Helping to protect and preserve our national bird
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When preparing their nest, Loons are extremely casual, exhibiting the lack of fussiness often found in water birds. A bit of flat ground on the shoreline, some debris caught in the branches of a fallen tree, almost anywhere will do. So, when mother nature decides to create a suitable nesting site, she takes it in her stride and simply blows down a tree. But, when humans decide to get involved, things get a little more complicated.

The board of the Friends of Bridge Lake recently decided to manufacture a small number of loon nesting platforms in the hopes of combating the decline of these beautiful birds on our lake. Extensive research revealed several different designs and we settled on one that seemed to offer durability and ease of manufacture in a lightweight package.

It costs about $200.00 to build a single platform so local vendors were approached for assistance. The incredibly generous folks at TIM-BR Mart in 100 Mile House provided materials for the construction of four platforms at no cost to the society (I am sure that everyone associated with the Friends of Bridge Lake or who is concerned about the Loons will join me in thanking TIM-BR Mart for their generosity and make every effort to patronize their fine store). Materials for a fifth platform were purchased from Interlakes Building Supplies and Paul Brown, the owner, gave us a discount of $100.00 which was greatly appreciated.

Having taken delivery of the materials, a date was set and the construction crew met at Karl's house to start the process. The plans were produced and the first step was to cut four foot sections of poly pipe and fill them with insulating foam. Simple! We cut up the pipes, stood them on end, and filled them all with the sticky yellow foam before retiring to Karl's deck to admire our handiwork and enjoy some coffee and cake while the foam set. If only it were that easy. The foam started to expand and was soon bubbling out of the tops of the pipes. Frantically, we scurried about, scraping the excess foam away and scanning the directions on the cans where we learned that the foam would take 24 hours to cure. It was a slightly disheartened, but still determined group that broke up and headed home to try and remove the incredibly sticky foam residue from hands, clothes, shoes, and yes, even hair.

The following day, we all returned to discover that the foam had continued to bubble away at the top of the pipes but had, at last, hardened. Encouraged, Karl lifted a pipe from the ground, only for the contents to slither out all over his lawn. It seems that insulating foam requires ready access to air in order to set properly. It was a disaster. Every pipe was the same and, not only had we wasted a day and several cans of insulating foam, but the pipes were covered in sticky residue and still needed stuffing with foam to aid buoyancy. Dejected but not beaten, Karl stuffed the pipes with bits of solid foam insulation, and we got to work on the construction which was fairly straightforward, if time consuming.

The platforms are basically four foot squares of four inch poly pipe with a four inch thick sheet of foam insulation in the middle. This is wrapped in chicken wire and then the whole contraption is wrapped in snow fencing to provide a framework for plants to root themselves. The platforms are anchored with concrete blocks. The plans can be found here <LINK>.

Over the next few days, five platforms were created. Two were taken to Bridge Lake, planted with reeds and swamp grasses, and towed out to their final destinations, while one was placed on Henley Lake. I managed to avoid being involved in this stage of the process but Karl insisted I help with the final two, and despite my best attempts to avoid it, yesterday I joined him and Doug to plant and install the remaining platforms on Bridge Lake...during a snow storm.

We met at the Greenall Road access, added soil to the platform and planted a motley collection of swamp grasses. Anchor ropes were attached, the platforms were secured to the stern of my little fishing boat, and cold, wet, covered in Chironomids, and with very little Loon love in my heart, we set out to place the platforms. At this point I am wondering what wine would pair well with roast Loon - there you go, it's certainly weak but it's a wine connection. Perhaps I should post this under "Wine and Food".

Previous scouting trips had revealed possible locations (sheltered from prevailing winds, unlikely to attract human interference, and offering multiple escape routes) and they turned out to be ideal. We placed them both without incident, in each instance watched by the very loons we were hoping to attract, and headed home, a job well done.

The Loon is our national bird and is protected by law. Unfortunately, its numbers are declining and we need to do whatever we can to prevent their disappearance. The success of efforts to preserve the Bald Eagle is a testament to our ability, not only to bring a species to its knees but, more importantly, our ability to bring it back from the edge. The Loon is not yet classed as an endangered species in British Columbia, but it still needs our help. It is my sincere hope that Loons will nest in some or all of the platforms and that they will prove more secure than those sites so casually and easily provided by Mother Nature.

