Herons

Best of Belém

My video journey of our Portugal trip continues with a visit to Belém, on the western end of Lisbon. I finally put the final touches on the video last night and uploaded it to my YouTube channel.

A bakery, a monastery, a couple of museums, and a few famous landmarks. What else is there to say?

Have a look.

I still have one final video to put together from last fall's vacation. I hope to have it finished in a few weeks. I need to get moving because I have a few kayaking trips that are in my backlog.

If you like my videos, please subscribe to my channel.

Happy Tuesday!

No Spring Chicken

Sometimes, I think that I'm younger than I am.

And of course, I still feel young at heart but there are times when I do more than I think my 58-year-old body can handle.

DW and I saw that this weekend was going to be a great one so we wanted to make sure that we got out and enjoyed it. On Friday evening, DW looked up possible kayaking venues and came upon one that we had talked about last year but didn't find the time to try. She also reached out to our friends who were supposed to join us in Algonquin Provincial Park, two weeks ago, but never made it.

They were in, this time.

Early on Saturday morning, DW and I strapped our kayaks onto our car and headed to Snake River, near Cobden, about an hour and 20 minutes from home, up the Ottawa Valley. Originally, we were thinking that we would put our kayaks into Muskrat Lake and paddle to the mouth of the Snake River, but our ultimate destination was the Snake River Marches Conservation Area, and we calculated that we'd have to paddle about eight kilometres from the Muskrat Lake put-in just to reach the northern edges of the conservation area.

Too far.

I forgot to start my watch
 right away. Hence the 
different start/stop points.

After further searching, we found a small put-in just off Egan Line, not far from Burwell Road. There was a small parking area that could fit maybe four cars (there's a dry hydrant where you can't park and the river is just down a slightly steep bank.

This was the most challenging put-in that we've encountered: the bank is both full of reeds and slippery mud, and the river is about waist-deep. We had to hold one person and help them into their kayak, and then that person positioned themselves as a brace for the next kayaker, and so on.

It was so challenging to get in that we weren't sure how we'd get out. About 20 metres downstream, though, we saw another spot that was not as sloped but was even more grassy, and we thought we might attempt it when we returned.

There's a gentle but steady current and we found that we didn't have to paddle very much to keep moving. We steered more than anything.

There are so many varieties of birds: flycatchers, kingfishers, red-winged blackbirds, sparrows, grackles, and even a rare sora. There were also more great blue herons than we've ever seen in one paddle. I'll share photos on Wednesday.

Our trip took almost three hours and we did have to put some effort into the upstream paddle back to the cars. We covered more than 10 kilometres and with the sun beating down on us, I was tired after the paddle.

And hungry.

We loaded up our gear and drove the short distance to Whitewater Brewing Company, where we sat on their shaded, back patio and had some great food and drink. Their burger is one of the best that I've had in a very long time.

By the time we returned home, washed our kayaks (they were covered in mud), hung them up, put all of our gear away, and cleaned ourselves off, we were exhausted. DW went to bed and stayed there for the rest of the evening. I forced myself to stay up but it was tough.

On Sunday morning, I was stiff from the paddle and a bit tired, but we had chores to do, and I wanted to get a bike ride in: I had joined a Garmin challenge for the weekend, to ride 40K, and I really wanted to push myself to do it because I haven't been on my bike since the CN Cycle for CHEO, at the beginning of the month.

DW and I did our weekly shopping at Costco and Farm Boy, and then headed home. I then changed into my cycle gear and headed out at 11. Already, it was hot outside.

I cycled what I refer to as my basic route: Barrhaven to Manotick, head south on the east side of the Rideau River to Roger Stevens Drive, cross the bridge and head north on the west side of the Rideau, back through Manotick along Long Island, cross the river at the Long Island Locks, north to the Vimy Bridge, and back to Barrhaven.

On this ride, I had the extra chore of carrying my bike over one of the locks, as the bridge was closed because boats were passing through.

The round trip takes me less than two hours and covers 42.5 kilometres.

My bike challenge was complete but the heat of the day sapped my strength. After my shower, I didn't feel like doing anything else.

As I wrote this post, I found my eyes drooping a few times.

Was it the heat or am I starting to feel my age?

I'm not about to give up kayaking or cycling. I enjoy both and they keep me active, even though when I'm done, I think to myself, what are you doing?

If I feel this way, at 58, how am I going to feel at 65? Only time will tell.

Winter, Spring, Summer, or Fall

(Coming up with the title for this post, I had James Taylor on the brain for the rest of the evening.)

