Photo Friday: Bounder of Adventure

Not being a tall man, I always like to climb structures to gain a better vantage for my photography.

Despite the temperature being around 40°C, I was never deterred from carrying my full camera bag and lugging around all of my gear.

In 1989, visitors were still allowed to climb up the great pyramid at Chichen Itza and the structures of Tulum. On my current visit to Mexico, the only pyramid I'll be climbing is the great one at Cobá. Because I'm still on the Mayan Riviera and without access to my computer, you'll have to see my latest photos of my Mexican trip after I return, next Tuesday.

In this photo, I have my camera bag strapped over my shoulder. It held two zoom lenses, a flash, and about a dozen filters. One of my travel companions used my Minolta X-700, which had the MD-1 motor drive attached. I believe my 50mm lens is mounted.

You can also see my tripod, which I carried almost everywhere but seldom used. Around my neck is my secondary camera, a Nikon One Touch.

I was ready for anything.

Happy Friday! 

Beer O'Clock: My Brew Floweth Over

Every time I look, Ottawa gains another brewery. Or two. Or... I don't know how many.

It's getting hard to keep track. At last count, we had almost 30 microbreweries in Canada's capital city, and there seems to be no end in sight.

I'm not complaining. Ottawa has some of the best craft beer I've ever tried. But I wonder how easy it is for a brewery to do well, knowing that there are several more eager to take money from beer lovers.

It's not enough to make good beer. You have to stand out from the other breweries, make people not only want to visit your brewery, but hang around and want to return.

More and more brew shops are attracting customers with spacious tap rooms, where you can enjoy a pint or two, munch on some nibblies, and hang around for a couple of hours. It's not enough that you simply pony up to a bar, try a sample, pick up some cans or bottles to bring home, and leave.

Think of brew pubs like Vimy, Tooth and Nail, Flora Hall, Stray Dog, Small Pony Barrel Works, Dominion City, and others. Each of these venues offers a comfortable environment to sit and enjoy some delicious suds.

But it now seems that beer lovers want more. They want to be entertained. So many breweries offer live entertainment: music, stand-up comedy, and cabarets.

Enter one of the newer breweries to enter the spotlight in Ottawa. (I'd say newest, but for all I know, another brewery has blossomed since. It's hard to keep up!)

Overflow Brewing Company (2477 Kaladar Avenue) opened last June, with its store's grand opening on Father's Day (sorry, I took mine to Tooth and Nail that day). Located near Heron Road and Bank Street, it's a great addition to the Ridgemont and Alta Vista neighbourhoods. On November 1, it opened its tap room, a massive hall with an added bonus.

Tucked into a wall recess, covered by a garage-style door, is a stage. Last Friday, hours after I visited the brewery, a Fleetwood Mac tribute band performed to beer lovers and music lovers alike. The breweries Web site is chock-full of upcoming events.

It's well and fine to have an entertainment venue in a brewery, but how is the beer? I visited Overflow's store and saw five distinct brews: I picked up two of each.

Because I was leaving for Mexico on Tuesday, I had to have my review prepared and in the can before I left, which means I didn't have time to try all five varieties. But I did enjoy two: I cracked open their porter, Final Bow (5% ABV), and contacted the co-owner, Brad Fennell, through Facebook, to find out what he considers his flagship beer to be.

Surprisingly, he told me in a response that they don't have a so-called flagship beer because they all tend to do well.

Hmph, I say.

He did, however, tell me that their North East Pale Ale, Bangkok Crosswalk (4.5% ABV) won the bronze medal, last September, in the American Pale Ale category of the Ontario Brewing Awards. Also on the podium was Nickel Brook's Naughty Neighbour (silver) and Elora Brewing's Elora Borealis (gold).

Overflow was in very good company.

While I did enjoy the porter and rated it 🍺🍺 on my scale (see the margin on the right), I'm going to hold off on that review for another time and focus on the APA.

When I first saw the label on the Bangkok Crosswalk, the tiger looking fierce as it trod upon the painted white lines, I thought about Singapore, Malaysia, rather than the capital of Thailand. I remember my travels to both countries, where tigers were more associated with the more southerly country.

