We got back on the job yesterday to do ‘the easy part’. Hah!

The easy part was just the simple tightening of the highline so that it was taut, off the ground and well-fastened. All I had to do was pull it tight around a block and then bulldog clamp the cable in place. There is a bit of a challenge in pulling a 150′ long cable that is 3/8″ in diameter and that challenge is greater the tighter one wants the cable to be. I wanted tight and taut . . . like hundreds of pounds pull-tight.

I pulled the cable by rubber-gloved brute strength and Sal jammed a tool in the block so that it would stay there. Estimated pull strength…maybe 100 pounds. Then, with the cable slack now taken up, I attached a ring to the tail end and then attached a come-along to that ring. I tied off the come-along to an anchor point and pulled up another 4 feet. That made it pretty good. Tight-like-bow-string. Challenge #2 was that the tail line was just not close enough to the main line and so squeezing them together for bulldog clamping just did not work.

Re-jammed the tool in the block, reset everything. Repositioned the angle of the come-along so that both lines more closely paralleled. Pulled it up again. Nice and tight. And it was now parallel enough that my hand-grip was sufficient to be able to place the bull-dog clamps. Which we did. Ooooh, that line looked nice!

“But, but, but . . . “, said Sal. “I see a bit of sag in the line if I look closely.” And that is where the genius of a large turnbuckle in the system pays off, my little rigging bunny! Let’s tighten the turnbuckle”. And, so we did. That puppy was practically humming like a tuning fork after a dozen turns. And we have only used a couple of inches on the turnbuckle. After a while, the line will stretch some (maybe as much as 6″) and then we will just snug ‘er back up with some more turns in the buckle.

Who woulda thunk it? Two days. Two hours each day. Highline, genset, long electrical line . . . all almost ready to go (I have some wiring and such to do for the electrical line down at the lagoon end but that can come later).

For Valentines Day, I ordered Sal a lovely little two-ton chain-hoist. Red, of course. It is Valentine’s day, after all. It comes tomorrow. We’ll set it on the highline and attach it to the pull-line and send it down to the lagoon. Sal will attach a log and, instead of pulling on the old block-and-tackle, she will use the chain-hoist requiring less strength than pulling a curtain cord.

If we keep this up, everything will be easy to do . . . just before we expire.

Yesterday the tide went out far enough for me and Sal to get at the lower terminus end of the highline. That lower ‘end’ is a large rock (bigger than small van) in the lagoon (at high tide, the rock is just submerged). We collected the tools, positioned our old Wacker Neuson genset on a pallet platform I built up (but without the little cover-shed I intend), made up the new 125′ long, 10/2 armored cable and laid out the new highline after pulling up the old one.

The highline starts at the top of the hill (about 75 feet in elevation but spread out over about 125′ of slope – it is a steep climb). We go up and down it pretty well but only because I have a long rope attached like a loose-hanging handrail that we can use to save ourselves from pitching forward as we descend and something to assist us with when coming up by allowing us to use our arms and legs to make the climb. Without that simple rope, we would very likely have tumbled more than a few times. And yesterday was a challenge even WITH the rope.

I had to take my Big Bosch Hammer (BBH) drill down to the big rock to drill a big hole into which I would epoxy a big 8″ x 3/4″ eye bolt. It was NOT a small job. Of course, there were all the logs we had accumulated in the way (they are waiting on the highline to be functioning before they can be lifted). But the Big Bosch man is heavy and the bits it uses are heavy and so is the additional extension cord, the tools and crap one needs to do anything. I figured my ‘tool’ bag weighed 40 pounds.

Forty pounds swinging loosely on you as you climb up and down a steep hill tends to throw you off balance with every step. Not to mention that weight also wanting to drag you down quicker than you want to go and making it a harder climb coming back up when the chore is done. And my balance ain’t what it used to be. I was careful.

But, first let me go on a small tangent: The Wacker Neuson (WN) is something else! I got it from a contractor friend when it had ended it’s second life. First it was a ‘commercial rental unit’ and used and abused by the construction industry for a few years before my friend took it on a clear-out-the-junk sale and he heaped more abuse and neglect on the poor beast for a few years more. When he was gonna chuck it, I came along. This is a poorly cared for (read: never) unit that still puts out 5600 watts while looking like it fell down a few rocky slopes like ours.

