Turnorama Notebook

This Won't Hurt a Bit

2010-02-28T15:25:00.001-05:00

Where am I?

Who's this?

Uh oh!

Mmmmggrruuhhppp!

Snow Vole

2010-01-18T15:36:00.000-05:00

A discovery in the snow

The meadow vole

A meeting of the minds

Greenland's Ice Sheet is Melting!

2009-11-12T20:11:00.001-05:00

And we're building a park in Hallowell.

Is that parity?

The Mushroom Class

2009-10-15T15:18:00.002-04:00

Every Thursday for the last five weeks or so, I've been taking a mushroom class at the Harris Center in New Hampshire. The class began with some ... well ... classwork, where we learned about mushroom evolution (the first mushrooms appeared about 425 million years ago), how many different species there are (over 110,000), how they reproduce and how they make their living (either mycorrhizally, saprotrophically or necrotrophically).

While all this is very interesting, what everyone in the class really wanted was to just go outside and actually start identifying some mushrooms!

Our instructor, Rick Van de Poll, was quite animated in the field - walking quickly and stopping abruptly when he spotted an interesting mushroom for us to identify.

Here he holds up a couple of lactarius...

...and here, he points out the identifying features of the Suillus americanus - the Chicken Fat mushroom.

And here, the class watches with suspicion as he pops a bit of another mushroom into his mouth after saying "I think this is the poison variety, let me taste it". One thing we learn is that, even a poisonous mushroom is safe to taste AS LONG AS YOU DON'T SWALLOW!

After every class, Jude and I spent the next weekend looking for mushrooms. They aren't hard to find.

Some are quite easy to identify like this Bondarzewia berkeleyi.

However, others languish on the desk, becoming more un-identifiable each day as they slowly deliquesce into goo or wither into little mushroom sticks.

Small Snakes

2009-10-03T19:50:00.001-04:00

Jude seems to always be finding interesting things in her garden. Four-toed salamanders. Hibernating toads. Oil-can beetles. Snakes. Lots of snakes. Under the boards she lays down for mulch. Milk snakes, garter snakes and ring-necked snakes. The milk snakes are often large and have a rather nasty temperament. The garters are medium sized and move quickly into the grass when uncovered. The ring-necked snakes she found last week were small and plentiful.

How small? This small:

Local Traffic Only

2009-09-28T19:02:00.001-04:00

They're replacing a bridge across the defunct railroad tracks down the street from my house. They started the work in March or April or May - I really don't recall. I used to walk across the bridge almost everyday to get my mail at the post office. For a while, after they closed the bridge to automobiles, pedestrians where still allowed to cross it. Then pedestrians weren't supposed to cross it, but we still did. Then they pulled up all the decking, and though it was still technically possible to cross on the rusting steel girders that remained, I never tried it. Then they pulled up the girders. So now it's a longer walk to the post office for me.

On the bright side, though, they put this sign up down the street from my house.

And it's kind of funny, but I get a little thrill every time drive past it. I'm special. I'm cool. I'm a local! Stay off my street ya damn non-locals!

The Cerulean Collective

2009-08-21T18:42:00.002-04:00

A group of artists...

... with short attention spans? No, just an example of how long it takes me to get a good portrait.

Tiny Toads

2009-08-12T19:35:00.002-04:00

The toads have transmogrified from tadpoles and left their puddle in Vaughan Field.

They blend in well with the gravelly soil near their pool and are hard to see at first.

However, with practice they become easier to spot despite their tiny size.

How tiny?

This tiny.

Creative Typography

2009-08-02T20:07:00.002-04:00

I guess those are supposed to be her, um... eyes?

Maine Reds!

2009-07-10T12:33:00.004-04:00

Sweets & Eats, South Windham

While other states are know for their maple syrup or cheese, in Maine, it's our red hot dogs. Originally conceived as a marketing gimmick by Schonland Brothers's Packing Company in 1895...

Doe's Dogs, East Millinocket

...the Maine Red Hot Dog (aka "Red Snappers" and "Red Hots") became the popular standard for hot dogs and is sought out by discerning road foodies when they visit the state. This natural-casing, all-pork dog (colored with a harmless vegetable dye) is now made by Jordan's Meats in Portland Maine.

He Has Risen and Mowed!

2009-06-16T20:23:00.002-04:00

I happened to be walking past the City Tomb the other day (yeah, I walk around in cemeteries - got a problem with that?) and noticed the door was open!

Have been raised Catholic, all kinds of iconic images filled my head. But as I approached for a peek, I was disappointed to find only two Craftsmen lawn mowers.

The Big-Gulp cup on the ledge should have been a give away.

The Maine Grange Project - part 2

2009-06-11T15:06:00.002-04:00

Jeff Kirlin and I continue our effort to photograph every Grange Hall in Maine. I drove to Boston last weekend and managed to photograph another dozen or so on the way down and back.

Most Grange Halls have a distinctive architectural design and are easy to spot. They're usually rather simple, barn like structures like the ones below:

Mousam Lake Grange in Shapleigh

Highland Lake Grange in Westbrook

Bauneg Beg Grange in North Berwick

Hollis Grange

However, some Granges are a bit fancier like these:

Pownal Grange (now the Town Office)

Benton Grange

Waterboro Grange

John F. Hill Grange in Eliot

Alas, not all Granges Halls are grand examples of the classic New England meeting house design. Some are much humbler in appearance:

Litchfield Grange

Riverside Grange in Lebanon

My Career as a Dog Photographer...

2009-06-10T19:21:00.003-04:00

... seems in serious doubt.

Marketing Tips

2009-06-05T06:01:00.004-04:00

Even when giving away a free item, it's best to not point out the major product flaw.

The Lion King

2009-06-03T19:56:00.000-04:00

Patrons of Husbandry

2009-05-29T15:18:00.002-04:00

The National Grange of the Order of Patrons of Husbandry is a fraternal organization of farmers, by farmers and for farmers that provided for "the intellectual, social and financial improvement of the farmer and his family". Granges provided information on sound farming practices, banded together to lower exorbitant freight rates on railroads, and campaigned for Rural Free Delivery of mail.

The first Grange in Maine was founded in 1873. By the early 1900's there were over 500. Today that number has dwindled to around 150. Jeff Kirlin over at The Thing of the Moment and I have vowed to get photos of all the remaining Granges in Maine this summer! (Right Jeff?).

So without further ado (or explanation) here are 12 Granges:

Readfield Grange

Leeds Grange

Richville Grange

West Baldwin Grange

North Jay Grange

Starling Grange, North Fayette

Sidney Grange

Enterprise Grange, Richmond

Wales Grange

Winthrop Grange

Manchester Grange

Androscoggin Grange, Greene

Memorial Day

2009-05-25T20:59:00.003-04:00

My dad fought in World War II. Rob was never someone to revel in war stories, and rarely talked about his experiences except to tell self-deprecating stories about chasing camels from watering holes in Libya so he could take a bath or sleeping in Italian vineyards after the Battle of Monte Cassino. He received two Purple Hearts and a Good Conduct Medal. He gave me the Good Conduct Medal a few years ago and told me to give it to my dog.

Rob met Doris after the war and they were married in 1948. They moved into the first floor apartment of my grandfather's house, where my father had lived since he was five years old. By the time I was five, my parents, now with four kids, had moved to the larger, two-floor upstairs apartment, while my grandparents had moved to the first floor.

Rob has always had a green thumb and started a vegetable garden in the back yard of the house during the great depression, when he was about 13. When my mother moved into the house she gradually took over the flower garden as my grandmother’s health failed. It was a good division of labor. Every winter, Doris pored through flower catalogs, asking Rob what he thought of this lily or that daisy. Rob read up on green beans and squash and asked Doris if she wanted tomatoes for sauces or salads this year.

My mom died in 2001. She was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in late May and passed away in early July. One of her last instructions was to have Rob thin the day lilies because they were really getting overcrowded. The flower garden wasn’t carefully tended that year or the next. But eventually, Rob began to tackle the columbine and cone flowers and geraniums and clematis.

It’s been eight years since Doris passed away. Rob now grows flowers like he grows vegetables. He goes for big volumes and high production and if she could see it, Doris would roll her eyes and say “Oh jeez Rob! Cut back those cone flowers!”