History tells of how a tiger leisurely sauntered into the lobby of The Raffles Hotel, and there's that line from a Beautiful South song:

And if you pull a double one
I'll pack my bags and I'll be gone
If you pull a three and four
I'm flying off to Singapore
Where women dance and tigers roar
I'm lying on a distant shore
I'm living life as fast as I can
A nod, a wink, another drink, I am the domino man.

Yup, Singapore Crosswalk would have nailed it for me.

Appearance: a slightly unfiltered, amber-resin-apricot colour with a creamy-white head that settles to a thin but solid cap.

Nose: tangerine and Earl Grey tea, with beautifully aromatic hops. You really want to stick your nose in your glass and just inhale that bouquet.

Palate: bitter (but not overpowering) hops. I was reminded of the flavourful, floral teas of... Singapore (some of the best teas I've had were enjoyed there). The flavours hold the right balance between fruity and bitter. The mouth feel is full-bodied but lightens in the finish.

Overall impression: I had one of those ahh moments as I finished my pint. This APA is refreshing and easy-drinking, and I'd gladly pick up more. Overflow truly earned their bronze medal for this offering—not bad for a brewery that had only been running for a few months.

Beer O'Clock rating: 🍺🍺🍺

While Bangkok Crosswalk was not the first Overflow brew I tried, it was definitely the one that made me want to try more of their beer. When I return from my vacation, I have a fine sample waiting in my fridge.

Overflow Brewing is off to a good start, with its huge venue that offers an ample taproom with a stage that will surely bring in both beer lovers and music fans. It's flavourful beer will surely keep those folks coming back.

Cheers!

Pass The Tequila, Sheila!

The only women on this island, as far as I could tell, were the ones we brought with us. I had three with me. There were loads of others on the boat.

Isla Mujeres, or The Island of Women, was our party destination for the evening. Just to the northeast of Cancun, Mexico, it was an up-and-coming tourist destination, and we were off to a beach party. Johnny Banana and his band was to perform live Caribbean music while we danced and participated in drinking games, all organized by a Cancun tourist group.

My lady friends and I were drinking a lot over our vacation. And our drink of choice, surprisingly, was tequila.

Normally, I can't drink tequila. It all goes back to an evening, in my teens, when some friends and I got into the stuff that we raided from one parents' liquor cabinet. We had already had a couple of bottles of beer—we had waited outside the Brewer's Retail store (now, The Beer Store), looking for someone who would buy us a six-pack—and decided to do a couple of shots of whatever could be dipped into without being obvious that liquid was missing.

I threw back my first shot and immediately felt ill. I ran to the bathroom and barely got over the toilet before I started vomiting violently.

I chalked it up to mixing beer and liquor.

But no: whenever I drank tequila—be it my first drink on a full stomach or empty stomach, be it a shot or a small sip—as soon as it went down, it came straight back up.

Mexico was an entirely different situation. I had tequila held out to me from a person standing in front of a restaurant on our first night. He was trying to entice us to come in. "Free tequila poppers all night," he beckoned.

I was reluctant, but egged on my the three women in my group, I accepted the proffered shot glass. "You're going to regret this," I said to them as I tilted back my head and poured the clear fluid down my throat.

It stayed down.

We went into the restaurant and drank until we could barely stand. It was one of my friends who was sick to her stomach, the next morning and well into the afternoon, when she threw up in the Caribbean waters.

And here we were, on Isla Mujeres, ready to party and play more drinking games.

At one point in the evening, the organizers divided the party-goers into two groups: men against women. A relay race was prepared and we were given the instructions:

1. Take a swig of tequila from a jumbo bottle.
2. Take the proffered stick with a string attached to one end and try to pull a wooden fish out of the sand, like you're fishing.
3. With the fish out of the sand, drop the stick and run to the other end of the beach, where someone awaited with another bottle of tequila.
4. Take a giant swig from the bottle.
5. Place one hand on a wooden pole, which extended a foot out of the sand, and, while staring at the pole and keeping the one hand on it, run around it 10 times.
6. Run back to the starting point and tag the next person.
7. The first team to complete the relay course wins.

