Last morning in Montague Harbour for 2009
Hanging off a buoy in Montague
The morning fog still chills the air ...
Going Once
Going Twice
Sold out to Fall
Friday, September 18, 2009
Last days of summer in Montague
Last morning in Montague Harbour for 2009
Hanging off a buoy in Montague
The morning fog still chills the air ...
Going Twice
Sold out to Fall
September Cruising - Pirate's Cove Photos
Tied up at the base of a cliff, in South Bay of Pirate's Cove
Magic Mushrooms on Pine Bark
A little swimming hole, tucked away in a secret corner of Pirate's Cove.
My Post Office for Pocketmail postings. The only spot with decent cell phone coverage.
Barge and tug at work removing one of the old Dinghy Docks in the Cove
Where is the net?
Surfer Boy in Pirate's Cove
Late summer day looking across Tricomali Channel towards Valdez Island
The Farm - near Pirate's Cove on de Courcey Island
Stern-tied in Pirate's Cove. The owner's of this boat live in Golden, almost in the Canadian Rockies. He works there as a Heli Ski Guide, she writes chilren's books, mountaineers and skies both downhill and cross country.
September Cruising Photos - Montague
And what would cruising be without another boating dog, this one has learned to balance on an inflatable Kayak. Brainy little Russel terrier
Dry Run in Kayak School
Beach Pebbles as seen through the brains of a Lion's Mane Jelly Fish
Montague Public Telephone Telus - almost broken communication
Sunfresh an scrumptious! Pretty good with yoghurt for breakfast. The roadside are full with these bushes.
Kayakers at low tide on Montague Sunset Beach
Thursday, September 17, 2009
19. September 2009 - A foggy daaayyy in London towwwwn...
It took several hours of running my trusty little diesel heater on Millennium Dragon to dry all my gear - from touque and foul weather gear to shoes and everything in between. The cabin looked like laundry day without a clothes dryer.
I had spent five hours in almost ceaseless rain, bucking both current (middling strong) and wind (sometimes a bit more than middling strong) to motor from Pirate's Cove Back to Montague. The wind was persistenly on the nose, of course, so sailing was not in the cards.
The rain fell so heavily, I could hardly see the gap between two islands, which seem like rounded door-jambs to Montague harbour entry. Luck had it, that most mooring buoys inside sat vacant, with only a few hardy gulls hanging onto their rings.
I dead stopped beside one of the buoys, layed down on the rain battered deck, reached over the side, chased the sodden gull off the ring, threaded the waterlogged line with stiff fingers through the ring, and tied up.
As if by divine intervention, the rain stopped at that instant, and the late afternoon sun peaked out.
Perfect timing!
I zipped up the cockpit enclosure, fired up said heater, and soon the 'windows' had steamed up and things got past the dripping stage.
Time to dry out before the next stop - on Friday to Otter Bay.
This morning - Thursday - heavy dew had invaded even the cabin. Towelled all the ceilings, and checked the view outside: like being submerged in a bowl of skimmed milk. A dense fog had filled the bay, nothing but steel gray mirror smooth water withing the tiny circle of visibility - maybe 10 yards all around.
A couple of hours, a coffee and an omelett later the fog had burned off, and golden autumn sunlight illuminated the bay. Some orange and yellow colours had developed among the dense greenery ashore, so solidly green only a week ago.
The sky is cloudless, with a softer tint of blue than during the heatwaves of summer - just ideal for a jaunt ashore.
Ok, bale out the water that has collected on the dinghy bottom, dry the rowing seat - and off to land based pleasures.
Maybe Otter Bay, tomorrow, will have Wifi - first internet in 3 weeks - and I may post some photos?
I had spent five hours in almost ceaseless rain, bucking both current (middling strong) and wind (sometimes a bit more than middling strong) to motor from Pirate's Cove Back to Montague. The wind was persistenly on the nose, of course, so sailing was not in the cards.
The rain fell so heavily, I could hardly see the gap between two islands, which seem like rounded door-jambs to Montague harbour entry. Luck had it, that most mooring buoys inside sat vacant, with only a few hardy gulls hanging onto their rings.
I dead stopped beside one of the buoys, layed down on the rain battered deck, reached over the side, chased the sodden gull off the ring, threaded the waterlogged line with stiff fingers through the ring, and tied up.
As if by divine intervention, the rain stopped at that instant, and the late afternoon sun peaked out.
Perfect timing!
