The seed of grief is love

Bogumił Pacak-Gamalski

I have watched two movies recently. Very different and very powerful on a very personal level. Stirring emotions, and memories. The Spanish “Society of the Snow” produced by Netflix and directed by J. A. Bayona, and the Canadian production of “Good Grief” directed, produced, and written by Dan Levy. Dan Levy also played the main character, Marc.

The “Society of the snow” – let me take you on a journey in time. At the time of the catastrophe, I was 14 years old. A year later a book by British writer Clay Blair “Survive” appeared. A well-known Polish writer or essayist wrote in a Polish literary weekly “Literatura” a piece about it. It might have been Jerzy Andrzejewski, an excellent writer whose weekly column I have always read – but truly I can’t recall now. Yet the story and especially the dilemma of cannibalism versus survival made me write a short piece about it. By that, I was fifteen and of course, as any fifteen-year-old ‘writer’ had a lot to say about the issues of life and death. I sent it off to the editorial desk of Jerzy Putrament, a Polish writer, who was the editor-in-chief of the weekly ‘Literatura”, a major literary and art publication. And he published it. As it was my second publication in a major Polish magazine (the first one was in “Perspektywy”) it cemented my ‘fame and prestige’ among my teachers in my school, but not as much among my classmates, LOL.

I don’t recall if I have read the book by Clay Blair. Not sure if it was translated into Polish. Most likely I never did. But I have seen years later the first movie about it based on that novel. And I wasn’t impressed. Yet the Spanish “Society of the Snow” impressed me very much. The screen-writers (Bayona, Vilaplana, and Marques), the director, and the actors were superb in their austerity of dramatization. Everything was left to the minimum: air, food, movement, and words. Years later, while visiting Mendoza in Patagonia (the ill-fated plane took off from Mendoza on its last tragic leg of the flight to Chile), I took a special bus tour to the Andes and was able to do some hiking at the base of Aconcagua (almost 7000 meters, one of the titans of the world). The outmost desolation of that place there is amazing and overpowering. As far as you can see is a frozen horizon of white peaks and valleys. Can’t imagine surviving there with hardly any provisions for longer than a few days. I felt that the movie captured that feeling very well.

“Good Grief” by Dan Levy. Who doesn’t remember and didn’t love that sweet, funny, and almost useless in practical skills young gay guy in the now iconic CBC series “Schitt’s Creek”, with his father, great Canadian actor Eugene Levy, and fantastic Catherine O’Hara? But Dan Levy playing a grief-strickened, middle-age man in serious drama, tragedy actually? Can he carry it? He did.

I shouldn’t have watch it. But I did. I had to. As I watched his grief, as I travelled with him in his yearly journey of that grief of losing the love of his life – I went through mine. Every silent moment. Every object in his and mine apartment, photographs, furniture. At times I didn’t know if it was Dan Levy or me on that screen. If it was a movie or my memories of last year. No, I didn’t go to Paris and there was no surprise in finding ‘the other lover’. But these are just details, unimportant almost didaskalia of the drama. The differences between the lives of me and John and that of Mark and Luke are just a different shade of the same colour.

As I watched that movie sitting on my (on our) sofa I felt John taking my hand into his and squeezing it gently. I heard him saying I’m sorry, and I wanted to grab his hand, to cover it with kisses. But I didn’t, I knew the hand, his voice would dissipate into the air. So I just sat quietly, didn’t even turn my head, and continued watching the movie. With him undisturbed sitting next to me. As he always did. It felt good. Sad but good. The next morning I went for a drive to a little town called Fall River. I took him there in 2019 to a little Provincial Park, with a forest, by a long, wonderful lake. This time it was wintertime, windy and cold. The gate to the park was closed for the season. I left my car and walked the long trail on foot. The sky was splendid with clouds and sun in crispy air. It was my trip ‘to Paris’. Thank you, Dan Levy, for letting me submerge myself in that grief again. Grief is hard, is sad. But it also is beautiful, because the seed of grief is love.

After

I couldn’t sleep.   

Didn’t know how to

console You.

How to tell You –

it’s all right, Babycake.

I have survived.

No, it wasn’t Your

fault.

You tried,

You tried so hard.



Do I lie, when I say:

‘it’s all right’?

Yes, I do.

It was

so fucking hard.

I knew it would be

if and when,

but had no clue 

how hard it is.

Didn’t know 

that grief

could be like 

hot lead 

slowly injected 

into your veins.

Like the disappearing

bubbles of air

you have tried 

to squeeze into your lungs

nailed to the heavy

cross of impossibility.

As I watched with terror.

So what was

really the weight

of my grief

compared to that?

How do you compare

the pain of life

to pain of death?

How do you?

What’s the balance ratio

of life in grief

in one hand,

and no life

in the other?

Does a man know?

Does God?