The guys won.

I was so dizzy and drunk that I could barely stand straight, but I joined the rest of my team in lining up to win our prize. The prize was a full bottle of tequila.

We stood in a line and faced the losers. The first person in our line was passed the bottle and he had to drink as much as he could, and then pass the bottle on. We were told that the bottle had to be empty by the time everyone had a swig.

I turned to the guy next to me, who would be receiving the bottle before me. "Take as much as you can, buddy," I said. "If I have another swig, I'm going to hurl."

"Me too," he said.

The bottle reached him. He took a couple of gulps and then handed me the bottle. I filled my mouth with as much as it could hold before passing the bottle onto the next fellow.

With all eyes following the bottle, as soon as it left my hands, I turned around and spat out the tequila. The guy before me, who took a few gulps, said, "Oh man, I should have thought of doing that," and promptly threw up.

I said the guys won the relay. In retrospect, I think we lost.

BTW: for those of you who don't get the reference to my title, either you're too young, not Canadian, or don't remember your political history. Google it.

Mexico Bound

Bags are packed, tickets and passports in hand. Muscle pain is under control.

We're doing this!

I have a couple of blog posts in the pike, for while I'm gone. When DW and I return, I hope to have stories and photos to share, as well as one or two videos.

See ya...

What the Actual Hell?

I'm cursed.

For many years, just before a trip, I have lower-back issues. In 2010, the family had planned a trip to New York City. Fourty-eight hours before we were scheduled to leave, I threw out by back and spent five days on the floor in our family room. We had to cancel our hotel reservation and vacation days, postponing our vacation for more than a month.

I've cancelled more than a couple of trips to Montreal. In 2014, just a week before our family vacation in France, I was out of commission.

I only figured out what I did this weekend, last night.

We had a very mild Thursday. This winter has been especially cruel, with bitter-cold temperatures and a seemingly endless pile of snow, and when the temperatures climb above the freezing mark, it's foolish to not take advantage of it.

Having been out of commission for most of the winter, with my recovering foot (it's getting better and better each week, by the way), my driveway has suffered somewhat. DD18 has taken the role of main shoveller, and while she typically did a good job, the last few snowfalls have fallen by the wayside and she was never diligent about clearing snow away from the end, where the plows dumped the snow from the road. As a result, we had several inches of ice accumulate where the driveway met the street.

On Thursday, after I pulled into the driveway, I retrieved our heavy-duty ice scraper and began breaking up the ice. With last week's mild weather, a pool was developing at the end of the driveway and I wanted to carve a channel to drain it.

I broke up and removed all the ice in the driveway, save about an eight-foot stretch at the end. I worked up a sweat over the hour and deemed I had had my workout for the day—no visit to the gym would be required.

Friday was a repeat of Thursday, so when I returned home from the office, I continued to break up the ice. When I scooped up the broken bits with a shovel, I threw them over the tall banks of snow that blanketed my front lawn.

Another hour of exertion; another workout.

DW and I went out for dinner while DD18 entertained friends and held a sleepover. When we returned home, we decided to head up to our room, away from the kids, to watch Girl on the Train on Netflix.

As the film was drawing to a close, the pain in my lower back and left hip grew intense. By the time the credits began to roll, I was in excruciating pain. I took some Ibuprofen and applied our heating pad to my lower back.

I searched a medical database and my symptoms were spot-on with sciatica. Three days before our Mayan Riviera vacation to celebrate our silver anniversary, and I had sciatica.

Sleeping was a non-event: I couldn't move without writhing in pain.

On Saturday, the pain continued, though I tried to get some chores done. I even tried to get a workout on the spin bike in our bedroom, but after about 30 minutes I had to stop. DW and I did some shopping in the afternoon, but I was unable to push the cart nor lift anything of measurable weight.

We picked up more Ibuprofen and muscle relaxers, and I spent most of the rest of the day lying on the heating pad, pumped full of drugs, sipping beer, and watching Star Trek: Discovery.

