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| Contrails over the water |
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| Fantastic shapes |
Blogging may continue to be light for the next few days. A family medical emergency is taking up my time and energy. (My grandson will be having surgery today to patch up a collapsed lung.)
A Skywatch post.
Showing posts with label Powell River. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Powell River. Show all posts
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Clouds and contrails
Remebering Powell River: sunset from the hillside.
Blogging may continue to be light for the next few days. A family medical emergency is taking up my time and energy. (My grandson will be having surgery today to patch up a collapsed lung.)
A Skywatch post.
Blogging may continue to be light for the next few days. A family medical emergency is taking up my time and energy. (My grandson will be having surgery today to patch up a collapsed lung.)
A Skywatch post.
Sunday, September 04, 2011
Of boom boats and donkey engines
On a hot summer's day in Powell River, there is no better place to be than in the forest and near the shore. For example, on the Willingdon Beach trail.
These little round iron tugs push and pull around logs many times their size, maneuvering them into position in the booms, wallowing around half swamped, it seems, with the water washing over the decks . Laurie wondered how they floated; they look too heavy, but they enclose a lot of air in the deep hull. I found a video showing one at work. Fun to watch!
On our west coast mountains, in the absence of machines that could carry logs, they were attached to steel cables, dragged into an upright position, and winched down the mountainside. The winches also dragged machinery into position.
Every operation had a donkey engine, in those days. It was a steam boiler on a sled, powering the winch which it used to drag itself up the mountainside. There, its cables were attached to the top of a spar tree, the tallest, sturdiest tree on the site. The cables ran down the hill to the dumping wharf. Harvested logs dangled from the high cable as they made their way down to the water.
Logging was a labour-intensive industry then; the slopes swarmed with men, cutting, trimming, and fastening logs, clearing brush, tending the few machines. Wood, even though we were surrounded by it, was still costly, in terms of man-hours. But our houses were smaller, lumber was recycled; none was wasted.
Two of the signs near the donkey engine were interesting:
The trail used to be part of a railway that hauled logs to the mill at the north end of town. This track was in operation only from 1910 to 1918; afterwards, the rails were removed and the trail was used by mill workers living to the south, in Westview. Now it has become a popular easy walk for local residents, with shade, access to beaches along the way, interpretive sign, native artifacts among the trees, and old logging equipment rusting quietly in the shade.
I had to stop and examine each of these machines. They brought back vivid memories. I grew up, so long ago, on the west coast of Vancouver Island, seeing the loggers working up and down the hillsides along the shore; I remember the chugging of the donkey engine, the clatter as a log danced down the hill, the shouts of the fallers ("Timberrrrrrr!"), the rumble of loads of logs tumbling into the water to be hauled away in big booms. So different, these days, with the operations on mountainsides far away, the hills shaved down to the dirt, the logs (so much smaller these days - mere toothpicks!) picked up in mouthfuls by big-toothed monsters.
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| Boom boat. |
These little round iron tugs push and pull around logs many times their size, maneuvering them into position in the booms, wallowing around half swamped, it seems, with the water washing over the decks . Laurie wondered how they floated; they look too heavy, but they enclose a lot of air in the deep hull. I found a video showing one at work. Fun to watch!
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| Minimalist pilot house. |
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| Controls of a large caterpillar. |
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| I don't know what this contraption did. It looks fairly new. |
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| A winch. |
On our west coast mountains, in the absence of machines that could carry logs, they were attached to steel cables, dragged into an upright position, and winched down the mountainside. The winches also dragged machinery into position.
 |
| The donkey engine. |
Every operation had a donkey engine, in those days. It was a steam boiler on a sled, powering the winch which it used to drag itself up the mountainside. There, its cables were attached to the top of a spar tree, the tallest, sturdiest tree on the site. The cables ran down the hill to the dumping wharf. Harvested logs dangled from the high cable as they made their way down to the water.
