A different sort of caution

It was only the second time in my life that I'd been on Cortes Island, one of the Gulf Islands along the coast here in B.C. 

So I hope I can be forgiven for getting a little bit lost. 

Luckily I noticed pretty quickly that I'd taken a wrong turn off the main road, but what fun to find a sign that made me smile. 

Glad I took the photo. I hope it makes you smile too. 

Tide's out

...and so were we. Out on a small camping trip, though hardly what I'd call 'real' camping, as we don't sleep in a tent much anymore, but in the comfy protection of The Rattler, our beloved RV. 

It had been a busy time, with a visitor staying with us, along with several touristical trips (all interesting, beautiful and happy), but last week became our turn for complete rest and relaxation. 

A quick trip to the nearby Point Roberts and the campgrounds at Lighthouse Marine Park filled the bill. Except for the sounds of birdsong (and the occasional excitement of a small plane coming in on the grassy landing strip) it was wonderfully quiet, leaving us with nothing much to do beyond strolling on the beach. 

This time of year sees the broadest beach exposure, owing to the big tides that accompany the days around the Solstice. Official days of summer, coming soon. More excuses, I trust, to be lazy. 

Beachside travels

Well, we've been back for a couple of days, and I reckon I'm still in holiday mode. It was just a two-week getaway, but my favourite kind of treat as most of those days were ones without Internet. Sure, I missed some news, and was late getting a number of emails, but the world didn't fall apart just because I chose to step aside. 

And aside it truly was. 

The photo above is from one of the places we 'camped' -- I put that in quotes as we were travelling in our little motorhome, The Rattler. It has pretty much all of the comforts of home: stove, fridge (with freezer for ice cream), even a microwave. 

We wandered through Washington state and stayed at state parks we'd visited before as well as a few new ones which are sure to be part of future itineraries. As for the beach above, it provided a satchel of hand-dug steamer clams, which were way more delicious (it seemed) than any store-bought ones would have been. 

Still catching up on the realities of being home, but overall glad to be back (though the road will no doubt call my name again soon). 

They're baaack!

And so are we. After a lovely, not-too-adventurous adventure of sorts -- a trip that took me farther north in British Columbia than I'd been before -- we're back home again. 

Main part of the trip saw us combining ferry rides and driving our car so we could get to Prince Rupert. Our province is huge, so even though the main ferry ride was almost 18 hours in duration, our destination was only about halfway up the coast. 

As far as pandemic restrictions went, most people seemed to have become good at distancing, though we were encouraged to wear masks when indoors. I liked the placement of the caution sign, between photos of the beautiful traditional masks.

We were lucky enough to have booked a cabin, so we spent much of our time there, looking out the window, napping, or watching a movie on the tv in our room. I'd certainly encourage anyone taking this trip to spend this little bit extra for the comfort and privacy (two beds, even a private bathroom, complete with shower and fluffy towels). 

One thing that surprised me on our "Northern Expedition" was the number of berries already out -- everything from the salmonberries (above) to thimbleberries (still in bloom, forming berries) and even wild strawberries. Even though these strawberries are barely the size of my pinkie nail -- nothing like the gigantic GMO ones often for sale in the supermarket -- they pack a powerfully sweet punch of flavour, and we did a bit of sampling. Mm-mmm. 

Besides seeing water, water, water, there must have been a couple of million trees on view. We also saw quite a few species of birds, from eagles to the odd turkey vulture, and even managed a glimpse of a humpback whale, showing off, flicking his tail in our direction. 

One of the major highlights of the trip was seeing grizzly bears in their undisturbed habitat. Next post will be some of those images. For now, I'm still putting away the last of the items we took along, and dreaming about where we might go next. 

And beyond Vancouver

This week involved a trip to Powell River, BC. Even though a plane ride there takes only about 25 minutes, it's a road trip that means at least six hours of driving and ferry rides. But aside from the trek from where we live to the Horseshoe Bay ferry, and the many curves in the road on the Sunshine Coast, it's a memorable tour. There's one leg of it in particular -- the ferry ride from Earls Cove to Saltery Bay where the scenery is as close as I will ever get to Norway, as it's mountainous fjords, complete with cascading waterfalls. 