On Memorial Day, I took Rob to the cemetery so he could plant something for Doris. Her stone is easy to spot because of the enormous clump of day lilies, daffodils and columbine around its base. Rob brought a calla lily, a geranium and a clematis to plant, though he doubted the clematis would make it. He cut back the daffodils and pulled a few of the bulbs. I began to pack them up to bring back to the car, but he said “Ya know, I think we can fit these in back here.” I heard a faint spinning sound from beneath my feet. He inspected them for grubs and replanted them close to the headstone, which has both their names on it.

Some people say...

2009-05-05T20:26:00.002-04:00

...that I treat my dog like a child.

I don't know where they get this idea.

The Rookie

2009-04-26T12:48:00.003-04:00

This is Junket. She's a 12 year old sheep dog.

Um, let me make that clearer. She's the SHEEP'S dog. She grew up with the sheep, lives with the sheep, eats and sleeps with the sheep. She thinks she is a sheep. However, she still barks like a dog, (a big, angry dog) whenever a coyote or other stranger tries to enter the sheep pasture. Which is the whole point.

This is Churchy, a one year old Maremma sheep guardian dog. Churchy will take over for Junket someday in the big pasture.

But first she needs to learn some manners, like not jumping on the sheep or up on the gate when you're about to open it.

Right now Churchy spends a lot of time in a pen with half a dozen easy-going ewes, which is where the rookies learn proper sheep etiquette. Eventually, though, she'll be the dog in sheep's clothing who'll surprise a coyote crossing the big pasture late some night.

Six hundred and seventy five souls

2009-04-21T19:38:00.002-04:00

I've spent the last two days paying my respects to 675 people I never knew and am not related to.

The project was simple enough. Map all the headstones in an old burial ground on Cape Cod. Positional accuracy required - six inches, plus or minus. The technology is straight forward. Rent a $5300 Global Positioning Satellite receiver with a $2500 high sensitivity antenna, stand in front of each stone and listen to the GPS receiver as it acquires the signal from the satellites orbiting 12,550 miles above - "beep, beep, beep". Once the signal is acquired, wait for the satellites to move enough to refine their triangulation on your position. The satellites are moving at 9000 miles per hour, so 30 seconds is usually sufficient. Record the number of the headstone. Move to the next one.

Thirty seconds is not enough time to do much of anything. So you read the stones and wonder about the people below you. What does Hannah Agry, died on Nov 19, 1792, in her 27th year think of the short, bearded fellow with the odd, beeping yellow box standing above her? Is she amused? Angry? Is Rebecca H., wife of Josiah Melcher, happy to be getting some attention 164 years after her passing? Or is she not thinking at all because she simply turned to dust long ago and that was that. Repeat 675 times.

It's Been a Wonderful 8 Years

2009-04-09T19:02:00.002-04:00

Except now...

...I have...

...a really bad...

...hangover.

Burn Piles

2009-03-23T13:00:00.000-04:00

In many towns in northern New England you can burn your brush, building debris, old tires, household appliances, deceased pets and other detritus without a permit as long as there is snow cover on the ground. It's a tradition!

Jude is a burn pile expert. She knows to always wear a hat.

In contrast, I discover a cheap way to get a haircut.

Hubcap Heaven

2009-02-28T17:15:00.002-05:00

Maine is a major player in the pre-owned hubcap industry.

There's HUBCAP 4U in Littleton, Maine.

HUBCAP 4U's spacious showroom.

HUBCAP 4U's convenient self-check out.

And, in Bryant Pond, there's Conant's Hubcaps. That's Leon in his "office".

While Conant's showroom is a bit small....

... he has a huge inventory in his many stockrooms.

The Graduate

2008-12-15T19:16:00.003-05:00

For the past eight weeks, I've been taking Trip to a puppy class.

They only other puppy in the class is Trip's brother Ozzy (on the right), who lives with a family in a town a few miles north of mine.

With only two puppies in the class, some liberties are taken. Trip and Ozzy are given a bit of time to say "hello" at the beginning of each session.

This usually starts casually enough...

... but soon leads to a little bit of rough housing...

...and then more...

...and more...

...until finally someone says "Enough!"

And then we have two quiet pups again.

Both pups graduated this week - here's Ozzy's class picture.

And here's Trip's.

One Thing I Hate...

2008-09-20T18:30:00.000-04:00

Are dog owners who...

.. don't pick up after their dogs!

Photographing Dogs - II

2008-09-20T17:00:00.000-04:00

Aw, isn't that cute! Big old Bon is getting along with little Trip. Let's take their picture. Sit Trip! Sit Bon!

Trip: Didja hear that?!!

Bon: What?
Trip: That funny noise! I think it was to the right!

Bon: Where?
Trip: No! Wait! I think it was to the left!

Bon: Where? Where!!
Trip: Oh wait. Nevermind. It's just the shutter.

The New Dog

2008-09-03T16:21:00.001-04:00

Wheeeee!

Ooooh!

Yikes!

Awwww!

Grrrrr!

Whaaaa??

Whoa!

To be continued....

The Piano Movers

2008-07-20T15:30:00.000-04:00

Every year, Joan's Steinway piano makes a two-mile trip down the road to a small meeting house where it's used in a local benefit piano concert. After two days, it's returned. In New York or Chicago or Los Angeles, these moves would be done by highly trained professionals and would cost several hundred dollars. In New Hampshire, things are different.

Walter, a veteran of many of these moves, positions his pickup so a ramp can be placed from the tailgate to the porch step.

With a bit of final guidance from the crew, the ramp is set in position.

With a gentle nudge (and the big guy on the down slope) the piano begins its descent to the porch.

Negotiating the turn into the kitchen door.

Lining things up for the big push into the kitchen. Can three big guys fit through this doorway at the same time?

No.

The big moment. Set, tilt, roll and settle.

Attaching the last leg requires trust in your crew.

Making final adjustments.

Until next year.

The Trip Home

2008-07-06T18:40:00.000-04:00

After our time at Cape Saint Mary's, we head north to Argentia to catch the ferry back to Nova Scotia.

The sun appears as we drive north along the coast of Placentia Bay. But when we board the MV Smallwood, the fog is hovering literally feet from the bow before our departure. The ferry is still running on only 3 of its 4 engines, so the trip lasts 18 hours instead of the usual 16. We kill some time watching Bug and Debbie Greene's show of bastardized Newfoundland folk songs and rude jokes (which Jude enjoys) before spending an uncomfortable night of fitful sleep on the floor of the "TV lounge".

The Smallwood arrives in North Sydney, Nova Scotia around 9:30 the following morning. After watching the ship dock, we head down to the car deck. As I get in the car, I notice the interior dome light is on, shining dimly. "Did you just turn this on?" I ask Jude. "Um, I don't think so" she replies. A few moments later, cars all around us start their engines as the bow door swings open. I gingerly turn the ignition key. The starter makes a weak "click, click, click" and then quits. A crew member walks down the line of cars in front of us signaling each to leave. I hop out of our dead vehicle and simple say "Dead battery". Without missing a beat, he skips past us and signals the cars behind us to go around us. Soon we are the last vehicle on the car deck.

After five minutes, two crew members stroll up. "Dead battery? Okay, truck's on the way." Jude pretends she doesn't know me. A Marine Atlantic pickup appears at the bow door and pulls up next to us. I return to the drivers seat. The crewman hooks up jumper cables and, with the loud thrumming of the car deck ventilation fans drowning out his words, pantomimes for me to try and start the engine. The engine cranks and starts. After thanking the truck driver, we drive off the ferry, waving to the remaining car deck crew hanging about the boarding ramp. We spend the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon driving around the Cabot Trail on Cape Breton Island. By 5:00 PM we reach Margaree and stop at the local information center to ask about places to stay. Unlike Newfoundland, all the B&Bs in the area are already full. We finally find a cabin to rent, the last available, in the town of Troy, about 50 miles distant. As we leave the info center, Jude spots a notice advertising a Ceilidh - a Celtic dance and music gathering - from 6 to 8:00 in Mabou, just down the road.