I took it because I have a ‘work station’ down at the lagoon for boat maintenance (done but once a year) and I needed power when I do that. That work station was too far to use an extension cord from one of my other two gensets back at the main workshop. I took the WN down to the lagoon a couple years ago and used it. It was good. But, in the tradition of neglect, I used it, I abused it and then I left it there for an entire year….. which, because the bottom of the boat did NOT need cleaning that next year, sat for a second year! The only thing I did right was to fill the gas tank to the top and run the carburetor dry before the two years of ignoring it. I finally went to get it and service it but, before I did, I pulled on the starter cord. Twice. It fired up! Ran like a clock. Left in the weather for two years, two-year-old gas, needing an oil change…..it fired right up!!??? WN uses a Honda engine and that accounts for much that but they must do something more to their ‘package’ for it to be that good.

Hmmm….maybe there is an anti-Murphy out there. Instead of screwing you over, Aunty Murphy sprinkles little miracles now and then.

Anyway, I was not going to repeat that neglect and so I hauled it up the hill and put the love to it and, with an oil change, etc., it ran even better. I then placed it closer to the ‘work station’ but NOT all the way. It was set 150 feet from my workshop but still another 150 feet from the lower workstation. And I think it put on a bit of weight. That old WN has to weigh in at 150 pounds +. In fact, part of the + was the little wagon I fabricated so that I could move it around. That little wagon weighs 30 or 40 pounds. Sal and I had to drag the WN-on-a-little-wagon over 200 feet along a rocky trail to put it in position. In the relocating, Sal must have pushed a switch……..and therein lies the story.

We got all set up. Drill was in place. I was in place down the hill perched somewhat off-balance on the lagoon rock. The genset was running. Everything was plugged in (and everything had been tested as working before we did all that heavy labour). I pulled the BBH trigger….and……nothing! No juice! WTH!!!!

Sal went up the hill to ensure the plug was still in (it had to be, it was a locking plug). Nothing.

For reasons unfathomable to me a lot of machinery no longer sports ‘English’ written labels and instructions. Nowadays, they use so-called universal symbols. Arrows, pictures of rabbits, decals sporting lightning bolts, gas cans embossed on lids and – one of the worst – an I on one side of a rocker switch and an O on the other. One of them means ‘on’, one means ‘off’. BOTH ‘on’ and ‘off’ start with ‘O’ !!!!!!!

Anyway, we worked all the symbols and switches and finally got it going again and the power flowed. I went down and drilled. Turns out the lagoon rock is only a few years away from eventually becoming a diamond. That was the hardest rock I have ever had to drill into. To get in 6 inches, I drilled for over half an hour.

Then we covered the ‘eye’ bolt in epoxy and hammered it into the hole using a small sledge. That required fifteen minutes of whacking to get it all the way in.

Finally, we attached the new ‘rope’ cable section (rope won’t rust) that is the lowest ten feet and connected it to the galvanized cable that runs the rest of the way up. That ten feet keeps the metal cable at least 6 feet out of the water. My last cable assembly (without the rope section) lasted 15 years. It got rusty and snapped at the very spot you’d expect – at the water line. This one should do at least 20-25. I will be oxidized off the planet by then.

Today, we fasten the top-side end of the cable. That is a simple job except that the cable has to be pulled tight/taught/bowstring-tight. That is a 3/8″ galvanized cable laying slack down a 125′ slope that we have pull taught and then fasten. Should be a piece of cake.

I hope Aunty Murphy is around.

Like most of us out here (50% anyway), he is over 65. Actually, he is over 75. He is just entering the ‘mature’ senior cohort of the community. But, it ain’t easy even at his somewhat younger end of the geriatric spectrum. He’s still gettin’ on at gettin’ on. Plenty of time. At 85, he will then join the ‘walking antique cohort’ (WAC’d for short). We already have plenty of those!

(And finally, after that, it is just sorta ‘slow composting’, not really much of a segment. Is it? No one really considers the ‘slowly-composting stage.’)

My ‘neighbour’ ten or so miles away, living on an even more remote island than we do with even fewer people nearby (none), is seriously considering spending winters in a place a smidge more comfortable. By his own admission, “Winters are getting a bit harder.” And, of course, they are. Winters OTG can be a bit grim but it only usually takes a few sunny days here and there to make it endurable and I, personally, think a particularly sunny winter is a beautiful time. Mind you, I am relatively healthy. My friend is not.