Midnight walk on My Rocks, with a camera

Bogumił Pacak-Gamalski

During winter it is a bit tricky and not always a pleasureable to go for a midnight stroll. The rocks are very slippery and the water below them – not very inviting, LOL. But it is also so peaceful, so empty from any distractions. And the play of night lights in the water – just a magic in itself. Here is some of the magic captured by the lense.

The same panorama captured a day or two earlier in an early evening. Like two different worlds.

Thy Kingdom comes,o Love

Bogumił Pacak-Gamalski

January in 2024. First time this year I have come to see your ‘home in Pictou’s cemetery, at Stella Maris.

I know you are not there –it is just a place, just a stone with your name on it. Like the stone tablets of Sumerians, and Acadians, like the stone tablet given to Moses a few thousand years later. These letters, and symbols left on them by the Old Ones are not alive anymore. No ancient gods lay claim to them, not from Ur, not from Babylon, not from Sinai. What’s left in these letters are hidden stories of love, of passion.

Under these letters, under your stone is a small container with some ashes. Gray powder in a box, nothing else. But I can’t stop coming here where I can submerge myself in my despair, wallow in my grief. Here it doesn’t bother anyone. The dead ones are dead. Silent. Sometimes a black bird looks at me from a tree branch and says something in its characteristic low and screechy voice.

It sounds like a song of the Underworld. A poem of decayed generations. Only the bird, the guardian of the cemetery knows that ancient language.

There are no other visitors here, especially this time of the year. Unless it is a funeral. Another wooden box full of bones, or smaller one with ashes, goes to the ground.

Old wooden cross with a white figure of Jesus of Joseph and Mary, who attested to prophesies of Isaiah of Kingdom coming. That cross, darkened by weather and age is strong. He does not attest to anything anymore. He is profoundly sad. Painfully sad. Sorrow emanates from his eyes and from that terrible tool of his death. Still asking: Why? Why did you lead me to this terrible, painful death, o father? What did I do to deserve such cruel punishment? Why did you forsake me, condemn me to this brutal death?

I want to talk to him, help him to quell his anguish. He was still a very young man, and did not understand. I want to tell him – don’t cry anymore. To tell him if he truly found love in Mary Magdalen or any other lovers he pursued, if he was loved and loved – it never died. Not on that cross, nor in this cemetery. That his father, his false friend Judas – they could not stop that Love, they could not erase it. It soared like an eagle, like an Angel through the Cosmos. That love, young man – if you truly were loved and loved – sang songs of Love. Eternal.

The wintery Sun came over the desolate, little cemetery. It flickered in the mud holes of the walkways, it caressed and made bright little plastic flowery arrangements on some gravestones. Looked at your grave with my inscription: forever in my heart and smiled, too. That’s just for some passerby, maybe long after any memory of both of us would linger in anyone’s life. So he or she would have known that you were loved. And would recognize that love does conquer death. Nothing else. But She does.

Of course, you are not there, under the stone. You are in my heart, with me. All the time, everywhere. Just on that cemetery, on any cemetery, there is a special stillness of air that allows you to have these talks, these thoughts. That’s why I keep coming here. When I was very young I used to visit some special coffee shops in Warsaw, where I would write my poems on white, square, and very small paper tissues. Now, when I am much older, I like to come to this cemetery or visit my special wild beaches I have conquered in your name and have these talks with you, and still write poems. I like it.

Before I left, went and looked at that man outstretched on this horrible cross. I thought he wasn’t as sad as before. I hope. I hope that he got it, he understood it. That death is just that – all matter decays and dies with time. But love survives, and overcomes. The Kingdom came through love.

Actors, directors, writers and the public. Spectacle of the past and the future: 2023 versus 2024 – the English version

Bogumił Pacak-Gamalski

In ancient Greece, there was a special, feared temple in Delphi, where the women serving as the foretellers of tomorrow and fate would tell you what yours would look like. Pythia was seldom very clear in her oracles. I will try my best to be less confusing and complicated. Also, unlike a proper Pythia, I am not a user and therefore I am not high, as I write the story, LOL.

But before we get to 2024, let’s look back to 2023. Normally, talking about history would seem to be very safe. Nothing could be more wrong than that wisdom. History, my dear reader is only objective about plain facts. You can say safely only one sentence: i.e. the Battle of Hastings took place in 1066. Anything else would be your opinion of the battle, not facts.

So maybe it is better to ‘use’ and be high and talk about the future. At least no one can say with a conviction that you are wrong or even a liar.

But I will try nonetheless to say a few things that I hope will be reasonable, seasoned, and not too emotional.

2023 in Canada

Eighth year of Justin Trudeau’s Liberal government. From happiness and joyful youth of hope at the beginning (that was very much needed at that time) to Covid years, social upheaval (Truck convoys, occupations of Ottawa, and border crossings), and polarization of the entire Canadian society. Not many could have survived it. He did. But badly damaged. I also think that he has become tired and not as enthusiastic about bringing a sunny future to Canadians. I doubt very much if he will be able to beat his father’s record of longest-serving PM in modern Canadian history.