I zipped up the cockpit enclosure, fired up said heater, and soon the 'windows' had steamed up and things got past the dripping stage.
Time to dry out before the next stop - on Friday to Otter Bay.
This morning - Thursday - heavy dew had invaded even the cabin. Towelled all the ceilings, and checked the view outside: like being submerged in a bowl of skimmed milk. A dense fog had filled the bay, nothing but steel gray mirror smooth water withing the tiny circle of visibility - maybe 10 yards all around.
A couple of hours, a coffee and an omelett later the fog had burned off, and golden autumn sunlight illuminated the bay. Some orange and yellow colours had developed among the dense greenery ashore, so solidly green only a week ago.
The sky is cloudless, with a softer tint of blue than during the heatwaves of summer - just ideal for a jaunt ashore.
Ok, bale out the water that has collected on the dinghy bottom, dry the rowing seat - and off to land based pleasures.
Maybe Otter Bay, tomorrow, will have Wifi - first internet in 3 weeks - and I may post some photos?
Monday, September 14, 2009
boat rage...
A trawler arrived in the Cove and jockeyed back and forth in a small space bordered by the steep rocky shore, my host-float and two neighbouring boats already anchored and tied up.
He asked if he can raft three boats in between...
I suggested he tie up at the opposite shore of the cove, where about ten empty tie up spots - side by side - would accommodate him and his friends with room to spare.
No, he said, there is room enough right here.
Whatever...
With the neighbouring boats anxiously watching the new arrival, I got my dinghy ready - this looked like fun.
Trawler finally dropped anchor close to shore - far too close to shore. Even the wife, hanging over the bow and watching the descending anchor chain said: the anchor is behind the boat, is that ok?
Husband said, it's fine.
So we start with the anchor practically useless, apart from happily laying on the bottm - somewhere.
Out comes the tangle of sternline. I row over and offer to take it ashore for him.
He said, ok, we are new to this...
Some rowing, finding a suitable disembarkation spot and clambering later, I am ready to thread his line through a suitable ring on the rocks, halfway between the neigbouring boats.
No, he wants another ring. I loosen the line, toss it to him (now also in his dinghy) and fish my dinghy back to the rocks to clamber back in and watch proceedings.
By this time one of the neighbouring boats 'General' voices the opinion, 'You are too close to me, and will run into my boat sooner or later.'
Upon which the newcomer, boat named 'Relax' blew his stack, called the skipper of 'General' a few choice words, one of which was the equivalent to 'nether region orifice'...and generally lost his 'cool'.
Nothing relaxed here.
I rowed out of firing range.
Wihtout further comment or ado 'General' got ready to leave his righful spot, hauled in his sternline, hoisted anchor and re-did the whole business - perfectly - on the opposite shore.
Half an hour later, 'Relax' hung between his sternline and a dubious anchor, when one of his rafting friends motored in, dropped his anchor beside 'Relax' and rowed another sternline ashore. Both now lay in the exact spot which had been vacated by 'General' - surprise, surprise.
The third rafter arrives, and all are together rail to rail, very cozy. As sound travels, I hear the conversation '....hole, told us we don't know what we are doing, left, and tied up somewhere else'.
'American boat?', one asked.
'Yes', comes the reply.
I am relieved that I did not have to act in a Canadian 'peace-keeping' role in a territorial dispute among a number of vessels under a common foreign flag.
Everyone on raft happy, even the dogs, and celebrating the victory over the ....hole, who dared critizise their anchoring skills.
I checked the tide tables, and planned to be up at 06:00 next day - tide would have fallen 9 feet by then.
I did not need an alarm. I woke up to the sound of scraping and engines running, the raft sat as expected on the bottom. No wind, no harm, no boat neigbours in harm's way.
Somehow, they are barely afloat, hoisted anchors, pulled out into deeper water as far as their still attached sternlines let them, and dropped their anchors straight down again.
Problem solved - back to bed.
Except, low-low tide happened at 07:30...The whole re-arranging of the raft started all over again.
When finished, the dogs had to go ashore. Problem solved - again.
Now I am checking tide tables for high tide...
At 16:00 waterlevel with have risen 8 feet, so will their boats. Their anchors, now hanging from a short leash so to speak, may be suspended in midwater by then.
Whatever...
The working tug is back 10:00, Monday morning start up time I suppose. Work at the dinghy dock commences again.
He asked if he can raft three boats in between...
I suggested he tie up at the opposite shore of the cove, where about ten empty tie up spots - side by side - would accommodate him and his friends with room to spare.
