MONSTER HIGH TIDE BEACHES FERRY
A rogue high tide swept Bowen Island on Thursday leaving a swath of destruction behind it. Barry Peters, of the BC Meteorological Office, described it as a "once in a thousand years" meteorological event. "You don't see a wave like that every day. She was a whopper!", he explained.
The 947,000 cm. high wave smashed into Bowen Island at just before 5:50 pm, soaking businesses, tourists, and residents alike for one one brief and terrifying instant. "It was like a big jump in the ocean," said Melaminie Nichols, a Snug Cove resident. "Everyone got wet but I don't think anyone's hurt."
Unfortunately, the 5:25 commuter ferry was just arriving then, twelve minutes late, and wound up beached high and dry. Luckily, no one was hurt and ferry workers even managed to set up some ramps and off-load the cars just another 14 minutes behind schedule. Some commuters just drove off the ferry and straight home as if nothing had happened.
The main impact of this natural disaster is being felt in real estate prices on the island. Agents have been scrambling and prices have skyrocketed. "Its a bonanza!" panted Bobby Paris, of Inclement Real Estate Ltd. "That wave just opened up another 40% of this island as waterfront, or at least, as partial-waterview with limited beach access. Basically, there's nothing under a million bucks right now."
"But even a bull market has its downside," Bobby explained. "That wave pushed up the high tide line another 100 feet or so which really increased the damn foreshore. What were formally blue-chip waterfront properties are in the public domain now. Squatters are moving in already and we just can't legally get them out of there!"
Tunstall Bay residents breathed a collective sigh of relief when the trucking of gravel from Tunstall Bay beach finally ceased on Wednesday afternoon. Battle scarred residents of Tunstall Beach Boulevard were finally leaving their houses and even being glimpsed outside in their yards, after being forced to stay indoors for the last month because of the incessant noise of the trucking for Cowan Point Developments.
Ms. Dusty-Anne Weary, the President of the Western Front Residents Association (WFRA), described the experience as a living hell. "It was nightmarish' she said. "For 40 days and 40 nights we had to endure the incessant pounding and rattling of thousands of gravel trucks right outside our door. My nerves are shot. Thank God and the Trust its finally over."
As is well known now, the WFRA mounted an ill fated blockade of the landing barges. In what will go down in the history books of the Gulf Island War as the Pancake Revolution, local residents drew their own line in the sand and, armed with flapjacks, utensils and syrup, managed to repel the invaders for a day.
But backed by legal heavyweights and big bucks, Jake (the Snake) Reynolds, the lawyer for Seaweed Trucking, managed to have an injunction put in place to prevent further disruption to the development. It was delivered and read to the brunchers on the beachhead who then peacefully retreated so that the wheels of progress could roll again.
So all is quiet now on the Western Front, but not in the courtrooms. The High Tide has learned that a last minute appeal by the Trust could still effectively penalize the development company. "We're still looking to overturn the last court decision,' the Trust lawyer said. 'If we win this appeal, reperations could be made as soon as next week."
When contacted, Georgous Home of Cowan Point Developments, seemed, at first, downcast. "This last appeal could really cost us,' he said. 'But I have informed the Trust that we are prepared to stick to the letter of the law if we lose. Trucking could begin as soon as next Tuesday, returning all that gravel to Tunstall Bay for its barging around to Seymour. And we really don't want to do have to do that, do we?&334; he snickered.
The water quality levels for various points on Bowen have just been released. Snug Cove is still sitting a bit smelly at 23 lab parts per million. Hood Point is white with 92 Tilley hats per million. Bluewater is entering a new age with 18 yuppies per million, though the figures and names are changing at an alarming rate. Deep Bay is awash with high incomes and all is quiet in Tunstall Bay with a surprising 0 gravel barge parts per million.
A reported sighting of one lone, furry little raccoon has upset certain segments of Bowen's population. Herb Grub, of the Reform party's Wildlife and Social Policy wing (the WASP Wing), is spearheading the campaign to keep raccoons off Bowen Island.
"Those 'coons should stay where they are", he insisted. "We don't want them here. They have shifty eyes and nasty little hands. They steal! They'd eat our garbage! They would become parasites on our rich thriving community."
Mr. Grub is suggesting that an immigration net be erected around Bowen Island. "It would keep out those masked thieving raccoons, those wild, free and dangerous cougars, and any other wildlife that we, as people, find undesirable. And once in place, we could begin targeting other unwanted species and get them out of here!"
Apparently there are 3 other animals on the WASP Wing's dangerous species list. "Black labs have got to go!" he raged. "They're fat and lazy and breed like crazy. And as far as I'm concerned, all black flies should be killed because they bite. And the common crow too, because there are just so many of them. They bug me, cawing away all the time like they're some vocal majority. Get rid of them!"