One of my favourite winter shots that I took, a few years back, was taken on a snow-covered road at the Experimental Farm during a blizzard. This road is fairly remote and doesn't see a lot of traffic at the best of times, so it's a good spot to pull over, pull out the camera, and start shooting.

I've taken a few shots on Ash Lane from this spot: once, at night, and a few times during the winter, but I don't seem to head here at other times. This week, however, I thought I would check it out, now that the leaves have filled out on the trees.

Not as interesting, in my opinion. And it's funny that the trees don't even look to be the same ones in both photos, but I assure you, they are--though it looks like one tree may be missing (maybe lost to the derecho?).

I imagine that this stretch of road doesn't look much different in the summer but I may pop out there again in a couple of months. Maybe catch it on a foggy day. And I bet it looks pretty good on an autumn afternoon, when the late sun falls on brightly coloured leaves.

We'll see...

Happy Friday!

Beer O'Clock: Van Full Of Weirdos

In keeping with last week's theme of goofy-named beers, I discovered this brightly coloured can in a refrigerated case at my local grocery store and couldn't resist.

Plus, in bold yellow lettering, the style Juicy IPA stood out.

I knew that this beer wouldn't resemble a proper IPA (should I stop complaining?) but that I loved this style of hazy, tropically fruity ales and was in the mood for one. I would rate this beer on that style and only knock off half a point for it calling itself an IPA, even though it isn't one.

In the first second of pouring, though, I was prepared to be surprised because the flow from the can to the glass almost looked a clear, coppery gold that made me think of a British-styled IPA. But as it collected in my glass, that surprise returned to the "oh, yeah, that's what I expected to look like" colour and haze.

Weird.

Let's get into the review:

Van Full Of Weirdos Juicy IPA (6.2 % ABV)
Refined Fool Brewing Company
Sarnia ON

Appearance: besides what I've already described, the brew pours clear but gathers hazily in the glass, becoming a murky, deep apricot with a touch of pink—almost like ruby red grapefruit juice. The head starts thick and foamy but settles to a creamy, solid, light-beige cap.

Nose: lime and candied oranges, with a touch of peach.

Palate: the peach is a bit more pronounced and there's a backing of sweet, pink grapefruit, with a bit of papaya. The finish is fruity and candy-like, but doesn't linger too long. After successive sips, there's a bitterness that lingers at the back of the throat.

Overall impression: yes, this is a juicy ale but not the types of fruit that I imagined. I always seem to expect bright citrus (lime, orange, and/or tangerine), mango, and pineapple, and this brew has a good share of peach flavour.

Not that I'm complaining.

Being allergic to fresh peaches, I welcome the taste, even if it's in my beer. The candied flavour I can do without but even that's not off-putting.

Did I like this ale? Yes. Would I drink it again? Probably. Would I pick more up from the store? Likely, no.

Why not? Well, Van Full Of Weirdos is good but it didn't necessarily make me think that I had to stock my fridge with it. I'm glad I tried it and you should, too, if you have the opportunity. I'm just saying that you shouldn't run to the store and fill your cart.

Beer O'Clock rating: 🍺🍺

Refined Fool offers this ale in a pack with other IPAs, so you might want to check that out. It includes Zane Lost His Avocado Bag and Catstronaut, both of which I've had and enjoyed. I've even reviewed one of them.

Cheers!

On the Tay

Wildlife on the Tay

I am afraid of bears.

Not just your average oh, there's a bear in the distance: let's avoid it afraid. I'm heart-racing, pee-your-pants-if-you-see-one-in-the-woods afraid of bears.

I was once bitten by a bear cub at a zoo. Granted, it was my fault for sticking my fingers through the fence, but really the park should have had a better barrier between the young humans and the young beasts.

The bear didn't break any fingers but it sure felt like it. The skin was broken on one finger and I had raised lacerations on a couple more. I was going to survive but it scared the hell out of me.

Years later, when my family lived in the Gatineau Hills, a bear came to the side of our house and got into our garbage bins. I tried to scare the bear away by opening the door and growling, but the bear stood tall on his hind quarters, raised both arms in the air (though, he was missing one paw) and hissed so loud that I almost pissed myself.

I slammed the door closed and hoped that the bear wouldn't try to break through it.

In the years that we lived in that Gatineau Hills house, I babysat local kids and would sometimes walk home in the dark, my ears attuned to every sound in the forest. I could hear the snapping of twigs and I would try to determine what creature would make that sound, and my pace would quicken. I'd sing songs of encouragement and hoped that my voice would keep whatever animal was nearby not-so nearby.

