The Native Iowan

July 25, 2018. Sitting at LAX. On our way to Ioway. Sitting in a departure lounge drinking and honest cup of ol-fashioned brewed coffee. Not a latte or a cappuccino, a good old cup of brewed coffee. Its pretty good.

Up early this morn. Was sound, sound, sound asleep when the alarm went off at 6am. Woke easy enough and quickly got organized to head off. Spent last eve cleaning and packing so this morn was a breeze.

We were on the sidewalk well before 7am, our car was there not long after we showed up. The ride to LAX was pretty quick – less than an hour – and we got checked in and cleared through security without any pain.

Of course, LAX is a busy, busy place. How many thousands of people move through here daily?

My internet connection is not working so I can’t google the question and know what the answer is. Damn, we depend on the modern tech a lot!

So, as the song says… LA International Airport, where the big jet engines roar…

We sit and watch the outside world through a thick glass window. We can still hear the big jet engines roar. We can see the plethora of pedestrians and vehicles move across the tarmac. No less than 15 aircraft in our immediate vision. Dozens of vehicles of every shape and size. Trucks and cars and tugs and trailers. It is a busy place.

It makes one wonder where everyone is going. It is rather impressive to think of the thousands upon thousands of travelers in this one place… plus the thousand sup on thousands in all the other airports around the place.

Just checked and we see in excess of 6million people per month – over 200,000 people per day traveling form this place –

Wow.

Time to fly.

Will be in Minneapolis soon.

Smiles

It’s always good/ all ways good to visit the USA.

I departed from this land in January 1981. Green and keen, young and quite un-learned. I was not an international traveler at that time. I was a back-packer more used to hitching a ride than boarding a plane.

Over half my life has been spent living “elsewhere”. Somewhere else, not the USA.

My early, sporadic visits back were normally punctuated by being shocked by change. By reverse culture shock.

Trips “home” were originally every two or three years. A lot can happen in a few short years.

As my visits “back-home” became more frequent the changes were less drastic. Like when you have young kids – while they are around you do not notice their change/ growth. Go away a year or two and they grow and change amazing amounts.

Now, one of the things I have learned is the change is not always what may be perceived. What I mean here is that often the change was me, not the land-I-left. The place called “home” did change but not as much as I.

In 1981 I was a ill-educated, unexposed bleeding heart liberal. What could I have known at the tender age of 23?

In 2018, 37 years later, I think of the Jackson Brown song…   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x0GhjlmlEwQ

One thought I have often these days deals with the social unrest between The Police and The Community. Nowadays there is something called racial-profiling. There is an erroneous idea that if you are not white you have a greater percentage-chance of being caught up with the Police. The facts don’t support this but that does not stop the world from believing such.

Throughout my life “Profiling” has played a huge part. My long hair, ear-ring(s), less than white family, tattoos, et al have continuously led to situations where I was “profiled”, and often in a negative way. It still happens all the time.

My approach when being profiled has always been to smile, disarm the profiler by being open and honest. The times when I have been instructed by those in authority, I always complied willingly and quickly. I habitually say yes Sir and no Ma’am, thank you and please. I was raised to not be rude. To show respect.

I have learned to “keep a civil tongue”. I have been detained, searched, hassled, shaken-down, even accosted. I have never been hand cuffed, never been arrested or spent a night in Jail.

I have wandered into many bad, bad neighborhoods – in a number of different countries. I kinda gravitate to the seedier side of town. I like low-rent stripper-bars. Those poorly lit and foul-smelling pubs one finds along the waterfront. Those basement bars found in lonely alleyways. I still wander looking for likely hangouts.

And though I have met “situations” of all sorts, I have never been “taken”, abused, lost nor damaged. And I think it’s because I do keep a civil tongue.

As I visit this land of my birth in 2018, after all those years and travels and experiences, I can still be shocked by the changes I find. Very much a part of it is an undefinable tension. A herd mentality kinda gig where folks do what they do with little thought. A Owellian weirdness.

One thing I am struggling with is the Toxic nature of White Maleness. The idea that racism and profiling is bad but, we profile all white males. We can’t profile black or brown or green males because that would be racist. But its OK to profile every white male as toxic.

???? !!!!

Did I miss something?

And the idea that Socialism is even worth discussing… ???? !!!!

Sure, FREE STUFF is attractive but not real. We know that free stuff is just a slogan, a dream, but we clamour to climb on the bandwagon none the less. Do we really think a new, different result can be realised after so many failed attempts… ???? !!!!

