Missing

This one has been photoshopped to make it suitable for print, so it seems grainier than the original file.


Had to set the ISO to max, kill the flash and take 50 shots in the hope of getting one where the camera shake didn't blurry it beyond use.

Came out nice. But it's a strange thing to be proud of.

It's at a candlelight vigil for Hilary Bonnell. At the time of this writing, she's been missing for around three weeks. Went to a party on one of the local first nations (she's native, but lives in Miramichi), then never was seen again. Last anyone saw of her was a surveillance video from, like 7 am the next day, walking along the highway past a convenience store at the entrance to the reserve.

All this time, everyone on that reserve is swearing sideways they think she's alive. Cops too. But the area has been searched over and over again, and extended beyond it. She could be anywhere now.

By a conjunction of the fates, three of us had to cover this over three days. One on the Thursday, when we went down first. Then he had the day off, so another of us went Friday. Finally, I was on that weekend, so I went down, heard of the vigil, then went down again in the evenings to grab a shot. We needed something the dailies didn't have, and it's an image of hope and waiting, rather than a shot of Hilary's tearful parents and stepfather at a press conference, begging her supposed kidnapper to return her.

Had to talk to the parents. Took awhile before we were let near, and mostly I listened. It's messed up. Her mum's total wreck. They're basically living in a holiday trailer by the fisheries building on the reserve where the search is being coordinated from, just so they can be as close as possible.

At the vigil that evening I was there, amidst the firelight and honour songs and prayers in English, French and Mi'kmaq, I could see the mum, rocking back and forth and holding herself. I can't imagine what she must have been going through. Still is.

Hope they find the girl, one way or another.

The joys of rural reporting

Observe:

The gentleman below is Leon Bremner. He owns several tractor dealerships. Yes. Tractor dealerships.

This pic was taken at the grand opening of his newest one, on Route 11 a stone's throw away from the city limits. It was, of course, a big deal in a rural county like this.

I happen to like this one. But as I stood there, in a rare hot day, snapping shots of this man and his tractor, his shiny new mechanized conveyance, I came to a realization.

I was covering the opening of a tractor store. On a saturday. And it was a big deal.

Truly ... I am in exile.

That's all I have to say about that. Moving right along...

Another dispatch from the twilight zone

So last week, premier Shawn Graham skipped out on some high profile events in Freddy that evening to go to Sunny Corner, a small local service district just upriver of the city, to hand out some funds to one of the local legions.

Said he wanted to honour the legion, given his background with them when he was younger and involved in sport. More like he wanted to avoid someone in the capital, but hey, the veterans were grateful.

So I'm waiting outside for Graham to emerge ... when public safety minister John Foran comes up to me.

You have to understand: The honourable Mr. Foran is a very large man. He's past six feet. And, without being too uncharitable, he's also a bit on the big side.

So he looms over me, peers down at me with a big, boyish grin on his face and says, with the enthusiasm of an eager child, "Hey dan-YELL...me and the premier are going to an abattoir after. Wanna come?"

Sweet jesus, it was like I'd stepped into a scene from some Mafia movie.

So I followed their cars, got to the slaughterhouse, but one of the workers' brothers was hospitalised that day, so they only stayed long enough for me to grab the shot.

Left to right is premier Shawn Graham, local MLA and public safety minister John Foran and Earl Sutherland, the owner of what is possibly the only slaughterhouse in the Miramichi.

I felt awful about the pic ... Foran looks like he's thinking about eating the damned thing. But it was the best art we had that day, so onto A1 it went.

Some of the comments were awesome, though.

Still...it stands as the weirdest assignment in recent memory.

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.