Even today, if I drive through a provincial park and see a bear at the side of the road, my heart races, even though I know that I'm safe in my vehicle.

This weekend, DW and I decided to take our kayaks for a paddle along the Tay River. We put our crafts in at Last Duel Park, in Perth, and made our way toward the Beveridges Dam, as we had a few years ago. We didn't want to repeat the paddle of 2020, all the way to the canal locks, but we thought we'd at least make it to where the lake opens to the Tay Marshes.

The water level was much higher than it was in 2020 and there was a noticeable current, but what we also discovered were a series of inlets that used to be marshy areas, full of reeds and lily pads, that could now be accessed in out kayaks.

At the first inlet, we turned in to see how far it went. It didn't go far—maybe 400 metres or so—but we went to the end, quietly paddling the shallow water.

There was a slight rustling in the bushes at the end of the inlet and DW thought it might be a moose (she had moose on the brain since the previous weekend's kayaking trip) but I must have had a better view of it.

"That's a bear!" I exclaimed. We were less than 50 metres from it.

The exact moment that I realized we were looking at a bear, caught on video.

The bear was startled at the sound of our voices and scampered away. I started paddling backwards. "Let's hope he's well fed and doesn't feel tempted to go for a swim," I added, but it was clear that he was gone.

My heart was pounding.

My video camera was recording but because the bear was far and hidden mostly by bush, there's not much to see. Zooming in at the maximum magnification, the video became pixelated. The bear only looks like shadows in the green foliage.

Trust me, it's there.

Examining the two other inlets that we encountered, I made sure to make noise as we entered them and kept a conversation going with DW. For the rest of our paddle, we only saw a mink, a beaver, lots of turtles and many varieties of birds, but no other bears. Which was fine with me.

I'll share some more images of our paddle, tomorrow, for Wordless Wednesday.

Remembering Bob

"Jesus Christ, Ross, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

That is something you never expect to hear from a teacher and it is something I'll never forget. Surprisingly, I laughed when Bob Louks asked me this question.

I had written many stories in my journalism program at Algonquin College that had caught Bob's attention, whether I had done so as an assignment from him or from other teachers. I had written about a farmer, Harvey Grunch, who was killed when he was caught in his thrasher, and had given the headline Harvey Grunch Becomes Harvest Crunch.

I had followed the life of a young man who was dying from AIDS at a time when the disease was just coming to the height of the mid 80s. I had test driven a car and took it to its maximum speed when I lost control—then regained it—on a quiet road.

And now I had come to Bob to discuss another project that I wanted to pursue: child abuse. All these years later, I don't remember the specifics of the story I was looking to write but I'll never forget Bob's reaction.

Bob was a great teacher. He did let his students explore ideas and gave them creative freedom. My classmates and I were the founding members of the college's newspaper, Algonquin Times, which was spearheaded by Bob, who had spent years at The Ottawa Citizen, from cub reporter to city editor. In our first year creating the paper, we won an award for best community paper, among others.

All under Bob's leadership and mentoring.

When the college paper reached its 30th anniversary, a journalism buddy of mine, Michel, and I attended, where we saw Bob for the first time in decades. The three of us were the only founding members of the paper in attendance. Another journalism teacher, who had just started at the college in our second year, Pat Dare, and who later took over as publisher of the Algonquin Times, was also there.

Michel Hell (reporter, photographer, photo editor), me (reporter, copy editor), Bob Louks (teacher, publisher), Pat Dare (teacher, publisher).
Bob is holding the first-ever edition of our paper.

Sadly, Bob passed away on May 7. He was 83. Today, a celebration of life service is being held for him in Smiths Falls. He will be missed.

As I stated when I wrote about the reunion, I regretted not having thanked Bob for all that he taught me. Even though I went after dark stories, even though I had put myself in danger to get all the information, and even though my twisted humour led to sick headlines, he never said no to a story idea. He let me be me.

Thanks, Bob. You made me a better writer.

Beer O'Clock: Sparklepuff

These days, I feel that the folks at Flying Monkeys are taking their motto a little too much to heart:

Normal is Weird.

For the past few years (okay, for most of its existence, actually), it's come up with names for its creations that are, quite frankly, bonkers. Killer Cupcake Panda; Space Age Sunshine; Quantum Hugs; Freakshow Crush; Juicy Ass; Frosty the Friendship Dragon.

And today's brew for review seems to take the cake.

