Photography – Page 11 – Nicolas Demers

White Out

As you might have heard, we’ve got a lot of snow here.

Of course, “a lot of snow” for Vancouver is not a lot for, let’s say, my home town of Ottawa. But it’s thick and soft and has fucked up traffic and power lines, and even though the weather’s warmed up some now, it’ll be hanging around for a while. There was a bit of snow on Saturday, in the higher places, but it’s been coming down hard between Saturday night and Wednesday, with just a few breaks. We haven’t had this much snow since that sudden cold snap in… 2002, I think. In March, of all months. I had to buy a snow brush & ice scraper for my car. Never needed one before, and I don’t think I’ve needed it since, except for this week.

And my gawd, it’s beautiful. This is one thing I miss about Ottawa, the pretty white Christmases. I don’t enjoy them like I should anymore when I go home for the holidays, since I’ve become way too sensitive to cold from living out here on the balmy West Coast. The snowflakes are just hypnotic, drifting to the ground like so many dancing constellations, and everything is just so bright at night. The soft pearly light from the clouds and the ground is a hell of a change from the dull orangeish glow of reflected streetlights.

In fact, though the sky’s been mostly overcast and grey, and the landscape seems to be all in black or white, there’s something quite magical about this snow-covered scenery. I know it won’t last, and frankly I don’t want it to. A couple of weeks of snow is plenty for me, thanks very much. But in the meantime, I’m enjoying the hell out of it.

A Wedding in Sooke

For the second time in three weeks I was on the Island; not in Tofino but the little town of Sooke, for my friend Nathan’s wedding. It was a very nice ceremony, nothing fancy, with Sooke Harbour as a gorgeous backdrop. Which became a grey and rainy backdrop the following day, so we really lucked out.

Five of us stayed in a lovely bed & breakfast for the weekend. The scenery was beautiful, the amenities spotless, the breakfasts yummy beyond description. The only irritant was one of the owners, who turned out to be a hardcore evangelical Christian. I only found this out the evening after Nathan’s wedding, when we’d all gone back to the B&B to relax, and he struck up a conversation with Jon, one of our friends who I knew was also a devout Xian (but, to his credit, had never preached to me). I was upstairs, trying to lose myself in Stephen Baxter’s excellent Exultant but I couldn’t tune out the harsh dogma, talk of “church-planting” and other bizarre jargon. Finally I couldn’t take any more, and went for a walk. I headed down the Galloping Goose trail, got bored by the lack of scenery, so I decided to explore a trail following Ayum Creek down to the water. That was a lot more interesting, and washed away the unpleasant taste of dogmatism. Plus, it gave me some very nice pictures.

Things got sour again the next morning as we were heading out. Sandra, an elementary school teacher and very politically active, got into an argument with the aforementioned Xian about the upcoming strike vote and teacher’s demands. He was absolutely opposed to the strike action (and, it seemed, pretty much any social activism), self-righteously accused the teachers of being greedy, and other equally insulting arguments. Sandra held her own but was getting visibly upset by the guy’s assholish attitude, so I stepped in. Partly out of chivalry, partly because I agreed with Sandra’s position, and partly because I enjoy a good argument every now and then. But it’s a good thing we were on our way out.

To be fair: we didn’t see much of him until our last morning, and his wife was extremely nice. Still, there’s no way I’m staying there again.)

Some more pictures over here!

Tofino and Back

Last week I had friends visit from Ottawa (not just to see me, tho: they’ve gone on an Alaskan cruise) and we spent a few days in Tofino. I picked them up at the airport Monday evening, and we headed down to Tsawwassen to take the Victoria ferry. We spent most of Tuesday traveling across the island; we could have done it in a few hours, but why rush? There was so much to see on the way.

In Duncan, we stopped at the Quw’utsun’ Cultural Centre, where we looked at some totem poles and watched an interesting short film on the Cowichan people’s history and culture. Petroglyph Park was a bit of a disappointment, though—maybe I didn’t look in the right places, but the glyphs just weren’t that visible. it’s possible I was expecting big showy art like Cro-Magnon cave paintings. Oh, well; maybe I’ll give it (or other petroglyph sites on Vancouver Island) another go if I’m ever in the area again. Everything else about our trip across the island was stunning, though, from the big mountains to the serene lakes to the little creeks bubbling merrily by the highway.

