Falling into Autumn

I feel a rant coming. Some time ago I was educated to the fact that in setting up Apartheid South Africans came to Canada to study our reserve system as a blueprint for eliminating an unwanted ethnic minority. Sending body bags to Native Reserves as a method of treating H1N1 virus is so repellent and insensitive as to be beyond bad taste. Certainly the crowded ill-constructed housing conditions and limited life-expectancy on reserves makes them prime targets for such an epidemic but I agree with the elders who found the move insulting and refused delivery of this 'gift'.

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The most dangerous food in the world is wedding cake.

"Do you want to insure this?" asked the clerk at the post office when I handed her my package.

"Nope," I answered. "The contents aren't breakable."

The clerk wasn't so sure. "Ma'am, we are professionals. We can break anything."

Every time I tell Irving Layton what I plan to do next he says,

"Are you sure you're doing the wrong thing?"

--Leonard Cohen

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September 25

A couple days ago the Northern Hemisphere passed through the Autumnal Equinox. However iconic this spatial natural event may be the realities of the season were already with us. With the advent of September overnight frosts, cold blustery winds, and squalls of rain were already upon us. Almost overnight the leaves of hardwood trees lose their verdant green and turn almost fluorescently red, gold, orange and magenta. Fragile fern turn amber at the slightest hint of frost. Evergreens, though they remain green year-round slough off aging needles with yellowing boughs giving the trees an unhealthy look. In these and many other ways forest plants and animals prepare for the annual dormancy of winter.

Country Music Buffs might think of:

I played around, and stayed around

This old town to long

Summer's almost gone, yes

Winter's coming on...

And it looks like

I gotta travel on.

But hillsides turning brilliantly red and fog banks drifting over rocky outcrops ringing with the raucous calls of blue jays, crows and ravens remind me of the poet Bliss Carmen studied decades ago:

Along the line of smoky hills

The crimson forest stands

And all day long the Blue Jay's call

Sounds through the Autumn lands.

On Canada's East Coast with its Mixed Acadian Forests and remnant Appalachian Mountain Range even in the few urban areas wilderness is never more than a brief walk or drive away and these lines eminently capture the scene.

Today, Friday, September 25, 2009 is my Brother-in-Law Richard's sixtieth birthday and I, parked over one hundred miles distant in this campground, can be with him only in spirit. It's great when a sibling can give you a surrogate brother you didn't get through birth. I can only wish that he, as I have been able, were retired.

Today is one of those typical Fall days here in Nova Scotia. At dawn the rising tide brought with it an intense squall of rain and a cold gusting wind has driven scattered showers ever since. Surprising how accurate meteorologists can be about bad weather, now if they can be right about the next two days of sunshine? Well they weren't.

September 28, 2009

I left Nova Scotia yesterday amid some eagerness to escape the yoke of the Campground Host Experience. Made it to Sackville, New Brunswick where I stopped at the tourist bureau and the ESSO station across the road, a busy spot as the first opportunity to buy gas 6¢ a litre cheaper than NS. My tanks full I set off for Hopewell Rocks. Since there are no bridges or ferries cross the Petitcodiac River one is forced to drive to Moncton and then back down to a point just a few miles from Sackville and just across the Minas Basin from Joggins, NS. The Petitcodiac is famous for its Tidal Bore which, at Spring Tides enthusiasts attempt to surf and catch on river rafts as the powerful tides back up the river creating up to a 3 foot wave.

Ponderosa Pines Campground lives up to its name though the trees here are Red Pine and they are dropping an alarming number of needles many looking frighteningly yellow and their foliage remarkably thin. The park has two large onsite lakes but after a summer without adequate power and no Wi-Fi the opportunity to catch up on the outside world has occupied me the last 12 hours. I've missed being able to check things out online on a whim at any time of the day or night without leaving the comfort of my own RV. Just as well as toward dark it started raining and has done so heavily ever since. So much for light showers. I have managed to whittle my E-mail 'in-box down from over 1000 to 300. I also have 300 CBC News Updates to catch up on later today. That news goes back to late July. In that time I've missed many program updates which will need installing later along with September's Windows Updates. I've also taken advantage of the opportunity to explore the online information on the parks I'm headed to in the next month of so and confirm that I have a place to stay in Texas this winter. With rain in the forecast for today and tomorrow it would seem I'll have plenty of time to play catch-up.

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And They Call That Art?

Were not Ryan Adams a Rock Musician of some note would anyone be interested in seeing the childish collection of so-called art on display in the Bowery in NYC:

http://www.morrisonhotelgallery.com/

Summer's Close

September 2, 2009

Getting a visit from Bill not being sufficient penance the following weekend Hurricane Danny came a knocking. Since Nova Scotia Parks shut down their entire system for Bill the week in between was quiet. As it happened Danny, though a much weaker storm hit Yarmouth head on with gusty winds and heavy rain. With the soil already saturated from the previous rains Danny and the heavy rains that followed a day after he left served to raise the lake levels nearly half a foot to unheard of levels. Cleaning ones feet after swimming is no longer an issue as one steps off the ramp directly into the water as these before and after shots will show.

Being the only camper in the park last Monday the 24^th of August I settled for making a pancake breakfast for the staff here. I spent most of the last week working on a puzzle I set up in the beach shelter. I've had opportunity for daily swims and lots of reading. I've been busy working my way through the recently released TV Series Battlestar Gallactica. The series makes frequent use of the word 'frak' in substitution for the forbidden 'f' word, but since both obviously refer to fornication I begin to wonder what the frak the difference may be.

