Look everybody! It's my new horn. Wheeee.... It's an Antigua 582 LQ.  

Canada's New Governor General

Canada has a new head of state today. Adrienne Clarkson, has finished her term and made way for Michaelle Jean at Rideau Hall in Ottawa. A lot of people have made a lot of stink about the appointment of Ms. Jean, but I think she's an admirable choice for the job.

She brings an enormous love for Canada to the job. She has to, considering her circumstances. She arrived on our fair shores from Haiti, having fled the brutality of Papa Doc and Baby Doc with the rest of her family. She has shown what can be achieved in this country regardless of their origins.

Sometimes it takes an outsider to point out to us how lucky we are, and this time, we've got someone who is ably qualified to do just that. According to a recent newspaper article, Canadians were among the whiniest folk on earth, second only to the Swedes. I suspect that we would all stop complaining if we looked at the example of Michaelle Jean, and realized what a great nation we live in, and how, given a bit of determination, we can all succeed.

Don't take my word for it though. Read the new Governor General's acceptance speech.

Who would want to throw litter in a place that looks like this?  

Fargin' Litterbugs

I have to shake my head in disbelief some days. I was out for a hike at a conservation area yesterday afternoon, and as I was stumbling along the trail, I came upon a pile of plastic bottles. Not one bottle, but a pile of them. They were those sporty drink bottles that cross country cyclists typically consume. Probably a bunch of cyclists paused along the trail, and after slaking their thirst, they jettisoned their trash at the side.

After the previous weekend's cleanup at Red Death, I was in no mood to pick up someone else' trash. How hard can it be to carry an empty plastic bottle a few hundred meters back to where you parked your gas guzzling automobile and throw it in the back seat until you find a garbage can? The bottle is lighter without the liquid in it, and hopefully the person who drank the contents wasn't so clumsy as to spill the contents all over himself, making everything sticky.

It really irritates me that so called nature lovers could be so low to drop their garbage in a conservation area. It's not like there isn't enough information out there about the longevity of plastics and the corresponding decline in oilstocks because of our mass consumption of plastic packaging. Some people figure a walk in the bush should include a garbage pail every few feet so they don't have to expend any effort to carry their refuse.

This rampant laziness speaks volumes about the efforts people make to do anything. "If it detracts from my amusement and ease of passage, why should I bother?" Normally, I'm opposed to the death penalty, but I think that perhaps we could bring it back for litterbugs. Cadavers are biodegradeable. Plastics aren't.

Later Breaking News:

It appears that the gasoline price rise is a little premature. The rumours of price increases were unfounded. News agencies are reporting that gas prices have not gone up to those levels at all, and we've all been duped. Even so, I'm glad I filled up anyway. I can fix my tire and drive to Osprey Township without worrying. Now I'm angry that I've fallen for a rumour just like everyone else. jeez.....

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH! I just filled up my car for the princely sum of $47.50 Canadian. Apparently the gas companies are already gouging people in other parts of the province of Ontario for something like $2 per liter. I paid $1.01 per liter, so my rough math says I would have paid $95 instead if I had waited. They used to shoot profiteers during wartime.  

Looking into a crevasse at Metcalf Rock. 

Susan hanging out on the rock face, taking in the magnificent view of the Beaver Valley and the Grey County Forest. 

Susan Scared Silly

Say that three times quickly why don't you?

We just returned from another visit to a place that is inappropriately named "Red Death." The theory is that the mountain bikers who frequent the area have fallen from their machines and skinned their knees or worse on the rocks below the hill, hence the name. Nobody I know has actually died, but mountain bikers are a self congratulatory type of beast, and I guess they exaggerate their exploits on the trails.

I been camping there in an old pasture that has been gradually turning into a forest for the last 30 or 40 years. I must have been there dozens of times since I was a young'un. This time out I was joined by Sassinak, Lividviv, Hubris, Tasha and Susan, among others. Susan was particularly enthralled with the place, so I took the liberty of dragging her over hill and over dale on several of the fine hiking trails in the area. I have to admit that it's a pleasure to find someone who likes to get out in the fresh air and haul ass on the trails.

The best part of the trip was the hike yesterday. I guided my friends into an underground stream. It's a filthy, damp, claustrophobic haul that has to be seen to be believed. The rocks are all wet, and there's no way you can get inside without getting covered in the mossy slime that oozes from the walls. There are several passages in the cave that can only be reached by crawling on your belly like a snake going feet first into a hole where you don't know what's below you. If you've never been there, it is little daunting. Needless to say, Susan was scared silly by the experience, but after all was said and done, she was as exhilarated as everyone else to lay eyes on the underground stream. She was shaking like a leaf and grinning like an idiot at the end of it. Well done Susan!

I haven't been into the stream much since the 1980s, and I casually remarked that the rocks appeared to have shifted a little over time. I suspect I should have kept my observations to myself while we were slithering down to the bottom of the cave. Everyone was a little shaken by my outburst, but we all made it in and out without any serious mishaps, except for Sassinak's whacked shin. She has a bruise to admire for a few days. Well done Sassinak too! She wears her bruises like a badge of honour instead of complaining about them.

William Hutt as Prospero in The Tempest. 

Stratford or Bust

Now my charms are all o'erthrown,
And what strength I have's mine own;
Which is most faint; now 'tis true,
I must be here confin'd by you,
Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
Since I have my dukedom got,
And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island by your spell:
But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands.
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please. Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant;
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be reliev'd by prayer,
Which pierces so that it assaults
Mercy itself, and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would pardon'd be,
Let your indulgence set me free.

*****************************************

I just returned from an afternoon in Stratford, Ontario. My brother Mikhail and I headed out to the Festival Theatre to see a performance of The Tempest, by Shakespeare featuring William Hutt as Prospero.

It is amazing that a play almost 400 years old can still inspire a modern audience. The English language has changed substantially since Shakespeare's time, but the message is still crystal clear. I would have a hard time believing anyone who started rambling in iambic pentameter in regular speech these days but to hear it on the stage is another thing entirely. I fall in to a state of wonder and admiration for any actor who can take that kind of speech and deliver it intelligibly. William Hutt makes it sound so natural, even elegant.

It's not an easy thing to do either. There have been a number of Shakespearean plays made into films in recent years, and sometimes it's a hit and miss affair. Kenneth Branagh comes to mind as another actor who can speak the language and make it sound right. Branagh is the Lawrence Olivier of our generation. Period. Keanu Reeves, despite my admiration for most of his work, however, should stay away from Shakespeare. Kudos to Keanu for trying. Laurence Fishburn gave a wonderful portrayal of the Moor of Venice, and Michael Keaton was great as the constable in Much Ado About Nothing.

Shakespeare is still the boss writer after all these centuries, and I suspect people will still be flocking to events like the Stratford Festival hundreds of years from now to see his works performed on the stage. I sincerely hope so.

These tiny fungi were about 2 or 3 cm wide, sprouting above the moss. They look like tiny little eyeballs growing out of the fallen tree trunk.  

There were lots of wee trout in the Kolapore Creek. Hoggy likes putting his feet in so the little fish can tickle his toes. The fish kept approaching him. They either wanted to kiss him or see if he was edible I guess.  

The Kolapore Creek, just at the end of the Paradise Highway. We enjoyed watching the speckled trout swimming about just under the boardwalk we were standing on.  

The Labour Day Weekend Campfire. Hoggy, James and James were kind enough to bring a pile of wood for me to burn on the fire, and I took full advantage of their generosity.