It didn’t bode well when I tried to check in on line for our flight to
Burlington, it seems that it would allow Carol to check in without problems but when I tried – and I tried three different ways – I kept getting please check in with a United agent.

Great now some Al Qaïda member has taken pretty common names.

I’ll skip the oxymoron of Chicago Rapid Transit as the machines on the gridlocked Kennedy were speeding by.

It is the airport experience where one can see why one would spit on airline employees. After trying again to check in at a kiosk, I gave up and entered the queue a queue that didn’t move as since there were now kiosk check-ins the counter had only two attendants. An hour later I was told that no I am not on a no fly list but it was a simple random check by United.

On to the security queue where United definitely believes in a cast system, the first business class queue and the steerage one. Of course being United, this changed with the changing minute. When one thought one was in an orderly queue and nearing the part where everything is taken off or emptied out, they would concoct another bend.

90 minutes later we were at the gate. I admit I am spoiled, in Milwaukee where rich and poor queue up alike one gets through security in minutes, even when I was nearly stripped searched in St. John’s I was still through security in 15 minutes. I dreaded Midway seeing the queues but again five minutes later one is wondering what overpriced food will clog the arteries before the flight.

Here people were waiting to get into Chili’s (?!)

Of course the plane left late. Well the plane that we were supposed to be on didn’t leave at all. When they realised that the plane wouldn’t make it from Grand Rapids in time to get us to Burlington before the airport closed. They went to the warehouse and got another.

We were flying Ted – the low cost cousin of United. That instilled confidence, thought Tango and Jazz of Air Canada were bad enough but Ted? Next there would be Floyd or Earl.


We were heading to Burlington as Carol had been there twice before and talked about it the way that I rave over the Rock. she said it was like Madison what with Lake Champlain and the colleges it was easy going and quite liberal.

I saw that it was 30 miles from the Canadian border and only a couple of hours to Montréal and sanity.

Of course I could tell none of this arriving at 11PM ringing for the rental shuttle to pick us up to get the car – for some reason they thought that we would like being in a PT Cruiser. Noticed the gigantic dent in the machine in the light of the next morning. Did like the chance to hear the CBC on satellite radio – but probably could have picked it up on regular radio.

So far I was impressed with Vermont but not for the same reasons as Carol. I don’t think she cared much about the diner across from the Thrifty Car Rental, or the HO HUM MOTEL. We both weren’t all that excited about the Hooters along route 7 into town.

Even though I am used to them, from being on the rock, I find Bed and Breakfasts somewhat spooky. Luckily this one called itself an inn and had private toilets.

We had a suite, which was nice, a room where one could move about without knocking into all that quaint stuff. Most of the time these places while having tables, have so much stuff on them that it is impossible to write.

Past midnight but as usual with new places I was wide awake from the anticipation, felt a bit of sanity returning to the world as the key was left in the mail box with a sign telling us so.

signing off

After all this site is YYT and while in the past there has been a broad expansion from the original idea – first things that happened on the Avalon, then the Rock, then anything associated with being in Newfoundland – Baltimore is the colony that took remember, then travel in general. Finally the “in general” took over.


I want to be less virtual and more actual.

Although this isn’t GIG, this started when returning to Rio and Niterói , I found terrible postcards. Ignorant of weblogs - in fact ignorant of just about everything, blind carbon copies, cutting and pasting text …- at the end of the day I would head over to the internet café and write the same thing six times to people. A particularly memorable moment was tripping on the power cord and erasing the entry as I was finishing.

The lack of post cards was the final straw added to me trying to get my handwriting under control. Things were no better on the Rock. There were attempts to make snaps without a lab so that I could continue what I try to do below the 49th – even took my mum’s hand me down Toshiba laptop and portable Canon printer that served her well on the world cruises – but the quality was lacking.

Hence YYT.

But I am not there now. Without the constraints of the post card, the entries were mutating to a length that would have made Dickens blush and more time and, while after this stay the finances will take time to recover, I want to reintroduce myself to the USPS and actually make things.

So I am regressing for the next semester at least, more “note taking” so back to the leiquinhas – to break this idea of pretension with larger formats - less digital, and more post cards to restrict the actual verbiage. Only nine people looked in at last check anyway.

I missed talking to Mary at the post office in Pouch Cove and while being a townie I liked the chats when I did post some books and left notes on the backs of envelops.
I found myself taking overly long at the post office in Swift Current and photographing the buildings.

So until I can upload at the Duke with a pint of 1892 – am becoming more nationalistic in my imbibing – this ends.


Well that is the intention.

if only

I’d stop the machine, what I wanted to photograph wasn’t going anywhere so I’d take out ‘Bira, take an exposure reading and then make the exposure. This would happen any time that I was around the bay, I’d leave Zequinho in the machine and head out to photograph the cabins, roadside monuments etc with ‘Bira as there was no reason to rush.

I could have made them with Zequinho but it is more art like to make them with a camera that yells consideration.

If only. I started to develop the film to-day – 280 rolls - and found that Ubirajara has a light leak. Not everything is ruined it depends on how long I wandered with it and how long between exposures but the snaps that would have been categorised under
“…(dot dot dot)” for their isolation doesn’t look good. There is a fog over half of the negative I am guessing coming from the place where the dark slide is inserted in the magazine – halfway through the stay I wondered about this but since I had taken and ‘Bira in the winter and saw no problems and frankly I had other worries – general film abuse, exposure, security…- the rolls that went through Zequinho are fine.

