Losing Focus? Or...My Focus Rocks!

Alfa Romeo, Bentley, Corvette,.......Jaguar, K-Car, Lotus......Rolls-Royce, Subaru, Triumph.....Zephyr.

You could choose any other car from a bottomless bowl of alphabet auto soup, but none of them could do what my little Ford Focus wagon has done. In the past few months it has hauled about 50 loads of rock. Each load weighs about 700 pounds (the equivalent of two mid-sized Oromocto Mall patrons). It's hard work for my car, but it's proven itself worthy.

Yesterday the engine light came on in my dashboard display. <insert eye roll>This could mean one of two things:

1) the engine is about to have a catastrophic malfunction

2) a little orange light malfunctioned.

I ignored the light, got two loads of rock and then drove to Fredericton and back. And I'm still standing, yeah, yeah, yeah.

Forgive me for seeming trite, but this happened to me once before with another Ford Focus Wagon. Quite a few years ago, while vacationing in the Magdalen Islands, the orange 'you-have-a-problem-with-your-engine' light came on. As it turned out, what really came on was my 'you-have-a-problem-with-your-engine-light' light. There was absolutely nothing wrong with my engine...it was the sensor that malfunctioned. $250 later, the orange light was off and my car was no different. Sheesh...that felt like money down the drain, because it was.

Roll the dice, Ian.

That's how I work now. I'd say that it's 80/20 that there is nothing wrong with my car, so I'm not taking it to a mechanic. My car, if you remember from an earlier blog, is only worth $200, so pumping money into it makes little sense. I've long since got my 200 clams out of it.

BUT....

It is inevitable that my Ford Focus is destined for the junk yard soon so I'm going looking for a new (to me) car today. Whatever I buy will pale in comparison to Ol' Blue, but I accept that. First and foremost I'm shopping for a safe car for Wendy, and a windmobile for me. I'll keep the Focus for a dump truck until it dies. Until then, I steadfastly refuse to lose Focus.

Mootha September 2014

Here's an updated portrait of Mom (aka the Queen Mootha).

Peace And Quiet. I said 'PEACE AND QUIET'!

'There are countless reasons to move to the country, but peace and quiet are near the top'.

I canna hear yoo.

I said 'I live here for the peace and quiet'.

Can yoo speak up, I still canna hear yoo.

PEACE AND QUIET...that's why I live here on this god-damned serene lake!

Fit's he saying? Canna hear a damn thing.

Pass me the haggis cannon. A shot across the bow is in order!

Ay', now yoor tackin'!

Are You Chertin'?

I received an e-mail the other day asking if I was interested in a paddle from Motts wharf across the lake in search of the semi-elusive chert source.

Chert? Chert is a type of hard, sharp rock that the First Nations people used to make weapons and tools. The chert along the shores of the Washademoak ranged in colour from off-white to black, but it was the reddish chert that was so attractive to my eye. It fractures easily and is as sharp as a knife.

My first thought when approached about this little paddle was 'what if it's windy'. As it turned out, the lake was as flat as a tire on a prairie nail highway so I didn't need to worry about missing a windsurfing day (my worst fear). I met up with six other hardy paddlers and across the lake we paddled.

It was easy to find the chert source because I've been there before. I knew exactly where to find it and it was there in abundance. We found lots of chert along the shore, in the water, and at the bottom of the cliffs.

Most of the paddlers in our group had never seen the chert source before and they were quite excited about 'the find'. We found evidence that others had been here before us, very recently (beer bottles and fractured chert). We're not the only ones who knew of this historical secret.

After our time rock-hounding on the shoreline, we paddled into Craft's Cove to have a look around. We found a flock of geese and a few golden-eye ducks. It was a gloriously sunny, late September morning. Autumn mornings like this are fleeting, and I found that everyone was vocally appreciative of our moment together in the sun and warmth.

We paddled back across the placid lake and ended our harmoniously rocky relationship.

90 + 90 = Vineyard Tour

Yesterday I was visited by Gup (aka Dad) and his/our friend Jim Macmillan. I think they're both the same age, just 90, but age seems irrelevant because they're both adventuresome and curious. They came down to have a lunch visit with me. I made my soon-to-be-World-Famous salmon chowder with sweet potato and dill. They were an appreciative audience.

After lunch and some enlightening conversation we drove down the road to visit Motts Landing Vineyard. We were greeted by David and Sonia, cheerful and welcoming as always. Jim very kindly bought me a bottle of Motts Landing Muscat wine, and Dad bought two bottles of wine (presumably one for him and one for Jim....for the tedious drive back to Fredericton!). When you're 90 you write your own rules!!

When we finished our visit to the wine store we took a drive around the vineyard. The grapes were hanging, well, like grapes. Looks like a bumper crop this year. Bumper?