Last Saturday I set up shop in the beach house, built a fire, and settled in to read my E-mailed cartoons, online magazines, and the Austin City Chronicle. When people actually showed up to join me I boiled corn as planned and went through 18 cobs. For the rest I played the games I'd bought at Wal-Mart and began work on my puzzle. There could be worse places to ride out a hurricane.

After two weeks of having a large provincial park almost entirely to myself it's a novel idea to think of having to share it with what could easily be over 200 people. With days when there were only 3 sites occupied the idea of 90 sites is a mite over-whelming. We already have 60 reservations for our 87 sites and in a pinch can squeeze in at least 8 more in overflow camping. I'm waiting to see how many people show up for the 8:00 AM nature walk I've offered to lead on Saturday.

As luck would have it just when one thinks nature has thrown its worst at you the area has just suffered a power failure. I can, of course operate my RV for several days on its onboard batteries but the gal in the office is staring at a blank registration screen. As it turned out the break in power was caused by power commission staff bumping the power wires with a maintenance basket while tending to a fallen tree.

Leaving Yarmouth and Ellenwood

It would seem that campers are more interested in partying hearty all night and sleeping in next morning. Two urchins showed up for hot chocolate when I got up early, made fire, and got ready for a morning nature walk.

In the wake of Hurricane Danny on August 29^th and the rain storm that followed dropping 4 inches of precipitation in short order September arrived with two weeks of Sunshine. As expected a flood of campers arrived for the long weekend and I went up to the office to help with their processing. Fortunately the 60-some campers managed to space their arrivals so that no line-ups ensued.

Once again a campground was faced with the incompatible expectations of those who look at camping as a wilderness experience of peace, quiet, and natural sounds and those who run their generators from dawn to dusk, engage in loud campfire parties and conversation, and gather in large groups to consume excessive amounts of alcohol. I must admit that I come down on the side of those who feel that noise from an adjoining campsite that makes it impossible to hear the loons calling is an obscenity.

Weathering Bill

Saturday, August 22, 2009

This is a good news/bad news story. The good news is that insects will not be a problem tonight. The bad news is that this is the case because I'm parked in front of Wal-Mart in Yarmouth Nova Scotia, not at my Campground Host Site in Ellenwood Park. Alas, I will not be getting my swim today. The approach of 700-KM-wide Hurricane Bill off our shores panicked the Nova Scotia Parks Department to close down their parks system for two days. Never mind that the winds here at the coast will be 30 miles an hour higher than inland, there are no trees to fall on me in this asphalt jungle. At least I'm on a hill well away from the shore and parked beside the Nova Scotia Liquor Commission with it's walk in beer cooler if I get too warm. The park is closed until Monday at least when parks staff will assess the damage.

 

It's remarkable how different campgrounds in the same parks system can be despite the fact that they operate under the same voluminous set of regulations and statutes. The first surprise is that this campground has a non-descript beach monitored by two provincially sponsored lifeguards 8 hours a day 7 days a week even though they often guard single swimmers.  People in the know walk over to the smaller but kinder campers beach in the park. The campground host site is drive-through and strategically located at the entrance to the two campers loops with a steep walk up to the comfort station and a short walk from the beach. No racoons here to visit the garbage and aside from red squirrels and chipmunks not much wildlife. So far I've heard the resident barred owl at 4:00 AM, a mourning dove, a boreal chickadee and seen a female cardinal and a loon out on the lake at dawn.

 

Whereas the majority of campers in Cape Breton were from Quebec or out of province, here at Ellenwood most people are locals who return repeatedly over the course of the summer to their favourite sites.  Weekends are the most popular times to camp which makes the fact that the beaches were closed last weekend due to an error collecting samples by the resident lifeguards and now again this weekend due to Bill tough on park statistics. Parks staff here are welcoming and friendly making an unexpected addition to their compliment feel instantly at home. Save for the fact that the gate to the day-use area is locked at dusk no record is kept of visitors there. The campground is gated and the office open 24/7 and manned by a female staff. I have met the Kevlar-vested and armed conservation officers in their brand-new air conditioned SUV complete with onboard computer.

 

Just before notice came down that the park was closing I managed to drum up business for the nature walk this morning and rode over to join Matt and the two people who showed up to take it. When we got back learned the park was closed and finished packing up for the move to Wal-Mart in Yarmouth. On the way paused at the visitors centre to catch up online.

 

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Woke at 4:30 to the insistent sound of pounding surf at the coast. The wind picked up gradually and imperceptibly. The rain arrived at 6 AM just as if someone had turned a water sprinkler on high. By 1:30 the sun started coming out and the sky clearing but the wind, if anything is still picking up and gusting heavily. Across the province broken tree branches and tree falls are taking out the expected number of power lines and along the coastline police are finding it necessary to protect thrill-seekers from their own stupidity. The cynic in me says let them go and allow natural selection to improve the overall intelligence level of the gene pool. I'm waiting to hear if Mark got surfing in the 30 foot rollers. The workers in the park to which I'm attached the next two weeks have been told not to report to work today so I'm waiting for someone to tell me what the assessment is tomorrow morning. I'm not expecting much more than a few broken branches and blown leaves.

 

I just moved my RV in closer to the store so it can break the wind for me and turned my RV nose into it. I'm about to go visit my hosts who seem to be doing a bang up business. Weather, it would seem, does nothing to curb the urge to shop. The rain, however found all the building's leaks and the wind has done an excellent job of sweeping the parking lot.

