Wouldn’t ya know it……?  Just when I get old enough that I don’t care if my bum is hanging out, the X-ray department of the hospital provides a pair of full, light-cotton trousers instead of the half-cover, open-at-the-back Mr. BUTT smock of yesteryear.  I was surprised at how disappointed I was.

I came out of the dressing room to be greeted by two young and one mature woman who took me down the hall.  One of the young women was behind me.

“Sorry.  Nothing to see anymore.”

“Pardon?”

“You know…….in the old days………we used to get those revealing little smocks and would have to walk around clutching it closed with our arms behind our backs for modesty?  Did you guys get them changed to trousers or did the patients finally rebel?”

“I am sorry, sir.  I don’t know what you are talking about.”  And she looked at me as if I were mad.

The X-ray technician was older.  I asked him.  “I can’t remember when we changed over but it doesn’t surprise me that you are at that age where you just don’t care anymore.  A lot of people would get like that as they got older.  We’d have old people wandering around with both arms free and the smock acting more like a loin cloth than anything else.  Had a few doofuses who put it on backwards with the opening in the front.  Did it on purpose, I am sure.  Old guys.  Some of them smiling, as I recall. 

“I think the change must have come from staff.”

I hurt my back last year and finally decided to get it X-rayed.  Firstly, I thought it would heal on it’s own but as much of a factor as my optimism is, my pessimism about hospitals is probably greater.  I hate ’em.  So, I waited a long time to get it checked out.

Honest to God – medical facilities all look and feel dirty to me.  Like cheap motels in bad parts of Southern California.  Unclean in the extreme.  And usually the service is abysmal and way too many friends of mine have come out worse than what they were going in.  And that kind of generated fear and revulsion is not the feeling you want to have when they are poking and cutting and probing you.  In motels or in hospitals!  ‘If I am gonna get probed, damn it, you better be really damn nice and really damn clean! And that goes double when in a health care facility!’

That’s my new motto when speaking with Health Care professionals now:  ‘When probing, be clean and gentle’.  And I start with that spiel at reception!

I used to run a medical clinic in skid row, Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside.  Our clients were the ‘rubbies’ and ‘detritus’ of society.  The dregs.  The forgotten.  The untouchables.  But we’d touch them.  And we did so gently and with respect.  Admittedly, it was not always reciprocated but, by and large, the Downtown Clinic was a very important part of the lives of the city’s sick and rejected.  We did good.

But one of the ways we did good was by being service-oriented and knowing what each patient needed.  One of those things – needed by all of them – was cleanliness and simple but attractive decor.  I had a guy full-time on washrooms and door stoops, stairs and railings.  Lots of horrible stuff would accumulate there if we (he) wasn’t on top of it.  Today’s hospitals aren’t so careful.  The last one I was at, the washroom looked like it belonged to a non-chain gas station on a bad highway.  I try to make it a point never to touch anybody or anything when in a hospital.  Especially washrooms.

Honest, I’d wear a hazmat suit if I could.

We’d also paint the clinic every year to eighteen months.  Helped keep the feeling of clean anyway.  The doctor’s offices and the hospitals I have been forced to visit now and again are always the same.  No paint job.  Ever.  Smears that were on walls last year are still on the walls this year.

My current doctor’s office also has no windows.  Not one except the front door.  Nothing opens to fresh air but the door.  There is a huge maze of little closet-rooms all along dirty-smeared walls without a window to open.  It is literally a horror show.  I stand outside in the rain until it is my turn.

You might think me mad or hygienically obsessed.  I am neither.  But here’s my point:  When I lived in the city I got the usual flues.  I got an occasional cold.  Caught a bad burger-on-the-go now and again, too.  I’d estimate I got sick, on average, three times a year.  I felt ‘bad’ but still productive another three times at the very least.  Even though I was as healthy, it seemed, as the next guy, I could also rely on being sick every year for one reason or another.  Sal and I have been here eight years and have never been sick.

Well, we have been sick.  I could be lying.  But I don’t think so.  Whenever we are ill it is always after having been to the city or on an airplane.  If we don’t go to Vancouver, if we don’t set foot in a hotel or an airport, if we don’t rub our presence up against the hoi polloi, we remain healthy, unsick, vital and even suffer fewer less-energetic days.  OK, we get tired more easily but fatigue ain’t illness.  We are, in my estimation, 5 times healthier living here.  I swear.

