No Sleeping Beauties Here

If you recall, in the story of Sleeping Beauty, the young princess seems to be bored. She has nothing to do but walk around in the castle poking her nose into everything that’s going on, but not pitching in to do anything useful. Finally she pokes the wrong thing, and pricks her finger on a spindle. Just as prophesied, she falls into a deep sleep. Oh, how I envy her that good night’s sleep. It’s only afternoon and I’m tired enough to slip into a coma any second.

In Sleeping Beauty’s castle–well, her father’s castle–everything stops when the princess pricks her finger. Over the next one hundred years, the blackberries and vines and rosebushes grow up the walls so thick that no one can find the front door anymore. I think the Grimm Brothers were thinking of me when they wrote this fairy tale. Not the Beauty part, but all the rest about the place turning into a jungle.

My house is no castle, but I definitely had the overgrown shrubs and vines growing up the walls so you could hardly see what was behind them. It was impossible to paint the siding behind the overgrown “garden.” You see, I had undertaken the job of painting the exterior walls of the house. Almost finished, I had one last section of siding left to paint along the edge of the deck. But all work stopped when I studied the “castle walls.” I would have to take a time out from painting to do a major de-shrubbing. My greatest fear was that I would then be too tired to finish the painting job and have to tackle it again tomorrow. This was to be my last day of painting and I just wanted to be finished.

Here is the now exposed wall that needed to be painted. Just four pieces of siding under the floor of the deck..

I thought it was quite paintable now so I got to work. I painted the last few boards with arms that suffered scratches and scrapes from the remaining thorns, that I didn’t feel until much later.

But the worst is yet to come. I still have to get rid of the humungous pile of clippings I took down from the castle walls.

I’ll haul this away tomorrow. Or maybe I should sit and do my nails and wait for my Prince Charming to come and do it. I can’t make up my mind if I should wait or get on with it. Does he still love me enough to come and haul away all this brush? This daisy looks like someone has already started on it.

He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not. Loves me… loves me not…loves me… not…loves…not…loves me…?

I’m waiting…. Then again, like Sleeping Beauty, I could probably wait for a hundred years. Tomorrow I’ll haul the brush away. I can always find another daisy.

Lunch with the Birds

For lack of a good telephoto lens, I’ve had to sneak closer to the birdfeeder to get more pictures of the red crossbill and his wife (who is yellow, but is not called a yellow crossbill). The birds were wary as I did not have the water hose going this time, but I snapped what pics I could get. Here are a few of them just for fun.

He finds it awkward to hang onto the perches on the feeders and so will often take what has dropped to the ground instead.

His wife is more wary. Do you see her on the right by the post? You’ll see her better if you click to enlarge the photo and then click again to magnify it.

Mrs. Crossbill got nervous and flew up into the rhodos, leaving Mr. Crossbill feeling rather vulnerable. So he, too, flew up into the rhodos. She sat perfectly still, but he fidgeted a lot. You can see his antics in the next two photos.

Can you find Mrs. Crossbill as she sits very still?

Thanks for coming along to lunch with the birds. Did you notice it was multi-grain for good health?

For those of you who would like to take a glimpse at a couple of photos of Mauritius, please visit my other blog which is dedicated to writing-related posts:  http://annelisplace.wordpress.com  If you like it, why not click to follow it? If you’re an aspiring writer and would like to be a guest on that blog, please contact me at: anneli@anneli-purchase.com

Crooked Mouth and Awkward Feet

A few days ago, I was outside letting the dog out about 5:50 a.m. and interrupted a strange little bird in the birdbath. Startled, he flew away, but soon he returned and brought his lady friend. I thought they were pine grosbeaks at first, but the markings didn’t check out when I looked them up in the bird book. They were red crossbills. The males are red and the females are a slate gray with muted yellow tones.

The next day I was up early again. I got the hose to refill the birdbath and while I had the water running, the red crossbill sat on the railing of the front porch and didn’t mind me at all. The sound of water spraying must seem like rain to the birds. I stood quite still. At the feeder was a second pair of crossbills. And on the ground under the feeder were four more, a little bit smaller than the others, making me think this was a family or maybe two.

I wish I had a better camera but with careful sneaking up and the mini-zoom on full strength, this is the best I could do. If you click on the picture it will be bigger but not clearer. I’ve just discovered that if you click to enlarge the photo, and then click again to magnify the bird, you’ll be able to see his crossed bill and his clumsy feet.

Crossbills are not rare here but they are much less common than the usual chickadees, nuthatches, towhees, and robins. As the name suggests they have a distinctive crossed bill and their feet are much like a parrot’s giving them a clown-like walk.

