On June 4 I set camp at Little Elbow in Kananaskis Country west of Calgary outside the terrestrial communications networks.

Overnight a ridge of low pressure had stalled along the the Rockies. The already melt water swollen Elbow River was a torrent.

Click for a panorama of the road out and the river.

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I had made a date to have brunch at my sister, Jan's, sunny home in the city.

While we waited for my brother-in-law to arrive she showed me a treasure.

Click for a Flash animation.

I know that Flash isn't very popular. My statistics show that most people don't click it.

But, as this lithograph composite portrait of Janice from my hand made lithographic "Edge" series (1984-93) testifies: I am interested in image sequences... and love my sister.



They made a great meal. I would have photographed it but, I had not eaten since June 3. I was ravenous for the delicious food and forgot about art.

Up in the mountains the thrill of returning solo after 30 years to my Kananaskis homeland in the rugged range country had overcome my hunger. I didn't think about it just as I didn't think to take a few still life photographs of the table and the delicacies. I guess art doesn't come first to me, life does, my greed for it. This is why I am a not artist. I can't imagine Van Gogh eating his still life... paint yes. Me - no...

I think not.
 
 

 

 

 




I had made a date to visit my mother at her pension at 2 pm. That's the time that I call her on the telephone. I hadn't seen her in over 5 years but, we talk on the phone sometimes everyday or a few times a week. We are up-to-date. She took me on a tour of her apartment just to see it. We chatted for a couple of hours and she invited me to supper.

I wasn't dressed for it wearing back country technical gear with hiking boots but, my mother, strangely enough, didn't seem to mind.

Times change.

We dined with her, as she put it, "crew" of four women in the dinning room. The woman on the right, one of the gang, was a post-secondary design instructor in Toronto before she retired.

It was an interesting, non-linear supper conversation.

After the deserts I took my leave.



 
 

On my way back to camp I encountered a small herd of wild horses who's ancestors must have escaped captivity in the cowboy ranch ranging days. Back then my uncles wanted me to take out a herd of calves and bring them back in the fall. Imagine what bad luck some poor wrangler must have suffered loosing his horses. I couldn't do it. Me, a riding horse, a pack horse, a dog, and a Winchester for company with wolves, mountain lion, and grizzly bear; all by myself? All summer? I stayed in town and printed lithographs in John Snow's studio and sold them in Montreal the next winter.


The country had changed. I guess the new paved road gave me a sense of security. It crossed the Elbow River at two points. A wise mountain man would have stayed below the bridges and culverts.

The rain was letting up a bit.


 

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