The ceilidh is at the Red Shoe Pub and as we pull up we see the small building is packed. We park away's down the street, not sure if we really want to endure a crowded pub. Just then a dozen or so folks leave, so we decide to at least have a look. A gentleman at the door greets us, apologizing for how crowded it is. He explains "I have no separate tables open, but you could sit with AJ - he's a friendly fellow."

The musicians are on a short break when we take our seats and I introduce myself and Jude to AJ. He returns my introduction in a thick Scottish brogue that I can barely understand. He than flags down a waitress and orders another Alexander Keiths. He's obviously a favorite of the wait staff.

The music resumes and it's truly something to behold - just a pianist and fiddle player, but what a sound. AJ leans over and tells us "They'll be dancing soon." Sure enough, a few moments later, a dozen or so patrons get up, push a few tables aside and begin a little step dance in a circle in front of the musicians.

After the dancing the musicians take another short break and AJ explains who's who and which musician is from where, and who'll be traveling to Scotland next month to play at which festival and who just returned from England and so on and so forth.

The fiddler and piano player return along with a snare drum player for another round of music. AJ keeps the beat with a steady thump of his foot under the table.

Finally, 8:00 rolls around and the music ends with a loud round of applause. Jude and I bid farewell to AJ and head down the road to our cabin. The next day we return to the US and our complicated lives. It's been a great trip.

Cape Saint Mary's

2008-07-05T15:47:00.000-04:00

Our last two days in Newfoundland were spent in the area around Cape Saint Mary's, the nesting grounds of 24,000 northern gannets, 20,000 black-legged kittiwake, 20,000 common murre, and 2,000 thick-billed murre.

The birds' nests occupy nearly every ...

...square...

...foot of flat space on the cliffs and sea stacks at the Cape. The sight is spectacular - as is the smell.

The other spectacular thing about the Cape is how close the birds are, with many nests less than 30 feet from convenient perches for viewing. The birds don't seem to mind the attention.

And they get a lot of it. This is one of the most popular viewing spots near Bird Rock, a 300 foot sea stack covered with nesting gannets.

Jude selects a somewhat less popular perch to study some razorbills.

If 30 feet isn't close enough for you, you can simply look up and wait for a gannet to fly by a few feet overhead.

This one is returning with fresh nesting material.

The Cape separates the cold waters of Placentia and St Mary's Bays. When the wind is onshore in the summer the fog rolls in. The wind is often onshore and the Cape sees over 200 days of fog per year.

Fog can make bird watching difficult...

.. but it can give a photograph a nice atmosphere.

A Visit to Cape Race

2008-07-02T21:58:00.000-04:00

The road out to Cape Race is only about 15 miles long. Because it is hard to go over 10 miles an hour, it takes a long time to traverse it. After our whale watch trip, we headed down to Portugal Cove South and, at about 4:00 in the afternoon, started down the road to Cape Race.

It was a foggy day, and we stopped a few times to peer at foggy rocks on the edge of the foggy sea.

By the time we reached the lighthouse, it was 10 minutes of 6:00. The small visitor's center looked closed, but immediately a black car pulled up and a woman, two teenage boys and a black dog hopped out, unlocked the door and hustled into the building. This was Viola, her son, his friend and their dog Ringo. We were their first visitors of the day. They had spent the afternoon at the lighthouse keeper's house a short distance down the road and had hurried over when they saw us pull up. A sign in the visitor's center listed two options: a tour of the telegraph room (this was the location that had first received the Titanic's distress calls on it's fateful voyage 96 years ago) or a tour of the lighthouse. At the bottom of the sign the visitor's center's hours were listed: 9:00 AM to 6:00 PM. Viola asked what we'd like to do. I said, "Well, I'd like to see the lighthouse, but it's 4 minutes to 6, I guess there's no time."

Now, if this had been a tourist spot in Maine or probably anywhere else in the US or Canada, Viola would have replied, "Yup, you're right, please come back tomorrow." Instead, this being Newfoundland, she said "Oh don't let that worry ye dear! You've driven all the way out here and I can't let you leave disappointed!"

Shortly, Viola was unlocking the door at the base of the tower. As we stepped in she asked "Ye aren't afraid of heights are ye? It's 86 steps to the top." The stairs spiral upward along the inside wall of the tower with no visible means of support.

Going up the stairs one concentrates on the next step without noticing the height. However, once you reach the top and look down, it's hard not to get a little vertigo.

At the top of the stairs we entire a low-ceiling room and climb a short, steep red staircase to the light room above. Above us, the giant fresnel lens of Cape Race Light rotates slowly. It's surprisingly quiet with only a small electric motor humming beneath the lens structure. "The whole lens mechanism is floating in a channel filled with mercury - so there are no bearings to wear out." Viola informs us.

I ask if I can climb up on the catwalk that circles the inside wall of the light room. "Of course!" replies Viola. As I climb to the catwalk, Viola turns to Jude "And ye can climb up this ladder and stand inside the light if ye like. Just be careful, some people get dizzy with the lens rotating round them."

Jude, somewhat prone to motion sickness, tentatively climbs up into the light.

After admiring the view from the catwalk, Jude and I switch locations and I climb up into the light. I comment that the actual bulb doesn't seem all that bright. "The lens do all the brightening" Viola informs me.

As we get ready to start our descent, I notice a short red door on the outer wall of the light room held shut by a large turnbuckle. A length of rope is tied to it's handle. "That leads to the outside catwalk." Viola tells us "I can't let ye go out there today, because it's too windy. But since you've come so far, I'll open if ye like so you can get a photo." It takes a few minutes for the three of us to un-crank the turnbuckle and release the door handle. As we open the door a crack, the wind catches it and it suddenly swings open with a bang. After I snap a few pictures, we use the rope to pull the door shut and hold it while Viola tightens the turnbuckle.

As we descend the tower stairs, we ask Viola if there is anyplace to camp back in Portugal Cove. "Oh, ye can camp anyplace" she opines "even out here. No one will bother ye!" And so we select a small grassy gravel pit a short distance from the lighthouse, and its foghorn.

When we wake the next morning, the sky is still foggy and gray, but by the time we've prepared breakfast, a few fleeting patches of blue sky are visible through the thinning fog. By the time we're packed, the the sun is shining and we finally get a good view of Cape Race Light.

Watching Whales

2008-07-01T18:20:00.000-04:00

We spent a very stormy night at another bed and breakfast in Saint Michael's, one of my old haunts in Newfoundland. The B&B sat on a bluff overlooking the ocean and in the morning, when the rain stopped, we had our breakfast looking out across the bay watching whales spouting below us and occasionally breaching off in the distance. The owner of the B&B, Jerry Colbert, also ran a small whale watching operation. So after breakfast Jude and I decided to take a trip.

At 9:00 AM we drove down to the wharf in Bauline Harbor and, after a few minutes, Jerry pulled up. Jerry built the boat himself (and, by the look of the bow, had recently repaired it).

Jerry motored out of the harbor. We were joined by Pete and Cheryl, a friendly couple from Ontario who were also staying at Jerry's B&B.

Jude, descended from a long line of Cape Cod whalers, knew how to batten down the hatches on a windy day.

The sea was still rough from the storms of the past few days. Cheryl braced herself in the bow while she got her sea legs.

Rather than trying to stand in the bouncing bow, Pete took up a bench position on the port rail.

Cheryl and Jude scanned the horizon for any sign of whales.

From the top of a wave we had a good view of the ocean around us.

With the boat in a wave trough, the view was more limited.

Despite the limited view, a humpback whale made its presence known with a pectoral fin display.

Another view from the top of next wave.

Surprising everyone on board (except Jerry) the humpback slapped the water with its fin.

Displays and slapping of the pectoral fins are apparently done by males to impress females.

Pete, perhaps feeling threatened by the displays, moved up to the bow for a better look. We circled the area for an hour or so while the whales cavorted.

Eventually, Jerry turned back towards Bauline to pick up the next group scheduled for a tour. But as we neared the small harbor's mouth we had a nice treat...

A young humpback surfaced and dove just in front of the Ocean Adventure.

Looking for Birds

2008-06-29T09:16:00.000-04:00

Because of its location near some of the most productive fishing grounds in the world (or at least they used to be), Newfoundland is the nesting ground for many pelagic species of birds.