No, he said, there is room enough right here.
Whatever...
With the neighbouring boats anxiously watching the new arrival, I got my dinghy ready - this looked like fun.
Trawler finally dropped anchor close to shore - far too close to shore. Even the wife, hanging over the bow and watching the descending anchor chain said: the anchor is behind the boat, is that ok?
Husband said, it's fine.
So we start with the anchor practically useless, apart from happily laying on the bottm - somewhere.
Out comes the tangle of sternline. I row over and offer to take it ashore for him.
He said, ok, we are new to this...
Some rowing, finding a suitable disembarkation spot and clambering later, I am ready to thread his line through a suitable ring on the rocks, halfway between the neigbouring boats.
No, he wants another ring. I loosen the line, toss it to him (now also in his dinghy) and fish my dinghy back to the rocks to clamber back in and watch proceedings.
By this time one of the neighbouring boats 'General' voices the opinion, 'You are too close to me, and will run into my boat sooner or later.'
Upon which the newcomer, boat named 'Relax' blew his stack, called the skipper of 'General' a few choice words, one of which was the equivalent to 'nether region orifice'...and generally lost his 'cool'.
Nothing relaxed here.
I rowed out of firing range.
Wihtout further comment or ado 'General' got ready to leave his righful spot, hauled in his sternline, hoisted anchor and re-did the whole business - perfectly - on the opposite shore.
Half an hour later, 'Relax' hung between his sternline and a dubious anchor, when one of his rafting friends motored in, dropped his anchor beside 'Relax' and rowed another sternline ashore. Both now lay in the exact spot which had been vacated by 'General' - surprise, surprise.
The third rafter arrives, and all are together rail to rail, very cozy. As sound travels, I hear the conversation '....hole, told us we don't know what we are doing, left, and tied up somewhere else'.
'American boat?', one asked.
'Yes', comes the reply.
I am relieved that I did not have to act in a Canadian 'peace-keeping' role in a territorial dispute among a number of vessels under a common foreign flag.
Everyone on raft happy, even the dogs, and celebrating the victory over the ....hole, who dared critizise their anchoring skills.
I checked the tide tables, and planned to be up at 06:00 next day - tide would have fallen 9 feet by then.
I did not need an alarm. I woke up to the sound of scraping and engines running, the raft sat as expected on the bottom. No wind, no harm, no boat neigbours in harm's way.
Somehow, they are barely afloat, hoisted anchors, pulled out into deeper water as far as their still attached sternlines let them, and dropped their anchors straight down again.
Problem solved - back to bed.
Except, low-low tide happened at 07:30...The whole re-arranging of the raft started all over again.
When finished, the dogs had to go ashore. Problem solved - again.
Now I am checking tide tables for high tide...
At 16:00 waterlevel with have risen 8 feet, so will their boats. Their anchors, now hanging from a short leash so to speak, may be suspended in midwater by then.
Whatever...
The working tug is back 10:00, Monday morning start up time I suppose. Work at the dinghy dock commences again.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
East of Eden
Midsummerdays in Pirate's Cove, 25 degrees, not a cloud in the sky, nary a whisper of a breeze, barometer falling of the cliff - I am enjoying this late summer delight until the next gale arrives.
I decided to prolong my stint here in Pirates Cove for a few more days. The low tides at my next planned stop (Conover Cove) would have Millennium sitting on the bottom at least once a day - here I stay afloat.
The Friday entertainment consisted of watching a crew of men on a huge barge replete with a crane. Their task consisted of replacing decrepit dinghy docks and rotting ramps with new ones made of concrete slabs and aluminum. Lots of sledge-hammering, whacking, hoisting and industrial strength swearing going on - but dock not yet in place. The crew, apparently strictly working to rule judging by their precise punctuality leaving the job via tug on the strike of 17:00 hours, will return on Monday. Blessed silence until then - one hopes.
But then arrives the other entertainment.
As soon as the work crew left, a sizeable trawler style boat, without flag, name or number (maybe a rum-runner or MJ runner??) dropped anchor at high tide above the middle reef of the Cove with thirteen semi-inebriated and semi-nude people crowding the uppermost deck. Engine off, stereo going flat out, screaming and swearing, and hoisting of brewskies, they started diving head first into the water near the reef, firing up the barbie for their hamburgers, and generally 'disturbing the peace'.
The 14th crew, a big Yellow Labrador dog, resigned himself to wisely staying out of the way on the foredeck.