Logging was a labour-intensive industry then; the slopes swarmed with men, cutting, trimming, and fastening logs, clearing brush, tending the few machines. Wood, even though we were surrounded by it, was still costly, in terms of man-hours. But our houses were smaller, lumber was recycled; none was wasted.
Two of the signs near the donkey engine were interesting:
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| That donkey engine weighed 16,300 pounds! |
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Powell River security detail
In a corner of the closet in our Powell River motel room, this pretty spider stood guard, protecting us from the mosquitoes that otherwise would have devoured us.
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| Cellar spider, species unknown. These always pose so elegantly! |
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| I have not seen one patterned like this before. It reminds me of those "art coffees". |
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Why sorting photos takes forever
Day Two, continued: Powell River wharf.
(This post is participating in a Pacific NorthWest scavenger hunt today. Details and links on Patricia Lichen's blog.)
The first time I saw the splotches on my underwater photos, I thought I had dirt on the lens. I wiped it (smearing the oil slick around a bit), took more photos of the same area, and the screen showed me even more spots. Dirt in the water, I figured; caught by the flash.
It wasn't until I was inspecting a photo at home, wondering if it was salvageable, that I saw a pattern in one:
Looking back at the previous photos, now I recognize the hints of structure in what looked, on site, like clear water. At least some of the photos may have captured jellyfish.
But we had seen none floating near the surface; last year, there were quite a few, close enough to photograph with the above-water cameras. I dug up the old photos and inspected the under-the-dock ones.*
I thought, then, that maybe most of the other circles, the ones without crosses, could also be jellies, like some we photographed last year. They showed a distinct centre circle, then a rayed "doughnut" around them, like the Aequorea species. I wrote the post up this way, then Tim came along to correct me. He said dust caught in the flash made those circular shapes, too.
Yes, but ... on some the rays were too evident to be an illusion. Or were they? I mulled it over, then tried an experiment. I filled a large black bucket with water from the tap. I didn't wash the bucket first, so it was dusty. I added a white kitchen utensil for a focal point, dunked the camera, and took a few photos.
And the "jellies" turned up there, too! So much for that. Some of the circles had the same rayed doughnut shape. None had the cross on the top, so at least those were probably really jellies.
These next photos were taken last year, with the dry-land camera. They were swimming just under the surface, in full sunlight. The water was clear, but there was a sprinkling of dust over the surface.
These two jellyfish are leptomedusas. ("Lepto-" means "flat"; the bell is wider than it is deep.) They spend part of their life as hydroids, fixed to a solid surface. The jelly, or medusa, is the adult stage. They reproduce by spawning eggs or sperm freely into the water; once the egg is fertilized, it sinks to the bottom and grows a new hydroid. In this stage, it is a colonial animal, where each member has its own function. Some bud; the buds sometimes develop into new medusae. When they are ready, they break off and swim away.
*How to get an underwater shot with a dry-land camera: worm yourself into a position close to the water surface and completely in shadow. Arrange it so that there is more light on your subject than on the water surface. Aim from a low angle to the surface. Don't use the flash. Don't fall in, either.
(This post is participating in a Pacific NorthWest scavenger hunt today. Details and links on Patricia Lichen's blog.)
The first time I saw the splotches on my underwater photos, I thought I had dirt on the lens. I wiped it (smearing the oil slick around a bit), took more photos of the same area, and the screen showed me even more spots. Dirt in the water, I figured; caught by the flash.
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| Spots, ruining a photo of anemones and mussels on a pipe. (I increased the contrast and de-saturated the colours a bit, to make them easier to see.) |
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| But why are all those dirt specks so perfectly round? Click on the photo to get the full impact; they go on and on into the background. |
It wasn't until I was inspecting a photo at home, wondering if it was salvageable, that I saw a pattern in one:
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| A cross jellyfish, almost completely transparent. I highlighted it. . |
Looking back at the previous photos, now I recognize the hints of structure in what looked, on site, like clear water. At least some of the photos may have captured jellyfish.