Bumper: the word bumper can be used to mean something unusual large. A bumper crop would be an unusually bountiful crop. A bumper bumper would be an over-sized automobile bumper. Likewise a bumper dumper would be a gigantic ass (see Oromocto Mall regulars). I digress....because I like to digress.                                                                  Dad and Jim eagerly inspected a row of vines and were most impressed. Dad even 'stole' a grape and popped it in his mouth. "Sweet", he announced. I'm not sure if Jim was so blatantly lawless. Likely (ha ha).

All three of us were astounded by the work that has gone into making the vineyard. I believe the soil was first turned for the vineyard around 2002 and it is just in the last year or two that the vineyard has been producing crops sufficient enough to make large quantities of red and white wine. The wine is very impressive, especially given that there was some doubt, initially, whether quality wines could be produced in New Brunswick. Sales have been growing every year exponentially. It's nice to witness the birth and maturity of an agriculture success story right here in Cambridge-Narrows.

Success? Yes! Recently David and Sonia's Sabrevois red wine was ranked as the second best wine in the Atlantic Provinces or something like that. It deserved the honour because it can rub shoulders with anything produced in North America. Congratulations to Motts Landing Vineyard.Well done, I say.

And what a beautiful day to be there: sunny, warm, sparkling. A great day all around.

Missing Mootha? Here She Is!

There's no doubt that Mootha plays a big part in our hearts and in our minds. For those of you who are away (Wendy, Julian) and are missing Mootha, I offer you this little video filmed yesterday.

Distant Cousins?

CBC's Radio 2  has a feature they call 'distant cousins'. What they do is play two clips from two different songs (different artists/bands) that sound similar. They then ask (rhetorically) the listening audience if they see the similarities. Who knows if one artist was influenced by another, or if it was a blatant rip-off, or if there is no connection at all. There are, after all, only so many chords to be played, and certain chord sequences are bound to resurface all across the musical spectrum.

Distant cousins: there are many in a variety of fields. This would be true for the visual arts too. Picasso and Georges Braque 'invented' the painting style known as Cubism. Others followed. Though no two painting were identical, there were likely some cousins. If nothing else, other painters were influenced by Picasso and Braque's new style. There are a lot of distant cousins in abstract art as well.

Distant cousins: Ian and Graeme. This is a bit of a joke because I have a cousin in England who is nothing like me, but given that the Atlantic Ocean separates us, I'm going to refer to us as distant cousins.

Distant cousins: Coke and Pepsi? Pepsi was likely a blatant attempt to mimic Coke, though I've done no research to prove this. I don't drink either of them anymore because, over time, I've learned that they're distant cousins of obesity, tooth decay, and general malaise. I threw 'general malaise' in there just because I liked the sound of it.

Distant cousins: can you think of any?

Here's my last stab at a distant cousin pairing (it's a visual)....

They both provide shelter and protection to the inhabitants, and they're both dreadfully slow. I'd say they're distant cousins. I'm always amused b the names given to motor-homes by their makers. Names like Ambassador, Bullet, Cheetah, Desert Fox, Eagle, Flying Cloud, and Gazelle. None of them seem particularly honest. If I ever start my own RV manufacturing business, I'm gone to name my models: Snail, Turtle, and Hermit Crab. Finally, truth in advertising.

Distant cousins: truth and advertising.

Ian Gets His Goose Cooked

Disclaimer: this blog is about my adventures windsurfing yesterday. It may not be of interest to the average reader unless you care to hear about how I caused a goose to commit suicide.

Yesterday was one of the worst windsurfing days in my life, and that's saying something because there's a lot of competition for that distinction. Let's begin with the forecast....Saint John southwest winds, 30-50 km/h. That's good. Fredericton west 20 to 40 km/h. That's dodgy. Southwest is a great wind for where I live. West is a disaster.

The wind appeared to gather strength as the morning progressed. It appeared that I was getting the coveted southwest wind so I was happy. By noon the wind was really riled up and it was looking like it was going to be a corker of a session. Cool windsurfers never talk about sessions. They talk about having a good sesh. As I was saying, it was looking like a promising session was about to happen. I debated what sail to rig. I writhed. I spun. I hummed and I I hawed, and then I decided to rig my 5.9.

The 5.9 was actually too big a sail for the current wind. Sticks were falling out of trees in the gusts, yet I still had that gnawing feeling in my gut that I was doomed somehow. I got my windsurfer ready, donned my wetsuit and then I did something that I rarely do....I put on a helmet. Feeling that I might be grossly overpowered in the gusts, I decided to err on the side of caution. I think I may have worn a helmet on my lake once before in my life, though sometimes I wear one on the gnarly ocean days in the Magdalen Islands.

I walked my windsurfer down to the lake, surveyed the situation  and thought to myself 'I'm screwed'. Screwed because the wind had magically dropped and apparently shifted to west. This meant that there was very little wind in front of my house but I presumed that I would be able to slog down the lake to where the wind was more concentrated. Wrong!

