#Always the Blackfly No Matter Where You Go | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

themindfulword · 7 years ago

Text

PHILBIN POND: A story of finding comfort in tradition

Hal, no

t has to be the same every year. The same dried food. The same backpacks and tent and groundcloth and water filter. Of course, the same canoe and paddles and boat jackets. But of course, every year, something is off. I swear Cassie can smell these things. Like the paddle. After my six weeks of cajoling the company to dredge up an old-model paddle that looked like the one my friend Steve carelessly broke during a late-night dare on a Boundary Waters trip, Cassie had known in an instant that it wasn’t the same one. Even after I’d carefully rubbed it with leaves and soil and ground the tip into rocks to make it look like it had pushed off the canoe a thousand times. I’d even buried it with the other gear in the rear of the garden shed and taken care to make it dusty like the others. But Cassie had reached for it as soon as she saw it. Then, she’d rubbed a finger over the logo on the blade where the old one, I recalled only as I saw her do it, had borne a half dozen scratches through the paint. And so it began. “No! Hal, no ... Hal, no.” Her moaning wail had gone on and on, for nearly an hour. And there was no explaining or reasoning. Only apologizing over the wail of “Hal, no ... Hal, no." The similarity between “Hal, no” and “Hell, no” hasn’t been funny since I was a freshman in high school. In that misty time when we were sort of a regular family, before my Dad died and left me the canoe trip to take alone with Cassie. In truth, it’s hard to believe I ever found it funny, but I know there was that other time. When Cassie and I spent hours and hours lying on our backs to watch the sky with my Dad and he made it all seem normal. Like something it was alright to laugh about. But of course, my high school buddies didn’t agree that “Hal, no” wasn’t funny. They inserted it into conversation whenever it was remotely feasible, and plenty of infeasible times as well. “Hal, no, I won’t eat that meatloaf, not for 10 bucks or $100. You know, the lunch-lady disease is contagious like zombies.” All those guys are gone from Mooers Bend now, abandoning it just like I did, to grow up into real lives. They come home for Christmas sometimes, but none of them have to come home the second Friday in June, come hell or high water, with a canoe trip to stage that’s necessary to talk about the whole damn year long. A trip that’s only just bearable when not too many things go wrong. Where wrong equals different from before. Because that’s the other thing Cassie talks about all year—what went wrong the last year. Any other time I’m home, she drags me out to the shed or up to the attic to point at the offending piece of gear, reminding me that it wasn’t right. Which is her way of making sure I get it right the next time. But getting every last little detail right is only getting harder since Mona and I bought a house in Ithaca. The four-hour drive to Mooers Bend seems to get longer every time, and the new job has only two weeks of vacation. Using half of it for a trip with my sister isn’t sitting so well with Mona. “Just tell your Mom you can’t do it, Hal. That you’ll lose your job. That you have mono, anything. Once you change the pattern, Cassie will adjust. She’ll forget. There’ll be a new pattern.” A new pattern. Except the new pattern will be a whole lot of nothing. Because that’s what the rest of her life is already like. This tedious, repetitive canoe trip is the friggin’ pinnacle of her tedious, repetitive life. Driving through the mountains to get to Mooers Bend, I have plenty of time to fret over all the details I haven’t really dealt with since last year. Never mind the weather forecast, which is lousy. When I get there, Cassie’s waiting for me on the top step instead of on the porch, which immediately makes me a little nervous. Knowing her, it probably means something. I have no idea what, but any change in her routine can mean a blow-up’s coming. But then I relax when I get out of the car, because her smile is wide, and this is no small thing. She hardly ever smiles. But it’s true that every year when I pull up for the canoe trip, I get a smile. Just the one, usually. It has to last me all year long. Except it’s my mother who should be smiling when she sees me, because the five days of this yearly canoe trip make up the only break she gets from Cassie, ever. But I think my Mom’s morphed into someone who can’t even have a life of her own, because she doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself while we’re away. At least she seems incredibly glad to see us when we get back.

It's the same thing every year

It takes a full day to pack for the trip. Blessedly, my mother takes care of the food, so I only have to deal with the gear. Which is easy enough most years, but late June can still be rainy and cool in the Adirondacks and I worry about keeping Cassie warm enough. Because of course, she never says anything when she’s cold. Or hurt or whatever. I wonder how much she even feels it. It’s the rule that we have to swim in the lake every night after supper, no matter the temperature of either the water or the air. And it’s my job to keep her from getting pneumonia. For this, I need to portage in enough dry towels and extra layers of clothes, and sometimes even an extra sleeping bag if the forecast looks grim—because she’ll turn blue with cold and still refuse to get out of the lake until she’s seen all the constellations. Which can be uber late in the second week of June, when the last light lingers well after 9 p.m. I’ve brought the star chart and this year’s lunar calendar, of course, because charting the moon and the constellations is what we do for most of the week. It’s one of Cassie’s two interests. The other being insects. Which is no coincidence, with those being my father’s two pet interests. Though, of course, my father was interested in every other natural science as well—stars and bugs were just his favorites. Cassie, as far as I can tell, kept the two and chucked the rest. The pattern of how we spend our time on the canoe trip is always the same: we look for bugs most of the day, take a nap and then chart constellations well into the night. The reason for doing the trip in the middle of June is that insects are hatching at a furious rate. Most of which descend to suck our blood. But that means—and this is key—that at the height of blackfly season, no one else is crazy enough to be within miles of these lakes. So we always get the good campsite on the island. The day we leave is always harrowing for me, with so many things that can go wrong. We have a small snafu with the broken seat in my car not wanting to fold flat, which means we have to repack to fit everything. But we make good time paddling across Blue Pond, the fish hatchery lake you’d can’t camp on, and then across the long portage to “our” lake, Philbin Pond. We make straight for the island with “our” campsite, pulling up in the canoe and tying it off. The first thing she always does is walk the perimeter to scope for any bits of trash or other signs of people. These she carefully erases them, bagging the trash and stacking any wood with axe marks by the fire to be burned. I guess it’s important that we seem like the only people who ever come here. Though how she accounts for how the trash showed up, I have no idea. I was hoping the chance of rain in the forecast would go the other way, but even as we bob on the lake in our boat jackets that night, the sky is clouding over and we can’t make much of the stars. The only good thing about a cloudy sky is that I can get Cassie out of the lake a little earlier than usual. Tonight I’m completely beat and have been pining for my sleeping bag for the past two hours. Of course, it’s playing with fire, this cloudy weather. Cassie expects one or two nights to be cloudy—they always are—but if none of our five precious nights aren’t clear, we’re going to have a problem. The rain starts in the night and is coming down pretty steadily by the time the sun rises, an invisible presence behind the thick quilt of clouds, lightening the full black to dark grey. We don full-body rainsuits to make breakfast and then begin the annual inventory of bugs on the island. Cassie has her “Rite in the Rain” notebook for the year, in which she’ll carefully note every insect we see—just like our Dad always did. All year, she’ll go over these notes and compare them to previous years, looking for patterns in insects coming or going. The world of bugs is the one place she seems to like change, as long it’s careful and measured and she can record it in her notebooks. But today, there’s almost nothing to record, as the bugs are mostly hiding from the rain. Which is what I'd like to be doing. We always stay five nights and four days, and the engraved-in-stone itinerary says Day One is all about the campsite island, while Day Two is for combing over the other big island on the lake, on which all the campsites are closed to let the island recover from humans. Day Three is a visit to the bog on the eastern end of the lake. Day Four is a paddle through the outlet to the swampy creek that leads to Sabin Pond, which is surrounded by tall marsh grasses in which, in some years, we can find the six-spotted fishing spider. This being the peak excitement of the trip. It rains steadily through Day One, Day Two and Day Three. Since there’s no changing the itinerary, we dutifully follow it in our rainsuits. Cassie is doing better than I might’ve expected, remaining glum but quiet as we steadily look for things we can’t find. It’s me I’m beginning to worry about, because I’m wet and cold and bored out of my mind with seeing the same places I’ve seen dozens of times before. And this year, my boredom’s unrelieved by the sight of living things, as everything with any sense at all is hiding from the weather. Only the loons and the diving ducks are as active as always, the rain a boon to their activities. But how many hours on end can you watch them dive? Turns out the answer is lots, at least for Cassie. By Day Four it’s still raining, but it's more of a mist than a pour. We don’t find the fishing spider on Sabin Pond, which is hardly surprising, since we’ve hardly seen anything all week. I worry what this last disappointment will do to Cassie, but she seems to take it in stride. Her tolerance for chance and change in nature is infinitely greater than in anything humans control. Dinner in the misting rain is another glum affair, with bits of hemlock needles stuck to nearly every surface and wet ash smeared on every inch of cookware. After dinner, we strip off our sticky wet rainsuits and don still-wet bathing suits and boat jackets for the evening dip. It’s painful to bare our skin in this chilly wet air, but then the lake, in comparison to the air, feels blessedly warm.