All and sundry of the anchored vessels was on deck - observing.
A few boaters shouted to me - the 'park host' - that they appreciated someone 'keeping an eye on them'. Well, things stayed marginally under control, and eye-keeping was enough.
Come sunset when a little chill set in, they noisily departed - direction Gabriola Island. Everyone settled back into the cozyness of belowdecks.
However, a deafening racket illuminated by blue neon lights was just warming up beyond a little isthmus in the adjoining bay.
Pitch black by then, except for a sky glittering with myriads of stars. Trouble in Eden again - I was not about to row a mile around the exposed dark island to check things out.
Turns out next morning that a vessel called 'Beach-House' with a whole bunch of really boozed up men turned the quiet bay into a den of disquieting iniquity.
Camped Kayakers told me that nobody slept.
A boater at anchor was too afraid to aproach the offending vessel (activity there sounded somewhat violent, probably drugged up on something) for fear of being thrown into the water or worse.
Another boater didn't know if or whom to call for interference. (Coast guard call may have propelled the water based RCMP this way).
Apart from that annoying upset in paradise, fortunately extremely rare, the place still is what it is - paradise.
I decided to prolong my stint here in Pirates Cove for a few more days. The low tides at my next planned stop (Conover Cove) would have Millennium sitting on the bottom at least once a day - here I stay afloat.
The Friday entertainment consisted of watching a crew of men on a huge barge replete with a crane. Their task consisted of replacing decrepit dinghy docks and rotting ramps with new ones made of concrete slabs and aluminum. Lots of sledge-hammering, whacking, hoisting and industrial strength swearing going on - but dock not yet in place. The crew, apparently strictly working to rule judging by their precise punctuality leaving the job via tug on the strike of 17:00 hours, will return on Monday. Blessed silence until then - one hopes.
But then arrives the other entertainment.
As soon as the work crew left, a sizeable trawler style boat, without flag, name or number (maybe a rum-runner or MJ runner??) dropped anchor at high tide above the middle reef of the Cove with thirteen semi-inebriated and semi-nude people crowding the uppermost deck. Engine off, stereo going flat out, screaming and swearing, and hoisting of brewskies, they started diving head first into the water near the reef, firing up the barbie for their hamburgers, and generally 'disturbing the peace'.
The 14th crew, a big Yellow Labrador dog, resigned himself to wisely staying out of the way on the foredeck.
All and sundry of the anchored vessels was on deck - observing.
A few boaters shouted to me - the 'park host' - that they appreciated someone 'keeping an eye on them'. Well, things stayed marginally under control, and eye-keeping was enough.
Come sunset when a little chill set in, they noisily departed - direction Gabriola Island. Everyone settled back into the cozyness of belowdecks.
However, a deafening racket illuminated by blue neon lights was just warming up beyond a little isthmus in the adjoining bay.
Pitch black by then, except for a sky glittering with myriads of stars. Trouble in Eden again - I was not about to row a mile around the exposed dark island to check things out.
Turns out next morning that a vessel called 'Beach-House' with a whole bunch of really boozed up men turned the quiet bay into a den of disquieting iniquity.
Camped Kayakers told me that nobody slept.
A boater at anchor was too afraid to aproach the offending vessel (activity there sounded somewhat violent, probably drugged up on something) for fear of being thrown into the water or worse.
Another boater didn't know if or whom to call for interference. (Coast guard call may have propelled the water based RCMP this way).
Apart from that annoying upset in paradise, fortunately extremely rare, the place still is what it is - paradise.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
10. September 2009, Pirate's Cove
On my first day, the 8th Sept, here at my official floating dock dedicated to the 'Park Host' - yours truly - there was not much hosting to do. The Cove was almost deserted, and the few boaters inside had hunkered down in their cabins, nobody in sight above deck. It had started to rain in earnest shortly after I tied up.
I came down thick, heavy and noisily for almost 24 hours. The only sign of life anywhere came from the dog people, doggedly taking their charges from ship to shore through the cascading rains after ladling buckets of water out of their dinghies.
Yesterday, after drying up somewhat, we all enjoyed our daily 'entertainment anchoring' interlude: an obviously novice sailor who demonstrated a new anchoring technique.
He evidently tried to shore tie and he barreled towards the rocks. He threw his anchor overboard whilst charging full speed ahead dodging one fishing trawler by a nose and avoiding another boat by a hair's breadth.