30-year-olds get evicted by parents. Teens divorce their parents because they are too strict. Elderly can’t afford to eat, vets live hopelessly homeless while illegal entry to the US is encouraged and welcoming such is declared a duty? A guy wearing a red hat can be beaten by a crowd while those watching applaud. Police are refused service, A huge franchise business closes for a day to give employees “cultural training”. Millionaire athletes disrespect the National Anthem… ???? !!!!

Freedom of speech is encouranged, but only when it agrees with the herd mentality… ???? !!!!

I am shocked, yes, and confused.

Maybe we should all go back to being ol-fashioned style respctful? To keeping a civil tongue?

Welcome back to the USA… a diverse and changing land.

Smiles

California has always been a “cool” place. In many ways, for my era anyway, California may well have been The Cool Place.

And it’s up there with the modern, cool-cool places in the USA, now that marijuana is legal.

I am proud to announce that for the first time in my long association with California, I bought marijuana, legally.

LEGALLY!!!

And that is way, way cool.

Part of my reason for buying the dope was simply to experience what buying dope legally in Cali is. What its like and how it works and also, indeed, how good the legal dope is.

Hell, I remember when it was a federal offence to posses a single joint. It used to be worth some worry, even in Cali. But compared to Iowa, Cali has always been tranquilo when it comes to dope. Cali has always had its own vibe. We always considered Cali a seperate country.

So, I got what I wished for, the experience was way cool and the dope was way, way too good.

It happened yesterday.

I did a web search and found a “dispensary” near by. I still have my trusty Triumph here…I didn’t have to ride far to the “dispensary”…  https://pasadena-419-non-profit-organization.business.site/

I ride up, park my bike and inhale the hapi-scent of dope.

I’m on a busy street in a commercial/ industrial area of Pasadena. Body shops and tire stores and warehouses… Not a “good” neighborhood by any measure. I don’t leave my helmet with my bike.

So the place is quite nondescript. Kinda seedy n run down. Big steel door. No frills outside.

I walk into a bare room with a gal behind security glass. A dude in a relaxed security-guard-uniform sits behind the gal. She is bubbly n hapi. They sell dope here, it looks like every one is hapi. Even the security dude looks relaxed.

She asks for my ID. I give her my Aussie drivers licence, which throws her. Don’t you have a Cali ID, she asks. I say no, I’m just visiting, I live in Australia.

That makes her hapi and she smiles and asks how it is. We chat a bit then I get to  fill in a form. She holds onto my licence as I go in and get buzzed through double security doors.

I walk into a large, well-lit area. Thumping modern music plays.

Immediately in front of me a gal with a big smile helps a guy take a big toke on a little bong. I walk into a big blue cloud of dope smoke. The dude got a good hit, his eyes are bulging as he coughs.

I decide then and there to not accept any samples. I got to ride my bike home and don’t want to risk anything. This is supposed to be a fun experience. Not a dangerous escapade… No samples for me, as I glance back at the dude with the bulging eyes.

A gal at a counter to my right greets me with a smiling “what can I do for you”.

I’d like to buy a lil’bit of dope, I say.

One or two grams? she asks.

Two grams would be good, I reply. But I don’t want any Sonoma-Coma or make you-hungry dope. I want something easy to use.

Have a smell of this, or this, she says, putting two mason jars filled with buds in front of me… one is more citrisy, the other is sativa, should be more energetic.

They both smell good.

I like your work, she says nodding to my ink. She shows me a few pieces she has. I comment that ink is addictive, be careful.

I choose the non-cirtisy stuff. Two grams for $10.00 a gram plus tax. $22.00 USD all up. I am a first time customer so i get a discount. Rumours have it that cali has made over 30 milion per quarter in taxes on the newly legal product. 120mil income per annum for somethign that used to be illegal. makes commercial sense to me.

So, my dope in my back pack, I hop on my bike and head home.

I have ever wondered at the propensity for the cops to be everywhere when you be carrying illegal substances. Going back deacdes, everytime…  get a bit if dope onboard and there are cops everywhere. A

nd it was the same this day, but the dope was legal. I had a receipt to prove it. The abundance of cops did not make me nervouse.

Cop cars, cops on bikes, I saw loads of cops, but smiled with no tension. I was legal.

