Nick's Walkabout

Last Day in NZ, April 6th

2011-04-18T19:46:00.013-10:00

The “Walk About” chronology has been turned up-side down. My last blog was Feb 7^th. Since then, every day, in the last two months, has been full; 9 am to 10:30 PM (or later), when I’ve fallen into bed, pleased and exhausted. On my off days, I caught up on chores; washed clothes, wrote PC’s, and usually felt that writing any more would be a chore. (As you know, my bursts of enthusiasm are rarely short).

I’ll start this one with my last day in NZ, (April 6^th), when Neil and I drove to Piha (pronounced Pee Ha), on the Pacific Coast 40 km from downtown Auckland. He picked me up at 7:30 am and we sliced west across suburban Auckland. He drives like an eel, slipping quickly, easily into tiny spaces, rarely using the brakes. In ¾ of an hour we had reached a twisty, dirt road at the edge of the jungle and drove upwards to the spine of the Waitakere mountain range. Neil’s car is a 2000 Mazda with both automatic and manual gear shift which actually is pretty cool as with a flick of the gear shift you move from one to the other; once in manual, to change gears, a tap backwards lowers, forward, raises the gear. This is incredibly helpful on tight, steep curves, where a lower gear keeps the car at a safe speed. Arriving faster than expected we “s” turned down the other side of the mountain heading for a place called Whatipu which 80 years ago was the terminal pier of an amazing mountain tramway responsible for moving millions of board feet of Kauri timber from the Piha forests , ( 30 miles north, along, up and over a spectacular cliff/shore coast.)

The track has been gone for 50 years but the overhanging rocks at the beach still show where the rails ran; some rail connected to a few broken timbers under the incoming tide. It was cold, blowing hard and threatened rain as we walked over the black dunes approaching a blustery surf. The sea grass tendrils snaked over the path like cords. Had to watch my step or get flipped. Neil thoughtfully lent me a pair of open toed “swamp” shoes so I wouldn’t soak my only pair of shoes, my desert boots, a day before leaving NZ. I wore my jazzy, pin stripe, synthetic, long pants (which seem out of place in these conditions but they’re comfortable, don’t show the dirt and dry quickly.) We both soon slipped into our wind breakers. The shoreline was deserted, a raw wind blowing the foam backwards off the waves and surf crashing onto black volcanic sand; a wild place with whispers of days past. Imagine logs 15 to 20 feet in DIAMETER, each lashed, overhanging it's own 39' flat car, trundled into the sea, floated off, and then tied to an expanding boom to be transported by steam ship 50 miles to the Auckland docks. Wish I’d seen it.

After-wards, we breakfasted in the sunshine at a tiny general store on the shore of Huia with tables fronting a stunning bay surrounded by towering cliffs. From there we went to the DOC center, (Dept of Conservation), built on the edge of a cliff and surrounded by a wooden deck jutting out into open space, 1500 feet higher than our breakfast place.

We were in awe, an incredible view looking down on silver fern, the mouth of the bay, and in the distance Whatipu. Forty feet below the deck, on the sloping forest floor, a 30 year old Kauri had grown; the top crown now breasted the decking we stood on. The trunk was clean, silver grey for the first 25 feet and then there were nubs of vanishing branches below the crown of leaves. This tree cleans itself as it grows, the ultimate carpenter’s dream, no knots in pure lumber. To the early New Zealanders, 1880-1910, this tree was as good as gold, the backbone of a thriving timber industry, Kauri was exported all over the world.

The DOC center was immaculate, well laid out and the information provided about the Kauri Tramway, most helpful. An illustration clarified how these giant logs were moved from Piha over an 1800 foot mountain and down the other side to Karekare where a horizontal track along the shoreline and through tunnels delivered them to Whatipu. (Supposedly the name was given to the place by a Maori chief. It doesn’t mean he relieved himself; something to do with dramatic crashing surf ??)

Karekare is in a valley with a small river cutting through 75’ high sand dunes guarding the beach and is about ½ way between Piha and Whatipu. We crossed the stream and passed beneath a forest of Pohutukawa trees with their giant twisted branches before coming onto the beach where Neil had planned to walk south towards Whatipu. As the tides were ebbing, a fairly wide stretch of black beach was available. We passed a place where he remembered, not 10 years ago, a cable attached to the cliff to allow folks to pass safely at high tide. Most of that path had eroded, the cable limply hanging; it would have been a hairy crossing as the trail was, perhaps, a foot wide and a slip would cause a 30 foot, backbreaking drop to the stones below. It was still windy but the sun warmed the black sand and us and our jackets came off. A three foot high cairn on the beach was a reminder of quick fogs and sudden rough weather; we continued on, hugging the coast.

The vertical cliffs clearly illustrating the incredible volcanic forces of the past; “S” shaped rock seams melding with giant inverted “U”s, all above midnight black, igneous sand. We searched for a train tunnel somewhere in the cliff face without success. (Later we saw a map showing we had not gone close enough to the cliff to find it.) The sand dunes turned into shoulder high reeds, cut grass and bog. Sometimes we had to backtrack as a path dead-ended or brought us to a sheer drop into the sea. After about an hour moving south we turned back because our path was blocked by a wide river and our time was short. We heard the sound of the surf and “bog whacked” towards it. Pairs of Paradise ducks, the female with a white, the male a black head greeted us with a whistling yodel. They supposedly pair for life and if one dies, the other partner pines away. A frightened pair flew over a 200 yard open stretch of water. It appeared shallow so Neil waded in, to check out the depth. When I saw it was only mid thigh, I rolled up my pants and followed. Once across, we squished onto the beach and started back to Karekare and our parked car. Great rollers were smashing onto the beach leaving mounds of 10 inch high, frothy white foam.

The 30 mph onshore wind blew the foam across the black sand, which appeared like white crabs, twisting and turning, intact until, in 100 feet or so they hit dry sand and vanished, sanded to death. Never saw such a thing before so I took a video.

Driving out of Karekare valley required 15 minutes of 1^st gear ; the road going up a grade that was a steady 30 degrees. We reached the spine of the mountain range turned north and headed to Piha, one of the best surfing beaches on the west coast.

An overlook high on the road gave a panoramic view of a mile long curved beach with Lion rock, centered and looking out to sea. Our road down to Piha was as twisty and steep as the previous two. Neil had hoped to show me a “blow hole” where ocean waves are forced under overhanging rock and gushers of water explode into the air.

We scrambled under over hanging cliffs to reach an impassable point where the returning tide blocked our way. The curious thing about this place; every rock or stone or pebble was glued to the cliff, even though they were 30” in diameter or hundreds of pounds and 90 percent of the bolder/rock/pebble were exposed. The smaller ones on the cliff face seemed like hand holds in a climbing gym, screwed and crazy glued to the wall. Even those directly under the cliff on the shore ,(which one would think would be loose because they had eroded off), were tight as a tick, couldn’t find even ONE to scavenge as a souvenir.

This place is obviously a surfer’s hideaway with every kind of lodging from sumptuous to lean-to and lots of tattooed dudes with boards. Today, in 6 hours we beach hopped to 3 beaches. Each was completely different from the other and as usual we got a lot of “trekking” under varying climatic conditions. New Zealand regularly offers 4 seasons a day. We drove back to Pakarunga in less time than it took as we returned after rush hour, stopped at the RSA, (Retired Serviceman’s Assoc), to debrief over a few jugs of Tui beer.

Lesson learned, over and over, don’t let what appears to be lousy weather in the morning intimidate you to change your plans, persevere, do what you planned, as in New Zealand it will most likely turn out fine. Neil and I had an emotional farewell, we’d happily traveled together, on and off for 7 weeks, consequently, distracted I left my fleece jacket on the back sea of his car, (which he happily delivered next day just before I left for the airport). Rose and Gordon had created a delicious curry for my last supper. I spent some time checking the couch surfing blog to see whether a host in Honolulu had responded to my request for a bed. No luck... but another super day. I fell into a pleased, exhausted sleep.

Tsunami fishing weekend - March 12-13 2011

2011-03-15T11:20:00.003-10:00

Phenomenal.. we happened to be at the one spot in NZ where the Tsunami came ashore. Port Charles on the Coramandel. Friday we had heard about the tragedy in Japan. Awoke early Saturday, 6am to see what that meant for us, lodged in a "Batch",( summer home), on the shoreline of a funnel bay. As we ate our breakfast some of us wandered out under massive Norfolk Pines to see what appeared to be a one meter bore coming towards us. ( Like the one in Turn Around Bay in Alaska ). It struck the shore to the left of the bay and bounced into the right hand corner, swept past where we were standing, filling the bay way above the high tide line of previous days, a roaring river of brown water traversing and parallel to the shore line. Bloody Hell ! Huge logs went past at about 10 mph ; then , it slowed down , went slack and all went back, perhaps a 1/2 mile, leaving fish flapping in small pools. The Mauri family staying with us immediately jumped into the bay and started catching fish, picking up cockles and oysters but there was a lot of concern as it was obvious that another surge was building. " Get outa" thir, it's chenging, it's dengerous!" Every 9 minutes for the next 3 hours the tide changed from full to absolute slack. Our first wave came at dead low tide. Probably saved us from what happened later at full high tide.

After watching 10 tide comings and goings we felt reasonably unconcerned that the tsunami was going to have any negative effect as, so far, nothing serious had happened. We, Neil, Graham, Graeme and I, went surf fishing in Sandy bay, a half hour drive over a mountain where really funny things happened. Graham cast a normal 30 yards and Neil, quickly walked out as the tide receded, to tell him that there were no fish on his hook. He stood in 8" of water. Graham ran towards Neil, cast again and then again before he started to back pedal to keep out of the water of the incoming tide. When he reached the beach, his line was 200 yards out in deep water! Then the tide went out and his hook was lying 200 yards out on wet ground. Completely nuts. Shore casting didn't work so we decided to drop a long line , hooks on meter centers. Graham prepared to take a kayak out trolling as he drew the line off the beach . He placed the boat in the water, arraigned the fishing rods in the holders, began to sit down; but by this time the water was 10 meters into the bay. He was sitting in a boat on a sandy beach watching the water disappear. We roared with laughter! " How you going to paddle that boat?" He eventually got it in the water about 50 meters from the shore. The rest of us tied bait and slowly released the line as Graham paddled out. He succeeded but when we pulled in the line a half hour later, every hook was shiny clean. We surmised, tiny fish stripped the bait; the bigger ones had left for the ocean.

Screw it, we decided to go back to our beach. Neil parked in the shade under the pines, ( 3-4 feet above the road surface parallel to the beach and 6 - 8 feet above the normal high tide mark). I was in swim trucks, barefoot , and started picking up new bits of drift wood delivered to the beach by the last wave. Other people watching the bay started making warning sounds. " It's bigger and really moving. Holy shit, look what's happening in the bay, the water's boiling". I had left a towel hanging on a stump just off the grassy bank which moments before had been 2 meters above the surging water. By the time I had taken 3 steps and grabbed the towel, the water was mid calf and debris was pushing against my legs. Someone shouted " Git the cahs outta thir", meaning the depression in front of the Batch. I sloshed/ran through the house into the back yard towards the tent to strip and save the bedding and place it on a woodpile ( which fortunately didn't float off ) and stuffed " chilly bins" , portable ice boxes under the tent floor so it wouldn't be flooded. As I got the last mattress out, a 2 foot high surge of water rounded the corner of the house and instantly filled the backyard. Most of the cars made it up the road to high land. One, to which no keys were available, flooded to the seats. A farmer offered us his pasture for the night and, lock, stock and barrel, 18 people moved to a site, 400 feet above the bay; Tsunami survivors in a meadow filled with cow flaps, no worse for the experience besides lots of wet gear, ( which dried out under a moonless night in the starlight of the milky way.)

As the weekend came to a close, I thanked my hosts for putting on one of the best weekends ever; "you really didn't need to go to so much trouble. The food, drink and company were fine; The Tsunami was " over the top" .

We found out later that almost no other place on the North Island was affected. Love and All best wishes, Nick, Dad, dadadski

New Zealand Feb 7 – 8

2011-03-06T19:18:00.001-10:00

Returned to Pakuranga where Allan had made a delicious curry dinner. Met Neil at the RSA and agreed to leave for Piahia (“ pie here” but the r is silent) 350 km north, next morning at 10.

At Waipu a tiny town of 200 was a museum describing the longest migration to NZ of Scots through Nova Scotia 1832 to Australia 1834, and finally to Waipu 1836 where they settled and flourished. They brought tools and skills learned in the NS boat building and lumber industries and applied them to the incredible timber available in NZ.

We spent the next 2 nights in the “ Pickled Parrot” Backpackers lodge; bunk beds, noisy, hot, mosquitoes and snoring. Didn’t bother me at all but, Neil found a motel owner willing to rent at ½ price ( the season had been very slow and ½ was better than 0 ), so we moved into a kitchenette with separate beds and a swimming pool for $25 more a night than the Backpackers!

I wandered about this highly touristic town. High speed boats, sailing cruises with dolphins thrown in, a trip to the 90 mile beach, jumping out of airplanes, the highest paraglide behind a boat and so on. I beach combed and then saw a fair on the meadow designed to sell stuff to cruise ship passengers. First guy I talked to was a bowl turner and my virgin intro to Ancient KAURI a most extraordinary wood. It is usually mined ! 40-50,000 years ago by carbon dating an immense Tsunami felled standing Kauri , many 3 – 4000 years old at the time, all in one direction and silt deposit buried these immense trees. The pitch or GUM these trees produce will preserve them almost indefinitely so the wood is workable in anyway lumber can be used. These trees grow to be 40 feet in diameter and 90 feet to their crown. They shed their limbs leaving no knots; the ultimate carpenter’s dream. When the British came here they had just lost America and their source for the timber need to build masts for their navy. Kauri represented an incredible resource and may have been one of the deciding factors to colonize New Zealand and a treaty with the Maori in 1840. Anyway, ancient kauri, specially the roots which have so much fire and chatoyancie ( the way the grain reflects light, like tiger eye), from deep brown of red and orange, naturally excites any wood worker like me.

