Today I bid a final farewell to my dear friend, Maui Jim.
MJ, I have to admit it wasn’t love at first sight. That early January day when we met at the Hut in the mall, your subtle grace and understated style did not immediately attract my attention. I was swayed by the overt beauty of Burberry and the solid construction and reliability of Oakley. But when I took the time to get to know you and give you a shot, your strong arms gently cradled my face in a way no others could; snug and stable, but not tight enough to pinch. Your beautiful amber colouring allowed me to see the world in a completely new light, everything in sharper contrast than before. I knew from that moment on that we were meant to be.
In the short time we knew each other, you protected me against the glare of snow on a frozen lake, the bright summer rays filtering through the windshield on long car trips, and the glinting, blinding light dancing off the waves as we dashed through the ocean in a small zodiac. On our final journey, we bobbed gently in the waves of Johnstone Strait in our bright yellow kayak, sharing views of spruce-covered mountains and kelp-lined shores. Just before parting, we witnessed a pod of porpoises flitting by, leaping happily through the waves without a care in the world.
Then, as if thinking you could never top this shared moment, you slipped gently from your preferred perch on my head and dove into the water below. My deafening wail of despair and my desperate reach toward you were of no avail, since you slipped gently through the fingers of my jacketed arm that was plunged elbow-deep in the frigid ocean. As I worked to keep the kayak upright while I reached for you, you winked a gentle goodbye and slipped farther into the darkness.
I’ll never let go, Jim. I’ll never let go.
For the rest of the day, my wet arm reminded me of the times we shared together, and the future that was now beyond our reach. While our friends toss out words of condolence and promises of newer, cheaper pairs at the local grocery store, my sadness still flows strongly. Yes, Maui Jim, you will be replaced. But you will never be forgotten.
So goodbye, dear sunglasses. You will be sorely missed.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
A Desperate Plea to my B.C. Readers
Do you like whales...? And camping...? (*insert patented creepy smile*)
I'm looking for some volunteers to help me out gathering data for my masters project over the next month. So if you live anywhere near Vancouver Island (Alert Bay, to be exact) or can take a few days off and come up here to hang out with me and some killer whales, then I would be eternally grateful! Here's a copy of my desperate plea that I'm flinging out far and wide... (although it's not actually written by me. My copy was immediately discarded because it wasn't persuasive enough.)
VOLUNTEERS NEEDED FOR WHALE RESEARCH
I’m a Masters student and Straitwatch volunteer looking for help with land-based whale/boat traffic observations in the Johnstone Strait area. Tasks include helping to collect and record data on whale activities and vessel traffic from a cliff-top observation point. While out there we will be camping at Kaikash for 3 to 4 days at a time. I’m looking for someone who enjoys spending time outdoors, has camping experience and is interested in learning more about whales.
This is a great opportunity to gain field experience. This position is based out of Alert Bay so you will need to arrive the day prior to the volunteer dates listed below. From Alert Bay a small boat will take us to Kaikash where we will camp and the boat will pick us up on the last day. There is minimal cost involved with this opportunity as you only need to be a member of Cetus Research & Conservation Society ($20 membership fee) to participate. However, you will need to provide your own camping gear and food while we are out there.
Volunteers are needed for the following dates:
July 21-23
July 27-29
July 31- August 3
August 5-8
If interested in any or all of these dates, please contact Robyn Walker at robynpwalker@yahoo.ca, or Straitwatch at 250-974-7056
Help me out, if you can!!
I'm looking for some volunteers to help me out gathering data for my masters project over the next month. So if you live anywhere near Vancouver Island (Alert Bay, to be exact) or can take a few days off and come up here to hang out with me and some killer whales, then I would be eternally grateful! Here's a copy of my desperate plea that I'm flinging out far and wide... (although it's not actually written by me. My copy was immediately discarded because it wasn't persuasive enough.)
VOLUNTEERS NEEDED FOR WHALE RESEARCH
I’m a Masters student and Straitwatch volunteer looking for help with land-based whale/boat traffic observations in the Johnstone Strait area. Tasks include helping to collect and record data on whale activities and vessel traffic from a cliff-top observation point. While out there we will be camping at Kaikash for 3 to 4 days at a time. I’m looking for someone who enjoys spending time outdoors, has camping experience and is interested in learning more about whales.