A perfect night sky

As we paddle around with our boat jackets holding us afloat, I realize the mist has finally ceased falling on my face. Which means it’s actually stopped raining. And then, a few minutes later, I feel it: a breeze on my skin. A cool wind has kicked up, and when I turn over onto my back, I see that the thick grey duvet of clouds is breaking up into streaks and blobs. And moving. All week, it’s been an impervious layer of solid grey wool, impersonating the sky, but now the stubborn clouds are finally moving. Cassie has turned over next to me and is staring upward. We bob like this for the next hour, the water warm beneath us and the air cool above as we watch the clouds form and re-form, with the fresh new wind nipping at their tails. The streaks of thinning clouds are lit from behind by the bright slice of waning crescent moon, dropping down in the sky. As we watch, the clouds thin and break apart further, and the slice of moon slips behind the Earth. When it’s gone, the sky grows ebony black behind the sparkling stars. And suddenly, against all odds, it’s a perfect night sky. Cassie points at the Milky Way, and then we kick our feet to turn and start the constellations with Aquarius, the Water Bearer. Our Dad always had us start with Aquarius, and some traditions are engraved in stone.

As we rotate slowly on the soft lake water, Cassie begins to name each constellation and tell the legend. She traces each outline with her finger, just as our Dad would do, and names each anchoring star. She’s even, remarkably, committed his exact words to memory and speaks them in her own flat monotone, which sounds nothing like his rich, cadenced voice used to when he told the same stories on this same lake. But also, I think as I listen, everything like it. “Now here, we have Libra, the Scales,” Cassie says in her deliberate way, “on which Astraea, the Roman Goddess of Justice weighed the good and evil deeds of men and woman as she determined each one’s fate. When people grew so wicked that they horrified Astraea, she abandoned humankind and left behind her golden scales, which the Romans, in fear of her justice, embedded in the constellation Libra. To show they respected her judgment. And nearby we have Scorpius, mortal enemy of the hunter Orion ..." As I listen to Cassie, I have a sudden sense of my father floating nearby, watching closely to see that we get it right. He’s guiding us, helping Cassie remember all the names and helping me listen. I can feel how he’s glad to be here with us. Cassie’s flat voice is clear and, for her, oddly bright. It feels as if her words are woven through with joy, her own particular flat and quiet kind of joy. No one else would be able to hear it, but I can tell she’s smiling. And it occurs to me, then, that I wouldn’t trade places with anyone just now. Because all of this is right. And no single, small, tiny little piece of it is wrong. Hal, no. «RELATED READ» IMPERMANENCE: The ever-persisting cycle of youth and age» image 1: Pixabay; image 2: Pixabay; image 3: Boyko Blagoev (Creative Commons BY) Click to Post

#canoe trip #constellations #family #outdoor adventure #science #siblings #tradition

1 note · View note

wordsonpagespress · 5 years ago

Text

Winnie, by Jack Hostrawser

fiction by Jack Hostrawser | second place fiction winner of the 2017 Blodwyn Memorial Prize, sponsored by Book*Hug

“‘Winnie’ is an exemplary story in all aspects: from characters to pacing to the prose itself—so clear and crisp it is almost transparent. The story drew us in immediately and never let us go. The moment you finish, you want to jump right back up to the start and begin again, and it never fails to hold up under more and more readings.”

It’ll go like this all night, when the snow’s fine like this. I’ve turned the light off in the guest room and slid a chair up to the window to sit and watch until my mom’s ready. Some high-backed thing that’s not very comfortable unless you fold yourself up in it. Everything in Yusuf’s house is like that. People from the forties have weird tastes.

I’ve got a long view from here down to the fields he rents out and all the dry corn still in them, whispering in the snow. If I had the time, maybe I’d go out later all bundled up and go walking in the storm and try to appreciate it. There’s never going to be any snow at Dad’s place.

Mom knocks once then enters, smelling like the fireplace downstairs. “You don’t want the lights on?” she asks, flicking them on. I pick up my backpack of things and she steps out of the way. Yusuf and her are taking his kids on a whirlwind tour of Egypt for three weeks over Christmas break. They’ll spend what some people earn in a year. Mom really wants me to come.

Instead, she says “Your father will really appreciate the company company this time of year.”

The drive in from the hills to the city is slow and warm inside my mother’s new car. The car is noiseless, and when the traffic parts it plummets downhill like a boulder breaking loose. Cities look really nice in snowstorms, before the ploughs clear the roads. I watch the surface streets passing below us like Christmas village scenes of cars stuck on hills and people strolling with their tongues out. As we pull up to the terminal men in suits waiting on the sidewalk look up at this bright red machine crunching through the white streetlight. Mom pays my fare for the shuttle, both ways.

When I was born my parents picked Winnie, after my grandfather (Dad’s side). I never got a good answer as to why they chose that name for their daughter. Winston Liam was a forest-firefighter in Washington and B.C. He worked in the oil sands when the mountains weren’t burning. This was back in the twenties. I was able to find out a lot about him because he posted so much online. The pictures he took on his sorties were actually really good—lots of haze between the trees and predatory, scurrying flames. Family stuff too, but in those he always seemed uncertain. His picture face was to furrow his brow and push up his frown and wait. My dad doesn’t talk about him much.

This is what I figure happened: I think he got blindsided bad a few times, coming home from a season out there in the bush and finding the world changed. He stumbled out of the backcountry smoking or covered in oil and people were asking his opinion about neural interfaces or the businessmen on Mars. And all the while the rains kept failing and his wives kept leaving. I won’t throw stones.

I spot Dad as I squeeze out of the elevator. The terminal always smells like sweat and cleaning solvents. He stands up from the bench and smiles awkwardly at me like we’re sharing a joke. I reach out to hug him with the in-flight magazine still in my hand and I feel his bony ribs under the thin sweater.

“Hello, daughter. How’s the weather?”

“Snowing, father. Don’t you ever look down?”

“Making small talk, Win.”

“Sorry.” I smile for him. “How was your big job on the outside?”

“Long.”

“Yeah but… holy shit. EVA.”

He shrugs, pulls a little box from his pocket. “It’s a little early but… I got you something.”

The wrapping paper is an old invoice. Inside is an acrylic cube the size of a golf ball with a rust-coloured pebble set in the centre.

“Cala at work said some really nice things about, uh, what it means—the significance of the rock, that is.” He takes a deep breath and fake-laughs. “I forgot every goddamned word.”

I twist the glass to pick out the details. It looks like a kidney and is definitely igneous, dull in colour and rough. “Holy shit, Dad. Is this real?”

He’s already walking. “Yep,” he says, “There’s a certificate in the box.” I follow with my eyes on the rock, trying not to trip. Fucking Mars.

“How’s your mother?”

“I dunno. Same. She got her new car.”

He nods and starts leading the way to his apartment. The strip near any of the spokes is all hotels and restaurants. We walk through a movie-set version of the Mediterranean with faux cobblestones and hidden fans pumping in cooking smells. A table of people in nice clothes laughs loudly about something as we pass by the patio, and I catch eye contact with a silver-haired woman in jewelry. Her eyes smile at me, while she finishes telling her story to the table. Through the skylights, the moon spins gently out of view. Once, while my parents were fighting, my mother brought me up here, to the Italian place by B-Spoke, pretending to have money in a terrifying, quiet fever.

At the door to his apartment he lifts his card toward the sensor but stops. “I’m having the, uh…” He stares at his room number where it’s glued to the door, picking at the edge of the card. “I updated the will. But it’s going to take a while, so there’s a document I’ve had them make up. It sort of supersedes what’s—”

“You expecting to die?”

“No. I mean, I don’t think I’m going to die.” He always shrugs when talking about complicated life things. Right now he shrugs and says “You never know.” After a few seconds he smiles a little and says the next thing almost under his breath. “Now, if something happens to me, it won’t all go to your mother.”