I chalk this up to being “homeless” this time. In 2005 in Woody Point and this winter in Sullivan’s Loop when I had a place of my own, this wouldn’t have happened. As soon as I developed the film there, the camera would have been put away. I knew that I missed a place of my own – meaning where I feel like it is my own and for this I thank Martin and Gabrielle – for quiet time but I didn’t think about this.

If only.

I did bring developer in case there was a chance.

If only I didn’t try to act like an artist and stuck to Zequinho which suits what I do 99% of the time. In the images where ‘Bira was used where the edges fell wasn’t all that critical – in the barrens a couple of centimetres of extra empty space isn’t all that important.

In St. John’s I used Zequinho and thus the townie pictures should be fine.

The great irony is that it isn’t – or wouldn’t be a big deal – what I photographed wasn’t going anywhere, while it would be a hassle – bad pun – it could always go back and do them over.

Except now when I am thousands of kilometres away.

Now I worry, the trip down the Burin, the outing up Bonavista Bay, what did I used.

Again without this confession no one would know I made enough with Zequinho to have the time be useful. I do fear, however, that the tenuousness of habitation on the land was made with ‘Bira.

Developed a tenth of what I made, I am bracing myself for what is to come and think/hope that I can rectify the problem next time…

It was a day to finish off. To find a place to work I headed over to the school to cut and put together some books so that I could post something from here – didn’t know that Canada Post Pouch Cove was a cash only enterprise so no Pouch Cove cancellations. Said good-bye and happy retirement once again to Mary. That done one more time to Hava Java. The rains had ended so I could sit outside – the only one. I parked in Pleasant Street and walked down testing fate as Water Street was flooded.

Over to M. Francis Kelly to buy more cover stock – said good bye to Holly - back to the school to finish up and over to the Water Street Post Office.

For some reason, I thought at I would finally go and see Tors Cove – no real reason really. With Zequinho in tow I headed down Route 10 and with a dogged determination that I haven’t had, turned off to the cove.

It was a perfectly ordinary outing, spoke to buddy from Lancashire who said that he draws instead of photographs – this is what he was doing from his S.U.V. We chatted a bit and I went out looking – not for anything in particular.

What I found was some juxtapositions, boats with basketball hoops, abandoned bikes, very rich houses overpowering tolts. Made most of the snaps in the harbour and then again with the digital point and shoot on a beach. Remarked on the sheep – I hear brought down from the Goulds – on the island in the cove.

Some images of graffiti of someone declaring their love of the rock then a drive back through Petty Harbour – stopping in the Goulds at Bidgoods as I heard it was a place that I should see – it was closing.

Remembered that I wanted to photograph a section of Petty Harbour and made a note to do it the next day, as well as say good-bye to Peter.

It didn’t happen. This was the last outing. My last day was taken up hawking my work and having me leave on an optimistic note that the work may actually be seen by more than the dozen at the gallery.

i'm r. clarke-davis and this is ideas...

Was up early hoping that to get to the Mary March Lounge before the cleaners would arrive. It didn’t matter there was a pick-up in front of it and I had to deal with. People in radio really don’t car but we visual types…


I had to be back by nine as that was when we were to meet Albert who was taking us out in the canoe to four points along Red Indian Lake, but Buchan’s Junction warranted a reconnoitre. Well not really – I have to stop this as I dissed Buchan’s yesterday as it was quite a shock and truthfully looked like a company town that the company gave up on. To-day I felt that I should go back and actually hang out long enough to find out why people are there and what they do. I found a disused ballpark and the river but spent most of the time making digital panoramas.


In fact this day Ziquinho got a rest as I didn’t want to see him hit the drink with my canoeing prowess.

The shock of the day came when the person at the bed and breakfast came back to say that we had a problem – the place doesn’t take master card.

I turn penniless as my last funds go to pay the bill.

Millertown – 150 people - is small enough that I see Bert load the canoe so we head across the street laden with the newest technologies – which seem to be more vulnerable to water, salt or sweet, than the older ones. I take the digital point and shoot, Paul takes a digital Walkman.

The plan is Bert and I play native paddling while Paul sits in the middle being John Peyton Jr. His spin was that he wanted to hold the microphone to Bert while we were on the lake.

Why I like Newfoundland – yet again – go to your atlas of choice, find Red Indian Lake, look at the size roughly 70km in length - and we were the only people on it. All of a sudden I was wondering why the sea is so special. Once in the middle of it – again a reason I love the smiling land again the licence to experience every and anything – scale changed.

My canoeing prowess came was manifest immediately when I didn’t know what the prow was. More doubts as I said that I couldn’t swim. I was the one in the life jacket up front.

We were to visit sites that are based on Mary March/Demasduwsit – where the Marines were killed, where she was captured and where her body was left. Bert was more intent to prove that the Beothuks were in the area by showing us potential sites – the last one quite convincing – of mamateeks and long houses.

Paul was interviewing him for Ideas, I was along to see Central Newfoundland but became more interested in a more recent history of the area – the growth and bust of industry in the area.

When the mike went off I would ask how he felt about the bias of the province toward the ocean, about the resettlement/abandonment of Millertown Junction. He seemed only a bit less eager to talk about this. the railway that went through, the steam engine that is in ruins on the shore – supposedly one of the biggest in the world made to power the mills, that Millertown was once a place of 500 souls and all the houses had picket fences.

Wondered if I could broker more time here – could I press my luck.