But we had seen none floating near the surface; last year, there were quite a few, close enough to photograph with the above-water cameras. I dug up the old photos and inspected the under-the-dock ones.*
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| A large anemone, and some small jellies. One, beside the stalk, looks like a moon jelly. Taken without flash. |
I thought, then, that maybe most of the other circles, the ones without crosses, could also be jellies, like some we photographed last year. They showed a distinct centre circle, then a rayed "doughnut" around them, like the Aequorea species. I wrote the post up this way, then Tim came along to correct me. He said dust caught in the flash made those circular shapes, too.
Yes, but ... on some the rays were too evident to be an illusion. Or were they? I mulled it over, then tried an experiment. I filled a large black bucket with water from the tap. I didn't wash the bucket first, so it was dusty. I added a white kitchen utensil for a focal point, dunked the camera, and took a few photos.
And the "jellies" turned up there, too! So much for that. Some of the circles had the same rayed doughnut shape. None had the cross on the top, so at least those were probably really jellies.
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| Sample section from bucket photo. |
These next photos were taken last year, with the dry-land camera. They were swimming just under the surface, in full sunlight. The water was clear, but there was a sprinkling of dust over the surface.
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| The cross jelly, Mitrocoma cellularia, swimming on its side. The mouth is that heart-shaped dark spot on the top of the inner surface. The band around the bottom is luminescent in darkness. It's about 4 inches across, full size for this species. (No flash on this, nor on the next two.) |
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| A doughnut, one of the "water jellies", Aequorea spp. Look closely to see the trailing tentacles at the bottom. |
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| Top view of a water jelly. Like the cross jelly, it is bioluminescent, giving out a green light when disturbed. |
These two jellyfish are leptomedusas. ("Lepto-" means "flat"; the bell is wider than it is deep.) They spend part of their life as hydroids, fixed to a solid surface. The jelly, or medusa, is the adult stage. They reproduce by spawning eggs or sperm freely into the water; once the egg is fertilized, it sinks to the bottom and grows a new hydroid. In this stage, it is a colonial animal, where each member has its own function. Some bud; the buds sometimes develop into new medusae. When they are ready, they break off and swim away.
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| Anemones, June 2010. Flash used. |
*How to get an underwater shot with a dry-land camera: worm yourself into a position close to the water surface and completely in shadow. Arrange it so that there is more light on your subject than on the water surface. Aim from a low angle to the surface. Don't use the flash. Don't fall in, either.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Day Two; a complete loss of dignity
The weather was perfect, again. The sky was clear, the water at the Powell River marina glassy smooth, in deep, deep blues, the boats sleek and dazzling white in the sunshine. Beautiful, but our attention was focused downwards, in the shadow of the planks of the wharf. There, the clean lines gave way to straggly algae, dead weeds and oily scum.
Some of this fringe would be alive, and probably host to many tiny animals. I might have pulled some up to look at it more closely, except that the surface was oily. Later, dunking my little underwater camera, I discovered that it was sticky, too; I had to rub hard at the screen in between shots to be able to see it, and my hands ended up all gunky, so that I gummed up the other camera, too.
Still, it would have been interesting to see what's living there. Next time, I'll be more prepared. Gloves and bags and more cleaning rags will be in my kit.
Our destination points were the wells where the pilings anchor the floating dock.
This is a difficult spot for photography; the water is about two feet below us, there are spots of deep shadow and stripes of bright sunlight. The oily, dirty water surface reflects the flash, making it unusable. I was glad I had remembered the little underwater camera.
Around the pilings, feeding on the seaweeds, were many small fish; perch and rockfish and others, unidentifiable in the shadows. Most stayed down near the bottom, but there were always a few nibbling at the barnacles near the surface.
On the underside, and sometimes the sides, of the big supporting beams, the big anemones grow. Last year, they were all opened up, brown and pink and white tentacles waving. This year, most were closed down.