Sparklepuff, Galaxy Starfighter Defender of the Universe Triple IPA (10.2% ABV; 34 IBUs)
Flying Monkeys Craft Brewery
Barrie ON

Appearance: pours a hazy and deep grapefruit-juice-orange with a creamy white head that quickly settles to a thin but solid cap. In one of the cans I poured, large clumps of sediment swirled around the effervescent bubbles like a snow globe (they didn't affect the flavour and I couldn't feel them in the mouth).

Nose: tangerines and limes. There's a beautiful tropical aroma that hits you as you pour the ale into your glass.

Palate: there's a dry, piney bitterness that hits you straight away and races to the back of your throat even before you swallow. Holding the liquid in my mouth, I detected ripe grapefruit and a tinge of peach (I later learned that peach purée was added to the mash).

Overall impression: this is a bitter but juicy IPA that's had the benefit of three hops (Simcoe, Idaho 7, and Vic Secret) and has been dry-hopped on days 4, 8, and 12 of the fermentation period. Though there's that whopping 10.2 percentage of alcohol, Sparklepuff (don't make me write out the whole name) does not feel boozy in the mouth—though I certainly felt my first pint. I could only drink one in a sitting and recommend that you exercise moderation when you're having this brew.

It seems that all of the varieties of IPA that Flying Monkey produces have that hazy, tropical flavour that I love but can't be farther from a classic India Pale Ale. Such seems to be the fate of IPAs outside of England. Oh well...

Beer O'Clock rating: 🍺🍺

I really enjoyed Sparklepuff, as weird as its name is. But that's Flying Monkeys for you: absolutely bonkers and absolutely delicious.

You can find this triple IPA at the LCBO and you can order directly from the brewery. Cheers!

Two Sunsets, Zero Filters

The Last Camping Trip

There were signs that we should have called it quits.

Some friends of ours were going to join us for an interior camping trip in Algonquin Park and plans were made. I reluctantly agreed because I did want to spend time with these friends and because I love kayaking.

And DW said we'd be staying close to an area where moose were common at this time of year. I haven't seen a moose up close in quite some time, and with my 360-degree video camera on the deck of my kayak and my D-SLR with my long telephoto lens mounted to it, I'd be prepared to capture all that we spotted.

As the date approached, one of our friends was given an important medical appointment that fell on our departure date. Of course this appointment took precedent, so we told our friends that we would just meet them later, at camp. Unfortunately, the time of the appointment was such that they felt they couldn't make the trek to the camp site in the evening, but that they would book a motel room close to the lake and they would meet us by lunch on day two.

No problem.

DW and I set out early on Friday to Opeongo Lake, Algonquin Provincial Park's largest lake. Our plan was to drive to the Algonquin Outfitters store on the southern end of the lake, park the car, load up our kayaks, and paddle to the far end of the North Arm of the lake, near a portage point and across from Hailstorm Creek, the aforementioned swampy area that is famous for moose sightings. The camp site would be about a 15-kilometre paddle.

Again, no problem. Though DW and I had only been in our kayaks two other times this year and had paddled no more than seven kilometres, we knew that we could cover this distance as long as there were no tough obstacles like a storm or strong winds.

There were strong winds.

The wind, coming from the north, directly into us, was blowing so hard that if you stopped paddling, you were blown backwards. White caps were numerous and as far as the eye could see, and swells bounced us around in our kayaks.

We weren't paddling a lake: we were paddling a raging river and we were going upstream.

Pictures never do justice to the rough conditions we faced.

DW and I have paddled the St. Lawrence Seaway twice, and we've paddled against the current, and Lake Opeongo was tougher by far.

I would have turned around after about 5K but DW was determined to make it to the area. And we needed to move quickly, she added, because other campers would get to the best spots first. Plus, we had our friends coming the next day and they'd be counting on us getting a good site.

Our hearts slowly sank as we saw lots of water taxis, laden with canoes, race past us and head northward. We were sure that we weren't going to get a good site. But I knew how many potential good sites were available and I counted the boats and their occupants, and I wasn't going to totally give up until the number of these people outnumbered the available sites.

Plus, some of the boats seemed destined for the East Arm.

It took three hours of non-stop paddling as fast as we could go to reach one of the sites that we had pegged as an optimal camp spot. I barely took the time to stop for water and I wasn't going to risk getting blown back as I pulled out a snack.

Because I have arthritis in my right foot, both knees, both hips, and both shoulders, I was in a lot of pain and utterly exhausted as I pulled my kayak onto shore at site #19. Both DW and I made ourselves a lunch and caught our breaths before we set up our tent and bug shelter, and had a nap.

