Dream Team

Extra salt, please. Oops, did I say salt? I meant tequila. Muy tequila, por favor.

Feliz Cinco de Mayo!! It’s that time of year again. Yup, using Mexican gun fights as an excuse to drink and eat fajitas. At least that’s how I observe…

So, I’ve been thinking recently about my moose tracking expedition; it’s creeping up on me. I’ve had a few, very capable people step up to join in on this journey and I’m thankful to have such enthusiastic, adventurous friends. Anyone who wants to join is definitely welcome. But, I got to thinkin’… what would my dream team look like? If I could pick anyone — dead or alive — to venture into the wilderness with me, whom would I choose? Here’s a list of my cream of the crop, my elite squad, my SEAL Team Six.

Ummm, Bear, you got somethin' on your lip there...

Bear Grylls – Of Man vs. Wild fame, Bear Grylls is an ex-Navy SEAL, a parachute accident survivor,  and a border-line mad man. According to his Wikipedia page, he’s proficient in Ninjitsu and karate. As a boy, he was a Boy Scout and he learned to sail and climb at a young age. He’s basically one space shuttle trip away from being a less-douchey, less-Scrooge McDuck-y  Richard Branson. He is fluent in both French (in case we make a wrong turn and end up in Quebec) and Spanish (or a REALLY wrong turn and end up in Mexico). He’s faced criticism for faking the premise of his show by staying in swanky hotels instead of actually roughing it in the wild. To me, that shows he’s got balls and, in my head, goes a little like this: (Director: Aaand ACTION!) Bite the head off a snake, eat a caribou eyeball straight out of the rotting carcass, say something in a dreamy British accent, squeeze the moisture out of a steaming heap of elephant poop then drink it, and, finally, fashion a sun-stroke-fighting bandana by tearing a sleeve off, whizzing on it and slapping it on his head. (Director: Aaaaand cut! That’s a wrap!) Towel off, check into the Ritz and hit the sushi buffet. On top of all that, his LEGAL name is Bear. That’s nothing short of awesome.

Pros: REALLY experienced in the outdoors (especially harsh climates), not hard to look at, cute accent, can survive traumatic injuries

Cons: Might get bored on my humble expedition without mountains to climb or waterfalls to paramotor(?) over. Remember to pack a Rubik’s Cube and a book of sudokus.

Little known fact: All his tracking power lies in his magic hat.

Mantracker (aka Terry Grant) – The formula for an awesome TV show: One cocky, outdoors-y type person + one lame, whiny bitch to weigh down the cocky guy + compass + Mantracker = awesome.

Mantracker (almost) always gets his man, no matter the terrain. He uses his finely-tuned senses to detect his prey and no matter how well you try to cover your tracks or misdirect him, there’s no escape. Which leads me to believe that he, along with his trusty steed, could effortlessly track down a moose lumbering through the bush, just breaking twigs and leaving footprints all willy nilly. On the show, the team of half-wits being tracked are equipped with a map and a compass. Moose don’t have those tools; clearly they have no shot at outrunning this stealthy predator. I’ve honestly only ever seen one episode where ‘the hunted’ reached their destination, and it was because they managed to flag down a passing motorist to drive them to the finish line. It takes cunning and quick-thinking to one-up Mantracker, but Moose don’t have thumbs to hitchhike. They’re hopeless.

Pros: Acute senses of smell, sight and hearing that lead him directly to prey, has a keen ‘sixth sense’ that seems to kick in if the trail has been tampered with or booby trapped

Cons: Cannot go anywhere without his horse or a sidekick… Put a 10-gallon hat on Bear and see if that’s sufficient.

He looks dangerous but he's really quite 'armless'.

The Guy from 127 Hours (not James Franco) – Aron Ralston has survived some pretty adverse situations. He’s frequently scampered off to climb mountains or trek across deserts by himself. He’s a risk-taker by nature and has narrowly escaped death on at least one occasion.

In his book Between a Rock and a Hard Place, he rehashes the series of events in 2003 that led to him to AMPUTATE HIS OWN ARM to avoid dying in a remote, canyon somewhere in the middle of a Utah desert. This may not impress everybody. You may ask, “So? Gimme a jig saw and I could amputate my own arm. No prob.” To this, I say gross and also, what if you weren’t equipped with a saw to make a clean cut through flesh and both forearm bones? What if all you had was leverage to snap your radius and ulna, then hack away at the soft tissue using only a tiny, dull, dirty multi-tool — an apparatus usually reserved for cutting around the wrapping at the top of a wine bottle to reveal the cork? That is badass and no one can deny it. Not only that, but he’s managed to overcome the psychological mess that comes with hacking off your own arm while buzzards circle overhead waiting for you to die. This guy is ready for anything and has the strength of spirit to keep morale up if things are about to take a scary turn to Lord of the Flies town.

