One More Paddle

I couldn't see the moon setting over George Lake, when I woke up, but I knew it was there. I'd only have to move my head a bit, to see through the trees, but I didn't want to move.

Two days of paddling kayaks and hiking had taken its toll on me. My age was beginning to show itself.

DW also felt sore as she woke up. "I don't think I want to do The Crack trail," she said as she climbed out of her sleeping bag. "How about we take our kayaks back out onto Georgian Bay? We don't have to go far: we can just putter around the north shore."

There was that word again: putter.

Yesterday, we said we'd only 'putter' around Lake George, but we ended up circumnavigating it, portaging over to the next lake, and paddling its full length before hiking a short way to a waterfall. After our return trip, we wandered Killarney and hiked to its eastern lighthouse.

Monday had not been particularly restful, though what we had seen was beautiful. I agreed that my body was too sore for a challenging hike and climb, but I wasn't sure how far I wanted to paddle on Georgian Bay.

"We can paddle to that lighthouse," she said. On the previous Sunday, when we kayaked out to Martins Island, I saw a small lighthouse on one of the rocky islands to the west of Chikanishing Creek and wanted to paddle out to it on our return, but DW thought it was too far away and was tired from our day's travels.

But after having visited Killarney's East Lighthouse, she somehow thought that this was the same lighthouse.

"It's not the same one," I said. "This one is low to the water and is nowhere near Killarney."

"Did you want to see if we can paddle to the one in Killarney?"

"Let's just see how we do with this first lighthouse," I said, "I think Killarney is way too far."

If Killarney was a 12-kilometre drive from our campsite, I figured that by kayak, it was likely eight to 10 kilometres from the mouth of Chikanishing Creek. By my reckoning, the lighthouse that I wanted to paddle out to on Sunday was about a kilometre or so away.

According to my Garmin watch, it was 2K from where we put in our kayaks, on an island known as Flat Rocks. When we arrived and looked down the coast, toward Killarney, the village's lighthouse was nowhere to be seen.

I could make out the radio towers in Killarney, and judged them to be further away than West Fox Island, and so I said that this was as far as I wanted to venture. "After all," I said, "we still have to return to camp, tear down and pack up the car, and then drive for more than six hours to get home."

DW, who was carrying her mirrorless camera and gear, said that she hadn't had much luck in photographing wildlife, so maybe we would work our way back to Chikanishing Creek by paddling around some of the islands that lined the northern shore, and maybe she could capture images of birds.

Indeed, we could see lots of birds fluttering over trees on the shoreline, and we had spotted some Kingfishers at the mouth of the creek. We worked our way toward shore and had a leisurely paddle back.

It took us just an hour to tear down camp and pack up the car. By noon, we were heading home, with a stop in Sudbury for lunch. We were home just after eight in the evening and by the time we emptied the car, hung our kayaks in the garage, put all of our camp gear away, and threw our clothes in the wash, we had just enough energy to get ready for bed.

This was our longest trip of 2021 and our final camp trip of the year. I still don't like the campsite aspect of camping but I do realize that if DW and I want to take our kayaks to explore such beautiful regions, camping might have to be the cost of doing so.

That said, I'm looking for motels and cabins for 2022.

Putter

"Let's just putter around George Lake," I said as we awoke, moments before sunrise. Again, I had opened my eyes and looked out the front of the tent, to see the full moon setting over George Lake, its pinkish reflection captured in the still water.

Again, I chose not to grab my camera and walk down to the beach to capture it. Sometime through the night, I had unzipped and slipped out of my sleeping bag, and the night had been cooler than the previous one. I awoke in the early hours, before dawn, shivering. I had attempted to crawl back into my sleeping bag but it was twisted and had become partially under DW, and so I pulled what little I could over me and tried to go back to sleep.

With the coming of dawn, DW and I stirred, and I finally managed to get back into my sleeping bag. With the moon setting, I was only just warming up and was loth to emerge from my cocoon.

We were both feeling stiff and sore from yesterday's 15-kilometer paddle around Georgian Bay, followed by a rigorous 4K hike around Cranberry Bog. Our original plan in Killarney Provincial Park, this day, was to hike to the top of The Crack, a 6-km trail that ascends to a lookout of the park. It is a challenging trek, one that our bodies told us they weren't ready for, today. "We'll do it tomorrow morning," we agreed.