Only exception: going in to see my doctor or going for a test at the hospital.  Makes me sick just thinking about it.

Weird eh? Those are the three most ‘looked up’ words that Google users employed that ‘ended up’ finding my blog.  Well, retirement, too (at #4), but that is not such a surprise.  Not really.  Boomers are gettin’ on, right?  But still lookin’ for answers.

As if I might have an answer for DFO, Robocalls and Enbridge?  Hmmmmm, I think I do……………..but……….it is not legal, moral or easy, I am sure.  Otherwise it would have been done by now.  A thousand times over!

On average I have 300 readers a day.  But they come and go in bunches.  So, who really knows?  For instance, most of my friends (they all lie, of course) say, “Oh yeah, I read your blog.  Honest!  Yeah…..loved that one on….what was it…….ravens!  Yeah, that’s it.  Love those ravens, eh?”

“Geez, that’s great.  Thanks for the feedback.  But….ah…I don’t think I have written about ravens for a while.  Didja see the one about the whales?”

NO!  Wow!  Whales, eh?  Wow!  I will look it up.  What was the name of the blog again?  Something about islands or something?”

“Off-the-grid-homes.org.  It’s about living off-the-grid.  Me and Sal.  I’m Dave, your old friend.  Remember?  You still taking your meds with a glass of scotch?”

“No.  Look, I read it.  Honest.  It’s just that, well, I get busy, ya know?  And, like, I prefer to read it in batches.  Like ten or so at a time.  So, like once a month or so I sit down and catch up.  It’s easier.  I like it.  Honest.  But sometimes I just don’t have the time.  But I sure do like them ravens!”

“That is OK.  I mean, who the hell reads the paper every day, eh?  Or watches TV every day, ya know?  I understand.  I even liked just seeing my kids five out of seven, ya know?  So, I get it.  No problem.  Just glad you like ravens, eh?  ‘Cause, like, I am leaning heavily on them now, ya know?  Like I do ravens every other day.  Can’t get enough o’ them blackbirds.  Can I?”

(I may have to kill myself!) 

Anyway, I promised you a quick thing on ‘Friends: better than fish’.  The reference is to Ben Franklin’s quote that ‘guests, like fish, begin to stink after three days’.  Mind you, they did not have indoor plumbing in his day but I am pretty sure that he was speaking metaphorically.

B & A came to visit.  Stayed two days.  No smell.  Rained most of the time.

They are good.  Real good.  B likes to tinker and potter and his specialty is electrics.  And I really like to see him now and again having fun.  So, I invite him up when I have electrical problems.  Happy to help out.  It’s great.  He has lots of fun and I get to enjoy him having fun.  Plus my electrics get sorted out.  Win-win.

A is an ex-librarian.  Likes the blog.  She is encouraging.  It is great.  I ply her with liquor, keep the topic on me and my blog and she is usually good for an hour of positive input.  Mind you, I can see the strain sometimes.  It is hard to stay pleasant while under the influence of scotch and a narcissistic personality but she copes well.

Funny, tho.  She must have read Ben Franklin ’cause they used to stay for three days……..

The morning started well.  Great, actually.  Went out on the deck and watched a school of Pacific white-sided dolphins on parade as they headed north.  Pretty neat.  There were close to 100 of them and they were leaping and swooshing at a rapid rate, doing their leaps-in-the-air in groups of eight to twelve.  They were close in and so close you could see their eyes.  It was a veritable march of dolphins.

Then, after watching them roll on down the channel like a herd of bison on the plains, we went about our morning business.

An hour or so later we boated over to unload the contents of our car which was parked on an adjacent island and came back to our beach for further ‘schlepping’ of supplies to the house.  Then Sal headed off to tie her boat up at the dock.  She was just out of sight.  Then the walkie-talkie………….

“Wow, Dave!  Dolphins just flying by!!  All around the boat!  Holy……….”

I grabbed my walkie-talkie.  “Where are you?”

“I am just around the point and…….OMYGAWD!!  OHMYGAWD!!!………Killer Whales!  Killer Whales!!  Holy………..you should see this ………………………OMYGAWD!!!  They are chasing the dolphins…………No!………..No………..wait………….”

I wait.  Nothing.  I wait.  More nothing.  “Sal!?  Sal!?  What’s going on?”

“Unh……..J & J are coming out and……OMYGAWD!!!  There are tons of Orcas……I think they have trapped a bunch of dolphins in our bay…….OH-MY-GAWD!!!  They are hunting!  You gotta see this!!”