Pros: Super fit, has a cool pirate hook for a hand, a real problem solver

Cons: Might have scary flashbacks, a metal robot arm might rust in NS humidity, his book title suggests that he likes puns, high fives can be dangerous

The first official Nav Sysytem.

Sacajawea – Here’s a brief history of ol’ Sackie. In the early 19th century, Meriwether Lewis and William ‘Girly Man’ Clark set out to explore the American southwest and find out what was hiding behind those Rocky Mountains. Sacajawea was a 15-year-old Shoshone girl and a wife to a Quebecois man that won her while gambling. Sacajawea was initially recruited as a translator for Lewis and Clark, but she proved to be much more valuable than that. During the documented years of exploration, she went above and beyond the call of duty by retrieving items that went overboard when one of their boats capsized, she helped them survive on indigenous vegetation during the arduous trek through the Rockies, she even traded her belt so L & C could get the president some cheap souvenir (probably a snow globe or a magnet or something…) and she occasionally led the expedition in the right direction. Without her knowledge of edible plants the expedition probably wouldn’t have made it past the mountains. Plus, if she’s willing to risk drowning to save papers and journals and quill pens and top hats and jaunty coats and any other crap that 19th century adventurers would have packed on a cross-country hike, then she would surely save any men (or women) overboard. And then, for her heroism, we can repay her like they did in the olden days: by killing her people, destroying their land and forcing the stragglers into the margins of modern-day society. Even steven.

Pros: Lives off the land, knowledgeable in local flora, has her own fancy coin

Cons: Main staple is plant roots (gross), communicating might be tricky

The other Man in Black

Steve Bloom – I can’t forget about my main mission of this trip — to find and photograph a Mainland Moose. My photography skills are mediocre at best and a big, fat chunk of my photos can be categorized into two main groups – underexposed or blurry. I’m gonna need a mentor around to teach me the tricks of the trade and to help me hone my craft. Kind of like an Obi-Wan to my Padawan.

Steve Bloom is a wildlife photographer based in the UK and he’s taken pictures on every continent, in every climate, of many of Earth’s creatures. His photos are striking, raw, emotion-evoking and everything I aspire mine to be. He’s stalked and shot the largest mammals on the planet; therefore, I have no doubt that he will help me capture the essence of my lowly moose with his keen eye and artistic vision. Plus he can document all of Bear’s stupid antics on film while I’m busy keeping my eyes peeled for wild animals…

Pros: Seasoned traveller, master of the African safari, sweet hat, assumed to be a rugged wilderness aficionado based on facial hair

Cons: My pitiful quest may be beneath this Nat Geo regular, might slow down group by insisting on taking tea

Putting the 'ARG' in margarita...

Ian Milner – A quick rundown of team members — Bear, Sacajawea, Aron — shows that I have assembled a team of people that are willing to eat any old garbage to survive in the wild. I’ve decided that it doesn’t always have to be that way. Dining in the wild can be delish and I know just the guy to prove me right; my old pal Ian. This guy is currently heading up chef duties at a swanky eatery in Halifax, but I’ve seen him in his element. I’m talking a near-empty fridge, past grocery store hours, belly is a-rumblin’… We’ve all been there. This guy can whip up a scrumptious, satisfying meal with a beet, a bottle of ketchup and a left-over turkey carcass. When the rations are running low is when he will truly shine and create a meal that not even Chef Ramsey can scoff at. Hear that, Bear? No more caribou eyeballs for you! It’s all tourchons and remoulades here on in.

Pros: makes delicious meals made with the freshest of ingredients, great sense of humour, culinarily adventurous, can teach Bear how to properly fillet a snake without chomping its head off first

Cons: might get diva-y due to lack of proper supplies and when forced to sleep in a tent, embraces his late nights that lead to late mornings (breakfast at 2 p.m.), he likes to sing songs that tend to stick in one’s head… this may drive an emotionally fragile Aron to become violent and stab things at things with his multi tool

Leave parrots to sissy pirates...