So I get home and inspect what I have… Its called Durban Pie…

…use with extreme caution… aint that the truth…

It has been ages since I been knocked down and tripped on dope. We used to call it  “a grvaity attack”. Durban Pie sure did the trick.

reminds me of what we called “somona-coma”. I sat and dozed and tripped in my chair, with the TV on, for a couple of hours. It took a long, long time to swim up through the thickness of being so stoned. It was very good, and very not too good. Been a long time since I felt like that. And it makes me smile…

Whats the line from Robert Cray’s song…                                                                           You can buy me a house, turn over the deed
Bring six pounds of California weed
But my weakness ain’t drugs, whiskey, or greed

Smiles…

730pm Pasadena time. Grace is asleep on the sofa. I’m not far away.

We started travelling yesterday, with a 4am wake up. At the airport by 7am. Our flight left about 11. We landed in LA 7am this morn local time, 12 midnight Aussie time. Total travel time was over 20 hours. The flight was good. Both Grace and I slept a bit.

But we’re time-warped.

Tomorrow will be busy. And hot. We left QLD winter and enter Cali summer. We went out for a walk, a trip to the store a while ago. Didn’t walk far but worked up a good sweat.

And the beat goes on. Always interesting to come back to the land of plenty… There is so much I forget to remember… the portions served are huge. We ordered a couple of  toasted sandwiches and could have easily shared one. Ordered pretty unremarkable cups of latte and a cuppacino, forgetting that yanks prefer brewed coffee. Next time I’ll have a standard BUNN-brewed cup of “joe”.

I’ll get my bike out tomorrow. Cook some here at home. See how long it takes to sort things out, then head off to Iowa.

And the beat goes on…

Another luvely morn here in Morosa Valley. We have just started weaning 9 calves. I think they average 3 to 400 pound/ 150-200kg each.

We ran the herd down to the yards yesterday. A gentle herd we have. They are pretty easy to move. Most times. I enjoy watching them; the stately matrons, floating like a maternal brig, navigating the pastures, complete with dangling udders. The frisky lil’uns; they scamper and play, watch you, heads lowered, prepared to dart-off. The larger calves, the weaners; much larger and much more greedy, they are big but demand much of their Dame. We need to take them away and allow the cow to build her strength, breed again.

Nine were cut aside from the others easy enough. 5 calves are still small so we ran them through the crush and checked their sexual preferences out. The heifers can run through. Two calves have testicles – mui-bad. The lil one was easy to get the bands on. The big’un put up a fight. I reckon we spent an hour-plus rassl’n with him and did not succeed to get both of his baby-nuts strangled by the band.

It was another fun, old fart on the farm experience… Joe, Angelo, Mendoza and I all running some aspect of the castration process. Joe is boss so he got the band on the spreader and is ready. Mendoza is holding the head, Angelo had the calf’s rear end held in the crush. Joe and I are in the proctologist position; I hold the tail high as Joe does the examination, both hands down between the lil’guy’s legs, feeling  around for both nuts.

The operative word is “both”. It did not happen. The lil’bastard would suck one or both up. We struggled, cursed, got shat on, knelt in the mire of piss and corruption as we fought and carried on.

Two ol farts; attempting to control, dictate terms to the cute lil calf, who argued, and kicked, and carried on. At one point I told the boys; “watch his hoof, he’ll kick me in the chest”, and sure as shit, quick as a calf, I got his right rear in my sternum. Nice to know I’m not such a wimp, it didnt stop me.

My shirt has a cute lil shitty hoop print in it.

We eventually gave up. Plan was to continue this morn.

For those of my faithful readers who have experience of cows know well how vocal a herd can be when weaning takes place. You end up with a mob of calves bellowing for their mamas. And the mamas at the gate hollering back and testing the integrity of the closures.

Its all great good fart fun n games.

big smiles

A heavy layer of fog blankets the valley this morn. If it’d been a bit colder there would have been a flash frost. But instead we get the thick blanket of fog.

It all makes the world look softer, less distinct. Less rough.

I walk out back to where a couple of my cows are making unhappy noises. I cut a few from the herd last night, thinking they are dry. I was wrong on all counts. A calf is there to meet each cow I had segregated. So much for my skills in state-of-cow-recognition.

I walk back into the property, following the herd. The young-ones canter, jump, kick and show exuberance for life. The cows have a sedate manner about them. They move slow. Matriarchal ships on the paddock. Some allow me to walk near and pet them. The big-bull, Barney, acts like a Caesar, knowing that all he sees is his. He has no competition.

The boys stayed up late last night watching world-cup footie. They remain inside. They miss this walk through the sureal.

I walk through the crisp morning air, into the fog. The low-lying areas with water are thick with vapors. I stomp through the babbling brook, tap a mamma cow on the flank as I walk past her. She looks at me as though I have taken privileges with her.