Back to the fair: the bowls turned in NZ are much heavier than those of Hawaii, more substantial, with a robust heft that makes one feel it will last forever. Of course, the turner looks for Chatoyancie and like a water color painter, stops at the right moment which is so crucial to the beauty of the piece. He also sand blasted designs onto flat sections of highly polished wood. Very effective. This wood is orgasmic! The highlight of my NZ trip has been meeting carvers and woodworkers. More later...

In the same art fair, I noticed hedgehogs made with folded paper and a lady who was creating paintings using white glue to hold sand or broken shells in bold, Maori patterns. Probably uses a profile cut out, of which she has 100’s. She also centered a Paua shell into 2” deep frame and I saw where another inspiration for Maori tattoos.

Neil suggested that I walk from Hururua falls to the Treaty meeting ground. My first walk in a NZ jungle! I was struck by the beauty of the ferns both in their live and dead forms and especially the Koru, the one with a giant fiddlehead surrounding tiny heads within; “a wheel within a wheel a turning”. Although the symbol of this fern is everywhere in Maori carving and culture, I still haven’t found one carved to exactly represent it. I guess I’ll have a go. The walk took me alone , along the river’s edge. Some cliff overlooks dropped, completely unprotected, to the water, 50-70 feet below. I walked on through forests of fern and giant Pahootakawa trees (another favorite tree found at the steep sea shore edge; it has amazing thick branches, twists and turns and the old boat builders found them to be ideal for crooks, bows or any place great strength at funny angles was required). The trail came down to a mangrove forest, quite different from Florida’s. Separate trees growing 10 to 15 feet apart, in standing water with hundreds of coral-like, 6 to 8 inch long nubs of new growth, sticking up from the swamp floor. I stood for a while on a bridge and noticed a swirl. I focused and saw what had earlier been described as a “Tiger” trout, a fish the shape and size of trout, but with slashed yellow claw marks top to bottom on a transparent, nearly watercolored fish. Hard to see them. Wish I had my fly rod with me.

The trail was only 6km long but it took me nearly 3 hours for all my stopping and playing. I whittled, photographed, had a quick skinny dip, and finally made it to the Waitangi Treaty grounds. Great views of the Bay of Islands, a stupendous Maori war canoe, made of three hollowed out pieces of Totara, stitched together with vine and glued with Kaori gum. Bow and stern carved in traditional geometric style. The place where the 1840 treaty was signed was pre-fabricated in Australia, a fairly normal English house with lovely flower gardens and a well laid out vegetable garden (10 acres or so). The Maori Lodges (a marae), is more recent and the interior has specific carvings panels, 12 feet high, 2 wide representing 16 of the separate tribes (the Maori were very well represented by the treaty which gave them rights to their traditions and traditional lands. From what I gather, they feel that the Europeans took their land from them, the Europeans contend that, had colonization not happened, the Maori were doomed to the fate of the Christmas Islanders. They had used up all the countries resources and had resorted to cannibalism, eating each other for food). I have been tangentially immersed in Maori culture since I arrived as there is a Maori TV station, they are everywhere in modern society and most museums seem to concentrate on educating the traveler with Maori legends and history.

The next 2 days were spent doing touristy things. First day was “Swim with the Dolphins” , 2^nd day “ The 90 mile beach, sand surfing, Cape Reinga, The Gum Museum and a store called “Ancient Kaori”. The first was on a wet day and visibility was limited. We found a pod of 50 or 60 dolphins frolicking about and were told we could not swim with them as there were babies present. ( This is most of the time so the claim to swim is mostly bs and promotional). The second day started at 7am and returned to Piahia about 13 hours later. We drove about 500 km in a fairly comfortable bus; normal routine, on the bus for an hour, 20 minutes off.

The 90 mile beach was actually 64 as it had been estimated by someone in the 1800’s and the name has stuck. Tide tables must be considered as the beach vanishes in high tides and many vehicles have been drowned if the driver miscalculates. Interesting for the first few minutes. Reminded me of flying the trike 5’ off the sand in Portugal but, of course, we were inside a modern bus, no wind and lots of people. As we left the beach we stopped at an immense 1000 foot high sand dune where the riders were offered the chance to body board. Single file they ( not me) followed the bus driver, a young guy full of beans, to the top and chucked themselves down a 45 degree slope. Some came off and had to chase their lightweight boards across the slope. I believe that a few managed to make 3 runs before re-boarding. Sweaty work.

Cape Reinga , the most northern point of NZ has an ancient lighthouse. It is also the place the Maori believe their souls leave to return to their legendary Hawakii, from whence they originated. Very dramatic coastline plunging 1000’s of feet to a snarling ocean. Great ocean wind on a sunny clear day. One has to be careful as NZ’s ozone offers much thinner protection than say, Hawaii. I thought I had a good tan, but in 1 hour of NZ sun, I felt as though I’d been too close to a furnace.

Our return took us to the Gumdigger’s Museum, a place where Slovenians mined the Kauri gum to be used for turpentine and various other shellacs. Extremely hard work as the trees had to be “discovered or felt” with long iron rods poking into the ground. Then they would dig down and along the trunk in hopes of finding the gum , ( like sap from pine trees, except, if they were lucky, in very large quantities.) The last generation of gum diggers realized the dynamite was quicker and the fastest of their family, a young girl, set the fuse and ran. Gum is no longer in demand as synthetic finishes have replaced it.

New Zealand Feb 2 to Feb 6th, 2011

2011-02-25T11:59:00.004-10:00

My flight to Auckland was uneventful; 9 hours starting at 9:45 pm Jan 31 and arriving in NZ at 5:30am Feb 2nd. Can’t figure what happened to Feb 1; something about International Dateline.
My ears were completely plugged, no pain , just like being in the bottom of a well so I spoke softly to people who universally said, “ Scuse mi”, and I had a hard time understanding the Kiwi vowel shift where an a becomes an e, an e becomes I ,and so on. Caught an express bus/taxi which combines folks going into Auckland. I reserved a hotel room but, as I arrived at 9:30am ( felt much later to me, I‘d been awake for 22 hrs), my room would not be available until 2 pm. I left my gear in an unlocked room with LARGE signs indicating one did so AT YOUR OWN RISK and went out to explore the city. My hotel was more or less at the top of a mountain and thus walking downtown was literally down Queen Street at about a 30 degree slope. Easy going. First place I visited was the Theatre complex, a bit like Lincoln Centre, with a large open square and benches ideal for people watching ; an Opera House, a Theatre and cinemas. I met a Maori guy with dreads and a face of geometric tattoos who asked what I was doing there. When I told him I was interested in volunteering to work in any theatre he shook my hand and said, “ Good on ya” and than strode away.
Fast food restaurants of every Nationality are cheek by jowl all the way down Queen Street. Indian, Vietnamese, Chinese, Polynesian, MacDonald’s, Wendy’s etc.. I was woozy and trying to stay awake, time seemed to have stopped. I struggled up Queen, my heart drumming in my ears until I got to the top, a cross street which everybody call “K” street it’s name is 15 letter long and unpronounceable. Thankfully it was fairly flat. I found a restaurant overlooking a canyon, Muir Park, which at the turn of the last century had been a slum and shanty town. The city purchased the land and made a grass and tree covered space; if it had been covered with snow, would have been a black diamond run. City is nearly vertical. I had a “belly buster” breakfast which tasted of nothing. Don’t mean to knock the Kiwi’s but their food has no imagination. The coffee was excellent.
I got back to the hotel early, hoping I could get into my room. No luck. Sat drowsily in the sun in an open courtyard until I was collected by a lovely Indian girl who showed me my room. I was unexpectedly surprised as it was lovely, a spacious kitchenette with adjoining living room and bedroom on the 11th floor, a spectacular view, uphill, to University buildings. The hotel was filled with many nationalities; seems typical of the city as I heard varieties of language that were new to me. Took a shower and fell into a deep sleep until about 6pm.
Walked DOWN town again but this time to the gorgeous harbour. Sail, power and fishing boats everywhere confirming the claim “ City of Sails”. The architecture is fascinating, a jumble of different styles which, for me, harmonize to produce one of the most lovely cities I’ve visited. The use of colour in the glass office buildings is dramatic; vertical shapes that curve with roofs that hang over like sweeping Victorian ladies hats. All sorts of levels and heights, the history of building from Edwardian sandstone structures to modern and in between, huge billboards of surfers advertising Coca Cola. Sprinkled around are sculptures. Other than the breath stopping hills, ( steeper than San Francisco’s ), it’s a most appealing place.
The hotel was booked solid the next night so I cast around to find a Youth Hostel, just up a 60 degree street. Whew! I dragged my suitcase up the hill stopping to rest it at each parked car by leaning it against the back bumper and waiting until my pulse dropped below 90. YHA is a backpacker hotel offering inexpensive lodging all over NZ. I checked in and then went looking for a Network Café to check e-mail and see if I had any positive response to my couch surfing requests.
Yeah! Rose Wang and Gordon Hill said, “ The house is full, but please come if you enjoy a crowd” I caught the number 50 bus to Pakarunga and was dropped just outside “Cascades Motel”. 11 Hamsey street was nowhere about until the Motel owner got out his A to Z(ed) and found it on the other side of small park. I was warmly welcomed and introduced to 3 Check Slovakians ,( Zed, Anna, Peter), 1 German ( Alec), 2 Slovenians( Anna, Mejec), Allan Martin a NZer working for DHL and a resident tenant and of course my hosts, Rose and Gordon who is soon to be 65. He was a Peace Corps volunteer in Columbia in the late 60ies, is widely educated in entomology, biology ,botany and specialized in everything TURF for golf course, parks and residential landscaping. Rose is from Taiwan, a Buddhist with a core belief that she was put on earth to help and enjoy other people. Both seem to welcome any chance to make travellers lives’ easier, sharing meals, driving to buses or harbours , showing them the sights in the neighbourhood. Peter, one Check guy was ripped off by a garage who said they would fix his vehicle, took payment and then refused to do so and further , knowing he was under a time constraint, would not return his money or the vehicle. Gordon immediately contacted the Consumer Agency responsible for business practices on Peter’s behalf.
I was supposed to bunk in with Alec, but as he had just arrived from Kuala Lumpur and was sick, it was decided I should sleep in a tent on the back lawn. Everyone pitched in and I got a lovely big space ; when the rain started, a soothing drumming sent me to sleep. About 5 am Kui Kui birds woke me with their melodious song, curiously interspersed with frog croaks. Gorgeous flowing tones and then “greeckk”; emanating from a bluish black bird the size of an American Robin.
Unlike Robert in Hilo, HI who had a “Groceries” donation glass jar, Rose & Gordon ,( R&G), expected each guest to bring their own food. No matter, Anna & Mejec made a huge breakfast and everyone was invited. Gordon & I went to pick Tatiana up from a bus stop; from Grenoble, she had brought her kite surfing rig which fitted between us in the middle of the car. As Anna & Mejec were leaving that day to look for work, Tatiana got the couch. The Checks were sleeping in a mini-van in the driveway.
Friday evening, Alan invited us all to the RSA ( Returning Servicemen Association) for an evening of drink, dancing and dinner. The hall was filled with ex-military guys, some watching rugby on a large flat screen, others chatting and, once the 3 piece band started, dancing to mostly golden oldies, American 50ies music. Sorry to say, dinner was tasteless. A carver-y of roast beef, pork, Yorkshire pud, carrots, spuds, cauliflower all without any spices; however, the desserts were excellent. Seems the chef is a pastry man.
I was introduces to Neil Armstrong, not the first man on the moon but rather a guy soliciting funds for a colon cancer charity. During our chat he mentioned that he was driving to Piahia ( pronounce Piehere, the r being silent), the Northland on Monday and if I’d like to join him I could see a lot of this country while he called on prospects.
I offered to pay for lodging during the trip, he agreed he’d pay for gas. We both agreed that we’d look for backpacker type accommodation; as he said, “ I can’t afford jazzy places collecting money for a charity”.
A full blown Sculpture Tour along a portion of Waiheke island was on offer Sunday and everyone at R&G’s place decided to follow me there. 7 of us caught the 45 minute ferry ride from Half Moon Bay to Kennedy Point, the a 20 minute bus ride to the starting point of the Sculpture trek around the coast. About 40 sculptures were placed in, on, down and around the steeply banked coastline.( Not dissimilar to Scotland’s craggy shores). I laughed at one entry ; profile, full-sized, photographic cut-outs of naked human figures scattered in the meadows, picking berries behind bushes and down to the beach; a virtual nudist colony. Another reminded me of Galsworthy’s work, his “s” shaped brick wall through oak woods; this one was a double “W” of split firewood logs, horizontally cabled together 8 to 10 feet high; leaning left and right to make an unsteady, drunken wall. It was probably 90 feet long and , naturally had people photographing each other doing the “leaning tower of Pizza” routine, holding up the tumbling pile.
A very beautiful “O” sculpture of polished granite stone , 7 feet in diameter, 2 feet thick, had two holes cut into it. The holes were knapped to create a contrasting texture. It was called “Anchor stone” and sold for $22,000NZ. Gordon & I lost the rest of the gang somewhere on the tour. No matter, we walked back to Oneroa (ohney rowa) and I checked out galleries. Two wood carvers lived in the neighbourhood. I took their names and planned to get in touch. John Freeman had lots of Kauri and some of his excellent work was on display. He had carved a frontal nude in elm; the grain followed the curves beautifully. The weather was crystal clear , blue skies contrasting azure water and sailboats filled the harbours. Super day!
That night I met Neil again at the RSA club He had written out an itinerary of the next 5 days with suggestions of places I might like to visit on the trip. Whoee! North to Cape Reinge the most northerly point of NZ.
Still to come: 5 days in the Northland with Neil
Carving with www.kerrystrongman.com at the Arts Factory
Fly fishing in the Tongariro River with
The Tongariro Alpine crossing. 19.4 km trek over 3 volcanoes.
Love and All best wishes, Dad, Nick Dadadski

Another week on the Big Island, Jan 24- Jan 29

2011-01-29T21:07:00.000-10:00

I've made a few things from Hawaiian wood and have been meeting carvers and turners on the Big Island. Two guys have been generous with their time, both excellent artists. Dan DeLuz, who doesn't seem to have a web site but is a very well known artist, a 76 year old turner who has turned about 60 different types of wood. He let me into his inner sanctum, a barn removed from his gallery to drool over bowls from 30" to 4" wide , up to 24 " high, each engraved with the type of wood from which it was made. Incredibly knowledgeable about the qualities and idiosyncrasies of each. Blow your mind how many fantastic colors and grains exist, but my favorite comes to KOA which shimmers as you rotate it in light ( like diffraction on vinyl records), with colors from light tan to deep orange and dark brown . Martin Hopman, another older fellow, mph13@hawaii.rr.com, gave me samples of 10 or so different woods describing each as I tested them with a blade. ( what's Happened to the font?) . I' will ship most of this home as folks in NZ don't allow anything into the country that doesn't already exist there. I was told it's likely they'll take my Uke . Oh well !!!