2023 was a series of setbacks for our Government. On the domestic scene and international scene. Most of them were probably beyond anyone’s ability to solve or remedy. But in politics, excuses are seldom granted for those in power.

In the last two years, prices of everything just skyrocketed. And so did interest rates. But food and shelter become the biggest scare of all. That certainly was not a Canadian phenomenon – similar things happened everywhere in the developed world. In Germany, France, Poland, in the USA. Originally a lot of it stemmed from the COVID years and total breakage in world transport of goods across continents and oceans. But once that was established – the habits of raking huge profits became entrenched in the pockets of the oligarchs of domestic and world food distributions. Owners of supermarkets, car sales, oil and energy, landlords of apartments both big ones and individual ones. Almost overnight rents went up ten, twenty, and fifty percent higher. The high prices of home ownership were already habitually high putting us all at constant risk of collapse and financial crisis of the banking system (remember what happened in the US many years ago?). But it used to be in Vancouver, Toronto, and Montreal. Suddenly it happened in Halifax, St. John, and Fredericton – for no economic reason whatsoever since none of the Maritime Provinces experienced even a semblance of any economic boom – to the contrary. I guess greed is a part of human nature. Not a nice one – but it is.

Eventually, wages went up, too. Not nearly enough – but surely. All of it made the fight against inflation even more difficult – but the Bank of Canada stayed its course and no serious inflation ever occurred. It wasn’t popular – but necessary. That is the difference between politicians and high-ranking Officers of the Crown (like national banks presidents). Politicians are at the mercy of voters; appointed Officers are at the mercy of only their terms, thus often doing what is right and not what is safer for them.

The result? 2023 was very expensive for ordinary Canadians. And definitely more expensive for ordinary citizens of most countries in the world. Regardless if the governments were rightist, leftist, or centrist.

I strongly believe that we managed as well as we could thanks to the unusual partnership between Jagmeet Singh of NDP and Justin Trudeau of Liberals. It wasn’t a coalition by any means (probably smart for Singh) but a careful partnership. But when you have a minority government your position as an ally is stronger. It was also an astute choice for Singh as he built his profile and popularity among voters.

Therefore my first choice in politicians of 2023 in Canada goes to him – Jagmeet Singh. Second to Justin Trudeau – if for anything than for surviving. It was a very bad time for all politicians. Last by any margin of error – but most popular in recent polls, Pierre Poilievre. I understand that when people are angry and scared they run toward the one who is even angrier and scarier. But really? Is that what you want? The most fanatical, the one lacking on any cohesive policy for the massive challenges awaiting us in 2024? God have mercy. It is so easy to criticize existing policies and governments in times of global crisis. But to offer workable and logical, economically sound alternatives – not so much. Certainly, in the case of Poilievre, they are not forthcoming. The few that he sort of mentioned are just absurd. They have no economic or social value. On the contrary – I think that it would create a much harsher situation for most of us (very few very rich ones would absolutely gain a lot from it) in 2024.

Canada’s worst ‘enemy’ in 2023 in order of dangers:

Huge forest fires and floods as a result of climate change – stretching from ocean to ocean to ocean. There was no escape. Ecological catastrophe and financial disaster for Provincial and Federal governments.
War in Ukraine. On many fronts most difficult and terribly expensive in recent Canadian history. Our support for Ukraine extended well beyond our ability. And, of course, at the worst possible time. It is one way to be generous during ‘good times’ and a different thing to be generous in ‘bad times’. Paying for armaments, munition, training, fulfilling obligations to NATO, and sending Canadian regiment to Estonia is very expensive, too. At a time when our Forces need very badly a large amount of budget in Canada to fix years of not doing enough. By all recent federal governments, Liberal and Conservative. Yet – we did not choose that war. The war is not only in Ukraine, somewhere very far away. The war is at the borders of NATO countries to whom we have an obligation. We either support the Ukrainian army, which is much smaller than that of the Russian aggressor – or we might end up doing the fighting ourselves if Russians overcome their defenses and attack NATO country or countries. Remember a lesson from the 2 world War – if Europe (France and England) and the USA attacked Hitler when he invaded with almost all his armies Poland, maybe the war would not lasted almost six years but only a year or two. And maybe millions of people would have survived it. Just saying. Sometimes – sadly – starting a war against an evil aggressor makes the war shorter and less bloody. Now the ‘hitler’s name is Putin. (Don’t forget that Stalin’s Russia was Hitler’s ally and invaded Poland from the East two weeks after Hitler started his invasion. If not that Hitler two years later changed his mind and attacked Russia – Stalin would have stayed by Germany’s side)
The global crisis of economies, raising poverty and hunger.