Of course there was enough wind to take me 150 feet offshore from my beach, but then the wind died and the current was taking me toward the bridge where a work crew was making repairs. I'm sure they wondered what the hell this idiot was doing. I was wondering the same. The wind died. I fell in. There wasn't enough wind for a waterstart and there wasn't enough wind to uphaul the sail. I floundered for a few minutes and then decided to swim my windsurfer back to shore. It was pathetic. I'm an experienced windsurfer who never does the 'walk of shame', but the walk of shame I did.

The walk of shame, in windsurfing terms, is when you walk back to the point from where you started because you can't get there by windsurfing. It is the territory of beginners....and the damned. I'm not a beginner. I made it back to my beach and 'assessed the situation' as any elite athlete would/should do in this situation. It looked as though there was wind blowing from the west. I saw whitecaps, or 'moutons' as the Quebecois windsurfers call them, down the lake. There was one problem....there was absolutely no wind where I was standing so I walked my windsurfer, in chest deep water, past disGraceland (my neighbour's estate) and all the way to the mid-point of the MicMac Trailer Park. From there I managed to find a bit of wind and I stood proudly on the board, launching myself into the lake.

Slogging: the act of moving forward almost imperceptibly, while half sunken on a $3000 toothpick, usually accompanied by generous amounts of swearing at the skies above, heaps of self-pity and self-loathing, and general physical discomfort.

The wind didn't amount to much so I was slogging again. I was temporarily distracted by a bird swimming in the lake ahead of me. At first I thought it was a loon but as I drew closer I could see that it was a goose. We'd had Canada geese on our lake all summer so it's not unusual to see a flock of them cruising along the shoreline, but this was a lone goose in the middle of the lake. Rather odd, I thought. With very little wind in my sail I didn't have the luxury of controlling my course with any great certainty so I just carried on toward the goose, trying to stay slightly upwind of it. The goose started to swim away from me, and then it faked a broken wing to lead me away from its young.

Canada Geese don't have young at this time of the year, and there were no other birds nearby. The goose then did the broken wing thing again. At this point it occurred to me that the goose probably had a broken wing. When I set out on my secondary walk of shame in front of the Micmac, I did see an eagle circling high overhead. Perhaps it was watching the goose, knowing that lunch was almost ready. I was about 30 feet from the goose when something very unexpected happened....it dove under the water like a cormorant does. I didn't know that geese could dive. I watched for it to surface and it never did.

I watched for about five minutes and I never saw that goose again. It dove under and never re-appeared. I'm still baffled by what I witnessed but believe that I inadvertently caused a goose to commit suicide.

Albatross: The word albatross is sometimes used metaphorically to mean a psychological burden that feels like a curse.

It is an allusion to Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poem The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (1798). In the poem, an albatross starts to follow a ship — being followed by an albatross was generally considered an omen of good luck. However, the titular mariner shoots the albatross with a crossbow, which is regarded as an act that will curse the ship (which indeed suffers terrible mishaps). Even when they are too thirsty to speak, the ship's crew let the mariner know through their glances that they blame his action for the curse. He feels as though the albatross is metaphorically hung around his neck - that is, when people look at him, they see him as the albatross killer and that weighs on him. Thus the albatross can be both an omen of good or bad luck, as well as a metaphor for a burden to be carried as penance. (from Wikipedia).

The rest of my time on the water was a total disaster. The wind never got strong for more than five second bursts. It sometimes would die down to almost nothing. I fell in repeatedly. I could barely uphaul the sail as I would sink the board without any wind in the sail. As limped home under the least amount of wind imaginable that would still allow forward progress, I was unable to steer clear of a mooring ball and, you guessed it, keplunk(!), I went in again. To add insult to injury, the very second I made it back to my beach the wind started to build again. Ack. I carried my windsurfer back up the boardwalk to my lawn. If felt heavier than normal, but whether it was due to physical/mental exhaustion or the burden of carrying a goose around my neck, I may never know.

'Smooth' Sailing In The Province of New Brunswick? Ha ha.

It's election day in New Brunswick. Will we vote in a new government or will we 'Stay The Course' as the Progressive Conservatives are begging us to do?

Stay the course, eh? Yes, I'd be soooooo happy to jump on a ship that's  already sinking, Captain Alward. You had four years to 'reef the main' and you didn't. One budget deficit after another. You promised, if elected four years ago, to get rid of the provincial budget deficit. You failed. Bye bye (Oh, look! Po is waving bye to you).

I have no problem in believing that David Alward is a nice man, but we don't need a nice man in office. We need people, men or women, of action. We don't need another person as Premier who wants to spend his or her days varnishing the hull, more worried about aesthetics and being popular. We don't need someone who puts being re-elected ahead of doing the job for which he was hired. The holes in the hull needed to be patched yesterday, so don't ask to be today's man.

Brian Gallant....why are you smiling? You'll likely be the next Premier but your party is as complicit as the PCs were in bringing our province to its fiscal knees. The last provincial Liberal government, under the watchful eye of Shawn 'Gymanny Cricket' Graham was no better, perhaps even worse than Alward's group of promise makers and promise breakers.

