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The Anthropocene
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Ideas & Questions
- Hits: 804
You see the signs - some crazy old hippie camping out somewhere near 12 Mile, large hand-painted signs warning of human induced climate change, "The Anropocene", most people dismiss him. Last year his signs were 3 mile, he's a seasonal visitor.
Most people dismiss him as a lunatic.
I'm not so sure.
Every year we're breaking more and more heat records. Less and less precipitation. Milder and shorter winters.
Tomorrow, the next few days, forecast at 40 degrees Celsius or greater.
I've never seen it that hot out here. Even in Saskatchewan, or the Drumheller Valley.
Never, not once. And it's not even July. And it's going to get worse. Up to 50 degrees Celsius in Kamloops, if you can believe it. 42 in Nelson.
***
Note that "Climate Change" has almost entirely shifted - this is a "Heat Wave" - there's no mention of how Climate Change might have driven or impacted this. We hit new records - year after year, the classic climate change hallmarks - yet now, for some reason, it's off the table for discussion.
This Pandemic, it was just the toe in the door - there's a world of trouble coming. There's a theory of climate change that talks about "Tipping Points" - how - once past a certain tipping point, it's almost certainly irreversible, and the change will only accelerate. We're there.
Think of ball rolling down a slope. Predictable, you know when it leaves, you know when it arrives at the bottom. Simple formula.
But this, this is more a ball starting to fall off an incline, into the abyss, and the scientists, they've foretold it, predicted it, but were silenced, but there's good information out there that were at a critical time in human history. World history - not just ours - and that shit is about to go sideways fast.
And so lockdowns end, eat, drink, be merry, for the Pandemic is over but the end of the world is upon us...
Up Tungsten Creek Road, Shutout thrifting
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Blog
- Hits: 985
Tuesday off, a few errands, thrift shops, then head out - the 11:30 Ferry to the East Shore, meeting up with Chris to do some prospecting.
I eat a big breakfast. I've taken this intermittent fasting to an extreme, 5 days of work I eat nothing, I'm the starving waiter, but on days off I'm ravenous, eat everything I can get my hands on. And as I'm not made of money I eat before we head out.
This is not the ideal, I like cooking for myself but I'm craving oysters, steak tartare, carpaccio, steamed mussels and clams, spicy papaya salads, beets, everything I don't get to eat...
Still, economy prevails.
First off we're looking for Brad's garnets. And I have the place now, the exact place, and we show up, it's less a beach than a shoreline, I find an exposure that might be what Brad was speaking of, not sure. But his description - the abundance of them, the size of them, it's at odds with what we're finding. Maybe the water's too high and they're down lower, maybe?
We try a few other beaches on the way south towards Creston.
One, a driveway down to a pier, we're accosted as we park buy a Kootenay Karen, she tells us it's all private property, not allowed, and then stays in her truck to see us off. Pulls off on the side of the road to ensure we're heading out.
Now - they're everywhere, we're getting overrun with these entitled bitches who think they own the beaches, the air, the right of way, talking to a friend she says "Probably an Albertan...".
We head on down to the smoky quartz digs, then, on a sudden whim I pull off on Tungsten Creek FSR, a few spurs and 12 KM later and we're at the top.
A little more eventful than that - the jeep, getting warm, decides (as it's prerogative) to not start, we're stuck halfway up for half an hour while it makes up it's mind...
To the top. And here there's giant quartz seam, given way by a few boulders on the overburden, we get out, dig, and - exactly the same material as we found at the Crystal Mountain, big, blocky decaying quartz, and dig a little, dig a lot, and finally we're rewarded with a couple of small crystals.
It's strange this, given the material I'd expect to bust into a great big pocket, find dozens, hundreds, clusters, but no. Just a couple of small points.
But there's a lot of digging to be done up here, and we're high enough up there's boulder fields to be walked over, looked at, and there's a dozen other undriven spurs to be explored, I'll be back...
