t stop not even along the tch. no botwood, no bishop’s falls which were along the road. much less all those evocative places. no arms, no coves, no harbours.

only stopped for gasoline in gander, slowed in badger where my coffee mug was sacrificed to the road god at the buchan’s highway, and as it was headed down the 401 to howley racing the light.

this penchant for the remote has to be looked into. driving the causeways into howley i wish that i had more time. i know people who wouldn’t leave the machine in howley, they would find it creepy and isolated but, i wanted to stay a while - a while being a week or so not an hour.

it functioned. there was a convenience, a shopping centre, a club, even a café that served espresso and had free wi-fi - it was for sale though. in the warm evening light everything seemed at peace - a father was pushing his son on a swing in the park - wrecking my snap - a kid with a skate board was waiting for something, the hotel was hopping, down on grand lake there was a couple taking in the evening, ignoring the black fly - there was the bridge for the old newfoundland railway in the distance.

an otter swimming in the wetlands

grand lake from town wasn’t as impressive as red indian lake in millertown but there were things to do in howley. howley wasn’t as big as buchans but it also wasn’t as depressing.

left when it was dark, thinking that maybe maggie’s café would make a profit if instead of twinning with hillside lube there was a residency there.

don’t know what makes deer lake so popular - the jungle jim’s?, mary brown’s thighs? but once again all the hotels were full.

pressed on to corner brook giving up on gros morne.

in which i meet this years winner of c.f.a. twillock newfoundland

the last full day on the avalon, in which everyone was confused. it wasn’t supposed to be a holiday and regatta day may be wednesday - if the regatta goes - and while in some parts it is simcoe day here it was to be a normal day.

the post office didn’t think so being federal it was closed as was the town hall. i had waited around to send out some cards. i was also taking the evil twin down to the duke at 1pm and martin and gabrielle were in their place.

i was trying to juggle the day so that some work could be made.

am not good at being social so heading over to sullivan’s loop ran into reg, which is fine haven’t seen him this year, and he was in his machine so the chat would be brief. he was having he same problems with the closings.

the chats with russell are always brief unless shirley is about as she will ask me in for tea actually met shirley as she was in russ’s shed with something for his new boat. russ was coming back from ted’s.

i simply wanted to pop in say hello and come back when it was dark but feel rude in doing so. i had told ange that i would be back but time got away from me. they seem to understand and i am off to...where to go. have two hours before the duke it now takes 30 minutes to get into st. john’s. i knew that it couldn’t be a grand wander, i wanted a ceremonial one. one that wasn’t giving in to the last day completely. thought about bay bulls as it is close and large enough for a decent walk. it would also on the way to the witless bay gravel pit park.

decided to make all the photographs around here that i had been putting off until later - the torbay bypass road. then i buying gifts. i had let it go as it is usually a sunday chore as parking is free in st. john’s on week-ends.

away a year and everything changes. shops move so often that i wonder how they keep clientelle, auntie crae’s still cannot find anyone to work sunday and monday. walked in a daze.

a good one, i was feeling at home in the capital again. i reckon that my estrangement had to do with all the small populations and large spaces that was the quotidian for until now. the last city this size that i was in was québec and i raced through it.

it was knowing how to get around, where to park for free, seeing places that if i had more time i would have frequented. it was reading the globe at hava java, buying the baguette at auntie crae’s, knowing not only the best toilets being able to enter a hotel for them without slowing down at all.

i wasn’t used to the crowds along water and duckworth streets - perhaps the reason that prefer winter - it was strange not to be able to buy bagels from the georgetown bakery - opens again after the regatta - third year now that i have missed them - not have the hair cut at the family barber shop - same reason. but it was nice to wander.

the action at the duke was as usual confounding the wait staff, sitting in clarke’s beach and trying to figure how many pints of guinness put you over the limit. i had to curtail even this as i did want to head out gravel pit park - meaning a full afternoon was merely two hours. the twin had an extra glass while he “read” my globe.

bought some gifts and headed out to the park.

it was decimated half the sites were empty i knew no one, i only saw two people. asked about tom and the family behind buddy’s lot. said that tom had already move out, and the family behind him the husband had died last year and the wife simply pulled up stakes. wished him the best and left wishing that i had come earlier, that i had followed up on this.

that set the theme for the rest of the afternoon, heavy fog over the avalon, i headed down bay bulls in the hopes that there may be some clearing by the time that i got there it has set and was thickening.

headed over to sullivan’s loop for drinks with gabrielle and martin, who had finished scrubbing the racks in the cooker. politics were in order as was the german language publishing world.

not wanting to overstay my welcome and not knowing when that would be i headed back to the pipe house for an evening of sorting through the digital files.

a knock -no one knocks here, or if you do you knock then walk in.
nothing.
i look at the evil twin and baffled
-answer it as me.
so be it.
buddy at the door - is jim in.
-i’m jim.
-no you’re not.
yes i am.
then the other jim.
there is no other jim.