This is a great opportunity to gain field experience. This position is based out of Alert Bay so you will need to arrive the day prior to the volunteer dates listed below. From Alert Bay a small boat will take us to Kaikash where we will camp and the boat will pick us up on the last day. There is minimal cost involved with this opportunity as you only need to be a member of Cetus Research & Conservation Society ($20 membership fee) to participate. However, you will need to provide your own camping gear and food while we are out there.
Volunteers are needed for the following dates:
July 21-23
July 27-29
July 31- August 3
August 5-8
If interested in any or all of these dates, please contact Robyn Walker at robynpwalker@yahoo.ca, or Straitwatch at 250-974-7056
Help me out, if you can!!
A School-Blog Reject...
... or just something I've been trying to post for a few days, but for some reason the website doesn't want to load properly for me here. So enjoy!
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Where in the world is…?
This July, while my classmates are sweating it out in the rainforests of Costa Rica, Borneo and Madagascar, I’m sporting a winter hat and mittens. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
July 11th, I arrived on the northern tip of Vancouver Island in beautiful British Columbia to start my somewhat shortened summer internship. For exactly one month, I’m working for an organization called Straitwatch which studies boat activity near whales (specifically killer whales) in Johnstone Strait and the surrounding areas. For the last two days I’ve gone out on their zodiac, following a few humpback whales, a group of five incredibly acrobatic transient killer whales, a few dozen Dahl’s porpoises and a few hundred Pacific white-sided dolphins (which spent some of their time bow-riding just a short distance below my feet). Suddenly, the hat and mittens I threw in my luggage “just in case” have become daily accessories.
On land, the temperature is only slightly lower than what I’ve gotten used to for this time of the year, averaging about 20-30 degrees Celsius on a warm day. But on the water, it’s a whole other story. In the channels around the islands, the clouds and sometimes dense fog block out the sun and make the temperature drop a few degrees. The dampness on the water adds to the temperature drop, and the spray and wind from the zodiac makes it even colder. So by the end of the day, I’m thanking my lucky stars that I “over-packed” and brought my 2 sweaters, jacket and rain pants with me because I will have already put them all on less than an hour into the trip. But in the late afternoon when the fog lifts briefly to expose the vistas of rich green forests and the towering mountains lining the channels, it’s more than worth it.
Being a winter-child, I have absolutely nothing against the cold. I’d much rather be bundled up and shivering a bit than dressed down and melting. So the job conditions work just fine for me! I love being out on the water for the first time in a couple of years, and I’m remembering some things that have slipped my mind since my last boating gig. For one, it doesn’t take much time to get my sea-legs (even though anybody who knows me can attest that I’m less than graceful on land), but it takes at least three times as long to get my land-legs back. (As I’m writing this, the computer is swaying gently from side to side… as is the couch.) Also, no matter how many times I see the tell-tale arch of a humpback’s back that means it’s going to fluke, or the towering, graceful dorsal fin of a killer whale slicing through the water, or the flashing happy grin of a dolphin surfing the bow wave, it never fails to take my breath away.
Before I left home, one of my sisters gave me a hug and said “you better have fun out there, this is what you’ll be doing for the rest of your life.”
Have no fear, Kate. I could totally get used to this.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Where in the world is…?
This July, while my classmates are sweating it out in the rainforests of Costa Rica, Borneo and Madagascar, I’m sporting a winter hat and mittens. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
July 11th, I arrived on the northern tip of Vancouver Island in beautiful British Columbia to start my somewhat shortened summer internship. For exactly one month, I’m working for an organization called Straitwatch which studies boat activity near whales (specifically killer whales) in Johnstone Strait and the surrounding areas. For the last two days I’ve gone out on their zodiac, following a few humpback whales, a group of five incredibly acrobatic transient killer whales, a few dozen Dahl’s porpoises and a few hundred Pacific white-sided dolphins (which spent some of their time bow-riding just a short distance below my feet). Suddenly, the hat and mittens I threw in my luggage “just in case” have become daily accessories.
On land, the temperature is only slightly lower than what I’ve gotten used to for this time of the year, averaging about 20-30 degrees Celsius on a warm day. But on the water, it’s a whole other story. In the channels around the islands, the clouds and sometimes dense fog block out the sun and make the temperature drop a few degrees. The dampness on the water adds to the temperature drop, and the spray and wind from the zodiac makes it even colder. So by the end of the day, I’m thanking my lucky stars that I “over-packed” and brought my 2 sweaters, jacket and rain pants with me because I will have already put them all on less than an hour into the trip. But in the late afternoon when the fog lifts briefly to expose the vistas of rich green forests and the towering mountains lining the channels, it’s more than worth it.