A young steer gives me an evil eye. He is wanting to test himself. Even though he’s been knacked, he still has that male-butt-heads gene. I clap my hands and he jumps then trots off.

The birds are quiet this morn. I think the temps and the fog have kept them in bed. Or maybe they too watched footie last night.

Smiles

Diary of a hobby-farmer charter1, verse1:

640am. I am up and awake and have walked about a kilometer over rough ground. I am a hobby-farmer.

C1,V2: Have one cow down on her side. For those that know anything about bovines, a cow on her side is not a good thing. In Iowa a cow on her side is considered Mui-Bad.

C1,V3: #30 still-birthed on Saturday. On Sunday she was down on here side. We helped her as much as we could but could not get her up. So I called the vets. They did their magic and probably saved her life, then, but she is still down. Vets came out again Monday and did more magic, but she is still down today, Wednesday. I have named this one “PainintheArse”.

C1,V4: So the last few days has seen us move in as New Owners, deal immediately with a dying cow, get to know the herd and the land, and settle into the leisurely life of a Hobby-Farmer. 

C1,V5: Yesterday we cut what we thought were the pregnant cows from the herd and moved them into a paddock next to the house. One lied to us and we let here go back to the herd. She was lying, the bitch. We let the wrong one out and ended up last night with one  next to the house bellowing and receiving a responding bellow from the back field where the herd was.

C1,V6: So I was outside early. Let the bellowing mama out and walked her back to be with her calf. Both were happy.

C1,V7: Its 8c outside. No wind this morn and am thankful of that. I am wearing a pair of “Musto” sailing shorts, a cotton tshirt and my drizabone vest with my bamboo-tube-scarf. And my seaotter hat. Would be dying without my hat.

C1,V8: The fields are standard thick paddocks. Lovely green grass, covered in cow pies. Small hand-sized stones litter the ground. It makes for not too difficult but not too easy traveling. I find a loose-jointed gait is best to traverse the fields. I employ all my shock absorbers in each step. Much like a walk on the deck of a rolling ship covered in grass and shit.

C1,C9: It’s about 100 meters to the “back gate. So you open the gate and let the bellowing one out, walk with her to the back fence and let here out then walk the 100 meters from the hay shed to where the down cow is. Water for the down-cow is in the hay shed. A couple of trips from fence to fence to shed to down cow and you’ve done an easy half a klick. It’s easy to walk a klick and not really get very far.

C1,V10: Its 708am and the temp is dropping. We are inside having a coffee and waiting for the sun to come up a bit. We are in a valley and the sun don’t spend too much of its time on us. But the wind is down and the kookaburras are telling the world they are happy (or horny?). In a bit we’ll be out walking into the back-40 to see what the rest of the herd is doing. Check and see if there may have been a birth overnight. Make sure all is well in cattle-land… and walk another couple klicks.

And life is good.

Another Sunday coming down. Watching the prelims of UFC 224. Won’t buy the main card but will watch the free-fights and write an update…

Golly, half of the 5th month of 2018 behind us. Damn, almost half the year gone. What have I been doing? Another month slips past. I must have been snoozing!

Not really. Been real, real busy. Been having way, way too much fun… Some visuals of this past month…

On Friday 4 May my buddy Big G and I took off from Pasadena, CA for a bit of a bike ride. G keeps his BMW R1200RT in my parking spot in Pasadena. He’d been planning a trip so I chose to jump in and tag along for a couple days. Here we are loaded and ready to ride… 

We pointed north heading for Monterey. Only about a 7 hour trip. The road was friendly. We made good time. Rode right into the city and found a friendly hotel.

The guy at the hotel gave us directions to a good place to eat. Here I am trying to decipher the map. We did not find THE Place, but we found a good meal then headed out to explore Monterey.

We walked past a basement “English Pub” and had to stop in for a couple good IPAs. 

We were up early and off northwards by 8am. Of course this route means you drive through SanFran, always a drama, but the view from the north side of the bridge always worth while… 

We next took hwy 1 north… https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BNh1z3mS2Qs&feature=youtu.be&app=desktop

We were heading to Occidental to pay Willis and Suellen Eschenbach a visit. Here we are taking a break at Point Reyes… 

By end day we were ensconced in Casa Eschenbach… 

It was great to back for a visit. Been ages and ages. Many thanks to MissEllen for her fine hospitality. And of course, big Bro Willis, always worth the time and discussion.

The next morn we rode south but split up a ways after SanFran. G continued his ride and I headed home.

My trusty Trumpet… what a machine!