I am telling you all this because people often wonder about us aging remote and being relatively isolated. They tend to look at the OTG lifestyle with exaggerated fears, visions of doom and they attribute egg-shell-like vulnerability to anyone over 60. “How long will it take an ambulance to get to you?” (Answer: they cannot and will not get to me. I have to go to them.) But most of what they worry about is simply not likely to happen or even totally true. We are all much stronger than our urban counterparts even when we are sometimes even weaker. Strength is really attitudinal.

But…..well……some of it is also physical. My guy had a major accident five or so years ago. He was left almost non-ambulatory. His body had taken a severe hit and every aspect of it suffered as if he had aged more rapidly than just his years would suggest. A following stroke, a few minor falls and way too many months of reduced physical activity restricted recovery and he was eventually left kinda frail. He still works but is no longer a power, physically speaking. Mind you, he is only frail for being out here where physical demands are common. If he was in the city, he would be almost normal (he still does not need regular professional care, a wheelchair or even a walker. Doesn’t need an oxygen tank, dialysis or major surgery. Not obese. Except for working hard, he is pretty good). He could physically do the Starbucks to doctor, library to friends or pub, TV and delivered pizza lifestyle so much appreciated in the city.

He is now on the cusp, on the fence, on the verge of having to decide if he can still stay out here. And he has decided that he can but just not in the winter. I think he is making the right decision. As he puts it, “Well, I can still do stuff but not so much any heavy lifting or hard work anymore. Winter time always requires hard work from wood-getting, hiking all over the forest and upkeep on the house. I am gonna have to find another way.

“But it is not just the strength required or the stamina, it is the little things like hearing, seeing and, most important, balance. I just don’t have that anymore. And, it is only awkward or mildly difficult when I am on land but, when in a boat, in a storm, in the dark and maybe encountering an accident or a challenge or even just hitting a log, well, then things can start to fall apart rather quickly.

“Last week we were coming down a narrow channel and the current was running at 8 knots or more. It was pretty hairy. Then we hit a log while going full tilt and the entire boat was tipped and we all fell every which way. I bruised my ribs. Of course, being in a small boat (14 feet) was not ideal. Had it been dark or snowing, we might have been really afraid but, as it was, I was left a bit shaken. So, we are thinking of maybe winters away”.

So, there you have it. A 75 year old (and his wife) with all sorts of disabilities hikes through the forest in the winter miles from anyone and heads out to sea in a small tin boat. But they are OK with that! It is only when they hit a log in a cauldron of sea-chaos going through a narrow pass with crazy currents (running like a flooding river) that they decide that ‘maybe’ they should ‘perhaps’ spend winters where it is less dangerous.

He wasn’t sure, tho. Key word: Maybe. They are gonna think on it some more.

I think it is all pretty fabulous. I think it shows courage and common sense. NOT necessarily for their possibly leaving but, rather, for putting that plan as STILL just an option. They are definitely NOT going anywhere this winter. They are still mulling it all over for NEXT winter.

Circumstances can kick you in the cajones, push you down a flight of stairs and then run over you with a pick-up truck a few times but, with the right attitude, all that did for them was to consider their options! That’s great. That’s healthy. There is a real pull, a real yearning for out here. That enduring love of nature, and living the lifestyle, is the real power of being OTG.

“The only constant is change”. (Heraclitus)

Change: Unstable, erratic capricious……..(Wikipedia)

Judging from the above quotes, it might seem as if I am heavily invested in spare and loose change. And I am. I like change but I like good change more than bad. But change that is ‘meh’ is not really change. Or is it? And it is about that oxymoron that I am writing. The change that has been coming along so far is NOT good, not bad, mostly ‘meh’ but it is still coming.

Where are we headed?

Societal and global change is clearly still afoot these days and yet it seems like nothing is really moving in any predictable direction – neither good nor bad….but, to be honest, clearly more bad than good lately…. The metaphorical mental image: flooded farmlands, floating debris, bloated cows, muddy waters.

Covid did that. The world was (as usual) evolving higgledy-piggledy and then went into Covid induced shock. Now we are all in half-quarantine waiting on late arrival vaccinations while making no plans whatsoever. Stultifying, coma-inducing, quiet frustration, what-the-hell are words that come to mind.

And that is all being reported somewhat in the news but it is that which is unreported that makes it so confusing. We have the usual upheaval and chaos from the over-sensational media-news, of course, and yet, that all seems even more repetitious, typical, boring and somehow normal all at the same time. But I think there is more. What are they NOT saying?