The one bright light was Sunday morning, when I awoke stiff but mobile. DW and I headed to a swimming pool, where she reached her goal of a 2K swim; I swam 1550 metres. My lower back was a bit sore but I found swimming to be far less painful than walking.

In the afternoon, I eased up on the pain meds and focused on stretching every hour. I pushed through and finished many chores, but by dinner, a new pain gripped me: my ribs began to ache, and if I held my arms out to my sides or breathed in deeply, an almost paralyzing pain gripped me.

This is when I put two and two together and came up with my chopping, scraping, and shovelling the ice in my driveway. All of the actions would account for the pain that was hitting the regions of my body.

As of the time of writing this post, there is less than 36 hours before our flight takes off. I'm not about to cancel (it's too late, now). I'm packing the pain pills. We have poolside lounges and lots of water in which to float. The drinks are ever-flowing. I should be fine.

When it comes to exploring Tulum, Cobá, and other sites, I'll push through. I'm determined to not let this pain get the better of me.

Still: bloody hell...

Photo Friday: Selfie

I had a blog post by the same title in 2013, but that's okay.

One of the great things that I really like about my 360-degree camera is that the software that is used in post-processing removes the selfie stick that comes with the camera, which means that the resulting image looks like it came from a drone or from another photographer.

When I made my first video with my Insta360 One X, I used four of the six scenes that I captured with the camera. But when the files were transferred from the camera to my smart phone, one of the scenes left a still frame in my Google Photos timeline.

The photo captured me, as I walked to the first lookout point, at the bottom of the falls. It's shot from above, the horizon bending to the camera's fisheye lens.

I took the still image and processed it with Prisma—a tool that I haven't used in quite some time—using the Dallas filter.

It almost looks like a candid shot, as though I was unaware that an invisible lens, hovering above me, was watching my every move (as I ignore the sign that warns me of a $100 fine for walking).

Happy Friday!

Kimchi Face

Apparently, I make a face when I eat kimchi.

In 1999, as DW and I boarded our plane that would take us from Seoul, South Korea, to Vancouver, British Columbia, on the first leg of our journey back to Canada, I swore, "If I never eat kimchi again, it'll be too soon."

Kimchi—a fermented cabbage infused with hot pepper paste—is South Korea's national food. It's eaten at every meal, is included as a side dish at every table in every restaurant, and is an ingredient in many Korean dishes. It has a pungent odour and a sour flavour, much like a spicy sauerkraut.

In the two years that I lived in Korea, I never really developed a taste for it; though, out of politeness, I would have at least one bite whenever it was served to me. I liked kimchi when it was fresh, where the cabbage crunched when you bit into it and you only tasted the spice—not the sourness of the fermented leaves.

So, when I said goodbye to Korea, I convinced myself that I'd never eat kimchi again. That wasn't a long-lived promise.

In the first couple of years that DW and I were back in Ottawa, we had visited a couple of Korean restaurants. There was the Korean Garden, on Rideau Street, and Le Kimchi, on Preston. I ate a bit of kimchi at these visits, taking only a tiny bite each time. But it had been at least 10 years since I had eaten Korean food, until just a couple of weeks ago.

One of DW's and my buddies from Chŏnju, Russ, lives in Ottawa. We still keep in touch (though, not as often as we'd like), usually getting together in the week in which he and I celebrate our birthdays. DW suggested that, because I'm returning to Korea in May, we should go out for Korean food.

It had been 10 years for me: it had been almost 20 years for Russ. He hadn't eaten Korean food since he left the country.

We decided on the Dolsot Café, on Bank Street, just north of the Queensway. The restaurant shares a building with a Korean grocery store and seemed highly rated, so we tried our luck.

The word dolsot means stone bowl in Korean, and refers to a dish that was made famous in Chŏnju: dolsot bibimbap, a rice dish that's topped with fresh vegetables such as bean sprouts, green onion, zucchini, shredded carrot, and hot pepper paste. Sometimes, meat is added. Traditionally, a raw egg is cracked atop the dish just before it's served, and as you stir the ingredients together, the hot bowl cooks the egg.

