Couched ... on my new couch

Welp. After more than a year of struggling to get comfortable on that blasted $100-click-clack I got when I went back into exile, I figured it was high time I got myself a new couch. A real one with, like, proper cushions and everything:

Behold!

As the picture suggests, it is most comfy.

The Southwest Miramichi

I was working the weekend recently down in Derby, when it struck me it was a nice bloody day, so on the way back to town, I stopped and took a couple shots. Enjoy:

Basically, the Miramichi River is fed by the Southwest and Northwest Miramichi, both of which meet more or less where the city starts.

I figured I'd put the pictures up, but the truth is, you had to be there.

I'm sure it's not the prettiest river in Canada, but I'm pretty sure it's up there.

The bridges of Northumberland County

Maybe it's because I come from a family of engineers, or maybe because I just really loved playing with Lego growing up, but I have this odd fascination with bridges. Which is most fortuitous ... given how many of the sodding things there are in Northumberland County.


Comes with the territory, I suppose. The mighty Miramichi river bisects the city and the county all the way down to Boiestown, with Fredericton not too far beyond.

When lumber and forestry was still the backbone of the region, you needed as many rail bridges as regular bridges to keep everything going, here and there as you travel along the Southwest Miramichi. Some are just completely abandoned now, like the one below.


Others still see use.


This, the Anderson bridge, is the link across the SW Miramichi that'll get you from the city to Fredericton, passing through a whole whackload of weird villages and rural communities along the way.

On a sunny fall or spring day, the drive is always beautiful.

Aaaaand that's all I got to say about bridges for now.

The long gun registry is doomed

What a wonderful sport this is:

The nice gentleman from Chatham Head in the picture above was proud of bagging this buck upriver, so the boss sent me out for a picture. First time I'd ever seen one this close. It was magnificent.

Not seen in this picture was the large bullet hole in the thing's neck.

I think I'd like to try hunting, just once, to see how it feels. It's a fine tradition on the river, long standing. It's always amused me how so many people here have long guns, while the much reviled long-gun registry is a few minutes was from my house.

Just the one time, though, so I can know for myself how it is.

Personally, I'd much rather see 'em alive. There's less blood involved.

For sale

Psst....want a fire truck?

C'mon, it's going cheap! Only $12,000, slightly used. Still got a good few years in it for the discerning repentant arsonist.

Basically, our FD shut down a volunteer station, and it has too many vehicles, so they sold a bunch of 'em off, including this engine. We thought the pissed-off former volunteers at that station put the truck up for "sale" as a stunt, so we called the number.

Turns out it was legit. Some random used car salesman buys up stuff like fire trucks and road salters, then sells them. Apparently there's takers all over the Maritimes for this stuff.

I told him I was a reporter first thing, but it took awhile to sink in. When he finally realized it, he started freaking out. Didn't want anyone to know he was doing this, thought he might get into trouble, etc.

'Cos, you know, nobody's going to notice a for-sale sign in the windshield of a bright red fire truck parked on the side of the busiest highway in Northern New Brunswick.

I often wonder...were people always this stupid, or did the media make them this way?

An uncommon angle

Gentlemen ... behold!

Yes. It's a moose's ass.

A more charitable assessment would be: A fine, exquisitely detailed and tasteful pencil drawing of moose from an angle not commonly seen in works of art in the genre.

You may be interested to know this particular specimen is hanging in the entry hall of the local Enterprise agency - a non-profit, government-funded business development corporation of no measurable efficacy.

The ... er ... business end is about level with where the head of an average sized human would be if standing beside this objet d'art.

I want one.

The south will rise again?

I half expected some bucktoothed stereotype to emerge from this one house and shoot me with a rusty shotgun as I took a picture of the flag on his lawn.

This is about midway between the villages of Blackville and Doaktown, on the long road to Fredericton from Miramichi. In, erm, New Brunswick. Eastern Canada. You know ... not the American south.

Just the damnedest thing. I'm passing by on my way to an assignment. It's a beautiful, crisp and sunny fall day, with the wind only just picking up, so I'm driving down admiring the colours and suddenly there's a goddamned confederate flag flying on some guy's lawn.

I pulled the car over and snapped some shots. Then I zoomed in on 'em in my camera's viewfinder, and what do I see? One of those German style crosses from WWI, or WWII. I was hoping it was the former. I'd hate to think it was the latter.

Oh god, thought I. There's some crazy white supremacist from Alabama down the road from the city. I mean, should I tell someone? Should I warn the black people in town? I know three by name, and there's probably about a half dozen more, so it shouldn't take too long.

Then I got back to the newsroom, and zoomed in on the writing, which I couldn't see from the distance I took the shot and didn't dare go nearer, in case I really was dealing with some crazed racist.

Couldn't make it all out, but the second word seems to be "chopper." So probably just some guy who really, really likes some brand of motorcycle in the southern united states founded by a fine upstanding citizen of German extraction.

Or something. Bloody Miramichi.