Tag: writing

Fading

Comet Lemmon, you are going to have to take my word for it!

C/2025 A6 (Lemmon) is quickly fading from view. Since it was clear Willow and I thought we would give it one more go to spot it.

This time I took my 20mm wide angle lens knowing that if the comet could be seen it would appear very small in the photos. This is the lens I am most comfortable using for night photography because it gives such a large view of the sky. It also allows me longer exposures before the stars streak.

The sun went down and the full moon came up behind us. It dipped quickly to -4°c, which felt chilly. I am going to have to toughen up if I plan on making it through winter. We walked around where Slinky and Ara are buried. It is truly a beautiful spot. As the sky turned blue and darkened we spotted flashes of white as we jumped several White Tailed Deer. They were quick not to stick around. It reminded me of hunting with Dad. Seeing the best game when it was too dark to shoot. Both because you couldn’t see the far sight on the rifle, and more importantly, it’s against regulations.

The full moon illuminated the mountainside. Only the brightest stars could be seen. Of course, the moon also washed away the comet. Still I had faith and pointed the camera in the general direction of where it should be.

Moonlit night.

Both Willow and I were glad to get back to the warmth of the truck. We picked our way along the back rounds, through frozen puddles, staying the best we could above the ruts. Such a pleasure in my life to putter along old and overgrown roads. I used to do it with a beer in my right hand, now it’s a coffee if anything. We stopped at the lake. It was calm and the moonlight reflected the mountains. I listened for fish jumping. Willow heard something and gave a bark. Her echo barked back at her and then the barking match was on. Willow looked at me seriously, ‘there is another dog out here’.

Time to head back to the valley bottom and the warmth of bed.

An enlargement of the top photo. Due to moonlight, even blown up, Comet Lemmon is hard to spot.

Comet Hunting

Tried to peek through the clouds to get a glimpse at Comet Lemmon. It hasn’t been easy with clouds rolling in just as it’s been getting dark, however thought I’d give it a try regardless. You’ll never catch fish if you don’t put your line in the water.

As the clouds parted I was able to easily see the comets nucleus. In the photo you can even see it reflected in the river. The tail was harder to see. The camera picked it up nicely even amongst the light pollution of the Village of Radium Hot Springs.

Just a word about light pollution; it was interesting to have been in Waterton recently and saw how they have tried to limit light pollution. They are part of a dark sky reserve and it is important to them. In the Windermere Valley light pollution gets brought up occasionally but never gets much traction. The only way it ever will is by showing decision makers that there is some profit in shining lights down. That is a tough sell in a valley growing as fast as this one.

Speaking of pollution, notice the ‘scratches’ in the sky around Comet Lemmon. These are Starlink satellites. It is amazing and annoying how many are in low orbit around the earth. It is almost impossible to look into a darkened sky without seeing them now. This is only going to get worse as Starlink continues to launch thousands more and other countries and companies begin to launch their own version of Starlink.

Without regulations or common sense it may become impossible, in the future, to enjoy the stars, meteor showers and visiting comets, as the night sky fills with streaking satellites. Humans should be ashamed of polluting the atmosphere, oceans, water and land, instead of giving it a second thought, however, we have moved onto corrupting the space and stars above us.

I would still like to get a better look at Comet Lemmon, but my chances are limited as it gets closer to the sun and our weather fails to improve.

Dysfunction

No chance to see Comet Lemmon this morning through the cloud and snow.

Some big juicy flakes fell but didn’t amount to more than a skiff. Still nice to see.

***

This year while working as a manager I had the misfortune of dealing with quite a few troubled workers. There is more and more people racked with anxiety every year. Mostly young Canadians who didn’t make it through the Covid lockdowns unscathed. It is a shame to see. It makes you wonder how they are going to make it.

But the worst was a 50-some-year-old alcoholic. Drinking on the job, late, cranky, emotional, miserable, complaining, missing days, injury prone, sloppy, hungover, driving drunk, fucking up and lying at every turn. He also has done a turn for beating his kid, wife and mother. All despite a three month stretch in rehab paid for by the government. An absolute pain-in-the-ass to be around. A complete dysfunctional boozer!

Now I come from a long line of functional alcoholics. Guys who wake up and make it to work on time. Keep putting one foot in front of the other regardless of headache or sickness, putting in an honest days work usually for themselves, raising their hands first for the tough jobs, keeping their mouth shut, they don’t drink until after the shift and laugh it off. Granted they are not easy to live with and they’re their own worst enemy, but they don’t fuck up at work. Guys like this are a dying breed as we all become a bunch of snivelling whiners.