I also liked the paddling - I could barely hear the conversation as Paul was facing away from me and Bert was even farther – it became a lake meeting.

I was also made aware of my age not due to any pain but liking this and realising that I cannot put off things that require parts of the body as they are at the time when they tend to deteriorate due to lack of use. I felt a bit better than Bert was a decade older but he did this all the time.

I was also reminded of these people who are doing things that I don’t even dream of. Kennedy canoeing the MacKenzie as a lad, wanting now to do a series on rivers – similar to the oceans series of quite a few years ago where he will drive the ice roads and my big thrill is out on the Red Indian Lake with a life jacket.

The day was perfect warm enough to row, minimal black fly which I prefer over mosquitoes, at the first landing two loons in the distance.

While the canoe was used to get to the sites, I preferred being on the canoe than on land. It could have to do the with novelty of being mere centimetres above the water, it could be the fact that I could actually paddle, or it could be that it opened a new mode of transportation that was slow enough that one can think, on bodies empty enough that one can daydream.

In truth it became worse when there was a goal as it didn’t seem to get any closer after a sizeable amount of rowing.

Didn’t miss Ziquinho.

While Paul was finishing up the interview on land, I headed out along the shore to the wheel of the steam engine and the mill.

Everything was there, in ruins and all over the place but there. while some would be picking up shells and rocks I wanted to pick up the railway rails, spikes, gears etc.


Didn’t make many snaps but they seemed pretty good, I think that they dealt with the remnants of industry here in Newfoundland – the whole colonial aspect even when this is no longer a colony – Abitibi owns the lake and the water in it.

The return walk was in town but only seemed to make the normal – laundry lines, sheds and lawn ornamentation.

We headed out on the lake just before nine, we got off the lake at four. We hadn’t eaten or drunk but also the equipment was intact.

Stopped at the convenience in town for liquids – I went for fruit juice and Gatorade – which we inhaled. A stop to photograph a house with lawn ornaments out of control – which probably won’t be used – and then again in Badger for dinner at Kellies – which I knew from the man boots up in his coffee cup.

Another Chinese/Canadian Food establishment although we didn’t know it until we were already seated. This time a salad, and a fried egg sandwich.

Except for the mauze that once again enveloped the isthmus, the conversation was of things one wants to do what one has done – I was sorely deficient in this category – although by almost hitting it in Terra Nova Park Paul saw his first moose on the Rock - and general outlook on the world – i.e. as close to total engagement as possible.

After this experience, CBC presenter is out. After the work ethic instilled in me by the WGAS, it is way too much work.

Desperately Seeking Shanawdithit

I reckon that the only way that I can get Kennedy out of Martin and Gabrielle’s is through scandal. I tried stink bombs that that popular US technique, loud soft rock music but to no avail.

So I offered to drive him out to the interior of Newfoundland then send photographs of him being driven by a person of colour to the CBC.

Always wanted to see Buchans and when Paul said that he was heading out to Red Indian Lake to interview someone how is an authority on Shanawdithit, I offered to drive out.

Why Buchans, because it as a far inland as one can get easily, because Michael Crummey is from there and it is the end of the road in the middle of the island. Every time I did the TCH passing through Badger I wanted to do the diversion, once I actually turned off but I had to be in St. John’s and not far down the Buchan’s Highway turned back.

The plan was to drive out with him – me driving – I also thought off calling this entry Driving a Kennedy – but not a real one. There would be a stop along the way in Grand Falls/Windsor at the Mary March Museum to talk to a curator there – and for me to get her name in the hopes of the work that went moulding at Pouch would be shown again on the island.

Then to Millertown to find this person who was to take us out in a canoe on Red Indian Lake to the sites of the last living Beothuk.

It seems that Paul was going to use his radio documentary card as he wanted to only hold a microphone to Albert’s face so that he could talk, I would be rowing.

He also needed photographs – ah yes RC-D photographer for radio.

There was no rush so a civilised start, was over on the front deck checking e-mail and talking to Ted about his boat being in the sea finally. He was taking the kids out to-day but there weren’t up yet.

- if I were in bed this long people would be calling 911.

Made it to Tim Horton’s in Stavenger Drive before we switched off – I think that he didn’t want to be seen not driving in Pouch Cove. Had a coffee – I heard that Tim’s put MSG in their coffee and was told to tell them to hold it.

No problem on the TCH – the usual weather nice fog through the isthmus a stop in Goobies for gasoline, and uneventful ride through Terra Nova as we both stare at the landscape, fog at Joey’s Lookout.

I forget how far it is between Gander and Grand Falls/Windsor which now seems like it is called Pinsenttown. We get lost as the Mary March museum is so small that I pass it and am heading out of town again before I do that most unmanly act and ask directions. – I also needed to pee.

Find it but decide it is time to eat and head to Tai Sun restaurant specialising in Chinese and Canadian Cuisine – neither really well.
I have the mushroom foo yung and the vegetable – read cabbage – chop suey with noodle – six crispy noodles.

Kennedy asks for the beer list.
-tell me what you want it will be faster the server says.
As he is mentioning Tsing Tao, she rattles off Cohrs Light, Canadian, Canadian Light, Blue and Budweiser.

After the leisurely lunch we head back to the museum to see if the curator is in.

Nope.

Will she be in to-morrow?

Nope

We leave with time to spare. I head over to the ball park to photograph it while Paul has other business to attend to.

I leave the film in the machine so have to head back to pick some up when the heavens open and really open. The streets become rivers, I pick up Paul head over to the Museum to pick up a to find Millertown – which spookily is already marked on the map – and in doing so become a contestant in the GFW wet t-shirt contest.