I’ve lived in this house for 21 years and have never seen a crossbill here, so you can imagine how thrilled I was to see a group of eight of them. I’m trying to figure out a way to hold the hose in one hand with the nozzle spraying gently, and the camera in the other hand, zooming, zooming, zooming in on their crossed bills and awkward feet. When I get it sorted out I’ll post that perfect photo on here. Meanwhile, don’t hold your breath. It could take a while.

Yo-ho-ho but no Bottle of Rum

The long months of maintenance work are finished and the boat is all tiddled up and ready to go. But the longer months of harder work lie ahead.

Captain Gary pours the last few kidney beans into a jar to put in the cupboard, and moments later is ready for takeoff. Well, maybe not takeoff, but ready to untie the boat from the dock and head out, away from the security of the harbour to motor up to the Queen Charlotte Islands. (I know they’ve changed the name to Haida Gwaii but they’ll always be the Queen Charlottes to me.)

It will take him about a week to get there, running only in daylight hours. Some fishermen run day and night and so make a shorter trip of it, but Captain Gary likes to enjoy the trip north and home again in August at the end of the season, so he takes his time. Still it often means  a good ten or twelve hours of running time each day, long enough to tire a person right out.

On board he has all the things he needs to be nearly self-sufficient for three months. All he will need is a few fresh fruits and vegetables which he can buy between fishing trips when he comes to town to sell the fish. During that turnaround, he’ll get new ice put in the fish hold, and yet another small fortune’s worth of diesel in the fuel tanks. Laundry and groceries, and then it’s back out to sea.

There might be time to go ashore if there’s a temporary fishing closure. Time to explore the beach or enjoy the natural beauty of the islands.

Those are a few of the beautiful times up north, but today, before the season begins, was a hard day. The deckhand who always gets seasick had to be left behind to take care of the house and the dog while the fisherman leaves for the summer to go catch fish to put on everyone’s table.

Here is Eden Lake, ready to leave the dock.

And from my bedroom deck, here is my last glimpse (for now) of Captain Gary and his boat as they sail out of the bay on their way north.

Safe journey and may the salmon jump into the boat.

Susie Strong

Susie Lindau is going on another Wild Ride. For those of you not familiar with her story please take the time to check out her blog post here: 
http://susielindau.com/2013/05/28/the-boob-report-laughter-is-the-best-medicine/

Your blogging community is thinking of you, Susie. You’re very brave and will look back on this day many years from now   and know you were strong. You have a great attitude and we’re proud of you.

Over the Top

Fellow fishermen beating through the waves

When people use the expression “over the top,” we usually assume they mean something like “way more than expected” or “unbelievable.” I looked up the origin of that expression and it is supposed to have come from war days when soldiers in the trenches were sent “over the top” to meet enemy fire.

Many years ago I came up with my own meaning for this expression. Way back about 1986, I was commercial fishing with my husband (Captain Gary). I was tired of spending so many summers alone and thought I’d give deckhanding on a troller a try. Big mistake! For the most part it was a great experience, but I couldn’t get over being seasick.

Some people get over it in a few days; some try remedies they hear about until they find one that works; some try everything and find nothing that works. The latter –  that was me. I tried all the remedies. Nothing worked. I even tried patches of scopolamine sold as “Transderm” that you put behind your ears. All that did for me was make me nearly blind for three days. My pupils were as big as those of a druggie on acid. No wonder. I found out later that only one patch should be worn at a time. If you remember from my previous post that I’m the girl who doesn’t like to read the directions first, you won’t be surprised to hear that I assumed that because I had two ears, I should wear a patch behind each one. But never mind. They didn’t work anyway. I was one sick seadog for the whole summer.

Still, Mom and Pop got their share of spring salmon.

Anneli looks as happy as seasickness will allow.

Captain Gary looks happy

It was worst when the weather was a bit breezy and the sea was lumpy. I had to learn to function and make myself useful no matter what the sea conditions were or how sick they made me.

On the top end of Graham Island (part of what until recently were called the Queen Charlotte Islands), the seas were not usually as rough as they were on the west coast where the southeasters blew in from the open Pacific. Captain Gary often took pity on me and anchored with the sissy fishermen in the nooks and crannies of the sheltered top end. In the morning, as the sun’s first rays filtered through the cloudy horizon, we headed out towards the west coast. We had to go through Parry Passage, a stretch of water between Langara Island and Graham Island where the tides sometimes ran quite fiercely.

We had a couple of hours of running time ahead of us so it was too early to set the trolling lines out behind us. We’d do that when we got near the fishing grounds. I sat on the bench in the wheelhouse across from the captain at the helm which is like the dash in a car.

I dreaded the onslaught of the lumpy waves of the west coast. We were the first boat heading west through the passage, Captain Gary needing to make up for a lot of lost fishing time because of his wimpy deckhand.