James Franco – Why not? He seems like a cool guy. He strikes me as one of those people that can get along with everyone. He could probably talk art with Bloom, isoteric films with Milner and even humour Grylls by eating something that’s still alive and moving. He could regale us with wacky Hollywood stories and tell us what a bitch Julia Roberts is and how Natalie Portman actually looks like a boot up close.

Pros: fun guy to have around the campfire, he could probably talk Ralston down off a ledge if things get hairy

Cons: could be mood-swingy, might have to be air-lifted out to teach a method acting class at NYU, might insist on everyone referring to him as “Academy Award nominated actor James Franco”

So, there you have it. My band of moose-hunting misfits. If you can think of anyone that would be an asset to my squad that I might have overlooked, please let me know… And definitely check out Steve Bloom’s website. He’s a genius.

Raise Your Glasses to the Happy Couple

In honour of today’s momentous nuptials…

http://www.tinyhatsweekly.com

I am bery, bery sneaky…

"I fear you are underestimating the sneakiness."

It’s a dreary, cold, gray day. The kind that makes my disdain for this city flare up into full-on loathing. These depressingly gray days keep coming, one after another, like a never-ending line of rail cars… rail cars that tell me to stay in bed with their miserable, Eeyore-like drone . Am I being over-dramatic? Maybe… But last week I was so bummed that I booked a last-minute flight to Halifax for the weekend. Yes, you heard right. I booked a flight to Halifax, a city notoriously smothered in fog, to escape the gloom of Calgary, one of the sunniest cities in Canada. I was in dire straits indeed.

The West River in Sheet Harbour.

I didn’t tell anyone I was coming, not even my mama. (Kathryn and Kathleen: You both commented on my FB page the day I arrived and I struggled with whether or not I should tell you I was home. I ultimately decided to wait until May to see you guys so I’d have oodles of time to catch up. No hard feelings?!) I deplaned at a ridiculously early hour, rented a car and made a b-line for my parents’ house where I greeted everyone at the door while they were leaving for work. It might seem like poor timing, but I can’t sleep on a plane so I had a six-hour sleep deficit to balance. Just breathing in NS air cured what had been ailing me. I should really bottle it and always have an emergency supply on hand for days like today.

It was probably one of my most fulfilling and relaxing trips home… ever. I dined at daMaurizio for my Aunt’s 50th birthday, (fortuitous timing on my part), drove with my dad to pick up my brother from school on Saturday AND to Sheet Harbour on a sunny Sunday, stayed at Sober with my mom and sister for a couple nights and wrapped up a whirlwind trip by hitting Obladee with a few of my favourite people. I took some photos, (most were over-exposed since I had to re-acclimatize myself to sunlight…), I ate well, I saw some familiar faces and I probably quadrupled my Vitamin D  intake. In hind sight, I’m not sure I would have survived here until my scheduled trip home in May. Now, with renewed vigour, I’m even more excited to go back home and expand upon my plans to complete my ‘list’.

A brief summary of other goings-on since my last entry:

I am sad to announce that my dear pal, Ian, who had moved to Calgary in January ’10 to be my personal chef and sidekick, has uprooted once more to return to Nova Scotia. (Lucky bastard.) He has accepted a chef position at a super-chic, haute-cuisine, yet-to-be-named eatery in downtown Halifax and we wish him all the success in the world! (And we expect invites to the grand opening…) We were also visited by Kyle, a friend from my university days. He had taken a few weeks to tour Canada, starting in NS and ending here in Alberta, so we went tubing in the mountains and drank a lotta beer before we sent him back to Manitoba. After seven years in this city I still love doing the tourist-y stuff. We love hosting friends and family so if you’re ever in our neck of the woods, (I’m sure you’re dying to visit after reading my glowing description… endless train of misery and all that…), please stop on by! I’m sure you’ll find that my comments are slightly exaggerated…

Day 4 ~ The day I stop counting the days

Before I type another key, first and foremost, I must apologize for being away for so long. I’ve broken my self-appointed rule of typing a daily entry and am deeply ashamed. I beg your forgiveness.

However, on a positive note, my cup of potential writing topics should be brimming over with a month’s worth of life lived. Sitting here, staring at this computer screen, I feel more like I’m wringing each word out of a damp rag… but, I digress.