ARIES: Well, sorry, but your impetuous pugnaciousness has really got you in trouble this time. Living can be truly hazardous to your health. If only you didn't enjoy malicious quarrels so much, things might turn out better. It's murky, but sudden and unexpected death is in the offing. Plague, perhaps. Could be cholera. Even execution. Annihilation is definitely in the stars.
TAURUS: Looks like that stubborn, luxury-loving, materialistic side of you is finally catching up. Sure, you're slow to anger, but now is the right time to hold a grudge. Its nice, of course, that you're so fond of routine, but your basic horror of debt indicates bankruptcy (big-time) ahead. Too bad. Its also unfortunate that you're destined to fail those who have confided in you. Button it up.
GEMINI: Its not a particularly fortunate time for you, Gemini. But then you're so busy considering yourself meant for better things that its no wonder you're restless and demanding. What a taker! Too bad you hate routine, because it looks you're doomed to some mindless soul-sucking job like cooking at Doc Morgan's for the rest of your life. Yup, drudgery is in the stars. And quit feeling so sorry for yourself.
CANCER: Oh you sensitive, timid, dull dreamer. Its OK, you can stop expecting the worst, its about to happen. Avoid cruises. And water sports. And leaving the island, period. Ridicule is coming your way due to a tragic sequence of misunderstanding and misplaced affections. Better pray for a dry winter.
LEO: Well, don't we love an audience? Don't we love to be waited upon? Aren't we wallowing in pompous self-importance? Enjoy it now, kiddo, because that hubris is catching up with you and you may not be able to escape the consequencesof your actions anymore. Too bad about that major disillusionment with friends that's just around the corner. Temper, temper. Follicle-challenge is also in the stars. Better think about the reality of the part you think you play. Now.
VIRGO: Details, details, details. Don't you ever tire of being the critical. carping, chronic fault-finding perfectionist that everyone thinks you are? Instead of making mountains out of molehills, maybe you should just make sure that you've got a lot of firewood for this winter. You're gonna need it. In more ways than one.
LIBRA: Your generosity is waiting to catch up with you, but its not a pretty picture. Gambling is also a looming disaster. Watch it. Those back pains you've been having? They're indicative of the impatience you're feeling. You've just got to try and help out everyone, don't you? Cut it out. And return those books you borrowed. It will make you feel a whole lot better. For a while.
SCORPIO: Well, you probably already know you've got the worst rep of all the signs. Malicious. Arrogant. Secretive. Intense. All that jazz. So it shouldn't come as any surprise that your anger, jealousy and paranoia is about to erupt due to a major misunderstanding, not to mention procrastination, on your part. Avoid Taureans. Big time. Or not.
SAGITTARIUS: But why are you always on the go? What are you avoiding by moving all the time? You know. Its okay that you're determined to have your own way, but is it so necessary to get so cruel when someone angers you? Just wondering. Be real careful of expecting too much from others right now. And bury the combative edge if you can. Yeah, you can forgive, but maybe you should try to forget once in a while. Avoid driving. Especially fast driving. In the rain. At night.
CAPRICORN: Well, someone has to shoulder Life's responsibilities, it may as well be you. You already know you are your own worst enemy, yow, but when you get depressed . . . Too bad you're destined to live a long life- in your shoes, who would want to?
AQUARIUS: Your paranoia will get the best of you yet, if it hasn't already. Maybe if you started listening to all the advice you ask from others, things might make more sense. And quit breaking promises, too. Its really annoying. Especially the thing about being notoriously difficult to pin down. Why should it be so hard to get your attention, anyway?
PISCES: It must be annoying that people basically consider you as harmless. Too bad your self-esteem is so low and that you are so easily disgusted by people and things. But that's all part of being Piscean, isn't it? Don't bother expecting the worst, or even the best. There's no use in trying. What's the point? Best avoid lending anything to Librans.
Following the brilliant success or dismal failure of my on-going columns in the High Tide (I choose to think it was the former), my Editor in Chief has asked me to write a regular Nature feature. Not having ever understood the meaning of the word "regular", I will endeavour to bring you my insightful observations of the many and varied forms of the natural life on our fair isle.
In the Dog Daze issue of the High Tide, we featured a front page photo of a mutant species: the black-lab-crow, the Blow. I have been privileged to have seen this rare bird-dog around the Eagle Cliff area. I was standing under a massive cedar tree in which a family of Canadian bald eagles were nesting, continuing my research on the consistency of eagle droppings on Bowen Island (the final results of which will be released at a later date) when I felt the Blow.