(cackle….psssst……..static………….cackle……….) The walkie-talkie crackled again…”Dave, this is R.  I’m getting my boat!  I’ll pick you up as I go by!”

And R picks me up a few minutes later.  We go around the point.  Sal is there.  So are J and J.  We look around in amazement.  There are half a dozen Orcas swimming all around us.  They are mostly swimming back and forth in front of our bay.  We look into the bay.  There are few more Orcas further in.  We look past them and see what turns out to be about 20 or so smaller fins (dolphins) herded up at the shallow end.  They are clearly panicked.

For the next hour or so we watch from our small boats, our motors off, drifting with the wind and current – as close as fifty feet at times – as the dolphins feint and swerve in an effort to get to open water and the whales swoop in and – well, we never actually saw them succeed – to get one or two.

We think.

Then the trapped group would swerve around in retreat and head for the shallows again.  Now and then we saw a dolphin ‘get away’ but, of course, we never saw the ones that got caught.

All we really knew for sure was that the number of dolphins still corraled at the head of our bay was getting smaller.  And we watched until the whales had had enough.  The surviving dolphins hung around a bit longer and then took off when the coast was clear.

Eating on the run, eh?  And sometimes being eaten on the run.  Sheesh.

(A shame we didn’t have a camera with us but check out page 10 of the May 2012 ‘Harbour Spiel’ for pictures of a similar event:  http://www.harbourspiel.com/files/harbour-spiel-may-2012-issue.pdf

Took motor to marine dealer last week.  My ‘usual‘ guy works full-time and does repairs part-time and he was just too swamped so I ‘went conventional’ and took it in to Guido.  ‘They sure know how to make nice, those ‘marine mafia guys’, and I confess to thinking as I left it, “These guys aren’t so bad. Man, I have got to curb my bad attitude!”.

So, they clean the carbs and charge me $700.00.  That is close to theft, that is.  I mean…….(don’t get me started)…………still, it was done and so I picked it up and paid my bill.  And then, afterwards, stopped in to pick up Lolita, the little interim boat I intend to use while I ‘fix up’ my old boat .  Lolita, the little cutie!  Her inner power was weak (dead Polly, deceased, terminated, no more) and so I took her it to the same guy who was too busy a week ago.  God can be cruel.  But J is good.  Reasonable.  Honest.  Pleasure to deal with.  Just for fun, he asked to look at the Honda that was sitting in the back of my truck.

We hauled it out of the truck, stuck it on a stand and stood around like guys do when there is an engine in front of them.  You know?  Hands in pocket………….mumbling…………….eyes roaming over everything………..

“Hmm……no diffuser ring, Dave.  What happened to it?”

“Wassadifoozering?” He pointed to a spot on the leg that seemed to be absent a part.  “Geez, Dunno.  Maybe I lost it.  Maybe they lost it.  I dunno.”

“Never mind.  I’ll find one.  Put it on.  No problem.  Say, where’s the rubber plug for this hole?”

“Geez, dunno.  I never saw that hole before…………”

“Never mind.  I got a plug.  Sheesh, what kind of dipstick is this?”

“They said it needed a new one.  So they put one in.  What’s wrong with it?”

“This is a Yamaha dipstick.  It doesn’t fit.  And what is this green guck, eh?  I thought you said they just cleaned the carbs?”

“That is what they said.  Ya know, I feel like an idiot right now.  I prefer to feel merely ignorant but this is a notch lower down.  Awkward.  I didn’t ‘pop’ the hood when I got it.  I just packed it in to the back of the truck.  I guess I shoulda looked at my dipstick, eh?  But, what-the-hell?  I mean who just looks at dipsticks, ya know?”

He stopped, rubbed his chin and seemed to be mulling that question over.  Then he just stared at me.  Hard.  I think he was looking at a dipstick and showing me how it is done.

“Never mind.  I got a Honda dipstick.  Let’s look at Lolita.  Hmm………..nice little boat, Dave.  You knew the engine was toast, right?”.

“Yeah.  I was gonna put the Honda on it.  Take off the tiller and swap it over for steering.  You up for that?”

“Yeah.  Leave it with me.  You won’t mind if I just check out the Honda before getting it all put on, will ya?”

“Absolutely not.  I am afraid my confidence level on it right now is low.  Guido is lower, but , because of him, it is not giving me joy either.  Go for it.”

