Thursday, June 29, 2006
Misc. Pics
These pictures don't really fall into any catagories... But are little slivers of whats going on up here. (ie - boredom and free time..) I'm a little lonely - nobody else up here, just alone with my boss, my books, and the cook. And the cook drinks. So expect more pictures.
Wild Strawberries
Picked these while running a well test. Does it get any better? (Well.. yeah.. the raspberries are starting to turn red...)
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Mutant Clover.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
I Heart My Job
It has been 30 plus degrees this past week, impossible to breath without inhaling bugs and dust and frustration. Everything has been breaking, all the vehicles and tools and meters and monitors, one after another. You get grease all over your body and it locks in the heat further until you feel like you're boiling on the inside and baking on the outside. Today we knocked off early, unable to bear the heat any longer, stuck in the swamp with the horseflies and our boots filled with water, so we bailed and called the chopper.
We were dropped off at the river by the pilot, upstream of the beach. With our makeshift waterwings (inflated Ziplocks) and a beer a piece, Nicole and I floated down the river...Right in front of a moose. It was so beautiful. He stood at the waters edge, taking a little bath, laying in the river, as we quietly floated by. He finally noticed us and stood up, enormous and majestic, and ran across the shallow sand banks and into the woods. It was so beautiful. Five minutes later the chopper arrived and plucked us out of the water, and took us back to camp.
I have a wicked job.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Sunrise, Sunrise
Somebody once said that eternity was two people and a baked ham. They have not lived in the North.
The days begin here at approximately 3 in the morning. When I can’t sleep because of the encroaching sunshine, I often sit in my kitchen window and watch the sun rise behind the poplars. It creates this beautiful, flaming mirage that eventually, (though briefly) blisters the trees from existence, as though they have gone up in flames. Then as the sun pushes on above them, they grow from the roots up again, years of growth in minutes as they flower, bloom and leaf.
I never thought that it would get so hot in the daytime here, but with the sun in the sky so long, it only makes logical sense. The hottest point of the day is no longer one or two in the afternoon, but four or five o’clock, which lends handily to me being in the sun for the majority of my workday.
While discovering eternity, I believe I may have also stumbled upon it’s cohort, Hell. I have been working in the permafrost lately, which has the interesting effect on a soul, leading one to believe you are walking through a meat locker, while being blasted with a million blow-dryers on high heat. Essentially, it has the endearing quality of never quite allowing your feet to warm, while your nose blisters and your shoulders crack from the heat. Add to the mix a million mosquitoes, horse flies, and black flies so thick that you need a dusk mask, and you have my average day in the muskeg/permafrost.
The sun does not set until sometime around midnight, by the time it rises the sky has only achieved at best a light dusk. This allows for a) golf tee off times to be booked 24 hours a day, and b) me to get no sleep at all.
Somebody pass me a ham sandwich.
The days begin here at approximately 3 in the morning. When I can’t sleep because of the encroaching sunshine, I often sit in my kitchen window and watch the sun rise behind the poplars. It creates this beautiful, flaming mirage that eventually, (though briefly) blisters the trees from existence, as though they have gone up in flames. Then as the sun pushes on above them, they grow from the roots up again, years of growth in minutes as they flower, bloom and leaf.
I never thought that it would get so hot in the daytime here, but with the sun in the sky so long, it only makes logical sense. The hottest point of the day is no longer one or two in the afternoon, but four or five o’clock, which lends handily to me being in the sun for the majority of my workday.
While discovering eternity, I believe I may have also stumbled upon it’s cohort, Hell. I have been working in the permafrost lately, which has the interesting effect on a soul, leading one to believe you are walking through a meat locker, while being blasted with a million blow-dryers on high heat. Essentially, it has the endearing quality of never quite allowing your feet to warm, while your nose blisters and your shoulders crack from the heat. Add to the mix a million mosquitoes, horse flies, and black flies so thick that you need a dusk mask, and you have my average day in the muskeg/permafrost.
The sun does not set until sometime around midnight, by the time it rises the sky has only achieved at best a light dusk. This allows for a) golf tee off times to be booked 24 hours a day, and b) me to get no sleep at all.