In other words; my feelings are that we are seeing all there is to see and yet I feel there is more that is ‘in the dark’. That hunch seems kinda contradictory – for me, anyway.

Maybe…could just be…… that our relied-on (hoary, old) institutions are simply under assault and/or are constantly dropping the ball (ergo, we lose faith in the system), the economy is even more mysterious than usual (so our fear levels increase), and then there is the rapidly altering climate and the eroded natural environment which also affects my behavior, feelings, moods and character (an impending sense of doom). Maybe the change I am feeling is more like rust-on-steel….gradual erosion….a slow downhill? I don’t know.

OR, it could JUST be the rather pronounced, personal and noticeable effects of the aging process that is sorta omnipresent to me now. Those personal things ARE changing, too, and yet those things have been slowly happening for some time (the very definition of aging). So, it kinda remains the same.

Put another way: I am currently in a state of flux but without any real major, mile-marker changes happening in my life to warrant that feeling.

I am also saying that I am more-than-used to (and need) a certain amount of real change in my life (it has been a constant roller coaster ride after all) and I know that the world changes even more than I do….but, but, but….there have been no really GOOD big changes for me lately – which is also somewhat good, I guess. It means my status quo is safe. But there have been none that feel rewarding or educational or even intriguing to me, either. No good news makes Dave a dull boy (mangled metaphor courtesy of Sally).

Well, the slow, drip-drip-drip of aging is probably the most obvious and yet the most common and predictable form of change in my life right now. And aging is intriguing…I have to admit that! Fun? Not so much.

And we are obviously having fewer adventures because of the Covid-quo-ness, too. I think that is a large part of it. No adventure. No new encounters. No travel. All that leaves a big hole…..

Sal and I have been the very epitome of living some kind of regular status quo this past year due to Covid and the aforementioned aging process (and my increasing loathing of air travel). For us, that is odd, to say the least. Being normal just isn’t normal for us. We just do not get out very much anymore. We stay at home now. And, in the winter when it is cold and wet outside, we even stay in Canada and more and more inside the house on computers or quilting or maybe making dinner together. It’s nice, it’s normal but, well…….ya know? It ain’t exciting.

It turns out that my biggest challenge in whatever kind of change era we are all currently in is learning how to relax and stay put! That is not easy for me. I have grown this singular dorky character into one that needs the irregular, the odd surprise, the lack of routine and the ‘new adventure’. Mental image: driving Sal around Thailand on a scooter. WooHooo!!!

Getting old means I need radical change less and less but I still need some real surprises, small adventures, doable challenges. I am still restless by nature but without the youthful energy that used to cause it. This is a new kind of flux state I am in these days…..sorta like the sentiment of being all dressed up with but nowhere to go….. I am getting all stressed up but with no energy or focus on what to do about it. What is causing that? Is it just Covid? Is it just aging? I do not know……..

I still have, of course, the necessary chores to keep me from the silent madness of real bushed-out, cabin-fever-style boredom (I hope) but well, it’s pretty cold outside right now…..not conducive to getting anything significant done……and I will avoid making a winter martyr of myself just for the sake of warding off the cobwebs and lethargy of indolence. Hibernating may seem kinda silly but it is better than catching pneumonia or breaking into a sweat during a snow storm while bleeding from an errant chainsaw, ya know? Aging gently and boringly seems kinda good compared to that!

Moderation in all things? But moderation SHOULD include a few surprises, too, right?

Truth? I think I am mostly in need of sunny days, blooming gardens, more wildlife and a great, wonderful Springtime. I think maybe we are all a bit overdue.

Little things seem to matter more when you are isolated, remote, cold and ‘in the dark’. And it is usually raining to boot. But which of the little things matter most vary from person to person. For me, it is not being able to or even wanting to do all my little projects. Without projects, I am bored. When bored, I tend to hibernate (read: nap). So, to compensate for the lethargy, I kinda ‘make indoor projects’ but I am not allowed to ‘make a mess’ except in the kitchen. So, I have been exploring recipes lately. Thanks to JA, I am now thinking of curried cauliflower…….

………clearly, I am getting whacked. It might even be (gasp) cabin fever. I might be bushed. When cauliflower becomes my focus, I am obviously spiraling into madness. Maybe with cheese sauce?