There are people standing on the steps waiting for the downpour to stop and one speaks to me – damn her.

Race to the machine pick up the camera, go back and photograph the people waiting.

Leave, saying that no one should be a slave to the weather, and stroll back to the car where we wait out the rain.

When it finally stops we head over to the ball park complex which is nothing but soggy ground and deep puddles but doesn’t stop some footballers from practicing.

Buddy comes out and tells us that he hasn’t seen rain like that before and in fact states it many times.

While he is talking to Kennedy I am heading off to the lake that was once a ball park.

Nice park not so much for what it is but where it is, dangerous stands, it is below the TCH with all these steps that lead to nowhere.

At first I thought that the Grand Stand was the ball park even when I knew it wasn’t made sure that I made some snaps of it.

My new found inefficiency was still present as I had to keep going back to the car for something or other – don’t know what I don’t carry the bag. To-day with the low sky was not a day to dally.

Wondered why there was a beach volleyball court in GFW.
-bikinis.
-ah.

Seeing the ocean has one forget how great rivers can be. Lake Gander was impressive but the Exploits…

We had nothing to do and time to kill so to Buchans 50 km off the TCH not even on Red Indian Lake, I wasn’t sure what to expect Buchans was definitely below anything that I could think of. We should have had a clue when at Buchan’s Junction there was the Mary March Lounge and Beothuk Street.

Buchans was dismal, a mining town – all around it the beauty of lakes and in the distance the Long Range Mountains. There houses that look like they could be moved when the mine closed. Instead of a greenbelt around the city there was a brown belt.



It is the type of place that I would want to spend more time in. If there were a Newfoundland version of Deadwood this is were it would be filmed.


As I was going to get out to photograph another downpour – we now realised that we both cannot get out of the machine at the same time I would have to exit, Paul would count to ten then leave the car. As every time we opened the door at the same time a drenching rain would happen.

Photographed around the old mine – just off downtown, a forlorn ballpark – where the RCMP passed but I reckoned that even they know that there is nothing in Buchans.

Headed over the hockey arena where we walked out of town again gob smacked it seemed that the mines had this scorched earth policy for the town.

Seen enough we head over to Millertown and the Bed and Breakfast passing the Mary March Lounge again this time with cars in front killing any sort of aesthetic snap that I could get.

Nevertheless after supper we have to try it out.

We guess what the place will be like. Paul is hoping for Mary March Lounge souvenirs – swizzle sticks, beer mats etc – poor deluded Upper Canadian.

I drew on my experience at the Seabreeze and with the exception of people in the bar and things that I forgot but were pretty obvious I was closer to the interior – No draughts beer – LaBatt’s and Molson Products only we would be drinking something other than Cohr’s light, pool table darts. I forgot the video gaming, TV and said that there would be eight people in the bar. There were four.

Two beers – me Jockey Club, he Black Horse - later we call it a night. The three people are still at the video gaming machines.

As I had stated, I hadn’t planned to leave St. John’s so early. I was hoping to arise at seven or so in order to wander about before the city woke up – Saturdays and Sundays are great for this and this would be even greater as I was sure that there would be a mess due to the George Street Festival.

The plan was to wash the sheets and curtains so that I could stay a bit longer but I realised that I couldn’t start any of this until the group downstairs woke up.

Finally left at nine for my read of the Globe at Hava Java as the city was already at it and George Street pretty clean.

Arriving back, the downstairs people were waiting as they were going on one of those puffin and whale watching ships and needed to know when they could move upstairs.

I was going to pack the machine and head out for a walk but then realised that with milk and other perishables in the machine it would be best to head up to Pouch Cove then back down to do what I want.

Somehow I ended up in Witless Bay Line leaving the photographs with the people that I saw on Thursday.

Was recognised by Kay and Al. Invited up on their deck for a chat and spent about an hour hearing more about the area and meeting more of their relatives.


Photographed a sign on one of the cabins – where I met the only person who was suspicious as he thought that I was going to make money off it – if only.

Others had joked about me being with the government but John here was more interested in money. Bob – his son – said if don’t have to do with money he ain’t interested.



Leaving the plan was to see Tors Cove – don’t know why I kept passing it and thinking that it would be a great place to wander, looked picturesque enough, some people that I am acquainted with live there why not.

Stopping at the North Atlantic just outside Bay Bulls, I thought that since I have the other snaps why not do a Newfoundland version of what I do in the States all the time. Cappahayden wasn’t all that far. I could rattle off the towns between here and there and – well why not again.

It is strange what I consider a waste of time right now, organised get togethers are a waste of time, I get antsy, don’t have much time for openings only go suppers to talk to people whom I haven’t seen and who don’t show up anyway.

It isn’t a waste of time – however – to stop overly long for a mug up and to drive the same road over and over again. It is also worth noting that Route 10 to Pouch Cove is driving me crazy with the traffic but even though I can rattle off the towns on the Southern Shore the ride is still interesting – a couple of years ago though it wasn’t.

Didn’t really worry about making time instead I turned off at places that at one time piqued my curiosity – La Manche - not the park – was an example it was an example also of not living up to expectations – nice cottage country but the provincial park won in the long run as it blocked getting to the ocean.

In my ironic mood stopped in Ferryland as the ball park was empty and not under construction photographed it thinking that this was the original home of the Orioles – The Ballpark at Avalon Yards – Baltimore Ferryland.