I left the motor and the boat with J.  Went to pick up Sal.

“You didn’t leave the motor with J, did you?  Damn.  I shoulda come.  I knew you’d cook up something goofy.  Damn!  We need that motor.  We have to pick people up!  You promised me!”

“Relax.  It will be done in time.”

“…….I never should let you out of my sight…………”

“C’mon.  It’ll be OK.  Have a little faith.”

“Faith?!  Marine stuff!!?? FAITH!!??”

“Well, you do have a point…………”

Dean Potter jumps off of large high things wearing a ‘flying squirrel’ suit.  Don’t ask.

Last year around this time he was being filmed and sponsored by National Geo in just such an adventure.  He came up our way to jump off of Mount Bute near the head of Bute Inlet.  Bute is a fiord/inlet half-way up the BC coast and the source of our high winter ‘outflow’ winds. Isolated.

The mountain is pretty high. Apparently it is one of the

highest mountains in the world in terms of ‘climb’ because it rises straight up right from sea level.  It is an impressive slab o’ rock covered in snow and ice and located miles from anywhere.  Really inviting, ya know? 

This mountain-climbing, leaping-off-it film made only one thing partly  understandable to me: Dean seems to like that sort of thing.  After that, I watched the whole film wondering, ‘why?’

A friend of ours is a world-class mountaineer-in-retirement.  He has some kind of understanding (if there is such a thing…..my jury is still out) of this.  He has climbed this formidable challenge and was asked to accompany the film crew and climbers to the base camp and provide them with background, history, stories and local knowledge.  I confess that even going to the base camp made me question ‘why?’

Mind you, I feel that way about multiple flights of stairs, too…………

I am obviously not the mountaineering type.  Not a mountain-goat nor a lemming gene in my family, I guess.  Even watching the film induced a fear-of-heights response.  It just ain’t my thing.

But I have to say – it was interesting in a Spider-man-cum-Zen-Yoga-master meets Evil Knevil kind of way.

And the story did have some elements…………..the best part of it all for me was Chuck.

Chuck lives up at the head of Bute Inlet at Homathko camp.  Year ’round. Our previously mentioned friends took us up to meet him and his wife one weekend a summer or two ago.  Very beautiful country.  Very rugged.  Real he-man, mountain-man, can-do kinda place.  He and his wife meet and exceeds that description all the time.  Chuck is an extreme handyman and on a huge scale.  The two of them are way, way larger than life in a Paul Bunyan kind of way.

Diesel (as seen in the film) with Megan and Fiddich

For instance: he made a hot tub.  He used a huge dump-truck bed for the in-rock pool and then put a building around it so as to be usable year ’round.  ‘C’mon…….that is real mountain-man, can-do stuff!  Admit it!’

Anyway, the flying Dean and his crew climbed the peak and ascertained that the leap off the top did not have the required five to seven seconds free fall-without-interruption (so that the squirrel suit inflates into flying shape).  “What to do?”

“What if you had a ramp?  Like a spring board off the top?  You know, it allows you to leap off from a further distance out?”

“Chuck!?  How we goin’ to do that two miles up??!”

“Piece o’ cake!”

And so Chuck fabricated a large aluminum bridge-to-nowhere that could be rigged by a high rigger on the peak of the mountain.  Made it in his shop.  A gazillion miles from anywhere.  Like..in a day!  It allowed for a ‘further out’ leap.  Then Dean, the lucky leaper, would have all of five seconds before flying or well, splattering.

The game was on.

A helicopter flew the parts up to the peak, the guys assembled it and within a day the flying Squirrel-man was set to go.

And he did.  Dean Potter flew like Rocky (of Rocky and Bullwinkel fame) for just half a second under three minutes.  And guys hanging off ropes and stuck in granite crevices 12,000 feet up filmed it.

And we got to see it all happen – nicely packaged and edited – up at the community potluck.  Got a nice dinner to go with that.  Even had a free beer.  It was good.

And that was the only part I really understood.

View from Homathko Camp

Busy two days.  Lots to say.  Too tired to say it right now.  Consider this post like previews on movies.  Coming attractions!  

Yikes!  Starring Dave and Sally, a major FUBAR production…………titanic struggle…….against great odds……..marine mafia wins on points and dollars.  But the fight was rigged.  Damn their eyes!  The second act: the battle is joined,  (just too tired to gird my loins right now (whatever the hell that means!).  Third act: the twist!