Sal has healthier and better outlets for her season-stifled energies. The biggest one, of course, is that a ‘woman’s work is never done’ and so housekeeping is part of the therapy for her. And then there is quilting, book-club, community work and the incredible burden of living with me. That woman carries a load!

And, from all of that, manifested her recent whackedness. Today, she went to town. Going to town almost felt like an adventure, a foray into the Covid wilderness for her. Felt a smidge like abandonment to me. I was not invited. But really, tho? Sal just needed to bust out. Mostly, it was because she was out of scotch. A woman can only suffer cabin fever quietly for so long!

She ran out of scotch last night. She was in the boat heading to town early this morning.

I am mostly just teasing. She had other reasons to go to town…….she was getting low on chocolate, too. But the biggest reason she admitted to was “I need a haircut!”

“No, you don’t, sweetie. Your hair looks great!”

“You don’t understand. I NEED a haircut!”

“Is that some kind of euphemism? You flirting?”

“No, you idiot! It means my hair is too long and I need to cut it!”

“No problem. I’ll cut it. Tell me what you want and I’ll get the trimmer and whack away until you tell me to stop.”

“There is no way in hell you are cutting my hair. That is just plain weird. Creepy, actually. Ooooh, my skin is crawling just thinking about it, you perv.”

“Sal, it is just a haircut! Mind you, I WAS going to dress up like a stylist and mince about….”

She was headed for town within minutes of that conversation. Seems one of us is getting a bit bushed.

There was a great big landslide during the last few days of November, 2020, in a not-so-far-away neighbourhood near us. A chunk of Bute Inlet was washed into the sea by a wall of water that started as a naturally dammed glacial lake that blew it’s banks and spilled over to join a storm-swollen river. That engorged ‘new’ river raced down hill and took half a mountain with it. A pretty massive amount of devastation resulted almost instantly.

But it is a bad landslide that does not sweep somebody some good even if the overall effect was pretty damn bad. The forest there was erased. The salmon habitat suffered. The normal delta area there was suffocated under the slide. A cottage or two was swept away and the sea was virtually unnavigable for miles around because of the ‘debris’.

But the debris was not just mud and smashed trees. It included hundreds of good, healthy, assorted-sized trees as well. Put another way, next winter’s firewood was then just floating around for the picking. And so some of us went a’picking.

Well, to be more honest, we just sat at home and watched in amazement as the natural bounty was swept hither and yon all through the region and we are right in the middle of yon. There were trees everywhere!

I have suggested in prior blogs that my wife is a bit of a nut but nothing illustrates her quirks quite so much as when she comes across bounty. She can get ‘hooked’. I once had to physically pick her up and carry her to the vehicle begging for more ‘sifting’ time when we had stopped to try washing sugar garnets from a roadside tourist trap. The kids and I had enjoyed the process for 20 minutes or so but an hour later, Sal was still saying, “Just one more bucket of sand, just one more!”

She is much the same way with Roger’s chocolates and, surprisingly, she is also a driven and obsessed log-aholic. She kept shrieking, “Oooh, look at that log! Another good one. C’mon, let’s go!”

“Sweetheart, we already have a lagoon full of logs. We have half the hill strewn with logs. And we have a bunch tied up and floating near the dock. We have no more room, no more rope, no more log dogs and, quite frankly, I think we are starting the 2023 winter wood pile already! We do not need anymore logs.”

“I know. I know. But, it’s like free money in the bank (she tends to garble her metaphors a smidge) and they are just sitting there! I need to get some. I need ’em. C’mon! Just one more…..maybe two. And yellow cedar doesn’t count!” Translation: by exempting yellow cedar, she was basically saying, ‘Let’s get a couple fir or Hemlock and then hunt all day long for yellow cedar ’cause they don’t count.’

Suffice it to say, we got in some wood this winter.

I have friends from all over the world, spanning all the generations and even all the genders! I have no real idea how I get these friends but their having ‘character’ and ‘personality’ has to be the largest part of it. If there is a real human being in there, I am interested in knowing them.

A filter is not really applied to them – they only have to be interesting and the potential for friendship exists for me. No, the filter is really on me. Many of those perceived-as-interesting people do not find as much interest in me. That is what keeps the numbers down. But when the two ‘potentials’ get together and there is mutual interest…voila…the seeds of friendship are sown.

No, I am not a open-hearted Pollyanna who loves everybody. The seeds can be sown and even sprout but still the friendship might not flourish…but there would need to be a real poison for it to die too easily. I give the seeds a chance.