I felt like grabbing this worker, smacking the shit out of him and teaching him how to be a goddamn man. Of course that would have been a trip to HR. It made me more angry that he couldn’t handle the booze than what a complete fuck-up he was at work. Hopefully the government will spring for another session in rehab as some people just shouldn’t drink.

Luckily I didn’t have to deal with him long.

***

Thanksgiving Weekend

Just a reminder to step outside and try to spot Comet Lemmon, now brightening in northern skies. It may not reach the brilliance of Comet NEOWISE—seen here in 2020—but with comets, you never really know how bright they’ll become.

It’s finally starting to have a chill in the air. I found a home for most of my giant red cabbage. Sophie from Sophie’s Choice Pickles took it to make fermented sauerkraut. Her pickles are incredible and she sells out every year.

***

The good neighbour Larry has been enjoying the carrots. I left a bag of them on his doorstep the other day. I didn’t stay to talk as I was in a hurry and figured he’d find them as soon as he came out the door. They are Chantenay carrots. If you know your carrot varieties you know Chantenay have short thick tapered bodies.

Later that day a friend stopped by who is quite religious. I behave myself in his company. As we talked outside, Larry came out and found the carrots. He grabbed them by the stems and walked to the edge of his property, celebrating the gift raised high, yelled across the road, ‘Thanks for the buttplugs!’

I looked to my pious friend and sheepishly said, ‘They are carrots.’

But I couldn’t resist an answer to my good neighbour as he expects it from me, and yelled back across the road, ‘They are various sizes so you can work your way up!’

He didn’t miss a beat and yelled back, ‘I’m no amateur!’

***

If it clears a little, Willow and I may head out tomorrow morning to look for Comet Lemmon in the coming dawn. Hard to know if it will clear however as some are calling for snow.

Osprey

The river is full reaching almost to the top of the banks. Flowing quickly to the north. Catching the red willows, straight as arrows, flicking them forward until the spring back in a gracious whip. Green mud that mixes perfectly with the sky. Colours you only see at this time of year. A calendar without dates only sounds, bird calls, trickles and thunder. Smells like heat and moisture, the service berry ripening, some call Saskatoons, sweet, and the river running with high country snow and last nights rain.

The osprey doesn’t recognize me. It leaves its nest and circles above. Sizing, evaluating threat. I try to let it know we are old friends, but feel its distrust.

So often they would follow above as I walked the paths of bush to the lake. Back then it watched as my mind was on fish, railroad tracks, the spring in poplars, the wind putting a ripple on the water, just enough to obscure the weeds and fish swishing shadows, languid almost undetectable during calm, as I wondered how they saw their prey during a storm with a chop on the lake. Other than that I was oblivious most of the time, happy to roam the shore. A whistle would make me turn skyward or to a snag then back above to the railway and someone approaching. My signal to move along, to avoid the day being interrupted by the crudeness of conversation or worse, a scolding or beating. Once further down the shore or back under the canopy of bush the osprey would have followed. But I didn’t keep track back then.

The mosquitoes had me. Lifting me among the clouds. They buzz in my ears and around my nose, I shut my eyes and try not to swat, in case I am to fall from such a height. Above the river I can’t see the fish through the summer murk. The osprey still holds me in its eye, assessing, wary. Its wingspan and hooked beak, turbulent, knowing honour can put it at risk. I hope it can see through the chop on the surface, through time and hurt, even if I can’t.

Garden Planted

Damn it feels good to have a few days off. The rest of the garden is planted. The tomatoes started in the basement are on their own and look healthy. They looked happy to be planted. Of course we had a short windstorm today that knocked them around. It’s up to them now.

We’ll see if anything comes up. The birds are enjoying the sprinkler as it has been dry with not a lot of runoff due to low snowpack in the mountains.

***

The other day Lisa thought she heard something in the basement. She was right, it was a scratching and banging in the stove pipe. I opened up the pipe and nothing. I checked the chimney and stove, still nothing.

That night the banging and scratching started back up. Willow did her job letting us know of potential intruders. We didn’t get much sleep.

In the morning I took it all apart again and nothing. Once I put it all back together the noises resumed.

We went to Cooper’s soccer game. When we came home the noises were still coming from the pipe but now they were coming from where the pipe joins the stove.

