Had a few bigwigs this summer. For a small, out of the way town, we sure get a lot of vote-seekers.

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First, the big man.


Prime Minister Stephen Harper, beside Miramichi's MP Tilly O'Neill-Gordon, made his second appearance on the Miramichi, announcing a new centralized federal payroll centre in the city. Estimated jobs are past the 500 range, by 2016. I'm not holding my breath, personally. 2016 is far away, and a lot can happen.

This shot was taken behind the Rodd Miramichi hotel, and was the result of about four days' worth of haggling and cajoling both the PMO and the local MP's office for an exclusive photo, on account of being local media. The reporter from the Times got in on it too, and got the same shot as me. He and I were clandestinely ushered through, and warned not to ask any questions.

There was a Q&A after the announcement, but you had to get your name on a list. I wasn't called.

But I could live with that. I got my exclusive shot, despite the fact another reporter had it.

After all the trouble he and I went through to get that shot, his paper didn't use it. They used some dumb shot of him at some historical site near Fredericton, King's Landing or something, with some folks in period dress. Not half as impressive as having the iconic Centennial Bridge as a backdrop.

We're all still scratching our heads over that one.

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And, about the time we got a visit from the robot, the alien decided to drop in too:


The Liberal leader, Michael Ignatieff, stopped by the Miramichi on his cross-Canada bus tour. If the bus broke down, nobody told me. With him is his wife, Zsuzsana Zsohar.

He was easier to talk to for media than Stevo was. Nothing out of the ordinary there. The opposition's only real job in any democracy is to criticize government policy and tell the media about it. If Iggy ever gets in, I'll never see him again.

Aside from the usual Liberal rallies, he did some paddlin' on the river in a replica voyageur canoe, and attended the folksong festival that was going on that day.

I snapped this shot of him and his wife in an unguarded moment. The politician looked like a human being. It was sweet.

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Election campaigns in the Miramichi sometimes involve armoured military vehicles.


Clambering about on top of the multi-million dollar piece of defense hardware is then-Premier Shawn Graham. He'd been made a campaign promise in the park in Newcastle, and then took the usual photo op at the main plant of the defense contractor in town, DEW Engineering.

Haha, I'm sorry, I just love how my town actually has a defense contractor. Priceless!

Graham went on to lose the election, along with three of the four Liberal MLAs in the area.

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He lost it to this guy, David Alward, head of the Progressive Conservatives.

That's him below, being accosted by a supporter during a Newcastle appearance.


As always, whilst in opposition, it was the easiest thing in the world to get ahold of him. If a little frustrating. I've heard him among supporters, and he sounds in real life like he's pretty easy-going. Then the microphones comes out and he tries too hard to be a formal, sloganeering politician.

Politically, I know too much about either party to have a preference one way or another, but I hate it when the people I'm quoting sound like they've given a good deal of time and thought about how they want to be quoted.

And this has been the latest episode of the Miramichi whistlestop tour.

A great feat of engineering

In civilization's millennia-long history, mankind has often turned his superior brain to the great task of engineering.

Unlike our animal cousins, we have developed the ability to mould creation into any shape we desire, transforming nature's raw fabric into a new form that will help our species move ever onward and upward.

I'm talking, of course, about the pumpkin cannon.


I've mentioned it before, but I don't think I'd ever posted a shot of it.

Basically, the Association of Professional Engineers and Geoscientists of New Brunswick made it, with the help of one of the local metal fab companies in town. It uses a burst of compressed air to lob a small pumpkin almost clear across the river, aiming at a small floating target.


I mean, jesus, somebody put time, effort, money and tender loving care into creating this thing! It's just plain awesome, and I wish I had one.

They only trot it out once a year, during September's Pumpkin Fest. Kids of all ages can buy a pumpkin for five bucks and tell the gunner the PSI and angle they want to use. Can't remember what they get if they actually hit the target. Me, I'd accept a free shot as a reward.

Some of the kids had realistic expectations from the freakin' giant air cannon.


Others were more eager. The lad below had to be restrained by both the gunner and his mum from turning the epic little valve before he was supposed to.


It fills my heart with sadness to know that, after the day was over, they just wheeled it back into the shed for another year.

Brraaaaaiiiiins!

The fall is moose season in New Brunswick, so part of my weekend assignment was to head down to the local DNR office, where I was treated to a vision of hunters bringing in nature's felled bounty, tied proudly to the back of their trucks.

Also, brains.

Observe:


The baggie being held up to the camera by young Ms. Legere, a grad student at the University of New Brunswick, contains a moose brain.

Well, half of one. The skull cavity on one of them things is pretty tough, and the little buzzsaw she carries around barely mananged the job of slicing it open enough to get the top half out.

The hunters let her keep the head for later, though, which I thought was rather generous.