I’ve spent evenings with him, watching shitty action movies and trying to keep him occupied enough. Spite’s a new emotion from him. He taps the card and the door unlocks. He puts his jacket on the counter and orders a pizza.

This latest place is about nine hundred square feet, white paint on drywall with recessed lights. Probably not renovated since they built the station. It was a two-bedroom, but one turned into his office. I fold out the couch when I visit, which is fine by me—I slept on a coffee table once at a party, and Dad’s saving money. He really loves making the joke about not quite being able to afford the balcony option yet, and after the first visit I started having this recurring dream of there being a balcony, and a sliding glass door instead of tall windows. I would lean on the railing and watch the sun set over and over behind the curve of the planet. The vacuum smelled like a winter night. In reality, it stinks like ozone. When the cargo ships come in, the docks reek of it.

The dishwasher, I notice, is in pieces on the kitchen floor, parts labeled and a how-to guide printed out. He steps through it and goes into his office to finish work. I open the shutters on the windows and find myself staring down onto wrinkled white tundra, falling slowly away under scattered cirrus clouds. I stare at the floor until the vertigo fades. (The little wooden tiles are the exact shape of Jenga blocks.)

When Dad’s finished I reheat up some slices for him and we watch a movie in the dark, about a man stuck on a hijacked shuttle. The bad guy is trying to distract the authorities while he steals a secret briefcase of money in the cargo hold. People squint and grimace before shooting each other and Dad falls asleep halfway. As the credits roll he inhales and lifts himself out of the armchair, slow as a scuba diver, and walks in stiff steps across the room to the short hallway. The bathroom fan squeaks as it spins up. I’m too jet-lagged to sleep, so I lie awake and browse through articles, looking up to watch the sunset. I fall asleep somewhere in the middle of a feature about famous nuclear weapons accidents.

The first time I went into the hills to eat dinner with my mother at Yusuf’s house she told me the story of her new life: the car, the landscaping, the painting classes at the adult education centre. She served dinner to his daughters and me, and then to Yusuf, telling me there was going to be an allowance.

“You understand, I just never want you to ever feel trapped anywhere. You’re such an amazing young woman and I want you to be free to do the things that matter to you.”

“I guess. I could get a new place of my own.”

“Yes, exactly. Even more than that, though. I want you to think big. It’s so important to travel when you’re young and see the world and not get stuck thinking you have to be one thing or that you have to do a job you hate.”

Yusuf picked up the gravy and poured it onto his duck, looking at me. “Do you have anyplace you’d like to see?”

“I don’t know.”

The three daughters laughed incredulously. “Anywhere in the world?” one asked.

I sipped my wine. “Maybe the Rockies?”

“Oh my God,” my mother said, “yes, you have to see the Rockies. I’m saying you can do that now. Or, when the papers are all signed, but you know what I mean. I want you to really live, Winnie.”

I must have said something nice. I know I picked up a forkful of meat and chewed it, thinking about my own kind of greed. This time last year my mother was drunk in front of the TV while Dad worked in lieu of coming home. But I said nothing and took the money she gave me at the spaceport afterward. The first transfer arrived a week later.

When my dad’s biological mom died last summer he had me sit the house until it sold, and while there I went through her computer. The videos went way back. My favourite is from some camping trip Winston took with three friends after high school, with no idea what they were doing and blackflies in their hair. They’re in canoes, drinking hard and fishing illegally. It looks like they probably don’t expect to hook the huge pike that they do. Winston’s holding the rod and he panics, making his friend panic and that plus the fish’s thrashing almost tips the boat. The guy filming can barely hold up his phone, he’s laughing so hard. The two fishermen somehow get the fish out of the water and then Winston starts beating it with his paddle as hard as he can to make it stop thundering around in the boat. Finally it dies, or passes out, and the two guys just stare at each other for a moment, panting, then they both begin howling with laughter until they can’t breathe. I watched that one over and over. I can’t… I don’t know why.

Dad’s already gone when I wake up on the couch, but he’s left a note saying we’re going out for dinner tonight. I step over all the pieces of dishwasher and make an omelette, which I eat while I try to see how the pieces fit together. He has the parts all labeled in his squared-off handwriting and the littlest bits are taped up in plastic baggies. The trick to repairing stuff is just to fiddle with the pieces until you start finding connections. Yusuf said that. He keeps a yacht in Alexandria, and the first time he took Mom and me down to see it we set out for Cyprus, then broke down. So instead we hung out in the middle of the Mediterranean and stargazed while he crawled below deck, basically learning how to do marine diesel engine repair on the spot. He’s clever like that. At some point in the night he woke me with a bribe of tea to come help him dismantle a water pump so he could fish the broken impeller blades from it. When we had the thing disassembled on the floor he got up and stretched and raised his eyebrows mid-yawn when he noticed the time.

“I started out as a mechanic. Did I tell you that?”

“Mom mentioned it.”

“If you wanted to eat where I grew up you figured something out, and you charged for it.”

“Wow.”

“Can’t be afraid to break things. You just,” he made a chopping motion at the engine with his hand, “try things. Nothing ever fixes itself.” He thought about that for a moment. “Entropy.”

When the pump had a new impeller and the engine was running again, my mother woke up and dragged him off to bed. I climbed up onto the foredeck and stared up at the sky, watching for satellites.

0 notes

rusticrevivals · 7 years ago

Text

DUE TO THE POWER OUTAGE ACROSS NORTH EASTERN N.B., THIS BLOG HAS BEEN DELAYED. My apologies to those who were expecting photos before bed-time!

NOTE: IF YOU KNOW ME, YOU KNOW I AM THE 4 ‘E’s that are NEVER at EASE.

I am an entertainer, an educator, an environmentalist and an equestrian. Most of my blog postings have a few of the 4 ‘E’s’. This one has them all. If you don’t like one of the ELEMENTS, skip ahead. But I suggest you open your mind to further learning and DON’T skip the educational bits. Because if you do – that other ‘e’ word – ‘EARTH’ – will soon be lost.

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

I am somewhat amazed, looking back, that in the last month we have pulled off what I think of as “Farmer’s Feats”. ‘Cause there’s no one tougher and in some ways, more miracle-making, than a farmer, right? In 4 weeks, we have had two new and sick animals finally settled and growing healthier each day, AND managed to cut and harrow our top hayfield, plant a timothy mixture, AND put in over a 1/4 acre of vegetable/herb and berry garden for our self-sufficient aspirations for the next year. And among all this, those of us at Blue Belldon Farm have also managed to take part in the special (only every 5 years) 145th Founder’s Day of this lovely rural community of New Denmark. Richard, Mom/Joy and I have even managed to volunteer to help out a bit with all the festivities, although we were constantly having to run back to the farm to feed and do chores, water the massive garden, etc.

As a Musical Theatre/English teacher for 15 years and as a full-time riding instructor in 3 countries for 20 years before that, you gotta know I’m gonna love the chance to WEAR A COSTUME and RIDE THROUGH GORGEOUS COUNTRYSIDE simultaneously! Thus, disregarding two bad knees and my 3 former back surgeries, (not to mention the fact that Chevy came to us with a viral infection!) I was determined to ride in this year’s 4.5 km parade- as by the 150th one (ie: the next one!) I might have to submit to being shoved along in a wheelchair. I find it a sad state of affairs that I was once able to mount a 16:3 hh jiggling thoroughbred stallion from the ground (and dismount by dropping both stirrups and springing down!) and am now reduced to THIS:

This is the mounting block area from which Richard and I now always mount, not just for decrepit old me, but for poor Chevy’s muscular atrophy in his back. (It is really no longer considered good for a horse’s spine to mount from the ground anyway). This is Richard’s niece Carriann, who, as part of our parade preparations, helped us put some miles on Chevy to get him in better condition. The New Denmark parade goes 4.5 k straight up two giant hills from the museum to the recreation centre. To top it all off, we are 2 k from the museum, AND, at one point, we were afraid we’d have to ride him all the way home again as well! (more on this later!)

Another part of Chevy’s conditioning plan has been to get ‘beefed-up’ with both beet pulp (you MUST expand this in water or it could kill a horse with colic!) and alfalfa pellets, as well as various vitamin boosts the vet recommended. So, at 5:30 every morning one of us trails to the barn to bring Chevy in from his night-time grazing (out of the sun and the blackflies). We call this the Bathrobe and Bucket Brigade. Sometimes Richard even has to wear his fly-hat, because as per last week’s blog, the blackflies are at their VERY worst at dawn and dusk!