Here are a couple of shots from G…

Once home (got back Thursday eve) I started catching up here. Went yesterday to watch Mendoza and Angelo play soccer. Brought Mr M home. AAA was heading out with friends. Of course, once home M needed feeding… Angus rump steak and eggplant were on the menu. He ate two of these…

And life is guuuud

More later

A brilliant Saturday morning here in QLD. Been over 3 weeks since I’ve got anything written.

I am packing for another trip to the US. Been a number of months, almost a year. Originally I was heading back for my Mother’s 91st birthday. But weather in the midwest has not been cooperative this year. Last week it was still snowing, so I am passing on an Iowa trip. I’ll go hang in Sunny So-Cal instead of visiting snow country.

I head to So-Cal, to Pasadena, with the task of packing up our apartment there. After five years we will be moving out of our great transit-pad on Cordova Ave. Its been a very useful asset. Pasadena has become a home to us, and in a funny way, the LA area has become less of a foe and much more of a friend.

So, as I procrastinate the day away – it is 920am – watching the daily blewz, drinking fresh black coffee my partner in crime and mother of my children smilingly serves me, I think about the word we live in…

Politics, wars, subjugation, terror, mass killings, social disobedience, foolishness, and basic bullshit… Hawks n Doves and boarders and refugees…

I dig the fact that the Koreas have met in the South. This is big. This is good.

I have visited Korea a couple of times for business. I enjoyed the hell out of each of my trips. So-Korea is a kick ass country filled with smiling hard-working honest open loving people. I can’t imagine the North is much different, other than they are subjugated by a dynastic family and have been terrorized and starved for over 5 decades.

One can only be optimistic for the Peoples of that lovely land.

Gracie walks around with her wireless headphones on. She is listening to SIBC radio. Perhaps, after 35 years of marriage, bliss is fresh coffee, daily newz and a set of wireless headphones?

So… I need to make a move. Have seen enough Newz. It do become redundant after a certain point.

And the beat goez on…

more later

So, another Sunday coming down post.

Only its Monday afternoon.

But it feels like Sunday.

Easterweekend. It’s one word. Like Hehasrisen. Or Gawdamnsumbitch.

Have had 8yr old Dylan and his 6yr old brother Max staying with us. It is boarding school holidays so both Angelo (AAA) and Mendoza (M) here too.

So two teens and two boys hanging. Like four pups, working out the pecking order.

Of course M and AAA are at home here. Dylan and Max have settled in pretty well. The big room we call “the dorm” has a four beds and a very sleep-able sofa. The Xbox n cable TV n AV bells n whistles are there.

On school holidays the boys are free to decompress, use bandwidth and manage their interests. I learned with my sons that some times all they want is to be left alone.

I can’t really say if I was that way when I was a teenager. I know I was surly to a degree. But I never had a choice in NOT WORKING. I always had a job or chores or some daily drudgery that I had no say in, I had to do it.

Daily, without fail or prevarication. I learned to enjoy the tasks at hand and the solitude many tasks allows. As a teenager, if I was busy no one fucked with me. No one told me what to do. I come from  a huge family. I am the middle of 9 natural-born. So I had elders n youngers n frustrated parents. Mowing the lawn was a blessing. I got to be alone.

Tho both AAA and M do a lot of work when they are here. Everything from laundry to dishes to lawns, and often babies. They do have heaps of freedom.

Dylan and Max (Terry’s sons) are both here for a visit. Its their first time.  Both are happy to hang with the bigger pups. They like netflicks. So much good viewing is like sugar, but its real good. The pool is busy a couple of hours a day. The bikes n quads n toys are out. It is still raining twice a day so not always conducive to use of the machines.

But we are doing pretty good. Look at the donut tracks in the grass.

What they all prefer is to do is what kids have done for a couple of generations… watch the tube… The dorm has two big screens so TV and Xbox running side by side.

I have now reared my sons (Thanks mostly to Gracie) and added two grandsons. So I think I am kinda good with the raising pups.

Like dogs, like pups, all you gotta do is have fun and learn the rules. Learn who is the boss, who you listen to. Learn to follow instructions. Learn to fetch.

I raise good kids and good dogs.

It is fun but it’s also challenging – again – to be having children around. See, these guys are not babies. They are lil-dudes. I had forgotten that lil-dudes are kinda fragile.

I think of my son Paul in the back seat of my mother’s car… between my elder brother Jim and my younger brother Rooster… Both the older hounds where being rough with the pup. When it got a bit rough – noting Paul has always been big and strong so I suspect Paul put an elbow into old-hound Jim’s ribs n Jim struck back and caused pain. The pup thought crying was appropriate.