There were also some quite nice weather patterns as mauze had covered the Colony of Avalon and the temperature must have dropped 5C, kept rolling down and up different combinations of windows to adjust the temperature. When I started photographing the pitch there was a slight haze by the time I had finished it was bright sun and sultry once again.

There were minor diversions for Basketball hoops, closed conveniences, and a bevy of laundry lines. The spectators in these places must have wondered where this tourist belonged as he had never seen clothes lines before.

In Cappahayden it seemed that I hadn’t brought all the photographs with me I had left the one of Cecil someplace lost in the move – with some red tea. I did bring the photograph of the South Carolinians and since they weren’t home. I hung the photograph on their laundry line.

This time no dogs escorted me – with their owners at home I guess they had little use for CFA tourists.

Duckish sat out on the half picnic table writing, happy that the bed and breakfast 200 metres away has such a strong wireless signal. But it was time to be social.

So I am driving up to Pouch Cove, thinking how precarious my state is here. The great thing about Martin and Gabrielle was that they made me feel like Sullivan’s Loop was mine. Theoretically I was grateful but I didn’t realise how grateful I should be. Overstating it a bit this time I was a transient and not in the sense that I was moving onward but moving because the place that I was staying in was booked for a period of time.

After all these years the lingering effect of going to the same school for 15 years has me aware of temporality and thus not being able to feel at home until I feel that I can stay.

Hence the lack of a darkroom in Peasant’s Pissoir, where putting one in would make it feel more permanent – double edged sword there.

Entering Martin and Gabrielle’s felt like being home. Everything is the way that it was left. There may be some new books, another cd and a new appliance, but I don’t have to search for things, Paul and I have made it cyber friendly and I don’t have to get up and move. I didn’t have to worry about how the place looked until I left and then could clean it up. If I had to race out I could. I could entertain there.

It was the same with the Parks Canada house in Woody Point. It was “mine”. It could be left as is. It was a place to come back to.

Am glad that I am back in Pouch Cove finally but having to move with less than a week left is a bit disrupting to the point where I was sort of regretting it – residential Stockholm Syndrome – I had my routine, I knew where the cooking utensils were. There were more areas of the city that I wanted to explore – more ballparks, an area surrounded by Le Marchant Road, Freshwater Road and who knows to the west. I was also realising how much better placed I was downtown when heading west since I was heading west a great deal - than in Pouch Cove. In truth it was more about making do with what I had than an actual preference.

The downing of the show.

I find that I still try to cram too much into a day but also find that I allot way too much time so that it usually works out.

As soon as I got up went straight out to Pouch Cove to take down the show. Reckoned it wouldn’t take that long then I could head down to Hava Java and make a book before meeting up with Beth to talk about a possible exhibtion together – it seems that we both deal with detritus but I tend to leave it where it lays and she wants to pick it up and take it home. All this before1PM piece of cake.

The traffic wasn’t as frustrating as it can be going to Pouch Cove but that could be because I took Bauline Line in. Get to the school and it is locked. It has never been locked. Try other doors get in one but the inner door is locked. This will put an damper on everything as everyone was out late the night before and thus will still be a sleep walk over to Keith’s and luckily Dianne is up, tells me where the key is and I am in and taking down the show.

No panic little time wasted, only one print has visible signs of mould the others are just damp. Place them on some cardboard as I take them down and they seem to be soaking up the damp like a sponge on a wet surface. I look at a wall and can see baseball sized mould growing.

The work is down in less than 30 minutes. It fits in the Volvo – so what – I am to be homeless in a day and don’t have anyplace to store them. Leave them until I can find a home or a bonfire.

Almost hit a moose heading back into town. Try heading down Route 20 but construction has me turn around and in Pouch Cove Line one jumps out in front of the machine. Closer than anything in Woody Point.

In town needing my morning caffeine fix – but surprisingly less than when I am teaching – one café au lait does it. Drop off the snaps of Edward.

-so are you a tourist or what? When you first came in I thought you were a tourist but now I see you all the time – a server asks.
-I’m an unofficial one I come and stay until someone catches on.

Back to Auntie Crae’s to buy my baguette and Globe. There is another server named Trainée at the till.

Print the book but forgot that I would have to put it together and time was short. Feeling that I have to show something - more self-imposed pressure than anything Beth hinted at – I thought that I would make a book but in the end take over the layout and thinking that not enough the whole computer. I wanted to make sure that she still wanted to do this as it was mentioned after seeing only one snap – she seems to be one of the eight who reads these entries – and there was a lot to drink when I was over for dinner.

I have to remember that walks will take longer than in the States – where one tends to walk a bit more quickly to avoid the gunshots. Up pass the crowd in Charleton Street who are out so another chat and another image made.

Still have time.

Some Diana snaps – for some reason I feel like I should try again with the distancing that the camera does but I think all of that stuff is over – the digital seems to be taking the place of all things primitive. I say that now without having seen anything but feeling like I am forcing the issue with the Diana.

Stop to photograph two chairs symmetrically placed around a cat – I could do without the car - in Cabot Street. The owner comes out to chat thinking that I am a Leafs fan

-oh st. john’s I thought…
-habs fan!!! Leafs, gimme a break.
We discuss the value of the cap how I left one on a bus in Baltimore. HE shows me his pink white and green wrist band. I mention the Free NFLD ones at living planet. He hands me his.

I try to make the snap but he still stands there. I can only hope that they will be there when I come back – they weren’t.

Still have time – barely.