I mention this because my criteria for friendship does not involve social status, nearby proximity, frequency of encounters, skin colour, religion, gender, employment, skills or abilities, wealth or good looks. It does, however, include a bit of a political bias. I cannot be friends with Nazis, Fascists, fanatics, extremists or Trump supporters. I try. It just doesn’t work.

Having said that, I actually do have a few friends who are Trump supporters. All I can say is. “Well, geez, they may be nuttier than the clientele of London’s Bethlehem Royal Hospital (aka: Bedlam) but these ones are definitely pretty interesting.”

And so I am in contact with a few nuts now and then (Yep…’Merican and Canukleheads). And they with me. One wrote last night.

“Dear Dave,
None of this (the Biden Inauguration, Trump departure, Capitol Hill), is going to be too relevant in a few days. The discussion is going to be moving into
international crimes of high treason (much more serious crimes will be exposed).
Please tell people you care about not to travel, especially to the US, the next few days. I wasn’t sure, but am pretty certain now: Joe Biden will NOT be taking office as next US President.
He will soon be facing a military style tribunal, similar to the Nuremburg Trials after WW2 (along with hundreds of other traitors from the US govt. Perhaps not if he chooses to cooperate?).
Sorry if that is disappointing to you? We do not want to be taken over by Communist China.
We “muricans” are weird that way, at least the actual voting majority of us (including our military…).
While I share their sentiment, I’m really only an observer to history here.
I wish your own country’s politicians the same wisdom of choice.“

My friend is warning me and you NOT to go to the US over the next few days (Trumpers are also somewhat unheeding of Covid protocols so he may not be familiar with our travel restrictions since they do not have any). He is warning of violence. He is predicting a trial will be soon held for ‘criminals’ in the US government who have committed high treason. He states that Biden will not serve as president. And, of course, he defends all that as patriotic intent and defending the nation against Communism.

We could argue all that, of course, but to do so would be to miss the point. The point is he believes what he is saying, he is not an instigator nor a participant and he wants me and mine to be safe. But more to the point, he is telling me what he is reading on his alt-right media sources. My guy is predicting – somehow – the stopping of the inauguration of Biden, a dangerous period of a few days, a speedy trial of hundreds and participation of the military or, at the very least, by the self-styled military that dresses the part.

My guy is predicting ‘events’ around the nation over the next few days that will include military action and trials and no Joe Biden. No Kamala Harris. No peaceful transfer.

Yes, you and I are thinking the same thing: they plan the installment of Trump as king.

“Dave! That’s nuts! Never gonna happen. Surely you do not believe him?”

No, I don’t. I agree with you. Not gonna happen. But if an old guy, generally sane (except for the conspiracy theories and alt-right nuttiness), steeped in alt-right readings and media is warning me away from visiting out of concern for me, I have to listen. I do not have to believe, but I have to listen. My guy is not alone. My guy is part of a very large movement or belief system that has plans and designs on the very structure of his country. This guy is quietly supporting the insurrection of the USA and the installation of a tyrant as leader. This guy has traded his country for a red hat. And he has 70M who lean the same way and maybe a third who are not just leaning but are, in fact, kitting up to make that happen.

Am I afraid because of our proximity to the US? No. Not over this. This is just stupid-on-steroids. But I am afraid for the black and immigrant community to some extent. I am afraid for the safety of some dumb-cracker in uniform or worse, a dumber guy in militia garb hurting each other. I am afraid for the longer term effects of this divisive virus in US society. I am afraid of the police swinging the wrong way and becoming even more brutal with people. I am afraid of what Trump called American Carnage – something he envisioned four years ago and is on the brink of achieving.

Bottom line: I am not traveling to the US anytime soon. Maybe never.

As you all know, we have wildlife all around us but the most prominent for us are the ravens. Raven couple #1, Jack and Liz, left a year or so ago and then the two newbies moved in. They are pretty young, need some learning and experience but, just as important, they need to grow….physically. They came to us like thin, small teens and we are starting to see them ‘fill out’ a bit. Ol’ Jack was huge. Liz remained slim but she was long and slim and so the two of them filled some significant air space. And they had attitude! The newbies don’t really have much presence and it is weirdly evident in the role or status they lack or enjoy depending on the circumstances.