 

Monday, August 24, 2009

After looking out and seeing the heavy morning fog pulled the covers back up and went back to sleep. Decided to patronize my hosts again and went in to pick up some new socks and undies. Drove down to the visitors centre to send my E-mail and got them to call my park and establish that yes, they are open. As of nearly 5 PM I'm the only camper in the park so visiting will not be a challenge as long as I manage to get along with myself. The life guards in the day use area were paid to stay home yesterday. Slowly but surely I'm getting my campsite back in shape. Before supper I'll go for a swim.

 

 

 

 

On Being a Campground Host

So this is where reality meets romance. Yes, I get a complimentary campsite and in return I get to meet fellow campers and answer their questions. I also get to interact with campground staff and have discovered the reception there is mixed.  It would seem that just because a park tech who works in an off-site office has decided his park should have a campground host doesn’t necessarily mean that the staff who actually work on site are totally sold on the idea. Opinions there seem to be mixed. 

 

Neither the North Atlantic nor the Minas Basin can be expected to accord swimmers a warm welcome. The patch of gravel that passes for a beach at the Battery will cool one off quickly. At Five Islands the expansive shoreline begins with a 30 ft pebble shingle followed by mudflats that extend up to a mile and a half out to sea at low tide.  At the turn of low tide the sea rushes in quickly and at the turn of high tide the undertow sweeps all out to sea. Ellenwood will have fresh water lakes and I’m hoping that rumours of high fecal coliform counts prove to be incorrect. 

 

The art of meeting people has its ups and downs. One can never predict what kinds of questions one will be asked. I now know all about the proper preparation of clams. Are the mackerel running—they are here at the Battery. Are the squid running—they only show up here once every 5 years and if they were the locks would be coated in ink, try Canso. Where are all the Bald Eagles? I can now say I saw one perched early this morning in a spruce tree adjoining the water near the lock and alas my camera was in my RV a half-mile distant.  I also witnessed a British Lass stretched out on a blanket in the sun have a panic attack because an inch worm crossed into her view.  Luckily she didn’t witness the 3 inch slugs I saw at Five Islands or she’d have been traumatized for life.  Is the Newfoundland Ferry likely to be busy—call them.  When does the coffee shop open—Tim Horton’s is 24 hours. Where would I buy lobster—at Lobsters-Are-Us in Little Harbour on the way to Point Michaud Beach.  See I’ve picked up a bit of local knowledge. 

 

Every park seems to be different.  Some are gated and sign visitors in and out, some have given up on gates that just don’t work.  Day use in Nova Scotia Provincial Parks is free.  The Battery Park, I’ve discovered lacks a sewage dumping station but most have comfort stations with warm showers.  The fire wood here at The Battery is the driest I’ve encountered anywhere in my camping experience but soft wood has no staying power.  The campsites in most provincial parks tend to be spacious and here at the battery afford one magnificent views of St. Peter’s  Bay.  The town of St. Peter’s is a short walk across the lock.  The St. Peter’s Canal adjoins this park and one can sit and watch boats pass through all day and the swing bridge operate to allow sailboats with tall masts passage. I have never seen as much Cow Parsnip in one place as I have here at The Battery.  In mid August sunny days are bringing goldenrod and asters into bloom. 

 

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Entered Nova Scotia as a fog bank ate Tantramar Marsh.  No piper at the visitor's centre on weekends.  Found a bank in Amherst along with Sobey's.  Stopped at the Masstown Market near Truro a local phenomenom that combines beer/liquor/wine, nursery, bakery, meat market, fruit stand and grocery store/knickknacks all in one.  From there drove up to Five Islands along a pot-holed Hwy 2 with tire-eating breaks in the pavement.  Five Islands is a place to watch the tide pour in and out of the Minas Basin.  My Campground Host Site up beside the hilltop comfort station was seeded days before I arrived and the sign put up that very morning.  A long walk down a steep hill takes you to the cliffs overlooking the East River and the five offshore islands.  The 'beach' has 30 feet of sharp pebble shingle leading to mud flats  that extend for over a mile at low tide and disappear at the rate of 1 ft a second when the tide roars back in.  An offshore rock approachable at low tide bears the image of the old wife-she was definitely an old hag.  A Mi'kmaq from Millbank came in Saturday Night to tell us how Glooscap created the Five Islands by throwing rocks at Beaver in the Bay.  A Korean is busy buying up businesses in Five Islands including an entire island where he built a resort with materials barged and helicoptered in.  Parrsboro has stores and a Geological Museum.  Joggins has a fossil museum. 

 

At my sister's in Lake Fletcher got my laundry done, to sleep in a double bed, and to bathe in a large bathtub.  Visited my Aunt Muriel in Bridgewater area after driving down through dense fog.  Got carrot cake for my birthday and then my brother-in-law engineered a complete washing and waxing of my RV along with various repairs and bike adjustments.  We got in canoeing on a local lake becoming becalmed after fighting our way a mile up the lake against a stiff breeze.  Watched The Watchmen and the Curious Case of Benjamin Button.  The former a marathon watched over two nights, the latter better than I'd expected.  Sunday got out for deep fried clams and chips-I treated. 