The wind was relentless until shortly before sunset, when DW and I cooked dinner and sat on a rock to take in a beautiful sky as the sun sank below the trees and below the horizon, when the sky almost seemed to catch fire.

It was beautiful but at the time, the only thing that made it worthwhile was the fact that our friends would be joining us on this optimal site. I fell asleep listening to the call and answer of loons throughout the lake.

Unfortunately, DW's air mattress had sprung a leak sometime in the night and she had to lie on the cool, hard ground, and she had a terrible sleep. All she could say, the next morning, was that she was glad it hadn't happened to my mattress, knowing that I already dislike sleeping on the ground in a tent, even if I have a thick mattress.

Green marker: in the creek.
Red marker: our camp site.

The next morning, after an early breakfast, DW and I got in our kayaks and crossed over from our site to Hailstorm Creek, hoping to spot moose. The wind was calm and all was quiet, so we were hopeful.

Though we did spot a beaver, busy at work, a giant snapping turtle that was sleeping on a mound of mud, and several birds, including red-winged blackbirds and sandpipers, there were no moose to be found. In the distance, we heard the hooting of an owl and the jackhammer rattling of a woodpecker.

This was the kind of kayaking that I enjoyed.

When we headed back to camp, though, the wind had picked up again and I could only hope that our friends were well underway, that they wouldn't feel the full force of the gusts as DW and I had endured the day before.

And while the wind grew stronger and stronger, it didn't seem quite as bad as on Friday. Our friends had only had their kayaks for a short time and one of them didn't seem quite as confident, so we started to worry when lunchtime came and went and there was no sign of them. I stood on a rock on a point of our site and searched with my binoculars, but to no avail.

If I couldn't see them in the distance, they'd still be at least an hour away.

DW and I found the leak in her mattress and patched it up, hoping for the best. At least it took up some time while we waited for our friends. With the wind as strong as it was, we didn't feel like getting into our kayaks again. We had completed DW's photo challenge; waiting for the glue to harden, we awaited word from our friends.

By about 1:00, we had our answer. Our friends texted us to say that the wind was too much for them and that they had turned back to the outfitter shop. We suggested that they hire a water taxi but their spirits were broken. They were worried that the wind would be too much for them on the return journey.

DW and I were heartbroken that our friends wouldn't be joining us and we were also worried because they were also supposed to bring dinner for that evening. They were supplying a curried dish: we were supplying the rice.

Fortunately, DW always keeps an emergency, freeze-dried food pack in her camping supplies. Though the sweet-and-sour chicken boil-in-bag had a best-before date of 2022, we were sure it would be edible.

It wasn't bad. We also had some left-over salami and cheese from lunch, so we made the best of the evening.

After dinner, we went for a sunset paddle, back to Hailstorm Creek. Still no moose but the paddle was calm and peaceful. We decided that we would get up before sunrise, the next day, and see if we'd have better luck spotting moose if we were on the creek earlier.

Sunset on Hailstorm Creek.

I had a terrible night. The temperature dropped to about 5°C and it seemed that my sleeping bag had lost the loft needed to keep the cold out. I awoke in the middle of the night to put more layers on but my teeth chattered and I shivered all night.

When DW's alarm went off, I was frozen to the bone. DW threw an emergency blanket over me and pressed herself against me to warm me up, and by the time I felt warm, the sun was up and we felt we had missed our window to check for moose.

The air was also cold and we would have had to wear all of our layers to get in our kayaks. Plus, the wind had picked up again, so we said no to a final paddle to Hailstorm Creek. We made breakfast and then packed up camp, and loaded up our kayaks to head back to the car.

The wind was blowing at full force as we set out. We thought that the saving grace was that at least the wind was at our backs, but it was constantly blowing at the back of our kayaks, trying to turn us off course. Huge swells kept sweeping over our sterns and flooding our cockpits.

It was a bad day to have left our kayak skirts at home.

We had to constantly find shelter to bail out our cockpits and it took two hours and forty minutes to make it back to the Algonquin Outfitters store. We were soaked, tired, and hungry.

I had one pair of clean clothes and didn't care about any modesty. I stripped down in the parking lot, dried myself off, and dressed, not caring who saw me. I just wanted to get to somewhere we could have a hot meal and then continue on home.

Paddling a long distance in bad weather is not my idea of a good time. For me, the kayaking portion of our camping trips is what makes me come out to these remote places. And I was not enjoying the journey there nor the voyage homeward. I did enjoy paddling Hailstorm Creek but at what price?