To see them, one simply has to walk out on a remote headland...

...and look down.

If there's an island off the tip of the headland...

...you're likely to see more interesting nesters.

Puffins build their nests in burrows...

...and often disappear into them when they see a photographer arrive.

Guillimots are less shy.

Many pelagic birds choose remote islands as a hedge against terrestrial predators like fox or rats. These black-legged kittiwakes choose steep cliffs for the same reason.

Nesting in large colonies also helps.

A large colony on an island with steep cliffs - perfect!.

Of course, these strategies offer only partial protection from avian predators, like this immature bald eagle.

The Road to Lumsden

2008-06-27T21:09:00.000-04:00

After a couple of days in the Twillingate area, we pack up the wet tent and begin the long drive to the Bonavista Peninsula. Instead of driving south down to the Trans Canada Highway, we follow Route 330 and 320 along the "Straight Coast" hoping we might see an iceberg or two.

Of course, I'm unable to resist exploring any smaller routes we happen to pass on the way. When I see Route 332 heading northwest towards Frederickton, I follow it. Jude spots this interesting gravestone outside of Davidsville.

After 18 miles of frost-heaved asphalt and gravel, we return to Route 330 and follow it towards Musgrave Harbour. Here the road hugs the coastline but heavy fog just offshore means there's little chance of seeing any icebergs. However, we do see a fine assortment of beachfront dwellings, including this trailer.

Pushing on, we take yet another detour on a small dirt road that leads out to the west side of Deadman's Bay. Though the sun breaks through the fog, there's still a strong onshore gale. We explore a few coastal bogs before stopping for a late lunch on a small beach.

Tired from driving, we decide to give up on reaching Bonavista today and find a local B&B for the night. In Lumsden, we find a rather new-ish cottage instead and, once again, spread our wet gear about the small bedroom to dry. The fog has retreated further offshore and we take a walk out a long sandy spit of land that once was the location of the village of North Lumsden.

Now it's mostly the location of small summer homes and old trailers with a diverse array of fences surrounding old pastures and gardens.

Before heading back to our cottage, Jude continues her quest to load the car with 100 pounds of rocks during the trip. Here she makes her selection.

Admiring the rock.

Adding the rock to the pack.

The Quick Brown Fox

2008-06-26T16:36:00.000-04:00

We heard there was a tame fox hanging around at the lighthouse in Twillingate.

I didn't really go looking for her, I was just walking around to get a photo of the buildings.

But I turned around and there she was, right behind me.

And though she seemed rather unfazed by me looking at her...

... she really didn't like the sound of my camera shutter.

Searching for Icebergs - Part 2

2008-06-26T14:00:00.000-04:00

After a night of steady rain and gusty winds, we head back to Durrell to get a better view of the iceberg. We park again at the end of the road and the beginning of the track, but now there are three or four other cars already there. As we put on our rain gear, a middle aged couple appear - he tall and hatless with rainwater dripping off his nose, hair plastered to his head. She is short and wrapped in a raincoat with a hat pulled down tight, lips slightly blue. Through chattering teeth, he describes the route to get to the best view of the iceberg. "Stay to the the right where the trail forks. It's really windy, but it's the best view!" he exclaims. Moments later a second couple appears, dressed more warmly than the first. "Stay to the left and follow the trail past the cottage - that's the best view".

We compromise and follow the trail past the cottage, THEN turn right across a bog towards a deep cove which gives a nice, framed view of the iceberg. The wind is strong, but mercifully the rain has mostly stopped. Jude and I yell to each other our plans to get a better view. Neither of us understand what the other says. I head west expecting Jude will soon follow. Jude heads east expecting me to do the same.

I follow the trail up and over a headland. The iceberg appears tantalizingly near, but thick tuckamore makes it impossible to get closer.

I continue on the trail until I see a rope that leads down a narrow, steep gorge to a small cove. Perhaps if I go down there I can get a closer view.

After a barely controlled decent over loose gravel and sharp rocks, I reach the bottom of the gorge. It's a small cove that, while protected from the wind, is swept continuously by a large swell. The iceberg seems no closer.

I use the rope to return to the top of the gorge - stopping many times to wait for small avalanches of scree to pass and to catch my breath. At the top I expect to see Jude looking for me, but she's nowhere to be seen. Using my binoculars I see a small figure walking the crest of the headland to the west. The hat is distinctive.

Following a maze of trails, I eventually locate Jude sitting in a small sheltered pocket of heath, busily drawing plants, birds and the iceberg. "I was beginning to worry about you - I thought you might have fallen off a cliff" she says.

We sit and watch the iceberg for a while. Every fourth or fifth wave makes a large BOOM! when it hits the berg at just the right angle. The mist becomes thicker and eventually turns into a light shower. We return to the car and head to Twillingate for lunch at a small bakery.

Searching for Icebergs - Part 1

2008-06-26T01:55:00.000-04:00

After our night in Woody Point, we make the long drive to Twillingate. The weather is cool but not rainy - the sun actually comes out!

We leave the Trans Canada highway for a short side trip, stopping at the old sulphur mine on Pilley's Island before driving out to Brighton.

In Brighton, we climb a long and steep set of stairs to a viewpoint on the headland and scan the horizon, hoping to spot an iceberg, but see none.

We do get a nice view of a backyard garden in the town below. Jude wants to shout down advice, but I restrain her. After lunch on the headland, we drive back to the Trans Canada and head on towards Twillingate.

By the time we reach Dildo Run Provincial Park (no snickering!) the day has turned cloudy with occasional showers. We set up camp and have a quick supper and then drive out to Twillingate Lighthouse.

On the drive out to the light Jude finally spots an iceberg off to the east. After a bit of map study, I determine it's off French Head north of the town of Durrell. As twilight gathers, we follow a road along the coast to Durrell.

It's not a direct route. The road goes in and out and around numerous coves before ending as a narrow dirt track with a sign warning the road is impassable ahead. We pull over and follow the track on foot. After a few lengthy "shortcuts" (mea culpa) we crest a col on the headland and get a glimpse of the iceberg in the failing light. The wind is blowing hard and occasionally showers pelt us as we sit and watch the berg. The eerie calls of snipe flying overhead adds to the otherworldly feeling of the place. After half an hour we turn to hike back to the car in the dark, reaching it just as the skies open up with a cold, steady rain.

Trout River and the Tablelands

2008-06-24T13:14:00.000-04:00

After our stay at Cheeseman Park we head towards the small village of Trout River - the location of an outlying campground in Gros Morne National Park. It's a rainy day when we set out but the weather improves to just fog by the time we reach the Bonne Bay area.

The next day the fog has cleared but skies remain overcast. This gives us our first view up the Trout River valley.

After packing up our gear we head towards Woody Point, driving through the serpentine barrens of the Tablelands. The red rocks here come from a slab of the earth's mantle which was thrust up on top of the underlying rocks when Africa collided with North America 470 million years ago.

Because of the peculiar geology, the rocks lack calcium and other minerals that most plants require to grow. Hence, only a few hardy plants can survive in this area. Jude does her best to find and identify them during sporadic showers.

Because of the peculiar geology the area is popular with field trips. Here, two groups, one composed of senior citizens and the other of high-school students, listen to a park naturalist explain the history of the area during a lull between showers.

Jude's search turns up some interesting plants that you wouldn't expect to find in such a barren location, like this Maidenhair Fern...

... or this Yellow Lady's Slipper.

There are also plenty of Pitcher Plants which look odd perched among the rocks.

Eventually, the showers become less sporadic and more torrential. We head to Woody Point to have a late lunch and check email at the local library. The skies partially clear. While Jude takes some time to work on her postcards, I take a walk down Main Street.

As I walk up the street towards the Woody Point Lighthouse, the skies again darken suddenly and a veil of rain appears over the mountains to the east of the town.

Looking down Bonne Bay, I try to figure out if this squall will pass by to the north or sweep down the bay to Woody Point.

I reach the lighthouse moments before the rain hits. I can hear it coming, drumming on the rooftops of nearby buildings as I take this photo. When I return to the car - soaked - I pledge never to take a walk again on this trip without carrying my raincoat or an umbrella.