Jim said “If you can’t hang with the hounds, get off the porch”.

We all laughed and the tears ended.

But it is true…

Dylan is dude-ish enough to hold his own with the big pups. When we first got to the pool I asked if he could swim. He said yes and did a nice dive into the deep end. His soccer skills are good enough to keep pace with both AAA and M, noting both are playing for the A grade soccer team at school. Soccer is one of their “things”.

Max is not yet a dude but ain’t a baby. Tho he still thinks he can get his way by breaking into tears. I just take him into the house. He can be there if things get too rough. Whats the family motto?

Wimps Need Not Apply.

And it is good. Check out the visuals…

Almost perfect. The fragrance insane!

A pot of beans n corn. I prefer to feed the boys really good meals. And I like to cook. So far no complaints or leftovers.

A mess of lasagna. Always make enough for a coupel days of reheating. 

Kuma taking Max for a walk

Splitting wood as a past time. My shoulder feeling much better so swinging the big splitting maul is fun.

The first full-log split the old skool way. Mendoza is getting right into it. It is very rewarding when you crack a big log in half with a couple wedegs. 

Old style quartering. End result are long “rails” of unfinished heart-wood. 

M whittling away on a piece heart-wood. Grobably get two nice long sticks out of this one. First step after splitting is trimming with the machete. 

End result of all this madness will be heart-wood sticks like Don’s

Which was a lot of fun to make.

Max at the Australian Zoo.

More later

March is ending.

A blazing bright bigassed moon lights the night’s sky. An impressive display… It is cloudy out but the moon breaks through the clouds and turns night into day. Pretty impressive blue worm moon.

Like they say, “once in a blue moon”. In fact, for 2018, this is twice in the blue moon, in 3 months… pretty impressive.

I’m sitting with the boys watching old movies.

It’s a lazy day for me. I am still recovering from Sheena’s elbows of doom… https://fbmt.simplybook.me/index/about

So I slept late, did a lil-bit of yard work in the midmorn then hung with the boys, watched TV, ate leftovers n achieved little. Gracie went out so it was rather male oriented, meaning we did little other than watch the tube n eat.

I got a bit productive this afternoon and tried out a new idea for physical training. With my shoulder getting better I am going to start working out again. Rather than pumping iron I have decided I am going to start splitting wood.

I am sure you have heard about the 7min high intensity workout, and the upside down brazilian workout… but not the splitting wood workout????

You start with a big arsed log of hard word and start whacking steel wedges into it… 

We use a couple different hammers n sledges and mauls. Swinging a big maul is good for my shoulder… so you use the big one and the little one and even a smaller hatchet and three small wedges. It’s kinda cool.

If you whack it right, and enough you split the log…

It’s rather fulfilling to use basic mechanics to split a several hundred kilo log in half. Mendoza came out and played with me. He thought it was cool… So we split another “rail” off the log. As we go we’ll reduce the log to a number of rails.

Why you may ask… why not is my reply.

And I’ll turn this luvely dense hardwood log into  few handmade canes… this is one I mae last year… 

I sent this one to my odl friend mr DV… he likes it a lot… 

Pumping iron or splitting wood… it’s all good fun and great exercise and for my shoulder.And I end up with a big arsed log all split up. Makes sense to me.

Been raining a lot. The garden is gorgeous… I reckon this to be as close to perfection as you can get…

and life is good…

9am QLD time. I watch the BlueZ and consider the coming day.

Weather here in QLD has been fickle of late. A week of rain and cool temps. Now hot n humid n weather filled days. One can feel the weather building up.

The property looks great. Lush and green and bursting as the seasons change.

The world appears to be in a funk. Still. The Russians rattling their nuclear sword. The US jumping like a trained dog in response.

The winter olympics came and went without much impact.

Obama and Hillary still lipping off about the unfairness of their election fixing not working. I gotta ask here… do folks out there still think the political arena is a nice friendly fair and honest place? When are we going to wake up to the misleading lying nature of the beast?

I listened to a guy speak  who I think made a lot of sense… check out: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walter_E._Williams

Also been looking at the stars…

Here are some shots from Cassini at Saturn. I think they are mind blowing… https://www.google.com.au/search?q=cassini+photos+of+saturn&tbm=isch&source=iu&ictx=1&fir=Ur-9UzIh1BII3M%253A%252CPzmNqvnXzRuHXM%252C_&usg=__FkRyYle4FAxvRNqFayrHJ9UgFDE%3D&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiS9p3mpdHZAhVLObwKHfHpDIIQ9QEIOjAB#imgrc=Ur-9UzIh1BII3M:

And life is good.