Instead, we were just going to put our kayaks into George Lake. DW had found a dam at one end of the lake, and we could see if we were up to venturing out to it. At any time that we felt tired, we could turn around and head back to camp.

Breakfast was pancakes with fresh, plump blueberries, juice, and coffee. We were becoming very good at assembling our stove, preparing food, fetching water, and washing up when the meal was put away. We were certainly much tidier at this campsite than we tended to be at home.

Because the put-in for canoes and kayaks was only about 100 metres from our site, we drove the car with our kayaks the short distance, unpacked everything we needed, and then I drove the Niro back to our site and walked back to the put-in.

We could see only one person on the lake. The gentleman who was at the site across from our site, whose site was able to directly access George Lake, was swimming laps. As we were putting our breakfast dishes away, his two sons (presumably) were heading out for a morning run. The only ripples on the water were from his strokes and leg kicks.

We climbed into our kayaks and headed west, around a small peninsula and over to the main beach of George Lake campsite, where day-trippers would hang out. The rock outcrops were spectacular, and around every bend, we saw more beauty. We decided to circumnavigate the lake, continuing in a clockwise direction.

By the time we had reached the dam, we had already been paddling for almost two hours. The dam was part of a pretty channel that connected George Lake to the smaller Freeland Lake. A 50-metre portage was required to move kayaks and canoes between the two lakes, and we encountered a steady stream of both.

We too decided to take our kayaks over the portage to Freeland Lake, which was largely covered with lily pads and flowers but had a cleared route for paddlers. The lake runs for about one-and-a-half kilometres, where a longer portage connects with Killarney Lake, from which you could see the summit of The Crack trail.

We weren't willing to travel the 430-metre portage, but a map that DW carried pointed to a waterfall, about halfway along the portage, so we left our kayaks behind and hiked to this spot, where we nibbled on protein bars and trail mix. My Garmin watch showed that we had travelled more than 8 kilometres since we put in: so much for puttering around George Lake.

After our rest, we returned to our kayaks and headed straight back to the portage to George Lake, and then took the straightest line back to camp. As we pulled our kayaks onto the shore at our beach, we had completed about 14 kilometres of paddling.

Yup, so much for puttering.

It was lunch time and I wasn't in much of a mood of cooking at our campsite, so I talked DW into a drive to the village of Killarney, about 12 kms to the southwest, at the end of Highway 637. There isn't much to the town: a main street with several marinas, a general store, LCBO, restaurant, bakery, and inn. A narrow channel separated George Island, which dwarfs the town.

We decided to have fresh fish at Herbert Fisheries, which claims to be world famous, though it was our first time hearing of it. We grabbed fish and chips, a beer for me and vodka cooler for DW, and ate on their covered patio that looked out onto the channel and a tour boat. Lunch was okay but I couldn't figure what would make it world famous.

After lunch, we wandered to the Gateway Restaurant and Bakery, where we picked up some sweet goods and continued to watch the activity in the channel. Checking Google Maps, I found a lighthouse trail that would take us to the Killarney East Lighthouse, and we decided to hike out to it.

The lighthouse sits high above granite rocks and gives a great view of Georgian Bay. We took lots of video and photographs before deciding to make our way back to camp.

Back at camp, we were pretty pooped so DW had a nap while I worked on processing some of my photos on my smartphone.

Dinner was a simple spaghetti with a Bolognese sauce, and we built one last campfire before turning in for the night. The next day, we would pack up camp and hike The Crack trail before driving back home.

I'll finish up our trip, tomorrow.

Exhaustion

I awoke to the sound of birds chirping overhead. Opening my eyes, I looked past the back of DW's head, through the screened opening of our tent, to see the moon, almost full and with a pinkish hue, hovering just above the tree line on the far shore of George Lake, its still, glasslike surface casting a perfect reflection.

The temptation to grab my D-SLR and capture this beautiful sight was powerful, but not so much to pull me from my warm sleeping bag. My camera was locked in the car, and I would make too much noise in getting from the tent to the car. Plus, I would have to walk about 100 metres to where I could get a clear shot of the lake and moon: from our tent, I was looking through our neighbour's site and several trees. While no tree obstructed my view, what I saw wasn't the best view for a photograph.

I decided to simply enjoy the view from where I was.

