Canada Day/Rock n Roll Fireworks

The city is usually too cheap to do Canada Day fireworks, so the Rock n Roll festival usually obliges.

Here's some shots, taken with a Nikon D70s on a tripod. Enjoy.








That is all.

The dark side of the bridge

I'm not the cops reporter, but I happened to be on the right side of the river when the call came: Someone jumped off the Centennial Bridge.

We knew it was suicide from the beginning. It's really hard to just randomly fall from the bridge. My first ever suicide.

By the time I got there (it was just around the corner from my house), the cops were everywhere.


I'd covered a few deaths by this time, including a very memorable stretch last summer where it seemed every time I was on for the weekend, somebody died.


The water was choppy that day, and it was expected they'd have to search the entire length of the river down to the bay before they'd find any sign of him.


It was a recovery operation by that point, of course. Nobody was talking about finding the guy alive. At that height, jumping into the water would have been like falling onto a concrete parking lot.


The reason I'm even writing about this is just for a sense of what it's like to watch the police search a river for a drowned man. As any reporter who might read these knows, we almost never publish suicides. But it's a small town. Everybody knew about it within a couple of hours.

The boss argued we'd have to publish something, due to the simple fact people would be rushing to the paper on Monday only to find nothing at all. I agreed, but I couldn't help remembering my "no suicides" training, and wanting on some level to make the story go away.

The higher-ups' response was blunt. We killed the story. A morning's work gone, but that's how it is sometimes.


For non reporters: One of the reasons we don't report on suicides is because it may spark copycats. And before that day was out, we heard through the grapevine at least one person had freaked out and tried taking their own life.

So there's definitely something to it.

Meet the press

Premier David Alward, undergoing what may be the easiest media interview he'll ever suffer.


Alward was just in town for a tour of one of the local elementary schools. The young lady is a "student reporter" who helps produce their weekly newscast. They're actually pretty advanced.

Alward's apparently okay with kids, but tends to become slightly too "official" with media. Not this interview, though. He was obviously enjoying himself.

Ice out.

Every year I include a shot of the Miramichi's ice sheet in ruins, with mostly awesome open water.


It may not be much to most folks, but I live in the Maritimes: The winters are long, and the frozen river is a symbol of the long season. Including a picture of the last remnants of it is part of the spring ritual, a reminder that we have half a year or more to enjoy the open river.

Just how I cope with it. And to think I grew up in Africa and Brazil.

The big day

So I finally filed my application for permanent residence in Canada. That date was three years and three days after I first moved back to the Maritimes.

As you can imagine, it took some doing. Here's a shot of all the paperwork, courtesy of my buddy Lucas:


That took, like months to gather. Years, for some, thanks to insufferable delays by my company for some of the stuff I needed, not to mention a couple paperwork scares I'd really rather not talk about, even though they were sorted out.

Basically everything from Brazilian translated and notarized police clearance certificates (boy, those were fun. Thanks mum...), degree copies, English language proficiency tests (I don't want to talk about it), exact-spec headshots, reams of forms and addenda, and so on.

But it's in there now. In a couple of months, they'll either send me a letter telling me its in processing, or send it back because I forgot to dot an "i" somewhere. They do that.

But even if the latter happens, barring any heartless immigration officers, it should only be a matter of time now.

And now onto a year or so of ... more waiting.


(If I look scruffy and tired, it's because it was a Tuesday and I'd been up since 5:30 a.m.)

I wish I was a refugee. I'd have had straight-up citizenship, like, yesterday if I'd just had the sense to be born in a strife-torn third-world basketcase, rather than to two loving parents who raised me in good, mostly stable countries.

Aerial winter shots

In another example of the unexpected perks of the job, the pond hockey tournament had to be held at the Miramichi Airport this year due to poor ice at the lagoon at French Fort Cove. Airport means airplane rides, means another selection of aerial shots. Here we go.

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The former town of Chatham, where I live:


As always, the dominant landmark is the Centennial Bridge, while the single largest structure, St. Michael's Basilica, is also pretty prominent.

Here's a shot of the basilica itself, along with the snow-covered graveyard behind it:


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Over to the former village of Douglastown, notable mainly for its Wal-Mart, malls district and the new office of the Miramichi Leader:


To put it into perspective: Our last digs were in a former industrial building on the airport formerly used for drying out parachutes after military exercises. With poor heating.

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French Fort Cove:


Usually the home of pond hockey tournament, it was pristine this season. I still think there was thick enough ice to host it. Then again, I was born in subtropical Africa and spent most of my teenage years in Brazil. I'm prepared to admit I may not know much about ice.

The airport location seems to have worked out for the best:


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Over in the former town of Newcastle, here's the town square:


The orange-roofed building at around five o' clock to the square is city hall, the place where I spend most of my Monday nights. Rest assured, I will need extensive therapy to recover from that experience when I finally get out of here.

Newcastle had its share of industry before this marvellous town's total economic collapse, as seen in this shot of the partially demolished former UPM millsite.


The locals are still pissed its being demolished. Miramichiers have trouble letting things go.

A grand day out, all 'round. And on the company's dime, no less. I figure the least they owe me after three years of toil is a free plane ride.

So I took this satellite shot of Miramichi Bay from space, 'cos I take the odd jaunt up there from time to time:


Actual explanation: The boss is from a fishing community up the bay, and a lot of the fishermen were complaining the ice was taking too long to form this year. So she sent me, her good little terrier, to write about it.

My quest led me to MODIS, whence the picture came, and the Canadian Ice Service (I was ashamed to find I was surprised we have that), who told me it's the least amount of ice in the gulf since, like, the 1970s.

Mainly included this 'cos I love aerial shots, and so you can see where I live in the winter. Miramichi Bay is clearly visible in the shot, maybe two thirds the way up. You can clearly see the long, white bands of the Miramichi River, where it breaks into two inland. To the east, across the iceless strait, is the eastern edge of Prince Edward Island.

Aaaaand, that's my frigid Maritime wasteland.