Because of the continuing rain, we decide to stay at a bed and breakfast for the night instead of camping. In our room we spread out the tent and other gear to dry and walk the short way to downtown Woody Point for supper (with an umbrella). I order baked beans and crab cakes, Jude has pan fried cod and a baked potato.

After supper the skies finally clear though the weather looks unsettled over Gros Morne to the north.

Botanizing at Cheeseman Provincial Park

2008-06-23T20:40:00.000-04:00

The ferry arrived in Port aux Basque around 11:30 (Newfoundland time) and we decided to drive just a few miles up to Cheeseman Provincial Park after a mostly sleepless night back in North Sydney. After setting up the tent and taking a shower we felt alive enough to take a walk to the beach - one of the few sandy ones in Newfoundland. The path led through a nice set of bogs and heaths and gave Jude a chance to get her first look at Newfoundland's botany.

Pink Lady's Slipper were common...

..as were Dragon's Mouth Orchids...

...which occurred in large bunches in a few spots.

There was lots of Pale or Bog Laurel.

A closeup of the flower.

There was also plenty of Bakeapple plants (also known as Cloudberry).

A closeup of the flower and leaves.

Labrador Tea was in bloom.

Silverweed,

Starflower,

...and of course, Pitcher Plants.

And finally, a plant Jude really had to get down to see...

Round-leaved Sundew (with ant).

The Crossing

2008-06-22T14:30:00.000-04:00

As it turns out the loading call doesn't come until 4:00 AM just as dawn starts to show on the horizon.

Around 5:00 AM, the MV Smallwood finally leaves North Sydney, headed north for Port aux Basques, NFLD.

Not far out of the harbor, we pass a greater shearwater, who does his best to get out of the way of the ferry.

Further out in the Cabot Strait, we spot some arctic jellyfish.

A northern fulmar runs across the water before taking off.

As the Smallwood approaches Newfoundland around 11:00 AM, a few northern gannets fly overhead.

Another Trip to Newfoundland

2008-06-22T02:30:00.000-04:00

After last year's solo trip back to Newfoundland, Jude insisted she wanted to go along with me for a trip this summer. I figured I would use the experience gained from last year's trip to plan this one a little better. This would prove to be futile.

Unlike last year, I gave us 14 hours to get to the ferry instead of 12 so we could drive a little slower, save gas and have a bit of time to enjoy the trip. As it turned out, we arrived at the ferry terminal in North Sydney at 11:30 PM - about 2 hours before departure time. Unfortunately, as we paid for our tickets we were told the ferry was running a bit late and probably wouldn't leave until 2:30 AM.

Jude enjoys a tub of french fries - about the only edible food served at the terminal cafeteria at this hour.

We curl up for a comfortable nap while waiting for the loading call.

Saint John River - Day 6

2008-06-01T08:56:00.000-04:00

Our last day on the river. A 16 mile paddle down to Pellitier's Campground in Saint Francis where the truck and van are parked. Over night the gauge at Ninemile reached a low of 940 CFS.

6:15 AM - I take a walk this morning upstream to get another look at Big Rapids. However, after a mile or so I've only reached the bottom of the rapids and it begins to rain again. Before I return to camp I take a photo looking downstream towards Allagash Village.

8:33 AM - After a quick breakfast we get underway again. Despite the rain, the weather is warmer and we see our first blackflies of the trip as well as a pair of otters.

8:40 AM - Mark and John paddle past the a river front home in Allagash Village.

11:56 AM - 14 miles later we reach the end of the trip and begin unloading the canoes one last time.

12:12 PM - After a change of clothes and a bagel or two, we pose behind the Blue Hole for a group shot.

Saint John River - Day 5

2008-05-31T08:30:00.000-04:00

We wake up to overcast skies and slightly warmer temperatures. The stream gauge at Ninemile Bridge reads 1000 CFS this morning.

5:30 AM - I take a walk over the to US Border Patrol cabin on the other side of the Big Black River from our campsite.

5:35 AM - An old wood stove rusting in the scrub behind the cabin.

5:45 AM - Fiddlehead.

5:50 AM - The bridge over the Big Black River.

8:05 AM - Back at the campsite we load the canoes as it begins to rain lightly.

8:10 AM - John looks ready to pull a few lobster pots.

8:24 AM - Once in the canoes, a steady rainfall begins.

8:25 AM - Dan dons his raincoat.

10:15 AM - Following Dick and Chris through a small rapid.

11:45 AM - We take a break at Castonia Farm and find this old hand-dug well.

3:38 PM - We spend a wet afternoon checking out the campsites above Big Rapids, but they're either dark and muddy or have been replaced by cabins. We decide to push on through Big Rapids and stop at the old campground at the bottom. Here, Dick and Chris finish the first leg of the rapids. Soon after this photo, Richard and I have a near disaster on the second leg, getting hung up on a pointy rock in the middle of a chute. Thanks to Richard's concise instructions ("Don't lean upstream!" "Don't do anything stupid!") we manage to get off the rock and finish the rapids without incident. My only regret is not taking a photo of our predicament .

4:58 PM - Finally at the abandoned campground at the bottom of Big Rapids. After cleaning a few years worth of beer cans and other debris from the fire ring, Dick (pyro-man) gets a fire going in the rain with the help of Dan and John.

5:00 PM - Chris, Mark and Richard huddle under the small shelter during a downpour.

7:28 PM - Dick decides to use the last of the flour for another bannick bread. Richard helps out by cracking-wise.

8:00 PM - A few of us take a walk up the road for a last look at Big Rapids. From this height they don't look too big.

Saint John River - Day 4

2008-05-30T08:29:00.000-04:00

Another cold morning - but no blackflies! The water level has dropped to 1190 CFS at the Ninemile Bridge stream gauge.

5:30 AM - Mist rises over Seven Islands.

5:35 AM - John and Dan do a little birdwatching before breakfast.

5:40 AM - The fields around the campsite are littered with old farm equipment.

5:45 AM - The rim of an old wagon wheel.

5:50 AM - I have no idea what this was used for, but it looks deadly.

6:00 AM - Dick does a little baking before breakfast.

6:15 AM - A path through the woods.

6:30 AM - The Seven Islands sign.

7:00 AM - John pumps water for breakfast.

8:30 AM - Loading the canoes yet again.

9:28 AM - Priestly Bridge.

9:50 AM - Paddling through a small riffle.

10:15 AM - Sternmen portrait.

10:20 AM - A short break on a small island.

11:13 AM - Mark and John negotiate a small rapid.

1:06 PM - Lunch break.

1:14 PM - The first Furbish's Lousewort is spotted.

1:20 PM - An Eastern Comma butterfly.

3:00 PM - We finally reach Big Black Rapids. The rocks along the shore record the power of the water here during spring runoff. However, the river is running out of water for us and our challenge will be to find a way through the exposed boulders.

3:04 PM - Richard points out a good looking line.

3:05 PM - John - "You mean by that boulder?" Richard - "No, more to the left."

3:06 PM - "You mean this one?" "No, further out." "What about over there?" "Yeah, but see the big rock at the bottom of the chute?" "How about we go river right?"

3:07 PM - "So you think we oughta start right and then go left." "No - start left and then go right!" "But what about THAT rock?" "Which one?" "Hey! Look at that warbler!"

3:20 PM - Finally, Dan and John start their run.

3:21 PM - Looks good! Draw right!

3:22 PM - Watch that rock!

3:23 PM - Mark and John take their turn.

3:24 PM - Don't worry - the Blue Hole will just bounce off that big rock.

3:25 PM - Everyone takes a moment to regroup before paddling the rest of the rapid.

9:00 PM - After a tough whiffle ball game, Dan stares into the fire.

Saint John River - Day 3

2008-05-29T17:47:00.000-04:00

Day 3 also begins chilly but the wind has swung to the west and is now at our backs. The Ninemile stream gauge has dropped to 1420 CFS overnight.

6:45 AM - Richard and Chris prepare blueberry pancakes for breakfast.

6:50 AM - Dan gets in line for a short stack.

8:00 AM - Loading the canoes in a light rain.

9:15 AM - Richard stands for a better view of the rapids ahead.