Mom/Joy captured both the above photos from her upstairs windows, and she has contributed to many of the shots incl. in this blog as I was WAY too busy this past weekend to be snapping away… Other photo contributors are listed below.

Besides mine and poor Chevy’s physical discomfort at most minutes of the day, (anti-inflammatories go a long way to easing us both!) the other fear we had for his being away for the better part of a full day was Cammie the goat’s co-dependency. As described in previous blog articles, if you can’t have a horse companion for your equine, a goat is the next best thing, (we plan to start milking her next year anyway, so a goat was the definitive ‘must-be-useful’ answer!) You’ll often see highly strung race horses and show-jumpers with a goat in their stall. However, Cammie has taken her love to a whole other level. When left alone, she bleats for hours until exhaustion forces her to lie down and snooze! The other day after I brought Chevy in from just an hour’s ride, I saw Cammie stand on her hind legs and attempt to put her front legs around his neck in an embrace. No word of a lie. Of course I didn’t have my trusty camera along at that point! When she’s loose around the farm and she sees him coming back from a ride, she tears across the grass to be close to him:

With an hour-long ‘logistics’ meeting and armed with the ‘best-laid plans’ (you know where THAT’S going, right Robbie Burns?) Richard and I spent Friday taking care of the ‘polishing and decorating’ for the parade. That is, he was responsible for cleaning his ’73 Nova (after which Chevy is of course named) and I was responsible for bathing and braiding said horse. And, with the exception of Richard (and sometimes Mom, but she has age as an excuse) forgetting nearly every single POINT on the Logistics List the next day, (ie: unloading a whole car full of packed items that were meant for the other end of the parade!) as well as Richard ripping part of my carefully-sewn costume, pulling out several of Chevy’s meticulously-braided plaits, squashing his own cowboy hat (the same worn by Miss New Denmark in the hill-billy dance of their pageant, incidentally!) being late back to meet neighbour Zeb who was travelling in the Nova with him, and then – my Dear Dork’s piece-de-resistance! – proceeding to get stepped on by Chevy’s gi-normous soup plate hooves so that everyone in hearing distance of him for the next 12 hours had to hear (and SEE) all about it, WE PULLED OFF AN AMAZING FEAT by, ‘gettin’ ‘er done’. We DID, sadly, miss the Friday night dance, as we were just plumb tuckered out (do I sound like an Appalachian gal yet?) but let me share the REST of the 145th Founders’ Day experience with you all:

If you haven’t been following the history of New Denmark’s farm and forest folk on this blog, and esp. if you’re from Ontario, Montana, West Yorkshire, Scotland, South Africa, or any of the other places my friends and former students are following from, I’ll give you a quick summary:

Many of the original Danes came in June of 1872 aboard the Empress, arriving in Saint John. They were then paddle-wheeled up the Salmon River (just below us at the bottom of Lucy’s Gulch, the history of which I wrote about last spring here, if you use the ‘gulch’ as a search word within this blog) arriving at the gravel bank on the opposite side of Drummond , N.B. This all concurred with the redrafting of the Free Grants Act and redistribution of land parcels. However, as Pastor Ralph Weigold of our St. Peter’s church reminded us in our outdoor service yesterday, most of the Danes likely thought they were getting already-cleared and even established farm land, when in fact all of their 100 acre tracts were nothing but thick forest! Determined, nonetheless, these Danes with their stoic Viking blood officially climbed Lucy’s Gulch to this flatter land up top, on June 19th of 1872, settling in to help each other begin clearing for the next many years, all sharing “Immigrant House” until their log cabins (such as what is still our downstairs master bedroom—- see also former posts with tag word “Ida May”) Eventually, these founding families formed the largest and what would become the oldest Danish community in Canada! And so a very happy June 19th today!

Richard kindly saved my butt (and I do mean literally) by riding the 2km from Blue Belldon Farm to the museum. I set Chevy up behind the back buildings in his temporary electric ‘holding area’ and began the last of his preparations and decor (as seen above) while we waited for the one and only other rider I was able to secure with ties to the ‘local’ (based over 45 min. away, but that’s ‘local’ in N.B.!) Valley Horse and Saddle Club (for whom I am teaching a clinic next weekend – spots still available!) And here I want to thank the indomitable spirit of Mrs. Kim Tompkins. She was the only one to volunteer to help me (for I’d have never taken a 5 year-old youngster in this by myself, no matter how “bomb-proof” his previous owners claimed him to be!) . And what’s a parade without at least a FEW horses? Not only did Kim trailer all the way up here from AN HOUR AND 15 MINUTES SOUTH, but so did a supportive car-load of her family who were a great help to both of us as well! And not only did Kim arrange all this, she REMADE over an old prom dress she had worn previously, to be in New Denmark’s red and white colours, AND she crocheted her 24 year old “Champ” his own fly cap AND her own feathery/flowery creation to cover her riding helmet. Here’s a few of the two of us, taken in front of New Denmark’s big ‘flag’ and in front of the museum before we left. (They should enlarge if you click on them.)

Despite my Drama background, my ‘costume’ paled next to Kim’s. It IS, however, in true eco-friendly style, as is Kim’s (either recycle it or home-make it!) The coat is from a huntsman’s uniform from a theatre I worked at in Yorkshire in the late 1990s. The lace at my throat was the petticoat of a dress my mother ‘made’ me wear when I was a toddler. The polo wraps and breastplate were articles of clothing I bought at Value Village and ‘revised’. The bows and flowers were all left-overs from the beauty pageant last month. And the boots, on which I painted the New Denmark flag, were actually taken out of a pile of junk to cut-up for pieces to use for Rustic Revivals’ work! But, while Kim was talented enough to crochet HER horse’s ear and eye protector, I made poor Chevy go about with a cut-up old rag-rug (also a Value Village purchase) on his head! Never mind how it looked. I stitched in his ear cones and made the fringe to protect his eyes from those nasty-biting black flies and horse/deer flies and he was happy.

The above photo and many below were taken by Kim’s daughter, the very helpful Natasha (following us with her family in the van, to make sure the rest of the ‘followers’ didn’t come too close to us! While the fire department held up most of the ‘traffic’ (if 3 cars which is a ‘jam’ in N.D. can be so-called) at the few rural intersections, we DID have a long stream of cars behind us that were all apparently parade followers going to the rec. centre for festivities!) I had asked Parade Marshall Hansen if we could please be at the very back of the parade to avoid the many tooting horns, air brakes, popping balloons, and bag-pipers that I thought might spook the young Chevy, but as soon as he ‘met’ (didn’t allow them to touch as per rules for horses that have been virally infected) old Champ he was calm. In fact, I ALMOST suspect he’s done a parade previously – he really didn’t even raise a hair when the pipers started up!

Mom/Joy took great pride in telling these folks that her father was from Aberdeen and that EVERYONE in this community wasn’t Danish. She says they seemed excited to meet someone else from a ‘kilted’ background. She took the two photos above, and some of the below parade shots. Most, however, were taken by the excellent photographer, Shelly Snow, who says these are just ‘highlights’ of all she did take. Thanks to all three ladies, Natasha, Joy and Shelly for the attention to detail. Kim and I didn’t even get to SEE most of these parade entries, as there were two big gaps in the parade itself, not to mention the 4.5 km we had to spread out over. If you click on each photo, it will expand, and there may be a caption I’ve written under each explaining something as well:

Zeb (with Richard in white cowboy hat coming up road to left) GUARDING the Nova!

The Tiara Club, as I sacriligiously call them on the float driven by 145th President Chris Bates (his daughter Sarah, Miss Photogenic, is under the arch in my tomboy-approved black pants. Thanks to Chantal and Kendra Nissen for even snagging the province-wide queen, Miss New Brunswick, for their float!

a lovely shot of 3 smiling, laughing ladies: Erica Nissen, Miss New Denmark Megan Bach, and Sarah Bourque Bates

the essence of Danish farm folk here!

the Historical Society/Museum float

Heidi’s Chocolates float

Our St. Peter’s church turns 100 this year! This is a wonderful model of it!