Crossing LeMarchant Road at Longs Hill.
-got a cigarette?
-don’t smoke.
-you know that they robbed a tourist here a couple of days ago and broke into another one’s car.
-I know seen a lot of RNC around this time back when I first came hardly heard a siren.
-it is the drugs this is a drug area, cocaine, oxycontin, it hit the island two years back this area has a lot.

am now late.

Nice place. If I had to live in the city it would be perfect – except for the lack of view. nice size good back garden and we sat outside. Debated the etiquette of detritus – would I photograph something that had been touched by a “hoarder” would a “hoarder” still take something that had been “documented”.

Arrived at a date more or less and would let everything go to see what happens – personally for my work I want small work I also want triptychs so as move them from the ikon to the metaphor. I also want a casual hanging.

Chats about the art world, the types who choose Newfoundland – I see a similarity to those who were in the colonies during the British Empire – briefly (did I write that!) the locals, the one’s who are out there hoping for better things back in the mother country and are growing more embittered by the day and those who stay on because they like the place.

Walked back wanting to clean the streets of litter so that Beth will have nothing to pick up.

At the first extended stop of the outing up the Bonavista Bay side of the Bonavista Peninsula, I started to wonder if I am somehow a new incarnation of John Berger.

It could have been the people cutting the hay for their horse. It could also have been the fact that I was glad that I was out of St. John’s and wandering around the province again and it was a lovely day.

I also worried that I was somehow intellectually slumming it as every time I pick up the camera I worry that I am adding to the stereotype of the place while attempting to do the opposite. There were a lot of empty, unused buildings, of rooms, overgrown playgrounds and someone using scythes instead of something motorised does tend toward the nostalgic and quaint rather than energy efficient – the human version of laundry lines.

It was also brought up to me - although indirectly – how the area was being changed by the CFA’s. It was then that I realised that I was driving the ultimate townie machine – saw no Volvos parked around the houses when I was out.

Up early to get to the Clarenville for breakfast at Tim Horton’s - packed dinner but forgot breakfast – two Danish then what I thought a race to the junction of routes 230 and 2355 for the part of the area that I was interested in.

The plan up the Bonavista Bay side – more interesting - to Bonavista to wander then back to Catalina before heading home.

What kept the speeding in check was road construction just outside Georges Brook where I saw a ball park, then again at the Clarenville Airstrip which is used for drag racing.

A stop in Summerville for the church which was balanced by lobster pots and crates for shipping assuaging my worries that I was documenting only those things not in use anymore.

Also saw another saw mill which would be a recurring theme on the outing – came across more in Plate Cove and Stock Cove.
a minor delay here as i am at hava java and am in more shock than usual a starbucks is opening across the street and i have been going DSL crazy answering e-mails and chatting with someone whose work i respect Battery Radio - now ed has come and sat down.

My photographic process was pretty much inefficient. I am still in the mind set that I will hop out of the machine make a couple of snaps of the place then hop back in. Due to this I pick up ‘Bira, and the digital and head away – note to self when I am deported back to civilisation, remember to lock the car, here I leave it unlocked with the windows down.

This isn’t the case anymore. The times away from the machine are longer, I run out of film and at times go back for the Diana when I am feeling particularly moody.

I became the subject of curiosity when I kept returning to the machine in Plates Cove. Stopped at first due to the rooms close to the road and the ex-lax thermometer on the side of a garage, then found out that there was a saw mill and a mural, so returned for more film, then saw some new lobster pots so back for more film and a different camera – got me why the different camera – although completely different in temperament ‘Bira and Zequinho more or less interchangeable. I use Ubirajara for precise framing and Zequinho for snaps of people but now I am used to both and know where the edges are on both.

Then saw a man harvesting hay with a scythe – hence the John Berger reference – Into Their Labours, my version, Once in Bonavista – Cod Sea and To the Soiree. While de did the Newfoundland nod and I asked if I could head down on the path, I felt this not sufficient to make his snap and felt that if I did I would be more anthropologist than documenter –again an olde worlde habit by backwards people when I saw a man who looked half his age not contributing – unlike me – too global warming and almost zen like in the movement – very compact very close to the ground.

Went to photograph lobster pots – which I needed so that I wouldn’t be aiding the idea of the province as a lost cause steeped in its past. Then saw a gutting table, so needed to head back to the machine to pick up the Diana and more film.

All of a sudden there were three people in the field now more bemused by my comings and goings than their job two were cutting one was sharpening.

Back to the machine in case to get the digital and more film.

- how much film do you have? The one who was sharpening asked.
Ah the introduction I needed. We chatted.
From Baltimore. They’ve been there.
Were they clearing the field?
No hay for the horse.
Will this be enough for winter?

At this time the first guide dog of the day approached - a puppy - with his owner running behind him.

Started with the real camera, then made some digital of which I think the digital point and shoot were the best. I like the twin lens like waist level aspect. I can still carry on a conversation.

Joke a bit while the woman went down the path chasing her dog, they still astounded on the amount of snaps I was making and wondering if I would come back.

Headed onward and one would think that I would learn and carry the courier bag but no in Point Cove East I did the same thing and worse photographing the freshwater wading pool by the ocean. The pool being full of people threw me off.

Talked to two Upper Canadians one who was born there but left when she was three, a quick snap and went on kicking myself for I knew that could do better but this realisation only came when I got to King’s Cove.

Kings Cove and Stock Cove was pretty much alone but still didn’t take the bag- I chalk it up to some new exercise regimen – Newman’s Cove by far the least picturesque was the one that I liked the best.