Our provincial finances are in tatters. We're heading towards insolvency. Who has the balls to make difficult decisions and right this ship? I'm willing to pay more in taxes if it means getting our province financially stable. We need fast, short term measures to help balance the books. Looking down the road, long term, is good but we need something right friggin' NOW! Got it?

Now, who has the balls to make some difficult decisions and get our galleon afloat?

Where Does Sushi Come From?

Where does sushi come from? A simple question that has a number of answers. Japan is an obvious answer. A Japanese restaurant is another. Even the Stupor Store in Freddy Beach sells sushi, but you can't have sushi unless you have fish,

I saw this boat in the harbour at Grande Entrée in les Îles de la Madeleine. Its name...Sushi Provider. I don't know whether it supplies fish to the sushi industry, but I do know that I like the name of the boat. Most boats in les Îles are named after women, perhaps wives or daughters. Names like Marie et Nicole,  Anne-Sophie, and Audrey Bois Est.

Mootha Chooses Her #1 Candidate

It's Saturday morning and rather than laying in bed writhing to the sound of a whinnying horse and bad music from every genre except the one that I like, I decide to get up and tackle the blog. What's on my mind? The New Brunswick provincial election.

On Monday, we, the people of the Maritimes, demand a new government....but who do we choose? It's not easy.

The obvious thing to do is to get rid of the current government...the Regressive Gone-servatives. I have not been happy with them. Let's see, they've put our poor little province much further into debt and they didn't create any jobs (that's my understanding of their track record). Then there's the fracking issue. Why are we even talking about fracking our frigging province while we're all still driving around in giant SUVs. Jesus H.Christ, can we not show just a little bit of self discipline/restraint before we start pumping toxins into our bedrock? And why frack now while natural gas prices are somewhat depressed? Doesn't anyone have a strategy??!!??

I'm not in favour of fracking at the moment. Maybe later. Maybe. The Progressive Conservatives have attached themselves to fracking like a bunch of frack addicts looking for their next hit. The Liberals are talking a moratorium on fracking but they're the ones who got us into this mess in the first place. If the Liberals are elected they'll 'do the 180' (bye bye moratorium) as all political parties do; they'll get in power and then say 'we didn't realize that we can't get out of our contract with SWN without being sued'. So......

We're fracked....by our current government, if not SWN.

Fracking aside, the real problem this province faces is years of budget deficits and a growing debt load that we will not be able to service in the very near future (maybe tomorrow). The pending insolvency of our beloved province is the #1 issue and no one is really addressing the matter in a grown-up, responsible way. The PCs want us to 'Say Yes!' to all their industrial initiatives, none of which address the debt directly. By saying 'No!' they want to make us feel like we're against industry and jobs. Miserable bastards.

The Liberals....let us not forget what a disaster they were four years ago under the watchful eye of gym teacher Shawn Graham. Gawd, why is it that we always vote out governments? Wouldn't it be nice, for once, to be able to say 'I think this government is great', and then vote them back in? It has happened in the past, but honeymoons never seem to last long. One term is the norm. Two is rare. Three terms is almost unheard of.

Politics is a three ring circus.

So who's in the third ring, Ian?

All the other parties: NDP, the Greens and the People's Alliance (or whatever they're called). I'd be tempted to vote the NDP into power for the simple reason, green as they are, that they'd be hard pressed to do any worse than the PCs or the Liberals. If they'd address the provincial debt by making hard decisions, then I'd be willing to give them a chance.

And who is Mootha voting for? Has she given us any 'signs' as to how she's voting?

Indeed she has. She going to spoil her ballot and write on it 'Julian Varty'. Mootha would be much happier if Julian was running the province. Maybe someday he will....

Leonard Cohen Day: A 'Tribute'

CBC has been celebrating Leonard Cohen week since Monday. Everything comes to a frenzy today, Leonard Cohen's 80th birthday. I really shouldn't use the word 'frenzy' when writing about Leonard, as he doesn't seem like the type to become frenzied. Even when he took Manhattan and Berlin, he seemed downright depressed.

I like things to be upbeat so I decided to perform one of Leonard's big hits and play the 'tape' at double speed. His songs often go on for days or weeks, so out of respect top my audience of three, I only sang/spoke one and a half verses. In short, I made it short.

Hallelujah!

Mootha Votes

"Put 'em all in a bucket", she said.

I noticed on the bulletin board at my Mom's nursing home that there's a mobile voting service that visits the nursing home, allowing the residents to vote in the upcoming New Brunswick provincial election. This got me thinking....how would Mootha vote?

Mootha's never been a lifelong Liberal or Conservative.  Alex likely scared her away from the NDP, at least in the party's earlier days. I think that she probably voted for the person who had the best hair (or a Scottish surname). That's often how I vote,  because party promises and platforms seem to mean nothing these days. You might as well vote in someone who has a pretty face (I'll bet she voted for honey-mugged Rick Miles a few years back) or for someone with Scottish heritage (fiscal conservative/tight wad).