I have discovered, watching the one large anemone (plumose anemone, like these above) in my aquarium, that it is extremely sensitive to temperature. One or two degrees extra is all that it takes to make it shut itself down to a tiny, flattish, brown lump. I add ice to the tank, and soon the stalk swells upwards and the mouth opens wide. (The smaller anemones, the striped green anemone (the tentacles are cream), are much more tolerant; they feed while their big cousin is sulking.) I wonder what the water temperature was, and what is normal for that dock area.
We were disappointed, not finding the photogenic anemones from last year, but we persisted taking photos, almost at random, since we could barely see what we were doing. I held the underwater camera at arm's length, facing this way, then that; I couldn't see the screen from above, but I held the button down halfway for a few seconds, then clicked. The flash went off, I pulled up the camera and looked at the (oily) screen; it worked! I got a fish! So I tried again, and again. Most of the photos were duds. But a few held wonders.
What else we saw, I'll show you on Saturday. Meanwhile, on to another town's beach, tomorrow.
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| Brand-new planking, grungy attachments, some alive, some dead. |
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| Something slimy and bubbly, long fibrous growths (possibly colonies of diatoms), dust, and oil sheen. |
Some of this fringe would be alive, and probably host to many tiny animals. I might have pulled some up to look at it more closely, except that the surface was oily. Later, dunking my little underwater camera, I discovered that it was sticky, too; I had to rub hard at the screen in between shots to be able to see it, and my hands ended up all gunky, so that I gummed up the other camera, too.
Still, it would have been interesting to see what's living there. Next time, I'll be more prepared. Gloves and bags and more cleaning rags will be in my kit.
Our destination points were the wells where the pilings anchor the floating dock.
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| Four barnacled pilings: what is under there? |
This is a difficult spot for photography; the water is about two feet below us, there are spots of deep shadow and stripes of bright sunlight. The oily, dirty water surface reflects the flash, making it unusable. I was glad I had remembered the little underwater camera.
Around the pilings, feeding on the seaweeds, were many small fish; perch and rockfish and others, unidentifiable in the shadows. Most stayed down near the bottom, but there were always a few nibbling at the barnacles near the surface.
 |
| There's something big down there, but I can't see it clearly. Higher up, the lumps are purple starfish. |
On the underside, and sometimes the sides, of the big supporting beams, the big anemones grow. Last year, they were all opened up, brown and pink and white tentacles waving. This year, most were closed down.
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| Mostly anemones, mostly sleeping. That white bit of fuzz may be a worm, or a small anemone. The red fan in the background is a worm. Laurie climbed on a pile of rope, and dangled himself down precariously into the well to get this shot. |
I have discovered, watching the one large anemone (plumose anemone, like these above) in my aquarium, that it is extremely sensitive to temperature. One or two degrees extra is all that it takes to make it shut itself down to a tiny, flattish, brown lump. I add ice to the tank, and soon the stalk swells upwards and the mouth opens wide. (The smaller anemones, the striped green anemone (the tentacles are cream), are much more tolerant; they feed while their big cousin is sulking.) I wonder what the water temperature was, and what is normal for that dock area.
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| Large anemone, closed down almost completely, but with an open mouth. |
We were disappointed, not finding the photogenic anemones from last year, but we persisted taking photos, almost at random, since we could barely see what we were doing. I held the underwater camera at arm's length, facing this way, then that; I couldn't see the screen from above, but I held the button down halfway for a few seconds, then clicked. The flash went off, I pulled up the camera and looked at the (oily) screen; it worked! I got a fish! So I tried again, and again. Most of the photos were duds. But a few held wonders.