The reason for going there? The historic Patricia Theatre was showing Harold and Maude for

Valentine's Day, and I was lucky enough to be invited to participate, and to read from my book, Glorious Birds. I not only got to introduce the film, audience members hung around for a Q&A session. Naturally, my brain didn't work as well as I might have liked, and I wasn't able to answer all of the questions very clearly. Nonetheless, it mostly felt like engaged conversation -- I actually felt I'd make a couple of connections with folks there. 

Even the weather cooperated, with blue skies and mild temps. Especially after all these months of isolation, what more could one ask of a getaway?!

To boldly go...

Well, it's not quite where no one has gone before, but for me, it's been over two years -- since I took public transit and went into the city of Vancouver. It seems strange to be less than an hour away, but there's been something preventing me from getting on the bus or SkyTrain. Hmmm. What could it be. 

Anyway, the other day, I drove to my local park'n'ride and got on the bus -- one of the newish double-decker ones, so up those stairs went I. Hardly anyone else was up there, so (especially with my mask on, still mandatory on transit) I felt safe as could be. Although I mostly read, I did look out over Boundary Bay as we passed, and lo -- there was that all-too-seldom seen light in the sky. 

I'm pretty sure this one little outing has given me the courage to do even more. Not quite ready (nor wealthy enough) to join one of Elon Musk's expeditions to space, but next stop will be further than Vancouver. 

Travels missed, travels found

Today is just about the midpoint of what was supposed to be a holiday on the beach in Cuba. But no, that had to be cancelled, owing to the O-word.  

To console myself, I tried to pretend -- even went so far as to turn on a sunlamp to 'tan' my winter-white, dry-skin legs. 

Best consolation though was where I usually find it: in one of the books I'd planned to take along. 

The title, The Body on the Beach, sounds as though it might be a bit grisly as holiday reading, but no, that wasn't the case. For one thing, the beach in question was about as far from Varadero as one could get while still being on the Atlantic Ocean: Harbour Grace, Newfoundland. 

As it happens, that's a town I've visited more than once, as it played into the research I did for Flightpaths, my book about Amelia Earhart. But this 'visit' is during the 1920s, the era when Model T cars were still relatively new. 

It's hard to pigeon-hole this novel as any single genre, as it qualifies not only as detective story with questions that range at first from who was it that died, to a series of increasing challenges regarding the details of that death (how and why being foremost, though there's definitely a whodunnit aspect as well). 

But that isn't all it is, as it's also a love story -- about the love a man has for a woman from his past as well as a growing romance in his here-and-now. 

All of this is complicated (in a good way) by the many historical details author Patrick J. Collins has layered into the book. The biggest of these, and the one that causes the most tension is Prohibition. Being a port town, one that engages in shipping both to and from the US (remember, at this time, Newfoundland was not yet part of Canada, but its own independent dominion), Harbour Grace's location makes it convenient for would-be smugglers. 

Even though now and then I'd get a little lost in the crowd of so many characters, the book kept me engaged enough to not fret too much about a missed opportunity for travel. In fact, it allowed me some of the best travels of all, those travels we take via the mind. 

Poetry en plein air

One of the many pleasures of travelling through the Cascade Mountains in Washington state is stopping at Washington Pass for a stroll along the paths there. And one of the wonderful discoveries there -- beyond the fabulous views -- is the fact that there are two poems posted along the trail. The one above, "Silver Star" is from William Stafford's chapbook, The Methow River Poems. The other, "A Valley Like This," also by Stafford, is from the same collection.

But these two are only part of a group of seven of Stafford's poems posted at locations along the river.  Apparently, they were commissioned by the Forestry Service in 1993. I've yet to find the others, but plan to seek them out next time we visit the Cascade Loop.

Poetry seemed to be in the air, as even the rangers' station encouraged visitors to create poems of their own.