9:30 AM - Mark and John cruise the shoreline.

10:10 AM - We take a morning break at Burntland Brook and shed our rain gear.

11:22 AM - Dan and John enjoy the tailwind above Ninemile Bridge.

12:30 PM - Cabin chairs at Ninemile Bridge cabin.

12:35 PM - Lunch siesta at Ninemile Bridge.

12:40 PM - The campsite at Ninemile Bridge.

2:45 PM - Lionel Caron's cabin near Billy Jack Brook.

2:50 PM - Glassy afternoon water.

3:00 PM - Chris and Dick take a floating break above Seven Islands.

5:00 PM - Sawing firewood at Seven Islands campsite.

5:20 PM - Dan updates his journal at Seven Island.

5:30 PM - Once again, Dick tries his luck at fishing.

5:45 PM - Richard makes a coffee cake in the reflector oven.

6:45 PM - John tends the sausages for tonight's dinner.

Saint John River - Day 2

2008-05-28T08:16:00.000-04:00

The second day on the river begins with a cold morning, followed by strong headwinds. The water level at Ninemile Bridge has fallen to 1630 CFS overnight.

5:54 AM - Dick waits for morning coffee.

7:40 AM - Packing the canoes.

7:50 AM - Leaving Turner Bogan.

9:00 AM - Chris practices his poling as we approach Flaws Bogan.

9:02 AM - Mark and John in the Blue Hole.

9:05 AM - Flaws Bogan cabin.

9:10 AM - Be good - I may be watching.

9:25 AM - The River at Flaws Bogan.

11:40 AM - Chris and Dick negotiate an unnamed rapid above Southwest Branch.

11:41 AM - Mark and John take their turn.

11:42 AM - John and Dan make it look easy.

11:54 AM - Richard unpacks lunch, Dick unpacks his fly rod.

12:10 PM - Dick does a little fishing.

12:46 PM - Dan makes friends with a crayfish.

2:00 PM - Afternoon on the river, during a momentary break from the headwind.

2:30 PM - Checking the map at Doucie Brook.

6:00 PM - Tonight's camp is at Northwest Branch.

6:10 PM - Dick an Richard check out the We-No-Nah after two scratchy days on the river. At the end of the day the Ninemile Bridge stream gauge reads 1510 CFS.

8:25 PM - Dick tries a little evening fishing.

Saint John River - Day 1

2008-05-27T08:30:00.000-04:00

A low-water trip down the Saint John River in Maine.

5:30 AM - The rush to sort gear begins at Chris' house in Augusta.

5:50 AM - Packing the pickup.

8:30 AM - Everyone enjoys Richard's recitation of "The Cremation of Sam McGee".

10:30 AM - Pit stop on Route 11.

11:50 AM - Norman and Leon tie down the the canoes for the long ride to Baker Lake.

11:55 AM - Richard sports his pristine new red Crusher.

12:20 PM - A view of the trailer at the Allagash Checkpoint on the Michaud Farm Road.

4:20 PM - Unloading and resorting gear at Baker Lake.

4:30 PM - Loading the canoes.

4:35 PM - The warden's dog. We're told "You'll be the last trip down the river this season". The stream gauge at Ninemile Bridge reads 1710 CFS.

5:30 PM - Finally underway!

5:45 PM - John and Dan enjoy the scenery.

5:44 PM - Dan flashes our canoe gang sign?

5:45 PM - Chris paddles while Dick looks for fish.

6:30 PM - Turner Bogan, our campsite for the night.

7:20 PM - Relaxing by the fire while waiting for dinner.

7:40 PM - Mark's old Blue Hole.

The Boston Marathon

2008-04-23T17:47:00.000-04:00

While attending college in Boston, I often watched the Boston Marathon, whose course was only a few blocks from my apartment. I was on the cross-country team in high school, where a race was 3 1/2 miles or so. However, I wasn't a very good runner - my legs are short and my oddly shaped feet always developed a wondrous pattern of blisters in the wafer soled Adidas we wore back then. Still, I identified with the marathoners in a way I never did with someone who played baseball or basketball.

Thirty years ago, it wasn't that difficult to get a good spot at the finish line and watch the runners on their final sprint down Boylston. This time, though, I decided it would be easier to watch from Kenmore Square, about a mile from the finish and the crushing crowds.

10:08am - The wheelchair runners started at 9:25, the women started at 9:35 and the men started at 10:00. All is quiet in Kenmore Square.

10:11am - Boston Police are out in droves - not just for the Marathon, but because for some perverse reason there's a Red Sox Game at 11:00am today.

10:58am - The first wheelchair competitors head down Commonwealth Ave.

11:25am - The crowd is still thin as the wheelchairers continue to zip past.

11:56am - A growing blare of sirens and a camera truck signal the approach of the first women runners.

11:57am - Alevtina Biktimirova of Russia and Dire Tune of Ethiopia run past my lamppost perch.

12:03pm - Just six minutes later the first male runner, Robert Cheruiyot of Kenya makes his way towards the finish.

12:06pm - Last years winning female runner, Lidiya Grigoryeva of Russia, looks pained.

12:45pm - Antoni Kot of Edinburgh looks intense.

12:48pm - Adam Mulia of New York looks... like an airplane?

1:01pm - The runners, coming thick and fast now, round the corner on Hereford Street. Only two blocks to go!

1:34pm - Tracey Martin of Chicago (official time 3:01:35) stands triumphant and slightly dazed amid the chaos near the finish line. "Can you tell me where the subway station is?" he asks.

Wide Angle Grocery Shopping

2008-04-18T06:11:00.000-04:00

Selecting your cart.

The produce section.

Oh look! Cheez-It's are on sale!

Canned food.

Processed meats.

Mission accomplished!

Stata Center, MIT

2008-04-10T14:30:00.000-04:00

I bought a new wide angle lens.

But I'm not sure I like it.

It really seems to distort everything.

TWiN BAKERY

2008-04-10T08:05:00.001-04:00

The Bakery.

The Twins.

Portrait

2008-04-06T18:14:00.000-04:00

I'm having a show of my photos at the Harlow Gallery in Maine.

It's a joint show and the other artist, Mike, does more conceptual work. This includes filling one of the front windows of the gallery with trash.

It also includes doing portraits of visitors to the gallery. This afternoon, he did my friend Jude's portrait.

The first moments of a sitting are always a bit tense...

Things loosen up a bit when Jude's dog joins her. But where is the portrait going?

It looks kind of cartoony...

Okay, now it's looking a bit more like Jude.

Wait, what's he doing now? Several silver-haired ladies watching the progress of the portrait gasp and go "tsk-tsk".

Um, okay - I think I see where this is headed.

Mike gets out his fine brushes...

Using a stick to add some white. The silver haired ladies go "oooh".

After 45 minutes, Jude gets her first look.

Jude bolts as Mike says "Wait, let me touch-up that nose a bit!"

Why Are Cemeteries Named Pleasant?

2008-03-30T11:27:00.000-04:00

Both in Livermore Falls, Maine.

It's Been a Long Winter

2008-03-24T13:48:00.000-04:00

In Bethel, Maine they create the world's largest snowwoman to pass the time.

Despite a treacherous plaza of lumpy ice, a steady stream of camera toting visitors makes their way to the foot of the snowwoman. Be careful Grandma!

Oh snowwoman, please make this winter end!

Bah! Don't bother me you pathetic warm-blood. I will freeze you and crush your tacky duplexes! Bu-wah ha-ha!

One Morning at the John Hancock Building

2008-03-12T14:28:00.000-04:00

See that guy there?

Where?

The guy walking towards you.

Oh, I see him now.

He's going to tell you you can't take pictures of the John Hancock Building.

Phosphorescent Frogs!

2008-03-09T22:56:00.000-04:00

Odd stuff at the barn...

DA-DUM!

DA-DUM!

DA-DUM DA-DUM DA-DUM DA-DUM...

Franklin and Abe's Ears

2008-02-28T20:32:00.000-05:00

Franklin

Abe

Rotate!

2008-02-10T20:38:00.000-05:00

Bon is a long-haired German Shepherd.

She's not much of a "trick" dog.

She'll sit and lay down and stay (if she doesn't see something she'd like to investigate).