I'm couchsurfing. Fascinating concept. Check it out (Couchsurfing.org). Sort of what you do with friends in Belmar at your place. People all over the world host travelers , sometime on a couch, but more likely on a bed, after checking out the profile of the surfer requesting a couch and determining whether they want to invite them to stay. At the moment, I'm with a guy named Robert Lee, a retired 66 year old machinist/jeweler. He epitomizes the character of CS host, welcoming, non-judgmental, who has thought out of the needs of his potential guests.( towels. sheets, pillows, ) and besides a queen size bed in a separate room, he has a flip-down futon, a blow up mattress and sleeping bags. My first night I was invited to a delicious supper. One of his guest left a not saying that he was" the GOD" of couchsurfing. His response, " Claims of deity can often be misleading". Since then , I've made breakfasts. A couple of Vancouver " Woofers " have been sharing his place during the past few days that I've been in Hilo. I've enjoyed meeting them as their attitude is so fresh, open-minded and more mature than one generally finds in mid 20 year old folk. Both are beautifully tattooed, all over, and he sports 1" diameter ear holes rimmed in silver. She is a song-writer, poet who works along side her partner, a guy learning about farming by working on different types of farms, wherever they go. Curiously, he's the splitting image of one of my UW teaching assistants of 40 years ago! He says he figures it's a better way of learning than the book learning offered in Universities.

Yesterday, we hiked across Kilauea IKI, ( means small, Kilauea itself is much bigger and full of orange, bubbling stuff ), a volcano that exploded some 30 years ago. I expected conditions in this 1/2 mile wide bowl to be hot. It was overcast and misting so almost no other tourists on the 5 mile loop. Easy ,gentle, switchbacks from the crater edge down to the floor and temperatures seemed to be dropping! Once out of the jungle, a moon scape of huge cow flaps of lava mixed in with sharp , frothy "AA" which will cut you, quick, if a leg inadvertently touches it. The sun came out for most of our 45 minute transit across the floor but winds of 30-40 mph tore at what little clothing we were wearing. Then it started to mist and temperature dropped to about 50 degrees causing shivers and thoughts of warmer dress. ( It was probably 70 on the rim. ) We began the gradual climb back up the other end of the loop and , once out of the wind and walking in the tropical jungle, temps returned to normal. I had imagined the complete reverse. While crossing, my feet were warm and if you put your hand on the hardened lava, it was probably 110 F. All across the bowl, vents of steam hissed steamy hot air. Rangers had warned us that if you smell rubber, someone's shoes are melting. 30 minutes prior to this hike we had scramble through a lave tube created by molten lava evacuating a hardening tunnel. This one was about 10 feet high and maybe 15 feet wide, 1/2 mile deep. The first 1/4 mile was poorly illuminated, whereby one stepped in puddles of condensate because you couldn't see them. The second was pitch dark, only illuminated by head lamps worn by my Canadian friends throwing light as though following a train into infinity. Really cool. No one else in this tube and the floor was practically as good as floated concrete. Here and there the tube dropped a few feet and finally petered out into a solid wall. Returning to Hilo, we stopped for a coffee at Dan's and I introduced them to him and his work. ( Only way I'm going to be able to sculpt Hawaiian wood is to come here and stay for a few months. Amazing. There are trees here that grow to 80' high , 8' diameters, in 45 years because of the sun and steady rainfall.)

I spent a day knocking about Hilo, a town of about 45,000 people spread on the windward side of Kilauea. Buildings are in the older, 20-30ies style which I find appropriate for a tropical island. I visited the Capital Theater, 1925, which is in remarkably good condition having been spared the tsunami that devastated the same half of the city in the 40ies and the 60ies. On Sunday "The Tempest" will be shown, filmed on the Big Island , starring Helen Mirren as Prospera, directed by Julie Taymor, (who I've met occasionally over the years, Heather & Marla will remember the "Transposed Heads " on Off-Off B'way) . She also directed "Lion King" and is now trying to unravel the 65 million dollar musical, "Spiderman". Went to a number of galleries and , of course stopped into most of the second hand and thrift stores. I found two superb carvings, one of lion, the other a Scandinavian King which will be mailed home before I leave for Honolulu on Monday ( to make my connection to Auckland.) I'm stoked. Will concentrate on being prompt and not missing my flight. All best wishes, Dad, Nick, Dadadski.

Hawaii Jan 19 - Jan 26, 2011‏

2011-01-29T20:42:00.000-10:00

Had a great time with Jenny & Greg in Hawi (friends of Hank and Marla's). First day I spent fixing stuff around their house, broken kitchen cabinet, sharpen a machete, add new handles, sharpen kitchen knives, and then then the rain stopped and I decided to clear out an over-grown section by the drive with the machete. Soon, I realized I could pull plants out by the roots. Worked for a few hours and got bushed; but then... I found a wooden carving, probably Central American of a God with a Quetzal headdress and made of what looked like Koa, 9 " high, rotting in the undergrowth. Got out the carving knives and in a couple of hours had re-carved it. One arm was in need of repair and the bird's body need attention. I didn't take a picture but it sits on the counter at their house. Since Jenny made a lovely supper Wednesday night, I took them to the Bamboo restaurant in Hawi, and we all had Local Pork and cabbage. As usual, enough for the next day, too. Delicious.
Friday, I had a massage with Michelle, who we met at Anna's Ranch. She told us she used to work with large cats...up to twenty lions and tigers. Massage was super, very strong, not surprising as she had to physically move the adult tigers, and thorough. I felt like jelly and she suggested I stop eating all wheat because she says type O neg should eat meat and nuts, etc; hunter gatherers. "Eat right 4 your blood type", a book outlining her thoughts. I explored around and when I got back to Greg and Jenny's, perhaps 3:30 found a note inviting me to a party with their friends in Waikoloa !
Super party of about 20 people hosted by a Realtor lady, Jan, who Jenny says is her adopted mother. Charming, nice lady. First thing I saw was a large, 4 foot high, carving of a headless mermaid; sister to Winged Victory. I showed her my carving and we had an instant connection. Excellent pupus and great conversation, especially with Rob, an older guy who was just off to Christmas Island for bone fishing. He'd been 3-4 time to New Zealand, (told me me felt boots would never pass NZ customs so I gave them to Greg) but made all the right noises about trout. He guides in South Alaska.
Sat: Jenny, Greg & I went down to a surfing beach south of Hapuna Beach. Incredible waves and hairy entrance to the water. Greg slipped out of his flip flops and carrying his board, crept over a'a lava to meet the rising water. With perfect timing, he glided onto the top of the surging waves and was immediately paddling out to 12 - 14 foot waves. J & I watched from a shaded spot. Jacob joined us a bit later and gave us a blow by blow on Greg's style. (Whole 'nother language!) About noon we started for Hilo to pick up Jenny's new Toyota 4 wheel. Stopped in Waimea for lunch and got to the dealer maybe 2:30. Neat drive, good clear weather and certainly tropical. I said "thanks and goodbye" after a fun check-out drive with the sales agent. Went looking for a used book store to buy the above book. Closed, but next door to a cool gallery run on a Co-op basis. Good Koa Carvings

I've joined a group called couchsurfers.com and my first stay was interesting. I drove up to Samantha Jone's Jungle Rabbit Farm in the rain. Hard to find down a road spaced with lava tubes and so a super uppy-downy roller coaster drive. About dusk I found her and heard dogs barking. She opened her gate and with a big smile welcomed me to what I can describe as a soggy Scout camp, corrugated and tarp on the roof, open on the sides, shed. She has two Chicago wwoof-ers (willing workers on organic farms) staying with her who had tightened up the tarps, but water was still pouring into the kitchen area. I found a ladder and approached the problem differently, from the inside of the building instead of outside and in a while the water was flowing (mostly) where it should. She actually had a couch, nice long thing with good support. However, the back cushions were being used by the boys as extra padding for a bed. I brought an old sheet with me which Jenny said I could have and after a glass of wine and some conversation, (she was a fire dancer in vaudeville type shows across US in the 60 and 70ies), settled down for the night. Incredible noises from the jungle, peeper frogs forever, night birds, and groans from Samantha's dog, Twinkle toes, who had been hit by a car a few days ago and was convalescing. Rain pouring on the roof like Monte Verde, night as black as Ink and amazingly cold. My sheet certainly wasn't warm enough and I didn't get up to do anything about it. Silly bugger! Samantha came to wake me in the morning, noticed I was shivering and threw an Afgan over me. Felt real good.

A neighbor, Alaska Bob, came over complaining about a hitch hiker he had picked up. Seems they had been drinking together. This guy got really drunk and Bob decided to ask him to leave. He was pretty drunk, too. The conversation heated up and Bob decided to show how pissed off he was by slamming his fist into the wall, which broke his little finger. He was in a sling and so he could not physically throw the guy out. Did I mention they both had gotten their plumbers journeyman license in jail and likely had outstanding issues. Anyway, Bob wanted the two wwoof-ers, Mitch and Len and me to threaten this guy who was wrecking his shack and wanted to kill him. Bob was extremely stressed, so I tried to cool him down. I suggested we call the police which he wasn't so keen to do. Finally, Samantha joined in and he finally agreed we should call them.

The wwoofers and I took off for Kilauea and went up to the crater. Fascinating stuff. A ranger gave us the poop on what we were seeing and I won't repeat it, but it was "awesome". We walked around the edge of the crater and experience the steaming air coming out of vents. Sizzlingly hot, instantly. Hotter than steam. We hiked down into the lava tube caves, lighted, 15' in diameter and about 1/4 mile long. Mitch and Ken had flashlights and so continued another 1000 feet. The ranger had told us that dramatic views of live lava could be seen if we drove down to the coast some 50 miles away. We arrived as the sun set and with about 200 others we walked 1/2 mile to be met by a closed road where last week a house had been munched and he was pouring water into cracks to show how hot the lava still was; it came out as steam, instantly. As dark fell, we could see what appeared to be tail-lights on the hill sides, some 1/2 mile away. Not overly dramatic but it's supposed to be a crap-shoot. Some days you see the real stuff, We didn't that night.
We returned to hear that both characters had been arrested; that the problem was more or less the same as both had come up with bail. Glad we didn't get involved with violent drunks. I awoke next morning and made breakfast and then gave Samantha the walking stick I carved. She was ecstatic. I enjoyed my time with her and the wwoofers. Really primitive but simple life style. Before I left I had a shower, water heated by a propane demand heater. Her water comes off the roof and is kept in 55 gal barrels, which is filtered for drinking. All other washing needs are rain water. Hot dish water comes from the shower. The toilet is a 5 gal bucket. Newspaper and moss is spread over each dump. Then, when the bucket is nearly full, it is composted. I slept 15 feet away and there was no odor.