Challenges in 2024

This time the one that is unavoidable. One that dwarfs every other challenge. Climate change. One that can’t be stopped because we are not able to stop or reverse cosmic forces, forces of the Universe. Earth is not a world in itself. It is part of our solar system, our galaxy, and part of the Cosmos known and unknown. Earth is a ‘living’ thing. Never stopped being one. Constantly changing its form, shape, and look. Just in a different time frame than our human perception. But from time to time it speeds up. It has been done many times before. Usually with very disastrous effects for the life forms, that exist in such times. Then life comes back, some species survive, and some new ones emerge. But one life form became so powerful in the last million or so years that affected that normal, cosmic timeframe. People. We. We can’t stop that change. But we shouldn’t speed it up, as we do. This time it is not freezing in glaciers, not gigantic volcano eruptions followed by hundreds of years of darkness and acid monsoons. This time it is simply warming. 2003 was already the warmest in kept records. According to geological archeologists, it reached the level last seen 100,000 years ago. That will affect the entire planet, all humankind. It couldn’t care less about any states, borders, or nations. By acting accordingly, wise, and understanding the truly existential nature of that change we might have a chance to adapt, to survive, maybe even flourish later. But we must. We. Everyone. Governments and international organizations can’t do that for us this time. We must elect only politicians, who are very serious about it, who accept that challenge as the most important one, who follow the plan and do not change it come every election. We can’t say: it must be China most; India most, Brazil first; Europe, Africa, and on and on. No. It must be Canada’s first in Canada. Yes, nations should develop and plan globally. But we can’t afford the time when all agree. We must do now, here. And it will cost money. Will cost us. Les if we start now, more if we start five years from now. By us, I mean us individually, not just some government in some town called Ottawa. Traditional oil-driven or coal-driven energy should be more expensive. And you can’t expect that all the costs will be covered by the government. If the government covers the full cost it means it will cut other services. You know that arithmetic very well. The National Bank doesn’t really just print money. If we fail that test and we will speed up the warming process everything else stops having any sense. Millions of people will die of starvation, hundreds of millions will become poor and desolate, and immigration will just overcome any national borders and border walls. It will be chaos on many fronts. Forest fires and floods? You have not seen anything, yet. Some nation-states are already disappearing in front of our own eyes. I mean – they are truly sinking out of the map.
Two wars that must be stopped by any means. I mean any. Russia must be punished so harshly by all allied states (Europe, North America, Australia, New Zealand, and any other true ally that we have) that would cripple their economy. That will stop the war much faster than any rockets or tanks sent to Ukraine (but we must continue to support Ukraine in the meantime before the sanctions are formed and executed). That is possible and is in our best interest. Current sanctions are just a patchwork of here and there and this and that. We can’t wait for the majority of the world to agree to that. It might never come. We must use our own strict ‘club’ of Western Powers of democratic states and do it fully, comprehensibly, and at once. It is possible and it is doable. We must demand it from our governments.

Israel – the massacre of Palestinians must stop. No ceasefire, no ‘more careful killings’. This is insanity and it serves no one. Except for one person – the disgusting malfeasant and populist Netanyahu. Now a war criminal. United States is acting in an abhorrent way aiding in the massacre of people, who already suffered unspeakable theft of land, opportunities, and basic dignity. I do understand that Israel is a linchpin of US policy in the Middle East. But it is all based on old times of rivalry between East (communism and USSR) and West. But regardless of that anachronistic policy – it is in the best long-time interest of Israel to have peace with Palestinians. It is the only solution to lasting peace there. What happened in December with the atrocious Hamas attack – happened. It has been dealt with. It cannot justify the unspeakable horror of what is happening in the ruins of Gaza City and all other cities and towns in the Gaza Strip. It is abhorrent. Our, Canadian government can’t be part of it. There is no room to be ‘a little pregnant’ in this conflict. Children and women are dying in hundreds daily, hospitals are bombed as they tend to the wounded and dying, and starvation is happening now. No medicine, no fresh water, no fuel, no food. The trickle that is coming (never sure if it is coming, and aid trucks have been already bombed, too) is only a fraction of what is needed. It is truly insanity and I can’t understand that some of us are even trying to discuss it politely that maybe this or maybe that, that it is all very complicated. No. It is not complicated at all. It kills innocent people. In thousands. People, who were already suffering. Including suffering from Hamas hands. During the history (a very short one after all) of Israel, it gathered a lot of support. People knew and remembered what was Holocaust, what were pogroms. That Jews deserve their own state. Safe state. And now a lot of it evaporates in thin air. A normal person just watches with astonishment and disbelief. For the sake of not only Palestinians (but mostly for them because they are being massacred) but also the secured and respected Israel – stop it. Kick Netanyahu to the garbage bin of history and restore peace. Both nations deserve it.