Our first full day in Killarney Provincial Park was potentially going to be a challenging one, with DW and I setting our kayaks into Georgian Bay and paddling around the islands to the south of Phillip Edward Island, the largest island between Killarney and French River Provincial Park, on the north shore of the bay. Our destination was the cluster of islands between West Fox Island and East Fox Island, on the lower-west side of Phillip Edward Island.

Though we were planning to stick close to land, Georgian Bay is so vast and is known for its strong winds that we were a bit nervous. Weather can change on a dime and swells could be large. DW and I had purchased water skirts for our kayaks, which would mitigate any water that could try to swamp our kayaks, and we also packed a spare tent and emergency equipment, should we be forced to take shelter on one of the islands if it was too dangerous to paddle back to mainland.

Best to be prepared for the worst, though we hoped for the best.

We started our morning with a western omelette, juice, and coffee. We packed lunch, which was spicy salami, cheese, and lettuce in a whole-wheat pita wrap, veggie sticks, and peanut butter cookies. We packed enough water for two days and protein bars, in case of emergency. We cleaned up our site and headed out, our kayaks already on the roof of our Niro.

The put-in for our kayaks was at the Chikanishing Trailhead, where we had been the night before. Two men were packing a canoe for a multi-day trek, around Phillip Edward Island, complete with their cat, Maui.

"He loves canoe trips," one of the men said, "but this will be his first multi-day trip." Indeed, Maui seemed comfortable on the packed canoe, trotting along the gunnels and leaning toward the creek to get a drink. "We tipped over only once with him in the canoe," the man said, "and somehow he was the only one to stay dry."

"Cats have a way of doing that," I said.

As we were getting ready to set out, some sunrise-seeking kayakers were paddling to shore. "The water is flat and still," a tanned and fit woman said to us, "you'll have a great time out there." Based on her report, DW and I decided that we wouldn't put our skirts for the cockpits on, even though the woman had one on her sea kayak. If the water was calm, we knew we'd be fine. Instead, we packed our skirts into hatches, reserving them for if the conditions changed. We could always paddle to an island and retrieve them, if necessary.

Chikanishing Creek runs for about a half-kilometre before it opens into Georgian Bay. Several islands protect the creek from any waves that move in from the south. Immediately to the east, we were met with The Western Entrance, the opening to the channel that separates Phillip Edward Island from the mainland. To the west, Georgian Bay was wide open.

The woman who greeted us at the put-in was right: the wind was still and the water calm. Not glass-like, but easily navigable. We pointed our crafts due south, toward Mocking Bird Island, and began paddling.

Once we approached Mocking Bird Island, we moved south-eastward, pointing ourselves toward West Fox Island. The wind picked up a little but was still no problem for us. Having battled strong currents on the St. Lawrence River, near Hill Island, we were confident that we'd be fine. I think that DW and I imagined metre-high waves and gale-force winds, and this was nothing like that. How long would it take to paddle to Tobermory, at the tip of the Bruce Peninsula, I wondered.

Too long. Far too long.

Just to the north of West Fox is an unnamed island, and just to the east of this unnamed island is a smooth, rounded outcrop of rock that makes a tiny, also-unnamed island, and I decided that I wanted to stop on it, to stretch my legs, take some photos, and capture some video footage. This tiny island had a natural basin that was perfect for putting in my kayak. I climbed to the top of this island, no more than a hump of granite, and took in a great 360-degree panoramic view of the area.

Back in my kayak, we decided to find an island where we could stop and have lunch. We chose to move due east, toward Martins Island (no apostrophe). This island is between West Fox Island and East Fox Island, and is slightly larger than West Fox Island. It has a perfect mix of rock outcrops and wooded areas, and we pulled into a bay to see if there was easy access to the centre of the island. I got out of my kayak and moved only a bit inland before I discovered that a fallen tree and dense growth prevented us from going further in at this spot.

We decided to make our way back to the western tip of this island, which was flat rock that swept upward a bit inland, above which tall trees offered shelter from the wind, which was growing but still not a threat.

At this put-in, we discovered what is known as a 'pothole,' a depression in the rock that makes a natural pool. We set up here for lunch, dipping in the chilled, clear water of this pothole to cool down.

We stayed on the island for about an hour. According to my Garmin watch, we had paddled for more than eight kilometres. I was tempted to continue south-eastward, toward the Hawk Islands, but DW suggested that we make our way back. To the south, we could see heavy cloud, and because we couldn't tell the direction in which they were moving, she didn't want to risk getting caught in a storm. She made a good point that the Hawk Islands were several kilometres away, in more-open water, and we didn't want to risk being too tired to paddle back to Chikanishing Creek.