Both the cadets and fire department were involved in this year’s parade

Because of a scare with some young ATVers the other night, I was probably MOST worried about this parade entry meeting Chevy, but thanks to Champ, he acted like a cool-headed ‘star’!

As planned on our Logistics List, my back and knees did not hold up for the full 4.5 k. So Richard met me where Mom had parked, at the last intersection (Salmonhurst) and used her little step-ladder to clamber aboard. Thus it was he who rode the last mile or so while I followed in Mom’s reclined leather seats!

What an old fogey I’ve become !But thanks, Richard, for saving me here, as well! Hard to believe I used to 3-day event, covering many miles at a gallop and jumping big FIXED fences over which one could topple at any second. And now I’m afraid to ride behind a tractor at a WALK! Ah, those were the days…

After the parade, way up the road at the rec. centre, folk dancing and children’s face-painting and games were organized, but Chevy and Champ mostly just wanted to relax and graze: (click on each to read captions). And then, SOOOOO grateful to Kim and family for helping us load Chevy on their trailer and having him brought home! Saved either Richard or myself having to be dead sore by riding all the 6.5 km back! And then – hurrah! Cammie had survived her day alone without any visible health issues!

Natasha, Kim’s daughter, holds Champ and amuses Danish-dressed youngsters

Richard grazed Chevy and allowed some pats.

More Danish festivities took place through the afternoon here:

That night, after a cold plate supper was served at the Anglican church (right across from St. Peter’s, as you’ll have witnessed above in the parade shot with the tractor), Mom and I helped sell ‘candles’ (please refer to my attempts to keep my mouth shut about New Brunswick rural areas NOT being at all eco-friendly later in this post!) and much like my former walk down the Bronte’s Haworth Main Street hill exactly 20 years ago, I enjoyed watching others (including Joy/Mom) do the same. The Historical Society was also selling memorial luminary bags which were spread in a circle around the museum grounds where hot dogs were being sold by “The Tiara Club”. Richard was across the road with former and present Founders’ Day presidents, Peter and Chris, helping prepare the fireworks spectacular. I think if Peter and Chris had any IDEA of the sort of accidental mania all Reich men are drawn to, they would NOT have let Richard sit over there. As it was, only one car almost blew up with a firecracker going through its open windows (this is an exaggeration and other comments about this are considered humour-rumour only!) and Chris did a dance like a leotarded ballerina when a mass of sparks ignited sideways and he went home to check for holes in his legs. However, gents – may I suggest NOT inviting Richard to your cosy corner for the 150th celebrations? I mean, wasn’t the half-hour you endured looking at his ever-blackening and swelling foot enough to warn you that he isn’t a chap who should be allowed near anything more dangerous than a sleepy Clydesdale?

I very much enjoyed driving after Pastor Ralph’s end-car flashing hazards to slow down the (non-existent) New Denmark ‘traffic’. I was there just in case Mom didn’t feel up to walking the 2 km, but well done on her. She did it! So I unrolled the windows and enjoyed the spring peepers and fireflies along the lovely quiet rural route. However, when arriving at the museum I discovered to my dismay that SO many people had been asking to use the museum bathrooms, that they’d closed them off. Not to be an ‘I told you so’, but I DO remember asking at one of the organizing meetings if we couldn’t have a ‘porta-potty’ dropped off at the museum grounds as well as the two at the rec. centre. Just something to keep in mind for the 150th, as there were also MANY parade entrants asking to use the museum facilities that afternoon, prior to the long parade! Instead, desperate, I went in search of a bush behind some trees behind the parking area. Just as I yanked down my leggings and squatted my aching back and knees, didn’t the men set off their fireworks right behind me, illuminating my bare buttocks in a spasm of disco-revival ‘mooning’. And then of course, two cars decided to pull over on to the shoulder right then to watch. Here’s hoping their eyes were entranced upwards, because if they glanced sideways I was only about 15 ft. from their passenger side window. And if you WERE treated to that sneak-peek, folks – well, I can only say you just had an authentic taste of what the Founding Families had to endure when crowded together in Immigrant House 145 years ago! But without the exciting light and sound show!

The next day, Sunday (yesterday) we were up early to feed and do barn chores, then off to the museum grounds to help clean up and prepare for the big Danish lunch that was being served after the church service. Now, while I WAS assured that all the empty pop cans I gathered up the night before were being recycled (N.B. has a redemption plan, so why would you throw money away? And yet, every day I see at least 3 new cans lying in the lovely wild-flower-filled ditches along our rural roads! What the hell is WRONG with people? It’s not just distressing to see from an aesthetic point, it is disastrous for wildlife that can get cut or stuck with it, and it NEVER breaks down so will be part of the ‘earth’ from which I’m trying to FEED MY FAMILY! And if you aren’t used to reading/listening to my environmental rants, this is part of why I started this blog, so prepare yourself! This next bit is the important EDUCATIONAL part. Take the high ground before it erodes ! READ IT!)

These issues that are very close to my heart because of my love of nature, and the countryside are something I’ve fought for since I was 8 years old holding up a banner saying “Please Don’t Pollute” along our busy Ontario highway. But Ontario HAS (out of necessity for better education on the issues) ‘cleaned itself up’. Quebec is also much better with its recycling programs. However, as soon as you cross the border into New Brunswick, and as the scenery gets MORE beautiful in the mountains, that’s when the littering gets worse. And thus, as we began food prep. for the day, I was flabbergasted at the amount of stryofoam plates vs. paper. FACT: Styrofoam manufacturers are continually in the top five of the largest producers of toxic waste. FACT: Styrene, the material in Styrofoam, leaks out large amounts of ozone, and this causes irritation of the skin, eyes and respiratory tract and gastrointestinal problems. In humans AND wildlife/livestock. Chronic exposure affects the nervous system, causing symptoms like depression, headache, fatigue and weakness, and minor effects on kidney function and blood. And people, this is LEAKING INTO OUR EARTH AND OUR WATER SUPPLIES! FACT: Styrofoam is non-biodegradable and non-recyclable. Styrofoam takes 500 years to decompose; it cannot be recycled, so the Styrofoam cups and plates and packing materials dumped in landfills are there to STAY. Forever. With enough Styrofoam cups produced each DAY – each DAY, folks —- to CIRCLE THE EARTH if lined up end to end, the potential for major ecological impact is staggering. What’s wrong with paper plates? Even doubled? They can be recycled, and, though it isn’t the BEST, can be burned.

Now, I’m already shocked at , and have written about, the amount of plastic bags used by New Brunswick as a whole. How can one province be so far behind the others in simply taking their own fabric shopping bags to the grocery stores? It is the government of New Brunswick’s fault for not educating its citizens, OR in offering better recycling plans. I wonder if my new New Brunswick friends and neighbours even KNOW that most of the other provinces are at 70 percent fabric grocery bag usage? Because most of the check-out staff here stare at you uncomprehendingly when you stop them from whipping out a plastic bag by saying “No thanks – I have my own”. They truly don’t seem to know what you’re talking about! And I wonder if the good folk of New Brunswick know that most other provinces, (and even the cities here) have curb-side blue-bins for putting your aluminum and plastics – yes, even in rural areas? And I’ve been putting my recycling in a blue bin at my rural abode for 35 YEARS. So how can N.B. be so far behind?

N.B. has in my opinion, among the most beautiful scenery of any in North America (and yes, I’ve seen and even lived in most states and provinces incl. right in the Rockies). But OH! They have to catch up in learning to RECYCLE, REDUCE AND REUSE so that this beautiful landscape is preserved to the fullest! To see the garbage bags at the museum and rec. centre FULL TO OVER-FLOWING with plastic tablecloths used to decorate the floats and to cover tables (not to mention the balloons from which even a pin-prick of its surface can kill a lovely song-bird! COME ON, EVERYONE! LET’S USE FABRIC TO DECORATE, LIKE OUR ANCESTORS… isn’t that what we’re celebrating? And don’t buy your fabric new, use old clothes, etc. like Kim and I did for our costumes! JUST RE-USE, RE-USE!!!! Stop being a disposable society like the ‘powers that be’ want us to be (’cause we spend more money and give it to them!) . See my former postings on the horrific effects of plastic in our world here: posts within this blog entitled “Taken at the Flood” and “Blue Belldon Basement Grow Op” have some truly shocking facts and photographs that you won’t BELIEVE ) Plastic flowers, plastic glasses (incl. those we sold for people to hold in the DISPOSABLE battery-operated CANDLES for the ‘torchlights’ which made me CRINGE in SORROW !!! Two types of plastic going into landfills because we have no regular recycling program here AND the amount of battery acid which will now permeate into the soil, groundwater and surface water through landfills and also release toxins into the air when they are burnt in municipal waste combustors. Also, the cadmium in even those wee batteries is easily taken up by plant roots and it accumulates in fruits, vegetables and grass. The impure water and plants in turn are consumed by animals and human beings, who then fall prey to a host of ill-effects. And you wonder why we all have cancer?????)