Jack and Liz swaggered around walking into a crowd of sea-gulls as if they owned the place and the gulls would part like the Red Sea and immediately acknowledge Jack’s rule. They were all polite and deferential to both Jack and Liz but they were actually afraid of Jack. Today, those same sea-gulls harass the newbies and steal their food. The new ravens just don’t have the same standing.

Things are slowly changing…. This past week, the ravens and the gulls have upped their aggressions on each other and it seems like the ravens are starting to make their beaks known. The skirmishes are still relatively benign but the ravens are now acting the equal of the gulls and, remember, there are always more gulls so the Newbie twosome are asserting their position outnumbered. It is no coincidence that they are also appearing a smidge bigger these days.

Recently the Newbies went nuts on an owl. We rarely see owls out here but the other day a very large horned owl was sitting almost invisibly in a tree. But he was visible enough to the ravens and they went after the owl as if he were the devil himself! Holeee…

The owl handled it all very well. Like the eagles, he basically just ignored the ravens but, to be more accurate, he also did not take to the air. Instead, he stood with his back to a tree trunk and simply owl-eyed their ongoing and aggressive antics. That went on long enough for us to ‘oooh’ and ‘aaaah’ and also to remember our camera.

Can you see the owl?

As for the DFO….those fine fellows in uniform on the half-million dollar boat I mentioned the other day? They paid us a visit back then and informed us that the rules re prawning have changed and that they were up in this neck of the woods confiscating offender’s traps. Sorta like seagulls on weaker birds. Classic stupid DFO. We told them we’d warn the locals of the rule change. The other day we went up to get the visiting doctor and take him back to the other island to his vehicle. But, as we left the island, I saw a boat way out there and thought I’d better warn them of the patrolling DFO and the new rule. So, off we went only to discover it was, in fact, the DFO boat I was going to warn. We said hello as they came out of their cabin to greet us – likely wondering what were doing. “Well, guys, your boat is so stealthy we didn’t know it was you until we got here. But, basically, we are here to warn you about you!”

They laughed. We went about our doctor-taxi effort but, after we dropped him at the community dock, we noticed that the DFO vessel was heading off station. They came up, floated about (same four crew) for awhile and then when ‘outed’, decided that they may as well go home.

We like to think we asserted our territory and we chased ’em off. Caw, caw!

As you know, I saw the Capitol riot as more of an accident of somewhat predictable circumstance. For the actual mob participants, it was just a confluence in madness erupting almost spontaneously and, generally, just a very messy political rally made bad by a few rotten apples. I attributed to them the desire for Selfie-based fame on You-Tube and social media as much as anything else. I did not attribute insurrection or rebellion except on, perhaps, a few individuals accidentally, circumstantially acting together ‘in-the-moment’. I did NOT see a plan. I did NOT see organization and, in fact, I did NOT see a clearly defined mission or goal for the mob at all. In fact, I saw it much as many dumb Bubbas who were there claiming. “Hey, I was just there to rally for Trump. I did not charge, destroy or hurt anything or anybody.”

Fiona Hill of Politico has a different point of view and I think she is right. Here it is:

https://www.politico.com/news/magazine/2021/01/11/capitol-riot-self-coup-trump-fiona-hill-457549

For those not willing to read the article: Hill contends that the riot was simply one of many steps taken by Trump over the years aimed entirely at insurrection. She outlines why the riot was ‘just a step’ along a planned and strategic assault on US Democracy. I may be right about the number of idiots that were manipulated and I may even be right that it was more of a circumstantial event than a truly subversive one but I am wrong in inferring/implying it was all an accident of Selfie-ism or just a one-off event. I even said it was NOT a step in the Art of War tradition.

Well, that part was definitely wrong. It seems it was, indeed, a planned step. Maybe not the puppet-monkeys running around with horns on their head but it was quite clearly part of a despot’s attempt at a coup. Trump planned all that! I honestly didn’t think he had the brains.

Hill thinks he does. Now, after reading her, so do I.

The real lesson: do not get your opinions from social media idiots like me.

PS. Turns out I was wrong (as stated above)…..and I was right! First off: from the latest news reports, there WAS more organization than I had previously thought. On the other hand, some ‘military experts’ have stated that those in the main showed no military training and those who were all camo’d up and looking good for the camera only showed they knew nothing of real tactical skills, training or even understanding. Conclusion/speculation? The vast majority were YOU-TUBE wannabes and selfie-addicts but the riot dynamics was planned by GOP ‘enablers’ and TRUMP-ists to look as if it ‘organically happened’.

