Im late today as we went to Vernon for the nighyt and visited old friend Russ of Valemount and other days. Also got word that my old friend and fellow Port Hardy - ite, Rose (Rosie) died yesterday morning. RIP Rosie - together with Wilson again.
The weather continues to be cool and damp, looks like snow showers on the hills surrounding the town.
We visited M's Mom on the way into town. She seemed in a good mood although we never know if she knows who we are.
Ther price of gas, if anyone is interested ranges from125.9 to 125.8 per litre. The best deal was in Kamloops at Costco where it was 119.9.
I guess I'll work on Forks In The Trail this afternoon while M goes to visit her Mom again.
Here's a little peek into the story.
2
After catching several fish and releasing all but two, Roj felt a return of some of the peace and contentment that was usually present when he was at home and on the waters of Bute Inlet. Realizing that he couldn’t keep any fish until the next day, he reeled in his line, restarted the motor and headed down the inlet following the ragged shoreline. He didn’t really have a destination in mind but as the boat planed along he recalled the hints and whispers that he had encountered in his younger years about the old logging camp further down the inlet where something momentous had occurred; he would have liked to go there and do some exploring but knew he didn’t have enough fuel. So when he spotted another inviting beach he turned towards shore and throttled back, keeping a sharp lookout for rocks as he approached.
Minutes later the bow grated on the sand and shell particle beach; he shut off the motor and tilted it so that the propeller and leg were safe from banging on the bottom. Hopping out he dragged the boat further up onto the beach then tied the painter to a rock that was jutting out of the sand.
Getting back in the boat he changed the water in the fish tub and covered it with a damp fish rag then grabbing his knapsack he stepped back out onto the beach and after a moments hesitation headed to where the shore met the bush line and swung to his left.
As he walked he thought about some of the other times he had gone beachcombing; it was always more fun with someone else, his parents or grandparents, other young people from the community but most of all with his Aunt Teri.
“Aunt Teri!” He exclaimed aloud. “That’s it, I’ll go and talk to her.”
Roj always unconsciously had understood that he and his Aunt had a special relationship. When he was small she would, with Great Grandma Sophie, take him on forays in the bush and shores that surrounded Butevale. Later after Sophie had died the two of them spent many, many hours and days together. When he was old enough he often made the short trek to the cave/house that she refused to give up. She was always different from other people, a difference that was compelling to him. Perhaps the fact that she was more like an older sister than an Aunt was part of the attraction.
His mind now settled for the moment, his earlier agitation at rest, he moved on searching along the high tide line for anything that might be of interest.
The weather continues to be cool and damp, looks like snow showers on the hills surrounding the town.
We visited M's Mom on the way into town. She seemed in a good mood although we never know if she knows who we are.
Ther price of gas, if anyone is interested ranges from125.9 to 125.8 per litre. The best deal was in Kamloops at Costco where it was 119.9.
I guess I'll work on Forks In The Trail this afternoon while M goes to visit her Mom again.
Here's a little peek into the story.
2
After catching several fish and releasing all but two, Roj felt a return of some of the peace and contentment that was usually present when he was at home and on the waters of Bute Inlet. Realizing that he couldn’t keep any fish until the next day, he reeled in his line, restarted the motor and headed down the inlet following the ragged shoreline. He didn’t really have a destination in mind but as the boat planed along he recalled the hints and whispers that he had encountered in his younger years about the old logging camp further down the inlet where something momentous had occurred; he would have liked to go there and do some exploring but knew he didn’t have enough fuel. So when he spotted another inviting beach he turned towards shore and throttled back, keeping a sharp lookout for rocks as he approached.
Minutes later the bow grated on the sand and shell particle beach; he shut off the motor and tilted it so that the propeller and leg were safe from banging on the bottom. Hopping out he dragged the boat further up onto the beach then tied the painter to a rock that was jutting out of the sand.
Getting back in the boat he changed the water in the fish tub and covered it with a damp fish rag then grabbing his knapsack he stepped back out onto the beach and after a moments hesitation headed to where the shore met the bush line and swung to his left.
As he walked he thought about some of the other times he had gone beachcombing; it was always more fun with someone else, his parents or grandparents, other young people from the community but most of all with his Aunt Teri.
“Aunt Teri!” He exclaimed aloud. “That’s it, I’ll go and talk to her.”
Roj always unconsciously had understood that he and his Aunt had a special relationship. When he was small she would, with Great Grandma Sophie, take him on forays in the bush and shores that surrounded Butevale. Later after Sophie had died the two of them spent many, many hours and days together. When he was old enough he often made the short trek to the cave/house that she refused to give up. She was always different from other people, a difference that was compelling to him. Perhaps the fact that she was more like an older sister than an Aunt was part of the attraction.
His mind now settled for the moment, his earlier agitation at rest, he moved on searching along the high tide line for anything that might be of interest.
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