But she excels at rotating.

Out for a Walk in a Snowstorm

2008-01-14T16:25:00.000-05:00

There's something about a red door...

...especially in a snowstorm...

...that makes me want to take a photo.

Can you spot the non-MIT student?

2007-12-07T11:54:00.000-05:00

At Kendall Square T station in Cambridge...

...three out of four passengers...

...are students at MIT.

Can you spot the non-student?

The Pavemen Cometh

2007-11-12T18:48:00.001-05:00

It's a know fact that the asphalt plants in Maine close for the winter on Thanksgiving day. Therefore, the first three weeks of the month of November is macadam madness, as every Mainer who's seen one mud season too many, decides to pony up the big bucks and get their driveway paved before spring!

Steaming asphalt - the way life should be...

A Walk Through Augusta, Maine

2007-11-10T09:00:00.000-05:00

Augusta, Maine's capital and nerve center. Teeming with state employees from 8 to 5 on weekdays. At 6:00 AM on a Saturday, not so much.

The famous Mid-State College (not to be confused with Max-State College or Average-State College).

The Colonial Theatre, built in 1913. Every 10 years there seems to be a movement to restore and re-open it. Alas, not yet.

Another Dance Lesson

2007-10-18T21:20:00.001-04:00

It's Polka Time!

2007-10-13T18:58:00.000-04:00

Always be careful when you accept a polka lesson.

A Visit to Sing Sing

2007-09-14T16:00:00.000-04:00

I’m on a trip to New York, staying at a campground in Westchester County. Driving through Ossining I see the name on a map - "Sing Sing Prison".

Sing Sing?! The actual Sing Sing Prison? The setting for The Big House and movies starring James Cagney? The origin of the phrase "sent up the river"? The home of "old Sparky" the first electric chair in the USA?

I take a turn off Route 9 onto a quite suburban street. The neighborhood becomes more residential as I approach the Hudson River. The road curves to the right and there is a fence to the left. With concertina wire on the top. I crest a small hill and suddenly a blank concrete wall - 20 feet high - looms ahead.

The road turns right and follows the wall towards a corner with a tower.

I park in a small pull out and walk up the street to the corner. The wall continues for half a mile. I snap a few pictures.

Suddenly, a door clangs above. "Hey you! You can’t take pictures here!" A large, heavily armed guard glares down at me from the wall. "Oh yeah?" I say "Try and stop me!" I run for the car as an alarm wails from somewhere beyond the tower. Spotlights flick on as I open the door and hop in. "Stop! Stop or I’ll shoot!" "You’ll never catch me copper" I yell as I hit the gas and speed off down the street.

Later, at the Ossining Quimbaya Coffee Shop, I watch the meter maid check my time. She doesn’t suspect a thing.

A Quick Trip to Newfoundland - The road north

2007-07-11T18:10:00.001-04:00

I get up very early and quickly pack everything while my stove heats up water for coffee. I’m planning to have my “real” breakfast somewhere on the road overlooking Bonne Bay. As I leave the campground, a young moose bolts from a ditch and runs across the road mere inches in front of my bumper.

I stop quickly and hop out to try for a picture but she’s long gone by the time my feet hit the gravel. However, I look down and spot a small snail crossing the road ahead of my front tires so I take his picture instead.

A small picnic park on the north shore of Bonne Bay serves as my breakfast nook.

I also take the opportunity to reorganize the back of the Element so I can more easily get at things I might need during the day (like my rain coat).

The weather alternates between showers and fog so I continue north on Route 430 through Gros Morne and past the various “scenic attractions” announced on roadside signs.

Somewhere around Port au Choix, the rain stops and the clouds lift and I see blue sky ahead. When I reach Saint Barbe, it has become a fine day and wherever the road follows the coast, I peer across the Strait of Belle Isle trying to get a glimpse of Labrador’s coast, 12 miles away. However, the fog lies a few miles offshore and I see nothing. Except, there is something out there. A large sailboat?

I pull over and get out my binoculars. An iceberg!

At Eddies Cove Route 430 head east and leaves the Strait of Belle Isle and the icebergs behind. Along the road I notice many small fenced in areas.

These are Newfoundland gardens plots, planted out here in the relatively rich soils away from the coast and the salt spray.

Unlike the Tablelands, the bedrock underlying this region of Newfoundland is limestone and, where the soil is thick enough, it’s relatively good for growing.

Where the soil isn’t thick and the winds are strong (pretty much everywhere) a number of rare plants still occur, taking advantage of the small, sheltered micro-climates in the cracked limestone barrens.

It’s late afternoon when I reach Pistolet Bay Provincial Park. I set up my tent and have a real meal, my first in three days. The sun is still high in the sky – it doesn’t set until 9:30 at this latitude – so I take a drive out to Cape Onion.

The horizon is dotted with icebergs, though only a few small ones are in the bay.

There’s a small cemetery next to a church on the Cape and as I follow a trail past it I find a lone grave in a sheltered swale a few hundred yards below it:

BABY BOY ANDREWs
Born Sept 21, 1969
Died Sept 29, 1969

As the sun slips behind the fog bank hanging in the Strait, I head back to my tent and wondering about the circumstances of his birth and death and why he’s buried here, outside the churchyard.

A Quick Trip to Newfoundland - Heading to Trout Brook

2007-07-10T23:00:00.000-04:00

I’ve been to Newfoundland a lot in the last 35 years. However, most of my trips have been to the Avalon Peninsula on the eastern side of the island. I’ve only been to the tip of the Northern Peninsula and Labrador once – about 30 years ago. So, on this short trip, my vague plan is to explore this part of the island with a side trip to Labrador if time permits.

After getting off the ferry I head to Cheeseman Provincial Park outside Port aux Basques for a quick a shower.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m on the road again. The day is overcast with occasional rain. I decide I’ll drive until I’m tired and then find a place to camp. I play leapfrog with the slow-moving RVs on the road. I pass “Minnie Winnie” a half-dozen times only to have her overtake me when I stop for a photo or coffee.

After 170 miles, I reach Deer Lake and decide I’ll camp at Trout River in Gros Morne National Park. After a stop at a grocery store for a few supplies (including a box of Purity Cream Crackers) I head down Route 430 towards Wiltondale and the turn off to Trout River about 25 miles away.

The road to Trout River takes me through the Tablelands – a series of flat topped mountains that are actually a piece of the earth’s mantle which was thrust up onto the underlying rock when Africa collided with North America about 470 million years ago.

The red rocks are very low in calcium, very high in magnesium, and have a variety of heavy metals which make them toxic to most plants.

Last winter’s snow is still visible in many of the deep ravines near the tops of the mountains.

The clouds hang low over their tops, giving the landscape a foreboding mood.

When I get to the campground, I'm too tired to do much else other than eat a pack of Ramen noodles set up my tent and go to bed.

A Quick Trip to Newfoundland - The crossing

2007-07-10T19:53:00.000-04:00

I generally find the rocking of a ship a soothing motion. However, not everyone does. Throughout the night an endless parade of passengers hurriedly make there way to the restroom near my "bunk", including the boy with the squeaky sneakers. A teenage girl with hiccups wanders through the lounge a half-dozen times, like a small wraith haunting the ship.

At 5:00 AM, after 3 hours of non-sleep, I see the sky has lightened and make my way to the upper deck. We are about halfway to Newfoundland and the sky has cleared somewhat.

As the sun peaks over the horizon, I take a tour of our ship, the MV Leif Ericson.

The lifeboats. I decide I really wouldn't want to spend much time in these...

The upper deck with only two benches. I suppose most people spend their time below in the cafeteria.

The sun shows itself only briefly before disappearing behind the clouds overhead, leaving a blank horizon.

At 7:00, the cafeteria opens and I head below to get a cup of coffee. When I come back on deck I get my first glimpse of Port aux Basques, our destination.

The Lief Ericison makes a long turn into the harbor giving a better view.

As we approach the ferry terminal, the ships P.A. announces that we should head for the car deck. Though, I know it'll be a bit before we dock, I follow the herd to the bowels of the ship.