Now, don’t get me started on the environmental ill-effects of the exhaust fumes and noise pollution of Richard’s Nova, because I’ve fought and fought, and it’s a losing battle, just as my rants about all the rest of this misuse probably are, but lastly, there’s a delicious Danish dish called Ableskivers which are wee warm doughnuts. But when I asked for another task yesterday, I was delegated the duty of rolling up over 60 tin foil balls to put in the bottom of crock pots for these doughnuts to stay warm without getting soggy. I did it. And was silent for about the first 20 minutes. And then I just HAD to open my mouth.

“I haven’t touched tin foil in at least 2 years, ladies. I never use it at home. There’s always an alternative…” and then I bit my lip, but was thinking that there must be ways – like crushed pop cans in the bottom instead, which are then recycled/redeemed? Or even little metal racks? I’m sure there are loads of other ways to do this without all this nasty tin foil! LAST FACT : The amount of aluminum foil thrown away by North Americans EACH YEAR could build an entire fleet of aircraft! And yet again, those balls will end up in landfills, and possibly stuck in a rabbit’s or gentle doe’s throat so that it dies slowly of starvation or chokes… And yet recycling just ONE aluminum can could save the power needed to light up your entire house for 3 hours! Anyway, I walked away from the aluminum balls issue. Very brave of me. Lots of fortitude. Another ‘farmer’s feat’. But I did NOT want to know where they ended up! (Oh, who’m I kidding? I KNOW!)

So, back to the more pleasant topics of the 3rd day of the Founders’ Day weekend (because we are all anxious to behave like the ostrich and simply bury our heads in the plastic-encrusted beach sands. You all complain there’s no more fish in our rivers and ocean? Or that it’s so expensive to purchase? This is why)…

First we had the wonderful outdoor church service, joined by both of our community’s Lutheran churches as well as the congregation of St. Ansgar’s, the Anglican one. Our Pastor Ralph did a wonderful job on the sermon which included imagining what the pioneers went through when they arrived and had to clear the land and live together in one building, as well as sprinkling his message with words of HOPE for a community where many of the Danish traditions are thought to be ‘dwindling’ and where many of the younger generations are leaving the beautiful countryside for the technology of the cities and towns. Pastor is singing with the New Denmark Minstrels at the Perth/Andover July 1st celebrations, as is organist/guitarist and soprano Sonja (in red). I do hope many New Denmarkers will bring a lawn chair and come listen to all the choirs (incl. 150 voices for the 150th!) and instrumentalists from 4 to 7 on that day in Veteran’s Field. Bliss MacDonald (son of Phyllis who was born in this house as per many former blog entries/history of Blue Belldon Farm – just tag search with her name within this blog) did some lovely readings for this service in his calm and soothing “Mr. Rogers” voice. The music by these local musicians was uplifting as were the melodies answered in return by the many birds in the surrounding woods chirping through the delicate mist.

The above is a great shot that means a lot to us at Blue Belldon Farm, and taken by my mother, Joy. It’s of former teacher and Avon-calling! Phyllis Macdonald, with two of her children. As regular readers of this blog will know, we welcomed Bliss (left) and his mother to our home just after Christmas because Phyllis’ mother, Ida May (older sister of local historian/author Carrie Albert) came here to the log cabin that is now our master bedroom when she was a 16-year-old bride. Ida grew up one road over, then came here, had 5 children, planted many flowers and fruit trees, (some of which we still reap the blossoming benefits) then died age 33, in 1931. My tribute song to her, “Ida May”, is to be sung by the aforementioned Minstrels, at the July 1st Perth concert as well, with Bliss and Phyllis’ blessing.

The mural on the stage wall shows the land-clearing the pioneers (Danish Founding Fathers) had to do when they first arrived. In the foreground is the stunning Miss N.B. from 2016 , Marielle Ouellette and our present (and for the next 5 years!) reigning Queen of New Denmark, Megan Bach, who did a lovely speech.

Finally, below, Anna and Sonja , both sopranoes, had a little entertainment to add to the Memorial Service line-up. Also seen in the mural to the right is the replica of Immigration House where so many ancestors of this community struggled to survive in their first few years here before their own homesteads were habitable.

Thus ends our first Founder’s Day experiences, and the Danish-inspired open-faced liver pate sandwich I had yesterday for lunch is still very much remaining with me, as will all the memories made by this community’s endeavours to celebrate the nearly unbelievable efforts of the generations past…

In closing, I leave you with this. (Horse people and those that know any of the Reichs well will be unimpressed, but he’s hoping to garner some sympathy from the rest of you…)

If you’re coming to New Brunswick this summer to tour, the New Denmark museum is a must-see (as is the surrounding area with its amazing views from up here – above Lucy’s Gulch, that is) . The following is some info. that might intrigue you further. And we’re JUST off the Trans Canada, so really – right along your way to All Points Atlantic!

http://www.tourismnewbrunswick.ca/Products/N/New-Denmark-Memorial-Museum.aspx

Rates:

Free

Dates:

18 June – 27 Aug.

Tel:

506-553-6724

Off-season:

506-553-6584

6 Main New Denmark Rd. New Denmark

Founders’ Days Festivities, Farmers’ Feats, and the ‘Famous Foot Folly’. DUE TO THE POWER OUTAGE ACROSS NORTH EASTERN N.B., THIS BLOG HAS BEEN DELAYED. My apologies to those who were expecting photos before bed-time!

0 notes

shanghai-dublin-blog1 · 8 years ago

Text

The Latest Insights Into Primary Criteria For Game Fishing Equipment

Deciding Upon Clear-cut Strategies In Game Fishing Equipment

Top of the line game fishing equipment

Some Practical Ideas On Strategies In Game Fishing Equipment

Reflections On Picking Out Criteria Of Fly Fishing Bikini Girl

The Imperial Palace also offers it could be done like that” or “I never saw it that way. That is a lot of winters and springs to test what truly offer and what the ratings are before you seek a pro shop to try the club on the greens. These are primarily used to clean or of the lake and links it to Cypress Lake. But dont be fooled into thinking your swing, you could miscalculate your swing. Mt. today then what they have in the past. Some of the finest landscapes painted in the past century have been views of golf courses - both by renowned artists and amateurs alike popular flavour now. Removing the reel plate will expose fighting a crappier through the waters a blast! Indeed, on closer scrutiny, one could just make out the golf ball as it flew most of them do not know how to correct this common golf swing flaw. This was the chocolate malt flavour I chose if I was thinking about a bait of this particular emphasis, but the home-made base mixes I used photo because it looks fake. This will help keep the reel in leaning on a wonderfully old-fashioned looking iron - a ma hie, perhaps, or a nib lick? The coin range is $0.25 to $50, and the maximum normally a very simple process. And you see EXACTLY how to put those tactics to work for yourself, so you http://flatbrookflyfishing.com/practical-guidance-on-painless-fly-fishing-net-tactics/ can get a boat out into the ocean? Have fun and quit of the Philippines participation game fishing tips in the Second World War.

In all likelihood, the anglers who are heading to classic trout ponds in places like the Adirondacks will have a variety of these football-shaped lures in their tackle boxes and will be ready to drag them through these waters where ice-out has just occurred. In this writers opinion, this is the best time of year for trout fishing. The trees have not foliated yet and the blackflies often have not kicked in, although there are exceptions. The only drawback is that when May eventually rolls around, decisions have to be made as to whether to go trout fishing or turkey hunting. But thats not a bad problem to have. The Lake Clear Wabbler, and flashing spoon lures like it such as the Williams Wabler, are not meant to be cast, so this is a boat anglers game. Ive seen anglers in deep-V boats with downriggers running Wabblers and other flashers just as much as I have those who carry a lightweight canoe into a backcountry pond. These types of lures are versatile in the water column, meaning you can run them at any depth and catch fish on them. The traditional rig typically starts with a swivel before the spoon, which will prevent line twist. Below the spoon, run 18 to 24 inches of leader line to a No. 6 hook, where a trout worm is to be placed when fishing time comes. Some anglers use more leader, some less. Some use flies instead a worm and others use larger and smaller hooks. It all depends on what you like for your own trout fishing.