It was DW's and my favourite dish in all of Korea.

In the Dolsot Café, however, no raw egg is presented: instead, a fried egg, sunny-side-up, sits atop the dish.

Dolsot bibimbap (both Russ and DW tucked into their dishes before I could capture it).

Both DW and Russ ordered the dolsot bibimbap, but because I was going to soon be in the birthplace of the dish, I held out. Instead, I searched the menu for something I liked but that would be an unlikely choice for me during my return. I went for a dish that is originally Chinese, tang soo yuk—crispy fried chicken in a sweet-and-sour sauce, served with mixed vegetables.

The food was authentic and delicious, though not cheap by Korean standards. For what we paid for one dish at the Dolsot Café, we could have easily fed all of us for the same price in Chŏnju. Of course, this is Canada, so... apples... oranges.

We started off with a Korean pancake that is typically loaded with fresh green onions and shoestring carrots, but DW convinced me to agree to a kimchi version. Russ was running behind so we decided to start with this.

The appetizer size was large enough to be a meal of itself and was fully loaded with kimchi (so much so that the pancake lacked any structural integrity).

When I took my first bite, I was hit full-force with the pungent flavours of fermented kimchi, and memories of Korea flooded back. That's when DW started laughing.

"You should see the look on your face," she wailed. "It's hilarious."

I quickly swallowed the mouthful and washed it down with the tea that had been provided.

When Russ joined us, DW said to him, "You should have seen the expression on Ross' face when he was eating kimchi. Ross, show him the face."

Because I didn't know the face, I didn't know what to do. But there were side dishes on the table, and inevitably, there was kimchi. Fermented kimchi.

I picked up a small piece with my chopsticks and placed it in my mouth, and decided to chew.

Both Russ and DW burst out laughing.

I should have given my camera to DW, to capture this expression. But we agreed that Russ, DW, and I would return to the Dolsot Café again, after DW and I return from Mexico, before I head off to Korea. I'll get DW to record me while I eat kimchi, and we can all see my face.

And then, with any luck, I'll never eat kimchi again.

#613FUTUREBLUES Returns

It's amazing when a world-renown, Juno-nominated artist takes the time and energy to give back to his community. Especially so when he does it for youngsters who hope to follow in his footsteps.

#613FUTUREBLUES 2017

For the third year in a row, JW Jones is holding his #613FUTUREBLUES music jam for young musicians. And he's putting out the call for young talent.

Jones is looking for Blues musicians between the ages of 12 and 18, who have knowledge of this music genre and are able to perform in front of an audience. He has opened up a virtual audition, where those who are interested must send a video or download link, such as wetransfer.com, in a private message to his Facebook page.

The performance will be held on Sunday, April 14, at 2:00 pm, at Lone Star Texas Grill—1211 Lemieux Street, near St.Laurent Blvd. and the Queensway (across from the St.Laurent Shopping Centre).

If you know a young musician who would be interested, please spread the word. Share this post with music teachers, musicians (or their parents).

The future of Blues is in our youth: let's give them a helping hand.

#613FUTUREBLUES 2018

Hog's Back 360

I've made my first 360-degree video. It's very simple, but it's a start.

This video was shot on Saturday, at Hog's Back Park. I walked on the snow-covered pathways along the falls and over the dam.

It's three-and-a-half minutes long and involves four scenes. Post processing was performed with Insta360 Studio 2019 and Pinnacle Studio Ultimate. The music was picked from my playlist: "We Have Everything" by Young Galaxy.

Let me know what you think.

I have more experimentation to do with my camera, including time shifting. Shooting the video is easy: it's the post-processing work that is the biggest challenge. Hopefully, I'll have it mastered in time for my vacation, next week.

My New Toy

I just might try my hand at vlogging. (Is that a word?)

Recently, I've lamented over what a lousy videographer I am, going back to the days when I recorded DW's and my typical day in 1997, in South Korea. With our upcoming vacation in Mexico, next week, and my solo return to Korea, in May, DW and I have wanted to capture some footage of our travels.