We stayed at the Pacific Sands resort, right by Cox Bay Beach. I took a walk on the beach that night, away from the resort, and was struck by the dizzying and awesome sight of the night sky crowded with stars. Equally awesome: the roaring blackness that was the Pacific, broken only by the foam on top of the waves, faintly reflecting the light from the resort. Having lived in cities all my life, I found such complete darkness disorienting and more than a little scary.

On Wednesday morning we took a walk on the beach at low tide and goggled at the stunning critters we found. There were big gorgeous starfish, several kinds of sea anemones, mussels, barnacles and more. I’d only thought about tides in the abstract, caused by the motion of the sun and the moon, but here it was real: there was the intertidal zone, covered in barnacles and mussels. This was nature, not in a zoo; powerful, untamed, dangerous and fascinating.

Then, whale watching! We’d heard that gray whales had been sighted feeding in the area, so decided it was worth the risk of seasickness. I took lots of pictures of the nearby islands as we went past them, for reference. I think in the back of my mind I wanted to piece together a map of the area, and match island names with their actual appearance. But when I sorted through the pictures later, they pretty much all looked like nondescript rocks rising from the sea. Oh well. I did get a couple of pretty good shots of a gray whale. I was lucky to even get those, because as big as those creatures are (up to 15m), they’re very small compared to the very big Pacific Ocean. Most of the time all I could see was their spout in the distance.

The best part was, I didn’t get seasick (though I got pretty worried the first time we cut engines to watch for whales). The credit goes to the two Gravols I took, and also to my always being on my feet and adjusting for the motion of the boat. In fact, I deliberately tried to imagine I was the one controlling the rocking, which I think helped even more. On the way back, the wind picked up and the waves got even worse. But I stayed abovedecks, even though I wore only a t-shirt and light jacket, because I knew if I went below I’d have a much better chance of being sick. I preferred to freeze, endure the wind and the spray (like needles on my face, it was!), than share my lunch with the fishes.

Before docking we passed by a bald eagle’s nest on one of the little islands between Tofino and Meares Island, but it was too far for me to get a clear picture. That’s okay, though: I saw lots of bald eagles (another first for me) soaring majestically around the area.

We started back on Thursday, stopping to explore a couple of trails south of Long Beach, ending up in a little sheltered cove. My inner scientist perked right up, because it made an interesting contrast with Cox Bay Beach. Now, Cox Bay is a sandy beach, very exposed, with no (or very few) off-shore rocks. It has life, but only the kind of life that can hang on to bare rock and endure the strong tides: barnacles, mussels, anemones, starfish. This little cove, on the other hand, was a gravelly beach, and turned out to have much richer life in its tide pools: everything we saw on Cox Bay, plus little fishies, tiny little crabs, more kinds of seaweed and shellfish. They don’t have to fight the ebb and flow so much. I picked up a few seashell fragments, polished by the waves and bleached by the sun, and that was another difference: would shells survive on Cox Beach long enough to be bleached white before being swept out to sea or smashed against the rocks?

And that was it. I regret that this is only the second time I’ve been out to Tofino in almost ten years of living in Vancouver. It’s a different place, more relaxed, closer to nature. I’m not sure I could live there long-term, but I treasure the brief times I stayed. And I like to think I’ve brough something back besides souvenirs: in addition to some extra knowledge about the creatures I’ve encountered, I have a greater respect for the vast, uncaring (yet complex and endlessly fascinating) web of relationships that connect them, and me, together.

Flying High

Last weekend some friends and I went up to Whistler for a bit of zip-lining. Being afraid of heights I was pretty nervous, but it turned out to be one of the most amazing thrills of my whole life. I got to soar high above Fitzsimmons Creek with the wind and fog in my face, surrounded by the beautiful mountain scenery of BC.

There are five stations built high in the treetops, connected by lines going back and forth across the creek. The first one was moderately scary: It wasn’t so high above the ground as the others, being further away from the water, and surrounded by trees. I started the first zip screaming (of course, because hello, height), but that turned into hysterical laughter when I left the trees and flew above the water. Yes, it was scary, but nothing like a rollercoaster. There are no sudden twists and turns, and though there’s a bit of a downward motion, it’s nowhere near free-fall. And the view was magnificent. Once I actually got moving, I found I could do this all day.