Second movie preview: Interim boat was purchased and brought home.  Undergoing a few ‘fixes’ before launch.  No champagne over the bow of this little girl.  Only 15 and a half.  Might call her Lolita.  I’ll keep you apprised.

Community potluck and documentary.  Characters On Parade.

Friends came to stay for a couple of nights.  Kept Better Than Fish!  More on that……..

Cyberslime found my cyberpost and tried to ‘bust’ us.  Spam/phish.  Wow.  Doesn’t take much, eh?

Don’t change that dial!  More after a few words from…………….

Just about finished Misha Glenny’s book, DARKMARKET: Cyberthieves, Cybercops and You.  It’s about a whole new world of evil out there – cyberspace.

‘Course the idea of this isn’t new to any of us.  I suppose we have all had our credit cards compromised at one time or another by some nefarious wrong-doer but, after reading Glenny’s book, Cyber-evil is now perceived (by me, anyway) as a much larger threat than simply defrauding a bank or two.  These bad hacker-boys are into cyber warfare as well.

That can get out of hand.

If it hasn’t already.

I’ll just make one point:  The Pentagon has had four traditional theatres of war – naval, air, space and ground.  Now they have five.  They officially class cyberspace as a ‘theatre’.  It is that bad.  And it is not like the Americans to simply limit their actions to defense of their borders, now is it?  And, anyway, where are the borders in globalization and cyber-space?  There just may be a bit of cyber aggression going on out there.

And not just by them.  Seems the Russians are really ‘into it’ and so are the Chinese and the Israelies.

Shades of the Cold War, eh?  Feeling a chill………..?

You should.

But don’t let me mislead you into thinking this is just a nation-state thing.  It ain’t.  It could be a sub-group and that can get personal in strange and weird ways.  Some years ago, Estonia invited the wrath of Russians (don’t ask – too stupid – about statues, for God’s sake) and Russians ‘cyber-attacked’ the most computer savvy country in the world (on a per capita basis).  Estonia was relatively prepared and held off the botnets, worms, trojans, viruses and DDoS for over ten days before having to shut down the countries Internet system.  They were brought to their knees, virtually speaking.

That ten day war cost Estonia millions.  Maybe more.  It cost the central bank there, Hansabank, almost $15M to keep their doors open for business and two other main banks had to close.  Much of the country’s economy was in ‘hunker-down’ mode.  Not much got done.

But did Russia do it?  Certainly Russians did it but did the nation state of Russia do it?  Did Putin authorize it?  Maybe it was just angry young hackers…who knows?  No one knows for sure but it has been discovered that the attack on just the Hansabank came by way of 80,000 separate computers focusing on Estonian servers.  And there was more attacked than just the bank.  Those computers were ‘Shanghaied’ into service.  Those who Shanghai are hackers.  It is entirely possible (tho somewhat unlikely) that my and Sally’s computers were conscripted against their will to attack Estonia by cyberforces.  We wouldn’t even know.

“Geez, Dave, what has that got to do with living off the grid?  Especially if you are telling me that the definition of the ‘grid’ now officially includes the Internet.  Doesn’t that mean that you really aren’t off the grid, after all?”

So it would seem.  In the immortal words of Al Pacino as the Godfather, Michael Corleone, “Just when I thought I was out… they pull me back in”.

“Oooohhh, what are those?” asked Sal.

Bending close to examine the garden plant in question, L said, “Spitbugs!”  She then picked one off and they both examined it closely.

Not noticing what L did immediately thereafter, Sal asked, “Are they OK?  Or do I have to get rid of them?”

“You have to get rid of them.”

“OK, fine.  Then what do I do with them?”

L looked at Sal like she was an idiot child (Sally’s own words, I swear!) and said, “Squish ’em!”

“Oooooooooooooh, yuck!”

You can take the lady out of the city but it is hard to take the city out of the lady.  Gentility and civility is hard to wash out of jeans.  Despite everything, Sal is still very much a lady.  It’s good thing.

She has always been a bit squeamish about such things as squishing bugs, bonking fish on the head or killing mice.  Anything like that.  And I am talking about when I do it!   But, in fact, if it needs to be done, she won‘t do it.  She won’t even yell at the dogs!  I am not 100% sure that butter will melt in her mouth, to be honest.  So, if we need a little ugly, she looks to me.

Well, so do a lot of people, actually.  Could be me, I suppose……? 