But the subsequent sudden stop and jerk of the anchor grabbing slew his boat into the trawler anyway.
A lot of driving forward, backing up, fending off boats - all with the anchor down and perilously close to shallow water - scraping alongside hulls, snagging of another boat's anchor chain, some more careening before he followed some freely and loudly given advice to hoist his anchor and 'park somewhere else' (from the boater whose trawler had been 'nudged').
I had rowed out to help, but kept my distance, he moved too unpredictably to get close and I did not want to be run over.
Finally, he hauled his anchor up, whilst still driving forward, and now free of it he backed towards the rocky shore.
He started to untangle his stern line at the same time.
Somehow, some audible advice got him to stop his boat - luckily it was calm as the proverbial millpond.
Finally, another boater with more guts than I took his now untangled stern line ashore and secured the boat there - at least he couldn't run over anybody now. Then the helper realized that the front end of the boat was no longer anchored, so all the shore securing did not do much to fix the vessel in place.
He got through to the hapless skipper to SLOWLY drive forward against the pull of the stern line and drop anchor away from the shore.
With some final adjustments he was snug, between his sternline and his anchor - to the relief of everyone in the vicinity.
Turned out, that it was the same boat, which had been searched for by the Coast Guard a couple of days ago, it never answered radio calls.
The coast guard seemed to be aware of previous antics, boarded them after 'finding' them at long last in Nanaimo waters, inspected them...and let them carry on to be (in the crazy boat's skippers own words) a 'Hazard on the High Seas'.
Well, maybe by magic they will take the newly required Boating Operator Competency exam (20 minutes, multiple choice questions) and get instant experience and instruction that way. This morning they left early, he pulling at the stern line, and wife pulling at the anchor at the same time. The boat was strung in between, neither moving back nor forward, and they could at first not figure out - why.
They finally realized that they had to let the stern line GO, to give slack to pull the anchor UP.
Everybody watched as they headed through the narrow shallow gap out of the Cove, full speed, dinghy perched upright on the bow (??) - but they got out without hitting anything nor anybody.
Still no WiFi, so no photos...weather glorious again, going to visit Brother XII's Farm to see if I can find his hidden cache of gold bars.
I came down thick, heavy and noisily for almost 24 hours. The only sign of life anywhere came from the dog people, doggedly taking their charges from ship to shore through the cascading rains after ladling buckets of water out of their dinghies.
Yesterday, after drying up somewhat, we all enjoyed our daily 'entertainment anchoring' interlude: an obviously novice sailor who demonstrated a new anchoring technique.
He evidently tried to shore tie and he barreled towards the rocks. He threw his anchor overboard whilst charging full speed ahead dodging one fishing trawler by a nose and avoiding another boat by a hair's breadth.
But the subsequent sudden stop and jerk of the anchor grabbing slew his boat into the trawler anyway.
A lot of driving forward, backing up, fending off boats - all with the anchor down and perilously close to shallow water - scraping alongside hulls, snagging of another boat's anchor chain, some more careening before he followed some freely and loudly given advice to hoist his anchor and 'park somewhere else' (from the boater whose trawler had been 'nudged').
I had rowed out to help, but kept my distance, he moved too unpredictably to get close and I did not want to be run over.
Finally, he hauled his anchor up, whilst still driving forward, and now free of it he backed towards the rocky shore.
He started to untangle his stern line at the same time.
Somehow, some audible advice got him to stop his boat - luckily it was calm as the proverbial millpond.
Finally, another boater with more guts than I took his now untangled stern line ashore and secured the boat there - at least he couldn't run over anybody now. Then the helper realized that the front end of the boat was no longer anchored, so all the shore securing did not do much to fix the vessel in place.
He got through to the hapless skipper to SLOWLY drive forward against the pull of the stern line and drop anchor away from the shore.
With some final adjustments he was snug, between his sternline and his anchor - to the relief of everyone in the vicinity.
Turned out, that it was the same boat, which had been searched for by the Coast Guard a couple of days ago, it never answered radio calls.
The coast guard seemed to be aware of previous antics, boarded them after 'finding' them at long last in Nanaimo waters, inspected them...and let them carry on to be (in the crazy boat's skippers own words) a 'Hazard on the High Seas'.
Well, maybe by magic they will take the newly required Boating Operator Competency exam (20 minutes, multiple choice questions) and get instant experience and instruction that way. This morning they left early, he pulling at the stern line, and wife pulling at the anchor at the same time. The boat was strung in between, neither moving back nor forward, and they could at first not figure out - why.