Somebody pass me a ham sandwich.
Whoa, Bear
In order to be completely certified to work for all oil companies in the North, I was required to take a brief, though laughable, “Bear Aware” course. Shown a video constructed mainly from a bear lover and conservationist perspective, pieced together from various clips of 50’s bear footage and 80’s hikers – mostly what I garnered that was that in the event of a bear attack, one has barely (har har) 5 seconds to determine what to do, and the two actions are vastly different. Allow me to explain.
There are two types of attacks that bears make – predatory and exploratory (bluffs). In the event of an exploratory attack, they will run towards you and rear up at the last moment, all the while clicking their jaws, flailing their paws, and providing the number one laxative known to man. In this even, the video advises calmly identifying yourself as a human, making yourself look as big as possible, and making as much noise as possible, in the hopes that the bear will view you, and your overstuffed North Face backpack as just a smaller and slightly less hairy version of itself.
The second type of attack, predatory, the bear has every intent and purpose of making you into lunch meat. No rearing up, no bluffing. They charge, full bore, until knocking you to the ground and hopefully for your sake, out of consciousness. In the case of this type of attack (which could only be determined in essence in the brief moments where the bear does not bluff and when he crosses the remaining 4 feet to maul you) one is supposed to fall lifelessly to the ground, covering all susceptible veins and hoping for the best.
All this is demonstrated on the video through spliced footage in which a young woman repeats “Whoa bear” to the right, cut with footage of a bear on the left, ambling amicably away off to play with Piglet and dip into his honey pot, content that he has been calmly notified of your presence.
I have encountered but one bear in my life, the black bear I mistook for a Doberman pinscher on our picnic table when I was approximately 10 years old. And I had to get my brother to close the back door so frozen in fear was I. I am hoping for better results, now aimed with my bear aware knowledge. Given that my choices are a)act like a bear and b) cover major ventricals.. I’ll let you know.
There are two types of attacks that bears make – predatory and exploratory (bluffs). In the event of an exploratory attack, they will run towards you and rear up at the last moment, all the while clicking their jaws, flailing their paws, and providing the number one laxative known to man. In this even, the video advises calmly identifying yourself as a human, making yourself look as big as possible, and making as much noise as possible, in the hopes that the bear will view you, and your overstuffed North Face backpack as just a smaller and slightly less hairy version of itself.
The second type of attack, predatory, the bear has every intent and purpose of making you into lunch meat. No rearing up, no bluffing. They charge, full bore, until knocking you to the ground and hopefully for your sake, out of consciousness. In the case of this type of attack (which could only be determined in essence in the brief moments where the bear does not bluff and when he crosses the remaining 4 feet to maul you) one is supposed to fall lifelessly to the ground, covering all susceptible veins and hoping for the best.
All this is demonstrated on the video through spliced footage in which a young woman repeats “Whoa bear” to the right, cut with footage of a bear on the left, ambling amicably away off to play with Piglet and dip into his honey pot, content that he has been calmly notified of your presence.
I have encountered but one bear in my life, the black bear I mistook for a Doberman pinscher on our picnic table when I was approximately 10 years old. And I had to get my brother to close the back door so frozen in fear was I. I am hoping for better results, now aimed with my bear aware knowledge. Given that my choices are a)act like a bear and b) cover major ventricals.. I’ll let you know.
How I know He Loves Me
He travelled from Washington to Edmonton, and then took a bus twelve hours to High Level. And he brought me Starbucks. While I was at work, he cleaned my house and ran with the buffalo and biked into town to buy beer and strawberries and Kraft Cheese slices. He cheered for the Edmonton Oilers, just because they are my team, and I think he actually watched more of the playoffs than I did. He built me a fire, just so I could roast two marshmallows a night, and cooked my steak to perfection. He let me have way more of the blanket, and got up to make me coffee before work. He listened to CBC and updated me on the news, and always left me hot water. We walked down to the railroad tracks and sat and watched the beavers build damns and put pennies on the tracks and talked about everything. And everyday, he wrapped his arms around me, and looked at me with those beautiful blue eyes.... and told me.