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| Unhappy anemones, tiny stuff, and a pair of red calcareous tubeworms, one feeding. |
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| The mouth of a tubeworm. Disturbed, it pulls back inside and slams its red trapdoor (operculum). The cauliflower-like structure at upper right is a half-contracted anemone. This species is lobed; each lobe makes a "floret" here. |
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| Dwarf calcareous tubeworms, like tiny, white macaroni stuffed with orange feathers. I think I saw a flatworm somewhere in there, too. |
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| I don't know what these are. They look rather like scallops covered with algae. |
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| Barnacles on a piling. I have seen this before, but never managed a photo: if the light is right, the open mouths show a bright red interior, probably due to their hemoglobin. |
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| At the end of the float, under the ramps (new and old), Laurie and I sprawl on our bellies, peering down at anemones on a pipe. |
What else we saw, I'll show you on Saturday. Meanwhile, on to another town's beach, tomorrow.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Sunshine Coast, Day Two. Powell River wharf
Small fish:
Flat fish:
Yellow fish:
Not a fish:
I've been sorting the underwater photos, and finding much more in them than I expected. Full story tomorrow.
Flat fish:
Yellow fish:
Not a fish:
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| Very messy crab, under Powell River wharf. I think it may be a large kelp crab. |
I've been sorting the underwater photos, and finding much more in them than I expected. Full story tomorrow.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Sunset over Malaspina Strait
Sunshine Coast trip, Day One, continued:
The last 20 kilometres or so of the highway to the Earl's Cove ferry gives my arms a good workout. It snakes its way north and east, following the line of the coastal slopes, never deciding on any one direction for more than a few metres. We swing left, right, left again, right and right and right until it seems that we'll be tailgating ourselves, then left again at the last minute. Laurie mentioned seasickness. I like it; it keeps me alert.
Every so often, there's a sign; a twisty arrow, just in case we hadn't noticed the curves. Or a bent arrow, with a speed limit, usually about the speed I'm going already.
It always takes longer to travel these 20 km. than I planned.
On the ferry, the Island Sky, the windows were sparkling clean. We got a front seat with a good view over the bow, I got out the camera, and promptly fell asleep. Laurie woke me as we arrived in Saltery Bay. So much for enjoying the view!
But the view we came for was waiting for us in Powell River, at our motel, the Westview Centre. It is pasted onto the side of a steep hill; the driveway is a bit scary, and I always feel that we need chocks for our wheels when we park. I'm almost surprised to find the car still at our door in the morning. The drawing card is the sunset; this is the best place I know to see it.
I was awake for this, at least.
Next: The wharf!
The last 20 kilometres or so of the highway to the Earl's Cove ferry gives my arms a good workout. It snakes its way north and east, following the line of the coastal slopes, never deciding on any one direction for more than a few metres. We swing left, right, left again, right and right and right until it seems that we'll be tailgating ourselves, then left again at the last minute. Laurie mentioned seasickness. I like it; it keeps me alert.
Every so often, there's a sign; a twisty arrow, just in case we hadn't noticed the curves. Or a bent arrow, with a speed limit, usually about the speed I'm going already.
It always takes longer to travel these 20 km. than I planned.
On the ferry, the Island Sky, the windows were sparkling clean. We got a front seat with a good view over the bow, I got out the camera, and promptly fell asleep. Laurie woke me as we arrived in Saltery Bay. So much for enjoying the view!
But the view we came for was waiting for us in Powell River, at our motel, the Westview Centre. It is pasted onto the side of a steep hill; the driveway is a bit scary, and I always feel that we need chocks for our wheels when we park. I'm almost surprised to find the car still at our door in the morning. The drawing card is the sunset; this is the best place I know to see it.
I was awake for this, at least.
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| Looking straight down the driveway. The North Island Princess, arriving from Blubber Bay. |
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| Straight overhead, blue sky and baby-pink clouds. |
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| Looking over Malaspina Strait. Georgia Strait is just beyond Texada Island, directly ahead. |
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| Turning our back on the view; the sunset in a motel window. |
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Dougie, interrupted
On the Willingdon Beach trail:
Thanks, Margy!
IMPORTANT UPDATE: Thanks, Paul, Upupaepops and Louise; I am not familiar with these, (obviously!) and because they were so small, we called them chipmunks. I appreciate the correction!
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| He was chip-chip-chipping very loudly until he saw us watching. |
Thanks, Margy!