When I landed at the second station, I had adrenaline shooting through my body. My hands were shaking, my knees were wobbly, I was close to hyperventilating. But I’d done it, dammit! I could fly!

I hit a bit of a snag when it was time to cast off from that station. This one was right next to the water, much higher off the ground, and way more exposed. Even though my harness was securely fastened to the line and I couldn’t possibly fall, it took all my willpower to walk to the edge where I could just let gravity pull me forward. Because HOLY SHIT I WAS VERY VERY HIGH ABOVE THE RUSHING WATER AND THE NASTY HARD ROCKS OH MY SWEET JESUS CHRIST I’M GOING TO DIE

Interesting factoid: wind drag tended to turn me around so I spent about half of each zip facing backward. I wonder if it’d help to hold out just one arm (on the side that’s moving forward more than it should), to keep me facing the right direction? Now that I think about it, I remember the guides doing just that. I’ll have to try it next time. Because oh yes, I’m doing it again someday. Meantime, here are some more pictures.

Though I wonder how this patch of (relatively) untouched wilderness will be affected by the 2010 Olympics. Construction for the games was taking place practically right next door to the ziptrek. It’d be a shame if this area got polluted or damaged by idiot tourists.

That night we watched Team America: World Police. The censored version, which was all the video store had. Just as well: I’ve already been traumatised by the uncensored kinky puppet sex scene.

Dancers, Drag Queens and Devout Nerds

Taking a brief break from Web development, with the coding and the styling and the restructuring, to write a quick entry. (A month between entries is not good. At least I’ve got a good excuse this time.)

So anyway, last Saturday I went to Davie Days, a street festival sort of thing where the businesses (queer and otherwise) along Davie Street all have booths displaying their stuff; there were a couple of beer gardens, a guy making balloon hats for the kiddies (of all ages) and a couple of stages for entertainment. A friend of mine was in a show in front of Celebrities, as a backup dancer for a drag queen lipsyncher by the name of Mina Mercury. Great show, preceded by another great show by a belly dancer troupe. Did I take pictures? Why, yes I did.

Continuing from last entry’s tradition, here’s another hilarious link: Jesus of the Week. And ohmigawd, did I ever flash back to my long-ago Catechism classes when I saw this one. Mind you, I had to look up the exact passage, but I remember so clearly reading those illustrated booklets with all the feel-good parables from the New Testament: the Good Samaritan, the house built on sand. Lots of others. I loved reading them. Well, partly because I loved reading, period. But I liked the stories too, and I effortlessly memorised them, to recite back in Sunday School. Damn, but I was a devout little nerd back then.

Well, enough lollygagging down memory lane. I’ve still got a site to upgrade.

Pride Day 2005

Hey, that was fun.

Here’s the thing: I hadn’t been to the Pride parade in six years. I swore off in ’99 because I was disgusted at how commercial and corporatized the whole thing was, with the huge floats for the bars or mainstream sponsors (Air Canada, CIBC, Royal Bank, VanCity… come to think of it, is there a single major bank who’s not hot for gay money these days?), with less and less visibility for community or political organizations. (The worst part for me was seeing parade volunteers with the KFC logo on the backs of their t-shirts.) It was all just a big show, long on glitz and short on substance and meaning, and I simply didn’t see any point in going if I’d just get riled up. So I didn’t, and everybody was happy. Plus, I got to keep sleeping in on Sundays.

So what’s changed? Well, for one thing, I’ve gotten used to getting up on Sunday mornings for volleyball. And there’s the news of same-sex marriage being legal now—which, I know, is not the end-all and be-all of queer politics, but is still a big deal. I’m still as cynical as ever, but not politically active, and I think I’ve gotten a bit more relaxed about some things, ready to take the good with the bad. And there is bad: corporate sponsors are even more visible now, especially at the after-parade festival at Sunset Beach, where booths for actual community groups were even more sparse than six years ago, edged out by the mainstream corporations. Though I have to say, I was grateful to the Fabutan booth for giving out free sunscreen. Sweet Jesus, but yesterday was a scorcher.