They finally realized that they had to let the stern line GO, to give slack to pull the anchor UP.
Everybody watched as they headed through the narrow shallow gap out of the Cove, full speed, dinghy perched upright on the bow (??) - but they got out without hitting anything nor anybody.
Still no WiFi, so no photos...weather glorious again, going to visit Brother XII's Farm to see if I can find his hidden cache of gold bars.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Hiding from a Gale
12 degrees centigrade this morning inside the boat cabin. Coldest morning yet since I am back on the water.
Boats who, like Millennium Dragon, sat out three days of gales raging just beyond the protective hills around Montague Bay, are slipping their moorings and weighing anchor to sail or motor away before the weather worsens again. A lot of them have to cross Southern Georgia Strait, which took the brunt of the past gale, and get across to Point Roberts, after timing either Porlier or Active Pass for slack current.
Nothing had moved out during our series of deluges, showers, thunderstorms (rare around here) and pretty hefty winds, which still whipped through the harbour at almost gale force strength, despite all that shoreline shelter. Now, tranquility is returning at least so far as number of boats is concerned...long weekend almost over, school starts again, work calls.
I have rowed ashore all of the inclement days, except for one, where the idea of sitting in an open dinghy in miserable conditions did not particularly appeal to me.
My row 'home' from shore yesterday, although only spannning maybe a hundred yards, took quite a long time. Choppy waves, pretty gusty wind against me, rain again starting halfway through the row, pulling the oars with all my might (if one could call it that) I finally got aside Millennium and clambered aboard - carefully - I did not want to risk to slip into the water right then, if ever.
The cabin and enclosed cockpit were quite cosy throughout the 'galey' spell, thanks to my trusty little diesel heater/fireplace and the occasional sunny break warming everything up to a comfortable level.
I'll spend today here, and, weather permitting I sail to Pirate's Cove tomorrow for another stint of Park Host duty.
The barometer is rising dramatically - better things in the cards?
Boats who, like Millennium Dragon, sat out three days of gales raging just beyond the protective hills around Montague Bay, are slipping their moorings and weighing anchor to sail or motor away before the weather worsens again. A lot of them have to cross Southern Georgia Strait, which took the brunt of the past gale, and get across to Point Roberts, after timing either Porlier or Active Pass for slack current.
Nothing had moved out during our series of deluges, showers, thunderstorms (rare around here) and pretty hefty winds, which still whipped through the harbour at almost gale force strength, despite all that shoreline shelter. Now, tranquility is returning at least so far as number of boats is concerned...long weekend almost over, school starts again, work calls.
I have rowed ashore all of the inclement days, except for one, where the idea of sitting in an open dinghy in miserable conditions did not particularly appeal to me.
My row 'home' from shore yesterday, although only spannning maybe a hundred yards, took quite a long time. Choppy waves, pretty gusty wind against me, rain again starting halfway through the row, pulling the oars with all my might (if one could call it that) I finally got aside Millennium and clambered aboard - carefully - I did not want to risk to slip into the water right then, if ever.
The cabin and enclosed cockpit were quite cosy throughout the 'galey' spell, thanks to my trusty little diesel heater/fireplace and the occasional sunny break warming everything up to a comfortable level.
I'll spend today here, and, weather permitting I sail to Pirate's Cove tomorrow for another stint of Park Host duty.
The barometer is rising dramatically - better things in the cards?
Friday, September 4, 2009
Endangered Species...
The hottest current controversy in Victoria, Capital of the Province of BC, rages around - BUNNIES, the domesticated version.
What to do? They run wild, almost floppy ear to floppy ear on the hallowed grounds of higher education, turning University of Victoria campus and its surrounds into a Playboy overload zone, with enough cute fluffy tail to fill a hundred centrefolds.
Rabbits doing what they do best and most often, a few discarded Easter bunnies, surplus birthday-presents for the grand kids, and misbegotten red-eyed Christmas Rudolfs on the loose, multiplied - and still multiplying - quite predictably into a vast rabbit horde.
They are everywhere, on sidewalks, round-abouts, embankments, on-ramps, off ramps - everywhere. They are about to undermine Higher Education with their extensive tunnels and warrens under lecture halls and campus. Their underground habitat expands and spreads in step with Victoria's Condo developments - only cheaper.
They turn the sports grounds into holey terrors, and authorities are worried that some unfortunate football player may fall into a rabbit hole or - how dreadful - pick up a germ should he skin his knee in bunny poop.