I spent 11 days in Jamaica in February. A close friend had chosen Negril, Jamaica as her destination wedding venue. As fate would have it, while M and I were arranging our travel plans to attend the wedding, my mother-in-law expressed an interest in organizing a family vacation. Our Jamaican trip happened to coincide with my brother-in-law’s spring break from school, so the whole clan hopped aboard the Jamaica train for a week-long family bonding fest. Turns out that the glue that binds the Kuzyk/Schneider clan together is a mutual affinity for sun-bathing and rum – more specifically, rum mixed with a sugary/slushy banana concoction, a drink dubbed the ‘dirty banana’. Don’t be fooled by the cutesy name, this potion packs a nasty, time-released punch. (Side effects include vomiting, sensitivity to light, intermittent Jamaican accent and involuntary booty shaking in front of a crowd.) On the plus side, over-indulging in Jamaican rum also leads to hilarious photos and videos. Some might call them humiliating, but that all depends on which side of the camera you find yourself standing…. or stumbling. In all honesty, if my antics were captured on video I would not hesitate to release it into the infiniteness of the Internet for anyone to see, but, as unwritten social networking courtesy dictates, you must let the offending drunkard decide whether or not to go public with the scandalous evidence. To put it simply: Drunk and actin’ a fool? Posting on-line isn’t cool. (Eat your heart out, Johnnie Cochran.) Besides, you can always tuck it away for blackmailing purposes.

Here are some pictures I can show, though.

From L-R: Debra "Mama Bear" Schneid, Mike, moi, Molly, Erik, Cody and Kelsey

Shady spots on the beach are a hot commodity... Mike found one and staked his claim.

Mama S atop the Negril lighthouse, the most westerly point on the island.

No shortage of colour in Jamaican art... looks fab on our taupe walls.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As for the wedding, the bride looked gorgeous, dahhhling! I wish her and her new husband a lifetime of happiness together! Here are some pictures of their special day.

Kim and Mark Smith, both going right for the goods.

The gal-formerly-known-as-Rooney's bouquet. If you're lucky enough to know her, you know Gerberas match her personality to a T.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I enjoyed my time spent on the beach, but Jamaica isn’t really my bag. I’d give it a solid 6 out of 10. I love me some jerk chicken and hot sauce, and the time spent away from the resort was certainly welcomed. I was just… bored, I guess. While meandering around the resort, I actually found myself thinking about where I’d like to be instead of Jamaica. Eleven days was simply too long; after 3 solid days of beach-bumming I grow restless.

This Entry Has Been Sponsored by Nintendo and the Grizzly House

Two weeks after returning from the Caribbean, a group of girlfriends and I headed to the mountains for a weekend of debauchery and fondue.  Our objectives were simple: eat a melted-cheese-slathered dinner at the Grizzly House (a local fondue joint and cultural institution), drink copious amounts of wine and bust some serious moves while playing Wii’s Just Dance in the privacy of our mountain cabin, away from the judging eyes of the general public. Shockingly, the newest electronic device in our cabin was the digital alarm clock circa 1978, so, needless to say, our television was not compatible with our Wii. Our television was barely new enough to be considered a television… Calling it an ‘old-timey moving-picture box’ might convey a more accurate idea of what we had to work with. So, with our hard-core dance battling dreams dashed, we did some pre-game drinking and headed out to dinner. Upon arriving at the GH, we were pleased to find that our table sat atop a raised, sectioned-off area of the restaurant. And we had our own television. Jackpot.

After finagling with the uber-accommodating manager and a quick trip back to the cabin to fetch our hardware, we were clearing an impromptu dance floor in the middle of the Grizzly House. (A brief side note: Anyone who has ever eaten at said restaurant is familiar with the phone system. There is a telephone at every table, at the bar and in each bathroom. On the back of each patron’s place mat is a rudimentary map with each phone’s extension number.) Once the sounds of Kris Kross’ Jump started resonating from our little corner of the restaurant our phone started ringing off the hook. Many of our fellow fondue aficionados soon came crawling over to participate in our gaming session; a stagette party, a pair of married couples on a double date (the ladies were a blast, but their husbands were drink-spilling shitheads), a slew of staff and anyone waiting for a table to open up. We ate, we drank, we danced, we inhaled hot-rock-emitting smoke until we couldn’t dance anymore. We staggered outside smelling like 30 years worth of fondue oil and looked like we’d just wrapped up a 5 hour spin class. Okay, I looked like that… maybe not everyone. It was a fantastic night. So good that I’ve been saying that I’m going to pen a letter of gratitude to the staff at Grizzly House. That’ll definitely never come to fruition, but I’ve been seriously thinking about it. If any GH employee reads this, thank you.