We headed north and followed close to the islands that dotted the western coast of Phillip Edward Island. We kept a largely straight line back to our put-in that by the time we reached it, my watch had recorded only 6.9 kms. By the time we had packed up the car and were ready to drive back to camp, I was glad that we hadn't paddled the the Hawk Islands. I was tired and wanted a cold drink.

At camp, we had a brief rest and snack, and then DW suggested that we walk a trail that was close to our site and circled a bog that was just to the other side of our cluster of campers. The Cranberry Bog Trail was only 4 kms long, she said, so I said sure.

It was the longest 4K I've ever hiked. More of the Precambrian Shield geology surrounds the park, and DW and I found ourselves climbing and descending steep, rocky terrain. With my camera bag on my back, the sweat thoroughly soaked my shirt, and we had to stop several times for DW and me to catch our breaths.

I'm thankful for all of the cycling that I've done this year. While I would be huffing at the top of a long, steep climb, my legs never failed me. I was also reminded of the reconstructive surgery that I had on my left foot, a couple of years ago. Before that surgery, there was absolutely no way that I would have been able to walk after this trek.

It took us more than two and a half hours to complete this trail, which ended one camp site away from ours. I cracked open an ice-cold bottle of wine, which I felt DW and I deserved, and plopped myself into a chair by the campfire.

"We should make dinner," DW said. "Can you start the barbecue and put the chicken on?"

"I don't think I can get out of this chair," I said. "I think I might just die here."

Our dinner was to be chicken souvlaki. We had been marinating two chicken breasts since Friday afternoon. If we didn't cook it tonight, we wouldn't feel that the cooler would be cold enough to safely preserve the chicken any longer.

I finished my glass of wine and forced myself from my chair, retrieving our barbecue from the car and watching over the chicken. DW prepared lettuce, red onions, cherry tomatoes from our garden, and feta cheese. When the chicken was cooked, I cubed it and we added everything into pita pockets. We finished the bottle of wine, which was perfectly paired.

I was fading as we ate, but knew that if I didn't keep moving, I would be finished for the evening. We finished dinner and quickly washed up, and packed the barbecue back in the car. As the sun set, we walked down to the beach at George Lake to watch the fading light.

"I'm too tired to build a campfire," I said as the blue hour started and the mosquitoes started coming out. "I'm going straight to bed."

"That sounds fine," said DW. "Maybe, we'll take it easy tomorrow." Our plan for Monday was to take the 6-km trail, known as The Crack, which leads up a steep incline through a fissure in the hillside and ends at a spectacular view high above the park. The trail is challenging, involving a lot of climbing. "We can do The Crack trail on Tuesday."

"Maybe, we'll just putter around George Lake tomorrow. Nothing strenuous," I suggested.

I was asleep almost immediately after zipping myself into my sleeping bag. I was utterly exhausted but I felt it was a good exhaustion. We had seen some beautiful scenery. We love kayaking and because our crafts handled Georgian Bay so easily, I loved my craft even more. We had done some rigorous hiking, but my legs were up for the challenge and carried me without fail. We pushed ourselves to the end of the day, but it was a very good day.

An exhaustingly good day.

I'll continue this story, on Monday, but will leave you with this spoiler: we did anything but putter around.

Out on the Bay

I'm still catching my breath from the mini-vacation that DW and I took. And yes, there was camping involved.

As I stated on Tuesday, we set out on Saturday morning and headed northwest, past North Bay, on several highways in several states of wear and tear, south of Sudbury and to the north shore of Killarney Provincial Park. The drive is more than six hours through some beautiful Ontario countryside and unique towns.

By the time we arrived at George Lake and set up camp, it was nearing dinner time. We had made a lengthy stop, in North Bay, for lunch and to pick up milk and beer (essentials, all), and sometimes we were caught behind some slow-moving traffic with nowhere to safely pass. We cooked some homemade burgers with homemade Greek and potato salads, washed down with cider and the aforementioned beer.

With dinner out of the way and our dishes washed and stowed away, we were ready to relax and officially start our vacation.

As I said at the beginning of this post, I'm still catching my breath from this trip, even though we returned home late on Tuesday night and I wrote this post some 16 hours after unloading the car and putting everything away. We had packed so many activities into this four-day getaway that I'm still processing everything we did, so today I'll leave you with what we did on our first evening and I'll share some of our other experiences, tomorrow.