Yesterday I took Mom out for a rambling walk/push through downtown Fredericton. We passed a lot of political signs but she was not impressed or showing any partisan-like favoritism. As is often the case, she said little but spoke with her eyes.

Personally I shook my head at the Conservatives' slogan 'Say Yes!'. The Liberals mutter something about 'change'. Oh, that's original! Honestly, it's like they're trying to elect a Carnival King and Queen at a middle level school. Elementary, my dear Watson! No one has much to say, really. Everyone's too concerned with being politically correct, leaving little room for anything politically savvy.

I never did get any real political commitment from Mootha as to how she was going to vote next week. We simply had a lovely walk around town in the sunshine, stopping to nibble on peach chunks for a snack. Of course, there was the occasional stop to take a photo or two, as dictated by Mootha. Nothing out of the ordinary.

The Coons came from Scotland.

The hair theory is not supported, however.

The Maggies Rock On

Let there be no doubt that I go to les Iles de la Madeleine for the windsurfing, but part of that appeal is the 300km of gorgeous sand beaches. When you windsurf in an ocean with sandy insoles, you feel so much safer than on a rocky coast. Sand is everywhere there....under water, on the beach, in the dunes, in your car, in your underwear. Everywhere.

There are rocks there too (did you ever wonder where sand comes from? Like, duh.). The Magdalen Islands have some spectacular rocky outcroppings that inspire this artist's eye.

Exhibit A in today's three images is of an alabaster outcropping on Havre Aubert. It's not big in a Rocky Mountain sense but it is very special nonetheless. The alabaster to be found there ranges from pinky-red to gun metal grey. It's soft, it's hard. It's wave washed and sculpted in places,  fractured and angular in others. I brought some home with me to sculpt.

Oh, so now you're a sculptor, are you Ian?

I've always been a sculptor. I've merely traded my Silly Putty for alabaster. At some point this blog will feature some of my sculptures, ideally with before and after images. Please stand by for that.

Exhibit B is Bird Rock which I prefer to call Roche des Oiseaux Merde. I don't know what type of rock makes up this outcropping, but I do know that it's generously iced in bird droppings.

Exhibit C is my favourite view in all of the Maggies....les falaises on Havre-Aux-Maisons. These cliffs always look dramatic regardless of the weather, though they look particularly good on a sunny day.

Apparently there is some alabaster in these cliffs but it's difficult to access except by boat (as you round the corner). I suspect the alabaster here will remain out of reach for me and my light fingers.

The Mags rock and will continue to for many years, until the entire archipelago turns to sand and blows away.

Mail Pattern Blandness

When you return from a three-week long, summertime holiday you can count on two things:

1) the lawn needs mowing
2) there's mail to be picked up.

Yesterday I picked up the mail and I was moderately depressed by the composition of the collection. In total there were 23 pieces of mail. Here's the breakdown:

Bills: 2
Political propoganda: 5
Magazines: 2
Local News: 2
Personal: 1
Groups asking for money: 11

Of the 23 pieces of mail received, I kept 8. The other 15 pieces of mail went into the garbage/recycling without being opened or read. Pretty depressing, eh? What a waste of resources and money, not to mention the inability of the senders to assess 'the other victim' (me) or his interests. I do understand the nature of blanket mailings and their effectiveness, but what a horrible waste. God only knows what the Multiple Sclerosis Society was sending as it was a grossly over-sized envelope, such that if I had Multiple Sclerosis I might struggle to open it.

I'm incensed by groups sending me things which I neither asked nor wanted to receive. In two months I'll be receiving over-sized envelopes from other charities who will be 'giving' me greeting cards or Christmas cards or something horribly inappropriate (on multiple levels). All they really give me is aggravation and a burning desire to never give them a penny.

Oh, Ebeneezer, why so scrooge-like?

I do give money to charities (or, rather, Wendy does). In fact, we're quite generous but when approximately 50% of my/our mail is from groups asking for money......well, Jeez, it's a bit much. My policy is to choose our charities, give when it feels right, and.......

Throw everything out that arrives by mail! I'd love to know how some of these more obscure charities got our name/address, because I never donated that either.

A De-Icy Situation

Had I come home from my vacation and found a horse's head in my bed, I would have been somewhat horrified. I say 'somewhat' because I'm not really a big fan of horses and not one inclined to feel sympathy for horses.

I saw you crying when Seabiscuit's mother died, Ian! 

That was Bambi, you fool. Seabiscuit wasn't a Disney film. There wasn't any tragic component in the Seabiscuit film other than watching a two hour film about a horse.

And now back to our regular programming....

What would have horrified me would have been MORE LAUNDRY! Thankfully there wasn't a horse's head in my bed, but I was horrified nevertheless. Let me explain...

I'm currently dealing with two competing factions (mafias) who are out to get me. The East Coast mafia has been tampering with my property for some time. The West Coast mafia has been playing with my mind. The West Coast mafia staged a surprise attack when I was on vacation, the taste of which is still very fresh. Mmmmm...pie!

