No Rest for the Wicked

Got into a bit of trouble with some members of the family for describing myself as "The Damaged Man".  So now I am just 'The Bruised Man", literally, from all the logs I've been lifting.

Progress has been slow this week, delayed by waiting for the right clearances to proceed and by a request from me to alter the plans for the roof over the garage.  I had originally planned on a conventional dorma french window on the lakeside of the garage, leading out onto a deck.  The architect pointed out that the headroom in the room above the garage wasn't that great and suggested a shed dorma to make it larger.  As this would change the roof profile, I had to have it approved by the committee that oversees the architectural controls for the development and this took a few days to sort out.  Thanks go to the committee and particularly to Bart for getting this done so quickly.  Anyway, work has now recommenced on the foundations and we are hoping to pour the first concrete tomorrow, Tuesday.

Preparations for the footings.

In the meantime, I have been busy cutting up and stacking all the trees that were cleared mechanically from the building site but, my little chain saw finally started to protest against the abuse I was subjecting it to.  I nearly lost a finger or two when I pushed the brake bar forward to stop the chain from rotating so I could put the saw down in order to move some wood, only for it to break and my hand went forward and missed the chain by a hair's breadth.  On investigation, I discovered that not only had the brake bar broken but the brake itself had broken and so with much cursing I took it in to be fixed.  While it was being repaired I borrowed a bigger saw, one much more suited to the task and it made a significant difference to the rate at which I was able to attack the mountain of wood waiting to be sawn up and stacked.

Log pile has grown - but still lots more to add from deadwood still to be collected.  I have tried to keep the tree cutting down to the bare minimum in order to preserve the character and feel of the forest environment but sadly some good, old trees have had to come down and that has been sad.  When I am settled, I will do a bit of planting to compensate for the loss.

I have also been busy sorting out my firearms licencing and sat the mandatory examination today without mishap.  I am in the process of buying a British Lee Enfield .303 to augment my firearms inventory of a .22 rifle and shotgun.  This will give me better predator control/protection capability, something I am currently a bit light on, although I won't be able to take possession of the 303 until my licence comes through.  In the meantime, I'll have to make do with what I've got.  A couple of days ago I noticed some tracks in the dust I hadn't seen before and reckon they must be a bobcat or similar small feline predator.  I have also seen two varieties of grouse, a mountain sheep and a red fox to add to the list of wildlife about the area.

Not of the dog family because there are no claws - something feline I think.  Could be the large feral domestic cat that neighbours say roams the area and keeps the mice and rat populations under control.

The local village (Wardner) had its annual summer fete this weekend and I took the afternoon off and joined in just in time to watch the last mixed soft ball game of the afternoon - great fun being had by all.  Next year I am going to raise my own team and show these Canucks how it should be done - I wonder if they will let me use my cricket bat?  Mysteriously,  I was somehow drawn to the beer tent (don't know how that happened) and soon got into conversation with several of the local people and made a few acquaintances and contacts who might prove helpful when I get to doing the inside of the cabin (mansion as Matt calls it).  Just when I felt hungry they closed the food bar and so I departed for the now much appreciated Bull River Inn.  On arriving I discovered that it was empty except for one customer (Kurt), the barmaid (Mandy) and the owner and chef (Eddy).  Everyone apparently was at the Wardner fete.  Eddy rustled up a very tasty supper (shrimps - in England we would call them king prawns and onion rings) for me and told me all about his 15 years running pubs in the Bristol area in England.  Eddy, is Canadian but married an English girl, hence his time in the UK

Mixed softball at the village fete - can you spot the ball?

The Bull River Inn is the heart of a community that stretches back to gold, railroad and logging days of the late 19th Century.   Logging, farming, hunting and fishing are the main occupations and pastimes here now and this is all well reflected, and recorded, in the decoration and artifacts that adorn the pub.  The beer is cold (that's all I can say about it), the food is good and the pub is highly recommended to anyone passing through.  The clientele is a bit vernacular but you should be OK, just don't do anything stupid like ask for the vegetarian menu,  say anything derogatory about the Queen of Canada or say anything nice about the government of British Columbia or Calgarians.  If you do, you could find yourself in a very one sided, very western, bar brawl.  Also, be sure your horse knows the way home and whatever you do, don't walk home after dark.  Seriously, five or six weeks ago a women in this area was killed by a bear.

Eddy and Mandy behind the bar of the Bull River Inn.

I have also had my first visitors, who, apparently are a bit like busses.  You don't get any for weeks and then suddenly four, from different parts of the world all come along at the same time.  It was lovely to see Jeanette from Calgary, who very generously put me up when I first arrived in Canada and John from the Caribou, which is real wilderness country.  Likewise, it was great to see Angie from Salisbury and James from Shropshire who both agreed to be referees for my firearms licence application - thanks guys.

My very first visitors - John and Jeanette from the Caribou and Calgary (Chestermere) respectively.  Pity about the thumb over the lens on the left of the picture.

Special thanks this week have to go Diana, my main contractor's wife, who drove all the way out to the Ranch on Saturday from Galloway (more than 20 km away) with a set of Dennis's jump leads for me (thank you Dennis).  Stupidly, I had left the cooler connected to the car battery when I got back from town and it drained the battery over night.  Thank you again Diana, for just dropping what you were doing, packing the kids and leads up into the car and coming to the aid of a silly man, you're a real star.

As I sign off for this posting I can hear a low rumbling sound in the distance.  This is coming from across the lake and is a train pulling more than 200 freight trucks full of coal along the railroad that serves the mines at Sparwood, about 70 kms away.  Having its occasional mechanical growl in the distance is curiously reassuring in an otherwise silent wilderness.