Last but not least – India. The largest democracy in the world. But is it? The USA wants it to be a counterbalance to China’s ambitions in Asia. I don’t trust this guy at all. Arrogant, populist, and ethno-religious chauvinist. I think that he is the worst that could have happened to this amazing subcontinent with thousands of years of history. How can you have a democracy if the leader is an authoritarian trumpist? Ask me, a Canadian Pole who observed from Canada for the last 10 years the democratically elected government of populists, religious fanatics, and idiots in Poland. They lost power in massive elections and popular protests in October last year. Now is January. It is absurd what is happening now in Poland. The party that lost occupies buildings in Warsaw, occupies the Public TV (equivalent to CBC in Canada), and daily emits anti-government programs. There is legal chaos as part of the Judiciary was chosen by the former chauvinistic government and wants to stop the new government from any normal governance. Democracy is not a panacea for everything. It works only if everyone respects the same rules. Not only the rules it likes.

OK, it looks like the morning is lurking in my window. Time to go to bed. Enough for today. Good night and sleep well. Hope you can after reading this, LOL.

Camera, poetry, and Yule in Halifax – with John

Bogumil Pacak-Gamalski

Yule is an old Solitice holiday in Norse and Anglo-Saxon tradition. I was going to visit my husband burial place today. But been there a short time ago. Dont really like going there, especially this time of the year, when it is wet, gray, desolate and sad. Entire summer and autumn I spent almost entirely on wild beaches, secluded spots, where I could be just with him. Talked to him, built forts of stones and sticks to our love and passion. wrote poems to him. And I said today – no more cemeteries. You are here with me, and we are going to do some damage at night time in Halifax. And we went and did.

Yule in Halifax

Do you still notice the odd things

and the normal things, expected?

Did you hear the song of the waves

yesterday – when it came to our feet,

caressing, enveloping them in a soft

foamy embrace like a kiss?

Do you still follow me on these walks,

my walks of our talks, our love and pain?

Forlorn shores of foreign land that

separated us. But it failed, it failed, I say.

I scream – it failed!

The land on the edge of Canada,

precipitously looking at the abyss

of cold North Atlantic waters.

But we walked on these edges

holding hands, touching limbs and lips.

I still pull you, like a fisherman dragging his net

from the bottom of a cold ocean,

and I bring you to my boat and we sail.

We sail, I say.

I scream – we sail!

With the wind in our lungs,

hope in our hearts,

and memory locked forever:

at the sea, in the forest,

on mountaintops and in deep valleys.

Come with me to the narrow streets

of this old town of sailors and soldiers.

Let’s go at night and celebrate Yule.

Celebrate the way we never did

while we were alive!

^{(Halifax, Dec.26.2023; by B. Pacak-Gamalski)}

Christmas Day and the gods of the sky: Sun and Moon. And Poseidon, of course.

Bogumil Pacak-Gamalski

Noc dobra nie była. Dusiła, tańczyła na łóżku, tarmosiła pościel, skrobała pazurami długich stop po podłodze. Telefon zza oceanu o jedenastej rano zbudził z majaków, potem drugi, stamtąd też, ucieszył. A za oknem piękne słońce nowego, bożenarodzeniowego dnia.

Dwie więc wycieczki zrobiłem – pierwszą do Dartmouth, do parku Dillman koło Alderney – a później drugą jazdę na plażę ulubioną koło Lawrencetown – Conrad Beach. W pewnym momencie z nad oceanu świeciła oślepiająco złota grzywa konia z rydwanu Heliosa, a z drugiej, od strony moczar słonowodnych, okrągła, wielka twarz Księżyca w pełni. Czy noc czy dzień do diaska? – pomyślałem i uśmiałem się. A nadbiegająca prędko fala zalała mi buty i zmoczyła skarpety. Chcąc – nie chcąc miałem kąpiel. Nóg tylko co prawda, ale kąpiel jednak. A niżej widoki rannego, bożenarodzinowego Halifaksu i Dartmouth.

The night between Christmas Eve and Christmas was bad. As bad as I suspected it was going to be. Sleepless, despite staying up very late, watching TV, listening to music. Something was moving the covers on my bed, something was scratching the floor, scratching the walls with a long, yellowish toenail. I must have dose off in the morning when an 11 am call woke me up. A happy, good call from the other side of the ocean. With dear voices of very special and dear people. I got up refreshed. The sun was bright outside and I took my camera and went to Dillman Park near Alderney in Dartmouth. Went back home to grab a light breakfast, grab my camera again, and drove to Eastern Shore to my favored Conrad Beach. John liked it, too. It was a gorgeous day there. From the ocean side a huge, flaming head of the Sun-god, opposite the Sun, rising above the marches on clear blue sky, full Moon appeared majestically. Looking with my camera at the two gods of the Sky I did not pay attention to my feet and a quick wave covered my shoes and ankles. Well – it was a beach, it was sunny so I had at a least partial bath. And liked it.

Symphony of colours, baroque music, and chat with you.