The display was simple -- just a sign which included the reminder that Gary Snyder and Jack Kerouac (and I'm pretty sure, Jack Spicer and Sam Hamill) found inspiration from time living in the woods.

Beside the sign was a table with some cutouts of 'foresty' words, but what a delight to find them.

And me, of course I'm wishing more of such public poetry would show up around here. There are some small haiku-like writings on rocks at nearby Blackie Spit at Crescent Beach, so I suppose I should be content.

The Road from Paris to London

...But maybe not the road you were expecting.

We've been spending the last while tucked away on the family farm, nestled along the highway between Paris and London, but it's Paris and London, Ontario.

A great place for observing Thanksgiving, especially with so many family members coming from near and far to celebrate. And all of it has been enhanced by the brights colours coming out in the trees and the wonderfully blue skies.

Last night things took a bit of change, as it was the book launch for my newest book of poems, Practical Anxiety.

The Hamilton bookstore where the event took place, Epic Books, proved to indeed be epic. Friends and family filled the place, along with a number of new friends. We even had a musician to set the mood for listening.

Memorable.

Sunny sunflower for Kansas

It's the state flower of Kansas, the place I'm off to for the next few days. Just the littlest bit of research reveals that Kansans take their state flower seriously -- there's even an ode to it!

I suppose, to be sure I can get back home again, I should take a pair of ruby slippers along. Since I don't have any with jewels, these little red shoes will have to do the trick.

If nothing else, they make me feel happy when I wear 'em.

New found (land) taste treats

When we were in Newfoundland, we didn't only chase icebergs. We also did our best to track down some of their specialty foods -- treats we knew we wouldn't find here.

The one in the photo above is called Jiggs dinner. Not really so different from what I might call 'boiled dinner', it's the kind of meal that fills the house with steamy scents on a wintry afternoon. Comfort food at its most basic. The only variations from what I might cook at home would be the meat itself (corned beef seems a little different from the 'salt beef' they use there) and the peas pudding wasn't a thing I'd had before -- it was good though. Kind of like thick pea soup, very tasty.

One of the best restaurants we found was Chafe's Landing in Petty Harbour (I learned the place got its name from the early French settlers -- 'petite' harbour -- which later, with the arrival of the Irish, became Petty).

We shared a pulled-moose sandwich and a mini-basket of clam strips. I was charmed, not only by the little basket they were served in, but by the bank of supplies on our table --

more than one kind of vinegar, pepper and salt, and (they must know other messy eaters besides me) an entire roll of paper towels!




As for our 'best-value' meal, that would have to have been our fresh lobster feast. We found the local Sobey's supermarket, picked two lobsters from the tank, and got the deli to steam them for us. With paper plates, along with newspaper spread on the table, it was even easy to do the clean-up. And oh, so delicious, complete with melted garlic butter.

One Newfoundland detail we won't be able to repeat (unless maybe we go back there at the right time of year) was a very special evening cocktail -- whisky over iceberg ice we'd picked from a beach along the East Coast Trail.

Cheers!

On a rock on the Rock

Newfoundland is as far east as we can go while still being in Canada -- quite a trek from our home on the west coast. The rock I'm standing on is along the East Coast Trail, where we took a mini-hike yesterday.


This trip here is to promote the new Amelia book, but it's also an opportunity to explore. Besides, the people are friendly, and the sights are magnificent. We've even managed to find a few icebergs!

But now, onward!

Less than a week to go...

This photo is from an ad for tissues that I spotted in a SkyTrain station downtown. The way things are going it seems appropriate.

I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised at the way this race is turning into a dead heat. When we travelled through the western U.S. this September there were so many Trump signs I don't think I could have counted them all if I'd wanted to.

And though I did see one (yes, just one) sign in support of 'Hillary' (and yes, with her first name only), the only 'Clinton' sign I saw was this one, approaching in the distance on the freeway outside of Clinton, Montana.

The town is home to not only the annual Testicle Festival, but today is their Annual Festival of the Dead Group Art Show.