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What a waste of life
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Over the last few weeks my blog has been the focus of a truly dedicated spammer. I am assuming it is a single spammer as surely there cannot be more than one of you out there with so little lust for life?

Of course, it is possible that a spambot has been created that can decipher and bypass the "Captcha" anti-spam protection, but I suspect it is a real person.

What motivates this person? Do they really think that I will relax my guard and let one of their entries slip by? Perhaps they think I won't notice the pharmaceutical references or will simply give in and let them have their way with my blog. Foolish person, I have a message for you.

Go back to school and complete your education. Find a hobby, lace making or jigsaw puzzles perhaps? Devote yourself to public service. Go out on a date. Take up sports. There are many ways for you to improve your life and make those first steps necessary for you to become a functioning and useful member of society.

Now, please leave my blog alone. Thank you.

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The best thing about this post is its title.
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It's Monday and to set the tone of this post let me just say "I hate Mondays!"

That's not true but this particular Monday I am feeling a little sorry for myself. Normally, I play football (or 'soccer' as it is called on this side of the Atlantic) on Monday's but not tonight. Last week I strained my left calf muscle and coupled with the chronic achilles tendonitis in my right leg, it has made running and kicking (important aspects of the game) rather difficult. To compound my misery, two weeks ago I took a rather nasty blow to the chest (again, playing football), and the subsequent pain makes it impossible for me to swing a golf club.

With spring enveloping the northern hemisphere in all its glorious greenness, instead of gamboling across a football field or striding down a freshly mown fairway, I am reduced to grumping around the office, being irritable towards my staff, and now I have to come up with something pithy and relevant to put in my blog? Sorry, but I simply cannot. Good night.









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US research opens up new possibilities
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Research, recently published in the journal 'Science', suggests that our noses are capable of detecting danger. Researcher Dr Wen Li, of the Feinberg School of Medicine at Northwest University in Chicago, exposed volunteers to two subtly different odors. The volunteers were initially unable to distinguish between them but, when a mild electric shock was applied in conjunction with one of them, the subjects developed the ability to distinguish between them quite easily.

This research is extremely exciting. I find it very difficult to distinguish between different aromas in wine and think this might be a great way to train my brain. Now, all I need is 240 or so different types of pain that I can inflict on myself while smelling differing aromas. Using this method, I should be able to train my brain to associate the different aromas and pains and thus easily identify and distinguish between them.

For example, if I am tasting a wine and my brain sends back the signal "Beware! I sense the aromas of earlobe pinching, thumbscrew, eyebrow tweezing, and bamboo splinters under toenails" I would theoretically know that the wine had the aromas of green apples, oregano, honeysuckle, and wet Band Aid.

Now, I wonder if I can drum up enough interest to start a wine tasting school? Any volunteers?Hide Entry

Or simply a coincidence with a vague wine connection. You be the judge.
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A few weeks ago I joined a golf club called The Dunes in Kamloops, BC. The course only just opened for the season and, yesterday, I played it for the first time. It was great; A links style golf course in a gale - golf the way it was meant to be played.

Anyway, it reminded me of a true story that started, a few years ago, with a round of golf at Eagle Vines Golf Club in  the Napa Valley. The Johnny Miller designed golf course is excellent, winding through working vineyards, over hilly terrain, and featuring some very nice holes including the signature, par three, 6th shown in the photograph. I still have the shirt I was forced to purchase in the pro-shop because the one I was wearing did not have a collar. And that is the end of the wine connection, although it is important to note that  Eagle Vines only opened in 2004, just before I played it.

Later that summer I was playing with some friends at another great golf course (Loomis Trail in Northern Washington) and we started discussing, as golfers do, the merits of various golf courses we had played. I chipped in with a description of Eagle Vines but could not, for the life of me, remember the course's name. I was still trying to remember it - "Sorry guys, it'll come to me any minute!" - as I teed up on the next hole and topped my drive into a small clump of rushes beside a pond in front of the tee box.

After the others had teed off, we gathered around the rushes, delving for my ball. We failed to find it but we did find another one and here is the amazing part of this story. Emblazoned on the retrieved ball was the logo for Eagle Vines.

I could not believe it. It was one of those gob-smacking, mind-numbing moments when you ask yourself "Why didn't I buy a lottery ticket today?" I mean, what are the chances that someone else would get hold of a branded Eagle Vines golf ball in the year and a half it had been open, bring the ball all the way to Washington State, play Loomis Trail, and then lose the ball in that particular clump of rushes (which, let me tell you, requires a remarkably awful and difficult shot)?