Mind you she has grown somewhat over the years and can now yell at me without any qualms whatsoever.  I take credit for that growth.  Hmmm……..she took to that pretty early on as I recollect.  Made it look easy, too.

I am a good teacher.

This is a woman more than willing to brave the winter elements in a small boat to get to bookclub with her casserole intact, this is a woman capable of carrying and fixing small outboards (within reason) and this is a woman completely unafraid of chicken-busing through El Salvador (well, until she was actually there and doing it!  Then her courage waned a smidge.  Along with mine, by the way.)  This is woman unhindered by fear (or common sense, sometimes, if you ask me).  She’s got guts.

But step on a bug?  Kill a mouse?  Not a chance!  “Too horrible!”

The point?  Some things out in rural land are a bit harsher, closer to the real bone, a bit less civilized.  Harsh.  It can get mean out here.  You just have to get your hands dirty sometimes.  And sometimes they get bloody, too.  It just is.

Sal will get her hands dirty.  She’s a trooper that way.  I should tell you about cleaning out a composting toilet that wouldn’t compost some day.  But she is Ghandi-esque when it comes to life.  Any life.  She just won’t take any.  She just says NO!

So, I have to kill stuff.

Don’t get me wrong.  I am no wanton killer.  I have a heart.  Honest.  But, I am sorry, my house is for us, the mice and ants have to live elsewhere.  If they persist, they will cease to exist.  You can quote me.  I once had to dispatch a mouse with the sharp end of a shovel.  It wasn’t pretty.  I didn’t even tell Sal.

But he got a decent burial.  I’ll go that far.  (It helped with the pain, ya know?) 

I have no real problem even bonking fish.  Seems logical in a ‘wanna-eat-dinner’ kind of way.  But I hate it when it takes more than two bonks.  I feel like a ‘clumsy murderer’ when I am bashing about the bottom of the boat and it is screaming at me in anguish (or so I imagine).  Ugly.  But I cope.  Man’s gotta do, eh? 

The point: Sally is a lady anywhere she goes.  Ain’t gonna change.  Me, I adjust.  As it is shaping up, I am becoming more primal, more brutish.  And, quite obviously, more ugly.  ‘Kill or be killed!  AArgh!’ 

If this keeps up, I may even end up hunting some day……….at this rate…..in my 90’s.  Late 90’s.  Maybe.  Ooohhh.  Yuck!

I have had few mentors in my life – well, none, in fact.  (Maybe my father in one respect.  We lived in bad parts of town and he taught me how to handle a street-fight situation which came in handy now and again, I must say.)  And I have huge respect for some people who have shared with me their perhaps-more-useful-in-overall-life knowledge along with love and support during my life.  My friends and siblings have been great.

But, really?  I have to say that going-off-grid was not one of those fully supported-with-love kinda things for most of my friends or siblings.  They thought it ‘interesting’ sometimes.  They thought that we would ‘make a nice cabin’, maybe.  Perhaps.  (If we got a good contractor.)  Some, in fact, were less-than-enthusiastic and, out of love and support, tried to talk me out of it.  Really?  Most were ambivalent or just didn’t really notice until we were well and truly gone.

So going off-grid was not influenced by my or Sally’s peers, siblings, friends, neighbours or even acquaintances.  Exception to all of that: Sal’s parents.  They were probably the only people with whom we shared the vision that were unequivocal in their support.  Mostly.  I am sure they had their doubts as to our ability but, truth is – any fears or doubts were never expressed.  Only love, support, encouragement and donations of used building supplies.

“So, where did the inspiration come from?”

No question:  Mother Earth News forums.  I made some friends there.  Steve, Davidson, Sarah, Pate/Majere and many more.  They weren’t directly supportive or even inspirational as such.  But they were talking the talk, walking the walk and sharing the dream.  Those guys were and are still great.

But, of course, inspiration is more than that.  It is somewhat more indirectly cumulative in it’s emergence, I think.  A bit like a snowball rolling down a slope, ya know?

Sal and I read a lot.  And one of the few genres that we both seem to like and  share are ‘adventuring couples’.  I know that sounds sucky.  Sorry.  And, in my defense, I mostly read ‘other stuff’.  I’d say my ratio of ‘other stuff’ to travel-writing is 98% to 2%.  And adventure-traveling-in-couples is less than 1%.  Still, if you read a lot, that translates into a dozen or so books on traveling singles or couples.  My guess: we have likely read about thirty to forty such books.