I foolishly allowed the West Coast mafia to stay in my house, in my absence, for one night on their way back to the West Coast. I had a sense that things would not be the same in my house when I returned, but as it turned out everything looked just fine. Just fine. Just fine...until I opened the
freezer door.

ARRGGHHH!

I discovered Nemo, near death, in the freezer, wearing not cement shoes but an ice girdle. Nemo had been semi-submerged in a (Pern) Tupperware container full of water. He was encased in ice like a fishstick: barely breathing, pulse faint (remember, he is a tropical fish and not used to the cold). I took him out and resuscitated him, immediately causing him to have a meltdown.

Oh, and he's pissed now! Nemo is talking retribution, and he has that look in his eyes that says he means business. Ummm, make that 'eye'....he has that look in his eye that he means business.

Let this blog serve notice to the West Coast mafia, a veritable shot across the bow, that Nemo is going to exact revenge. Nemo, and his kind, are going to school you.

Confiture du Trafic Aux Ziles!

People often tell me that New York City has everything, and I believe them (more of less). New York City has  murder, gangsterism, poutine and a park with a pond or two, but so does Laval! New York City has traffic jams too....lots of them every single day, but I doubt it has the kind of traffic jam that you'll see in today's blog video. I also doubt it offers the kind of soundtrack that I enjoyed while being 'stuck in traffic'. 

Vive le CBC! Vive les bateaux de pêche sur la route. Vive les Îles de la Madeleine!

A Big Westerly Day

What a way to end a vacation in les Îles de la Madeleine....a classic big westerly! West winds, of the big kind, meant that we all converged on Dune de l'Hopital in Fatima (Cap aux Meules). It delivered, and then some.

Right from the get go everyone rigged small sails, ranging from 3.3 to 4.2. I, myself, rigged a 4.2 and attached it to my diminutive 77 litre board.

Most people arrived at the beach around 9 a.m. Typically there was about 8 or 10 people on the water at any given time, as the conditions dictated that periodic rests were a necessity (except for Julien, Luc et Alain who I believe to be bionic). In all there might have been about 16 of us who ventured out at Fatima. There was even two or three kiters (grrrr).

At 9 a.m.the ocean was manageable. By 1 p.m., when I left, the ocean swells had grown huge and some of the waves, though not terrifying, commanded a lot of respect. On the outside some of the swell approached mast high. On the inside there were some logo high sets (mental note: move logo down on my sail!).

The wind was gusty at times but stayed within the 40-50 kilometre per hour range all day. I struggled somewhat on account of my gimpish right arm (not to be confused with a bum shoulder, but related),  but all in all I was satisfied with my performance. As always, I can get out through it and then return to my starting point. Did I prosper? Not quite, but there is hope for me yet.

Here's a few more images to give you a sense of the setting....

Making An Ass Of Our Sleeves: Dyslexia At 4 A.M.

It's 4 a.m.and I can't sleep. Perhaps I should scold myself for drinking a bath tub sized de-caf café au lait at Café de la Grave at 8 p.m.. Now that methinks of it, methinks that I forgot to mention to the waitress that I wanted my drink to be de-caf.. Did I also mention that I'm lactose intolerant?

Ian, you are a genius!

My stomach feels fine, so it's not the lack of toes that's keeping me awake. It could be the caffeine, I suppose, but I had no trouble falling asleep. Hmmm....maybe it's the howling wind outside that's rattling my cage? Oh, it is windy out there. It's been howling like a band of tinky-winkies for the past few nocturnal hours. Strange that I should be windsurfing tomorrow morning in what may be extremely challenging conditions, yet my body is depriving me of what I need more than anything...sleep. Maybe I'm just nervously excited about windsurfing in the morning.

Or maybe you shuddna drank that urn-sized coffee at bedtime, you dolt!

Sleep deprivation is one thing, but my shoulder is another thing. Did I mention that my shoulder has been giving me some grief? It's related to a scapula/neck issue that causes my right arm to be weakened. I'm always aware of it when I windsurf in challenging conditions.

What do you mean by challenging conditions?

Well, at 11 p.m. in les Îles de la Madeleine, the wind was gusting to 59 km/h, and I believe things have picked up since then. I can't give you the midnight to 4 a.m. readings because the weather station here says those stats are 'not observed'. That's 'Environment Canada speak' for the weather station blew over in a gust, or Jean-somebody went out for poutine at midnight and never returned to work. Bummer....like my shoulder.

Getting back to bum shoulders, one of my windsurfing house-mates here in the Maggies, Finn, also has a bum shoulder. He's got it far worse than me. Poor guy, he wears all his troubles on his sleeve (see image below). I feel badly for him to the point where I feel like crying on his shoulder, but Jeez, that's not going to happen!

cheeky man

Well, I'd better get back to sleep....or am I currently asleep? Has this all been a dream? Will I wake up at 6 a.m. and have to write a sleep deprived blog for the day, or will this blog be there at the crack of dawn/Finn?

