Home  >> Stories  >> The Tale Spinner #2012-23

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IN THIS ISSUE

• Kate Brookfield writes about visiting Simla in India
• Frank Pollard concludes his account of an arduous hike
• Pat Moore forwards a note about Frank´s hike
• Verda Cook recalls a song she learned in childhood
• Carol Dilworth writes about her visits to a famous garden
• Pat sends a story of a senior´s way to get help
• Don Henderson poses a philosophical problem
• The editor suggests that you bookmark the Spinner sites
• Sites are recommended by Bruce Galway, Catherine Nesbitt, Catherine Green, Gerrit deLeeuw, and Pat Moore

Kate Brookfield continues her story of their stay in India:

SIMLA

One of our first trips out of Chandigarh was to the hill station of Simla, (pronounced Shimla). During our stay in India, we visited Simla several times. We went first soon after we arrived in India to escape the intense heat of Chandigarh. After the assassination of Mrs. Gandhi, we went to Simla again. Our intention was to escape all the unrest, and as the country was in a period of mourning, the University was closed.

After checking in at our hotel, we discovered that Mrs. Gandhi´s ashes, which had been distributed to cities around India, were displayed on a platform directly under our window. So we witnessed the crowds coming to pay tribute, and it was not the quiet retreat we had anticipated. As this was early November, it was quite cool and we were unprepared for the sudden change in temperature, and were thankful for the warm sweaters we had had bought earlier in the month in Kashmir. We even had a snowstorm one day. Our final visit was in April and it was beautiful in springtime.

On the final visit, we returned to Chandigarh on the small steam train that runs from Kalka to Simla.

Simla is a very old and famous settlement in the foothills of the Himalayas. In 1971 it was made the capital city of the new state of Himachel Pradesh. Here the influence of the British rule in India is very evident. When you first see Simla, it looks like a few hills, absolutely crammed with buildings of many shapes and sizes sprawling up the hillsides. The main area for tourists is at the top of the ridge. Here is the famous Mall, which is a wide street lined with imposing buildings, including an old theatre, a fire station, and old post office. The houses in this area are large in mock Tudor style, with a church that looks as if it had come straight from a village in England.

When the British were in India, native Indians were not allowed to walk on the Mall; it was reserved for the women of the officers. But in 1984, this was where all the Indians promenaded with pride. No vehicles are allowed on the Mall.

During the time of the British in India, Simla became the seat of the government during the summer months. It was also the location for sanitariums for those suffering from the many illnesses that plagued the British army in India: malaria, tuberculosis, and other tropical diseases. The air is very clear, and lots of cedar trees, oaks, and rhododendron bushes, as well as many flower gardens, make this a pleasant place to stay.

The largest building is the imposing Governor General´s Residence, which is now a College of Education. The last Governor General, Lord Curzon, chose not to live in this residence and preferred to stay in a tent lower down on the hillside. We were not allowed to enter the residence, but enjoyed the walks in the extensive grounds and gardens surrounding the residence.

I have not found many photos of Simla, but I am sure I have more. Please visit my website, and I will add to the photos when I find more:

To be continued.

Frank Pollock concludes his story of his latest hike on the

WEST COAST TRAIL

Tsusiat Falls is the premier campsite along the entire 75-km trail/ route. From a lake back in the forest, the water flows out the river and then, like an infinity pool, falls over a cliff onto the beach. There is great sand and plenty of logs. Everyone going north or south along the trail camps here. Some stay for more than a day. It´s a truly beautiful place but first, you have to get there. Remember, I´m still at The Cribbs.

I was up with the robins and on the trail by 6:00 a.m. Unfortunately, the tide was high so I had to take the inland route instead of the beach route. But as I said earlier, the trail was fairly dry and had been cleared. There was mud but with no standing water, so I could at least see where to place my boots. I made good time and after a couple of hours was at km 37, which always pleases me since it´s the half-way mark. The beach and inland trails along this section of the hike are very good and you can move quickly. Yes, I was carrying a heavy pack so any walking wasn´t easy, but relatively speaking, it was good hiking.