Being a winter-child, I have absolutely nothing against the cold. I’d much rather be bundled up and shivering a bit than dressed down and melting. So the job conditions work just fine for me! I love being out on the water for the first time in a couple of years, and I’m remembering some things that have slipped my mind since my last boating gig. For one, it doesn’t take much time to get my sea-legs (even though anybody who knows me can attest that I’m less than graceful on land), but it takes at least three times as long to get my land-legs back. (As I’m writing this, the computer is swaying gently from side to side… as is the couch.) Also, no matter how many times I see the tell-tale arch of a humpback’s back that means it’s going to fluke, or the towering, graceful dorsal fin of a killer whale slicing through the water, or the flashing happy grin of a dolphin surfing the bow wave, it never fails to take my breath away.
Before I left home, one of my sisters gave me a hug and said “you better have fun out there, this is what you’ll be doing for the rest of your life.”
Have no fear, Kate. I could totally get used to this.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Say Goodnight, Not Goodbye
It’s nights like these that make me remember why I miss Ottawa.
It’s a place so full of life, so comforting in its familiarity, never dull with all its goings-on. This evening, I stood in the summer heat and watched the sun set over the skyline, punctuated by the winking windows of the parliament buildings, while the strong tempo and crooning lyrics of Metric lead the city from daytime to night. Sitting on a blanket of grass under a ceiling of stars, I let the rasping, soulful, heart-wrenching vocals of Ben Harper break me to pieces and reconfigure me in a million different ways. Breathing in the earthy smell of the damp grass, the sweet and heavy aroma of marijuana and the tangy smell of spilled beer, I felt completely at ease. Ottawa is a place that embraces but does not smother, that allows anonymity without invisibility, that accepts differences and encourages originality. It’s a place where you can be surrounded by hundreds of people, and still manage to find your childhood best friend, that guy your roommate had a crush on in first year, and your best friend’s sister’s ex-fiancé that you accidentally dated once.
Tomorrow I fly off again to the newest version of my own Far Far Away. And every time I leave, it feels like yet another terrible break-up. The bittersweet kind where you smile sadly and promise to stay friends, but you know deep down inside that it can never be the same again. Every plane takeoff, every border crossing brings that now familiar ache of loss and nostalgia, the memories of what was and the dreams of what could have been tugging strangely at my insides.
Sure, there have been other cities. And there will be many more. There will be new affairs, new flings with other city streets, and possibly one day even a new love. But Ottawa was my first. The place where I first made my mark, the place where I learned to spread my wings, the place where I got to know the girl I would become. And, because of that, it will always be the one that all others get measured against, for better or for worse.
So goodnight Ottawa, until we meet again.
It’s a place so full of life, so comforting in its familiarity, never dull with all its goings-on. This evening, I stood in the summer heat and watched the sun set over the skyline, punctuated by the winking windows of the parliament buildings, while the strong tempo and crooning lyrics of Metric lead the city from daytime to night. Sitting on a blanket of grass under a ceiling of stars, I let the rasping, soulful, heart-wrenching vocals of Ben Harper break me to pieces and reconfigure me in a million different ways. Breathing in the earthy smell of the damp grass, the sweet and heavy aroma of marijuana and the tangy smell of spilled beer, I felt completely at ease. Ottawa is a place that embraces but does not smother, that allows anonymity without invisibility, that accepts differences and encourages originality. It’s a place where you can be surrounded by hundreds of people, and still manage to find your childhood best friend, that guy your roommate had a crush on in first year, and your best friend’s sister’s ex-fiancé that you accidentally dated once.
Tomorrow I fly off again to the newest version of my own Far Far Away. And every time I leave, it feels like yet another terrible break-up. The bittersweet kind where you smile sadly and promise to stay friends, but you know deep down inside that it can never be the same again. Every plane takeoff, every border crossing brings that now familiar ache of loss and nostalgia, the memories of what was and the dreams of what could have been tugging strangely at my insides.
Sure, there have been other cities. And there will be many more. There will be new affairs, new flings with other city streets, and possibly one day even a new love. But Ottawa was my first. The place where I first made my mark, the place where I learned to spread my wings, the place where I got to know the girl I would become. And, because of that, it will always be the one that all others get measured against, for better or for worse.
So goodnight Ottawa, until we meet again.
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