Our friends were smart to abandon the trek. They would have been miserable by the time they had reached our site. And I would have been concerned for their safety on the paddle back.

I don't like camping. I don't like cooking and cleaning outdoors. I don't like going to the bathroom on a box over a stinking hole. I don't like sleeping on the ground and I hate being cold.

DW has planned another camping and kayaking trip for us but I'm out. She has tried to entice me with all the activities we could do: there are cycling trails and lots of places to kayak, but for me it's not worth sleeping outdoors.

All the power to her.

I'll go for day-long kayak excursions as long as I can either go home at the end of the day or sleep in a motel. My days of cooking without running water and sleeping on the ground are over. For good.

As I approach my 60s, I know what I'm willing to do and what I'm not. And camping falls into the Not category.

UPDATE:

DW sent me this excerpt from a book by Kevin Callan, a canoeing adventurer who knows Algonquin Park like the back of his hand. He was on an island in the East Arm of the lake (see the first map, above).

The entrance to the "Northwest Arm," as Callan calls it, is where we saw the biggest swells and took on the most water.

Enough said about Opeongo Lake. We're never going back.

Five From Fifteen

The weekend didn't go exactly as we planned.

I'll tell you more about it, tomorrow. You see, it's late on Sunday as I write this and I'm so tired that I feel almost drunk. I want to write a full account of the weekend when my head is rested.

But I'll give you this much: we were camping. Likely, for my last time.

The wind was far too strong to take the kayaks on the lake so we were confined to our campsite. DW was looking for something to do and came up with an idea.

"Show me five good pictures from the site," she said, reaching for her mirrorless camera. "We have a half hour to take no more than 15 pictures."

I had brought one of my D-SLRs and only one lens: my 70–300mm telephoto.

"Do I have to use only my D-SLR or can I also use my smartphone?"

"You can use any camera you like but you can't capture more than 15 images. We'll meet back at our bug tent in a half hour, when we'll spend no more than another half an hour to touch up and choose the best five."

We were expecting some friends to join us at our site, sometime after lunch, and DW said we'd let them look at our top five and choose the best one from the bunch.

It was a sizable camp site but I didn't need a half an hour to take my 15 shots. Neither did DW, though she used close to 20 minutes.

Back at the bug shelter, we sat in our folding chairs and got to work. DW doesn't use her phone or tablet to do a lot of photo editing so she needed the full half hour. I was done in less than 10 minutes.

I haven't been given permission to share DW's photos but I can share mine.

Our friends never made it to our camp: the wind was far too strong and one of them isn't as experienced a kayaker. As soon as they got on the lake, they knew they'd never make it.

We had no judges for our final five.

Stay tuned for our weekend story.

New Horizon

I remember how, whenever I found myself standing on the edge of Dow's Lake, my eyes would always fall to the pavilion that occupies the northwest corner of the lake.

The building is only two floors high, but its low, sleek, modern profile always drew me in. I loved how it cast a reflection on the often-still water. Anytime I had a camera, I would capture its simple beauty.

My eye still gets drawn to that end of Dow's Lake, but these days my eyes don't focus on the pavilion straight away. Looking to the northern end of the lake, there are bigger distractions.

Over the past few years, high-rise apartments have towered over the Preston-Carling neighbourhood, behind the Dow's Lake pavilion, making the old landmark seem a speck on the landscape. It seems that it's almost impossible to take in the pavilion, when you're on the southern end of the lake, without the Claridge Icon Tower your point of focus.

On Tuesday, after I finished capturing images of the tulips in Commissioners Park, I couldn't help but pay attention to the sunset and the tall reflections on the water. Where I once would only zoom in on the pavilion, I now seem to want to capture the new landscape.

All of it.

And it's almost hard to find the pavilion that once took all of my attention.

Happy Friday!

It's All About the Food

I used to load up on travel guides that I would check out from the library to do my research when planning a vacation, but I now use YouTube to get a better idea about the places I want to visit.

Take our trip to Portugal, last September, for example. In the months leading up to that trip, I literally watched hundreds of YouTube videos: some, several times. It got to a point where I think I knew Lisbon inside and out before we ever set foot in it.

Over the past couple of months, DW and I have turned to YouTube again for planning our next two vacations, for which we've already purchase airline tickets and reserved accommodation. In the fall, we're taking my folks to Italy. In January, next year, we're going to spend a couple of weeks exploring Costa Rica.

As soon as I have seen enough videos to get a good idea of our itinerary and to scope out the towns we want to see, I turn to the next important factor in any vacation: the food. For Portugal, before we even left home, I knew that I wanted to try a Francesinha, many cod dishes, grilled sardines, and more.