Up ahead white foam danced on the tops of the mountainous waves. My eyes bugged out yet another millimeter as I hooked my claws into the wooden shelf of the helm just behind the windshield.

“It’s a bit breezy today, isn’t it?” I tried to keep the whimper out of my voice.

“It’s not too bad.” Captain Gary took another sip of his cup of acidic, stomach-burning black coffee while I held my breath so as not to inhale it and start the nausea quivering in my guts. I loved coffee, but on the boat it was deadly for a weak deckie like me.

My fingernails dug a little tighter into the edge of the helm. “Those waves look pretty big.”

“Nah! It’s just a bit rough in this part of the pass. The tide’s running one way and the wind’s blowing the other. Makes it a bit choppy.”

I must have looked pathetic because he added, “Look! It’s often like this in the pass and once you get out on the other side it’s quite fishable. There might be a bit of a roll, but it shouldn’t be too bad.”

I kept quiet. Swallowed. Nodded ever so slightly. Let out a long soft sigh.

“Tell you what,” Captain Gary said. “We’ll just stick out nose out and if it’s too rough we’ll turn around and come back and fish the top end where it’s calmer.”

” ‘kay.” I breathed a sigh of relief, but the relief didn’t last long. “Holy shit! Look at those waves.”

Several huge waves were coming at us now. Definitely tidal action whipped up by the wind. Up went the boat to the crest of a wave. As it washed away under the hull we were pitched downward at an uncomfortably steep angle, taking a splashing over the bow from the next wave that followed close on the previous one. Up we went again and all the dishes slid around in the cupboards, the coffee pot slid to the other end of the stove, and the soap dispenser flew off the counter. As the crest of that wave passed under the middle of the hull we pitched downward again into the trough between waves. This time we were still pointing down towards the bottom when the next gigantic wave crashed “over the top” of the boat. We were diving. Fortunately all the windows were shut tightly and the wheelhouse door was closed. So why did I feel like I was in the shower? The front of the boat, by the helm was soaking wet from the water that wanted to force its way into the wheelhouse. My claws had finally dug right into the helm and I stared at the windshield, wondering where the sky was. For several seconds that seemed like minutes, I watched the water wash down the windows – GREEN, GREEN, GREEN – with no sign of sky. At last we bobbed up. I turned to look out the side windows towards the back.

On the farther side of the pass and a little behind us was the Northern Viking, a fine big boat. A quarter mile behind us was the Flicka I, also bigger than our boat.

“I guess they figured if Gary’s going out, it must be okay out there,” he said. Captain Gary picked up the mickey and called the Flicka I. “Hey, Milt,” he said, “I can see your cooling pipes from here.”

For those who don’t know, the cooling pipes are near the bottom of the hull. With each wave, the Flicka I pitched up and we could see her underbelly. After a few seconds of chitchat, Milt said he was turning around.

“Okay,” Captain Gary said to me, “you’ll be happy to hear we’re turning around too.”

The smile I felt coming on was wiped off my face before it could take shape. More giant waves loomed in front of us. Fortunately they weren’t as close together as the ones  that had us mistaken for a dive boat, but still, to turn the boat sideways to those waves could be fatal.

I needn’t have worried though. Captain Gary handled the boat like an expert. Timing it just right, he started the turn just after a wave passed the bow and then he gunned the engine and whipped the wheel around. The next wave lifted the stern quarter high and pushed us from behind. After that we were going with the waves rather than against them, and we surfed back to the shelter of the top end.

As we got into waters that were only a bit rough as opposed to violent, Captain Gary said, “Go on up front and pitch that seaweed off the anchor and the deck.”

From outside I called, “The roof of the wheelhouse is just full of seaweed and slop.”

“Wait till we get into calmer water. Then you can get up on the roof.”

Calmer water

I realized then that I hadn’t had time to be seasick during that whole ordeal when the waves were “over the top.”

When All Else Fails, Read the Directions

When I get any new gadget I don’t have the patience to read the directions. I have to try to put it together first, knowing that if I get stuck, I can always read the directions. This kind of attitude can be bad for one’s health. It’s a good thing I’m part cat. I must be. I’m sure I’ve used up many of my nine lives.

Before I begin, I have to explain why these photos are WAY worse than usual. I was rummaging around, supposedly doing spring cleaning, when I came across some dusty cartridges of slides and two old projectors. All cleaning stopped right there as I hauled out these memories from over 36 years ago.

My husband and I had talked about these slides some months ago, wondering how we might save them from deteriorating further. I thought it was time to have a look at what was on these slides. I ended up taking photos of the slides with my digital camera as I showed them on the wall. They’re a treasure trove of things we’ve done from so long ago – terrible pictures but they tell many a story.