Bogumil Pacak-Gamalski

Today was going to be a nice day. I know, you almost suspect that the next sentence would read: but it wasn’t. To a certain degree, you are right: it wasn’t a nice day – it was a splendid day.

The next seven days they say it will be very rainy and extremely windy, stormy. Local floods and power outages are expected. But I must go to Pictou and spend some time with you there. It was going to be, after all, our home. Maybe not the epitome of my dreams – but I know it would make you very happy to be next to your brothers, home by home. And my dear, silly Boy – it isn’t Paris, Warsaw, or Barcelona, not even my dear Vilnius or Prague, where I would be happy. I would be happy working on our last home where you would be happy.

I know, in the end, the Fates had other plans, plans that destroyed ours. But you end up there, in Pictou. With your Mom, your Dad, and now with your older brother, too. It became your home before it had a chance to become mine. Therefore, as Christmas is approaching, I had to go before the storms to be with you.

All the way to Pictou from Halifax, I listened to the best of the best of baroque music. I have said many times that I have very mixed feelings about that epoch in music. I know – Haydn, Bach, Vivaldi, and early Mozart. But, at times it just makes me cringe. It often feels like a tight corset that makes your chest scream for air and freedom. Then again, at times – nothing soothes you better than old, familiar fugue, like an old shirt or warm morning robe. Today was one of these days for baroque. Predictable, well composed, elegant.

Little did I know what you had in plans for me on my way back. A symphony of colours, shades, and hues in the sky I could not imagine possible.

Just one note of my experiences with sunsets: mind you almost my entire life, the adult part anyway, I have spent on the shores of oceans or in the valleys and peaks of big mountains. And many, many years of sailings on ships; I have been to most Polynesian islands and their beaches. In a word – I know a thing or two about sunsets. Yet, nothing prepared me for the gift you made me today on my way back to Halifax.

And you must know of that special part of Highway #1 from New Glasgow to Truro. It is just like someone was planning a road to be a panoramic exhibition. Almost every season. Particularly beautiful during the glory of Autumn, with the dark hues of evergreens mixed with flames of red, yellow, and gold of other trees. At times it is almost dangerous to drive there as you try to concentrate on the highways and not as much on the panoramas. Today – you thanked me for our visit and chat with the sky. It was just breathtaking.

There is also something to say about the spookiness of old, local cemeteries that with certain lithing make you feel like watching some old Poltergeist movies. Just saying.

Tidal Bore of Fundy Bay. Bor przypływu z zatoki Fundy. (part 2/część 2.)

Bogumił Pacak-Gamalski

At the end of my journey, this fellow met me in Stewiacke

Pamiętacie poprzednią próbę wycieczki śladami potężnego wiertła oceanu, które boruje sobie kanały wzdłuż Nowej Szkocji? Tak po prostu. Włazi sobie w ląd, wyrywa pewnie miliony metrów sześciennych ziemi, boruje kanały i wlewa się swoim żółto-brunatnym mułem. Pamięta skubany, że kiedyś mógł tu skutecznie łączyć się z cieśninami North Cumberland i św. Wawrzyńca i nie był żadną ‘zatoką’ a też cieśniną, nie był zamulony a czysty, jak świeża woda. Nagle wody opadły i Nowa Szkocja z wyspy stała się półwyspem zamykając swobodną wędrówkę wody oceanicznej. No to ta Fundy Bay, która ‘bay’ nie chciała być, pcha się w ten ląd swoją starą drogą. Boruje. Zaczyna to się w okolicach miejscowości Maintland i drąży ziemię. Raczej wiadomo, że wydrąży. Woda , panie dobrodzieju, zawsze była silniejsza od najtwardszych skał. Uparta, ot co. Skała to taka trochę zarozumiała jest. No bo silna, twarda, niewzruszona. Więc siedzi tak sobie nieruchomo pewna swej mocy. A woda to żywa, jak rtęć. Smyk, smyk i już miejsce znajdzie. I zacznie drążyć aż tak wydrąży na około twardej skały, że skała sama się zawali w proszek.

Tamta wycieczka częściowo się tylko udała, bo zachciało mi się ‘bocznych wycieczek’, gdzie w jakiś ostępach leśnych mało nie zniszczyłem swego traka.Wiec dziś pojechałem z surowym sobie danym nakazem: od A do B i wtedy do C. Żadnych bocznych atrakcji. Co prawda, tak zupełnie posłuszny i skoncentrowany na jeździe utartymi szlakami nie byłem i właziłem tam, gdzie były napisy: Halt! Verbotten! No, ale co to płotek niby metalowy, ale nie wyższy niż do klatki piersiowej? Bo niby zima wszystko nieczynne. A co ja niedźwiedź jaki, że zimą mam spać w norze?! Albo dróżka boczna przez las i wzgórza, niby żwirowa a nie asfaltowa ale porządna. No tak, był duży napis, że roboty i stała wielka kobieta w walonkach i żółtym skafandrze z dużym znakiem ‘stop’. Podchodzi do mnie i mówi: reperują most dalej, tylko dla ruchu lokalnego, wracaj do szosy i szosa do głównej trasy. A przecież ja też miałem walonki na sobie, jadę trakiem, jak farmer, więc mówię: ale ja lokalny. No to ona: a, to OK, jedź. Tylko powoli i uważaj na ciężarówy ze żwirem. I pojechałem. Za mostkiem już robót nie było i droga była dobra.