IMPORTANT UPDATE: Thanks, Paul, Upupaepops and Louise; I am not familiar with these, (obviously!) and because they were so small, we called them chipmunks. I appreciate the correction!
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
A hint of things to come
Day Two; the weather continues beautiful, and we spent an hour on the wharf, upside-down most of the time, with our heads down piling wells, taking photos of these:
I'll save the other underwater photos for editing on the screen at home. But while we're upside-down, we may as well look at some boats, above the water:
We've decided to stay another day; there's another beach we want to explore, and a second-hand bookshop, an art gallery and a pottery. I always thought of Powell River as a pause on the way to the Island, but I think I was blind.
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| Anemones, worm tube, and something tiny and orange. A lucky shot taken blind with my underwater camera. |
I'll save the other underwater photos for editing on the screen at home. But while we're upside-down, we may as well look at some boats, above the water:
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| The "High Maintenance, Too", out of Oregon |
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| Unidentified, flying either the Canadian flag or the Jolly Roger. |
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| "Our Patience". Another time-hog? |
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Mini-vacation coming up!
It's been a stay-at-home summer for us, so far. We've been busy with gardening and family events; our two weeks on Vancouver Island kept being put off, and here we are, in mid-August, with September rains on the horizon. We've decided to reduce the two weeks to three days, and cut the distance in half; we'll dawdle up the Sunshine Coast, antiquing and sight-seeing, spend a couple of nights in Powell River, and wander on home again.
In Powell River, waiting for the ferry last year, we discovered a treasure trove on the underside of the wharf, but had to dash off to board the boat. Weather permitting, that's where you'll find us next Wednesday; half standing on our heads on the Powell River wharf.
There were several kinds of jellyfish, too. And fish. And, of course, the blue, blue water and bright boat reflections.
I am really looking forward to this!
In Powell River, waiting for the ferry last year, we discovered a treasure trove on the underside of the wharf, but had to dash off to board the boat. Weather permitting, that's where you'll find us next Wednesday; half standing on our heads on the Powell River wharf.
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| Large anemones. They came in several colours. |
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There were several kinds of jellyfish, too. And fish. And, of course, the blue, blue water and bright boat reflections.
I am really looking forward to this!
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Lion's Mane Jellyfish
In a quiet corner of the marina at Powell River, we found this Lion's Mane jellyfish.
We see these often on the beaches from Campbell River to White Rock; usually by the time we get to them, they're little more than a mass of red goop, about the size of a flat soup bowl. This one was probably dead, too. It wasn't moving, except as the gentle current moved the tangle of seaweed beside it.
I think it is floating upside-down. The bits of torn rope in the centre are probably all that remains of the mane; possibly those delicate white threads around it are some of the fine tentacles. I didn't dare try to fish it out; dead or alive, these critters sting.
We see these often on the beaches from Campbell River to White Rock; usually by the time we get to them, they're little more than a mass of red goop, about the size of a flat soup bowl. This one was probably dead, too. It wasn't moving, except as the gentle current moved the tangle of seaweed beside it.
I think it is floating upside-down. The bits of torn rope in the centre are probably all that remains of the mane; possibly those delicate white threads around it are some of the fine tentacles. I didn't dare try to fish it out; dead or alive, these critters sting.
"The stinging cells ( nematocysts ) in the tentacles can actually live for months after they are detached from the Jellyfish." (Emerald Sea Photography)
The Lion's Mane is a cold-water jellyfish; it is "seldom found farther south than 42°N latitude," more or less on the Oregon/California border. (Wikipedia) The colder the water, the larger they grow. They live for one year; towards the end of the summer, they gravitate towards the shore, where we find them cast up, melting.
Emerald Sea Photography has beautiful photos of the live jellyfish.
North Island Explorer has a photo showing those translucent lobes curled up around the rim of the red centre at the top.
And here's one with the white bell stretched out, swimming. This one, found south of Seattle, was 14 inches across, a bit bigger than "ours". The tentacles reached 8 feet down.
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