Stairway To Heaven? Not Quite.

If you click on today's image you will be taken on  magical journey. Well, not really. I've linked this image to a video that I shot yesterday.

The disclaimer: this video will not win any awards. It does, however take you from sea level (almost) up a set of stairs which give you a nice view of Cap-aux-Meules harbour (and the town itself) from a viewing platform at the top.

You may or may not get something out of this video. I, at the very least, got some well needed exercise. I'm developing a muffin top (pronounced moo-fan taupe) from all the croissants (pronounced crescent rolls) that I've been eating (pronounced snarfing).

The Sexiest Red Head Aux Îles (not taking into account Entry Island residents)

You can set your watch in the Maggies by watching the Souris ferry come and go, and you can tell the weather from the previous day by my blog. Here's how...

If you see a windsurfing picture in my blog, then you know that it was windy. If you see a diminutive blue fleur-de-limousine, a great bleu herring or some Skittled houses, then you know it wasn't windy.

Today's image is of a fox that I spotted on the backside of La Grave last evening. He or she was doing the rounds, twittering for something to eat (tweet).

Inside Sandy Hook

To say the landscape here is unusual would be an understatement. Sure, we have sand dunes on New Brunswick's eastern shore and in the northeastern region of Lameque, but the dunes here are in a class of their own. They go on for miles. And miles. And even kilometres.

Sandy Hook was the scene of yesterday morning's fun. I met semi-local windsurfing guru Jean Gaudet at 8 a.m. in La Grave. We sized up the wind (16 knots) and the cold (12 degrees) and then decided, at our age, it's now or never. I rigged a 5.9. Jean a 5.8. We launched at La Grave, sailed out of the bay and headed northeast towards Sandy Hook.

We had a master plan that involved Finn, Sachiko, and Robert. They were to launch directly on Inside Sandy Hook and we would meet them there. Neither of our three comrades had ever sailed Inside Sandy Hook so I was excited for them to experience it. Sandy Hook, on the inside on a sunny day, is very much like the Caribbean. The water is clear and it's pure sand below. Gorgeous, friendly sand. And it's shallow like the Brian Mulroney's moral character!

After about a half hour of ripping up and down the beach, we were joined by Finn, Sachiko and Robert. As this was Robert's debut session in the Iles de la Madeleine ocean, we now refer to him as King Neptune. I'm still Captain Nemo and Jean Gaudet is basically just God (he does everything well...and he's benevolent!).

If you look at today's first image, you'll see some unnamed windsurfer gorging on les fruits de mer (doesn't translate literally, but that has seldom stopped me). He or she is sailing on the inside of Sandy Hook which you see as a narrow beach and dune in the mid-ground. Entry Island is in the background. It's not as close as it looks. The telephoto lens compresses distances. In fact, Entry Island is a good 5 kilometres away from the tip of Sandy Hook, pronounced Sandy 'Ook locally. The haitch is silent, hiff you know what hi mean.

Every windsurfing trip to les Îles should include a day inside Sandy Hook. Luckily pour petit vieux moi, this trip did.

Different Updrafts For DifferentFolks

While waiting for the wind to arrive yesterday, I happened to notice two strange birds in the sky. This was no regular case of ordinary oiseaux, this was a rare sighting. Only once before in les Îles had I seen such a sight and that was a few years ago. This time it was a nesting (?) pair of paragliders. Actually, it was two guys, I think.

Paragliders are basically parachute-like air foils that are capable of steering and gaining altitude. They look to have a wingspan of about 25 feet (just a guess) and they support one pilot in a sling-style seat. With a continuous updraft supplied by our local 'mountain', they looked like they could have stayed aloft all day. Their only source of power is the wind.

I first spotted them from our rental maison which inspired three of us to don our goat boots and have a closer look. I could have happily watched them for hours from the top of the hill known as 'les Desmoiselles', but the wind was building enough that a windsurf was starting to look like a possibility, so we said 'screw you, paragliders' and off to the lagoon we went.

I did manage to squeak out a windsurf at the lagoon, but there's no question that the paragliders put on a more entertaining visual spectacle than I did. There's a real beauty to riding the wind, whether your airfoil is vertical or horizontal. The paragliders, without any doubt, got the better view.

I love flying so now I'm wondering if I would like paragliding or if it would freak me out. I'll likely never know (cue the chicken music).

This IS NOT New Brunswick...And There's Wind To Prove It

For someone as passionate about windsurfing as I am, it's baffling that I live in windless New Brunswick. It's akin to an oxygen breather living on Mars....not a good idea.

Yesterday was a classic windsurfing day in les Îles de la Madeleine. I got up in the morning and peered out the back door just in time to see the wind pick up my 30 pound stand-up paddleboard and flip it (on the lawn). It was a good omen.