The situation is grave. Animal rights activists are hopping mad at the mere suggestion of solving The Problem.
And the softhearted populace still feeds the almost tame critters with delicious little mini carrots and bits of lettuce, or maybe nachos and hamburgers, either works as if they have been fed aphrodisiacs.
Mothers bring their little kids to pet the soft darlings - and the specter of another rabbit-petting induced disease rises out of the closely cropped grass.
The editorials in the local paper, are getting nasty.
The most benign, maybe somewhat harebrained suggestion proposes to catch 150 of them, have them sterilized by an approved veterinarian and find 'good homes' for them. But what about the other 10,000??? The Animal Rights people are protesting, that such an atrocious act would infringe on the copulational rights of wild life.
Some people suggest that they should be rounded up and gently and humanely sent to rabbit heaven. That pricks up the ears of the heavy duty professional protesters: banners, boards, posters, slogans, sit ins and all. And what does one do with the thousands of sad tiny cadavers - mass burial in Watership Downs?
Some writers propose, that all that potential dinner protein could be a boon to Victoria's homeless people situation. Supply foodbanks with butchered rabbit. After all, rabbit filets taste pretty good, the French have volumes of cookbooks describing how to turn them into mouthwatering delights. Lapin a la Pacifique?
The main in gredient is hopping around for the taking.
The old Canadian tradition of trapping could be revived, and may stimulate big game tourists from abroad to leave off shooting bears and moose and take home a stuffed rabbit instead.
One problem solving suggestion went a step further, and proposed putting our equally fecund Canada Geese in the same stew - but only after they have been 'finished' with grain. (Pate de Fois Geese?)
That could put Splash, Victoria's official goose chasing Border Collie out of a job. However, as a civil servant he may qualify for employment insurance payments, he has put in the qualifying number of weeks of work.
Whatever geese he chases out of Beacon Park, put down landing gear a couple of miles down the road and do their 'juice though a goose' thing every 30 seconds in a different, but equally unsuitable location.
An investigation into the daunting challenge is underway...
We happily bar-be-que baby lambs, baby pigs, baby cows - all adorably cute - after having a butcher (processing plant?) do the icky stuff.
What Carnage!
Someone may send a chicken transporter truck to UVIC, catch the little delicacies and load them up, have someone else do the unavoidable icky bit, and then some carnivorous humans EAT THEM.
That goes for the geese, too.
What Carnage!
What to do? They run wild, almost floppy ear to floppy ear on the hallowed grounds of higher education, turning University of Victoria campus and its surrounds into a Playboy overload zone, with enough cute fluffy tail to fill a hundred centrefolds.
Rabbits doing what they do best and most often, a few discarded Easter bunnies, surplus birthday-presents for the grand kids, and misbegotten red-eyed Christmas Rudolfs on the loose, multiplied - and still multiplying - quite predictably into a vast rabbit horde.
They are everywhere, on sidewalks, round-abouts, embankments, on-ramps, off ramps - everywhere. They are about to undermine Higher Education with their extensive tunnels and warrens under lecture halls and campus. Their underground habitat expands and spreads in step with Victoria's Condo developments - only cheaper.
They turn the sports grounds into holey terrors, and authorities are worried that some unfortunate football player may fall into a rabbit hole or - how dreadful - pick up a germ should he skin his knee in bunny poop.
The situation is grave. Animal rights activists are hopping mad at the mere suggestion of solving The Problem.
And the softhearted populace still feeds the almost tame critters with delicious little mini carrots and bits of lettuce, or maybe nachos and hamburgers, either works as if they have been fed aphrodisiacs.
Mothers bring their little kids to pet the soft darlings - and the specter of another rabbit-petting induced disease rises out of the closely cropped grass.
The editorials in the local paper, are getting nasty.
The most benign, maybe somewhat harebrained suggestion proposes to catch 150 of them, have them sterilized by an approved veterinarian and find 'good homes' for them. But what about the other 10,000??? The Animal Rights people are protesting, that such an atrocious act would infringe on the copulational rights of wild life.
Some people suggest that they should be rounded up and gently and humanely sent to rabbit heaven. That pricks up the ears of the heavy duty professional protesters: banners, boards, posters, slogans, sit ins and all. And what does one do with the thousands of sad tiny cadavers - mass burial in Watership Downs?