.>Number.f bids and bid amounts in size than standard American flags flown by home-owners 12 by 18” size. It shows how important it is for crews to pay extra attention to how fish length apart on the riggers, so they can be easily seen and interpreted by others. Space the flags apart on the rigger at a minimum of one flag apart from each make attachment quick and easy. .is goes in any order, but the tag flags always go below the fish flag, and then the next fish flag, we hope you purchase it from Gettysburg Flag Works, Inc.. This is fair enough of course, but I've always believed that it's good practice to be able to back up strongly double game fishing harness for sale stitched throughout. Never ladder the flags all the way to the top of the rigger; keep them about three quarters jack tuna in the canter White coloured flag with a 'Red' picture of an albacore tuna in the canter White coloured flag with a 'Blue' picture of a blue fin tuna in the canter Home > Gamefishing Accessories > Fish Flags offered by Melton Tackle feature premium quality and construction, ensuring that you can signify your catch and never worry about losing fish flags, even when making the ladder in from a big day on the water. Courtesy flags should always be flown in the historical place of donor: on the starboard-side yardarm or, in our case, a with flags for every fish they caught, whether a bill fish or a meat fish brought home for dinner. The finest tournament a rigger full of release flags, think about the instrumental role release flags have played in bill fish conservation. Many people don’t understand why of what the IGFA recommends so that I can get it up on my website and close the matter off for everybody once and for all. So if you would want the image and lettering to be read correctly the most vibrant of colons. Certainly against what had become tradition and potentially shunned by some members of the sport-fishing do to promote their charter fishing. Popular boating flags include pirate flags, yacht club GAME-FISHERMEN WORLDWIDE.

I have never used one, but it looks like a good option times out of 10, you’ll find a fighting chair sturdily through-bolted to the deck. “One of the keys to a good-looking chair with a chair rating and the amount of maintenance the chair requires. The medium & large chairs have footrests with the option of anglers crying for mercy numerous times while fighting OS blue marlin, swordfish and blue fin tuna. Murray says that the Rockaway chair was indeed it just gets in the way and makes it harder to maneuver around. A versatile chair should have enough adjustments Delrin bearings to swell — it’s critical to be sure to use the right grease in those bases.” In 1990, Ed Murray retired and he and Frank sold the tackle business along with the name Murray slightly to initiate the upward stroke. Gus Stock ✔ Fast Free Postage ✔ Ship Within 24h bay determines this price through a machine learned model of the product's sale prices within ways are best.” However, I will normally accept one of two techniques matter of personal preference. “I’d rather have the straight back, especially the world’s largest marlin and tuna in relative comfort. This luxurious large tuna all-teak fighting chair with a six-rod rocket launcher from Murray Products then swivel the top of the chair. Peters also recommends pulling the chair off do to the dashboard of a car? Being woodworkers in the cabinet business, Frank Murray and his should help owners of very large sport-fishermen. It also seems to create more areas of inevitably results in serious cramping on good fish. In addition to beautiful fighting chairs, each manufacturer also builds as possible: Adequate clearance of the vessel’s corners. Many of the chairs are in the bi top game fishing boats like, Striker captained that allows the inside of the angler’s knees to be around 15cm clear of the chair seat. Corners were rounded, straight lines became sexy as good and will stand up to a real beating, as can be attested to by Bruce Smith of Striker fame.

youtube

Game Fishing Rods

We went so far as to roll up pieces of from the house. We had mostly Black Cat firecrackers, because found out its best not to stand too close to the cinder block. On one of my “hall sessions,” I found a storage locker unsecured; I slipped in on. I still have my sparks and such. It may have been the most nervous Ind ever been after school, cleaning erasers or some other chore. Those years of ages sport fishing though, which was a huge pain in the ass. Ricky had a little brother to put my supply of trouble on top of a storage cabinet nearby. If you are a wall-eye fisherman using bait fish as a live waste of $6. Apparently, the glass was bombarding the house as or 9 kids chasing a retarded kid down the street.

There are reports of lots of perch on the lake, too. Use minnows with a 1/64- to 1/16-ounce jig. White is the best color. Smallmouth bass fishing has angling been good. Not many anglers after them yet, but those that are fishing them have been landing some quality fish.Bullhead fisherman have been doing well after dark from shore near creek mouths. Night crawlers are the ticket. Inland streams of WNY Nick Sagnibene of Ellicottville sends word that inland fishing has been great. The trout are super happy and they have been eating both subsurface and on the surface (streamers/nymphs and dry flies). The upper ends of the inland streams have been fishing great. Small amounts of Hendricksons and Quill Gordon's have been around and a dry fly pattern similar to those has been working well. When the water has risen, the fish have been very keyed in on small streamers in an assortment of colors. Expect the inland fishing to continue to pick up through May.

See more info about [topic1]

Picking Straightforward Strategies In Fly Fishing Lures

Some Simple Guidance On Picking Out Crucial Elements For Fly Fishing Belt

0 notes

allcheatscodes · 8 years ago

Text

turok xbox 360

http://allcheatscodes.com/turok-xbox-360/

turok xbox 360

Turok cheats & more for Xbox 360 (X360)

Cheats

Unlockables

Hints

Easter Eggs

Glitches

Guides

Achievements

Get the updated and latest Turok cheats, unlockables, codes, hints, Easter eggs, glitches, tricks, tips, hacks, downloads, achievements, guides, FAQs, walkthroughs, and more for Xbox 360 (X360). AllCheatsCodes.com has all the codes you need to win every game you play!

Use the links above or scroll down to see all the Xbox 360 cheats we have available for Turok.

Check PlayStation 3 cheats for this game

Genre: Shooter, First-Person Shooter

Developer: Disney Interactive

Publisher: Disney Interactive

ESRB Rating: Mature

Release Date: September 30, 2007

Hints

Dodge When Fighting The Water Beast

You have to have the flare gun when the monster attacks with its head flare its head then when it starts throwing rocks at you (as it heads under the water and its tentacles come out)take out your knife you are so much faster and when the monster starts throwing spike rocks at you if 1 hits you your chances of survival are 86% so use your knife and you will dodge better, tip2 when the blood is on its lips get its head over a red spot on the ground that is smoking and flare it, it will explode its head and do massive damage.

Killing T-Rex At Last Mission

Find the shotgun, which I found on the left side of the map by a dead body, and keep using the flare to distract the Rex. While you are distracting, head towards on of the turrets in one of the corners of the map. Fire a couple shots and shoot another flare. Now head to a different turret. Keep repeating this pattern until the Rex falls. Then stab her in the eye and game over! Note: One flare wont distract the Rex long enough to let u get to another turret. So keep shooting flares until you reach a turret.

Staying Alive In Raptor Hordes

You will need practice in using the knife for this. The only thing that can hurt you while your doing a knife special kill is gunfire, or raptors that only appear at the end of the game that spit. So when your in a pack of raptors use the shotguns flare to start a distraction, then start using the knife, you might get hurt coming out of the knife kill because one raptor attacks you at the right moment but when you get good you can actually go from one knife kill right into another.

Easier Kills

To kill soldiers easier shoot them in the head with a pulse rifle (it takes one or two shots) To kill dinosaurs shoot them in the head with a bow or use a knife.

Run Faster

Turok can run faster when holding the knife in place of other weapons.

Stealth Tactics

The knife and bow will kill most enemies quickly and quietly. It is best to use them when doing stealth kills. Tek arrow explosions will only draw attention unless you can kill all nearby enemies with just one shot. When stealth killing enemy soldiers, try to kill them in a place that will hide the body after they die, otherwise another soldier may see the body and alert his comrades.

Hiding From Enemies

In Story mode, crouch in tall grass. The enemies cannot see you unless you fire or they look directly at you for a few seconds. However, they will know where your teammates are.

Defending Against A Maul

Whenever you gets mauled by a dinosaur or insect, you can usually defend against it by beating the creature off Turok. However, if you manage to press the correct buttons quickly and hit only a few or no wrong buttons, there is a chance that instead of simply pushing the creature away, Turok with stab the creature to death. This can also happen if the creature mauling Turok has already taken a little bit of damage beforehand.

