wordsfromanneli

Thoughts, ideas, photos, and stories.

Category Archives: Outdoor Activities


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Then and Now

Ski hill lit up in a magical spell,

Dreamy night setting that suits skiers well,

Silence is broken so gently and slow

By boards that grip sideways and crunch on the snow.

 

Icy cold particles stinging the cheek,

As windburn sets in, it is not for the meek,

Face feeling fresher against the wind’s bite,

Small price to pay to descend in the night.

 

Carving a path through the crisp mountain trail,

Chilling and thrilling, a joy without fail,

Swooping and sweeping around in the glow,

Joyfully living and breathing in snow.

 

That was then. This is now.

Cool breeze arrives on the ski hill next morn,

Rounding out edges to make them look worn,

Moisture seeps into each cranny and nook,

Skiers raise eyebrows with questioning look.

 

Where are the lights and the softly lit snow?

Who let this fog in, and why won’t it go?

Damp and encroaching, the low cloud just sits,

Making me thankful I’m wearing my mitts.

 

One thing is good about groping through mist,

Stunts can be tried that I just can’t resist,

No one can watch me or see as I fall

Ass over tea kettle once and for all.

Oops! Should have specified this poem as rated “R.”

(Sigh!) But “Bum over tea kettle” just doesn’t do it.

It would be too much like hearing a macho man say “whoops-a-daisy.”

 


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Now and Then

Against all odds, the cluster of daffodils that pops up near the fir trees every year, has decided to make a dash for the light of day.

For each of the flowers, the bigger photo is now, and the smaller photos at the side are what they will look like later this spring.

It’s our job to welcome spring,

We’re the first to do our thing,

What a let down it would be,

If there were no daffs to see.

 

 

 

 

Irises popping up.

Iris and her girlie gaggle,

Push the dirt, don’t want to straggle,

Iris girls put on a show,

Can-can dancers in a row.

 

 

Oriental poppies beginning to grow already.

 

Oriental poppy leaves

Grow in spurts, the ground upheaves,

Happy that they’re fenced right in

See the misery of their kin.

 

 

 

 

Below are the not-so-lucky ones.

Poppy Sisters, maimed we see,

Just outside the fence so free,

Bunnies come along at night,

Eat them up, bite after bite.


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The Caves of Dirou

Having camped for almost a month near the small town of Kardamili, south of Kalamata (of olive fame), Greece,  the Captain and I decided to take our VW camper van for a ride to the very south tip of Greece. On the way, we stopped at the caves of Pyrgos Dirou.

In those long ago days, the entrance fee for a 40-minute boat ride and a short walk inside the cave was about $5.50 Cdn. Now it is about $27 Cdn.

As the Captain and I sat in the flat-bottomed tour boat, a guide paddled us through the cave, reminding us now and then to duck our heads down to avoid getting our blocks knocked off by a stalactite. The tour was creepy and awesome at the same time. Cables ran along under the water to provide lighting all the way through the cave. That was fine, but I couldn’t help thinking of the primitive wiring I’d seen on our travels through Greece. What if the lights went out? We hadn’t thought to bring a flashlight with us.

Fixing the wiring Greek style

Back in the cave, an elderly Greek woman in a black dress and a hat with a netted veil, sat in front of us in the boat. She was probably only about 70 but we were less than half her age. In spite of signs throughout the cave saying not to speak too loudly, she turned to talk to us about the fengari.  What the heck was a fengari?

Apparently, it was the moon. We definitely didn’t see a moon in the cave, but this friendly woman, most likely a widow,  was perhaps inspired by the reflections of the lamps lighting the cave. Maybe the soothing sway of the boat reminded her of happier times when she saw us, the smiling young couple seated behind her.

Suddenly, in a good strong voice, she began to sing a romantic Greek song about the fengari. As the tour guide paddled us along, I chewed my nails about the possibility of the ceiling coming down on us, and the Captain reached up several times to  push the nice little old lady’s head gently to the side to save her from hitting it on one stalactite after another. She didn’t stop singing, but smiled her “thank you” at him each time.

At one point we got out of the boat (there were two or three boats travelling behind each other) to step out onto a trail for a short walk through the dry part of the cave.

When we came back, we were loaded into a boat for the return trip to the cave’s entrance. Unfortunately, when it was my turn to board, there was no space left for the Captain. They assured me that there would be another boat in a few minutes to bring him back, but I refused to go without him. It was not a place to be abandoned even for a few minutes. I only remember it because they argued so hard, trying to fill that one space. We insisted though and waited together for the next boat.

Although it was an experience that I remember fondly even decades later, it was a relief to get out of the cave and breathe again. My claustrophobia had been put on hold for long enough.