(Boulder with pockets of citrine crystals)
From here to Wyndel, I've a lottomax ticket to buy. I have given up on winning, personally, anyone could win it, take the jackpot, I'm resenting the ongoing playing of "My chosen numbers", I'm beginning to suspect Uncles Flim and Flam of swindling me...
Wyndel gas, a farmers sausage, coffee, soft drink, a large ice cream that begins immediately melting, pouring down my arm, sleeve, into my lap as I'm driving towards Creston, sticky on the wheel, suspicious on my jeans, damn, but sooooo tasty...
From Creston up the pass, stop at the Mica place where I banged out the beryl, dig some more, looking for more.
It's boring work, this digging, and Chris conceals his boredom poorly. I've spoiled him with the finding, and I'm resenting that I have to compromise and pack it in early.
Tuesday's prospecting is done.
****
Wednesday, up and at-em, off thrifting. Castlegar, Rossland, Salmo - a complete shutout, not a nickel spent. Nada of interest. Back to Nelson, check the thrift shops here - nothing as well, but I note the angry huntsman is back at ... - a longstanding employee, always gave off the impression that he was trying to be "efficient", only he comes off as angry, he dresses - well, formerly like a huntsman - hard to describe, a D&D character, leather vest, gloves, there's a "style" going on there but now he seems to have changed his look to more of an angry Wizard...
Evening, take Stormy for Ice Cream down at lakeside park, chat, catch up, then home to sleep - it's back to work Thursday and there's easily another 10 weeks before I can eat or relax...
Uncles Flim and (Flam)
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 1596
After a night of unsettled dreams, the last and only one that I remembered...
I've just graduated. I don't know from what, or for what, but I put out a call for cash in lieu of gifts...
Who should show but good old uncles Flim and (Flam?). Both bespectacled, comfortable middle aged men, perfectly bland, you've seen a thousand like 'em. You'd never recognize them on the street. I didn't. But they're reaching through the windows of a classic luxury car, Rolls-Royce or some-such, and handing me big manila envelopes filled with cash, dense, like bricks, and I know there's millions in each, and they're like "take them, congratulations..." and I know I've made it...
...the uncles, they don't exist, and I first interpreted Uncle Flim as being a dream-anagram of Uncle Film...but Uncle Flam then joined him in the names, a natural they'd say...
Today, off prospecting, bought my ticket in Wyndel, site of the logging accident a couple of years ago that nearly killed me, but it had "Wyn" in the name, and I like "Dell", I have an aunt by the same name turning 100, so...
Beryl, Garnets, Mica & Smoky Quartz
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Blog
- Hits: 874
The weekend (my weekend, an early day Monday, so the afternoon, Tuesday, Wednesday) - bills, errands, and numerous trips to the east shore.
I'm looking for the Garnets Brad spoke of, no luck as of yet, a dozen beaches combed, nada. But some good beach rocks, to be integrated into other projects.
Visit the Smoky Quartz place, dig for an hour, searching for pockets, I have a theory, yet to be proven, and I have yet to cough up the evidence. No pockets, but an unwelcome tick on the back of my neck, found before it latched but - always - how many did I miss?
Bloody hell.
Visit the Mica quarry, my fifth, sixth trip there, big (ish) books of mica, maybe an inch or two across, in the dirt, and I've dug holes, scraped the surface, can't find out why. I mean, I suspect a decomposed pegmatite, but then wouldn't the mica decompose first? Feldspar, after all, is a lot harder, and where's the smoky quartz?
Anyways, take my big boy pick and randomly trench, dig through the roots, gather my books of mica, and I finally find it, a beryl on feldspar, loose, it just falls off. About a centimeter in all directions, white, not at all gemmy, but 5 times here and I'm starting to find them - which means dig harder and deeper.
Staves, thick wood staffs to be collected for Wizarding purposes, Eagle feathers, a deer skull - I'll let it bleach out a little longer before I collect it, I've three months to gather my winter's work.
We'll see.
These days off, I want nothing more than a plate of tacos, food, put my feet up, read a book, people watch, but it's summer and make hay while the sun shines and before the ground freezes and there are too many holes to be dug, too many places to go, and I find myself paralyzed, unable to choose...
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