The reason she wants the moosine grey matter is for her research into brain parasites, a common problem in the moose population around here. She did not seem squeamish about the whole thing.

I just included this because I figured running into a brain-toting grad student while out on assignment is worth writing about. It's like an omen from the gods, or something.

She was the only one doing scientific things to the beasties, though. The rest of the folks that were there were doing the usual hunting things, like below.


And that was moose season.

Lookin' good.

Those who know me, know me as a generally civilized man who nevertheless is not famous for dressing neatly, and who views shaving as some kind of illuminati plot, and avoids the practice as a matter of course.

Regardez, then, the one time when I have been better dressed than I ever shall be again.


I was in the wedding party for a bloke who is like a brother, and he honoured me by asking me if I'd be in the wedding party. I obliged, and was lucky to have a front row seat when the good man married a good woman in sight of the gods, perched on a cliff with an awesome view of the South Shore of Nova Scotia.

Figured no one would believe I could look that civilized, so here's pictographic evidence. Enjoy.

Mud fest!

Needless to say, I've had a long time to make peace with the fact I'm up to my neck in redneck country.

Driving home that fact was a recent weekend assignment that saw said rednecks up to their necks in something else.

Behold: Mudfest.


Dozens of these fine folks signed up for what can best be described as the four-wheeler Olympics, with an added dash of the totally non-sexy type of mud wrestling (i.e.: With ATVs, not bikini-clad spring-breakers).

No such bout would be complete without the wheelie competition, of which the gentleman below was the obvious master.


Dirt bikes, too. They had those, because when your event involves sunburnt rural dwellers mucking about with ATVs, there's logical steps that must be taken.

Besides, they were pretty damned good.



The mounds and police tape they're leaping so spectacularly over is part of the main mud-fest course. After the boring stuff like high-speed races and righteous wheelies, there was still the obstacle course, including a big long stretch where contestants had to drive their machines through a long mud trench.


It was man versus mud, a titanic battle of wills and wits that saw some claim immortal victory, while others sputtered into bogged-down impotence, or flirted with it anyway.


Note what it says on his shirt. I swear, if you're putting one of these on, at least be able to stay on your own damned machine.

Still, he made it, in time for the grand finale.

The first picture in this set is from one courageous ATVer who had the balls to brave the Great Mud Pit. But, you see, the good people of the Miramichi are kind, upstanding folk who value the future, and see the young'uns of the community as the generation that will carry their banner into said future.

So they let the kids have a go at the Pit first. Before testing it was the right depth, of course.


"Yep. She's good. Nice and toasty, too."

And then, kids being kids, and with an organizer waving an enticing $20 on the other side, it was full speed ahead.


And damn right. As I watched the carnival of mud splashes, I laughed at the rubes I find myself trapped with.

And, at the back of my head, tucked away somewhere, was the faint feeling that, somehow, my childhood had been missing a few things.

Like a mud bog.

Best of June

Here's the best of the month of June, late on account of me going on a kick-ass vacation. Slim pickings this month, but a couple shots of note.

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This boat below? Made entirely of cardboard.

Even the paint used for the outer hull is specifically designed and chosen for its lightness. This guy is from out of town and hopes to make an annual cardboard boat race out of these contraptions.

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This is a neat shot of a special Olympics bowler from just of the bay, in Neguac.


Terribly shy, but didn't mind the pictures being taken. Had to basically crouch in the gutter for this one.

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Love this one, taken at an evening practice between young kids and members of the Chatham Junior Ironmen. I got down on my belly on the grass to grab this shot. Nice angle and plenty of depth.

Rock Star

So Justin Trudeau turned up here the other day.


There he is with two of the horde of followers that turned up to greet him as he arrived in town for a talk, on the way to a youth event elsewhere in the north.

Detail: These two ladies buggered off after having their picture taken. Seems they were less interested in listening to his call for renewing Canadian politics and more interested in ogling his six-odd foot of manly, chiseled hotness.

And such hotness.


Yes. I am man enough to admit it. Justin Trudeau is hot. Good speaker, too. But mostly hot.

Seriously, look at this guy! Son of one of Canada's greatest Prime Ministers, and he turns up in jeans, a casual shirt, friggin' boots and a scarf. Also, great hair. Lovely, lovely hair.

The Tories must hate him. Lookswise, they got nothin'.

And, boy, was it like a rock concert in there. Took him ten minutes just to get to the podium, stopping to shake a hand here, pose for a picture there. It was like a cult.


Me? I was less impressed. Everyone saw Canada's next prime minister. I saw a good-looking, 38-year-old ex-teacher with a famous dad and two years of experience as an MP under his belt. Let him come back in five or seven years, with more experience in the cavernous abyss of grungy politics that is the House. Then I might be impressed.