It was flying very low with its head hanging down and its tongue hanging out making a bee line for me, when I was salivated upon. I felt the hot panting breath followed by the smothering slathering lick of a long pink tongue. Its forward momentum knocked me off my feet. I was blown over by the Blow. Before I could pick myself up it came in for an awkward and very hard crash-landing, burying its head in my precious droppings, absolutely ruining my painstaking research. It then proceeded to walk around the tree making rasping panting sounds. Lifting one clawed leg it urinated on the tree to make its territory. The eagles, from their dizzying perch at the 100 foot level, had been watching the proceedings with ribald interest. They gathered along one branch and gave the Blow and I all the research I could deal with for many months. I was happy, but the Blow was quite put out. It raised its heavy head sky-wards and started a loud and dissonant bark (crark?). At which point, to my delight, the eagles poured another few months of research on the angry Blow, which ceased its crarking immediately and walked disconsolately away, crowling and trying unsuccessfully to tuck its tail between its legs. It had learned its first lesson in survival . . . don't crark up the wrong tree.
As part of the High Tide's ongoing revitalisation plan, the editorial offices have recently modernised with the purchase of new equipment. The recent acquisition, a Macintosh Powerbook 165 Black Lab-top computer, was a 2nd hand castaway from a famous local writer. Concerned that there might be million dollar bestsellers lying around, the editorial staff immediately began rummaging around cyberspace looking for forgotten files from the previous owner. It seems the author had been particularly diligent in clearing all old files before this computer got into the hands of the High Tide, because no files were found. That is, until one editor noticed a slight bulge in the Trash symbol at the bottom of the computer screen, telling us there were some deleted files that had not quite made it out the door, so to speak. Upon examination just one file was found, with only one line, which the High Tide is now pleased to present:
It must have been a dark and stormy night when our local esteemed writer, Nick Bantock, penned the following line under the heading PURGATORY :
"It were a Friday about 10 o'clock when I turned my back to the sea for the last time. After...."
And that was it: all we found was that one lousy line. Of course not every line by a famous writer can be expected to be a good one, but in this case the line is so bad that it just boggles the mind as to what great story could possibly have followed after it. Therefore, the High Tide is pleased to announce its first annual Short Story Contest!
To enter just complete the story "Purgatory" from Nick's first line onwards and, in 500 words or less, just try to make something out of it (Sorry, but no pop-ups or dazzling graphics can be included). The winner will receive 2 emergency remedial creative writing classes, 1 complimentary issue of our upcoming special pop-up edition of the High Tide, and no signed copies of the Griffin and Sabine trilogy to give to relatives as Christmas presents.
Dear Hammer Ed,
As a fashion conscious woman on this island I am always on the lookout for interesting and flattering new looks. At the recent end of summer Labour Day event I was instantly taken by a smashing low-shouldered black velour hip-hugging miniskirt worn by a local carpenter. Ed, you know all the carpenter guys on the island. How can I get a hold of that man and get that dress?
Signed, Skirt-chasing Man-hunter.
Dear S + M,
You won't get splinters from dressed lumber. Erect it and he will come.
Dear Hammer Ed,
My husband and I have recently split up. I am renting a house on another part of the island. We are endeavouring to remain good friends, but I keep getting drawn back into his affairs. He says that we should continue seeing each other, but I want to make a clean break and start my life anew. I feel guilty about this decision and he just does not seem to understand. It would be better for us both if we didn't socialise together. I don't want to hurt his feelings but I don't seem to be going in any direction. What should I do?
Signed, Going Nowhere.
Dear Going Nowhere,
You have to let go of the mooring lines before you leave the berth.
Dear Hammer Ed,
We seem to have a serious dillema on this island. We all know that on the last day of summer our young men like to dress in drag to see the tourists off. This is all fine and good but this year these young men not only raided my closet for clothes but it is now the end of September and they are still wearing them. Not only that, but they look better in them than I do myself! What do I do?
Signed, I. M. Baer Ass.
Dear B. A.
Come out of the closet and build a bi-fold door.
Dear High Tide,
I note from recent letters in your esteemed periodical that certain correspondents are follicly challenged. I thought, therefore that your readers would be interested in an extract from my shortly forthcoming book "101 Uses For Dead Black Labs" (for which we are seeking a publisher).
"Use #57: Culled black labs, provided that the manner of their demise is not too messy, may provide the perfect remedy for baldness. Black lab skin grafts complete with living hair make ideal hairpieces. They may even be dyed to match the wearer's previous colour. Of course older culled labs provide the wearer with that distinctive touch- grey hair."
Yours respectfully, Paul Rickett.
Dear Mr. Rickett,
Wow, you are one sick puppy! But of course we at the High Tide would love to publish your work. With our extensive experience in the world of publishing we know what it takes to get your words in print. Just drop off the manuscript and a wad of cash and we'll see what we can do.