PS. I’ll post lots more photos on Facebook… as per my mom’s request.

Day Three ~ The List

It’s Thursday and this is my first entry this week (for those of you not keeping track), which means that I’m not sticking to my once-a-day resolution. I have no suitable excuse for my lengthy absence. The Superbowl was last weekend, which was really a 48 hour affair when you add up the pre-game commentary, researching the ri-goddamn-diculous bets that are available for wagering in Vegas, (orange Gatorade was dumped over coach’s head; anyone betting on blue is a sucka.), attending the parties and watching the actual game. I’m not much of a football fan, but I’ve been indoctrinated by my husband who is a die-hard Tom Brady Pats fan. So, I participated in the merry-making this weekend. Aside from that, I’m a lazy bum.

Lobstah traps

I have, however, been busy compiling a list of things that I’m looking forward to trying/doing during future trips to Sober Island. (There’s really no easy way to segue from Superbowl Sunday to S.I. so just go with it.) I refuse to use the cliched-to-death term ‘Bucket List’ to describe my check list… How about Adventure Catalogue? Vagrancy Agenda? The Destination Docket. At the top is a trip away from the coast, inland to try and spot and photograph a Nova Scotia Mainland Moose. I can’t say how my interest in moose (mooses? meese?) was sparked, but I know that they’re rarely seen, endangered (a shout out to the lumber industry for clear-cutting their habitat) and one’s best shot at seeing one near the Eastern Shore is to go into the Liscombe Game Sanctuary or up Moose River. Sounds easy, no? But, there are no vehicles allowed, so my choices are hiking, canoeing or kayaking. Therein lies the adventure.

Aside from barely scraping through Brownies and Girl Guides, I’m not much of a back-woods kinda gal. The most relatable skills I learned during my 6+ years of guiding are how to cook an egg on a juice can and how to roll a sleeping bag so it’s water tight. No moose stalking badge, for some reason. All of this back-country camping stuff will be completely new to me so I had to seek out those who know the land and, for once, Google did not have all the answers. With the help of Gail Martin at Hwy 7, I had a few leads on where to start my journey, but settled on one: “…Boggy Lake Wilderness (WA18) is also found on this road. We have property… bordering Boggy where you are welcome to camp if you like. A good spot a bit further is found at Kelly Lake — there are even a few camp fire spots there near the old salmon rearing ponds. In any case, please let us (or someone else know if you’re going in alone and when you’re expected back out).” So Boggy Lake is my official destination.

I’m not sure what to expect, but I assume that there will be birds and small mammals aplenty; I’m buzzing just thinking about the potential photography opportunities. Also, I won’t be going by myself, so I’ll have to assemble a band of merry men… or women. I’ll let you know when the official roster has been finalized. And, before I get bombarded (lightly peppered?) with comments about how dangerous moose are, I’m not looking to rope one and hang from its antlers. I definitely know the importance in admiring nature from afar and I respect the space of unpredictable animals. (I had an altercation once with a monkey at the Aylesford Zoo. It’s a long, embarrassing story and I’ll bank it for another day.) So, please, reserve your concern for legitimate risk-takers.

My goals for this trip are simple:

Find a moose – self-explanatory

Learn something new about myself and learn a new skill – Again, self-explanatory

Find enjoyment in everything – Yes, even in mosquito bites and damp sleeping bags.

Keep an open mind – I have no idea what to expect, therefore nothing should surprise me or disappoint me.

No belly-aching – I’ve been known to be a bit of a whiner.

Be prepared – That’s the girl guide in me.

A crab.

I must say that the people I’ve reached out to for information or advice while trying to arrange this expedition are the nicest and most knowledgeable people I’ve ever met. Truthfully, one can’t deny the love that inhabitants of Nova Scotia’s Eastern Shore have for their home. And from that passion comes the eagerness to know as much about their land as there is to know. Many of the families from Sober Island have been there for generations. Family trees dripping with rich heritage show generation after generation of seafarers and fishermen. Through the eyes of an ‘outsider,’ it seems like an exclusive club made up of salty sea dogs, local artisans, nature lovers, genuine geniuses, world travellers and townies. A real eclectic mishmash. My mom once met a lady from Sober Island and told her that her daughter just bought a place on the island, to which the woman quipped, “Who’d she marry?” meaning that any outsider comes to S.I. for one reason, and that’s to marry a local. (Sober Island is a bit like the mafia: You usually gotta know someone to get in, but it’s even harder to get out.) But, I digress. I simply wanted to show my sincere gratitude to anyone who replied to my emails and went above and beyond to help me with my planning. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to let you know where I’m going and when I plan to be back!

