Concerning flight, part deux

Oh, btw, you can click on the aerial shots below for bigger files. Thank gods for SLRs.

Anyways, also concerning flight, we had a local real estate company branch offering free balloon rides the other day:


The kids liked it for sure.


And, being the wannabe newshound I am, I got in line too.

Rather proud of this one:


Adios!

Concerning flight

Working the weekend sucks.

In my case, I was working last weekend. And, while I did get to meet Michael Ignatieff, I had to do so in sweltering thirty-something degree weather. Outside, the entire day, too. Canada's one of those weird countries where you eagerly anticipate the summer until the exact moment it arrives. Then, in my case at least, you beg for fall.

Still, I was working, so after the shindig at the Town Square, I made a beeline for the airport, where they were having a small fly-in of private aircraft owners.

That's when I saw this thing:


There must be some proper name for it involving numbers and letters of dubious meaning, but the pilot called it a training glider. It's pulled behind a single-prop plane until it's airborne and, once it's aloft, a simple pull of a switch cuts it loose, allowing it to glide gracefully back to earth.

Irritated by the heat, mindful I'm not paid extra for working the weekend, and seeing no reason why I can't have any fun on the job, I strapped myself in.

The supervisor, standing safely with both feet on the ground, warned me to keep an eye on the cadet pilot seated behind me.


Lieutenant Hamm, he said, was a little inexperienced, so if I notice the glider tilting a bit to the side, just point it out, and he'll probably be able to level it off again.

It wasn't until the cockpit hatch was shut around me and the tow plane was about ready to roll that Lt. Hamm, of the Canadian Forces' Cadet Instructor Cadre, leaned forward and informed me, actually, he's been an instructor for four years, with seven years flight experience before that, and his boss was just being a dick.

So up we went.


That's Chatham, the downriver half of Miramichi. You can see the Centennial Bridge across the river just there. I can see it from my apartment window, and my pad is just slightly to the left of where the bridge touches down in Chatham.

Across the river is Douglastown. Basically, the mall district.

It's a shame I don't have any shots of Newcastle, the upriver half and Chatham's mortal enemy. It's nicer up close, but Chatham's got more striking landmarks, like the bridge and St. Michael's Basilica:


Check out that graveyard. Nice bit of prime real estate right in one of the hearts of the city.

Here's the exhibition grounds, where the CNE and a couple of summer concerts call home:


And, for something completely different, here's the ultramar fuel depot.


Reason I include this somewhat boring shot is to hammer home the fact this city is really spread out. With a population of maybe 17,500 (and dropping), it covers a huge area. Parts of the city which are firmly within city boundries are just completely forested, like above. Most of it, in fact. Even places like this ultramar station, in Bushville neighbourhood, are as far from the city limits as can be.

This city's got a lot of potential. Shame about the economy.

Speaking of which, here's a shot of what is probably going to be the largest structure in town ... if it's ever built:


That's going to be a giant metal fabrication facility to built steel girders for the Deh Cho Bridge over the MacKenzie River in the Northwest Territories.

It's owned by Atcon. I don't want to talk about it, so I'll move on.

Another great asset this city has is the Miramichi Airport:


It's got easily the longest runway in Atlantic Canada, and was the heart of CFB Chatham, which closed in 1994. We have the national gun registry in Miramichi because the feds needed to compensate the community for its loss.

Great airport...except the airport commission treats it like Fort Knox. Don't want to talk about that either.

Here's an aerial shot of some of the planes that made it in for the fly-in:

And so that was my day out. As far as weekend assignments go, it could have been worse.

Bigwigs

So, for a remote part of a small province, the north's been getting a lot of attention, and Miramichi in particular.

First was the Prime Minister's visit in February. Then we got a couple visits from the premier.

And, thanks to the ongoing World Acadian Congress, we got a couple more special visitors, starting with this person you may be familiar with:


Mme. Jean had a sort of simpering quality about her that I didn't know what to make of, and she was always smiling. But she's a good speaker, that's for sure. Oh, and she took the opportunity (She was in Tracadie-Sheila, up the bay from us) to reveal to all and sundry that her great-great-great-great-great Grand-dad was an Acadian deportee from way back. Boy, that went over great. They're still talking about it.

That was last Thursday. Then on Saturday, we had this guy:


Michael frikkin' Ignatieff, the leader of the opposition, here in Miramichi, waving the Acadian flag and ringing the bell for the great Tintamarre, the part of Acadian Day where everybody makes as much noise as they can, with a few instances of "vive l'Acadie!" thrown in.

He seemed okay at ease, and sounded in person remarkably like Leonard Nimoy when not playing Spock. Oddly, his PR person, talking privately with me and the guy from the Times, said he was pretty shy, it's his wife who's the massive extrovert.

We interviewed him, of course, but we didn't really use any of it, aside from some nice things he said about Acadians and anglo New Brunswickers working together.

He brought an entourage with him:

You may recognize Dominic LeBlanc on the left, in the remarkably unflattering novelty Acadian tie. The other guy is an MP from northern NB, Jean-Claude d'Amours. They seemed nice enough, although Dominic was a little baffled when a local volunteer firefighter accosted him about the city supposedly conspiring to steal his fire hall.

Ah. Small town politics.

Irish pride

I wish I was Irish.

That's nothing new. Everyone wishes they were Irish, whether they admit it or not.

For the most part, it's more a vague longing for such a famously laid back, funloving culture. It surfaces once or twice a year, usually around St. Paddy's Day, or whenever one of my old roommates took it into their heads to dig out a copy of Boondock Saints (I don't care what anybody says, that's one of the greatest movies ever made).

This year, though, I've actually identified a specific Irish clan to try weasel my way into, Clan Barry. Here's why:


There's just no possible way that's their actual slogan, but I think it's something we can all get behind.

That shot's from the families parade. Basically everyone in Miramichi with an Irish surname (i.e.: All of them) sends a group to one of the high schools, then they march around town before heading to the arena for an afternoon of Irish music and Gaelic mingling.

It's like Carnaval, only with less dancing and only slightly less skin.



Guh. Talk about giving Irish "pride" a new meaning. The things I put up with for the public good.

Some things were less offensive to look at.



From car accidents, to Journalism School lessons, to small-town Irish parades, puppies make everything better. Sweets too, and these three kids were among the most popular:




And to give you a general idea of how bloody Irish things were, we had like three of these things kicking around:



And, of course, there was always a few special guests lying around, like the lieutenant governor and the premier, all decked out in his green tie:



As far as weekend assignments go, it wasn't too bad. My one regret? Not being able to get shitfaced when a bunch of my workmates turned up and had at 'er. Stupid work. Stupid Irish.

Ah, who am I kidding? The Irish are awesome.