Now I'm living in Hilo with Robert Lee in a comfortable house and sleeping on a double futon with a couple of Canadians, Jan & Jay from Vancouver Island, who work farms around the island. Bob introduced me to Martin Hopman, a generous woodworker who gave me an hour learning about Hawaiian woods. He gave me samples which I'll send home. I also met Dan DeLuz and we chatted about his carvings and bowls. I'm going back tomorrow to watch him work. He has some very unusual tools and I'm sure I will enjoy it. Anyway, soup is ready. With luck , I'll try to put up some pictures. All best wishes, Nick aka Dadadski

Hawaii December 25, 2010 - January 13, 2011

2011-01-29T20:38:00.000-10:00

Been here on the Big Island of Hawaii since Christmas Day when Heather & I flew from Philadelphia," got outta' town" only just missing the first Mondo Snow Storm of the season; 30" in a day, which promptly screwed all travel on the East Coast. We were so relieved, relaxed in Phoenix our transfer point to Kona, that our connecting plane took off without us! Bugger !, US Air saved our bacon by immediately putting us on a flight to Honolulu connecting to Kona, so we arrived only 3 hours later than scheduled. A half hour drive from the airport through a desert of lava fields stretching to the far distant volcano hills; signs indicating, "Feral Donkeys in the next 5 miles", and a twisty road rising 800 feet brought us to Wiakoloa Greens Village, an oasis of condo's surrounding a lush golf course and our headquarters until January 18th.
A week earlier, Marla, Hank, Niah had come from Fairbanks, AK. Trudy & Larry, from Phoenix, AZ. Our Christmas tree was a plastic repro of some tropical bush; however, covered with beads, ornaments and ribbon taken from opened presents, it looked perfect. Niah was the center of attention. She's bright-eyed and bushy tailed, curious about every little thing. At 10 months old she complains when her pants are full and her belly is empty. Otherwise, she's a joy. Like the knights who said " NeH", Niah says," Neh". Marla insists she is blowing kisses and saying "Meh" , but I know a Neh from a Meh. She also clucks her tongue and claps her hands and somehow seems much older.
Every day we have visited Kona beaches which are amazingly various and worth exploring; some sandy, most lava enclosed with coral under crystal water, no seaweed or lichen on the black rocks; occasionally, sweeping, mile-long curves, fringed with coconut palms. The more difficult the trail to the beach, the less crowded. We have purposely chosen less crowded and thus have usually hiked 1/2 hour or more across old, open lava fields. Some look like huge cow flops , undulating to the horizon; others are like sharp splintered glass where one touch will rip the skin and blood will flow. I find these to be exciting; the possibility of injury keeps the senses alert while the coarse, gravel-like pathway along the Kings trail, a 175 mile path connecting ancient villages, massages the feet.
A typical day starts about 8 am with a hearty breakfast when we decide what we're going to do that day. Tourist books and brochures are consulted while Heather & Marla begin a production line making sandwiches and snacks for lunch. Let's say " Ke-awa-iki" beach. To get there you have to park on the highway and walk on a 30" wide, crushed, lava trail for 1/2 hour before coming to the "smashing surprise" of ocean waves tumbling down a black sand and gravel beach. Then skirt a stretch of private land on mini pebbles, sloping 45 degrees to the water with irritating, bits catching under sandals every few steps. We watched a pod of whales surfacing and swimming in a large circle. Must have been 20 as spouts originated from different places simultaneously. Hank was carrying Niah in a backpack with a 'Howdah" like canopy and she was checking everything along the trail, occasionally vocalizing in pleasure at what she saw. Steve Sweet, one of Hank's good friends from Fairbanks had joined us. Beach mats and snorkel equipment, water , Niah's accouterments , spare nappies and so on are stuffed into knapsacks and unpacked under a shady tree only yards from a quiet tide pool. There's only one other couple on the beach who tell us the snorkeling is excellent just outside the breakwater, past the dark lava where turtles have pulled out to sunbathe.
I brought my carving knives and bought a pruning saw so, while others are reading/swimming/snoozing, I check out downed trees and driftwood for twisty burls or unusual grain of which the shoreline is amply provided. It's likely poor Heather will return to Philly with almost another suitcase of treasures as I'm going on to New Zealand for a couple of months with only a small suitcase. If I find any more wood we'll be at the Post Office shipping it home. Likely, as Hank gave Heather a goat, ram's skull that he found a few days before Christmas on a jogging trail near our Condominium and she definitely wants to send it home. Today she found another skull, looks like a sea gull, lovely curved beak.
During my exploration for wood at Ke-awa-iki beach, I found a four-wheel drive road across the undulating lava flops ,( there must be a scientific name?), and so the return to the car was not as difficult as going. We carry about 5 liters of water which is usually gone by the time we get back to the car. Temperatures on the ancient lava, especially when there is no breeze, makes one thirsty.
Home by 5:30 tanned, tired and hungry. After a shower, Big Island Micro-brewed beer all around and as we have a gas grill, supper is often steak or local fish combined with a large fresh salad. By 8:30 everyone is heading for bed, ostensibly to read but within a few minutes lights go out and we're asleep until next morning. ( Except Marla & Niah & Hank who wake every few hours to feed.) Hard work living in the Tropics. Love and all best wishes, Nick
P.S. Happy New Year ! If you know any friends or family in New Zealand and wish me to be your ambassador ? please forewarn them and copy me. .... 6 degrees of separation, or so they say.
Marla has set up a photo gallery which can be accessed by clicking on : http://picasaweb.google.com/hank.stats/Hawaii_2010

AK Update

2010-05-23T07:52:00.000-10:00

To bring you a little up to date. It's been so long.

I lost my wallet and contents in Seattle on the way to meet Niah. Bummer as it contained my driver's license, credit cards, Medicare and a one year fishing license for Florida.

I spoke to the Alaska Div Motor Vehicles who were very sympathetic. NJ could learn a thing or two.

The bureau is streamlined and feels like going to the movies. A gentle woman asks your desires and then gives you a number to talk further to another gentle woman. At first all I got was sympathy. Then one adviser suggested I get an Alaska Driver's license!! She explained that if I wrote a post card to myself and mailed it to my daughter's street residence, and if it was delivered, I would be considered, by the DMV, to be a resident of Alaska. Since one department of Government, THE POST, had officially dubbed me Sir Nicholas of Alaska, who were they to argue. Also, they suggested I visit an almost empty Social Security Office to obtain a copy of my SS#. I had already been there to get a letter stating I was covered by Medicare. Chap was pleased to see me again

Three days later my post card arrived after being sent to Anchorage, sorted, returned to Fairbanks and placed in Marla's mailbox.

I returned to the quiet DMV and requested another number to take the driving written test again, a 20 question multiple choice exam. ( I had tried it the first day and failed as one must answer 16 correct and I got tripped up by a few screwy questions that I forget at the moment). However, I realized that each exam contained some of these and the option to SKIP was offered. This means that the question is put to the back of the pile to return again later. After 15 correct answers, I had it knocked; just a question of strategy; do all the easy ones first, skip the screwy ones.

Long story etc.. I've got an Alaska Driver's license. Bank of A, canceled my credit card and gave me a new one, but for the one year Florida Fishing license, I'm back.

Yes. Niah is cool. I get to spend quality time with her, sharing a bottle, burping and farting. There are no ladies around to take her away from me the minute she peeps. I've been here to watch as she begins to focus and am starting to teach her the tongue language wherein she sticks her tongue out and wiggles it in response to my lead. I'm practicing diaper speed changes and considering a contest much like Indy 500 pit stops. "Gentlemen grab your diapers..."

If I put her in a carrier called a Boppy, then put it on a 24" diameter exercise ball, I can reproduce the effect of driving in a car, flying, shooting rapids and so on, with great ease. I don't have to hold her weight and can continue for 1/2 an hour. Even sip a glass of wine. It's magic. I can flip a screaming child into a docile sleeper in less than a minute. I'm thinking of putting this on U-Tube to help all other Dadski's in distress.

Marla and Hank have the whole process well in hand. Marla is able to easily multi-task, cooking something on the stove, answering e-mails and feeding Niah, simultaneously. We were in a shoe store recently. Niah was hungry. No problem, she was placed on the appropriate button, wrapped under a shawl and Marla tried on various shoes. She bought a pair before Niah was finished.

Our weather has been fabulous with crystal clear skies, puffy clouds and all shades of blue. You can see Danali 80 miles away, (unusual but because it's 20 plus thousand feet high, it sticks up above the horizon.)

Most of all, I'm on call for Niah duty while Marla goes to work or to school or on a run. In between, I've finished a few projects; the railings and new wider stairs for the deck we built last fall (Heather, Mark, Hank & I ), a reconditioned compost bin found at the transfer station and today, a portable greenhouse. Life is good.

The Boys of Autumn. Hilton Head , March 22 - 27

2010-05-15T19:31:00.000-10:00

During the last week of April I visited with Hank and Marge Sieben in Sun City, Hilton Head, Georgia after leaving Jeff and Kristina in Gainesville. ( Marge is Hank’s Mum as in Hank & Marla, Hank (Sr.), his stepfather.) What a wonderful retirement community. I’m impressed by the scout camp-like atmosphere where people seem genuinely happy to see each other and there are so many activities offered it makes your head spin trying to decide which one to try.

One morning, a 55 degree sunny day, I went with Hank where he was to play a soft ball game at the Sun City diamond. Must have been a 100 people in attendance, 80 watching, probably 40 waiting their turn to play and 20 playing. Almost everyone knew Hank and they thumped him and each other in greeting. Lots of kidding about stiff arms, legs and shoulders that don’t quite work, hopes that they will in the coming games, hats being slapped against the other’s chest and gentle fists to the shoulder; just guys acting like kids though without the insecurity of youngsters trying out new roles.

The game is soft pitch, softball. The pitcher throws what we used to call “sucker“ balls, a slow curved arc to the batter which to be a strike, must hit a rectangular, 18” x 24”, plate. Even before the batter starts he has a ball and a strike against him. This makes the game go faster as each player has only 2 strikes to be out, three balls to walk. For the same reason, if the batter hits two foul balls, he’s out. The bases are designed to minimize collisions between players. First base is not a square but a rectangle made up of two squares one white one orange. The base runner has to touch the white side, the first baseman the orange side. Similarly, home plate is 18” or so away from the strike zone; the runner aims for the traditional diamond, the catcher, the rectangle mentioned earlier used for pitching. All these are meant to make the game safer for older players.
The camaraderie and good fellowship demonstrated by everyone is astounding. Even though each player wants to win, they applaud good hits, defensive catches, strong throws and running skills. “ Great hit, Gaston. You showed ‘em where you lived”. “ That guy has a cannon in mid-field.” “Christ, you wash lined that catch. Fantastic Vito!”

If a team reaches 5 runs in an inning, the other team comes to bat, (otherwise, in a miss-matched game, the score could be 50 to 1!). Also, games play in about an hour and a quarter, long enough to be challenging without crippling the players and short enough so that 6 or 7 games can be played in a normal day.

I was invited to stay in the team dug out, protected by hurricane fencing from foul and miss-thrown balls. Visibility was not as good as watching from the perimeter of the field but had the advantage of “listening in” on the team’s repartee.
Hank was the pitcher on the Outdoor Design (OD) Team so known because the Company had sponsored the uniform and bought an outfield advertisement. They were playing a formidable opponent, whose name escapes me, but a team made up with a number of players under 70, (“ ringers”, they would say). Hank is 74 and his first pitch hung too long, the batter got under it and made a solid hit to centerfield, and he scurried to 2nd base. Unfortunately, quite a few other hits followed and the score moved steadily towards 5 runs. Another dispensation to older age, whenever a runner whose running skills were diminished by arthritis or hip surgery made it to first base, a spry, 60 year old “pinch” alternate took his place. Some guys could really move, others not so well, sort of gimped and stuttered but with all the concentration and enthusiasm of committed youngsters. At 5 runs the teams switched sides.
Hank’s team were up and down in order; 1 2 3… gone. However, a special moment happened when Hank, number 2 in batting order, drove a slashing ball straight into left field. Home run for sure. The left fielder lurched into movement, gained speed and made a surprising, clothesline catch, feet off, almost horizontal and then crashed to the ground. Silence all around the field then, instantly 10 guys were at his side checking that nothing had broken. He unfolded, arose tentatively, and with a huge smile displayed the ball tightly held in his gloved hand. Hank was heard to say “ Holy Smoke. Da Bastid caught it !” in his inimitable Brooklyn accent.( Possible, he might have used another “S” word.) “Great catch Charlie, but don’t expect me to give you mouth-to-mouth “. Charlie got up, shook himself and contended he was “ Fine” so the game continued.
The OD team’s defense improved as the game continued but were having trouble scoring; by the 5th inning the score was 14 – 1, against. OD caught their first wind in the 6th, began to smoke and then flamed adding 3 runs. Then in the 7th, they shut their opponents down in order. Now the chant in the pen was, “ Only 10 to go to tie ‘em, 11 to win. We can do it. ”. (The 5 run rule is set aside in the last inning so the losing team can score as many as they are able, so long as they aren’t put out. ) The energy was electric and the score climbed to 14 - 9 with only one out. Did I mention the cheering wives? Cow bells, horns, clackers and loud enthusiastic shouts, both for and against. Probably 30 onlookers supporting both sides, all heavily invested in the game. What a hoot !
The 82-year old score keeper, plotting every play, was sitting on the edge of his seat hollering himself hoarse belittling the pitcher. The OD team bench was empty, all standing, fingers hanging through the fence, shouting alternatively, abuse at the other team and encouragement for their own heroes. Second batter struck out. Damn; the tension was unbearable. OD’s best hitter took the plate. First hit a foul ball, another and he’d be out. Whack; the ball made a gentle ark into the pitcher’s glove. Oh well, (deep breath), it wasn’t to be. The contest ended as both teams met on the diamond to warmly congratulate each other on a game well played.
As our teams cleared the field, the next two teams began sweeping the bases and cleaning up the runs in preparation for their game. There are 14 teams in the league. At the end of each season, members are shuffled about and are placed on a team according to the reports of their abilities, scrupulously noted by various scorekeepers. To make the games competitive the best players are balanced, shared around the teams in the league. Thus, over a period of years, players have often played with and against each other. Makes for great friendships, lots of memories and constant kidding; big kids without egos, just playing for fun. I‘d like to have joined.
Because our game ended at noon and it was Thursday, it was also,“ Hot Dog Day “; 12 inch long dogs for $1.50 each, dogs so good that people bought one to eat and two to take home for later. Hank bought a round for the team and as I reached for my wallet, he pressed me into the line saying, ” It’s all paid. Help yourself”. One spritely lady with a twinkle in her eye offered to spread relish“ all over your dog” which caught me openmouthed for a reply; three other ladies who overheard, exploded in laughter.