 

The ride up to Cape Breton on a Holiday Monday was blessedly uneventful.  The Canso Causeway looks miserable as the sea has been chewing away at its banks.  St. Peter's is a busy little town with local bars featuring Ceilidhs-live Scottish/Irish music.  Authentically the word connotes an informal kitchen party.  St. Peter's is the home of Wallace MacAskill a sailor who began a career in black and white photography of the sea and ships after a tourist gifted him with a Kodak Brownie camera in thanks for his assistance.  His photo of the Bluenose graces our dimes.  There is also a small museum and a so-called wildlife museum with inappropriate donated specimens manned by a local boy who will work until the grant money runs out in two weeks.  Talking with him was more interesting than his museum.  The Campground Host's Site near the comfort station actually has jury rigged 30 AMP power on crushed rock surrounded by mud, a Campfire Circle, and a twenty-foot canvas Teepee from Ohio the purpose of which no one can explain.  It is not appropriate to the local Mi'kmaq traditions. 

 

St. Pedro began as a Portugese Colony until the French made it St. Pierre with a fort named Toulouse.  It was leveled after the British captured Louisbourg.  A French Trader named Nicholas Denys held sway here for twenty years until a granary fire leveled his holdings and he left for Bathurst New Brunswick.  The British established Fort Dochester here on the height of land after capturing New France.  Nothing but signposts mark any of these sites.  The remains of a farm owned by a family named Kavanaugh remain as foundation stones but his home ended life as an insane asylum.  Adjoining the park the National Parks Service maintains the St. Peter's Canal as the oldest working canal in North America.  It affords passage from St. Peter's Bay on the Atlantic to Bras d'Or Lakes boats being lifted or dropped according to the tides.  Bras d'Or-Shoulders of Gold-Lakes are salt or brackish but with only two narrow outlets onto the sea vary by less than 1 foot in height so are barely tidal.  Being protected waters they are ideal for canoeing and kayaking. 

 

Monday the third the fog didn't lift until noon and settled back in by 4.  A large boat negotiated the locks but all anyone knew of her was the sound of her echoing fog horn.  I spent the forth of August cycling around town and today, the fifth settled in for a lazy day in camp.  Only a dozen sites in the park are occupied.  There's a campfire tonight with a talk on the canal.  I have been strongly encouraged to visit Arichat, Point Michaud, and Marble Head Beach and may strike out if the rain holds off tomorrow.  There's a weak but warm sun shining in my window but fog all but obscures the far side of the bay.  The park has more cow parsnip than I've ever seen in one place before.  Have talked with people from Maine, Quebec City and Montreal, along with families from Moncton, Halifax and Ontario.  A family from California and a couple from South Carolina and New England.  Gave travel advice to a Moslem Bosnian couple from Toronto.  They were sleeping in the attached rear of their pickup truck.  One of those enclosed box jobbies. 

 

Just was out for a walk to drum up business for this evening's campfire and must now get a bite of supper before things get interesting around here.  The campfire circle is part of my host site.  After another week here I head for the southern end of Nova Scotia six hundred kilometers distant.  Getting there involves driving most of the way back to Halifax, then down Hwy 101 to Yarmouth.  I expect to give myself two days for the trip.  I'll want to stop in Yarmouth along the way.  Finally, there I will get a chance to go for a daily swim though it will be a fresh-water lake, not fifty degree salt-water.  Guess I've gone soft.  I don't take cold showers any more either.  Today is warm and the humidity nearly 100%.  Haze still obscures the far shore of the bay but at least we aren't socked in with fog. 

 

Be careful what you ask for.  The ankle I sprained in Five Islands is still bothering me but then sprains heal slowly especially if you keep walking on them.  That's life in the wilds of Nova Scotia.

 

My second week at The Battery began after a sunny weekend broken only by one brief spritz of rain. Last Friday I went for a drive to see the recommended local sights.  Finally haze-free skies afforded clear views of the bay and Ile Madame opposite.  The park filled up with campers eager to take advantage of one of the few fine weekends we’ve enjoyed this summer.  The St. Peter’s Canal did a bang-up business with a great deal of excitement attending the passage of a 42 ft wide 246-ft luxury yacht with four feet to spare on either side and scant room fore and aft inside the lock, half the town came down to witness the show. 

 

I’m not sure that most people who arrive here have any clue what a campground host might be or why he shows up at their campsite but I’ve only met one group who out and out didn’t wish to be pestered. As with any job that entails meeting the public one never knows what to expect and it would be impossible to predict the questions one is likely to be asked.  Sure, I can recharge your camera batteries.  I even volunteered to dogsit while a young couple attended a Ceilidh. I’ve now met three people who know my first cousin in Bible Hill near Truro.

 

On Thursday the Thirteenth I got out to the band shell in town beside the Catholic Churches Glebe House where the audience was treated to Cape Breton Fiddling and a local folk/rock group.  Dakota from Ile Madame played three guitars, a banjo, mandolin, and National Steel or Dobro. I made it back to camp for the evening campfire where a local fisherman explained the ancient art of building a lobster  pot from scratch and ended with a demonstration of knitting the end webbing and parlour. 

 

Last night I demonstrated that if you build it they will come.  Built up a roaring fire in the campfire circle and settled back to read and people started arriving. A couple from the Ottawa Valley showed up fiddles in hand and just like that I had my own Cape Breton Ceilidh happening right here beside my RV.  People wandered in and out until 10:00 at which point everyone went home to bed.  With any luck we can stage another such event again tonight.  Today is Saturday August 15^th marking the halfway point of August and the temperature is headed for the scalding mid-thirties. After I finish typing I believe I’ll wander down and try out the waters of St. Peter’s Bay—should be a bracing experience.  This being my last full day in camp  I am busy wrapping up the paperwork I have to fill out to fulfill my duties as campground host.  I will also sort through the park’s campground host box and add the bits and pieces I have collected along the way for the next hosts. 