Our site was located in an inner circle at the very end of the radio-free zone of the George Lake campground, but we could see through our neighbour's site to the lake and sunset. It was also a very short walk to the beach area and the launch zone for canoes and kayaks. I'll mention more about this spot, tomorrow.

The main reason that we chose Killarney Provincial Park was that we wanted to get our kayaks out onto Georgian Bay and explore the myriad islands to the south. But on our first evening, we just wanted to see the massive expanse of this vast body of water that, in my opinion, should be one of the Great Lakes. And to do this, we packed up our cameras and headed a few kilometres further down Highway 637, to Chikanishing Trail.

This two-kilometre loop had us scrambling over the smooth, pink rocks and through dense forest, past Chikanishing Creek, which leads out to Georgian Bay. With sunset on our heels, the views were breathtaking. Looking far out on the bay, the water and sky seemed to come together into an endless void.

With the sun below the horizon and only about half of the trail loop completed, we had to scramble to get back to our car, lest we get caught in the woods after dark (DW, who is always prepared, forgot a flashlight: I had one in my camera bag, but didn't tell her until we reached the car—we still had plenty of natural light).

Back at camp, we set a fire and enjoyed drinks while we plotted out the coming days. Our first full day nearly killed me.

Stay tuned...

Fireworks for Maman & Over a Bridge

The Last Overnight Camp Trip

Google

DW and I have been away since first light, Saturday, and so this post was written a week ago. We are currently on our last day of this mini-vacation: by the end of today, we will be back home, hopefully with lots of memories and photos.

Undoubtedly, we'll be exhausted.

This was our most-ambitious camp-kayak trip, with three nights of camping in Killarney Provincial Park, on the northern shores of Georgian Bay. Because of the sheer size of this body of water and its famous (infamous?) winds, this may also be our most challenging kayaking, as we explore the various islands.

We've purchased aprons for our kayaks, anticipating swells that will likely throw water on top of us. Hopefully, no water will get in our cockpits.

I don't want to speculate on what might be (now, on what has happened but it untold). I've set up a usual Wordless Wednesday post and should be able to share our trip on Thursday.

Stay tuned.

It's the last camping trip of 2021 and I've told DW that I make no promises that I'll camp again, in the future. I swore off camping in 2014, and told her then that if she really loved me, she wouldn't ask me to camp ever again.

She's asked more than a half-dozen times since.

(My next wife won't like camping.)

One Year Olds

We were only going to take one kitten. We took two.

We were only going to take a male kitten. We took a male and female.

Our friend, Alex, had bought a farm out near Plantagenet that came with a few cats, all female and all pregnant, presumably by a black male who occasionally showed his face on the property. One of the cats, who he aptly named Mama, seemed to be the oldest of the farm cats and was perhaps the mother to the other two, who he named Shadows and Tabatha.

Throughout the summer of 2020, these cats had several litters. Alex was very good about finding a comfortable and safe area for the cats to deliver and look after their babies, but when they became old enough, he would take them to an animal shelter to receive proper care and find good homes. As the mother cats recovered from childbirth, he would take them to the vets, to be spayed.

Mama's final litter was delivered a year ago, today. Four babies who looked nothing like one another. Two boys; two girls. Mama took great care with them, and as Alex became more attached to the adult cats, he wanted to ensure that the last litter went to good homes.

We already had two cats, so adopting all four kittens was out of the question. Our youngest daughter immediately fell in love with the ginger cat and there was a tabby that made all of us swoon, but as the kittens grew and began developing their own personalities, the calico girl was beginning to grab our attention.

We first visited the kittens at Alex's farm when the kittens were a week old. A year later, Finn and Cece have bonded with our other cats and it's hard to imagine what it was like in our household before they arrived, at nine weeks old.

At a year old, they aren't as big as other cats we've had. Leo and Edwin were good-sized cats. Camille is the largest of our current cats, with Lily and Finn being about the same size. Cece hasn't seemed to have changed in size in at least four months, and resembles her Mama, who is also a fairly petite cat.

Happy Birthday, kitties! You've brought a lot of joy into our home.

Gimme Shelter

It's a debate that I've had with myself since 2013, when I attended my first model shoot with my Ottawa Photography Meetup group: whether I should share some of my nude photos on The Brown Knowser.

