Larry Gibbons
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SKYLINE SWEEPERS

30/3/2018

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Picture
Walking Buster in the Woods

A friend and I were told that we are top-notch sweepers. I’m not talking curling or tidying up, but the act of hiking at the tail-end of a hiking group. We’re so good that we’ve swept for more than one hiking gaggle at the same time. And how was that? Keep reading and you’ll find out.You see, a sweeper’s job is to follow behind a line of hikers and make sure there are no injured stragglers, hungry bears or bad guys following us, that sort of thing. And, at the entrance to the trail-head was a big sign that said, ‘BEWARE OF BEAR’. So, as you can see, we sweepers aren’t just hood ornaments.

So, a few Sundays ago we were asked to sweep. It was a bright, silvery, ice-covered day. We’d brought our snowshoes, but we didn’t need them.

Why, you might ask? I’ll tell you why. Because there was hardly any %^&*() snow. That’s why. So, the other professional sweeper and I swept while sporting pointy things on the bottom of our boots, so we wouldn’t slip on the ice.

We swept right to the edge of the mountain where we all stood on the viewing decks and stared at the gorgeous view out over the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Watched a bald eagle glide over-head. Looked down at the black string that was the Cabot Trail and at the vehicles which looked like dinky toys.
Picture
FROM A VIEWING PLATFORM
And it was here on the edge that we experienced the winds. I believe they’re called ‘suete winds’. They’re south-easterly winds which blow across the plateau. The weather station at Grand Etna has, more  than once, reported winds of over two hundred km/hour.

Anyway, when we were close to turning into icicles, we figured it was time to sweep our way back. On the way out we passed a small hiking group. They were heading toward the cliff. They asked if we could sweep for them. We apologized and said we couldn’t and, instead, we gave them a professional sweeper’s email address.

Then we swept and swept and swept behind our official hiking group, until at some point I looked down and realized I’d lost one of my boot’s ice grips. So my sweeping for the group had to stop, because I had to hike back and find my grip.

The other sweeper also turned back. Sweepers look after each other. She swept for me while I walked ahead. We had to hike back about half a K before I found my ice teeth.
Picture
SKYLINE ROCK PILE
Then we swept as fast as we could, as we tried to catch up to the group. On our way back we met a hiking couple. They told us they’d encountered a hiking group who were worried about their professional sweepers and who asked these hikers to please keep their eyes open for a guy sweeper who has a beard and a woman sweeper who wears a yellow coat.  We told them we were okay and swept, and swept and swept on.

At some point we stopped at a giant gate. It is the entrance or exit, depending which way you are sweeping, to a large enclosure that protects newly planted trees from hungry moose.  I opened the gate and as we stepped through, my fellow sweeper said, “Oh #$%^! I dropped my hat.”

So… we turned back. She searched and I swept until we found her hat lying on the trail.
Picture
The Road Below
And lo and behold, as we turned back, we met the hikers who had passed us on their way to the cliff. We said hello again and told them they were in luck. We could now sweep for them. Thus the answer to the question of why we are able to sweep for more than one group.

Eventually, we swept ourselves to our hiking group. We then explained what had happened, apologized profusely, promised them they would get some of their sweeper’s costs back and then we all parted for our separate vehicles. And as we walked back to the truck, my sweeper mate suddenly said, and I quote, “Oh $%^&! One of my ice-spiky things fell off my boot.”

So…we grabbed our brooms and swept for nobody as we searched for her stick-into-the-ice boot thing on this beautiful day on the Skyline Trail.
Picture
A Field in Early Morning
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Slush and Mush-Mush

8/3/2018

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Picture Trail Along Cheticamp River







Our winter has been very un-snow-like. Granted, we have more snow than others, but that’s because we live in a snow-belt; besides, I like snow and have, from time to time, suggested that we should move further north. Because this winter, every promising snow-storm has been contaminated by bouts of freezing rain, piddly drizzle and then rain. It’s the pits, especially since I just bought new snowshoes.

For example, a few Sundays ago, we awakened to some very cold weather. It surprised us, as it had surprised our kitchen’s hot water pipe, now frozen. So, out came the heater, which we put on top of Buster’s treat stool. Don’t worry, we got his permission, and from Buster’s treat stool, our little heater blew hot air towards the pipe while I took off for a snowshoeing hike.

As I drove towards the Cape Breton Highlands National Park, I encountered blizzard conditions and very icy roads. However, the sun came out when I arrived at the Salmon Pools trail head, only a short distance from Cheticamp.

Picture
Trail Entrance
But the wind, was it ever a-howling and, because everyone else was sensible and didn’t turn up for the hike, I was the only one there. So, I decided to hike on my own, but I couldn’t snowshoe because there wasn’t enough *^% snow.  Still, beautiful is the word for the Salmon Pools Trail. Much of the trail winds along the shore of the Cheticamp River and there are only a few hills to climb.

However, it was icy and I had stupidly not taken my boot spiky things. I had to tread carefully and I saw nobody during the hike. I didn’t want to fall and break a bone or something, and maybe find myself alone to convalesce on the ice and scantly snow-covered ground while possibly entertaining large coyotes after the world pulled down her shades.

It was still very cold when I drove home and the roads were treacherous. However, good news awaited me. The hot water tap was spewing away like a happy camper.
Picture
The Trail
  That night, the snow began to fall, then the temperatures soared and the rain followed. It dropped plenty of water and Monday morning I said, and I quote, “I don’t have a good feeling about this day.”

Looking out the window at the raging Middle River gave me my first clue along with nearly six years’ experience of observing the many moods of the river.  At around ten am, I decided to sign off the computer and do a serious check of the river. At that moment the phone rang. I answered it by saying, and I quote, “Hello.”


It was a friend who was worried about us. He asked me how the river looked. I told him I was just going out  to check it. I put him on hold, checked the river’s state of being, returned to the phone, told him it didn’t look good, thanked him for checking on us and for offering us a place to stay if we needed it, said good-bye, hung up and in less than thirty minutes we were three refugees heading through the mush, ice and water toward our vehicles which were parked at the end of our long lane. Three little immigrants looking for a way over ‘The Wall’. Poor Buster trying to stay out of the water, Sue getting a massive soaker, her boots still being dried out a week later, and me with no boot soaker, but everything else drenched.

We drove to a friend’s house. She has a basement apartment. We spent the night there.

Cape Breton is like that. It’s an island and people help each other. There were other places we could have stayed as well. Interestingly, we don’t feel like we’re imposing on these Cape Bretoners. And we don’t feel hard done by, inferior or silly, because most people on the island need help from time to time and those who don’t, well, some of them live rather bubbly and boring lives.

Anyway, we returned to our trailer the next day. It was a gorgeous, sunny day and the cold had returned. We could see where the river had gnawed its way towards the trailer and surrounded our home, and noticed where it had re-arranged some outdoor items. There were also a few this and thats missing.
Picture
After the Flood
Once settled, I took a walk down to the river. It had quieted down and I saw where the raging water had created some beautiful ice sculptures. Which reminded me that no matter how miserable the weather is, it usually leaves behind its signature of gorgeously intricate creations.

And now, a week later, rain has followed yesterday’s big snow dump and freezing rain is forecast for this afternoon and then more rain and then more freezing rain and later on they called for more snow, but they’ve just changed the forecast to more drizzle instead.

“Mush, mush,” I say. Northward to a place where a man is a man, a woman is a woman, a dog is a dog, and a snowflake is a snowflake and not a pinch of anything else.

What climate change?
Picture
Flood Sculpture
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