But there’s also good, because the parade and the Sunset Beach festival—KFC and Air Canada notwithstanding—are safe spaces where you can be as queerly outrageous as you want. And now that I’m back home in the suburbs, what are the odds I’ll see same-sex PDA’s, or gender-bending freaks, or topless women walking around? If I had a boyfriend, I’d never have the nerve to walk down the street hand in hand with him here. Hell, I’m not even 100% sure I’d necessarily do that in the West End either.

So. This was a good outing after all. I got out of the house, I ogled buff boys in their underwear, snapped some pictures… and I’ve got some food for thought. And you know something else? I think I’ll go back next year.

“I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.”

Because, honestly: how is this billboard not shameless religious propaganda?

Oy.

That kind of crap really makes my blood boil, it does, and not just because I’m firmly pro-choice. Leaving aside my views for the moment, this is more evidence that the anti-choice movement was and still is driven by sectarian, dogmatic principles. Because, honestly: how is this billboard not shameless religious propaganda? It consists only of a Bible verse (actually, only part of a verse, more on that later), and is signed “God”—though that bit seems to have been plastered over by some anarchists. It’s the arrogance I cannot stand, of people who’re so sure they know the mind of (their) God; their presumption as they cheerfully insult non-Christian believers, moderate Christians, and atheists; their cowardice, as they hide behind their holy book and three-letter deity, instead of owning their positions and thinking for themselves; and their self-delusion, if they believe this particular quote has any relevance whatsoever to anyone outside of their movement.

(To be fair, this eyesore is marginally less boneheaded and blasphemous than those other “God Speaks” billboards, if only because it quotes actual Scripture instead of just making shit up and putting words in God’s mouth. The question of whether said Scripture is itself made-up shit is not one we will address at this time.)

Just for fun, let’s take a closer look at the Bible quote and see what, if anything, the hell it has to do with the abortion debate. The reference (in case it’s not clear) is Jeremiah 1:5. Here are the first five verses from Jeremiah 1 (New International Version):

¹The words of Jeremiah son of Hilkiah, one of the priests at Anathoth in the territory of Benjamin.
²The word of the LORD came to him in the thirteenth year of the reign of Josiah son of Amon king of Judah,
³and through the reign of Jehoiakim son of Josiah king of Judah, down to the fifth month of the eleventh year of Zedekiah son of Josiah king of Judah, when the people of Jerusalem went into exile.
⁴The word of the LORD came to me, saying,
⁵“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.”

Seen in context, this looks more about some prophet saying how special he is, and not much about how wrong it is to abort fetuses (at least those that won’t grow up to be Old Testament prophets). So I have to wonder, why did they pick this verse? Is Jeremiah 1:5 the best Biblical support the anti-choice movement can come up with? Well, yeah, it kind of is. Good thing they had that cutesy widdle baby and teddy bear to give people warm fuzzies and distract them from the lack of message.

Because I’m feeling especially mean (and I want to show off my mad photoshopping skillz), here’s another heartwarming Bible verse. There’s lots more where those came from. Exactly why do they call it “The Good Book”?

Weaver

I’ve got a new pet.

About a week ago, I noticed a big Orb Weaver spider had settled outside my living room window. It’s a beauty, a bit over 1cm long not counting the legs, with pretty patterns of brown and orange on its abdomen… and the impressive web itself, a couple of feet across, spun in the traditional spiral pattern that gives these beasties their name.

I’ve got a new pet.

I never thought I’d call a spider beautiful. Some insects are pretty: ladybugs, dragonflies, butterflies… but spiders? I don’t really have anything against them, but I guess there are too many bad connotations. Poisonous. Related to scorpions. Hallowe’en. Monster movies. This spider isn’t cute or pretty: but it is beautiful and elegant, delicately picking its way across its web—an amazing piece of engineering. No, I can’t be repulsed or afraid, since I’m pretty sure it’s not poisonous. This is a fascinating little living being, simple yet complex.