In fact it was windy at 7 a.m. like we almost never see in Nouveau Brunswick....and it got windier as the day progressed. I left the house at around 8 a.m.and departed for the island of Pointe-Aux-Loups, a favourite among the hardcore planche-a-voilisteux. When I arrived people were just getting ready to hit the water. The first on the water was Julien Livernois, and he had rigged a very small 4.0 metre sail and attached it to a 75 litre quad finned wave board. In Cambridge-Narrows terms, he rigged something so small that I might only be able to use such equipment but once a year (i.e. post tropical storm Arthur). He seemed to be doing just fine in the side offshore SSW winds.

I decided to photograph the windsurfers for a while before rigging my own windsurfer: 4.2 metre sail and 77 litre board. It was the right choice for the conditions even though one of the Maine dudes was fully powered on a 3.7!

It was very interesting to see how the conditions changed as the morning progressed. The tides, although not substantial in les Iles, had a definite effect on the waves. As the morning turned to afternoon the waves/shore-break became friendlier (i.e.smaller) but the wind continued to stay strong. While taking a rest on the beach I happened to witness one of the Quebec windsurfers walk past me dragging his windsurfer and sail. Blood was pouring down his face from a cut jut above his eye. Apparently he was trying some aggressive manoeuvers and clearly had a landing that didn't agree with his forehead. Many windsurfers wear helmets (I did on this day) but this unfortunate fellow didn't. At least he didn't knock himself out and drown.

 After a while it almost seemed like the wind was dropping, so I decided to pack things up. It was but an illusion as the wind was still howling when I returned to Havre-aux-Maisons and Cap-aux-Meules. When I passed the lagoon, there wasn't a soul on it. I still had some energy left so I decided to go for a wee turn there. I rigged the same equipment as at Pointe-aux-Loups, but I was definitely over-powered on the lagoon. It was a blisteringly powerful wind.

If you take a look at the reading in the chart below you'll see that it was windy. The 3 p,m. reading at the Havre-aux-Maisons airport was 40 to 70 km/h. That's windy. It's also very gusty which made riding a bit challenging. The difference between 40 and 70 is rather noticeable (like drinking coke versus pure rum). All things considered it was a very rewarding day. The fact that it was windy, sunny and warm made it a rare treat.

I wish New Brunswick would treat me so well (as a windsurfer). Alas, it may never happen, but in New Brunswick we have spruce trees of which les Madelinot could only dream. My oak trees would floor them....but I'd rather have the wind.

P.S.:to Wendy, don't worry...I'm not moving here, but I (we) will continue to visit and 'rêve le rêve'.

Is Coveting (a car) A Sin?

Today's blog can only be viewed as a follow-up to yesterday's commentary on little pink houses. If your house looks a tad boring, why not spruce things up with a custom painted car?

I have yet to see any cars in New Brunswick painted like a galleon. This could be your big chance!

I'll give the first person to paint their car like the New Brunswick flag a bottle of wine AND your car will be featured in my blog (viewed by up to five luminaries).

Bienvenue À Skittleville!

For all of you who own white houses, or all of us that own drably weathered shingled houses, consider this image and how it makes you feel. I'm not sure how you feel when you see brightly painted houses, but I know that I love them!

There are 13 000 inhabitants in les Iles de la Madeleine and I'd estimate that half of them live in non-white houses. Of that half, I'd say half of them live in creatively painted abodes. The overall feel is happiness, or joie de vivre.

Have you ever looked around a parking lot in Fredericton and noticed that almost every car/truck is either white, grey or black? It's true, and it's boring as hell. I commend Joan for her red Echo because it's uplifting. Ditto for David's green Morgan or Kersey's Volvo (gorgeous!). Wendy and I once went to buy another Ford Focus wagon but we didn't buy the one we were looking at because it was grey. It was simply too depressing a shade of grey. There was nothing wrong with the car and the price was right.

Colour matters. We see in colour, so we might as well celebrate our gift. Why eat white bread when we can have Skittles? Ladies and gentlemen, grab your paint rollers and get at it, or at the very least put some vivid racing stripes on your white, grey or black car!

Grand Hareng Bleu?

Because one can't windsurf all the time, the Gods invented bird watching. I've been lucky enough to windsurf most days here but there have been some oiseaux oiatching days too. In truth, every day is a oiseaux oiatching day, because my parents trained me to constantly oitch for birds. They also trained Julian and he became a hawk 'expert' at a young age.

The big surprise this year is that I've only seen one marsh hawk (busard St.Martin). Typically I would see them almost daily...not sure where they are. All the other feathered culprits are here: gull, terns, plovers, sandpipers, starlings, gannets, ducks, crows, ravens, and great blue herons.

Today's heron was in a marsh just off the side of the highway. I was able to make this photo through the passenger side window. My $200 wheelbarrow car also makes an excellent wildlife blind. Really, I'm so glad that I didn't trade the car for something less useful.

Yesterday I was windsurfing with a gannet at Chemin des Chalets. On two occasions I had an airborne gannet within 50 feet of my windsurfer. Oitching birds oile oindsurfing....oiah hoo!