Hank & I played golf two days running. Didn’t bother to keep score, just enjoyed the game and felt good about the best shots. First game was played on one of the Sun City courses. I felt the designer of the course could have used the water hazards to better advantage. They always seemed to be peripheral to the fairways, never a threat. “ Wait ‘til tomorrow”, Hank said. “We’ll play a private course where their signature hole is a world renowned.” Number 13 was fantastic! The tee approached the green, diagonally and a crow flying would first pass over a patch of grass bordering reeds, a 30 foot sandy beach, 150 feet of open water, ( embracing the fairway in a large “L” , with the long arm receding to the right and past the green) , then over another beach, more reeds and sloping up 50 feet of fairway to the flag. Perhaps a 220 yard hole, tee to flag; certainly do-able in a perfect world. (Bloody big challenge; which we both rose to like hungry fish to flies.) After 6 balls lost, mostly right, EACH, we decided to try the conventional, more intelligent approach, out at 45 degrees to the diagonal, 100 yards or so and then across the water to the hole. Most humbling hole but wonderful fun. Screwed up the next one as well as it bordered the ocean and by this time we were “water shy”. Absolutely glorious day in a very posh resort where numerous 10 acre lots are offered for one million dollars each and houses started at 3 or 4. Beautiful but deserted and unlike the beehive community of Sun City, we hardly saw anyone except some of Hank’s security guard colleagues who patrol the area. Hank has a part time job at the resort thus he invites special guests and we were able to play.
My four days with Hank and Marge gave me a new appreciation for the Sun City retirement community. Everyone I met was friendly and welcoming, probably because I was with Hank who engenders these interactions. None-the-less, I could see myself living there. I must mention a visit to a dilapidated clam shack on the edge of a bay where the absolute best, fresh water clams were available, dredged directly from the river, cleaned and shucked for $8.95 a pound. On my last day Marge and I visited Hilton Head, the Lighthouse, Harbor, Stores and then walked for miles along a beach with dolphins for company. This is the area Hank (Jr.) spent his summers. I was shown the spot where he managed to sail his windsurfer into a bank of clamshells . He came out bloodied but unbowed. That evening we saw a production of “ Little Shop of Horrors” at the Sun City Theatre, produced and presented by residents. It was enjoyable and full of energy. However, it is tough to cast 60 year old gals to play bobby-soxers, even though their voices are youthful, they are undone by ageing muscles and sagging bodies.
I was pleased to have time to get to know Hank’s folks better who, although I’d met previously at events such as Marla’s wedding or when they were passing through Fairbanks on a cruise, didn’t. They are generous host and I look forward to our next meeting.
After leaving Hilton Head, I briefly stopped in Charleston with the hope of exploring a city I had visited and enjoyed, years ago. A marathon was being run on Saturday and 40,000 additional folk were expected for the weekend, consequently downtown rooms were going for $350 a night; traffic police were directing cars into remote parking areas and everything seemed chaotic. I wasn’t up for the hassle; I headed for Myrtle Beach 300 miles North. All along the highway I could see the early signs of spring; forsythia in riotous yellow, cascading in shaggy clumps, cherry blossoms against the dark green of new grass. Next day, after an early breakfast I started to think of home and all the work I’d have to do to prepare for summer; the fields full of overgrown grass, gutters to repair from the heavy winter snow, new skins to replace on my hot water solar collectors, who knows what else. I put my foot down, drove 500 miles with a brief stop for lunch, the longest day of my trip, through the city of Washington, across Maryland and Delaware into New Jersey and home by about 10 pm. I walked about the yard in the dark and realized I had been premature; nothing growing just then, but certainly, immanent. I’d been away since January 26 and returned March 28, two, mostly fascination months, visiting old friends, making new and meeting family previously unmet. What a great way to spend a life!

Punta Gorda. Evergaldes, Islamorada Key, Mar 7 - 16

2010-03-19T04:31:00.000-10:00

Punta Gorda, where Hank's Dad lives, was only 1/2 hour drive away from Harry's place in Port Charlotte across an arching bridge with views of the bay and the city. Once you leave the city of Punta Gourda, the road cuts through what I've come to think of as most of Florida; scrub pine, sawtooth palmetto , sand and mangrove. An old guy I met told me to keep an eye out for wild pigs. " A 300 pound sow can make a hell of a dent in a car; put you right off the road." I saw a family of pigs chowing down on the edge of the road. He also mentioned that pigs that got hit didn't rot much as locals "picked 'em up and ate 'em". Gives roadkill a new meaning. Don't know what they do with the passengers.

Frank is a burly guy with a brush cut. I brought him pictures of a boat that the Tokay's want to get rid of. It's been unused since Charley's visit, but still floating. A 20 foot O'Day, without a mast , rigging and sail ; probably a major recon job. I'd have a go, if I lived nearby and was hoping Frank would be interested as it would have been a neat project to re-cycle .

Understandable , as it'd cost a grand or more to refit. His partner is Rebecca, Becky to her friends and family, some of whom were visiting. Phylis and Dennis are her siblings; Mike is Phylis' husband. Mike is in a wheel chair because of MS. He used to be a firefighter and I know he's mighty frustrated being a burden, not being able to be active. Phylis takes good care of him; nonetheless, it sucks. Dennis is a retired Policeman from Michigan, a friendly guy who I found out had a great sense of humor.

Almost as soon as the introductions were completed, Frank was thinking about fishing. Me too. We went to his favorite store to check out a new rod which the salesman, also an avid fisherman had decided Frank would buy. He was right, the balance and weight was perfect and would match Frank's new reel . That afternoon he took me to the flats about a mile off the road, down what must have previously been a logging road. He lent me a rod, gave me instructions and suggestions on how best to work the lure and we started to fish. The water stays knee deep for about 1/2 mile from shore where a tan sand bar divides the aqua water from the deeper green of the bay. Patches of seaweed are the home to snook, redfish and sea trout. Frank told me to shuffle as I walked as stepping on a sting ray would result in a month of pain. I shuffled.

I caught the first fish, a nice sea trout which Frank unhooked for me with a special unhooking device, ( and as it turns out, the only fish I caught in 4 days of serious fishing. Oh well. Hope springs eternal and a good day fishing, etc., etc..) We released the fish. Frank caught another and released it. That night and into the next day, it rained 6" in 10 hours. Further down the coast it had rained 8"! Everything was soggy but by afternoon the sun came out, so we had another go at fishing. This was the road we had walked yesterday, now ankle deep and a semi river. Naturally it affected the ocean water turning it Bovril brown where yesterday it was crystal clear. The wind was blowing 15 -20 knots from the bay, so we hiked out 1/2 mile and fished parallel for 1 mile or so. After about 90 minutes , Nada, except my hands turned white and I lost all sensation in my fingers, just wooden sticks ; always happens with wind and 60 degree water, so we pulled the plug.

We returned home, had a beer or two and chatted with the family. Becky had come from Wal Mart where she works, Max the parrot, from his cage in the corner. He, Max, is infatuated with Frank, only person he likes to be near. Whenever someone else is too close, Frank gets bitten. Figure that ?

My last day, I played golf with Dennis and his friend from Michigan, Michael, who has recently become besotted with Robin, a lovely lady in her mid forties who seems to reciprocate his feelings. Michael is 75 and acted 18. He claimed much of his golfing power had been squandered the previous night. In any case, we had an enjoyable day of golf , even though the wind was howling and the greens were as hard as a billiard table.

Like many houses in Florida, Frank's is set off in the middle of a large field. He had to clear a lot of Kudzu, the vine overtaking the South and was fortunate to have a few trees left on his property. We tried fishing one last day, the day the big tournament was taking place and the one where Frank got bumped off a team because another more important guy turned up. We drove to the end of Pine Island and fished in a wind secluded bay for a few hours. Nada, again. However we did have an incredible hamburger in a small village, sitting at dockside and watching boats. We quit in time to make it back to hear the results of the Red Fish tournament broadcast at the Crab Bar in Punta Gorda. Frank's team, the one he didn't join came in 2nd to last with 2 red fish weighing a total of 4.8 lbs. The winners, travelled 130 miles to places unknown and caught 2 fish weighing 15.8 lbs. They had to be red fish, no longer than 27" each and anyone who would be a contender had to have scoped out the Bay well in advance. Frank was not upset that he didn't get up at 5am.

Frank, Becky and Dennis in the living room and on the couch where I slept most comfortably for a few days. I know I screwed up the normal daily routine since the kitchen was in the same room. Thanks for being so quiet each morning Becky!

When I arrived at Everglades City I was surprised to note I had already been there with Linda some years ago. We had been involved with an all day trip through the Everglades guided by an extremely knowledgeable naturalist. Everglades City had been one of our stops and a boat ride out to surrounding islands. This day, the wind was about 30 knots. They had only canoes. To get to the safety of a small mangrove edged creek, one had to cross about a 1/2 mile open bay. I ate my lunch , did a bit of carving and decided to head for the other, hopefully quieter side of the Everglades, near the Keys.

This handsome fellow was laying by the side of the road and seemed to be smiling. I reckon he was 15 feet long. I watched for awhile. Another monster alligator was swimming in the river, slow, powerful sweeps of his tail moved him silently forward and only front teeth shining above the water. Fish were fleeing, leaping out of the water when he slowly sank. I can imagine he found one or two.

This photo was taken beside Clyde Butcher's Gallery. He is a superb photographer who has specialized in taking glass slide pictures of the Everglades carrying 100 pounds of an ancient Kodak Camera into the swamp.

I like playing with the reflection; this one's right side up. It would probably look better flipped.

Harry had given me the name of one of his friends who had a place in Tavernier Key. I knocked on Gary Kuhlman's door about 11 am and as it was the day before St Patrick's Day, brought some good Irish beer. He's a retired tree surgeon from Michigan, loves to fish and specializes in bone fish, " Whom God wishes to drive mad, he first makes a bone fisherman". As we chatted and drank a cool one I looked off the edge of his dock and was amazed to see a 10' manatee floating not 5 feet away! " O Yeah. Spot " he said, "I'll bring him to the surface for you ." Gary dropped a garden hose into the water and Ol' Spot hooked on like a fighter jet to a tanker to drink for the next 30 minutes. Turns out that manatee cannot drink salt water and in the wild must find sweet water springs to slake their thirst. Gary made the search easier.

He sank to the bottom until the hose was turned off. I thought he'd drowned.

Gary was pleased to take his flat boat out and show me around the fishing neighborhood. Dick, an old friend of his came along. We first tried for red fish . I stood in readiness on the prow of the boat while Gary poled, ( punted) with a 12' long, fiberglass pole. This is so we can sneak up on the fish. The water was clear but had a little tea color on account of the rain. Gary poled expertly around the edges of the mangrove, I kept a too tight ,white knuckle grip on the rod expecting, any second to see my fish. Besides a few bait fish, ( minnows) and some mullet; Nada, but you already know that. Gary was really surprised as he was certain we would catch something. Then he dropped the motor into the water and I nearly slid into the water as he hit 30 knots heading for Tavernier creek, another certain fish hole.

Gary & Dick on the flat boat. I'm sitting , desperately holding on with one hand and taking this photo.

We must have covered 20 miles , through passages that joined one side of the Keys to the other, down to Islamorada, ( love the name ) , past incredible houses and screaming just feet over the bottom of the bay. Felt like 50 miles an hour so close to the surface of the water.

I left Gary about 3 pm. and was sorry that he had other plans as I really enjoyed his company. I showed him a picture of the Champion Live Oak. He was as impressed as I am. Later I went into Islamorada. stopped at the Sportsman Center and gazed at the fish I had hoped to catch swimming in an immense aquarium in the store. I talked to Sandy Moret the owner of a fly fishing school and guide business who said the conditions had been drastically turned upside down by the cold snap, that hundreds of snook had died because the water temperature had fallen below 50 degrees. However, he smiled and said the tarpon would be coming in, soon. The pelican on the Marina sign is real. He flew away when I tried to touch him.

Next day was cold and rainy. I had hoped to canoe in the Everglades but decided to aim for Gainesville and warmer conditions on the Sante Fe river, canoing with Jeff. The drive confirmed my opinion of Florida, miles and miles of nothing but miles and miles. Flat fields through Clewiston the Capital of Cane Sugar where I had and excellent buffet lunch at the Clewiston Inn. They served a delectable corned beef and cabbage in honor of St Pat. In the lobby was a museum of "all things Sugar Cane". I especially admired aluminum legging armor for cane cutters. Knights of old would have been envious. I swung past Orlando and headed north on Florida's Tnpk paying $3 for the privilege of doing 8o. Lovely names,; Okahumpa. Wierdsdale, Apopka, Oklawaha; I stopped at Micanopy to buy 1/4 bushel of Tangerines, just short of Gainesville and on a road I knew was going towards Jeff's place. He had prepared a welcome supper. It was good to be back to Je"Free", Kristina and my comfortable bed with plans to canoe the Rise River tomorrow.

That had to wait until Friday when the weather turned beautiful again, 76 degrees, no humidity or flies. The Rise river get it's name from the fact that the Sante Fe vanishes underground for 3 miles joining a huge underwater aquifer and then suddenly rises, springs up at the source of the Rise. Mike, one of Jeff's colleagues joined us with his inflatable kayak. We rented the old standby, a Grumman aluminum canoe which the attendant claimed was "at least 30 years old, but indestructible" .

Spring is "just around the corner". Witness the flashy red of the swamp maple flowers, the brilliant green of the floating weed. ( Don't know it's name. Fluffy looking islands where, on our approach, alligators vanished.) Check the reflections, bloody marvelous! Lots of turtles sunning themselves and warily eyeing us, and wondering, should we leap or stay sitting on this comfortable log?

Saturday, I spent some time on my re-carve piece that I had found at the flea Market in Sarasota. I'm indebted to the original carver for the theme. He may or may not approve of my improvements; I learn by thinking how he carved it and by the changes I make. I'm going to like the finished piece.

On Saturday Jeff, G-eff ( said with a strong Southern accent) and I played golf and hooked up with Vic on the 3rd hole. We had a lot of fun. G-eff is from South Carolina, who has a wicked sense of humor, played golf in flip flops and didn't notice that most of the clubs he rented were left handed. "Whats the difference between a lost ball and the G spot " He asked. " A guy will spend 30 minutes looking for a lost ball".

And Jeff says. " G-eff has single handily upheld the penicillin industry during this recent recession"

We played well. Jeff kept a sharp eye on my strokes as well he might. I need a clicker which goes off each time I swing for real. I just can't remember anything in the short term. None the less, I beat 'em, fair and square.!! One guy, (G-eff) was exactly 1/2 my age, the other, Jeff, 2/3rds. Hooray. Afterwards we went to the Red Onion Bar and had one hell of a meal listening to a gal with a voice like caramel, lovely rendition of "Autumn Leaves, Summertime and I Get so Lonely" amongst many others.