I’ve watched it take down and rebuild its web at night, a process that takes several hours. First it reabsorbed the radiating support strands one by one, spinning out a new replacement strand as it ate each one, using its rear pair of legs to guide the new webbing in place. The sticky spiral strands were torn down and it ate those too, using its third pair of legs to stuff the collapsed clumps of webbing in its mouth. Smart: its four front legs aren’t flexible enough to reach its head. Unfortunately I had to go to bed, so I missed the rest. A couple of nights before, around 1AM, I came home to find it in the last stages of rebuilding, laying out the spiral webbing from the outside in. And it does this every day, following instincts that evolution has been carving into its ancestors’ genes for tens of millions of years.

The most exciting part came Sunday afternoon. I’d gone to the window to check up on my little friend, when suddenly a fruit fly (I think) flew in the web and got stuck. Immediately the spider rushed in, grabbed the fly and—this is the best part—quickly spun a cocoon around it, twirling the fly around in its mandibles. Just like Shelob and Frodo in Return of the King. Who knew spiders did that in real life? Heh. Then it parked itself back in the centre of its web to suck out the juicy fly insides. Awesome. Just awesome. When I realized what was happening I wanted to get my camera, but the whole thing was over in less than ten seconds. I’d just read about stuff like this, and I wasn’t sure how grossed out I’d be but, really, it was pretty tame. Nothing like the half-chewed mice and baby birds our old cat would leave on the doorstep, back in the day. Interesting factoid: when it’s wrapping up prey, the spider spins out many strands at the same time, whereas when it’s building its web, there’s only one single strand.

I still wonder how much food it’s getting, though. My first thought was that it didn’t seem like a great location (since the web is mostly parallel to my window), but what do I know? Still, can it move, if it finds the pickings too slim? It should, shouldn’t it? That web isn’t like a hive: if it needs to, the spider can just abandon it and walk away… right? I mean, how else did it get here? Or did it fly in as a young on a little webbing parachute? Do Orb Weavers do that? (Not a simple question: that term covers lots of different species). But this one already looks mature… Just how long has it been here, anyways? I’ve suddenly got all these questions because it’s not abstract anymore. There’s so much I don’t know about this little creature, and I do plan to get better informed. Meantime, I feel privileged to have a front-row seat to its life.

A Moment of Patriotism

Fall is in full swing. Trees are reddening (and browning and yellowing and orangeing, and is that even a word? Orangeing? Orangening? I could look it up, but itâ€™s more fun to speculate). I felt like writing something here, but it all came out so generic. The leaves are falling and the days are getting shorter and the birds are flying south and something about the changing seasons and maybe the circle of life, and then a rousing rendition of Turn! Turn! Turn!

(Problem: if Iâ€™m going to have a more bloggish feel to this Web site (ie: shorter, but more frequent, updates), I canâ€™t just write something for the sake of writing. It has to haveâ€¦ substance. Or at least, style. Or a point. Or something. It canâ€™t just be about what I had for lunch, or cleaning the appartment, or talking about people you donâ€™t even know, stuff that would be boring to anyone but me. But on the other hand, I canâ€™t keep writing these big long essays with deep insights and stuff that take months or years to finish (depending on how disciplined I feel). Thereâ€™s got to be a happy medium; I just have to find it. But then Iâ€™ll probably have to rename that section. â€œEssaysâ€ sounds tooâ€¦ stuffy. Unspontaneous. I donâ€™t know if thatâ€™s a word either. Making up words is doubleplusgood.)

So, fall. This weekend I went down to Como Lake Park to add to my Fall Foliage gallery, and got some gorgeous pics of a young maple tree showing off its red leaves. Wow. I ask you, is there anything more spectacular than a maple leafâ€™s unique fiery orange-red? And even though the colour actually has nothing to do with why it was picked for the Canadian flag, for just a moment, it made me feel allâ€¦ patriotic.

O Canada, terre de nos aïeux
Ton front est ceint de fleurons glorieux

(Second aside. I only knew the first stanza of the French and English versions. Then I looked up the rest of the lyrics, and theyâ€™re even more fiercely royalist, nationalist and Christian. Oy. Although I did get a giggle out of the first line of the third stanza: Â«De son patron, prÃ©curseur du vrai DieuÂ» Heh. The original version was French, after all. English Canadians, not so big on the Saint-Jean-Baptiste.)

The days are getting shorter, and the sunâ€™s lower in the sky. No more outdoor volleyball at work. But when youâ€™ve got spectacles like this, I really canâ€™t complain.