Warning: this post contains nudity and isn't safe for viewing at work.

Earlier this week, I asked you if you thought it was appropriate to share such photos on this blog, hoping that some comments would help me make the decision to share fine-art nudes. As with most of my posts, the Comments section remains empty as of yesterday.

That's okay.

While I waited to hear from you, I looked at the first Photo Friday where I shared a nude photo. I still like that black-and-white, high-contrast photo of a woman's partial profile, where the only light source lit the contours of her body, giving it a wispy appearance that looked like smoke.

In that post, a single comment told me that the photo was tasteful and appropriate for the blog. The message also told me that this blog is about my personal journey and that I should post what I want, that you, the audience, can choose for yourselves whether you want to see these types of posts or not.

That said, I would never want to post anything on The Brown Knowser that would cause offense. Goodness knows, some of my opinions and rants probably rub people the wrong way. But if I'm to heed the words of the person who reminded me that this blog is my journey, I feel that I should include parts of that journey that are detours from the main course.

I like this photo mostly because when the model, Kate Snig, lay down low and buried her head in the pumpkin patch that was next to the sunflower field, where we held most of the photo shoot, she did so without direction from any photographers in our group. As I composed my shot, I was telling myself that I probably wouldn't use any of the shots because I thought they were a bit bizarre, looking more like a CSI crime scene than a photo shoot.

Also, the light was really bad, with smoke from forest fires muting the sun and creating a grey cast to the sky. But I decided to capture images, anyway, and decide later if the photos were usable.

I'm used to editing my model photos in PaintShop Pro but because I've also worked with the augmented sky effects in Luminar AI, and have dabbled in the software's tools for touching up people, I thought I would use it to draw more from these photos.

I really like what I was able to do with Luminar AI. I was able to warm up an otherwise muted light. I was able to create contrast in the shadows that fell on the oversized pumpkin leaves. I like that I was able to cast a subtle glow over Kate's skin. The sky that I chose to fill the smoky grey had dark clouds with a setting sun, and for added drama, I added a couple of bolts of lightning.

The pose that I initially thought odd now made sense. Our model was seeking shelter from the storm.

Three of the photos that I shot of Kate under the pumpkin patch have been used. I shared one, where she covered her breasts and pubic area, on Instagram. Another, which I converted to black and white, is still waiting to be shared; likely, on 500px. But my favourite one, into which I put the most effort to enhance, is here for Photo Friday.

I call it Gimme Shelter.

Thoughts?

I'd really love to hear what you have to say, not only your criticism of the photo but also your views on nude photography on The Brown Knowser. This blog may be my journey but you are also a welcome passenger.

Happy Friday!

Sandwich Boards and Politics

My wife (DW) and I occasionally cycle from our home, in Barrhaven, to Stittsville. It's a relatively short ride, for the two of us, at about 38 kilometers, round-trip, but it's worth it for a very good reason.

Quitters.

This coffee shop, owned by singer-songwriter Kathleen Edwards, is a gem of a spot. A haven for cyclists, you'll often find a few bikes around back. They have great coffee, great treats, and the best breakfast sandwich in the city.

DW and I stick to roads, for the most part, obeying the rules all the way. As we approach Stittsville, we spend a bit of time on the Trans-Canada Trail, the old railway line that passes very close to Quitters. As we approach Village Square Park, we dismount and walk our bikes around the corner, onto Main Street, and park our bikes behind the coffee shop.

On the last couple of trips out to Stittsville, DW and I have noticed a few sandwich boards along the path and in the park. These signs remind cyclists to stay below 20 kph while on the path (we slow down whenever we see other people on the path) and to walk your bikes when crossing the road. Messages accompany the images.

At the bottom of the signs, in the largest font size on the sandwich board, is the name of Stittsville's municipal councillor, Glen Gower.

Glen and I have been social-media friends for a number of years (long before he ran for public office) and have met on a few occasions. As the former owner of the Ottawa blog, OttawaStart, Glen has shared some of my photos and even, at one time, copied my Where In Ottawa photo challenge. He's a decent guy, so when I saw these signs, I reached out to him through Twitter and asked why his name was on the signs.

Glen told me that he had used his office's budget to have the signs made up. His constituents love them and have told him so, he said.