We have to be talking billions to one, trillions maybe. If this had not been a story about a golf ball, you might even call it a miracle.
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On my 'bucket list'.
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Like all of you, I have in my head an unwritten list of things I would like to see or do before I die; play Augusta National, see a tornado, win an Academy Award. You know, a list of unlikely dreams and lofty ambitions coupled with a few things I keep telling myself I will get round to doing some day.

Well, last night (incidentally, my 18th wedding anniversary) I stumbled out of bed and dragged myself off to the kitchen to get some water with no idea that I was about to witness one of our planet's most amazing spectacles.

I could hear my wife's horse blowing and snorting in his stable (he does this when something is worrying him - the scent of a wolf or cougar perhaps) and I had heard something shuffling about in the woods earlier, so I went to the balcony and opened the door to see if I could hear anything.

I was greeted by absolute silence and the stunning visual feast known as Aurora Borealis. Now, for some people this is no big deal, they see the Northern Lights all the time, but for me it was a singular moment. I had never seen it before and now I was being treated to a cascading waterfall of greenish light, pulsing and throbbing, ebbing and flowing, wave after wave of light flashing across the sky one minute, and then receding to a diffuse glow the next.



It was truly awesome. I called my wife and Sherry and I spent a couple of hours watching the show, enjoying our anniversary gift from the heavens, before contentedly heading back to bed. Hopefully I will get to see the Northern Lights again but, if not, I can at least now claim to have seen the "Mirrie Dancers" at play and can cross "see Aurora Borealis" off my Bucket List.

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A short story.
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As a young man, Pedro “the Acrobat” Rodriguez had been a star of the Mexican bullfighting world. Lithe and agile, he had the ability to leap over a charging bull and pierce the poor, confused beast before his feet even touched the sand. It was a remarkable feat, but one that would eventually lead to his downfall. In 1963, in front of 43,000 screaming fans at the Plaza de Toros Mexico, Pedro slipped at the critical moment and, milliseconds later, was struck by 1200lbs of enraged bovine.

After being separated from the sand of the arena floor, Pedro spent six months in hospital but never fully recovered. He limped badly and his body took on a decidedly slumped aspect. He hung around the bullfighting scene for a few years but, as a physical reminder of every matador’s worst nightmare, he was widely shunned.

In the early 80’s, after too many years working as a janitor for the mayor of a small town near Tijuana, Pedro crossed the border into California and moved north with the harvest. Unexpectedly, he discovered in himself an excellent grape picker, able to harvest grapes at a speed that belied his physical disharmony. After a couple of seasons, the winery offered him a full-time position and Pedro eagerly accepted.

The pace of winery life suited Pedro. There was always something to do and the job changed throughout the year, relieving any possibility of boredom. The years had slowly passed; a succession of glorious summers, hectic harvests, and relaxed winters. Upon reaching his 60th birthday, the winery manager had suggested Pedro consider retirement or, at least, leave the heavier work for the younger men. So Pedro spent less time among the vines and in the warehouse and adopted certain specific tasks that suited his physical condition. One of these tasks, and the one he relished the most, was that of controlling the fruit flies that invaded the winery every harvest.

Accustomed to the heat of battle as he was, Pedro did not object to his unique job at the winery. To Pedro, the annual battle against the fruit flies would transport him back to his youth and the Plaza de Toros in Mexico City. Each morning, he would stride manfully into the winery’s cavernous fermentation room and, with the roar of the crowd in his ears, launch his fearsome attack on the army of flies. His methods were varied and ingenious in execution. He used a variety of tools, from vacuum cleaners to swatters, each one commanding a specific niche in his performance. And, at the end of the day, a tired but contented warrior would retreat from the field, savoring the battle ended but relishing the following day’s recommencement.

In the fall of 2007 Pedro’s War, as everyone now called it, came to an abrupt end.

It was a typically warm morning in Northern California. The songbirds were greeting the arrival of the sun with typical vigor and Pedro smiled as he crossed the empty courtyard. He had a special surprise for the enemy this morning - a newly purchased, low-resistance swatter - and he was relishing the thought of breaking it in. Fumbling with his keys for a moment, Pedro cursed his gnarled old hands, and wished he was a few years younger. As he reflected on a life that could have been a great deal worse, he flipped the keys in his hand and finally located the one he was seeking.