In conclusion, here’s my unfinished Destination Docket (TM):

Go back-woods camping to photograph a mainland moose

Climb the rock that’s perched on the highest point of Sober Island and watch the sunrise and sunset

I will conquer you, enormous boulder.

Ride out another hurricane by the sea. No, literally by the seashore on Pebble Beach.

Visit the old gold mines (a local historical site)

Snorkel/scuba in Beaver Harbour and on the east side of Sober Island

Explore the small islands just off shore between S.I. and Taylor Head Provincial Park

Catch (and release) a fish

Spend a clear night star-gazing with the telescope and take some stellar pictures

Hike along the East River in the autumn

Eat a raw Sober Island oyster

Snowshoing at Taylor Head with Ren

Hike all the trails in Taylor Head Park

Participate in a winter ‘polar bear swim’ (my husband’s idea)

See a whale while out whale watching

(To be continued…)

Day Two ~ Soldiering On

So, I tried to map out which direction this bloject (TM) was going to take and managed to work myself into a frenzy. Yes, after one day. I thought my topic matter was concise and esoteric enough that I couldn’t possibly get overwhelmed or lost or digress from the clearly-cut path that is the subject of the tiny Isle of Sober. Then I started to read other blogs to see how experienced bloggers approach their day-to-day writing… Big mistake. The whole reason I’ve waited this long to fire up a blog of my own is due to pure egotism; I’m concerned — nay — terrified of what people will think of my ideas. Looking back I was never a big talker at the news room table where story ideas are pitched, I never willingly participated in class discussions. What am I doing online?? Amidst bloggers who know what they’re doing and have a REAL following and are funny and likeble….. (hyperventilate into a paper bag).

So, I came up with two options. One: shut ‘er down. Is it really worth the anxiety? If people are reading what I write I dread the feedback, but if no one is reading what I write then I question my writing ability. Or, Two: soldier on. This blog exists to fill a hole in my present-day existence. People can take it, or leave it, but it will start and end on my terms. I hope people will read it and maybe even wanna come visit. (I swear I’m a much less-neurotic hostess than writer.) Otherwise I’d write in a diary. Anyway, I’ve chosen option number two. I’m gonna put it all out there (even if I don’t have a schtick or gimmick or two crazy chicks living above me). Enjoy!

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Our humble abode.

Sober Island is about 90 minutes outside Halifax. (No measuring distance in kilometres here.) Most Albertans might say that’s a very manageable drive. However, distance, although a variable that can be measured down to the millimetre, tends to be very subjective. Frankly speaking, we don’t get many visitors that aren’t either a) my parents, or b) locals. This has proven to be a blessing in disguise because it’s forced Mike (my husband) and I to get out there and hob nob with our neighbours.

Victims of quality control testing.

Our first encounter was with Les. A gruff, old fella with a t’ick accent and kind eyes. He had helped the previous owner of our house with snow clearing and other odds-n-ends. Coincidentally, Les also owns a second house near my parents’ place so we shared a bit of common ground. Les and his son, Trevor, run an oyster farming operation off of their property which backs onto a brackish pond in the middle of the island. Mike is a bit of a foodie and an oyster fanatic, so when we were offered an invitation to check out the oyster beds, he enthusiastically accepted. Tragically, I’m not quite the raw mollusk enthusiast that Mike is. I am, however, open to trying new things.

Kids, you should always wear life jackets.

While schlepping the half-kilometre to Les’ house in my men’s rubber boots, I thought about the chapter in Anthony Bourdain’s book Kitchen Confidential in which he describes, in intimate detail, his first raw oyster. It was such a spiritual experience for him that it spurred him to pursue a career in the gastronomical arts. Perhaps I would experience the same reaction. Maybe I was about to reach a turning point in my life. The thought of slurping down my first oyster while bobbing in an aluminum dingy right above future harvests seemed romantic to me; much like drinking a Pinot Noir in the French vineyard that bore the grapes to make it. I started to schlep a little faster.