The others were real coves that brings into question on of the debates on water – pond, inlet, open sea. Pond for its friendliness one can swim, fish and not worry about hyperthermia or riptides. Inlets are picturesque with the far shore in the background and the houses climbing the hills. There is usually a twisty road. Open Sea, however, there is no other side, there is an horizon line no things placed to let your eye wander – it goes to the horizon and then back to the shore.

This was Newman’s Cove. This is where the Bayman-Townie Skitching Residency would be – but then again the day before it would have been in Cappahayden.

Parked and walked the main drag photographing the sadness of all the shops that were closed, looking at all the places that could be bought with Canadian Tyre money but also seeing people out for the food fishery and a working harbour.

My precarious position and my worries about my status on the Rock were stated by a man, who stopped mowing his “lawn” to have a chat. He was born in the house. He now lived in Marystown (why?) and was selling it.

He had moved away some time ago and his father had let the house go. When he died, it was sold to someone who let it go and defaulted on the mortgage so he bought it back.

Now it is not feasible for him so he is going to sell it and put a camper on a lot overlooking the sea that he also owns.

His family had a deep history here – owned a shop knew everyone. Now there was only one convenience. The place was hardly self sufficient when at one time it was. We discussed the fact that the hope of areas like this will be as retirement communities and he pointed out some of the new residents – no need their houses didn’t fit in at all but there were quite well off. There were people who were better off than I had anticipated.

He also mentioned how the place has changed.
- with the people who used to be here I could walk through their yards as shortcuts but with these new people and their ideas of property I am not sure.

Felt sheepish hearing this as I was scoping out property – yeah right like I’ll ever move here – but proud that he could confide in ma about this.

Then showing concern about my photography told me to go down and ask the watermen if I could go out with the food fishery

-good photographs from out there. A two hour wander about the town – don’t know where the time went – escorted once again by a dog.

Spoke to a woman on her front porch – I wanted the porch empty when I went up but I hesitated.

Down to the launch where came up with a quicky book CONSTELLATIONS.

Bonavista was too big, I couldn’t focus and by now I wanted to get back to the fresh water pool in Point Cove East. Drove through not even stopping.

The same almost happened in Catalina but I went back to the place we were on Saturday, parked the machine and walked. Ran into the two lads selling painted rocks – bought one 25¢ - and photographed them. Then a boat launch some laundry lines, wood piles, bus shelters, root cellar, rooms, some formal stuff and more images for the quicky book. The battery in the digital was dieing and I thought – wrongly that I had brought another. So no digital snap of the kids as I wanted to photograph the pool in colour.

It was the perfect time of day, the sun low the temperature changing as it does when it is duckish, the sea on the Trinity Bay side was calm. The exposures were racing the setting sun.

Arrived at the pool and made a snap. Moved a bit to make another and …

Memory card full.

What it couldn’t be.

Checked again and yes the memory card was full. A panic edit so that I could get two more images. Thought as if I were using a plate camera, made an exposure.

Left. Saw another potential snap so another image was culled.

The cameras are put away and I look for a picnic table for my supper and decide to eat it pond side in Summerville a popular place to hang out as there is a stonehenge of Canadians. One more digital and film snap and this time for sure the cameras will go away and I eat.

A man and his daughter are walking along the pond.

Halfway into the picnic – British style in the machine – three cars and two dirt bikes pull up to have their evening meetings.

Don’t rush, finish my meal then start the journey back, but divert into Brooklyn as it was only three kilometres off the main road.

My last dog guide shows me around and there is just enough space on the memory card for a jpeg. Use the ‘Bira to make a snap of a bus shelter then see a gutting table below with the rising moon.

Then worrying it won’t come out go back to the machine to get more film and Zequinho for more attempts in the near dark, the dog now bored with my indecision.

bonavista bay

Cabinland

I try to be mature. I really do. When I was at Hava Java I had all these plans to market my work, do all those things that some people are desperate for me to do, but it simply doesn’t come.

As soon as I was finished with the cantaloupe, carrot, orange juice, I was thinking outing on this lovely day.

Not a large one but a leisurely one to clear the mind of those places I have been annotating that I should return to. Thought the wetlands along the Southern Shore only to where Route 10 heads inland after Cappahayden maybe as far as Chance Cove Park no further, and – why not – go via the Witless Bay Line for the cabins and mini barrens. Nothing special, something quick to work up to the reprieve from the land of the Bushwacked.

Peter mentioned a road in Cape Broyle that was rife with cabins.

The machine was loaded with the usual crowd. Am now taking a film shield bag on every outing although I never go through it all. Ubirajara now being the camera of choice when there are no people involved and when I absolutely have to know where the edge of the film is – was on the front seat. Am still bracketing and second guessing the meter readings still fearful that nothing will turn out.


Am surprised that I revisited Split Rock but did start the day off on an ironic note – a chip van that had broken down near the TCH – but most of the day was as irony free as I can get.

Along the road I seemed to focusing on isolation but more on voluntary isolation – cabins in the distance, empty, neglected corrals only big enough to hold one animal. Tried to photograph the
Water that would gather in the bogs but too much vegetation got in the way.

Empty cars with people in the distance picking bakeapples. Every thing seemed vacant.

Then I came to this caravan park that I had seen a couple of winters back and remarked upon every time I passed, and pulled in.