But why is his name so prominent, I asked. Glen told me, through a tweet, "Everything a municipal councillor does involves some level of promotion - from our email newsletters to Facebook videos to mailers to tents or banners at the local picnic. Part of the job is making sure residents know who we are and what we do. You may disagree on this!"

My initial reaction to the sandwich board was that the messages were good. Cyclist should slow down and share the path with other cyclists, pedestrians, and runners. I agree that walking your bike across a roadway at a pedestrian crossing is not only safe for everybody but is also the law. Glen's signs have reiterated what is already legislated. Good for him.

But why is his name larger than the message that he wants to convey? To me, his name draws more attention than anything else.

With the federal election underway, we see campaign signs all over, with candidates splashing their names all over front lawns and public spaces. Whenever I see a politician's name on a sign, I think that they are campaigning.

Save that for election time.

I asked Glen if anybody can put signs up with their name on them. To this, he replied, "Also - yes, if an individual or community group wants to come forward to fund a campaign that promotes community safety and courtesy, I am all ears!"

I'm tempted to make some signs that remind motorists that cyclists have an equal right to be on the road. The message would be under THE BROWN KNOWSER, in a font size that's twice as large.

Thoughts?

It's a shame that Glen's name is on these signs. Because his title is also on them, they're only good for as long as he's in office. While I wish him much success, there's no guarantee that those signs will be around after the next municipal election.

Amongst the Sunflowers

Getting Naked

As many of my readers may know, I belong to a photography club that meets to take all kinds of photos: sunset and evening photos in the ByWard Market; sunflowers in farm fields; evening exposures of the Milky Way.

We also photograph models: some with clothes on; others, without.

I've shared some of these photos on The Brown Knowser, keeping the full nudity to a minimum or, at the very least, showing only the implied nudity photos, where the 'naughty bits,' to take a line from Monty Python, are covered.

Also, there was that photo that I shared, a few weeks ago, where I exposed my bare ass.

The location for our photo shoot.

On my last photography meetup, a few weeks ago, we hired a model to pose in a field of sunflowers, at sunset. And while the field had lots of sunflowers, the majority of them hadn't fully opened. But that didn't stop us from capturing images of our model, who stood in the field, around various crops, in various states of dress and undress.

So far, I've interspersed photos of our model and some of the opened sunflowers in my Instagram account. To adhere to Instagram's policy on no nudity, I've only shown the fully clothed or implied-nudity shots. I'll continue to do that (though, I may pixelate those naughty bits to share some of the nude images).

There is one image that I shot, where our model chose a pose on her own, as we were moving through a pumpkin patch. She lay on her side, stretching out her body, but moving so that her head was completely obscured by the large pumpkin leaves. I took a few shots while she changed positions.

Because our sun was becoming obscured by smoke from the fires in Northern Ontario, the sky was a characterless grey-white. Many of my shots were angled so that no sky was captured, but for some of the angles, there was no hiding the sky.

In post-production, I decided to use Luminar AI, with some of the portrait templates and the editing tools for faces and skin. For the sky photos, I used the enhanced sky templates, as I did when I first started playing with this photo-editing software.

Of this series of photos, my favourite shot has been edited to enhance the glow of the setting sun, but because the sky was greyed out by smoke, I added my own dramatic clouds and sunset. And because my fake clouds look ominous, I also added some lightning.

Because the model almost looks like she's hiding from this imaginary storm, I envisioned her seeking shelter from the wrath of the impending tempest, and I've since entitled the photo, Gimme Shelter.

For me, this photo is pure art.

I really like how this photo has turned out and would like to share it on my blog (I've already shared it on my 500px account, which contains lots of my NSFW photos). The thing is, our model is not covering up. Only her head is hidden.

What do you think? Should I keep nudity away from The Brown Knowser or should I share not only my creative writing but my artistic nude photography?

Let me know what you think by leaving your thoughts in the Comments section. Your opinions will help me form a decision. And either I'll share this photo on Friday or I'll post something that all audiences can view.

Thanks.

In the meantime, tomorrow's Wordless Wednesday will share some of the photos of our model that I have no problem sharing on this blog. With and without enhanced skies.

One of Those Weekends

This weekend seemed to come and go so quickly that by Sunday evening, I had to think if I got anything accomplished.

Of course, I had, but at the same time, it seems like a lot of time was wasted.