One set I’d like to share with you today is from our time in Hawaii. We had done a five-month tour of Europe and felt a bit homesick for the Queen Charlotte Islands where we lived at the time, but our summer tans were gone so we decided to detour through Hawaii on our way home. We flew from London to Kauai, touching down briefly in New York, Chicago, San Francisco, and Honolulu, thinking we’d have no trouble finding a place to stay once we got there. After all, it was October, the off-season.

Wrong! It was Aloha Week. We went through dollar’s worth of dimes at the phone booth (remember those?) but everything was booked solid. A lady working at the small airport suggested Kahili Mountain Park and that’s where we ended up camping.

With a rented car, we toured the island over the next few days. I took pictures with my cheap camera.

“What a beautiful beach,” I said, “and not a soul on it.” I didn’t stop to wonder why.

 

The waves were a bit more than I thought I could handle so I stayed to do the tourist thing and snapped pictures from the safety of the black (yes, black) sand. My husband is a good swimmer and headed straight for the water. As he got out later, he winced at every step he took.

“Ouch! This sand is sharp.”

“No wonder. It’s like chips of fine volcanic rock.”

Back at the car, I noticed a sign. “Swim at your own risk. Dangerous undertow.” I guess they didn’t think the sharp rocks were worth mentioning in light of the more dangerous undertow. On the hot beach I broke out in a cold sweat, thinking of what might have happened in those strong waves. Should have read the directions. After that we went to a more populated beach.

A fellow tourist told me that the beach pictured below was the one used in the movie (before my time) “Blue Hawaii.”

But apparently it was the beach at Hanauma Bay that was used. As I looked at this photo I found on Wikipedia, taken by ErgoSum88, I could see the gap in the coral in the middle of the bay where I swam when we had returned to Oahu.

I had my mask, snorkel, and flippers on and splashed along happily, admiring the colourful tropical fish and the underwater coral sculptures. Lovely warm water, not too deep; I could probably stand up in most areas I swam. I felt safe. I had read about fire coral and knew better than to  touch the rocks and plants with my bare hands and was careful not to kick them as I floated past. This underwater world was a feast for the eyes. Every few seconds a different shape and colour of fish swam by. I wasn’t sure about the pipe fish that looked like a long skinny snake. He wasn’t bothering me and I wouldn’t bother him. It was time to get back to the beach anyway. My husband was already halfway to shore.

I had swum through a gap in the coral wall to where the water was a bit deeper. I kicked towards the gap and used the momentum of a wave to push me forward. Just about there, I only had to kick a bit more to swim through the gap and be in the shallow sheltered part of the bay. But that same wave that had pushed me forward now pulled me back. I looked out to sea at the point of land and prayed that I wouldn’t end up out there.

With the next wave I took advantage of the push again and got to the middle of the gap. All I had to do was reach for the rocks and hold on, but the coral was unfamiliar to me and several plants covered it. What if that was the fire coral I’d heard so much about. Better not risk it. I’d wait and go shooting through the gap with the next wave. Back I went, pulled by the outgoing wave.

This scenario replayed itself about as often as a cat flips a mouse into the air before the kill. My eyes bugged out a bit when I realized I was getting tired. My husband  a couple of hundred yards away, waving at me to come on in to shore. I could have called to him to come help but there were a lot of people swimming on the safer side of the reef and the thought of calling for help was mortifying to me.

I struggled and kicked harder to try to get through the gap each time the wave brought me close to it. No way I would hold onto the wall to stop from being swept back out. It was a case of degrees of fear – touch what was possibly fire coral or be swept back again. Finally I knew I would have to make a super effort to kick through the gap or suffer the embarrassment of calling for help. I kicked and kicked against the outbound tow until my muscles burned. I managed to get about two feet farther than the time before, but it was enough to escape that deadly pull out to sea.

Back on land, my legs quivered with exhaustion. My husband had no idea of the struggle I had just gone through. I’m sure he would have saved me if I’d called to let him know I needed help, but what’s that saying about pride?

Later that afternoon, as we wandered around the beach, we came to the visitor information sign and stopped to read the “You are here” map. It showed Hanauma Bay  and, clearly marked, were the areas for beginners, intermediate, and expert swimmers. And also marked clearly as a “No go” zone where the undertow problems might catch you, was the place where I had been snorkeling. I was a beginner and had gone into the water with no clue of the risks.

This is what happens when you don’t read the directions first.

PS  After I told my husband about this post and the gap he said he’d had no idea I was in trouble out there, but by the way, that’s where the sharks would wait, by the gap.

“Ha ha,” I said. “Very funny.”

“No. Seriously. They wait by the gap because that’s where the fish would come through.”

(And the odd snorkeler too, apparently. The kind that don’t read directions first.)

PPS  Don’t forget to check out my other blog for more writing-related posts.
http://annelisplace.wordpress.com