There is a certain type of tired that comes after a couple of days of adventure, No matter sea or flatland or mountains or rolling plains, if you go out a’venturing for any appreciable time you come home exhausted.

But, once again, the Arnavons do impress…

Lets see… Its right on noon, Thursday the 8th. We took off from Gizo 6pm Monday the 5th. I may not make it far with this edition of “fools in paradise”. Am floaty like you get after a prolonged period at sea. My equilibrium is still swaying to the rhythm of the briny-blue. My muscles are sore to wore-out from the unaccustomed use n abuse. My skin is shiny n soft from the days drenched in seasalt. As I write I am feeling my eyes droop and my head nod. My fingers are not very cooperative.

I am dead tired. I doubt I’ll get this posted today. Once I go down I shall probably not wake for a number of hours. And I do look forward to it. But there is a problem…

My bunk, all the bunks n benches onboard, have been tore up. We covered everything with salt n grime during the journey so I insisted on cleaning before anything else. Abraham wasn’t too happy at first but now, after it’s all done, he gets the picture. I shall lay a sheet on the cushions and crash out very soon. I helped him make his bunk so he can crash when he is ready.

I have been back in Gizo since 6am. We had ICE safely tied up and hooked to shore power, with aircons running by 630am. By 7am we were at San Bis for eggsnbacon. By 8 Abraham and I were back hosing the boat down and cleaning the interior. It is amazing how dirty your gear gets when used and abused for a couple of days running.

I tore all the sheets and seat covers off, got my few days of dirty clothes (plus Aba’s) all bundled n ready to run up the hill to the house. I wiped all the interior decks n tables n handholds down. Abraham swabbed the exterior decks and rails and windows. By 11 we were running up the hill where we dropped the clothes off to be washed and had long nice hot showers that felt grand. I played with gorgeousgrannygirls Dawn and Vera a bit then came home before I nodded off.

All in all it does not really sound like much, this lil voyage we just did. It does not sound like much does it? Only 60 hours or 2.5 days…

Monday eve we headed north-northwest, along the west side of Kolombangara. Onboard we had Hans, Proprietor of San Bis resort, long time brother and adventuring buddy. His mate, Goran, an Aussie immigrant from the Bosnian wars. My 18yr old grandson, Abraham, and myself.

As one does, whilst packing the Winnebago, we loaded way too much. One would have thought we were off for weeks, not days. On board we had… 4doz eggs, 3 packs pasta, frozen home-made pasta sauce. 4 packs savoury crackers, a ctn of coke, sprite, fanta, 3 crates of solbrew, 4 packs UHT milk, instant and good coffee, 4 loaves bread, plus assorted condiments and munchie stuff.

We return home with the eggs, we gave most of the bread and some of the beer to the game wardens on the Island. Half the soft drinks came back, but not much beer.

Also we loaded fishing gear and 4 full sets of dive equipment. We ended up using neither.

Of course the departure night is always a party. We drank and laughed and took selfies and generally had a good time anticipating the fun and games to be had.

It was a beautiful eve to be heading-out.

I forgot to mention that we strapped a 21footlong alloy runabout with a 40hp engine to the davits on the stern of ICE. ICE is only 15footwide so the little boat stuck out some 6foot from the port side of ICE.

Between 6pm and maybe 1am all was rosy. Then we hit a strange swell, running NW to SE, but winds were blowing from SSE. It made for a sloppy sea which forced us to attempt adjustments on our davit system. Numerous times.

All was not rosy as we turned the deck lights on, manned the winches, and hassled with the dern alloy boat as it banged and slid n got slapped by waves. We eventually got it up out of the seas. Retied it with terrible knots we knew we’d have to cut to get undone. It was a chore. But then we don’t go to sea to be safe n sound n warm and dry.

Stay in bed if you want safe n sound n warm n dry. Not I, says the intrepid mariner. Not I!

It’s about here that my well-known propensity for seasickness got me good. I managed to help sort the boat out but as soon as we were in control I was down on the deck, flat on my back. I have learned that if I lie flat and press my back to any hard surface I can oft-times control my illness. I have heard that NASA dudes learned this in space, instead of taking dopy-drugs to ease the illness, you wedge your back into a tight, hard space, which supposedly settles your inner ear disturbance.

It worked a lil bit, but not 100%. I was a bit too far gone. But I delayed the inevitable RRRaulphing over the side by a few hours.