I even want to share this footage on The Brown Knowser and some of my social-media accounts, including Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram.

For years, we've owned a tiny Sony video recorder but have rarely used it. My father, actually, uses it more: he owns a track car and mounts the camera on the roof or behind the driver's seat as he speeds around race circuits. The images are sharp and give a good perspective of what it's like to drive a race car.

DW and our kids have taken the camera to the beach or to lakes, and have shot some footage of swimming with friends. But I can count the number of times in which they've actually done that on one hand.

When DW and I began planning for the Mayan Riviera, we both expressed an interest in snorkeling in the Caribbean waters and exploring the cenotes, or underwater rivers. Though our action camera has a waterproof case, it doesn't take still images.

We both purchased underwater cases for our smartphones, but I don't know that we're going to use them. We're not especially confident that they will protect our phones. I began searching for a compact underwater camera that would satisfy my needs, but either the ones that satisfied my budget didn't satisfy my search for quality, and those that were of good quality were beyond my budget.

Would I use this camera above the water?

I then started thinking about my trip to Korea, and how I wanted to capture video. I immediately thought of my smartphone and the selfie stick that I purchased. It, alone, might do the trick. But then I started thinking that if I wanted to make a full-travel video, maybe I needed something more robust. Maybe I would start creating video blogs—vlogs—on a semi-regular basis.

DW sent me a link to a review on a 360-degree camera. I had never considered such a device before but I decided to watch the 16-minute YouTube video.

It changed my life. (Well... not my life. But it certainly expanded my limited knowledge of 360-degree cameras.)

This camera solved the problem that I always had with walking and recording at the same time, where the camera shake could make a viewer dizzy. This camera had a built-in stabilization feature.

With a 360-degree camera, I could simply turn it on, secure it to my camera bag, on a selfie stick, and just walk. It would capture everything. In post-processing, I could direct the angle of view I wanted to show.

Grand Canyon as a Tiny Planet

The camera can shoot still images and video. It also shoots in RAW format. It has special effects, including the Tiny Planets effect that I sometimes like to use with some of my stills; only now, I can also do it with video.

As soon as I finished watching the YouTube review, I called DW. I told her that I wanted this camera. She had sent me the link on my birthday, and my mother had already given me some money to buy something special to mark my day. I told DW that I would apply this money toward the camera.

A link on the YouTube video also has a promotion, that if the camera is purchased through the link, the manufacturer will include the selfie stick. I already have a selfie stick but this one was special: the software that comes with the camera will recognize this stick and remove it from the captured image. The result is a video that seems to be shot by either a drone that follows the subject or by another person.

Within a half hour of receiving DW's e-mail that provided the link to the camera review, I had placed my order. Last Monday, it arrived.

It's the Insta360 One X camera. It's so cool.

I've purchased a mini tripod to hold the camera, upright, on its own. I also ordered the underwater case and will be bringing the camera to Mexico. Over this past weekend, I've experimented with the camera and created my first video. I'll share that, tomorrow.

In this age of technology, I do like my toys. If all goes well, this may change how I blog... and vlog.

Beer O'Clock: Zero

I don't tend to get excited when two breweries collaborate. The first time I tried a brew that was made by different microbreweries, I was disappointed. There was something mediocre, at best, about their product.

The beer was so forgettable that I no longer remember which breweries had combined forces.

I've had other collaborative brews since then, and while the beer was fine, I really felt that the breweries had made far better creations on their own.

But last Friday, as I was enjoying an English bitter at Flora Hall Brewing, I noticed on their draft board that they had gone into cahoots with Stray Dog Brewing.

Both Flora Hall and Stray Dog are among my favourite breweries in Ottawa. The name of their concoction also intrigued me: Zero IBU IPA. I just had to pick up a four-pack and bring it home.

IBUs, or International Bitterness Units, chemically measure how bitter a beer can taste. The higher the number, the more bitter the flavour. The bitterest beer I've ever had was by Brasserie Dunham, at a whopping 129 IBUs. It tasted like I was sucking on a dry teabag. Other than a sharp bitterness, there was no other flavour I could discern.