Today, I've been writing since 10:30 with a short break at 5pm. It's nearly supper and Jeff is at it again. Tilapia in a ginger , tangerine sauce, grilled eggplant, and a walnut, raspberry salad with blue cheese dressing. Going to be hard to leave tomorrow.

Sarasota to Port Charlotte, FL March 2 - 7

2010-03-18T11:16:00.000-10:00

Stan took me on a drive about Sarasota; to Turtle beach made of rough brown sand where the wind was whipping and two people were harvesting limpets: to Siesta Beach, a mile long crescent of snow white sand which National Geographic has claimed to be one of the most beautiful in Florida; then downtown to various Theatres and over to the Asolo Theatre where Jim Bakkom and I did a weekend seminar so many years ago, part of UF and the Ringling Museum. I remember three long days, challenging questions, new insights and a long soak watching stars in the Gulf of Mexico.

Lunch was at a Cuban restaurant, which has served Floridians for 5 generations. Their “1905” salad honored great grandfather’s culinary skills. I was very pleased to see some of my favorite sculptures from” Grounds For Sculpture” in Trenton, NJ, represented along the Sarasota shore line. Last time I was at GFS, probably October 09, I noticed some pieces were missing. The dancing log partners now dance in Florida sunshine.

Joyce made a superb dinner and we caught up on 40 years! The last time we were together was in 1967 when Trudy & I “honeymooned” on a road trip from Wisconsin to Montreal during the very short 6-day war between Israel and Egypt. I am beginning to think memories are stored in a deep pool where events and people are layered like leaves falling into water. They rise up again in the most unexpected ways; like those black “8” balls which , after a shake and turnover, an answer to a question floats to the surface; “ Yes. She's waiting … or No chance”. We lived Next Street over 60 years ago so some names and events haven’t surfaced for a long time. Like Champagne bubbles popping these memories burst forth as entertaining and pleasant surprises.

One night I attended a Pulitzer Prize play called “Ruined” at the Keating Theatre in Sarasota. Got the last ticket. Heavy subject about war in the Congo and a whorehouse/ tavern run by a Mother Courage type lady who services soldiers from both sides with drink and comfort. She attempts to walk the thin line of fanatical politics as each side continues to slaughter the other. The working ladies are those who have been rescued from horrible brutalities and allowed to find a home working in her brothel.

The theatre had approx. 350 seats, so was intimate with excellent sight lines. The soldiers to a man, were physical specimens, muscles rippling and clearly representing mortal threats, the ladies in various stage of disarray and disposition; some very sexy, some shattered from gang rape and enforced slavery. Like Brecht’s play, one leaves the theatre with a feeling of revulsion against the inhumanity and savagery of mankind.

LaVahn, my circus professor friend, mailed complimentary tickets to the Ringling Circus Museum where Stan, Joyce & I spent 5 enjoyable hours.

The first tent housed the extraordinary Miniature Circus; a 45-year passion carved (!!) by one man, Howard Tibble , which I'll call, A DAY AT THE BIG TOP CIRCUS. It started with load-in, through performance, to load out , perhaps 24 hours later. 6,000 miniature people, 1 ½ inches tall, in 8 tents, interspersed and interacting with 800 animals, 100’s of vehicles and a 59 car, train, all to scale and representing every phase of living, working, performing and enjoying a Circus.

As I left I realized what I hadn’t thought of before, the extraordinary planning and organization required to transport and produce such a monumental event, (often only one day at a site before moving to the next). Hundreds of men and women on the “Flying Squad” arrived a day early to set everything up for the performers and their audience. A kitchen to serve 2000 in shifts was first, then animal tents, the Midway with all it’s games and temptations, the three rings of the Big Top, adjacent dressing room tents, holding space offstage for the next acts, and so, on and on.

One walked into the L shaped space of approximately 3500 square feet and on the short end of the L, passed empty freight cars, which had brought everything we were to see. Next, the first dinning tent and hundreds of tiny costumed people, row on row, all in different realistic poses sitting down to eat. By the time you reached the 3 rings of the Big Top, you had passed through the Midway, where the bearded lady, the thin man beckoned and of course, all the other ways a pocket could be lightened, balloons, cotton candy, peek shows etc. I felt like Gulliver looking down on Lilliputians surveying 50 acres of activity. Although we spent time at other attractions I was deeply impressed with the amazing thoroughness of Tibble's creation.
The Museum Grounds were scattered with impressive sculpture which Ringling had purchased in his worldwide travels. This one caught my attention. Don't know the story but would be easy enough to say she had said NO to some powerful King and he, to get her attention, tied her to an enraged bull.

After a delicious early dinner at " the best" fish house in Sarasota, we drove to watch a glorious sunset. Most people left as soon as the green flash moment passed. It did become colder but, 5 minutes later and a little patience, they would have seen this awesome sky.

Saturday just before leaving Sarasota for Port Charlotte, Stan & I found a flea market where I promptly bought “stuff”. Two ducks carved from South American rosewood, a finger plane, books, a 50 year old carved piece of teak, which I will have fun re-carving.
(I’m fulfilling my mission, old friends, theater, flea markets, National Parks, and wooden things.)

Harry & Carol Tokay live on a canal where their 40 foot motor boat floats 50 feet from the living room. They helped me unpack and showed me to my nautically themed room . Harry collects ducks so the two I adopted, joined his. Our last meeting was in Atlantic City 10 or 12 years ago. They were sailing from Florida to Maine. Since then, hurricane Charley visited Port Charlotte in 2004 and devastated the area and thus created open lots where houses once stood and showed the strength of 140 mile/hour winds. Harry’s lost weight and his red hair, Carol seems to always stay young and still mischievous; both are healthy, enjoying their lives together and their daily activities of tennis, golf, boating, and socializing at a very neat Yacht club in Punta Gorda across the bay.

The night I arrived, Niah Lenwood Statscewich, Marla & Hank’s baby girl also "dropped in" , in a Fairbanks AK. birthing center; Trudy was in the outfield, Marla the pitcher, and Hank caught her. Marla says the placenta was slow in coming. She asked for a little more time before a medication would be given to speed up the process. One of the nurses pressed on a pressure point on her little toe and " vois la ", it also dropped out, a completely natural childbirth. Good on ya, everybody. Niah's trip was longer, probably more difficult and Marla was relieved and overjoyed. We raised numerous glasses in their honors and hit the sack late.

Sunday was glorious. We brunched at the Club and then drove around Punta Gorda.

The houses and lots were tastefully groomed, with glimpses of Charlotte harbor behind palm trees and mangrove. No building can exceed 3 stories in height so the contrast with Sarasota where high-rises abound was striking. We visited a rescue center for birds and animals that could no longer fend for themselves. Two bald Eagles, both missing their left wings sat shouting their high-pitched bleat. (OK so it’s not a bleat, certainly not a whistle, perhaps a screech.) If one had a right wing, they could have teamed up, duct taped together and awkwardly flown?? White and brown pelicans in abundance, ospreys and red tailed hawks, a horned owl and quite a few buzzards and vultures who flew in to scrounge an easy meal. I bought an Eagle carved into a Tagua nut from South America. Tagua is called vegetable ivory in that the nut very hard and milky white.

Driving home we passed a Crafts show where I got an in depth introduction to ancient sharks by a guy selling fossilized shark’s teeth. Also, seen for the 2nd time (first with John in Lunenburg, NS), an excellent plastic simulation of a white crane made out of 4 inch, PVC pipe. The legs bent when blown in the wind and the head bowed, which I intend to make (someday). We had a beer at the Crab House and met the same honeymooners who asked us to take their picture in the park near the Craft Fair. The bar area overlooked the bay and was decorated with magnificent carvings.

Check out the eagle in the entrance to the building.

That afternoon the Yacht Club was reviewing the fleet. The three of us briefly joined them in Charlotte Harbor to take pictures and shout compliments to the passing boats. Out in the bay, a regatta was in progress with 60 sailboats scrumming for a start. (Yeah. I know; they don’t scrum, they ??? ). The sun was warm and for a change the temperatures enticed folk out to enjoy the weather. Once the sun set, it became quite chilly and cool. We headed for a Tia restaurant and has a good nosh. On Monday, I was looking for a project. The re-roofing of a shed seemed too ambitious so clearing out a poolside bathroom of toilet, sink and shower and converting it to better storage, sufficed. Tomorrow. For the first time, I’ll meet Hank’s Dad, Frank, the other Grand Dad in the Niah equation. He thinks a day fishing is the right thing to do. I lay my pole at his feet.

Okefenokee swamp. GA; Gainesville to Sarasota Fl. Feb 20 – Mar 1st

2010-03-01T05:46:00.000-10:00

Valdosta to Fargo is about 45 miles through forests of pulp pine on a road, drawn by snapping a chalk line. Speed limit posted was 45; I was late, did 75 and never saw a sole. At Fargo, I stopped and asked a local if he knew where I could rent a canoe.” Take the next left, go 17 miles and you’ll reach the main office of the State Park.” I left a phone message with Jeff saying I was going on. Again, I was on a road like an arrow where 30’ long stake trucks stood on either side, each loaded with 10” diameter poles like so much spaghetti and close to clear cut land. Monday morning, tractor-trailers will take them away to be chipped for pulp.

I took a picture to the entrance of the park and chortled.

As I was deciding whether a canoe or a kayak, Jeff came in and gave me a bear hug. Kristina brought a picnic; we grabbed paddles, life jackets and went to the boat jetty. My kayak was #1, their canoe the first on the rack. No others were rented by 11:30. By a sign warning of alligators, slept 6 footer.

The water is black, opaque and as reflective as any mirror. I couldn’t believe the clarity of the reflection, almost as though it was sharper focused than the object being reflected (which by comparison, seemed blurred.) Everywhere I looked the mirror image was fascinating. Turn the following photograph upside down, the light blue above, that’s the way it was photographed. I flipped it as I think it looks better with the blue of the sky in the water.

We saw quite a few very large alligators. Jeff saw the first because he moved off the bank, slipped into the water and floated. The reflection made him look like a rippled, thin log, just the snout, nose and eyes, doubled, and then a space and following, a repeating image of spiky scales. You couldn’t imagine the actual shape or how long he was until the tail broke the surface 8 feet behind the eyes.

There were almost no other living creatures. One woodpecker, one snakebird, just silence and droplets as our paddles sliced the black water. It was magical and peaceful; took my shirt off and, alligator-like, soaked up the sunshine.

We returned our boats around 4:30.

Driving to Gainesville was fast; a constant flow of high-speed vehicles. The dogs, Coda and Ethyl barked welcome. Jeff made a delicious fish dinner; we talked until 2 with a model of the shovel sculpture sitting on the dining room table.

Sculptor working on model of twisted shovel pipe

Ostensibly, this was the reason I visited; to help Jeff weld 50 shovel heads to a 12’ high, black pipe, inverted cone. Florence, his elderly neighbour’s husband had been a metal worker. His shop, a spacious barn, was complete with a forge, electric hammer, anvils and marvelous collection of ancient tools. Outside was a pipe bender with a patent date of “ 1872 “ stamped into it’s throat. However, there was no welding equipment. We purchased 40 feet of 1” mild steel black pipe and necessary fittings and started to reproduce the model. If the pipe is held at a constant flat angle, with the immense leverage of 10’, it’s fairly easy to bend a 4-foot diameter circle. The conical shape meant that it also had to climb so one has to crimp and bend with a slight inward twist as the pipe is fed into the bender. We completed the top and most difficult bend first. Jeff kept the upward motion consistent, I pulled and grunted. It took a few hours and then it was dark.

The next day, I joined Jeff in his lab where he was trying to prove/disprove the existence of specific neurons in a very exact area of a rat’s brain. The preparation took 2 hours; mixing very exact solutions of chemicals, laying out the surgery, adjusting the microscope and pipette making equipment. After lunch, a rat was procured, decapitated, the brain removed and then sliced into wafer thin sections and placed into an oxygen-enriched fluid. The first rat didn’t work out so the process was repeated with another.

Jeff’s skill was remarkable. Infinitesimal small slices were put under the microscope and enlarged to fill a 20-inch computer screen. He could find one cell, place probes on either side of it, connect one inside and use the other to spray the cell with a known chemical. The electrical reaction produced by the cell created a specific graphic, signature pattern, which identified its type. In the next 4 hours Jeff was able to test 4 cells; astonishing, detailed, exacting work. I tried my hand at manipulating the probes. Like playing an electronic game in a 3D environment; needs a lot of practice to be as expert as Jeff.

On Saturday we returned to finishing the sculpture. Instead of 3 lengths of pipe, Jeff determined that two lengths more closely matched his intent. It’s possible the threaded joints will need to be welded to stop them twisting under the weight of the shovel heads which Jeff had collected from local flea markets. I drilled and pinned the elbow holding the most weight. He has both arrow and flat-headed shovels. By taping them , with points along the pipe Jeff created a convincing, organic, petal-like, simulation of a sort of cactus. Florence suggested three arrow shovels bunched together at the top.

Every evening, Jeff provided delicious suppers. Friday, we had a BBQ party with friends and neighbors and, one night we went out for Pizza. It compared in quality to those Travis and the boys make Tuesday nights or ones we ate at the Moose’s Tooth in Anchorage.

Sunday Kristina purchased a large and heavy set of drawers near Cellon park, which contained a “ champion live oak”, 344 inches in circumference, 79’ high, a canopy spread of 154’. Note: Jeff, the tiny insect standing on the left, opposite the branch touching the ground. A phenominal tree; largest I've ever seen. Unfortunately, no one has cored it to determine it's age but I would guess 6 or 7oo. You can walk up the branch touching the ground on the right, fairly hairy but , if you don't fall off, you'll be 20 feet up when you reach the trunk.

