Time flies when when it's good times
13.08.2009 - 16.08.2009 25 °C
The last day of summer has come and gone. I don't remember a lot of sunny days. I do remember it being cool. Long johns for Jenna in July! The sailing season is drawing to a close another month and the Lady Chimo is carried onto the cold hard ground, out of her element, balanced on her keel between the hard fingers of her steel stand. I'll cover her beautiful lines with ugly tarps to keep some of the winter off her decks.
We made an interesting discovery on a point of land west of Killarney. We anchored in Powder House bay. Blasting powder was kept here in a stout wooden shack when the mainland was first mined. The operation has moved to an island in recent times. The island is disappearing, a bit of the La Cloche Mountains shipped to Midland for drywall sheets. A whole island!
I was fishing, without much success off the bulbous cliffs that mark the point. With no fish for breakfast I grounded the dinghy in search of blueberries. I climbed up the steep slope. I picked berries in the bushy cracks, watching out for snakes and bear poop. After skittering up the final bald slope I came upon a large rough concrete pad with an old stump of a pole. I stood on the rough surface, the only flat area any where. To the east Killarney farther south was the open water of Georgian Bay. This was the entrance to the North Channel, to Little Current, to lake Michigan and Superior. I could see 'Coeur de Bois in the clouds and hear the hammering of men mining the mountains, boats drifted by in the light breeze. A strange mass of black and silver rectangles lay scattered in a crack. Further, two black boxes about a foot square, two holes at opposite corners, cracked bitumen sealing the tops. I went back to gaze at the expanse of water, down the slope facing the bay's entrance lay a large wooden diamond. The weathered boards nailed to a massive wooden post. The saw cut matched that of the stump in the concrete. The installation was an old marker of some sort. I looked away from the afternoon sun and caught a glint of glass in another pile of the strange rectangles, black sandwiches in silver bread, three or four double loaves. It was a tiny bottle, "EDISON, BATTERY OIL, MADE IN U.S.A. further down the label THOMAS A. EDISON INCORPORATED BLOOMFIELD, N.J. U.S.A. Battery oil! The silver and black layers had to come from very old batteries. Another bottle partly filled with a black tar read 'transformer oil' The square boxes must be the transformers for the batteries. The navigation marker was lit! Someone long ago must have tended the light, carried the massive batteries up, added the acid they called 'oil', used the noxious tar for the transformers. How did they recharge them? I munched blueberries, out in the bay the new buoys, solar powered, kept the boats on the not so straight and narrow. I wish they had left the marker standing. A tribute to someone long ago, forgotten now.
So another year will come. Snow's will settle, winds will blow. Freeze up then thaw. The Lady Chimo will push her way north to Manitoulin and west. I can't wait to see something new, perhaps slip back into the past. God willing that will be another summer