Some were influential.  And that is the point of this post.

Author Chris Czajkowski wrote in her blog: I live off the grid, alone, and have done so for nearly 30 years. The earlier cabins I built are far from a road in the high mountains of British Columbia’s Coast Range. They are accessed by an overnight hike, or a 20-minute float plane ride from Nimpo Lake in the West Chilcotin. They are 150 miles from the nearest banks, traffic lights, supermarkets or cell phone frequencies.

http://wildernessdweller.ca/books/ 

Chris started out in the Lonesome Lake area, I believe and didn’t, I am sure, intend to be a writer or remote resort manager.  As it turned out, she became both.  Nuk Tessli takes guests every year and Chris has published something like 10 books on living off-the-grid.  Her blog is better, really, than mine.  She is 80% pictures for one thing, has thirty years in the woods for another and lives much further out than we do.  And she just plain knows more.

But I don’t know her.  Not at all, really.  I have read a few of her books, I was in touch by e-mail a few times and she was inspirational to Sally and me. We kinda like ol’ Chris.

We also read Ian and Sally Wilson’s books about adventure traveling in Canada.  Not quite the same off-the-grid thing but inspirational too.  Plus her name is Sally.   They aren’t off-the-grid so much as ‘adventuring’ so far off the grid it seemed to have a connection.

See them today at: http://ponderingsofallthings.blogspot.com/

I guess HDT’s Walden has been influential, too.  I seem to quote him now and then.  Henry David Thoreau, tho, is oft-cited by writers mostly because, I think, he touches on some universal themes.  His particular story did not interest me too much but he captured much of what I have come to know as real about living.  And living out here.  I’ve had some experience of it anyway.  So, he counts.

Strangely, I have to say that A.J. Jacob’s book, A year of Living Biblically, also had an influence.  His books are all about him.  Him, him, and more him.  What he thinks, what he eats, how his poop changes.  And that is how I think.  What a couple of dickheads, eh?!?!  But, I must admit that he is occasionally funny in a Woody Allenesque kind a way and so his blend of neurotic narcissism resonated with me.  Gave me confidence to write all about me, me, me, and more me.

Another big influence was working for Linwood Homes.  I spent a year there causing havoc but it was great fun for me.  I got a mental ‘handle’ on building.  No longer was the idea of building my own house just a complete mystery.  It was still a challenge but, after Linwood, I could wrap my head around it.  That was huge!

The biggest influence, of course, was a negative one.  I came to loathe cul-de-sac living. The city.  The traffic.  The rat race.  The rules.  Didn’t feel right.  Wasn’t healthy for me.  Didn’t satisfy me in any way.  And I just began to disengage.

So, as Terry O’reilly describes it: I came under the influence.  And that influence just happened to be living off-the-grid.

Who woulda guessed?

Sally and I got out the old 1975 Mercury Thunderbolt yesterday.  It’s my ‘back-up’ outboard motor.  I bought it second (or more) hand a few years ago ‘just in case’.  Time to make sure it can still ‘back me up’ should the need arise. 

Am I really this well-prepared as a rule?  No.  Of course not.  But I am pretty sure I am gonna need it.  A guy just knows these things.

I now have a reputedly well-functioning Honda 50 coming back from the repair shop – a place I try to avoid like the plague.  I like the products they represent but I just hate the marine dealers and their so-called service centres.  Service just doesn’t really say it, ya know?

‘Course, I hate thinking about the words ‘Health Care’ or the ‘Justice System’ or the ‘Educational System’ for the same reasons: The labels lie and I am expected to believe otherwise.  I prefer my hypocrisy delivered more subtly, ya know?

The way I see it: I have a duty to mitigate my damages when something negative happens. ‘Just don’t make matters worse, Dave’.  So I can only do so much.  I am limited by my ignorance.  But going to a marine dealer is like taking a problem to the mafia.  You just know that things will somehow get worse rather than better.  And it is gonna cost a lot.

I may be biased about marine dealers.  In fact, I am.  But at least – this time – the motor is fixed.  They say.  I hope.  Maybe.  Hard to know.  The word ‘marine’ has some kind of dark magic attached to it.  It’s a curse.

You can buy a length of hose at Home Depot for ten bucks.  But, if the very same thing has the word ‘marine’ written on it, it is in the store down the street and they double the price.  And the likelihood of it working is less than for a usual product.  It’s a crap-shoot.  It’s the marine way of things.