On Friday evening, I convinced DW to join me, downtown, to watch the Sound of Light show that takes place, each year at the Museum of Civilization^*, across the Ottawa River from Parliament Hill. I've taken photos of these fireworks displays many times over the years, and because I stayed away, last year, due to COVID-19, I felt I needed to see them again, now that most people in Ottawa have received at least one vaccine.

The setup.

As with any fireworks display, I never stand in the same place for a show, and though I took some photos near the National Gallery one year, I've never set up my camera so that I had Maman in the frame. I set my tripod up low so that I could look up at my favourite statue, see the Great Hall of the Gallery, and have the fireworks all in the frame. It worked out well, I think, and judging by the gathering by the Shutterbug photography club, who gathered around DW and myself, we chose the right spot.

DW has been using her mirrorless camera more and more, but has never used it for anything other than nature shots or while we've been kayaking. She's certainly never photographed fireworks before and has never used manual settings.

My shot.

DW's shot. I love the red glow on both sides of the Great Hall.

I gave her one of my tripods and recommended some settings—I usually start at ISO 100, f/8, for eight seconds, and then adjust the shutter speed as needed. She was able to get some great shots.

Two-metre flames (or higher).

We started with some chores on Saturday and got some groceries for a barbecue and bonfire at a friend's farm, out near Plantagenet. I offered to cook a cedar-planked salmon, and on our friend's new grill, I have to say it turned out spectacularly.

I'll share the recipe, some day.

The bonfire went late into the night, with our friend burning branches and leaves from some weakened trees that he had cut down through the previous week. At times, the flames almost seemed to reach the stars, and as we looked skyward, we also managed so see several streaks across the sky from the Perseid meteor shower.

Too bad I left my camera at home.

I started Sunday with a long bike ride that took me from Barrhaven to Manotick, over to Greely, down to Osgoode, across to Kars, back up to Manotick, and then home again, taking a few different side streets. This was the second ride that I have gone on this 64-kilometre circuit, and so I had planned a few stops along the way, to stretch, take a bite of a protein bar, and drink.

Total distance: 64.25 kms.

My first stop was planned for the wide driveway to the Greely Sand and Gravel quarry, on the south end of the village. It was my 25K pit stop, and it was here that I discovered that although I had prepared two bottles for my bike—one, containing some iced tea and the other, with plain water (good for washing any scrapes, should an accident happen)—they were not in my bottle holders. I had mistakenly left them in my front entrance, at home.

I wasn't overly concerned. There are times when I pack my bottles but don't drink from them because my body hasn't felt the need to do so. I once cycled 50K without touching a bottle until I was only a few kilometres from home. Before I had set out, I had a glass of mango juice, so I felt fine. I had a small bite of my protein bar and continued on.

By the time I reached Osgoode, I was starting to feel a bit thirsty. I pulled into the Foodland parking lot and wanted to go in to purchase a bottle of anything that would fit in my holders, but I was concerned about leaving my bicycle unattended, without a lock. After a few minutes, in which I stretched and munched a bit more on my protein bar, I felt my bike was too much at risk, and moved on.

I knew there was a general store, further in the town, where cyclists often stop as they pass through Osgoode (I've stopped there a few times when I've ridden with the Ottawa Bicycle Club). But when I reached the store, it was closed, and so onward I rode.

There is literally nowhere to stop for a drink between Osgoode and Manotick, so I decided that I would make it to the café that DW and I often visit on bike rides, the Morning Owl. And so, just over 52K into my ride, I was able to stop for a drink at a place where I could keep an eye on my bike while I placed my order.

Ice-cold lemonade has never gone down so fast. I was also feeling hungry, as I hadn't eaten anything before setting out and had had only a few small bites from my Clif Bar, I decided to get a breakfast sandwich.

The final 12 kilometres were mostly uneventful, except for the guy walking the dog, who stepped onto the roadway without looking (good thing I wasn't a car and was looking ahead) and the jogger, who was running on the road, in the bike lane who moved over to his left when I called out, "Passing on your left."

Ugh.

Sunday afternoon was supposed to be occupied with more chores around the house, but DW and I, instead, started making plans for our first trip outside of Canada since the pandemic, which will hopefully be at the end of this year.

Stay tuned.

It was a busy weekend that seemed to fly by. And while there were many other things we planned to do, they seemed to be taken over with other things that just came up.

How about you? How was your weekend? Let me know in the Comment section, below.

Happy Monday!

^* I've always called this museum by its original name and have no intention to change my behaviour.