It was awful.

I find that the best range for a bitter beer is between 25 and 75 IBUs. I've had much lower, and still enjoyed the ale, but I was enjoying it for its maltiness, not for the bitter flavour.

So when two of my favourite breweries were offering a zero-IBU beer, I had to try it, especially when it was an IPA, which is typically known for higher IBUs. For this brew, no hops were included during the boil. The flavour from the hops came later, during the secondary fermentation, when the IPA was triple-dry-hopped.

What was the result?

Zero IBU IPA (6.2% ABV)

Appearance: a creamy, unfiltered, grapefruit-juice colour that leaves a thin, creamy-white cap. The appearance was not unlike an east-coast IPA.

Nose: the hops come through loud and clear with a juicy grapefruit aroma.

Palate: the first thing to hit me was a pronounced grapefruit flavour. The body is assertive but quickly fades in the finish, where I was left with a hint of peach. But on subsequent swallows, I felt a gentle burn of pine.

Overall impression: with its beautiful, bold colour, intense aroma, and full mouth feel, it was hard to believe that not a single IBU was measured. In the finish, though, the speed at which the flavour drops off gives the impression that something is missing, and that's the point.

The hops are there but there's no bitter aftertaste. It's quite brilliant, actually. Despite the 6.2-percent alcohol, I could drink this IPA all night.

While I haven't had every beer that Flora Hall has produced, I can in all honesty say that I haven't had one of their creations that I didn't like. The same can almost be said for Stray Dog, though the folks there know that I love a lot of what they do and have an immense amount of respect for them.

These brewers rank among my favourite Ottawa breweries. And they have done extremely well with this collaboration.

Beer O'Clock rating: 🍺🍺🍺

The beer can be had, on tap, at Flora Hall: unfortunately, they are sold out of cans. Fortunately, Flora Hall is one of the nicest breweries in Ottawa, where you can sit and enjoy a pint.

Stray Dog also offers this juicy masterpiece, but under a different name, Why Can't IBU. They too have a great tasting area, where you can enjoy a pint, and to date they still have this IPA in cans. Grab it while you can.

Cheers!

But... Kayaks!

It ranks with one of the stupidest statements I've ever heard.

I was already being cautious: still walking with a limp, I have to be careful with every step, especially when walking in snow. If a path is well-trod, I'm pretty good as long as the snow is hard-packed, but the natural unevenness still gives me pause, makes me plan my steps well.

If I'm simply following in another's footsteps, it can be trickier and I'm more susceptible to losing my balance. After last week's trial and error, I've decided to avoid walking in snow this way.

Last Saturday couldn't have been more beautiful. Plenty of sunshine and warm enough that you could endure the outdoors without wearing mittens or gloves—for a short duration, anyway. I had the added privilege of exploring a lovely and peaceful site in the Ottawa Valley, the Blakeney Rapids, in Mississippi Mills.

Being a member of the Ottawa Photography Meetup group, I joined a handful of photographers and converged on this spot. We met on the narrow bridge that spans the Mississippi River and worked our way over the trails that follow the flow of the river, northward.

I shared some of my photos yesterday, in my Wordless Wednesday post.

I stuck to the main trails, only following the worn paths as far as they would get me to the river. I never ventured beyond these paths: there was no telling where the land ended and covered water began. Still, many of the trails took us close enough to the water where you wouldn't want to trip.

The air may have been mild: the water certainly was not.

One of the photographers in our group, I noticed, would often stray from the paths and get closer to moving water. She moved below a wooden footbridge to capture a sliver of water, surrounded by snow and ice. Often, she'd get low, to get as close as possible to pearls of ice that amassed near the water.

On a couple of occasions, she got right against the edge of the Mississippi, right at the rapids. I couldn't tell if she was on an ice shelf or on land, but she made me nervous. I feared that the snow upon which she lay would collapse and would send her into the swift current.

"Please be careful," I advised, "you're making my heart race."