The sponsored, ‘authorized marine dealers’ who can sell new machines and parts?  They are the worst.  These guys are ‘made-men’ in the marine world.  They have made their bones.  The Corleones.  The Sopranos.

And it wasn’t going to be any different this time:

“Oh yeah, Mr. Cox.  Guido pulled the hood off and had a look ($100) and then pulled the (three) plugs.  They were fine but a bit old so he ‘put them to sleep’ and had to put in new plugs ($100).  Then he visually inspected the carbs ($100) but needed ‘Big Al’ and ‘the Rat’ to lend a little influence, ya know? 

” After they had lunch down at the Bada Bing, he looked at them again and decided to ‘pull ém’.  Big Tony OK’d it.  That’s a BIG job ($100) and he then left them overnight in the ‘cleaning solution’ ($100).  Hahaha.  NO one wants to be left in the cleaning solution, yaknowaddiamsayin’ here? 

” Next morning, he blew them dry and replaced them using new gaskets (No, we had them in stock.  What a surprise, eh?  Usually takes three weeks to get that stuff in!  We’re all still shaking our heads over that!  Must be the new kid.).  And that seemed to do it! ($100).  So, all fixed!  With taxes, that’ll be $700″.

And, with the submission of the bill, the clerk’s face turned hard and he put his hand inside his jacket like he was packin’ heat.  I responded by emptying my wallet and all my pockets. 

“So, is there an extra charge for putting the outboard in the back of the truck?  Is there an automatic gratuity charged or should I just add a tip? Are yours or Guido’s kids pursuing another degree after the one I just paid for?  Or are they practising law or medicine already? 

“And, by the way, do you have a good local source of caviar?  We just can’t seem to find any of the good stuff?”

“Huh?  Unh…….I don’t think Guido eats caviar, Mr. Cox.  You want I should ask him?”

A new Yamaha 70 will set you back (with taxes and crap) about $10,000!  You can buy a new, dinko KIA sedan for that!  The Kia has seats, a roof, a radio and everything – including a bigger motor, more complicated transmission and brakes!  You won’t find any of that ‘extra stuff’ on an outboard.  The Syndicate controls the drug trade, murder-for-hire, gambling, extortion and outboard motors.

Back to the crime scene they call a shop:  Guido could have been working hard watching the cleaning solution or analyzing complicated data from his diagnostic machines.  Maybe he, Big Al and the Rat were deep in discussions over my Honda challenge.  I dunno.  That’s where they have you at the disadvantage.  Ya jus’ don’t know.

Maybe he just put the hood back on and ‘called it a day’.  That happens, too.  So there is a real possibility of getting the 200+ pound unit back home, putting it on the boat and ten minutes later, it does the same thing as it did before.  Doesn’t run right.  Trust me – that has happened before!

“Geez, Mr. Cox, sorry about that.  Just bring her back in.  No trouble.  We’ll have another look.  Guess it was more than just the carbs, eh?”

“Oh, OK.  I know where you live cause I was just there  Do you know where I live?  Perhaps Guido would like to come pick it up?  No, on second thought – forget I said that.  Jus’ kiddin’, eh?  OK?  I’ll bring it in.  What was I thinking?  When’s convenient for you?”

“Oh, anytime is OK, Mr. Cox.  We always enjoy our little get-togethers.  But Guido is just swamped, ya know?   And we’ll just have to run the diagnostics again.  No idea how long this will all take.  Hahahaha.  Don’t forget: bring money!”

So, I am slowly getting my head around outboard mechanics.  Have to.  It is simply the way of the remote world.   I need my backups.  Independence in all things.   Kinda.

Anyway, a guy should be able to fix his outboard.  Women, too.  Not many folks out here can do that but we all believe we should be able to.  It is one of the darker secrets in remote communities – we depend on outboard motors and most people have no idea how to fix one when it goes wonky.  And every outboard goes wonky.  Fact of life.

So, to that end, we added a section in the wood-working shop for outboard and small engine repairs.  The ‘Mechanical section’.  MECSEC in ‘merican military parlance. ‘Course, we will also need a MecSecCom (mechanic) but that can wait.

And I am not telling Guido.  I mean………like……who needs a turf war, eh?

I hope we get independent on this.  Marine dealers, eh?…………….can’t live with ’em, trying like hell to live without ’em.