I watched all kinds of travel videos that focused on the local cuisine and made notes. The same is true for Costa Rica, and even though DW and I have been to Italy a couple of times, I've been drooling over restaurant suggestions and regional specialties.

It reminded me that I've eaten food that I would not normally eat at home. In Florence, for example, I tried tripe, the muscle walls of a cow's stomach. I saw it on a menu and was dared, by our travelling companions, to order it.

From what I remember, it wasn't bad at all.

There was another time, when DW and I travelled through Tuscany with our kids, when I saw pigeon offered at a restaurant, but my eyes had already fallen on another dish on the menu that I really wanted. My kids also saw the pigeon dish and I said, casually, that the next time we saw it on a menu, I'd order it.

That happened in the Etruscan town of Volterra.

My kids were very quick to point out my promise, even though the wild boar ragu looked tempting. DW ordered that dish and promised to offer a bite. After I had tried the pigeon first.

Everything tastes better with a bit of Chianti.

Again, it wasn't that bad. In fact, it was quite good.

I offered a taste to my girls. Kid 1 was fine with her salad but Kid 2 actually tried some: this was a kid who only seemed to like plain pasta at every restaurant that we visited.

No thanks, Dad.

Brave kid.

Italy with the kids, in 2009, will still go down as one of the best family vacations. In fact, Kid 1 is considering joining us for the second half of this year's trip, when we'll be along the Amalfi Coast.

I wonder what foods we'll eat there? I guess a few more YouTube videos will give us some ideas.

Happy Thursday!

Tulip Fest at Sunset

The Next Long Trek

DW is considering joining a gym and is trying to entice me to join, too.

"They have a membership sale," she explained. "Now that the weather has improved outdoors, fewer people are working out indoors."

"I agree with those folks," I said. "Why would you want to go inside when it's so much nicer outside?"

Indeed, this is the time of year when DW and I strap our kayaks to the roof of our car and head out to a river or lake to get in some paddling. We've already been out twice, and this weekend, we're off to Algonquin Park for a couple of nights of interior camping.

Yes, you read that right: I've agreed to go camping.

First paddle of 2023, fighting against a strong current at Morris Island Conservation Area.

And now that the roads are cleared of salt and other hazardous debris, I've started taking to my bike again. Every other day, as long as the weather cooperates, I plan to cover a minimum of 42 kms on my rides and will be working up to a 100K circuit sometime in the summer.

So why would I need a gym membership?

I've said many times before that I don't need a membership as long as I'm signing up for The Conqueror Virtual Challenges. Virtually visiting far-off places by walking, cycling, kayaking, or even mowing the lawn or shovelling the driveway is far more motivating for me than packing a gym back and heading out, in the car, to a facility.

And the monthly fee for a gym membership far out-costs each challenge that I sign up for. Most challenges cost about $35 to $40 Canadian dollars and they last usually more than a month. Some have even taken several months to complete.

Take my latest challenge that I started on the weekend. I'm currently virtually in northern New Zealand, participating in the 3,176.9-kilometre Te Araroa trek. It started at the lighthouse on the tip of Cape Reinga and goes all the way to Stirling Point, across from Stewart Island (Rakiura) on New Zealand's southernmost end.

I expect the trek will take me about 120 days to complete (though, I set these goals and always finish ahead of schedule). The estimated end date is September 1st.

Fourty dollars for almost four months is a pretty good deal, compared with a gym membership, even at this facility's reduced summer rate.

All the power to DW but I'll take my exercise outside.

And maybe, someday, we can add New Zealand as a vacation destination and actually cover the countryside.

Thank You!

This post is for those of you who supported me in my 70K ride in the CN Cycle for CHEO.

Thanks to Jody, Jalal, Shaun, Kevin, and the folks who chose to give anonymously. Every dollar is much appreciated.

In the week leading up to the fundraising event, I tried final pleas for more donations, even vowing that if my $250 goal was met, I would add an additional 18 kilometres to my ride by cycling to the event from home, in the Barrhaven area.

While I'm sad that I didn't quite reach my goal, in retrospect I'm glad I didn't have to tack on those extra kilometres. Seventy clicks was enough for me. I rode with a couple of friends and we completed the trek in just over three hours.

Again, thank you to all of my sponsors. Together, you've helped with cancer research. Kids should live a long life.

Cheers to you!

A Wisp of Smoke

When I attended one of my first model meetup groups, I had no idea of what I was doing.