On the car deck the Ferry men return and congregate at the rear door of the ship. We entered the ship through the bow in North Sydney, and now we'll exit through the stern. Outside, the ship is pirouetting and backing into the Terminal ramp. The engine noise is loud and accompanied by various deep rumbles and vibrations and the occasional hard jolt. I wonder how the hiccupping wraith is doing.

Finally it all comes to a halt and as the stern door lifts a bit of natural light filters into our neon undersea world.

Though it will still be 5 minutes before we can actually leave, SUVs, Winnebagos and 18-wheelers all start their engines at the sight of the light. Soon, in the distance, I can see the Ferry men frantically waving for the the front vehicles to move. Though I was the last vehicle on the boat, by luck I get to slip past a large group of trucks and RVs which need space to maneuver.

Once I hit the the ramp, there is no stopping for photos. I'm in the midst of small rush-hour's worth of traffic all rushing towards their home, their work, their vacation! I'm too busy watching out for the semi to my right as a VW passes me on my left and a Winnebago hits his brakes in front to look at much else.

Finally, the cars and trailers disperse a bit and I pull over to get my bearings. I'm in Newfoundland!

A Quick Trip to Newfoundland - The drive

2007-07-09T17:40:00.000-04:00

It's July and I have a break in work before a busy August. Jude's at a show in Connecticut. I decide to head to Newfoundland.

My ferry reservation is for 9:00 AM on Tuesday. If I leave Monday afternoon I can take my time on the 12 hour drive to North Sydney, Nova Scotia, stay at a cheap motel (or sleep in the car) and easily make the ferry. By 1:00 PM the car is loaded and I head out in the rain. It's a good day to drive. I cross the border into Canada around 5:00 PM and make a stop at Ossie's outside Bethel, New Brunswick, for a clam roll.

Fortified, I push on. The sun sets, though I don't see it in the scattered showers. It's a good night to drive. An idea starts to form in my head. If I keep driving, I might catch the 2:00 AM ferry instead of the 9:00 AM. I have no reservation but there might be room or a cancellation. The worse case is I'll sleep in the car at the ferry terminal. The best case is I'll get to Newfoundland on Tuesday morning at 8:00 instead of Tuesday evening.

The fates start to work against me. I get lost for a short time in Amherst, Nova Scotia, when I exit the Trans Canada highway to get a cup of coffee and can't find how to get back to an on-ramp. Then my credit card company puts a hold on my card when I try to get gas in New Glasgow because I've filled my tank three times in the last 9 hours and it doesn't match my "usual buying pattern". Finally, at 1:00 AM, somewhere between Baddeck and North Sydney, I get pulled over by the RCMP for speeding. I was going 60 miles per hour in a 60 kilometers per hour zone. However, the Mountie is quite friendly (unlike any State Troopers I've ever met in similar circumstances) and she let's me off with a gentle reprimand and warns me that one of her colleagues is waiting further down the road. She also let's me know that I should have no trouble reaching North Sydney before 2:00AM.

At 1:30 AM I pull into the ferry terminal parking lot. The sleepy attendant in the booth tells me I probably won't get on, but takes my money and directs me to Lane 8. I'm the last car in line.

A take a short walk around the lot. Many people are dozing in their front seats. A few stand around outside their cars smoking. The guy in front of me tells me the ferry's full, we probably won't make it on board. At 1:45, the Ferry men show up and start waving flashlights. The smokers ditch their butts, and car engines stutter to life. The lanes on either side of us move forward in fits and starts and then Lane 8 starts to move. I can hear snippets of conversation as the Ferry men radio to the boat reporting the status of the waiting vehicles - "We got two SUV's towing pop-ups and a 24 foot Airstream in Lane 7..." "Okay, send the pop-ups". Like a game of musical chairs, the drivers eye each other as the Ferry men stop the flow from one lane and wave furiously for the next to get moving. Finally, I hear the call from the boat "We got room for two more..." The Ferry man to my left points to me and the car in front and motions with his light for us to go. I'm the last on the ferry. The Airstream and a Semi in Lane 7 kill their engines.

Once on board, the Ferry men draw a chain behind my car and disappear. It takes me several moments to figure out (and find) what I should bring with me to the passenger deck for the evening's cruise. When I do, I realize I'm alone on the car deck. I savor the moment. "I made it!" A Klaxon alarm jolts me from my reverie as the car ramp rises and the bow doors start to descend 20 feet behind my car.

I grab my pack and a small pillow and find my way to the stairs to the upper decks. My short delay has cost me dearly. I reach the sleeping "lounges" - auditorium sized rooms filled with airline-style recliners - only to find most of the seats already occupied with cramped bodies, trying to sleep. I work my way from one lounge to the next looking for an empty seat. Finally, near the bow of the boat, I find a vacant spot in the last row of seats near a hallway and bathroom. The seat doesn't fully recline. In front on me a young boy with squeaky sneakers shifts his feet. Then he shifts again. Then again. A women two rows in front and to my right opens a bag of chips. A large bag. She eats a chip. Then another. And another. The lights go out. Except for one. The one that shines directly into my eyes. It's going to a long night.

Warren, NH - Town Motto: "Close Enough!"

2007-03-13T14:54:00.000-04:00

Alan B. Shepard, the first American launched into space, was born in New Hampshire. But not in Warren.

This is a Mercury-Redstone 1 single-stage ballistic missile. It is not quite the rocket that Alan Shepard was launched on, which was a Mercury-Redstone 3 two-stage rocket. But it's close enough.

Mardi Gras in Hallowell

2007-02-17T19:24:00.000-05:00

Get your hands off me, you damn dirty ape!

You take another photo and I'm getting the TASER out!

Baxter Ski Trip - Day 6

2007-02-06T10:01:00.001-05:00

Morning on Katahdin Lake

Baxter Ski Trip - Day 6

2007-02-06T10:01:00.000-05:00

Morning on Katahdin Lake

Baxter Ski Trip - Day 5

2007-02-05T17:26:00.000-05:00

Jon's tool kit.

A pleasant afternoon on Katahdin Lake.

Baxter Ski Trip - Day 4

2007-02-04T21:58:00.000-05:00

Freeze-dried Fiesta

Twenty-below

Baxter Ski Trip - Day 3

2007-02-03T11:38:00.000-05:00

Breakfast with underware.

Baxter Ski Trip - Day 2

2007-02-02T12:22:00.000-05:00

Crossing South Branch Pond

Baxter Ski Trip - Day 1

2007-02-01T21:16:00.000-05:00

Lighting the Stove. Okay, I'll just give it a bit more gas...

Whoopsie!

Okay, I didn't need those eyebrows anyway.

How to Mortify Your Dog

2007-01-21T22:16:00.000-05:00

Photographing Dogs

2007-01-17T19:55:00.000-05:00

Good girl Olive! Nellie, Zuni! Sit!

Nellie - back up! Sit! Stay! Zuni! Sit!

Zuni - what are you rolling in? Nellie - come back! Olive? Olive?

A Brief Visit by Comet McNaught

2007-01-10T21:51:00.000-05:00

The Model

2007-01-09T21:40:00.000-05:00

Okay - so you've got a new lens...

and you want to test it out...

Why does it always have to be me??

2005-05-22T21:54:00.000-04:00

sabatier seal

2005-05-21T11:10:00.000-04:00

northern white violet

2005-05-19T15:21:00.000-04:00

barn cloud

2005-05-18T08:22:00.000-04:00

bell

2005-05-17T16:50:00.000-04:00

Bluets Houstonia caerulea

2005-05-15T13:57:00.000-04:00

jewel weed

2005-05-13T17:17:00.000-04:00

5:15

2005-05-12T07:03:00.000-04:00

birds and the belfry

2005-05-11T07:13:00.000-04:00

twins

2005-05-10T07:41:00.000-04:00

gulls

2005-05-09T05:51:00.000-04:00

wonder

2005-05-08T17:18:00.000-04:00

trillium

2005-05-07T11:04:00.000-04:00

vernal pool

2005-05-07T10:37:00.000-04:00

hellebore

2005-05-07T09:14:00.000-04:00

trout lilies

2005-05-06T13:54:00.000-04:00

unknown

2005-05-06T09:36:00.000-04:00

ledge

2005-05-06T08:53:00.000-04:00

moss