There were people everywhere. All out and enjoying the day. Felt sort of strange in the multitude so I parked the Volvo and went up to someone and asked if I could wander about a bit.

-yes sir wander at will take pictures, no problem.
Why do I like this place? South of the 49th there would the option of facing shotguns or having the police come up and tell me to move on.

Here there is curiosity, there paranoia.

Coldly, calculatingly, I realise that asking to wander gets me all sorts of information but it does slow down the process a bit.

It slowed it down to about three hours as I stopped and chatted with about everyone I met.

It seems that this is gravel pit cabin life where the lots are free so people come set up their caravans – school buses are popular - and spend the summer.

Some have been coming for 30 years – before the Witless Bay Line was built. There is a pond behind the camp and week-ends are the big times when there are bonfires and music. Most take their caravans away in come winter as there has been vandalism and some cabins have been burned but for the most part it is safe as everyone looks out for each other and it is quite the little village.

The Williams family – no relation to Danny - was waiting for the wife to finish planting as they wanted to head back to Bay Bulls to go fishing for cod. I was shown the gun he carved out of wood, invited me to see his boat on the pond behind the place and gave me some history of the place. He found it funny that his best friend was Harper.


Spoke to a woman who had been coming for 30 years and when the season is over detaches the caravan from the deck and drives off. It seems that there have been attempts to close the place down.

As I stated this was an irony free day as this place was rife for condescension, but the people really took pride in what they had and have made those who are less tidy clean up. I photographed those things where people tried to make their place seem like home and different from the others – lanterns, their decks, gardens etc.

Spent some time talking to Tom from Mount Pearl, who went around telling me where all the people came from – Mount Pearl, Bay Bulls, CBS, Paradise and St. John’s. He was in the pick up listening to the CB and had been to Baltimore, Margaret was in the caravan watching her soaps thanks to the generator. He wasn’t down on week-ends as he doesn’t drink or smoke.

When I thought that I had finished, buddy comes up to me and asks if I am with the government sent out here to see how dirty the place was and close it down.

-can a government official afford a Volv… then remembered the scandal and laugh.

He and his friend were long haulers, most wanted to know if I were a Newfoundlander and why I was alone.

I finally left at about three.

No problem, there was still time to do everything that I wanted and it not this was great. While making official photographs I was also photographing them with the digital as Paula Williams wanted me to send her the snaps. As they are close plan on printing them and dropping them off before I leave.

At times I worry about slumming but frankly prefer spending time here joking and chatting than with the crowd I am supposed to hang out with, while both seem to add to my knowledge of the province but here is seems more experienced than read about.

The rest of the road was negotiated without incident and was well into driving when I came to another road that I was curious about while racing by – another dirt road through better cottage country again people-less and less interesting as the houses along here were tasteful.

Photographed an aquaduct that was leaking so much water that it looked like a giant lawn sprinkler hose.

Back in the psyche of the open road was racing to get past Renews where the land really got interesting – except that for stops in Mobile - cabins – outside Brigus South – a pond, Acquaforte – the view. Renews – a basketball hoop and a multicoloured saltbox.

In truth, the real reason for the trip wasn’t all that great and even though I made it, if I depended on this for the images I would have been disappointed. I romanticised the area forgetting the barriers, I wanted the planes and wet areas but forgot that they are nearly impossible to get to and didn’t want shrubbery in the foreground.

The same happen with an erratic filled river. Great idea but without waders…

The trip back was to photograph these woodpiles that should be placed among the wonders of the woodpile world in Cappahayden and two drying nets somewhere around Cape Broyle – I miss them at 110 km/h and while there are times that I do back up 100 metres and more for some reason to-day I felt responsible.

Missed the turn off for Cappahayden but didn’t matter as there were these nice iconic images of southern shore populations.

Was greeted by a dog who knowing that I was a stupid human and didn’t speak dog – couldn’t even recognise his dialect – picked up a rock, chewed on it and dropped it at my feet.

Thought that a branch would be better – although rocks were easier to find. So I am trying to make snaps between the time the stick leaves my hand and the dog brings it back.

I must throw terrible as he finally goes off and I go on my way this time to be met by a smaller yappier dog who only wants to bark until I ignore her – the owner comes out to watch I ask some questions and all is well, spoke to a person who lost his keys – or locked them in his trailer.

I was photographing objects and juxtapositions

By this time the first dog thought it was time to give me a second chance and walked with me to the cliff where he climbed down and seem put off that I wouldn’t.

Headed back to be met by another dog – a yank – who owned some South Carolinians who had bought the land that their caravan was on. Bill came out to chat tell me about the trip up that this was their second year here and bought the land. She – Laura - wants to launch a house, he wants to build a new one. They love it here. I embarrassed her in coming out as it seems that the women hide in the cabins while the men folk come out to chat.

Took my leave to get down to the road with the good woodpile on it this one had a decent one but everything would now be a pale comparison to this one.

But not before one more time at fetch with the dog who now brought a friend and to make it interesting roll around in the only mud puddle - more mud than puddle – in sight.

A long throw and a dash in the machine passing buddy still looking for his keys.

What a wood pile tried to find the owner to ask but couldn’t he was having his tea and found me and said it was no problem. He asked where I was from and that he was from Eire family came over during the potato famine. Mentioned wayward Wisconsinite as the history seemed equal and mine wasn’t quite the same.

Invited me for a mug up the next time I was down. His dog kept his distance.

Photographed the nets found the road that Peter said that I should head down as it is cabin country for sure.

As It Happens was signing off as I unlocked the door.