We picked up the drawer and later we watched the Canada/USA Olympic hockey game with Larry, Jeff’s neighbor. He uses a 4-foot wide, metal, freestanding fire pit to burn fallen pine branches and keep his yard tidy. We enjoyed its warmth, the company, the wine and, of course, the game won in overtime 3 to 2 by Canada!

Following morning I shared a shower with Grasshopper who was inside because the temperatures had been hovering in the 40ies. He liked the overspray.

I left Gainesville passing through Ocala and heading south on 75. While with Jeff, I searched on line for Harry & Carol Tokay, friends from U Mass, Amherst 1968. Because I had unearthed and was using a 25-year-old road map, his name was unexpectedly written beside Port Charlotte, FL. Damned if I didn’t find an address and a phone number. I’ve been unsuccessful for the past 15 years.

I left a message to which Carol responded a few hours later as I was on the road to Sarasota. What a hoot! We arraigned to meet on Saturday after my visit with Stan & Joyce Winton, who I hadn’t seen since, probably 1967. Serendipity; my old friends living almost in the same neighborhood.

Stan is almost exactly as I imagined, older, but recognizable as his younger self. They married 49 years ago and the mutual admiration and respect they hold for each other explains the longevity.

Their condo overlooks a ½ mile bay on the intercostal with an uninterrupted view of mangroves, birds and sailboats , an ever-changing panorama as daylight and weather conditionsvary. It’s their 2^nd home away from the Montreal home but I suspect it will become their first. They love the culture of Sarasota, the weather , how convenient their needs are met and the friends and activities they have in Condo-Dom.

Looking south , out of the screened porch

Yesterday we called Bob Mason one of our friends from teen days living on a frozen lake north of Lachute. ( It thaws in the Spring.) Our conversations brought memories that haven’t surfaced for many years. Great to have such friends from so long ago !

2010-02-26T10:55:00.000-10:00

From Williamsburg VA, to the Okefenokee Swamp GA, Feb 10 – 21

2010-02-23T15:49:00.000-10:00

From Williamsburg VA, to the Okefenokee Swamp GA, Feb 10 – 21

It did snow in Williamsburg; wet and windy and raw and so a perfect day for the DeWitt Wallace Museum and more specifically the Abby Rockefeller Folk Art section.

I was shepherded through by Ellen Morris, an interpreter/docent who gave me nearly 2 hours, one on one, as she described individual objects collected by Abby; an amazing array of fascinating art made by normal folk without the blessing of institutions. I was particularly drawn to carvings and weathervanes and as my old neighbor, Mrs. Hutchinson was a master theorem painter, I thought of her while admiring the collection.

When I came out 5 hours later, the sun had vanquished the snow and Williamsburg Village was a Christmas card scene. If prancing horses, sleds and sleigh bells had been there; I would have been looking at 200 years ago.

On Thursday I drove across Virginia in glorious sunshine. The roads were clear and sure. My goal was Roanoke where I found a hotel, which reminded me of the Crimea. Almost everything had a dusky smell. The guy at the desk was certainly Russian and after he asked for my driver’s license and photocopied it, I remembered the same being done in Sevastopol. This place was on the edge of a city Airport. It was certainly quiet; there was one other car in the lot.

Friday, I met with Lavahn Hoh, (now Dean of Arts? at the U of VA, Charlottesville) in a Ruby Tuesday restaurant nearby. He was one of my graduate students at the University of Wisconsin, now 37 odd years later he’s still where he was hired and is the only prof. I know who teaches a course related to all aspects of Circus. Consequently, with him in mind and found in my special flea market, I bought and brought an ancient Circus tent mallet; an 8 pound chunk of bug eaten, oak, ringed either end with hoops of steel and connected to a sturdy ash handle. If only there was a song about a tent pole driving man! We reminisced about UW days and old friends and then he had to leave for a previously scheduled appointment.

He mentioned “Barter Theatre” about 100 miles south and suggested I visit. I dialed it in to Tom-Tom and a few hours later bought tickets to a superb performance of “Alice in Wonderland “. Imaginative choreography throughout, for example when Alice has to go down the rabbit hole, a chorus of 8 dancers, dressed in brown, picked her up under her arms and flew her around the stage, bent down to create a ledge and rolled her across their backs, flipped her over and pulled her under. These same actors played all the bit parts by adding masks and props. The Cheshire cat, for example, had a segmented mask, so that eyes, nose, ears could each be folded back, over the actors head, to leave only the smile.

Kids in the audience participated with Alice as she got too big or too small to fit through doors held by the chorus. “ Should I eat this? “ she’d ask; to a response … “ No, it’s poison” from some tyke in the front row.

On Saturday, a little overcast, I drove towards Asheville and into a blizzard. Not a whiteout, rather lots of large flakes blowing horizontally. The road twisted and climbed through ever-higher mountains. This was completely unexpected and reminded me of Vermont passes as I neared the highest point. Signs warned truckers to shift into lower gears; a 7 degree slope ahead and in case of brake failure, a run-away truck ramp at almost every corner. As I came down I drove out of Winter into Spring; red buds burgeoning on maples, robins in their hundreds; Asheville in sunshine.

Haley, John and Evan Davison were friends we had made in Kaua’i a year ago last January 09 who have since moved to Asheville. Both Haley and John are artists and Evan their son, is a 10-year-old energizer bunny with unlimited imagination. They bought a house overlooking a park with a baseball diamond and behind it, a singing brook.

Furniture that Haley made in Kaua’i looks great in the new house. She’s a master cabinetmaker with a very discriminating eye for contrast and color in wood. Koa is one of the trees grown in Hawaii and the wood has a wonderful grain, almost like diffraction grating, catching and changing light as the observer moves. Haley uses it to great advantage. Check her out online. John paints and has been likened to Georgia O’Keefe except his themes are of the dramatic scenery of Kaua’i.

Asheville has many similarities to Brattleboro Vermont. Art Galleries are thick on the ground and it’s undulating. A walk downtown or for that matter anywhere will get the heart pumping. It’s mountainous; the houses near their home were built in the 20ies and are rustic, comfortable spreads with mature trees in their surrounding yards. We hiked up to the famous Grove Hotel about a mile from their house made of dark field

stone and overlooking, literally a drop of a few hundred feet, a very challenging golf course. It took awhile before my second wind kicked in and I wasn’t gasping for breath. First stop was an Art and Furniture Gallery, which is as good as they get. It housed a tremendous range of super work costing from a few bucks to thousands. Outside, were wind turned sculptures, which I photographed and will try to reproduce? We continued up the hill in a slight rain and entered the main hall of the Grove, a cavernous space about the size of a football field, with two giant walk-in fireplaces on either side. A fire was burning in one while an attendant threw 6’ lengths of wood, criss-crossed over massive iron dogs. The blazing result was similar to one of my bonfires at home. We had a light snack, a beer and listened to a guitar quartet. The wind whistled whenever a door was opened, they being equally large. The building was probably built in the late 1800’s; it has the same quality as the great Railroad Hotels, like Banff; a person feels quite small.

Next day, I met Brent and Kurt two woodworking friends of Haley’s. Brent was the reason she chose to live in Asheville; his work is quite unique as he carves wood to look like river rocks and incorporates them into wild but functional furniture. Kurt carves without sketching; he just removes everything that isn’t necessary to reveal what’s in his mind. Both very neat folk; just the kind of people I had hoped to meet on this trip! Brent is a connoisseur of Bourbon. He sucked his teeth when I told him I had acquired a bottle of “ Bookers”, a particularly strong and tasty drink. It makes your toes warm about 30 seconds after the first sip. Eventually I’ll be reminded of their last names and then I can highly recommend checking them out online.

I had great fun with Evan who showed me his latest Leggo creations; galactic warships with droids and laser fighters. I made him a ball in a wire cone sculpture and, along with the sons of Brent & Kurt, they puzzled whether the ball was going up or down when spun. I also taught them to make a $ shirt, an origami folding of a dollar bill, and we got heavily into computer microscopes checking out each others ears, noses and skin. An experiment with a drop of water

from the Venus Fly trap produced wriggling critters and gasps of disgust from the boys.

On Monday, school was cancelled again as a dusting of snow overnight had left swirling white on the streets. John drove me about 5 miles away to give some perspective, up and up winding roads until we ran into ice and hard pack on the road. School busses and their drivers are not prepared for these conditions, thus the cancellation. I reckon we got to about 2000 feet above Asheville before turning back. Impressive panoramas in every direction with very large, costly houses nestled in the ridges and ravines. With this type of wealth, perhaps the artists can make a living? I like to think so.

Tuesday, another cancelled school day so I had a proper chance to say goodbye before leaving for Atlanta. Once again I passed through the surrounding mountains. Since I was approaching from the North and it was a beautiful clear day, last night’s snow lay deep on the ground and highlighted the branches of the forest trees. I stopped at a rest center and marveled at the scene I would have expected to see in New Hampshire. This area is certainly
to my liking.

In driving down the mountain into Georgia

the snow melted to dirt and brown fields and became flat. Lots of Lob Lolly pine grew in rows along the highway. I reckon they’re used for telephone poles as they rise like giant straws, straight and true. For most of the way there were almost no other cars on the wide 4-lane highway, until I approached the outskirts of Atlanta. It then became a moving tide of vehicles, 6 lanes, one way, tearing along at 70+ miles per hour, each a few feet off the other in an every increasing flow. The speed limit is 50; one would be flattened to obey. I can’t remember any other city in the world, (Rome, London, Paris?), where there is such a density of traffic. Perhaps LA comes close. I have a memory of a woodcut, a driver in Chicago, teeth gritted, hanging on to his steering wheel to the point that his knuckles are white. It’s not surprising that there are 2 or 3 fatalities every day around the city.

I haven’t seen Paul & Sally Wonsek since a delightful wedding in Vermont 13 years ago. The groom arrived sun burnt to say his vows because we’d all been canoeing that morning on a nearby river. Paul was a theater student the year I taught at U Mass, Amherst. Besides working on productions we skied together at Mount Tom. He taught me a lot. Today his business is involved with converting church spaces into theatre spaces, as more and more, especially in the South, pastors want to entertain as well as pontificate. Often their efforts are televised so light levels have to be high and lighting positions, if properly positioned, allow for modeling and excellent visibility.

On Thursday, we went to install two “ moving lights “, computer controlled lights that can turn any direction, change color, and include slides called gobos, flash in patterns; one light performing the task of many. The church was on the other side of Atlanta. Once again into and through the maelstrom of traffic, which is easier when, Paul is driving because he knows the way. Hairy when I’m driving; one has to be well positioned to make some of the off ramps.

The pastor of this church is a soft-spoken gentleman who is not afraid to “get down and dirty” and physically do the work of hanging posters, setting out chairs and so on. As general contractor, he has built a conglomerate of buildings from scratch to cover about 2 acres. Paul has been his consultant in making it also a theatrical space. I’m not sure whether he took my observation regarding the repetition of history, as a compliment: Medieval cathedrals being the early home of the Passion Plays and now modern churches converting into production spaces for Christian Theatre. Anyhow, he was gracious.

One evening, we went to see the I Max version of “Avatar”. I had seen it before in 3D Theatre and thought it “awesome”. The I Max version was staggering, so much so that when the film ended after 2 and 1/2 hours, none of us were sure our legs would support our bodies to walk down out of the auditorium. The seats are sloped at about 30 degrees to the screen. The dimensional effect is so real that, at times, one feels the auditorium spinning and the body being flashed through space. We sat reading the credits for about 10 minutes and then, hanging on to railings, staggered out of the theatre. Even 10 minutes later, sitting in the car, it felt as though we had just finished a workout in the Gym. Wow. If this is the opening salvo of a 3D film, I can’t imagine where it will go. It’s as though we can live in dreams.

Friday I met with my old colleague and friend, Roger Zobel, from the Rosco Days in Port Chester, NY, ( 73-79) . He and his wife Pat began a Theatrical Supply business and have been living in Atlanta for nearly 30 years. We always laughed a lot and enjoyed each other’s company because he’s a funny guy and Rosco was a very small company , perhaps 7 or 8 people. Roger’s presently in a wheel chair due to 2 accidental falls which first, broke his hip and then, shattered his femur. We had lunch together and then chatted away the afternoon. I’m pleased to see that his spirit is undaunted and he’s still full of laughter.

After lunch at a local BBQ where I must report the pork sandwich did not compare to Mark’s, I said goodbye to Paul and Sally. I’m extremely impressed how well their lives are ordered and the mastery of the tools they have developed to perform their business.div>

Passing south through Atlanta from Marietta where they live was once again harrowing. Thank God it didn’t last more than 25 miles where , I found myself mostly alone, tooling along at 75.

Valdosta was my destination and a motel 6 in particular. Jeff and Kristina were to meet me tomorrow, somewhere in the Okefenokee Swamp about 50 miles south east of Valdosta. Jeff is Linda’s son, Kristina his fiancée. They will marry in September in New Jersey where Jeff grew up but live and work in Gainesville. FL.

2010-02-19T05:58:00.000-10:00

NicksWalkabout Feb 2-9, 10

Peg’s Condo could have been transported from Europe, beaded silk sheer curtains on all the windows ; a dark purple damask, swaged over the south wall, framing, sliding glass doors which lead to a small, outdoor porch and flower garden space. Inside, everywhere and often in front of ornate gilded mirrors, artificial flowers so real I kept feeling the leaves or petals to check. The carpets placed over a white, wall to wall, are purple and gold as is the sofa, there are peacocks on a room divider and in a large oriental rug in the living room floor. Very cozy and well appointed ; a spacious kitchen and all, surrounded by windows.