buddy now is quite confused but invite him in sees the twin.
-that jim.
-oh my twin.
bafflement again.
yeah same mother except he got the white milk breast i got the chocolate.

i had been warned about buddy but the warnings weren’t enough.

it seems that buddy had come over to borrow something and to talk to the evil twin about art. he brought with him this great find a miniature row boat that he had found someplace and bought from this gent who makes them

-pity you didn’t simply talk to russ...
-who
-he lives in sullivan’s loop on the way to your place
show him russ he makes a not but seems unimpressed as russ labours over his boats buddy here seems to want a village idiot who churns them out.

he asks me what i do. he says that he is an artist trying to figure out what to do - apparently he came to it late in life.

ask him who interests him and he say marcel dzama - he then announces that he bought one some time ago for $25 canadian so he was in on the ground floor.

i thought you were interested in art not art futures.
that goes right by. but he is proud of his little deals.
-when the image is sold will you let marcel in on the profit?
-i’ll never sell it.
we try to show him the commodity aspect but he doesn’t see it.
-are you interested in others who work like him?
clueless.
he doesn’t read artists writings as they are inarticulate. we both do a double take.
didn’t you say you were an artist?
he likes to go to galleries to talk to the staff as they are in the know.
he doesn’t look at work in books nor on the internet but buys them and stares at them to understand what they work was about. he reads what gallerists and curators have to say about work for despite the list of artists who are articulate - which wouldn’t include him - on either count - he doesn’t believe us. he has seen artists and they cannot talk about their work.
he called the royal art lodge the winnepeg royal arts

in the end the night was ruined. buddy here was so dim and infuriating that i forgot to make his snap. i then realised what had happened. it was like when hiking in the alps one comes across a frozen hunter newly discovered due to a retreating glacier. he was a 1980’s yuppie thawed and brought back without notice of the time that had passed.

portugal cove south

in hindsight i should have headed over to the gravel pit parks -as i was told that the government was closing them. but i thought that was in the planning stage and the closings wouldn’t happen for some time

some time is 11 august when everyone has to be out.

i headed down the southern shore, trying to ignore the dread but also trying to find a place that would have the hints of habitation that i was looking for. i was heading down because it was heritage days in port kirwan and i was told to check it out. i did but felt odd and in a even with returning families, the affair was - understandably - small. it was painful getting as far as port kirwan - as a rule people were driving ten clicks under the speed limit. it was the northern version of the parade of octogenarian floridians out for a drive.

stopped at brophy’s to calm down so that i wouldn’t floor it now that most of the traffic had gone. no one seems to go past fermeuse.

newfoundland has entered the wind farm fad with four windmills in fermeuse. typical tepid move, here is this impressive brilliant manner of not depending on (newfoundland) oil and instead of putting up 50 as it seemed in gaspésie or dozens in p.e.i., there are four. and four close to the road.

again it doesn’t seem to matter whether the road opens up or not for as soon as i found a diversion i was on it. i was in the barrens and photographing the cabins along old shoe cove road. walking along the route 10 because here not only where there not verges - off the road is a good 3 metre drop - but no guard rails. took advantage of cabin country and the space.

stopped at the aerial for the coast guard for cape race, here and there an empty machine, at times in the distance someone fishing the streams.

decided that portugal cove south would be a fine town to photograph as it was inhabited,had a working port, and while coomb’s convenience had closed, was in the process of minor gentrification.

parked at patricia’s who didn’t recognise me, promised to come in for a mug up when i was finished and headed off after i photographed marcia with her father as he was off away to work and he didn’t have a snap of them together.

again i was made aware that while i was thinking that i needed to go to places that had significance - once again i was on my way to st shott’s - other places were in the same situation. i thought portugal cove south would work out as it was a community meaning that while there were objects to photograph, there were occasions when i could confuse the frame.

this really didn’t happen as houses were farther apart than usual while there were some fences they were more ornamental, they neither divided property nor did they keep animals in.

chatted with the mayor a bit there seemed to be a bit of boosterism as every time i mentioned the resettlements - i asked about the drook and other places on the way to cape race - he would bring up stories of people here who had resettled from p.c.s. to trepassey.

i think that the image of the day will be of a hockey net on the ocean but worry as the sun was coming off the water behind the net.

the weather has been strangely cooperative for the avalon which at times isn’t a good thing. it has been sunny and in the mid 20’s but in situations late in the day at times i would like some of the avalon grey so as to be able to aim the camera in any direction.


as usual when i sat down for tea with home-made table butter made by marcia - careful it is really salty - i ended up staying too long. the sun already low meant that i would have to mind my shadow. wanted to see if grace’s take out was still on the beach. headed up toward trepassey a bit before turning and seeing all these other potential snaps - remnants of a branch of the newfoundland railway, a memorial along side of the road, the perfect outhouse stranded in the barrens, drying nets in cape broyle. i try to ignore them, attempt to speed by but while i manage to pass up the first few, i give up and then all it lost. i was composing my apologies to ange for not stopping by that evening.
it was then that over the cbc came news about the closing of the gravel pits parks.