As to which of these cultural events might be more appropriate in light of electioneering and these particular candidates, well, you'll have to be the one to decide.

This month sped by!

The end of September, and it's hard to believe. But it probably felt as though it sped past because so much of the month was spent, on the road -- and mostly on roads with a speed limit of 80 mph (that's over 128 klicks).

If you want to come along on our road trip, you probably want to start at the beginning, back here.

I can only trust that October, though it might not be as adventure-filled, will move along at a little slower pace.

Onward!

Homeward bound

We saw plenty of open range, with frequent warnings posted that livestock might be on the highway. Fortunately, we didn't encounter any critters on the road, though we saw plenty in the fields and on hillsides beside us: antelope, deer, elk, horses, and several varieties of cattle.



We also stopped at some inspiring and wonder-filled places along the way, one of them at the site of what's known as Custer's Last Stand, Little Big Horn.

It was very moving to see the number of grave markers there, especially those of the Indians who called the encounter the Battle of Greasy Grass.


The closer we got to home, the more we could see that the season had begun changing. While we'd had mostly summery temps, there'd been a few cool days, but the colours in the trees made it obvious that autumn was nearing.

Along with autumn approaching, I knew that my life was about to change again -- from the leisurely pace of poking my nose into new places and looking out the window as we cruised down the highways, to the sometimes-almost-frantic world of readings and workshops and deadlines.

But hey, after these wonderful adventures (and if you missed any of them, here's a link to the beginning of the trip), I think I'm ready -- to welcome autumn and to immerse myself in the many cultural activities closer to home.

Camping, with all the trimmings

Once we turned back towards home, we took some time for relaxing and stopped in a town that had caught our attention on the outbound trip, Deer Lodge, Montana. This was my morning view from bed, out the back window of The Rattler. Kind of made me want to stick around...

It's just a little bit of a town, but they've kept so much of their history, there's plenty to see and do.

You can visit the Old Montana Prison which has been converted into a museum.

The gift shop there is lots of fun, even for a non-shopper like me. Who knows, you might want to buy yourself a pair of the traditional striped prison garb. Despite their sad history, they look as though they'd make excellent pyjamas.

There's also an auto museum and a free-to-explore outdoor collection of classic rail cars.

But maybe my favourite attraction in town was the Olympic size swimming pool where I spent a vigorous half-hour (before they closed for the day) making up for some of the time I've spent sitting in the front seat of the RV as we sailed down the highways. And lucky me, aside from the lifeguard reading her book beside the pool, I was the only one there. Twelve feet deep and over 80 degrees Fahrenheit. Might be reason enough to go back.

For now, I reckon I'm satisfied to get onto the road back home. 

Yellowstone rocks!

Apparently, Yellowstone can't help being a place that rocks, as it's home to over half of the world's geysers. I learned that from a fabulous piece in the May 2016 issue of National Geographic -- an issue that's worth getting your hands on -- almost as good as a visit. [Note: Okay, that's a huge exaggeration, but perhaps the NG might offer consolation if you can't go.]

And just as I was taken aback by the power of seeing the Grand Canyon 'in person', I had a similar experience with the geysers and steaming pools at Yellowstone.

For one thing, scent isn't part of any visual presentation, not even in an IMAX theatre. And scent is definitely part of the Yellowstone adventure. Although there were variations, the smell was primarily of sulphur. Stinky, I suppose, though -- along with the steaminess -- it enhanced the reality of being there.

Another thing about Yellowstone is that the geysers are just about everywhere. Looking out over a field of grass where elk were grazing, I'd see whiffs of smoke here and there, as if a raft of careless campers had failed to put out their fires.

While 'being there' is much different than any vicarious experience, 'being there' in 2016 is one that has clearly been affected by social media.

I was amazed (and frankly, horrified) by the number of people who seemed interested only in doing a selfie with whatever monumental phenomenon might be behind them. It was as if the park were only scenery for a fashion shoot --Sports Illustrated used the park for one of its swimsuit issues -- but the people taking selfies were definitely not in the league of professional models.