 

 

Home Impressions

Home: where one is treated the best and complain the most.

One can’t go home.

 

After months in a home that sways in the wind sleeping in a double bed that didn’t rock when I rolled over was a revelation.  Having someone else cook meals and do my laundry was certainly a luxury.  Be careful what you ask for.  I’d hinted about a brush to wash my RV and soap my brother-in-law would recommend and it arrived on my birthday but I wasn’t expecting to get the RV scrubbed from stem to stern with a polish job bumper to bumper including the roof.  Applying polish to a 22-ft, 8 foot high vehicle is no minor matter.  I was told I should do the four wheels on my own time.  My brother-in-law also took the kinks out of my bike rack, did some fibreglass repairs, and helped me with a few other niggling repairs and adjusted my bike.  Having a mechanic/handyman in the family is a useful fringe benefit. 

 

I don’t wish to sound blasé and world weary but after 35,000 KM certain trends seem to fall into place.  It is remarkable how many people who live next door to landmarks others have travelled half way round the world to view have never seen them.  This is equally true of urban sophisticates and rustic peasants.  I have long-since lost count of the number of places boasting the world’s best beach, covered bridge, tallest or longest whatever.  Shediac, New Brunswick is the Lobster Capital of the world, Austin Texas the  Music Capital of the world, Long Beach Oregon has the world’s longest beach no one can swim.  Famous people or legends seem to get around.  Alexander Graham Bell for example invented the telephone in the US and in Cape Breton Nova Scotia and Brantford Ontario.  Paul Bunyan dug the Great Lakes and St. Lawrence but there’s a statue of him and Blue Babe along the US Pacific Coast and he’s claimed by the East Coast as well. I hadn’t expected to find a 300 foot statue of Davy Crockett in the middle of the Texas Desert. 

 

There’s only one right way to pronounce words, name a plant or animal, cook a food, or perform certain tasks.  Across Canada, for example there are at least a dozen plants referred to as Mayflowers.  In the US South tea comes iced in a tall glass with lemon slices; coffee?, forget it.  In places where the temperature regularly tops 100º F don’t expect to find chocolate bars which melt at 80º F.  With my Germanic background I don’t feel comfortable saying you’all or effecting a southern drawl and have my pronunciation of place names regularly corrected.  Don’t go camping in an Arroyo—a dry stream bed—it may become a raging torrent due to thunderstorm activity hundreds of miles away in the mountains.  I was recently informed by a local with a Scottish brogue thick as porridge that she did not have an accent.  I was taken aback when my Aunt sliced my entire pound of bacon in half and heated her frying pan on a red hot burner before she put it in the pan.  Her pan is too small for a full slice of bacon and thin so over high heat bacon might well stick.  Therefore she believes  you have to heat the pan before you start the bacon.  A large well-seasoned cast iron frying pan works best if you start the bacon slowly in a cold pan. 

 

Chicken-fried steak has nothing to do with chicken and comes deep-fried in batter smothered in milk gravy.  What passes for hot salsa on the west coast wouldn’t even rate as mild pasta sauce in Texas.  Anyone for prickly pear salad?  Fried rattlesnake?  Rapi-pie?  Poutine—gravy, BBQ Sauce, and cheese curds on French Fries.  Hodge Podge?  Canadians wear out their kidneys attempting to get a buzz off most American Beer.  In some provinces it would be too low in alcohol content to legally rate as beer and patrons would accuse the barkeep of watering down his draft. Anyone for possum, squirrel, grits?  Grits to me seemed like watery cream of wheat. Biscuit and chicken gravy?

 

Along the East Coast a black flag indicates a hurricane is on the way.  Coastal areas have signs marking the storm surge levels, evacuation routes, and public shelters. At least they generally get fairly good advance warning.  In the Mid-West if the sky turns greenish-purple and the siren goes off you have five minutes or less to make it to your storm cellar or the lowest or most protected area in your home before the tornado hits.  On the west coast tsunami warning signs mark evacuation routes to high ground.  If the tsunami siren starts undulating make tracks for safe ground.  Unfortunately science has yet to perfect a method of predicting earthquakes in other than geologic time-frames.  California highways are shut down when there are major rain showers—they are not built to shed water.  In Seattle and Vancouver snow brings all traffic to a standstill—no one has snow tires and the municipalities have no ploughs.  On the west coast expensive homes are built in areas prone to brush fires, land slides, and coastal erosion; Miami is built on a sand bar.  In the Rocky Mountains no stopping signs mark areas prone to avalanches and land slides.

 

In Florida one is cautioned to beware of plunging into a fire-ant colony and not to feed the crocodiles.  In Texas turning over rocks or logs is likely to disturb a scorpion and walking past tall grass calls for care lest it be inhabited by a rattler.  If you camp and leave your boots out it’s wise to tap them out before putting them on to dislodge potential tarantulas or scorpions inside.  In Texas and New Mexico look fast because as Wiley E Coyote will tell you Roadrunners are quick.  In Saskatchewan and Manitoba Greater Prairie Chickens, a large bird over a foot tall will freeze in the middle of the road and refuse to move believing this makes them invisible.  One didn’t move until I nudged him with my bumper—I wonder why they’re endangered.  In bear and mountain lion country make lots of noise and don’t fall behind or strike out ahead of the pack.  If you encounter a bear back away slowly and do not establish eye contact—remember, black bears are excellent climbers.  It charged make lots of noise and as a last option play dead and protect your vitals.  For cat encounters one is advised to look at big as possible and to charge first.  If attacked fight back aggressively.  Don’t hike alone, in their territory these animals consider us prey. 