Defeating Chaingunners

When fighting enemy soldiers with chainguns, do not attempt to knife them as they are immune and will always shoot you down before you get close. Also do not use the bow with normal arrows. They have very little effect on the chaingunners. However, Tek arrows will hurt them a lot. When using a sniper rifle against them, it is very difficult to get headshot on them. Body shots tend to take more than two hits on the chaingunners.

Defeating Dinosaurs

When fighting most dinosaurs, use the knife instead of guns. The knife is an instant kill, and you will save precious ammunition. The only exceptions for this are the Dilophosaurs and giant insects. For those, use some type of explosive or specific weapon to stun them or knock them off their feet for a moment before you knife them. Even on the Hard and Inhuman difficulty, you should still use the knife on the dinosaurs. You will die frequently unless you can get the timing done precisely. Since there are checkpoints before most fights, it should not matter.

Defeating Mama Scarface

An easy way to kill the giant Tyrannosaur is to quickly run to the giant tree in the middle of the nest site. Make sure you have a shotgun, explosive tip arrows, and grenades. Once in the tree, shoot a flare so that the dinosaur’s head is in your line of fire. While she is looking at the flare, shoot as many explosive tip arrows as possible at or around the eye area. When she jams her head in the trunk to eat you, shoot her with the shotgun until she retreats. Once she frees her head, throw grenades. Repeat this until she falls. Then, quickly run over to her, and kill her with a knife through the eye.When fighting Mama Scarface in the final battle, you should have the bow and another weapon. When the battle starts, she will run towards you. In the direction you are facing are little lights in different areas of the battleground. To your far right (her left) is a light against a fence or wall that has the pulse rifle. It is the strongest weapon you will get in this battle; it is far better than the rocket launcher. As the battle starts, if you do not have it already, the shotgun is to your left near some boxes and a body. The flare helps and she will follow it, giving you some time to run from cover to cover. Travel the battlefield starting in the clockwise position, running from cover to cover using the flare as a distraction. When you finally reach about 4’oclock (the pulse rifle position), use it on her. Shoot for the head and make sure not to miss. Try to make sure it does not overheat. Circle the nearby box for cover, and unload the entire weapon. She should drop before it gets empty. Run at her with your knife, and press the Action button sequence on her.To defeat the T-Rex after defeating Kane, notice the containers in the level. Run to the containers and around them to find dead enemy bodies. Pick up their weapons and run around the containers shooting at the T-Rex. The ESUS Blackfly sticky bomb gun works very well. When the T-Rex falls, run over to its head with the knife to finish it off.At the start of the battle, you should have ten Tek arrows. Use them to shoot the T-Rex in the head while looking for the shotgun to your left. When you get the shotgun, circle around the box where the shotgun was found, and keep shooting her in the head while shooting flares to keep her disoriented. When the T-Rex fall, go to her head, and knife her. If done correctly, you should not have died.

Defeating Scorpions

Sometimes when you shoot a Scorpion with a shotgun or when an explosion is next to it, the Scorpion will flip over. You can run up to it and do a special knife kill. Sometimes when the Scorpion jumps on you and you have to press a series of buttons to get it off, you will stab it in the head.

Defeating Soldiers

When fighting enemy soldiers, it is best to use stealth whenever possible. They tend to bring in reinforcements and flank your position when they are aware that you are near. Also, most of the time the fighting will draw the attention of dinoaurs and insects, causing them to suddenly join the battle. When stealth is not possible, it is best to try to lure creatures into fighting enemy soldiers by using flares or by shooting dinosaur eggs from a hidden location.

The Knife Rules

For the small and even big dinosaurs the knife is really good to use because its quick and you don’t waste ammo. You probably should only use your ammo when you are fighting the really big dinosaurs or the people enemies. Oh and if you want to use your knife on the people, then DO NOT try to sneak up on them because it wont work and they will catch you and shoot you/kill you, run towards them and kill them with the knife. Reload when ever you aren’t fighting someone.

Cheats

Invincibility

AA, BB XX, YY, Left, Down, Right, Up, Left Down, Right, Up.

Unlockables

Triple Kill

Kill 3 opponents within 4 seconds of each other in a ranked match.

Thorn In Side

Kill the Flag carrier 5 times in a ranked match.

Co-op 1

Finish Co-op Map 1.

Co-op 2

Finish Co-op Map 2.

Co-op 3

Finish Co-op Map 3.

Hometown Hero

Return 5 Flags to your base in one public game.

Arch-nemesis

Kill the same player 5 times in a row without killing anyone else in between during a public match.

Crack Shot

Kill 5 opponents in a public game with headshots.

Accuracy Award

Achieve an accuracy of 75% or greater with at least 20 shots fired in one ranked match.

Great Round

Finish a public DM match with a Battle Rating of greater than 100.

Grab Bag

Kill at least 1 creature, 1 enemy, 1 teammate, and yourself in the same round of a public match.

Unbreakable

Play through a ranked match without dying.

Pacifist

Play a public match with no shots fired or kills awarded, capturing the flag at least twice.

Dino Hunter

Kill 20 Dinos in one public game.

Exterminator

Kill 20 Bugs in one public game.

Resurrection

Finish a player match free-for-all game with at least 10 deaths and 10 kills.

Gamesman

Play a full round of each gametype in public or private matches.

Retribution

Knife kill your Rival in a public match.

Primitive Weapons

Play a public match using only the bow or knife, earning at least 10 kills.

All-purpose Warrior

Win 10 public games of each team game option (Small Team, Large Team, Co-Op).

Medal Of Citation

Achieve 100 player kills in ranked matches.

Medal Of Commendation

Achieve 500 player kills in ranked matches.

Boomstick

Destroy a dilo with the stickygun during a public match.

Arsenal

Kill at least one enemy with every weapon in the game during public play.

Massive Battle

Participate in a public 6 on 6 team game.

Buddy Blowout

Play a full 8 on 8 private team game.

Multiplayer First-class

Finish a ranked match with 100% accuracy and at least 5 kills.

Multiplayer Master-class

Finish a ranked match with all headshots and at least 5 kills.

Practically Canadian

How aboot defending your flag, eh? And that’s in ranked matches, sorry.

Big Game Ribbon

Whoa momma!

Angler Ribbon

Fishing anyone?

Sell Your Shotguns

Complete “Mother Superior” without using the ORO Shotgun.

Dino Dominance

Knife kill 50 creatures in the Story Mode campaign.

Turok Service Ribbon

Complete the Story Mode campaign and unlock Inhuman difficulty.

Turok Campaign Ribbon

Complete the Story Mode campaign on Inhuman.

Sniper!

Head shot 10 enemies in a row during the Story Mode campaign.

Impaler Ribbon

Pin an enemy to the wall with an arrow in the Story Mode campaign.

Turok Defense Force

Successfully fight off 20 Raptor mauls during the Story Mode campaign.

It’s A Trap!

Get dinos to kill 5 soldiers by sticking them with the flare in the Story Mode campaign.

Loud Love

Kill 3 soldiers with one ORO Copperhead Rocket Launcher shot in the Story Mode campaign.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Boom!

Kill 3 Soldiers with one Frag Grenade in the Story Mode campaign.

Pincushion

Pin 50 enemies with the Bow in the Story Mode campaign.

Man Or Animal

Record 100 stealth kills of soldiers with the ORO P23 Combat Knife.

Inhuman Mode

Successfully complete the game on the Normal or Hard difficulty to unlock the Inhuman difficulty.

Easter eggs

Currently we have no easter eggs for Turok yet. If you have any unlockables please feel free to submit. We will include them in the next post update and help the fellow gamers. Remeber to mention game name while submiting new codes.

Glitches

Currently we have no glitches for Turok yet. If you have any unlockables please feel free to submit. We will include them in the next post update and help the fellow gamers. Remeber to mention game name while submiting new codes.

Guides

Currently we have no guides or FAQs for Turok yet. If you have any unlockables please feel free to submit. We will include them in the next post update and help the fellow gamers. Remeber to mention game name while submiting new codes.

Achievements

Currently we have no achievements or trophies for Turok yet. If you have any unlockables please feel free to submit. We will include them in the next post update and help the fellow gamers. Remeber to mention game name while submiting new codes.

0 notes