The most astounding example of this was in evidence at the eruption of Old Faithful, the giant geyser that since the earthquakes of 1959 and 1983 is not quite as 'faithful' as it once was. We saw two 'performances' of this geyser, and oddly, in both instances -- even though people had waited around for the eruption to begin -- as soon as people had taken their photo, they left, without waiting for the explosive waters to subside. It was if they were merely checking off items on a 'been there, done that' list.

There are plenty of videos of Old Faithful on line, and while they're not as good as the real thing, they give you a small idea of just how impressive this testament to the power of nature is.

But there's more to Yellowstone than geysers. Click here for some of the wildlife we encountered.

On the road again

We're not as ambitious this time as we were for our road trip in 2011, when we drove and camped across North America and back -- Pacific to Atlantic and back to the Pacific again. Still, this should be an interesting journey, as the goal is Yellowstone, and a bit beyond.

We don't go as fast as some of the traffic, though we keep up our pace and pull off to the side when we can for speedier vehicles. Now and then we pass someone who deserves to have their photo taken, as was the case with this vintage RV and car.

As you can see, we had passed them, but did so too quickly to get off a good snap. So instead you get to see them through the eye of the side mirror, complete with a snippet of our own beloved RV, The Rattler which has taken us so many wonderful places.

A rainy day, not so good for hiking, but great covering a lot of miles. Onward! To see our next stop -- click Yellowstone.

On retreat, an annual affair

One of my favourite weeks of the year is the one I get to spend on retreat with my writing group. We've been doing this every September for more years than I'm sure of -- at least five.

This year saw us in a different setting (we usually go to Nanaimo, on Vancouver Island), as one of our brainy members found us a house to rent in Whistler. I'll admit that I felt some trepidation, as I've never felt quite 'upscale' enough to be part of what I'd imagined as the Whistler scene.

The house we were in was comfortably nestled into a hillside of trees, so I felt at home right away.

The trail system was terrific, the village barely a kilometre from 'our' house. I even managed to get relaxed enough (thanks maybe to a fabulous massage I had at one of the local businesses) to enjoy poking my nose into some of the village shops.

And those trails led plenty of other places besides the village. The 'bouquet' above, placed on the 'vase' of a large rock outside our front door was comprised of bits of wildflowers, rose hips and pine cones gathered during foresty walks.

I'm pretty sure all of us accomplished the writing we'd aimed to get done. And best of all, I think we all came away refreshed and looking forward to a 'new year' of writing.

When the clouds made their way down the mountain on Saturday, each of us made our way down the Sea to Sky Highway, homeward, our heads filled with mountain air and memories, just about in time for the autumn Equinox.

MagPo Road Trip

Because April is National Poetry Month, I'm going to do my best to feature some poems on the blog. For a start, this one, "Highway Love," grew out of an afternoon stop while we were on our Spring Break Road Trip along the Pacific coast.

Before we left, I'd bought myself a new set of Magnetic Poetry, this time with words about the famous Route 66. Even though I knew we weren't planning to get that far south, it seemed to be a good batch of words to try out on a road trip.

When I opened the kit and saw all those still-in-blocks words, I also discovered that I had a problem. I couldn't find a stretch of metal big enough to accommodate all of my potentially poetic words. The only spot inside that was magnet-friendly metal was an eensy niche on the side of the stove hood fan. Nearly every other surface in the RV was wood or some facsimile.

Even the metal sides of the vehicle must be mainly aluminum, as nothing wanted to stick.

But at last, I was saved by the shining expanse of the front bumper. I spread out the set of words across the entire front width of the truck and, using my little metal clipboard as a notepad, started to work.

The poem I came up with will probably ride around with us for the next while or so, or at least until I can come up with something better.  

One of the challenges you might want to take up this month is NaPoWriMo. As the abbreviated words suggest, the site is dedicated to April also being National Poetry Writing Month. Daily prompts will help nudge you toward the goal of a poem every day. What's to lose? Nothing but your writer's block.