I cała drogę tej wielkiej rzeki-mułu przejechałem, zaglądałem do niej, podziwiałem potęgę natury. Spotkałem orły, choć zdjęć zrobić nie zdążyłem. Zanim kamerę ustawiłem, odleciały za drzewa. Ale wiecie, jak orły wyglądają. Klucze dzikich gęsi za to po niebie szybujące dały się, niby pięciolinie, w obiektywie złapać.

(scroll down to the English part of the article)

On the last day of November as you remember, I went to view the immense power of the tidal bore that starts from Minas Basin around Maitland. At that time my unfortunate side trips took so much time, that when I eventually arrived to view the brown mud-river – it was too late to properly explore it. A few days later, still not fully recovered from my bad flu, I went again. This time I took a shorter route and no ‘side trips’. Winter offers totally different views. And lack of tourists. Zero. None. Yes, some spots were gated and closed. But the gates were not really that tall and maybe I didn’t see the sign ‘closed for the season’? Who knows. I was there and the river was there and we had to meet somehow. So we did. The rest is history. The Tidal Bore is an absolute must to see. Such immense power of the ocean tides and the constant struggle of the land against it. A struggle the land will eventually lose. But observing it is something to admire. Nature has so much majesty. I took this time Highway 102 to Shubenacadie and #215 to Maintland. Came back by scenic Riverside Road that follows the flow of the Channel (called also Subenacadie River).

Gdzie pies z kulawą nogą …where the devil won’t …

Bogumił Pacak-Gamalski

_{… nie pójdzie, to polazę. … there I will go.}

The other day, on the last day of November I decided to go and explore parts of Nova Scotia hinterland I have not traveled through. It wasn’t the smartest choice but – what the heck, not the first and certainly not the last time I did things I maybe shouldn’t, and a bit too late, as it was already 1 PM. Took the #101 west to Lower Sackville and turned into #354 north toward Beaver Bank. Between the little and tremendously loooong towns of Beaver Bank and Middle Beaver Bank, the traffic and road repairs stretched my patience to the limit. I was just about to turn around and go home. But past the Upper Beaver Bank the highway climbed higher and higher, the sky became bluer and bluer and the new snow was so white on passing tree branches and endless fields. I was in heaven. Around the small community of Upper Rawdon the highway reached its peak and you could enjoy endless view in front while driving. And there was almost no one else driving. Such a peace. And peace is what I went for in my driving that day.

I was aiming to go to Maitland to view the power of the Tidal bore of Minas Basin as it rips the land and goes toward Truro on one end and all the way to Shubenacadie on the other end. There is no escape – that bore and power of the Fundy Bay will in not so distant future finish its job and separate once again Nova Scotia from the mainland and we will become an island again. Little chance I will see it (although rising sea levels might accelerate even faster …) but people in their twenties most likely will. I was aiming to…. My famous words, LOL. At the footsteps of the lovely town of Kennetcook I took a sharp turn to the west. Let’s explore some more of the hinterland. Sure, why not? Especially that it started snowing and daylight became a bit greyish … It was the last day of November, after all. Around small Tom Barron Road, I thought that I should start heading back to my original destination. Turned right into the road, passed two or three ancient homes, lost my internet connection. But west is west and east is east with or without internet. The gravel and mud road instantly becomes narrow. Have a big truck, so what? Just drive to the end and turn on the first road toward the east. What’s the problem?. Passed a very small enclosure in the thick forest with one solitary bull there. Waved to him and very slowly moved further. Slowly because the road stopped being a road. It became very narrow, with deep holes tunnel. Suddenly for a moment my wifi came back and said: continue for six kilometres and turn left. I tried. But there was no chance. One could hardly walk there and no car (maybe a tank, but I doubt it) can possibly drive through that tunnel. Turning around was impossible. The only choice was driving in reverse trying not to get stuck. Took me forever, meter by meter, back and forth. Branches scratched my poor truck seriously. But I had to get out. The phone was dead again. Finally, I got back to the enclosure with the bull, and used the small clearing around it, turned around and headed back. That was interesting, LOL.

The rest was easy. Back to Kennetcook, down to Maitland. And to the power of the yellowish bore of Minas Basin. It was getting too late already to explore the view of the ‘river of mud’. Took a few pictures and took Highway 215 to Shubenacadie by #102 and back to Dartmouth. Very soon, I will have to take that drive again to observe the tidal waters coming through the land. But will not engage in doing ‘side trips to nowhere’.