A funny thought… no matter what language you speak, no matter what accent you have, we all sound the same when we rrraulph.

So where are we? 1 – 2am. All drenched to the skin. Me lying flat behind the wheel house. Abraham down for a snooze. Hans and Goran standing watch.

I woke (came-to) about 4am. Goran was down snoozing and Hans was in command, noticeably fatigued. Things were a bit rocky but I got up and had a bottle of water n tried to maintain my weary innards. I think I even chugged a coke to put some calories in me.

Eventually Hans went down for a snooze. I sat at the helm and watched the GPS screen mark our slow progress. The sky was brightening and I had a horizon to try to fix my gaze upon. The seas were sloppy.

Somewhere along the line Goran came up. I gave him the chair and laid down on a bench in the wheelhouse. We chatted a bit. He dozed. The auto-pilot was working well so I watched the screen as the dark seas shook n bounced us about.

This is when I lost the plot… moving as quickly as the rolling deck allowed, I got to the side door only to find Goran had reclined the chair, I had to slip in past him, out the door and to the rail in order to feed the fishies. Goran woke as I jostled his chair while gagging back a big chunder. I made it to the rail and spent then next hour or so hanging over, initially spewing a nice bubbly-headed stream of easy on the throat vomit, which of course quickly became those terribly, gut wrenching dry heaves we all know and do not love.

When I got back in Goran gave me the chair ( I doubt he trusted me not to puke over his shoulder) so I alternated watching the helm and dry-heaving over the side. I moved the chair so my exit was easily negotiated.

Dawn was dawning as we pulled towards the western passage of the Manning Strait. We had to navigate through easy but shallowish waters so I gave Hans a hoy.

9am saw us arriving at the anchorage. By 930 we were anchor-down and engine-off, genset on and aircon blowing. We dropped the boat and the conservation officers from shore came out and had  a chat with us. We tidied up then hit the bunks.

I woke about 1. Goran was up. We hopped in the boat and went ashore.

I had forgotten how magnificent these islands are. The beach is the softest white-powder-sugar sand you’ll ever see. I wrote about the Arvavons many years ago… I’ll chase that tale down and tag it here when I find it.

I still stand by my original impressions and descriptions. It is a special place.

So we hung out, the boys went fishing but caught nothing,  then out to see the turtles hatch. I did little but swim in the clean, clean waters, marvel at my surroundings and enjoyed the beauty and serenity of this very special place.

After looking at weather reports and thinking clearly we decided to pull anchor a day early. So on Wednesday about noon we reslung the little boat. Much more securely than 1st time. And headed home.

It may sound foolish to do a run for so short a visit. And it probably is. But the main aim of this trip was to use ICE. I wanted to make sure the systems were up and running without fault. Wanted to proof the vessel, make sure all was A-OK.

And ICE performed like a champ. Never a hiccough or a cough. All was grand.

I slept most of that day, Wednesday. Came on watch about 10pm.

Entering a harbour at night is never easy. Entering a harbour lined with coral is dangerous. So we did it slow and easy. Lots of yelling an noise n miscommunication but thats par for the course.

And here I sit. The day after. I didn’t sleep a lot yesterday. Spent the eve with the babes on the hill, had a nice meal and read before sleep. Woke slow and sluggish this morn. My body aches, but in a good way. A boat makes you younger, stronger, better. The sea heals things. Clears the head. Invigorates the body.

Time to go get the laundry and put the boat back together before I fly off in the morn.

And life is grand,

Hanging in the land of sea and air and dark-skinned smiles… It is very good.

Sunday morn here. Kinda slow n quiet. I spent the night at San Bis. Slept in a mossy net, under a leaf roof in the rain. With the sea gurgling under my house. It was very, very nice.

Got up and buzz’d over here to do some cleaning on ICE. All done, got coffee n music going. My new fan does not make more noise than the stereo. Kinda nice.

Spent the last few days chasing a phantom electrical fault. The answer ended up pretty simple… we went and got the guy that jury rigged it in the first instance. All is well now. I am very pleased.

We plan to take her out this afternoon and sea-trial a bit. If all well we will pull ropes n steam north to the Arnavons tomorrow.

The sky is slate-blue. It is hot n humid out. I run an aircon onboard ICE so below decks is always very pleasant. Not else in being uncomfortable if you have the means to chill thing out.

Some picts of the week…

Dawnie n I having lunch at the Gizo Hotel…

Watching the Blues Brothers at San Bis…

And life is good…

Except for the funkadelic fuel system onboard ICE…