My heart was just slowing after I had my own scare, moments before. For this photo walk, I brought my small camera bag and travel tripod. I planned to shoot my first set of photos with my Nikkor 24–70mm zoom lens and then swap over to my super-wide Sigma 10–20mm lens. I had attached a diffuser filter to my Nikkor lens so that, with my tripod, I could slow and smooth out the movement of the water.

At the base of the rapids, which could almost be called waterfalls, I decided to switch my lenses so that I could capture as much of the river as possible. I was on a side trail that had me only a couple of metres away from the water but was about two or three metres above the water's surface. Between me and the drop was an untouched bank of fresh snow: behind me were trees. The trail upon which I stood sloped downward, following the river.

I set my tripod down, to my right, on the slope that was slightly above from where I stood. I had pushed the legs so that they sunk into the path, hopefully giving it more stability. I then proceeded to unscrew the filter from my Nikkor lens and return it to its case. With the filter removed, I could reattach the hood that cuts lens flare and (more importantly, in my opinion) protects the glass. I removed the base cap from my Sigma lens and then unmounted my Nikkor lens from the camera body.

I could just see it in the extreme-most of my peripheral: my tripod was beginning to tip over. Not toward the slope of the path, which would have had it rest against my right leg, but outward, towards the slope that led to the river.

I tend to pride myself on my fast reflexes. Even DW seems in awe of them.

My camera bag has a sash-type strap that allows it to be slung over one shoulder and can be swung in front of me. I like this feature, because I can open the bag and change lenses in a way that, should I drop something, that object will simply fall into the bag. So here I was, with my camera body in the bag and my Nikkor lens in my right hand, just above the body.

But when my tripod started to fall, my reflexes took over. I swung my torso to the right, made to move the lens to my left hand, and with my right hand, I scooped up my tripod before it tumbled down the embankment and possibly into the Mississippi.

Only, my left hand didn't have a firm grip on my lens because I was also holding the base cap in it. And because I twisted my torso to the right, my left hand was no longer over my camera bag. My $2,000 lens slipped from my grasp and fell, lens hood first, into the snow bank, right where it sloped down to the rapids.

Several things happened at once. I yelped. My left hand stuffed the base cap into the camera bag and closed the lid, holding it in place. My right hand, which had already caught the tripod, stuffed the tripod deep into the soft snowbank and then dove for the lens, which was half-buried.

I picked up my lens and straightened myself so that I was once again directly over the camera bag. I retrieved the base cap and twisted it on to the back of the lens. I then turned the lens over to assess the damage to the front of the lens.

The hood had acted as a scoop and all I could see was snow. I removed it from the lens and shook it off. It was wet but undamaged. The lens was also wet, with some snow remaining around the edges of the glass. I blew it away and immediately fogged the glass. I attached the front lens cap and added to the bag, and then mounted the Sigma lens onto the body.

It would be my lens for the rest of my walk.

When I finished sorting myself out, including breathing slowly and steadily to slow my pulse, I resumed taking photos. It was at this point that I noticed the other photographer, a little further down the river, right against the water's edge.

My heart rate increased again.

She was prone, lying on her stomach and closing in on ice formations above the torrent of river. She seemed oblivious to the dangerous position in which she had placed herself. I was certain that she was on an ice shelf, not on terra firma.

She was going to capture some fabulous closeups. Assuming she survived.

"Please be careful," I advised, "you're making my heart race."

"Oh, it's okay," she replied, "I'm a kayaker." Her blasé statement immediately ranked among the stupidest ones that I've ever heard.

"I've used kayaks many times, myself," I said in a bewildered tone. "I've also canoed rapids not unlike these. But I sure wouldn't want to fall into the water today. And I certainly wouldn't want to have to go in after you, if that ice gives way."

She seemed undeterred.

I decided to resolve my concern in the best way that I could control: I captured a few more images and then moved on. The best way to stay dry, I told myself, was to remove myself from any situation that would have me jumping into the frigid Mississippi River.

And besides, I had left my kayak at home. (I don't own a kayak.)

My Nikkor lens is fine, by the way.