Quoth the Raven "Nevermore"

The dominant avian here is inarguably the raven. The most remarkable thing about them is that they rival eagles in size. They fearlessly circle the skies guarding the capital as though it were their own kingdom to protect. Needless to say it inspired the following post...

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious voume of forgottenlore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there cam a tapping,
" 'Tis some visitor, " I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
" 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door' -
This it is, and nothing more."

Presenty my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
that I scarce was sure I heard you" - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long i stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
this I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again i heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "Surely that is something at my window lattice'
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore; -
" 'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and futter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer ittle meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
'Till I scarcely more than muttered "other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
The the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore
Till the dirges of his hope that melanchoy burden bore
Of 'Never-Nevermore.' "

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried "they God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet stil, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on the desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore"

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by the God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whoe the angels name Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whome the angels named Lenore?"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore"

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked upstarting -
"Get thee back into the tempest and night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take the beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor'
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

-Edgar Allen Poe

78,315 Lightning Strikes in One Night

Yellowknife had a whopper of a lightning storm earlier this month. Since nobody was getting any sleep that night, most of us were up late watching the storm. Over 78,000 strikes happened that night. The storm set off a number of forest fires in the area. It was the most amazing lightning storm I have ever seen. CBC reported it as a record. The picture shows a lightning strike in downtown Yellowknife.

Needless to say the power was out for the better part of the night. I've been told that Yellowknife has a power evacuation plan in case of extended power outages. If the power goes out for over 4 hours in the winter ( I think it's 4 hours ), the entire city gets evacuated. At -40 degrees, if the power goes out for an extended period of time, I would want to be evac'd someplace warm. Jamaica, maybe?

Road Trip

We took a road trip this weekend to Grande Prairie. I had no idea how bloody far it was from Yellowknife to Grande Prairie. Five hours to the Alberta border and another seven to Peace River.

The longest drive is highway 1 from Yellowknife to Alberta which is riddled with bison. They wander all over the road, and sometimes you have to park on the side of the highway and wait for the herd to move. Mammoth things, those bison. They are about the size of a baby elephant and they move at their own pace regardless of what you do. Here is a shot from the passenger window of the car. I had to look up at the massive thing.

We spent the first night at 60th Parallel Provincial Park. The 60th denotes the arctic region from the rest of Canada and the border between NWT and Alberta. It offers your typical selection of wide-eyed sunrises and unbelievable sights. When the sun rose, it ignited the mists on the Hay River into great blooms of orange and red. I tried to take a picture, but it couldn't possibly do it justice.

We saw the usual compliment of bears, elk, caribou, rabbits and foxes.

Once we got into Alberta, it was a long drive through prairie flatness and we were able to see forests and trees as opposed to the stunted growth customary to the north sub-arctic. Grande Prairie offered us 27 degree C. weather, which was nice to have again.

There Are Better Ways To Keep Warm in Yellowknife

There's a quite a bit of arson for this little hamlet of Yellowknife. A few months ago, a woman came home to find her bed being warmed up by her husband and some other woman. She decided to heat it up even more by setting the house on fire.

There was another arson fire last night that left five families homeless.

Over Qualified. Is that like being too hung?

So, I've been out on the job search bandwagon. It's true, there are plenty of opportunities in Yellowknife, however I've found that most of the positions that I am interested in are responding to me by telling me I'm over qualified. This ranks up there with time-tested beauties like "I like you too much and I just want to be friends."

Being told your over qualified is like your girlfriend telling you she doesn't want to go out with you because you're too well hung. I wonder if I were to act really stupid whether it would make a difference.

I'll keep you, uhhh... posted.

Frontier Boobies

So Trevor and I decided we needed to see some of the local social scene. There aren't many bars in Yellowknife, but considering it's the last bastion of civilization at the foot of the arctic, if you want to go drinking, this is it. There's about half a dozen drinking establishments here and we decided if we were going to tie one on, we better hit the seedier places first to reduce the chances of getting into trouble later on in the evening.

Harley's Saloon.

The last titty bar for 1500kms. What a treat. Since the mines in the Territories disallow alcohol in the camps, this is the place for the roughnecks to mingle and get their freak on during their off hours. The place is no bigger than local convenience store but without the convenience. The entertainer (and there seems to be only one) appears to be an experienced and well seasoned dancer. Her schedule is her own, but since the price of drinks goes up after 8pm, it's a good bet you won't see her perform her art until well after then.

Mind you, just because the price of beer goes up doesn't necessarily coincide with the beginning of her performances.

Most places of ill-repute display a low key atmosphere that is primarily illuminated with black lights for effect. Here, a couple of strings of blue Christmas tree lights will have to suffice. As previously indicated, patience is important if you are there for the show. After a number of bevvies, I took a trip to the toilet, where you are more inclined to urinate in the sink and wash your hands in the urinal.

Except you can't. The sink had a basket filled with a selection of condoms and single serving sizes of various lubrications. I found this very funny. Apparently, the custom here is to not use the sink at all.

The star of the show spent the beginning of the evening sitting in the 'audience' getting tanked and we decided that perhaps we'll come back later to see if she really could dance in the flip-flops she was wearing. We left to return several hours later.