….fishing. I like fish. I like boats. And I like catching fish and then eating them but, well, the fishing part is pretty boring for me. It’s like watching TV but not turning it on…kinda hoping it turns itself on…..ya know? So, it stands to reason that I rarely fish. I figure maybe twice a year. For ten minutes. Fifteen tops.

But that anti-fishing, pro-eating intro is just the ‘set-up’…..the story is:

Once again the recent storms sent a gush of water down our stream and, in that deluge, the pick-up pipe clogged up again. We have found that the most efficient way of dealing with that is that I drive Sal in, she gets out on the rocks and goes up the hill, does the work, and then comes down and I pick her up on another set of rocks on the other side of our bay. Total elapsed time is between 30 and 40 minutes. If she takes her own boat in and has to tie it up and all that, the chore is 60+ minutes and much more difficult.

After we discovered the best way to do it, I felt that 30 to 40 minutes was just NOT enough time to do anything useful while she was doing the clean-out. So, I grabbed a rod and dipped a hook off our point. I’d do that for a while (ten minutes) and then go back and pick her up.

Which is precisely what transpired last Thursday. She worked. I fished. Then she called for an extraction. As we were leaving the bay, I saw a boat coming in our direction. That is weird. Rarely does anyone come into our bay and there was no one living nearby but us. I said to Sal, “Pull in the rod and lay it on the floor.”

Our area is closed to fin-fishing. And I know that. I was cheating. I do not feel too guilty because I never catch anything and I have a license and it is kinda like ‘my bay’. But I am guilty. I know that. My rationale would not stand up in a court so I partially hid the rod. Glad I did.

As we pulled into our dock, the boat came up to us. It bristled with antennas and fancy equipment. It was impressive. Onboard the Fisheries Patrol boat were four crew all kitted up with all sorts of standard issue crap. We were hailed by a smiling fellow who asked, “Got any fish?”

“Nope”. Now that was the truth. No lies. But no extra words either. I had been fishing but that was NOT the question.

“So, what were you doing in the bay?”

I began to feel my anti-authoritarian inclination begin to rise in me like black bile. But Sal answered nicely. “We live here. We get our water from the stream in the bay. The pipe was clogged so I went in to unclog it. And that is my story.”

I could not help myself and added, “And it is a good story, don’t you fellows think?”

To their credit, they laughed. But they also looked in our boat the best that they could. They did not get too close. They were being careful with their new boat. The vessel is easily a $500,000, fully fitted out, twin 300hp Yamaha powered aluminum and inflatable tubed beauty. It was close to 30 feet in length.

“You guys look a little understaffed for this kind of work.”

They laughed. “We just wanted a ride on the new boat!”

Normally, we would only see two crew in full regalia. That day we enjoyed well over $500,000 in crew (annualized) riding around in a $500,000 boat watching out for a guy in a 17′ foot boat in January catching a fish. I dunno….seems like ‘overkill’ to me.

They explained that the were policing illegal prawning in the area but it was my opinion that prawning was legal and I asked about that. “Well, it was legal but DFO has closed it recently. We had to confiscate four traps today.” They showed off their seized contraband. They were proud. The four traps were the equivalent of half a shopping buggy at Save-On.

” I am sure few locals know of the change in the rules. We will tell them by writing that up in our local paper. When is it open again?”

“April 1st. Gotta protect the females-with-eggs you know.”

Firstly, no one keeps females with eggs. Secondly, it is the commercial fishery that is decimating the prawn fishery. Some boats set as many as 600 traps (large) and they set and pull two or even three times a day. Multiply that by at least three big boats and the picture is clear. NOT LOCALS. Thirdly, there is never a DFO fishery patrol boat when you need one. Some poor, local guy drops two or four traps now and then. Sal and I drop 4 – 8 traps for two or three days a year, get 25 pounds and let the rest of the prawns keep fresh in the sea. We and the locals are not the problem. But we and the locals are the ones hassled.

Am I angry? No. Not in the least. Like most things, I just find it all so stupid. Confiscating ‘recreational’ traps in January is simply targeting the wrong segment at the wrong time. They will only get a local catching dinner. They know that. Close the commercial fishery or stop sales to Japan and China or sink $1M a year into a prawn hatchery or something constructive and positive and the problem is solved. Prosecute, persecute, alienate, anger and steal from ‘the people’ and you only make the problem worse.

OK, I am little ticked.