Since we had talked until 2 the night before, I didn’t wake until 10 to brilliant sunshine. Omelets for breakfast and the conversation continued. Peg mentioned that the vertical blind mechanism in the living room wasn’t working. I took a look and realized that the drapes, quite heavy, about 9’ across and in three layers, were coming off the wall. I asked if she had some tools and she produced a little purple bag filled with a nearly complete workshop. Then for good measure, a tote with additional tools and proceeded to fill the dining room table with mini plastic boxes containing many, many drawers each filled with screws, rawl plugs, nuts, bolts etc.. Almost too much , but as Peg says, “I’m a pack rat, maybe I’ll need it one day”. I worked happily on the project until she came home from her part time bank teller job just across the adjacent Mall. She made a delicious dinner and then we watched a Net Flick movie.

It was clear to me that the hardware supporting the drapes was too light and we’d have to find a replacement. I went to a nearby Kmart and bought heavy duty corner brackets and replaced the supports on the damask drape. The rod for the sheers would have to wait.

On Wednesday, another beautiful Spring-like day, I suggested we explore along the river. We had also agreed to a dinner with Amy, David and kids that night on the other side of Washington. On the way to the shore, I suggested we explore on Amy’s side, thus missing the horrendous Washington rush hour. We bisected Washington, straight(ish) through its center and, on coming out the other side, I noticed a sign for the Hdvar Smithsonian Space and Flight Center. Wow, I’ve always wanted to visit and Peg agreed. At the parking entrance we paid a $15 fee which turned out to be the entrance fee as well!

Outside, just behind where I parked , was a silver twist of stainless steel, 45 feet high, 6’wide at the base , top tapering to 6” , and imbedded in black basalt. It reflected the color of the sky, the trees, the base, in fascinating ways as one moved around the sculpture. One of the most beautiful modern pieces I’ve seen created by light and reflection.
Walking into the main hall at the second floor level, 40 feet off the floor was overwhelming! Directly below was a Blackbird, the menacing 2800 mph spy plane that replaced the U2 ; almost no wings , just short stubs at the end of a 120 foot fuselage; certainly another wing. Behind it and in another monster hanger was the Space Shuttle. Looking to the right and left, hundreds of planes, some supported from the ceiling, 40’ above and in dog fight formation, others displayed in rows on the floor below.

I think we were there for 3 hours before we stopped for tea. Peg was bushed and I learned she had had a serious operation about a month ago.! I left her in the cafeteria to check out the hang gliders and ultra light section. Not very well represented but I was told by one of the docents that money was tight. Hell, you could get a fleet of ultra-lights for the price one of the planes represented. Also, I was a bit miffed when the description suggested Ultra light construction was not as safe as normal aircraft construction. I don’t know many pilots who have walked away from 6 crashes ( as I have ), without injury, and I put that down to the strength of the ultra light frames.

We arrived to find Amy and the boys, Adam & Benjamin and Isabel, their sister, waiting for us. The boys excused themselves to go out and have a snowball fight and Isabel and Peg communed. I had a great chance to talk to Amy who looks as pretty as I remember and seems to be very happy as a Mum.

I thoroughly enjoyed the boys 9 and 7. They helped me carrying split wood and start a fire, showed me their bedroom, ( where David has made indestructible 2” x 6” bunk beds ), their Star Wars and Lego creations. Both lads are good with their hands and happy to share what’s on their minds. Isabel is a girly 3 , was in a long flowery dress and she didn’t mind climbing over her brothers on the couch. I’m told she is tough and holds her own.

David made his world famous crab cakes, the ones that are so good they set a standard which is often in one’s mind when ordered at a restaurant, but rarely met. Good fun and a delightful family evening. Back to Peg’s by midnight.

Thursday was threatening. Weather men were predicting record snowfall and people were lining up to hoard supplies. We found the exact rod we needed for the sheers, marked down from $64 to $12 at Penny’s. Peg mentioned she’d be glad to have a ceiling fan in her kitchen so we stopped at Home Depot and found a beauty, on sale, and then as dusk fell, did a $250 grocery shop. Peg says she does this about once a month. It started to snow…. let up about 30 hours later. Whilst 100,000 houses were without electricity and the roads were completely blocked, I knocked off the projects, read, ate well and was warm in good company.

We went out for a walk Friday late afternoon into the usual winter wonderland. By now the SNOW was crotch deep as we left the Condo and piled 12’ high by plows. Peg didn’t have to report for work which was true of the rest of Baltimore. Saturday dawned sunny and dazzling. Guys from Ecuador, on a snow shoveling crew asked me if I could tell them where the fire hydrants were. Vanished under 34” or buried by plows. Went for another walk and conditions were improving; one clear(ish) lane where there had been two; some cars out. The whole area had been declared a disaster to allow emergency, electrical and snow people a chance to get ahead. I dug out my and Peg’s car. Initially you couldn’t tell the difference between them, just two haystacks of snow. The sun was warm and soon, I was in shirt sleeves, shoveling snow; almost my favorite thing to do. It was so light, I could move a stack 3’ high with one swipe.

We returned to the Steakhouse for dinner in the midst of the Super Bowl game and got back in time to catch the last, dramatic half. Another great day !

Monday morning I surfed the net to find out what was available in Williamsburg, VA, 180 mile south. Neat B&Bs but decided I’d wing it as usual. The drive was magical; everything covered in fluffs and piles and sheets of snow. About 50 miles south, it was not so deep and a few hours later, just patches. Nearly wound up in Jamestown but at the last moment saw signs for Williamsburg.

I arrived at the visitor center just after it closed. Thought I’d find a library and there contact B&Bs. Most of my drive had been through country. When I turned away from Historic Williamsburg (WB) which is 1770 in style, I bumped into commercial WB. Every hotel or motel chain you can think of vying for my custom. I settled on Travelodge at $75 for 2 nights with all the amenities and no one here.

Same was true for Historic Williamsburg next day. I reckon no more than 60 people were visiting. Still all the venues were open and I spent as much as 30 minutes each, one on one, with many of the craftspeople learning and questioning. The Cabinet maker, Cooper, Silversmith, Joiner, Apothecary, Milner & Taylor, Blacksmith, were friendly and welcoming.

I participated in a trial where I played the partof a South Carolina gent who tried to use his own State’s currency to pay off debts. My horse and saddle were taken until I could come up with gold or silver; they thought I would abscond and suggested 39 lashes on my bare back. (Virginians however did not tie knots, nor bits of iron or fish hooks in their lashes. They claim no one died from the punishment. ) I was given 7 days to pay or my horse and saddle would be sold at public auction, the remainder returned to me but the judge said this option would return very little.

Lunch was in one of the Taverns eating an excellent beef stew and drinking rum laced cider. Tomorrow, I plan to visit the museums as it’s supposed to SNOW.

Cape May to Edgewater MD, 1/26 - 2/1

2010-02-07T04:48:00.000-10:00

Walkabout blog. Feb 6^th 2010 Cape May to Edgewater MD 1/26 - 2/1

Heather & I left home for Cape May on Tuesday, Jan 26^th, to spend a few days at the Jersey Shore, relax and shake down all my new electronic stuff: I Pod Touch, Tom Tom GPS, and cell phone. The electronic stuff is intended to keep me in touch and informed as I travel toward Fairbanks, AK over the next few months..

Our first stop was unplanned at Batsto Village, site of a former bog iron and glass making industrial center ( 1766 – 1897). I noticed a sign for the village on the Garden State Turnpike, and as Heather had never visited …. It was a foundry because bog iron, a stone with a very high percentage of iron, could be picked up all along the Mullica River and barged in 20 ton flat bottom boats to Batsto where it was smelted. Charcoal was manufactured in the surrounding forests and the whole operation required the support of a village.

This ironwork continued ‘til about 1855 when more efficient methods of production came about because of the discovery of coal in PA. Batsto switched to making plate glass using a German method where a man standing on a platform blew and swung the glowing glass into a 24 inch diam. cylinder, about 6’ long. The cylinder was then split one side and the glass flattened to produce quite modern window glass.

At the Visitor Center we were welcomed by Terrie, a friendly lady, who when she heard I was a carver, offered to contact me when her woods were being tidied up; I could have whatever I wanted. Although I didn’t intend to, I bought a super book filled with Campfire songs. A well thought out Museum introduced one to the village and gave detailed Historical information.

First stop was a water driven circular saw mill just south of a small lake and a tumultuous race. A fish ladder allowed wild fish to pass the dam. The air was crisp, clear, sunny with a biting breeze. Then over to the General Store, which primarily served the village residents with groceries, clothing, toys. It became a Post Office in 1852; mail is hand canceled and because of its Historical importance, no zip code is required.

We peeked into the Mansion an imposing 4 storied, solidly built house with 10 foot ceilings and a wrap around veranda. Nice views of the lake and surrounding buildings. Very comfortably furnished.

We asked for directions for lunch, got lost and found a Diner. As always, good food but too much; left with doggie bag, next day’s lunch.

It was falling dusk as we arrived in Cape May. Our efficiency apartment was perfect, clean, spacious, comfortable and in the very center of old Cape May; walk everywhere, no need to drive! Naturally we had to get on the beach to find treasures. When we couldn’t see them anymore, we returned to the apt.

Heather had cleared out my fridge so we had a delicious supper. Out again, bundled up, window shopping the 3 or 4 blocks of quaint stores with beach-y stuff before return to watch Telly.

Wednesday was brilliant and about 26 degrees. We had a hardy breakfast explored the Congress Hall a hotel which has hosted Presidents and was at one time called” Toms Folly” because it was so big and mistaken common intelligence felt it would never be a success. Hottest spot in town for ever so long.

The lighthouse beckoned only 3-4 miles away along a deserted beach which in summer would be writhing with lotioned bodies. ( In fact the town was deserted. We walked down the middle of most streets and rarely saw a car.) Of course we stopped all the way along picking up shells and the occasional “ Cape May Diamond”, a small crystal clear pebble of quartz. I even found a completely wooden, two pulley, tackle, which we hid to pick up on our return.

The Light House was closed however an informative museum at it’s base was warm. It had a large Pine Barren snake, I’d guess 5-6 feet long and similar to one I saw not far from home; striking markings, sadly endangered. We discovered that the necklace-like seaweed was actually whelk babies in waiting.

A wild fowl viewing stand gave us a commanding view over a ½ mile marsh which, even in January had lots of birds. We were surprised to see Swans. Our return skirted the marsh until we found a path through the dunes to the beach and back to the hidden tackle.

After lunch we went into town to check out Cape May Victorians. They’re cheek by jowl in multi-hued colors, with extraordinary, fret work trim. A guy could make a good business with a computer controlled jigsaw supplying replacement patterns.

That evening we dined superbly at the Blue Pig, highly recommended and across the street in the Congress Hall.

Thursday was more or less a repeat; beach walks and town walks but this time North towards Cape May Harbor. In the afternoon we drove to Sunset Beach on the mouth of the Delaware. After a free coffee in a tourist trap store we found an entire beach of Cape May Diamonds. Not one or two spread over 15 feet of sand, but the entire beach; you could gather them by the bucketful. Now we started collecting special, colors, shapes and sizes. We wandered East around a point to find only the normal sand beach ; puzzling, until we talked to two old lads who told us that the beach was constantly being artificially replenished.” Sunset Beach has never been touched and it hasn’t changed in 30 years “

We walked through a neighborhood where a plot, 50 x 100 had an asking price of 1.6 million. At least you could get an old house for that in town !

Friday we came back to Philly via Wheaton Village in Glassboro. There, a museum with 7,000 glass objects , were on display. The history dates back to English times when the British insisted on selling the colonists everything, no manufacturing was allowed. South Jersey has sand and trees forever so it wasn’t long before colonists ignored the rules. In fact in the 1700 some 230 glass shops sprung up in the Pine Barrens making bottles, plates, jugs, window glass etc. and in time, all sorts of decorative glassware. My favorite piece amongst many was a modern technical construction of a transparent cube approximately 16” square, with ever smaller cubes inside until one in it’s center, perhaps 4” square with a diffraction grating, was also clear. From any and every angle, it sparkled differently, flashing light and color; like looking into a fire. Quite amazing.

Dropped Heathie off in Philly about 5pm and headed from home. Lots of things to decide and do before I left ; mainly turning off the house for the next few months. Heat has never been a problem as in 30 years nothing has frozen inside. Now I think about it, I may not have switched off the fuses ? Don’t know can’t remember.

The weekend was spent trying out packing the car with the bicycle, golf clubs, fishing gear and determining which clothes to bring. Hutch was very helpful in the final stage of preparing the I P Touch. He told me how to download pictures, I transferred 2 to the desktop and pushed return; I now have a completely filled file of 1000 pictures, even though many are of Trudy and Larry’s trip to Alaska. Don’t know how to get rid of ones I don’t want.

Sunday Heather & Mark came to help clear out the fridge. We went out to the “Passage to India” and had an excellent meal. Monday they left short of noon, which had been my deadline. Didn’t get away until nearly 4 and so had to put my foot down to cover 175 miles to Edgewater Maryland by 7 pm. At the Delaware Memorial Bridge, which is just down 295, 50 miles , I turned on the TomTom. Took a while to do what I thought it should ( or took me time to figure out what it was doing. ) Taking roads that do no have tolls , TT directed me down 301 through wide open farm spaces. At times I was alone and as the sun fell, skeins of geese traced webs through an azure to pink to purple sky. I could have been flying my trike, car in auto mode, and the dark trees bordering the highway, only difference , I couldn’t feel the wind in my face. After miles of solitude I came across Bay Bridge and bustling humanity. On both sides of the highway cars were approaching, headlights bright in my eyes, cars everywhere turning into and off the road. Sort of like suddenly finding yourself in Disneyland when you’ve been in Indiana.

TT brought me to Peggy’s front door but she was still at work at a nearby bank. I walked through a small shopping center; she had left, walked back, and rang the bell to her condo. Lovely welcome. Went to an excellent steak house for dinner and talked until 2 am.