Good as their word, she was on the stage when we returned. Sans flip-flops and every other stitch of clothing she was previously wearing. Since this was the only strip bar for 1500kms, it was no wonder the placed filled up nicely and the 'Maitre D' was standing at the door alternately throwing people out and letting others back in.

This place was obviously a social hub, because you'll collect dust between performances. Before I left, one more trip to the toilet was necessary and oddly enough most of the condoms and lube packages that were sitting earlier in the basket in the sink were gone. I don't know where and slept quite comfortably that night not wanting to know either.

The Golden Range

The locals refer to it as the Golden Shower. The reason for this was a dead give-away when we went in and the odour hit us like redneck smack on a toddler's ass. The stage was conspicuously missing protective chainlink fencing much like most of the customers were missing their teeth. But the place was packed and no one seemed to mind, most particularly the midget.

An older fellow staggered up to our table and introduced himself in a language that mostly resembled mumble with a hint of slur and English. He was a Ranger. We knew he was a Ranger because after 5 minutes of struggling with his wallet like Houdini in a straight jacket, he insisted on producing ID. For those of you who do not know what a Ranger is or who have never heard of one in Canada, here is a short intermission...

A Canadian Ranger is a person (traditionally from the Arctic) who has been annointed with a title, authority and a bolt action .303 Lee Enfields from WWII firearm by the Canadian Military. Their responsibility is to report any unusual goings on in the far north during their nomadic wanderings here and there over the tundra. As it turns out, it may be of interest to the reader that there has only been one instance where Canada has fired upon a foreign power from Canadian Soil.

It just so happened that a Norwegian submarine was lawfully cruising the Canadian arctic waters when the time came for it to surface. The problem was, that it surfaced through the ice near a contingent of our brave northern Rangers. The Rangers open fired with their .303's. The Norwegian Commander, from within the submarine, couldn't figure out who was making popcorn this far north.

The Ranger eventually got around to the purpose of his social call where we politely declined the honour of buying him any more drinks. We did tell him, however, how much we appreciated his service to the nation.

The Raven

The Raven seems to be the most popular bar in Yellowknife. The clientele is a pleasant mix of people from all degrees and the staff are most friendly and helpful. Sadly, I don't have much to say about it other than it's an enjoyably unremarkable place to go.

The Black Knight

A pub. A happy British style pub. Comfortably, just like every other British style pub in the world. Thank God. The staff are approachable, and the servers are cute. The Black Knight boasts a younger crowd. Mostly of people who have moved to Yellowknife to take advantage of the scads of cash one can make up here and then move back to a more civilized world after they've cut their teeth on a real job. Good place to throw darts.

I'll let you know which one of these places eventually cuts the mustard for me to make it my home base.

Jerry

Welcome to the Neighbourhood.

Well, we're finally moved in. It took two weeks to finish the painting and flooring on the new house. Internet is finally up and the phone now works. So everyone who has been trying to get in touch with me can untie their knickers.

Funny place Yellowknife. I met the neighbours. What a hoot. Let's call them Hank, Boomhauer, Bill and Dale. Hank lives next door and works in the mines. Typically, two weeks working at the mine and one week off. Apparently there is no alcohol allowed anywhere in the camp. So, he makes up for it when he comes home.

Boomhauer is an entertaining fellow who lives in the RV parked on Hank's front lawn. "Twenty five years as a carpenter and still have all my fingers!" Proud as punch. He's a little hard to understand after a couple of pints, but pay attention, because he's got tons of stories to tell you.



Bill is a career handyman and cook. Spends most of his time hooking up with Hank when he's back from the mine and doing maintenance for a local Italian restaurant when he's not. Seems to be the happiest fellow I've come across, since Moses brought beer down from the mountain.

Dale is also a mine worker who fits in like a sausage cart at a Canadian Tire. Between the lot of them, a friendly chaos ensues every two weeks when they're back.


And then there's the Redneck Shack...


Words simply don't due justice to this injustice. The Shack is the social core where Hank, Boomhauer, Bill and Dale spend their off-duty days and most of the nights. Within is only for esteemed guests of the most gracious hosts.



A stern warning is posted at the entrance for those not welcome in the inner sanctum sanctorum. Steel yourself before entrance because this is truly the Redneck Haven of the North.



Decor is Jeff Foxworthy meets Ron Jeremy. Autographed posters of the feature entertainers from the local strip bar wallpaper and insulate the Shack. Various machines lie in different states of repair/creation furnish this diverse den.

But the coup de gras is mounted in the corner. This particular grail cannot be photographed, so I'll describe it as best I can.


Yellowknife's off-season is expectedly frigid, so the side effects of consumption in the Shack need to be dealt with without exposing your jewels to the sub-zero environment. This tricky solution consists of a large funnel mounted waist-high in the corner. Surrounding the tinkle target is a pair of full, red metal lips fabricated and painted in the style of a Rolling Stones album cover. Above this luscious lavvie is a picture of a chihuahua from behind with a latex vagina affixed over it's ass. Push to flush.

The boys are truly some of the most hospitable people I've ever met and always a genuine treat to visit with. Friendlier neighbours you'll never find and certainly none with more character, personality and a true lust for life.

I'm sure you'll hear more, later.

Jerry

Why Am I Here?

People ask me this as often as I quiz myself, and I have no immediate answer. But that does not change the fact that, not unlike many of the inhabitants of Yellowknife, Northwest Territories, I am indeed here.