 

The world may be a dangerous place but man is still the most dangerous creature in it and highway traffic the most dangerous place to be.  Seeing a full-page spread on the ten most wanted in the Coastal News in Southern California was hardly an inducement to become a tourist.  Learning that in LA a policeman is killed weekly makes one wonder why anyone would answer a full page ad placed in the local tourist brochures.  Graffiti, vandalism, theft, and gang activity mar too many urban areas and the cliché about billboards blocking a view of the natural wonders they would advertise is all too real.  Despite these concerns common sense is still one’s best protection and a locked vehicle one’s best defence. At home or abroad don’t leave valuables in plain sight. 

Back on Home Soil

Continuing along New Brunswick's Acadian Coastline I stopped a night at a poorly run campground in Bouctouche before spending Friday and Saturday night in Shediac near Parlee Beach.  Declaring itself the Lobster capital of the world the tourist bureau has a strip of small shops featuring local cooking, crafts, and knick knacks plus Le Homard Gros—the Big Lobster.  At my campground managed to catch up online and read 6 weeks worth of CBC News updates.  Reading about all those murders, violence, political intrigue, and natural disasters in one sitting is quite an experience.  In the last month I've also made a concerted effort to read my way through 10 month's worth of MacLean's Magazines, now it's on to 16 month's worth of Reader's Digest along with PC World and Backpacker.  In Shediac spent an evening in Pascal Park listening to a public outdoor concert of Acadian Music and took the bike trails down to see the beach and other attractions associated with it. 

 

Before leaving Shediac I got my RV in order, my propane tanks filled, my holding tanks emptied, and my water tanks filled.  Left Shediac Sunday morning and entered Nova Scotia through a fog bank that concealed Tantramar Marsh.  Also missed being piped into Nova Scotia because the person who plays the pipes takes weekends off.  Found a bank and shopping centre in Amherst and drove out to Masstown Market near Truro to stock up on the likes of Brown Bread, Dulse, fresh strawberries, Valley Apples, Maple Syrup, and Strawberry Rhubarb Pie.  On the way to Five Islands on Highway 2 discovered that what I'd read about the condition of Nova Scotia's roads in MacLean's Mag was no exaggeration—tire eating potholes.  

 

At Five Islands was given a warm Nova Scotia Welcome, a tour of the park, and led to my campsite discovering to my elation that they'd installed a 30 AMP hook-up for me.  Since I'd been led to expect I'd have no hook-ups I was delighted to be so surprised.  Shortly after my elation was dampened when I spun out on my bicycle on the loose rock covering the hilly roads in the park and skinned my left knee, sprained my right ankle and bruised both palms.  Nights in the park are punctuated by marauding racoons who stage raids on the garbage cans, scattering their contents.  Doe's with fawns wander through the park one showing off twins and another a singleton.  Overhead soar bald eagles.  In the forest especially in the early morning the fluty calls of Wood Thrushes vie with the ubiquitous robins.  Near my campsite the "Quick, Three Beers" call of the Olive-Sided Flycatcher sounded and a black-throated green warbler posed just below the campground office. 

 

The joys of Five Islands Park are esoteric ones best appreciated by those satisfied to spend the hours it takes to see the dramatic rise and fall of the Fundy Tides.  For those who can get a campsite with a view of the Minas Basin or who take the time to make the half-mile hike to the shore the rewards are great.  However  these waters are more for looking than swimming as when the tide is in the beach is covered by coarse pebbles leading to muddy tidal flats.  Once past the waters warmed by those mudflats the deeper waters are chilling and plagued by dangerous undertows.  The change of tides is marked by powerful currents and at low tide the mud flats stretch for miles.  For those who would dig clams conditions are ideal and for those properly shod a walk to check out "the Old Wife" rock formation and the exposed cliffs is rewarding as long as one remembers to keep a weather eye on the state of the tides.  Boating is not advised.  When they can be seen, sunsets are spectacular. 

Heading to the Maritimes

I last wrote from St. Williams, Ontario on the North Shore of Lake Erie. The area affords quiet, flat backroads for safe cycling. One wonders that there be enough market for the amount of Ginseng that has replaced the former tobacco fields. Campers may not appreciate rain but after overnight showers one can practically hear the corn growing. The Tobacco Exchange is about to be permanently closed illustrating the demise of a once proud industry in this area. In an area famous for fresh water fishing the Port Dover Legion sells fish sticks and frozen fries at its Friday Night Fish Dinners. The sign on the St Williams United Church announced last service June 28^th. There are outdoor services on the pier in Port Rowan. Life is definitely taken at a slower pace here. A local complained about the Mennonites who let others fight their wars and took over family farms that came on the market because with their boys overseas aging families couldn’t make a go of them. He also complained about the effect these new neighbours had on local service clubs and businesses. His take on half a million bikers arriving in Port Dover on Friday the thirteenth was not particularly charitable.