Butterfly Beats
High Level and surrounding areas have been infested by caterpillars, decimating the trees - it looks like winter. The trees bloomed, and two weeks later the leaves were gone. In their place are just piles, heaps.. of writhing, soft worms of wool. And weeks later.... butterflies. Now there are just flocks of them, kamikaze geishas flying everywhere, swooping and spinning. Driving on the quad, they slip across your cheeks like tiny little bits of cool silk and cling to your hair. They lay on the ground in beautiful patterns until you get close and then they exlode over you.. I think my heart stops, or just explodes into millions of tiny little butterfly beats, until they pass.. then my heart collects its beats.. and keeps going.
North of 60 - Iambic?
Last we saw our heroine she was naked, cold, and frying her socks,
Her chocolate brown hair turned to fried bright blond locks.
Working all day, learning pressure and swedges,
Oil, gas and water, meters and wrenches.
She was driving through swamps and warding off bears,
For the first time in her life, didn't care what to wear.
Only three t-shirts she had, and on this rotation -
"Wear three twice a week, and a clean on Sunday - for celebration".
Her neck it was tanned, her nails they were dirty
Waking every day at 6, in bed by ten thirty.
Although she was busy, one thing she did bemoan
Her love was oh so far away, and she felt so alone.
Quickly he rode, like a knight dressed in white,
Flying all day, riding the Greyhound by night.
She returned from work one day, found him on her stoop,
Sweeping her dirty body to his in one strong swoop.
He brought her lipbalm and new socks, Starbucks by the cup,
Made breakfast each morning before she got up.
He cooked her buffalo steak and held her by the fireside,
Welcomed her home from work each day, with arms open wide.
To him she introduced the Stanley Cup and Sleemans Beer,
An on game nights the trailer erupted in cheer.
Every night she layed beside him and prayed,
That he would forget his job and home,
And with her he'd stay.
But their time ran short, and the days ran away,
And soon he departed to the dear U.S.A.
She missed him the worst in the evening, at night,
But it was tempered by her heart taking flight.
Literally.
Morning and evening on a chopper she flew,
Through the hills and the swamps, marshes and slews.
Soon the lot of them moved into the camp at Haig,
A camped far North where all the workers lived and stayed.
Here is where we rejoin her, swimming in the lake,
Where she'll tell you some more stories of triumphs and mistakes.
Her chocolate brown hair turned to fried bright blond locks.
Working all day, learning pressure and swedges,
Oil, gas and water, meters and wrenches.
She was driving through swamps and warding off bears,
For the first time in her life, didn't care what to wear.
Only three t-shirts she had, and on this rotation -
"Wear three twice a week, and a clean on Sunday - for celebration".
Her neck it was tanned, her nails they were dirty
Waking every day at 6, in bed by ten thirty.
Although she was busy, one thing she did bemoan
Her love was oh so far away, and she felt so alone.
Quickly he rode, like a knight dressed in white,
Flying all day, riding the Greyhound by night.
She returned from work one day, found him on her stoop,
Sweeping her dirty body to his in one strong swoop.
He brought her lipbalm and new socks, Starbucks by the cup,
Made breakfast each morning before she got up.
He cooked her buffalo steak and held her by the fireside,
Welcomed her home from work each day, with arms open wide.
To him she introduced the Stanley Cup and Sleemans Beer,
An on game nights the trailer erupted in cheer.
Every night she layed beside him and prayed,
That he would forget his job and home,
And with her he'd stay.
But their time ran short, and the days ran away,
And soon he departed to the dear U.S.A.
She missed him the worst in the evening, at night,
But it was tempered by her heart taking flight.
Literally.
Morning and evening on a chopper she flew,
Through the hills and the swamps, marshes and slews.
Soon the lot of them moved into the camp at Haig,
A camped far North where all the workers lived and stayed.
Here is where we rejoin her, swimming in the lake,
Where she'll tell you some more stories of triumphs and mistakes.
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