Ostatniego dnia listopadowego nie mogłem więcej wytrwać w domu. Mimo ciągle męczącego kaszlu i myśli zwróconej w kierunku strasznej rocznicy – zdecydowałem pojechać w tereny nieznane jeszcze, na północ przez wzgórza, ku dolinie którą zamieniła w rwącą, żółtą rzekę potęga fali przypływu z Fundy Bay. To nie jest rzeka słodkowodna. To morska fala, potęga oceanu, który rozerwał tą dolinę, jak pługiem. Wyborował sobie drogę. Dawniej, tysiące lat temu Zatoka Fundy była po prostu cieśniną, która oddzielała Nową Szkocje od lądu stałego. Teraz, podnoszący się stale poziom morzą związany ze zmianami klimatycznymi wraca w swoje dawne koryta. Za pięćdziesiąt lat spodziewamy się, że Fundy Bay znowu będzie cieśniną i połączy się z Zatoką św. Wawrzyńca czyniąc Nową Szkocję wyspą ponownie. Być może nastąpi to szybciej. Więc pojechałem w kierunku Maitland przez rozległy płaskowyż zobaczyć gdzie ten potężny bor przypływu wyżłobił tą słoną, mulistą rzekę, której jedno ramię delty prowadzi do Truro, a drugie na południe, do Shubenacadie.

Ale, zwyczajem swoim, miast jechać wytyczoną trasa do celu, w okolicach uroczego miasteczka Kennetcook, skręciłem nie w prawo do Maintland, a w lewo. Troszkę wiejsko-sielankowego uroku tej zachodniej części Nowej Szkocji zasmakować. To trochę taka dzielnica zapomniana, nie na głównym szlaku. Zaczynało się robić lekko późno, śnieg prószył już nieźle. Po parudziesięciu kilometrach dojechałem do małej wioski przy drodze Toma Barrona. Pomyślałem, że czas wracać w kierunku Kennetcook i na trasę zaplanowaną. Nova Szkocja obszarem to nie Kolumbia Brytyjska czy Ontario. Wszędzie tu blisko, więc po co wracać ta sama drogą? Przejadę przez tą wioskę i z drugiej strony lasku w pierwszą napotkana drogę w prawo. Co za problem? Droga tylko bita, wąska, ale mam przecież trucka a nie fiacika. Wioska była malutka, osada w zasadzie , może trzy-cztery domki. Zaraz za domostwami zaczął się lasek. Potem gęstszy, droga węższa. Straciłem wifi i googla. Jechałem już wolno. W pewnym momencie była małe obejście otoczone palisadą wewnątrz którego stał samotny byk. Pomachałem ręką. Śnieg prószył bardziej i widoczność zmalała. Zaraz za obejściem droga stała się drużką, tunelem w zasadzie z głębokimi koleinami. W pewnym momencie mój gogle się odezwał! Dalej mnie prowadził mówiąc wyraźnie – za sześć kilometrów skręć w prawo i kontynuuj do szosy 236. Zawahałem się ale nie było jakiejkolwiek możliwości zawrócenia, mój truck ledwie się mieścił między drzewami. Może za kilkadziesiąt metrów ta dróżka się powiększy? Nie powiększyła się. W pewnym momencie zwężała się na dróżka dla jednego-dwóch piechurów. Nie było wyjścia. Wifi też przestał działać ponownie. Musiałem cofać się metr po metrze pilnując by nie wpaść w koleiny i nie zabuksować się lub nie uszkodzić zawieszenia kół. Na gałęzie szorujące bogi samochodu uwagi nie już nie zwracałem. W zasadzie smiac mi się chciało. W najgorszym wypadku będziesz tu w tej dzikiej gęstwinie nocować, benzyny masz sporo to będziesz mógł się ogrzewać., LOL. Ale metr po metrze jakoś udało mi się wycofać do miejsca tego zagrodzenia z bykiem. Przy zagrodzeniu była mała wycinka, gdzie udało mi się samochód przekręcić. Byłem więc ‘w domu’. Pogadałem chwilę z bykiem, który patrzył się na mnie z politowaniem.

Wróciłem do trasy i przez Kennetcook pojechałem szosą 236 do Maintland. Zaczynała się niezła szarówka, śnieg ciągle padał. Obejrzałem tylko mały fragment tej ‘żółtej rzeki’. Jej ciekawsze fragmenty były blisko ale wymagałby zjechania w inną szosę a widoki z minuty na minutę były gorsze. Obiecałem sobie tu jeszcze wrócić (bez bocznych ‘objazdów’). Szosa 215 pojechałem do głównej trasy 102 i stamtąd do Dartmouth, do domu. Było już czarno. Ale wycieczka mimo to udana.