After stopping half a day in Oakville I headed East across the top of Toronto and the next day braved more traffic on Highway 40 through the middle of Ile de Montreal. Packed camping at the Ivy Lea KOA was $55 a night. The next night I camped near Trois-Rivieres after negotiating with a non-English Speaking Quebecois. There’s more traffic on Highway 40 to Quebec City than I once encountered and St Hubert have changed the formula for the sauce that comes with their chicken dinners. It now comes with rice pilaf as well. The roadbed is also in need of repaving or actively being repaved. So far I’ve been lucky not to be held up by major construction projects. After crossing the Saint Lawrence I drove up Highway 20 through the Eastern Townships with a stop for gas and a visit to Subway for lunch. Last time I drove this highway through dense fog following a transport truck for safety. This time I had a brilliantly sunny day. At Rimouski all that was left was a parking site beside a motel parking lot; there was a 30 AMP hook-up, water, and high-speed Wi-Fi.

I encountered stiff cross-winds driving down the Matapedia Valley amid the steeply rolling hills and farmland. At the Bay of Chaleur crossed the bridge into New Brunswick and returned once more to the land of Salt Water. Was accorded lucky to find a campsite in Beresford near Bathurst. Acadians definitely exude joie de vivre. A local complains that this year lobster brings in only $3 a pound—not enough to cover the costs of the catch. Whether or not the price at the markets or on the menu reflect this I have yet to see. My attraction to rain continues and I spent an entire day at Malybel Park watching as shower followed shower, indeed I couldn’t even leave the park without first waiting out a reverberating thunderstorm the next morning. Fortunately I drove out of the rain as I headed south from Bathurst along Highway 8, crossed the Miramichi River and took Highway 11 to Kouchibouguac. Provincial Highways may provide an efficient route from point A to point B but they certainly don’t provide much scenic value however there are fewer speed zones, traffic lights and stretches of broken pavement.

Kouchibouguac National Park protects miles of tidal plains in the middle of New Brunswick’s Acadian Shoreline in a area where there is an uneasy peace existing with the local First Nations Mi’kmaq population. The park boasts 40 miles of biking trails and miles of boardwalks through sand dunes and salt marshes. The sandbars provide protected waters for canoeing and kayaking as well as habitat for a colony of 3 to 6 hundred seals, nesting terns, and protected nesting grounds for the endangered Piping Plover. The river estuaries are home to eels and fish populations. The summer interpretive programme is superlative. After camping at so many campgrounds with sites crammed together it is refreshing to see spacious level sites with long entryways and plenty of woods separating neighbours. This also enhances wildlife viewing opportunities by providing loads of natural habitat. I was pleased to have a mother ruffed grouse and her brood of 5 as neighbours.

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Wash lines are in again even in areas that once banned them by local ordinance. Whether clothing hung out to dry in smoggy Toronto can actually smell fresh is another question.

Halifax Sewage Treatment Plant. How could the failure of one valve cause $333,000,000 worth of damage? Did someone sabotage the place? Is it possible the people running the place could be that incompetent?

Talk about being a marked man. When a bank robber stuffed the loot down the front of his jeans the exploding dye-pack in the bundle of cash turned his crotch brilliant scarlet and left him with second degree powder burns in the area.

News of the Weird

In North Carolina a pregnant bank robber took a cell phone call in the middle of a robbery and became so involved in her call she walked out of the bank ignoring the cash the teller was trying to hand her.

In my book there is no circumstance in which it is other than extremely rude to abandon the person standing in front of you with whom you are dealing as a customer to answer a phone as happened to me at Kouchibouguac National Park today. Keeping that customer waiting while you talk to a fellow employee is right up there behind it as a turnoff.

In a CBC Comedy Podcast today I got a laugh at the suggestion that the seal hunt is good for the economy whether or not the hunt itself is still a profitable undertaking. The hunt attracts celebrity protestors who hire helicopters to get out to the ice flows, occupy expensive rooms and eat at pricy restaurants at a time when tourism is nearly non-existent.

To support the local tobacco industry in a province in China government workers are now required to buy a set number of cartons of cigarettes a month and schools have been allotted a similar quota. Are they actually attempting to reduce their population due to premature death by cancer? Are they taking into consideration the costs of health care?

In Canada our governments are shelling out our tax dollars at the rate of $2,000,000 per auto job they are supposedly protecting. Wouldn’t it be a better investment if they gave us a tax credit for the motor vehicles we buy? Those same automobile manufacturers are renting extra space for the cars they are unable to sell.

I'm Overdo for a Rant

I never believed in Santa Claus because I knew no white dude would come into my neighborhood after dark.

Dick Gregory (1932 - )

 

I've gone into hundreds of [fortune-teller's parlors], and have been told thousands of things, but nobody ever told me I was a policewoman getting ready to arrest her.

New York City detective

 

Psychiatry enables us to correct our faults by confessing our parents' shortcomings.

Laurence J. Peter (1919 - 1988)

 

I've done the calculation and your chances of winning the lottery are identical whether you play or not.

Fran Lebowitz (1950 - )

 

Things could always be worse; for instance, you could be ugly and work in the Post Office.

Adrienne E. Gusoff

 

 

There is no sign marking the crossroads community of Dog’s Nest north of Lake Erie, seems it was such a collectors item township workers couldn’t keep them on the post. 