Some writers propose, that all that potential dinner protein could be a boon to Victoria's homeless people situation. Supply foodbanks with butchered rabbit. After all, rabbit filets taste pretty good, the French have volumes of cookbooks describing how to turn them into mouthwatering delights. Lapin a la Pacifique?
The main in gredient is hopping around for the taking.
The old Canadian tradition of trapping could be revived, and may stimulate big game tourists from abroad to leave off shooting bears and moose and take home a stuffed rabbit instead.
One problem solving suggestion went a step further, and proposed putting our equally fecund Canada Geese in the same stew - but only after they have been 'finished' with grain. (Pate de Fois Geese?)
That could put Splash, Victoria's official goose chasing Border Collie out of a job. However, as a civil servant he may qualify for employment insurance payments, he has put in the qualifying number of weeks of work.
Whatever geese he chases out of Beacon Park, put down landing gear a couple of miles down the road and do their 'juice though a goose' thing every 30 seconds in a different, but equally unsuitable location.
An investigation into the daunting challenge is underway...
We happily bar-be-que baby lambs, baby pigs, baby cows - all adorably cute - after having a butcher (processing plant?) do the icky stuff.
What Carnage!
Someone may send a chicken transporter truck to UVIC, catch the little delicacies and load them up, have someone else do the unavoidable icky bit, and then some carnivorous humans EAT THEM.
That goes for the geese, too.
What Carnage!
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Labour Day week...
After sleeping close to the hard earth a couple of nights during my 'land expedition into BC interior' camps , beings gently rocked to sleep on a boat is quite acceptable. So far, no high winds to keep me anxiously awake at night, nor freezing cold to keep me wrapped in fleece sleep wear. But, the little boat heater has seen evening duty, and it's flickering flame and gentle buzzing give the cabin and the enclosed cockpit a rather inviting and cozy atmosphere.
One reads, solves Sodoku, prepares a gourmet meal - and gets out the drawing utensils - after the daily row, boat chores and wanderings around of course.
The last summer vacationers enjoy time with the kids before school starts again, a little less frenetic now. More kids sailing in tenders, less zipping around in motorised dinghies at high speed towing a tube filled with screaming adolescents. Maybe the annual gas budget is spent.
Next week, the waters should be quiet again, the anchorages emtpier. But the days are shorter as well, my solar panel is pressed to keep up with consumption, even with the boat fridge being less challenged than during the scorching dogdays of mid summer.
Montague has lost its little bus service to 'downtown', with it the lable of WiFi destination of choice. The public phone at the marina is hanging by a twig. Yes, the receiver has a tiny twig taped to it to keep the mouthpice attached to the ear piece, so one can at least catch the thread of conversation. The re-enforcement lenghtened the thing, the wires are still attached, and now my Pocketmail device does not fit anymore - so far it's transmitting. Telus, the communication company here, has cute advertisements with even cuter little animals like baby lambs, rabbits, salamanders and lemurs - but in the service and maintenance department the cuteness does not wash away the evidence of chronic uncute service.
I'll sit out the Labour Day weekend here - dodging any anchoring problems elsewere, maybe rendevous with boating friends.
Pictures later - whenever one happens to anchor in a WiFi zone again.
One reads, solves Sodoku, prepares a gourmet meal - and gets out the drawing utensils - after the daily row, boat chores and wanderings around of course.
The last summer vacationers enjoy time with the kids before school starts again, a little less frenetic now. More kids sailing in tenders, less zipping around in motorised dinghies at high speed towing a tube filled with screaming adolescents. Maybe the annual gas budget is spent.
Next week, the waters should be quiet again, the anchorages emtpier. But the days are shorter as well, my solar panel is pressed to keep up with consumption, even with the boat fridge being less challenged than during the scorching dogdays of mid summer.
Montague has lost its little bus service to 'downtown', with it the lable of WiFi destination of choice. The public phone at the marina is hanging by a twig. Yes, the receiver has a tiny twig taped to it to keep the mouthpice attached to the ear piece, so one can at least catch the thread of conversation. The re-enforcement lenghtened the thing, the wires are still attached, and now my Pocketmail device does not fit anymore - so far it's transmitting. Telus, the communication company here, has cute advertisements with even cuter little animals like baby lambs, rabbits, salamanders and lemurs - but in the service and maintenance department the cuteness does not wash away the evidence of chronic uncute service.
I'll sit out the Labour Day weekend here - dodging any anchoring problems elsewere, maybe rendevous with boating friends.
Pictures later - whenever one happens to anchor in a WiFi zone again.
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