Upon entering the building, Pedro did not at first notice the complete lack of flies. Drosophila is a very quiet and very small fly, remarkable more for its abundance than its individual characteristics. Turning on the lights, Pedro began a more detailed inspection of the facility and it soon began to dawn on him that something was wrong. There were no flies. None. He searched around the massive stainless steel vats, the grape press, and the stacked barrels but found nothing. With mounting confusion Pedro walked over to a work bench and grabbed a flashlight from a drawer. Perhaps a more careful examination would reveal the enemy’s whereabouts.

It was as he scanned the area beneath one of the fermentation tanks that Pedro first sensed his impending doom. From behind and above him came the smallest of sounds, the slightest susurration, a tiniest movement of air as one million pairs of miniscule wings beat in unison. Turning slowly, as the gentle hum became a roar, Pedro shone the flashlight up into the rafters of the building. Realization dawned slowly and the first flies were halfway up his nose before he grasped what was happening. Within seconds, Pedro was on the floor, his frantic screams stifled by the thousands of tiny insects invading his mouth, his nose, his ears, and his eyes.

The struggle did not last long. Suffocation is a slow death that a massive coronary saved Pedro from. He shuddered and went limp, and slowly, the flies dissipated. They crawled up his throat and out of his nose, shook themselves and flew away. Within minutes, and well before anybody else arrived on the scene, there was not a single fruit fly on Pedro’s prone personage.

And so, with the roar of the crowd filling his head, the remarkable Pedro “The Acrobat” Rodriguez passed from the world and moved on to greater things. The coroner correctly identified the cause of death as ‘myocardial infarction’ but failed completely to identify the cause of Pedro’s cause of death. Nobody would have believed him if he had.

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Okay, I love politics
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I have spent the last 4 or 5 hours packaging up copies of my short film - A Nice Cup of Tea - for submission to film festivals, while watching CNN's coverage of Not-So-Super Tuesday. More on my film in later blogs.

What a night! John McCain wins the Republican nomination and Hilary rises from the ashes to resurrect her flagging campaign. I was pretty sure Obama had it in the bag but now I am not so sure.



I guess we shall see what happens over the next few months but personally, I think the candidates need to debate some of the really important issues. I mean, who really cares about the war in Iraq, universal healthcare, and the economy? I want to know what Hilary thinks about French vs American Oak. And what exactly IS Senator Obama's position on corks vs screwcaps?

But seriously, there are big issues that affect the wine industry. Immigration for one. It is not exactly a secret that the wine industry relies heavily on immigrant (legal and illegal) labor so it will be interesting to see how this situation evolves over the next few years. Both democrat candidates have focused on NAFTA. Will this have any affect on the wine industry? And of course, the economy. With a major recession looming, will people cut back on wine purchases or will we just start buying more!

So, I think it's time that Clinton and Obama address a block of voters that have hitherto been ignored. The group I like to call 'Winers'.

I love politics.

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A wine lover's guide
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A quick glance at the financial section of your daily newspaper, CNN, or any number of financial blogs reveals a stark picture of the North American economy. We are, if not already in one, heading for a global recession and it is time to act.

The traditional North American response to financial meltdown is to cry in our beer, but we need a better solution than this. In a year when change is sweeping across the US like a Zamboni machine across an ice rink, picking up the detritus of the past and well, (I'm not really sure what a Zamboni machine does with the ice bits so the metaphor breaks down a little here...but you get the picture) making things shiny again, we need a new approach, a fresh vision.

Don't cry in your beer, cry in your wine!

I know it's almost a radical departure from the old ways, I know it's hard to get your head around this type of progressive thinking, but if we can all cry and drink together, we can make a difference.

In fact, the raw passion of my writing is inducing a few tears, so I think I will polish off that bottle of Pratesi Locorosso that I opened last night (velvety smooth with an amazing chocolaty finish - seriously, I think they must have thrown a few Dairy Milk bars into the barrel).

It may not actually help the economy but I will certainly feel better afterwards.

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It's been 3 minutes since my last game.
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My last blog post was two days ago but I have a good excuse. I finally beat Mario Galaxy on the Wii! After, I don't know, a thousand hours of playing perhaps? I collected all 120 stars and have unlocked Luigi which is pretty cool. Incidentally, I think the toughest level has to be "Luigi's Coins" although several others come close. Why am I telling you this? In a wine blog! I am so sad. More wine stuff on Monday, I promise.

Good night.

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