 

I’m a bit behind in my magazine reading so I recently came across a new tale about the challenges of preparing the Christmas Turkey.  The turkey helpline regularly publishes lists of beleaguered chef’s gaff’s like the lady who called to report that she’d accidentally set her oven on auto-clean with the turkey inside or someone attempting to bake a deep frozen 25 lb bird—2 days defrost time in a refrigerator.  Seems in an ever widening range of methods that have been developed to prepare the perfect bird someone came up with the idea of deep frying it.  Unlike a turducken that takes 12 hours deep frying takes 20 minutes however miss steps with over-heated oil can result in more than a flambéed fowl.  Other hazards include overfilling the container with oil and upset.  Placing an improperly thawed bird in hot oil can cause rather spectacular boil-overs when the hot oil suddenly hits the ice and turns it to steam.  Some things, it would seem, are best left to the professionals.  The same issue of MacLean’s also talked about heritage bronze turkeys but who can afford turkey at $100 a pound?  

 

In honour of Obama’s inauguration Ben and Jerry’s introduced a special Butter Pecan flavour called Yes Pecan with a picture of the prez. 

 

In Germany a scrap metal firm cutting up an old safe found it to contain over ¼ of a million Euros left behind when a bank disposed of it.  OOPS!

 

When did provincial park and conservation campground guides become more about the hazards, do’s and don’ts and even a listing of offences and the fines appertaining thereto than about the parks resources and how to enjoy them?  After reading the park’s brochure for Turkey Point, for example, why would anyone who didn’t already know the place want to go there?

 

What better way to  ride down a bobsled run than in a Chinese Wok or that’s how they do it in Germany of all places. 

 

“Will you have fries with that?”

 

The Golden Arches is not on my list of gourmet stops so I had to read MacLean’s back in Canada to learn that with profits falling and franchises closing up shop in the land of super-sized fries MacDonald’s has started charging patrons for the privilege of squeezing ketchup and vinegar out of those infernal blisterpaks.  Airlines, you may remember have the problem licked by not feeding their patrons in the first place, even bottled water sales are down—the only drink available since onboard reservoirs on planes, trains and boats were discovered to be contaminated and the cost of cleansing them  deemed to be too high. 

 

 

 

Out Again for a Not so Dry Run

Whether or not as a friend asserts I attract rain I am once again seated in my RV listening to the sound of rain on the awning outside my window.  Certainly given the sight of fields upon fields of corn barely a few inches high rain is welcome here north of Lake Erie.  Why it has to arrive at this precise moment is the issue. 

 

In the first place may I make a pitch to those who read these ramblings that they leave a comment or let me know in an E-mail that they do so that I might know that my work is not entirely in vane.  Secondly I would inform you that for the next 3 months as at present I am going to be without internet service for weeks at a time so that my postings and responses will be erratic.  Yes, I have decided that my odyssey will continue, I have not yet exhausted my wanderlust nor have I seen as much of America as I would like to visit. 

 

After sweltering in the Gatineau I crossed back across the Ottawa River for a couple nights in Renfrew.  There was a time when I might have been attracted to the idea of white-water rafting in nearby Beachburg but having done so in an open canoe the idea no longer holds so much appeal.  Instead I spent a good deal of time attempting to catch up with a week’s worth of E-mail and browsing.  On Monday, June 29^th I drove down to Marmora on Highway 7 through rolling farm country and  forests with my host’s words in my ears.  “Highway 7 is like Highway 17, either it’s under construction or it should be.”  For a good part of the trip I drove over newly paved roads so fresh they lacked proper markings.  At least I was fortunate in not being held up by flagmen or jostled across newly built washboard. 

 

In Marmora I was faced by towering thunderheads and failed to get off the highway to visit the local cheese factories or go to a grocery store.  Highway 7 is much improved since I drove it decades ago.  When the rain held off I decided to join the campground hosted ‘hayride’ around the park.    It was not as lame as it first appeared, seeing how people have their seasonal campsites set up from an elevated view was interesting.  The rains did not in fact come until I set out for Oakville next morning. 

 

My return home was for the purpose of tying up loose ends.  It’s discouraging how matters one believed to be dealt with keep coming undone because others can’t seem to get it right the first time.  When cloudbursts returned with a vengeance I decided to find a place to park and sleep in my own bed overnight. 

 

Canada Day Morning I arose early and drove out to the RBG where I found the Centre still in the throes of remodelling and everything else gated and locked.  Giving up on that idea I drove out Governors Rd, Hwy 99, in Dundas toward Brantford and checked out an RV park near Burford—no I had no idea it existed either—and decided it was an old folks home in a trailer  park.  When did Brantford rename the town Gretskyville?  From a large parking lot at the LCBO in Burford I decided to head south to Lake Erie and try out Woodland RV Park in St Williams.  Sad to say its now cheaper to camp in a private campground than in nearby Turkey Point Provincial Park.  I have electrical, water and sewer hook-ups here but no internet access. 

 

St Williams is a crossroads community with a garage, general store, grocery store, Book Nook, and pizzeria.  For anything else it’s a 10 km trip to Turkey Point with its shoppes catering to beachfront clientele or the small town of Port Rowan where the Legion has a weekly Friday Fish Fry.  My campground has a heated swimming pool with adults only hours, a couple of trampolines, the requisite horseshoe pitches which seem to be a campground staple and here in use, a games room with “penny arcade”, and the usual laundry room and play areas.  As suggested by the name the park is surrounded by the St Williams Forest and infested with black flies. 

 

I still need to sort through the clothes in my RV wardrobe and see what else needs to be removed in a weeks time when I drive through Oakville once more but  otherwise I seem to be ready to strike out again.  Before I leave here I should take time to give myself a haircut for the sake of my 88-year-old Aunt in Oakhill.  One of these rainy days I’ll probably spend some time planning a route to Nova Scotia.  This time I’ll probably take a route along New Brunswick’s Atlantic Coastline.