Luckily, the meetup organizer was well-experienced in studio lighting and direction, and I learned a lot from him. (I still learn something new every time we meet.)

In that meetup, we worked with both high-key and low lighting with the model, and it was there that I learned that I like low-lighting environments the most. Every little ounce of light must be taken into account before you press the shutter release.

In one of the setups for that shoot, I envisioned a trace of light just along one side of the model, such that only part of her figure could be discerned. The photo turned out well and I thought that her body looked like a wisp of smoke. Smoke with a nipple, that is.

I shared that image years ago (note: NSFW).

Fast-forward to last Sunday, when I joined a workshop on projection photography. We were in a studio that was made dark and the only light source was a digital slide projector that shone on a white backdrop. We had a model, Kim, who would pose within the path of the projection.

We could photograph her three ways: we could stand either behind or right beside the projector and capture Kim with the projection illuminated against the white backdrop. Depending on the image that was being projected, it could be a bright photo where Kim blended into the overall image.

I liked this angle the least, as it was hard to determine what the subject was. I only took a few photos from this position and there are very few that I bothered to process.

Another way to capture Kim would be to stand away from the projector but still facing the backdrop. If our model moved closer to the projector, we could shoot past her and get her silhouette against the backdrop. Depending on the projected image, we got some great captures.

My favourite angle was to be perpendicular to the projector, where the studio had a black curtain along the wall. The light from the projector would fall on Kim but the backdrop was not in the frame. Any light that touched our model could be captured: where she was in shadow or not illuminated, Kim would disappear.

Most of my shots from that workshop were taken from this position.

The trickiest shot was when we used an image that was an actual wisp of smoke that was illuminated against a black backdrop. When Kim stepped into the path of the light, only the smoke that touched her skin could be captured. But because the smoke was so thin, it was hard to see a person in the projection.

Kim is not a tall person. She's perfectly petite. So I had to get her to stand on her tiptoes and move until her face—mainly, her eyes—could reach a point where the smoke seemed to bunch on itself. The result is that you can only tell that there's a person in that wisp of smoke from the few parts of her face that captured the light. One hand also was illuminated as she brought it to her head.

Here's the result:

What do you think?

If you saw this week's Wordless Wednesday, you saw some other effects that I captured at the workshop. Even today, I'm still going through the hundreds of frames that I shot.

I love this format and hope to try it again in the future.

Happy Friday!

Beer O'Clock: Shaken Stout

It goes against my intuition. But somehow, it works.

I grew up learning that you never shake a can of carbonated liquid before opening it. As a kid, we used to prank each other by shaking up our friend's soda behind their back, only to howl with laughter as they cracked it open and were showered in their fizzy drink.

A few years ago, when I picked up a can of stout from an Ottawa Valley brewery and cracked it open at home, I was disappointed by how flat the dark beer tasted. Usually, when I get a new beer to try, I avoid reading the label beyond the brewer and what style of beer it is, so that I'm not influenced by any descriptions or tasting notes that the brewery may have added to the label.

After trying this underwhelming stout, I read the label and found that I had to shake the can before opening it. That was a shocking discovery.

I shook up the next can and everything changed. The stout came to life: there was not only a creamy fizz but the flavours popped.

The same thing happened to me when I tried another stout, this week, from a different brewer. I was disappointed by the thin head but at least the stout had some classic flavours. It wasn't until after I was halfway through the brew that I read the label and, again, discovered that the can needed to be shaken before opened.

My bad.

I opened another can, and here's what I found:

Irish Stout (4.2% ABV; 41 IBUs)
Ridge Rock Brewing Company
Carp ON

Appearance: pours a deep, walnut brown with a foamy taupe head that comes out thick when the can is shaken, but settles to a respectable finger's depth, and eventually becomes a thin but solid, creamy cap.

Nose: rich, roasted malts that give an aroma of espresso.

Palate: the stout is bone-dry with hints of cedar and tobacco. The finish is short and clean.

Overall impression: this is a classic, perfect dry stout, well-made in an Irish style. Guinness has a run for its money; in fact, I'd take this stout over today's Guinness every time.

Even though I have to remember to shake the can before opening it.

Beer O'Clock rating: 🍺🍺🍺

I picked up this stout directly from Ridge Rock, when I was passing through Carp with DW and some friends, and we decided to have dinner at the brewery (the food is pretty good, too). But they also deliver to anywhere in the Ottawa area and it's for free with orders of $50 or more.

Sadly, the stout isn't listed with the LCBO. But you should definitely shake a leg and get some.

Cheers!