Hunting and gathering

Trevor was the captain of our tiny boat equipped with outboard motor. Our crew of three clambered aboard and we putted away from the dock and toward the distant floating orange markers. Trevor hauled the cages up for inspection; Mike absorbed the experience like a sponge. The contents turned out to be a little premature for snacking on, but all was not lost! The whole reason that Sober Island Oysters came to be was because of the oysters that already exist in the pond, and they are behemoths. It only takes a few short minutes of scavenging the shore line before stumbling across some ripe specimens.

After the oysters are gatherd comes the shell-ebration! What?! C'mon, that's funny.

Actually, any visitors that we’ve ever hosted have been regaled with the tales of the magical pond that spawns fresh mussels and oysters abound. Mike insists that a trip to the brackish pond with an empty bucket to pluck shellfish for dinner is an experience everyone MUST have. I prefer my seafood cooked to perfection and served in front of me while I sport a functional, plastic bib. Mike is more… rugged and defiantly attempts to shuck the oysters that he’s handpicked, despite the risk of inflicting a serious stab wound and numerous warnings from Ian, our friend and oyster-shucking extaordinaire.

Back to the pond. The moment of truth was upon me. Shucking tool wielded by a professional? Check. Oyster? Check. Aaaaand I couldn’t pull the trigger. Once the exoskeleton was breached and the fruit was exposed, I couldn’t get over the unappetizing goop that stared back at me. All the romantic crap that I had been dreaming up earlier was a distant reverie and in that moment I concentrated on stifling my gag reflex.

So, I missed a golden opportunity. C’est la vie. I know that the day will come when I finally conquer my trepidations. Until then, I’ll have to find satisfaction in feasting on Atlantic lobster, mussels in white wine sauce, sauteed Digby scallops, grilled prawns… I don’t think I’m missing out on much. Except maybe a potential flesh wound.

Oyster shucker and polysporin go hand in hand.

Hello world!

So, this is it. My own little corner of cyberspace.

I guess my inaugural post will be a little on the generic side… I’ve spent the last four hours trying to settle on a blog name and I am now creatively exhausted and just a little cross-eyed. Since my goal is to write about all things related to Sober Island, I was hoping for a clever, pun-ny name like ‘Sobering Thoughts’ or ‘Sober Living,’ but my mom pointed out that people might think that Sober Island is a place where drunks go to “dry out.” Point taken. ‘Isle of Dan’ it is. Not my first choice, but it’s kinda catchy and will make those who know me roll their eyes just a little.

A view from the old fishing wharf at sunset

Sober Island is my oasis and, thankfully, not many people know about it. In March, 2009, my husband and I flew from Calgary to Nova Scotia to look at some seaside properties. We lucked out and found the perfect house for the perfect price in the perfect setting. Now we’re there as often as his work schedule allows us to be. I love (almost) everything about it. It’s on the ocean, which was a non-negotiable stipulation to purchasing an East Coast property. It’s on five acres of forested land which act as a shroud of privacy, but our neighbours — a friendly, eclectic bunch, bursting with East Coast hospitality — are the best, so we’re never sorry to see them coming down our driveway. It’s near a charming little town that has a grocery store, a liquor store and a British Pub — all the amenities. We have several lobster fisherman on our speed dial  and we’re a five-minute walk from a local oyster farm. The scenery is breath-taking. It’s cozy in the winter and illuminated and full of life in the summer. Yada yada yada it’s great. Why do I need to blog about it?

Truthfully, I’m not sure I can keep up a daily blog solely consisting of all things Sober, but I’ve been known to suffer from bouts of homesickness while in Calgary and I figured this might be a therapeutic way to deal. No one likes a Debbie Downer. Also, I’m a bit of a lost soul in the career department. I’ve been to university and followed up my under grad with a certificate in journalism. I like to write, just not news stories or obituaries or sports articles… I know a lot about what I don’t like doing and not much about what I do. I like to go places. I’ve pitched travel stories to a newspaper editor in the past, but to no avail. My morale was low and my ego bruised, but I know I’ll feel my way out of the dark eventually. I think routinely writing in a blog is a step in the right direction. Y’know, get my creative juices flowing. Jump start my right brain.

Lastly, the old adage tells us to write about what we know. I know Sober Island feels like home even though I’ve only been there (intermittently) for two years. I’ve had lots of experiences there already, some good and some not so much. I really want to get acquainted with the people, the land and the history. (The SI Wikipedia page leaves a lot of holes in these areas…) So, hopefully I can tell you something that you didn’t know before. If not, I’ll post some pretty pictures for you to look at.