I opened it up and there was an American Flicker, a type of woodpecker hiding in the flume. It must of, somehow flew down the chimney. When I had opened everything up it would go back into the chimney where we couldn’t see it. Once it went down the pipe to the stove it couldn’t get back up.

Lisa opened the basement door. I reached in and gave it a nudge. The Flicker burst into flight and flew across the room and straight out the door.

We couldn’t have been happier. I’m sure the bird felt likewise.

The Miracle

Sometimes when you feel bad the best you can do is put one foot in front of the other and count it as a victory and let that small little victory lead to a little bigger one. The world often doesn’t see you the way you see the world. The world won’t see you hurt if you keep putting up small victories. Even if that’s only one foot in front of the other.
Sometimes you may climb out of bed and think I don’t think I can do it. But you laugh knowing you’ve felt that way before. And you put one foot in front. And you look for those little miracles along the way. That squirrel on the line catching Pedley’s eye. The way her fur rises on her shoulders as she turns to attention.
The commute, earbuds with Above and Beyond, that’s something, that drop after meandering through an electronic corridor, then a slow rise, getting faster with one door opening after another into brighter colours.
Into work, like so many, but it’s not just a job, it’s to help others with the same hollowness that was nagging you earlier. It’s the realization we are so alike and different. Things are both terrifying and beautiful. And you put another foot forward and you count another victory and you hold a hand out and pull another like you up. And you put another foot forward. Soon the slow days, the hard days and the good days all become miracles.

Early January

Very strange winter. We have had plenty of snow, but temperatures have been unusual. We haven’t had any double digit minus temperatures. The lake doesn’t have enough ice to drive on yet. Many days throughout December have been above freezing.

2024 is in the books. It was a good year. Lisa and I will have to find a better work/life balance as we both worked plenty of hours with not many breaks. It is funny to think, turning 60 this year, and not having pensions, we only have another 10 years of work left to put a little away to ease us to the grave. I say this in jest as I wouldn’t want it any other way. In the past I had a taste of working for the government with the big bloated pensions they offer and it wasn’t for me.

Did a few hikes, but not as many as I would have liked. A few injuries caught up with me. Not surprising considering.

2024 had some incredible northern light displays as the sun reached a a solar maximum in it’s 11 year cycle. Lisa and I were lucky to spend several nights in the mountains under the spiking auroras. The auroras were so strong on one occasion that I was able to detect them when it was still light.

It would be nice to get some cold weather and blue skies, we are half way through winter for Christ’s sakes. Freeze some pipes, bring out the stars so bright you can hear them while all the ancient ghosts take your breath. Freeze the gas line, kill the battery, make the old truck crank and moan. Rosy the cheeks, remind us of all the bits we froze as they only hurt now in the cold. Telling us we can always light it all on fire if we really need to get warm.

Rob

Rob Dunn, who published The Valley Peak passed away last week. He had been battling serious health issues for several years. It still came as a shock to many of his friends and acquaintances. It seemed he had been on the doorstep quite a few times and always battled back. This time, unfortunately, it was not to be.

Rob’s paper, The Valley Peak resembled a coffee newspaper that you often find in cafes. Like a coffee news The Valley Peak contained jokes and ads, however, The Peak was much more. It was usually 8 pages printed on coloured bond paper, published weekly and widely distributed up and down the valley. But what really differentiated it from any other publication was that it contained a lot of Rob.

He promoted many worthwhile causes over the years. He set up a free food bin on one of Invermere’s streets for people in need. He espoused the benefit of gardening, fishing, cannabis use and roaming the outdoors. He often expressed his love for his hounds and the joy of being a dog owner.  He and I shared a love of stargazing and that is what we often talked about, as we did when we met in the grocery store about a week before his passing.

Rob was also a self described conspiracy theorist. Since the start of Covid he dedicated part of The Peak to his thoughts on the disease, vaccinations and alternative medicine. He also tackled other subjects such as global warming, woke culture and government interference. He had plenty of followers that agreed with his stance and also many people who did not. Regardless, he always seemed to know where to draw the line as not to piss off too many people, especially advertisers that he had many of. I was always in awe of this skill. Perhaps it was because he was always good natured.

An often theme of his short column Robservations was to treat each other with respect and compassion even when we don’t feel like it or have different views. It is a good message.

It seems the Valley is losing its character and special characters. Rob certainly was a character without replacement. Lisa and I extend our condolences to his family and friends. 

Happy stargazing Rob, wishing you clear skies and good fishing.