 


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Polar Bear Swim

Anyone for a swim? Actually, some people did go in for a Polar Bear swim on January 1.

But there are crazy people in all parts of the world. This limerick is for all those crazy people who went into the freezing water that day and froze their buns off.

*** I did not post a photo of those “brave”? swimmers here.

 

There once was a man who was dim,

And went for a wintery swim,

He said, “I’m not whiny,

Except that my hiney,

Is paying the price for my whim.”


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Dwindling

Not so many years ago the Comox Glacier, on Vancouver Island, had ice and snow all year round, especially on the plateau part of the landscape. I think this photo might have been taken about five years ago. It may have been early spring or late fall, but it had a good layer of ice all year.

Every year, there was less snow, even in the winter. I took the blurry photo below from the side of the road just a few days ago, using my cell phone. I didn’t care so much that it wasn’t a sharp photo. My point was made when I saw the lack of snow and ice. This is the least ice I have ever seen on the Comox Glacier. Soon this icon of the Comox Valley could be completely gone. Since I took that picture, a tiny skiff of snow has dropped on the tops of the hills, but that won’t make any difference to the huge loss of the glacier.

Our climate is definitely changing.

 

Do you see any signs of our changing climate where you live?


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Something Fishy Going On

It looks like a dull, gray, foggy day. Most of us would be glad to be somewhere sunny, maybe with blue water instead of that dull gray stuff. But for the fly fisherman, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be just at this moment.

It looks like he could be lost in that fog, not knowing which way to go, but I don’t think he cares right now because he just had a nibble.

More than a nibble. It might be a whale. Sure the rod isn’t bent right over, but that’s just because the fish  has stopped to take a breath.

Hey! Weren’t we taught never to stand up in a boat?  Maybe this fish will pull the fisherman right over into the water. No worries. He’s wearing his lifejacket. It’s one of those slim ones that inflates if you hit the water.

Worst case scenario, his camera-wielding friend might have to put the camera down and go rescue his buddy.

 

It’s an addiction, it’s an affliction,

Spending the day on the sea.

Teasing the fish to come lie on the dish,

A wonderful dinner to be.

 

Sliding beneath the boat, silently there to gloat,

Lurking around in the dark,

Feeling so smug, as he snaps at a bug,

Grinning with glee like a shark.

 

Bug is all tangled and though it is mangled,

Now it has bitten the fish.

Spit it right out, and then thrash all about,

“If only!” The fish makes his wish.

 

 

Now who is smiling? This sport is beguiling,

Enticing the fish with a bug,

Everyone knows, why the fisherman chose

To be out here: “A tug is a drug.”

 

 


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Grade Three-Four Coup

This post is inspired by those beautiful photos on Lynette’s blog where she often showcases the lakes to the north and south of Penticton, B.C. (Okanagan Lake and Skaha Lake).  Please visit her blog by clicking on the link at the end of this post.

On one of Lynette’s posts I told her that the kids in my class threw me into Okanagan Lake and I promised I’d post the photo if I could find it.

Well, it’s not flattering. I look like a drowned rat, but you can see from the look on the kids’ faces that they loved every minute of it.

It  was an end-of-the-school-year picnic on Okanagan Lake and I had the help of a few of the parents to supervise and make sure no one got into trouble at the lake. I should have hired someone to save me from getting into trouble myself.

I had such a lovely class and we had a great picnic and games by the beach. But then I heard someone whisper a call for rebellion.

“Let’s throw the teacher into the lake!”

I looked for the parent helpers who suddenly were nowhere to be seen. Next thing I knew, four of my little angels had hold of my limbs, an arm or a leg each, and swung me back and forth. I heard them shouting through my squeals, “One! Two! Three! HEAVE!”

And “Splash!” That’s all she wrote.

 

I still remember shy little Maureen, grinning like crazy. I think it was her mother who took my picture to immortalize the drowned rat who was her child’s teacher.

That was decades ago, but I remember that splash like it was yesterday.

It’s lucky for those little eight- and nine-year-olds that I loved them all so much.

 

Lynette’s posts:

Sunday Bench

 


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Red, Aren’t You?

These pears are one of my favourites. Firm and juicy and not so quick to bruise after you pick them.

They are red. Aren’t you?

Let me try that again. Put a little bit of French into the second part.

They are Red Anjou.

So delicious.

These pears are believed to have originated near the city of Angers, France, which was the seat of the Plantagenet dynasty. The pears showed up in the United States in 1842 and now represent 34 % of the  U.S. pear market.

I’m not surprised they’re popular. They are so tasty.