I crossed the Cheewat River (meaning river of urine) and passed by some native fishing shelters on the beaches. They erect poles and tarps and spend time there in summer fishing. There is one last native ferry crossing at Nitinat Narrows, but it is manned only between 10:00 a.m. and 4:00 p.m. I was making excellent time and was impressed by the new boardwalk in the forest, and grateful it wasn´t slippery.

It was still before 9:00 a.m., so I figured I would have to wait at the Narrows for the Indian to take me across, but there is always a cooler of cold drinks for sale. Anyway, I had my head down, rounded a corner and there, 30 metres in front of me, was a large, very large, very black, extremely healthy black bear - also on the boardwalk. He´d seen me before I saw him. His stance was like a pit bull - stout, legs bowed, looking right at me. I´ve had more black bear encounters than I can remember, but I will remember this one. He didn´t looks at all startled or cast about for an exit. He just looked at me and was making an assessment. I think we drew the same conclusion.

I said in a loud clear voice, "Hey black bear, hey BIG black bear!" but he wasn´t having any of it. I had only my two hiking poles and a large knife, but the knife, big as it was, would not have cleared the layers of fat. I backed up five steps, then turned and started to go back quickly. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the bear was continuing towards me. Not good news. I went about another 50 metres around a corner, saw what appeared to be an opening in the jungle growth, and took it about 20 metres. The trees were not climbable and I wouldn´t have been able to climb one anyway, with my pack on. I didn´t want to take my pack off in case the bear attacked and I needed the protection.

It was a very uncomfortable feeling to realize that this was all out of my hands. I ducked behind a log and hoped he wouldn´t realize I had gone off the boardwalk. I waited about 12 minutes and then quietly got back to the boardwalk. I don´t think the bear passed me, so I realized it was still somewhere ahead of me. Quickly, all eyes and ears, I went quietly along the boardwalk, and after about 15 minutes or less, not seeing him anywhere, I felt safe and proceeded onto Nitinat. The native told me he thought it was the problem bear that had wrecked their supply building two years before. He broke in, drank a couple of beer, tried a few other drinks, ate some dog food, and then drank - get this - 68 cans of Coca Cola. The native got on the radio and talked to a ranger, who was going to get there ASAP and walk that section of trail. I´d hate to be the reason a bear gets shot, but this was a scary bear. Good luck finding him in that forest!

So across the Narrows I went and up onto more headlands. There are wonderful pocket beaches below and this section of the hike is quite famous. Eventually, the trail drops down to the sand and I was able to beach walk. The tide was out so I was able to go through the picturesque arch at Tsusiat Point. From there, it´s a tiring but beautiful two km to Tsusiat Falls.

I was there by 12:30 and the best part was that I had it to myself. I selected a choice site, got my tent up, and headed for the pool of cascading water at the base of the cliff. Off came my clothes, and I had a wonderful swim in the pool and a very refreshing shower under the falls. With my pot of boiled water, I drank more than one cup of Starbuck´s Via coffee. MMMM. About four p.m., like clockwork, trekkers began to stagger in from the south. There I sat, comfortable in the sand, tent up, clean, happy, while they sought out a good tent site (there are many). The whales were feeding offshore, the eagles were doing interesting things, and the shore birds were entertaining me.

The winter storms that rage along this coast change the direction of the river annually. This time around, the food cache and outhouse are on the north side of the river as it cuts through the beach. So that´s where most of the tenters went. I had to thank my lucky stars because, around 6:30 p.m., another older school group and instructors came in from the north. Down the ladders they came and were looking around for space for all their tents. Oh no! The leader came over and asked me where the food cache was, so I pointed across the creek and said, "Over there, and that´s where the outhouse is too," so off they went. There must have been a dozen tents over there, all in one small area, while I had the entire rest of the beach to myself. Perfect!

You´ve heard this before, but I was up with the birds and up the ladders by six a.m. After an hour, I arrived at the wide Klanawa River and the final cable car crossing. Over I went, and then along another two-and-a-half-km stretch of beach. I was happy to do this section because it meant there were no more obstacles between me and the end of the trail. The whales were along here, feeding. The trail goes up into the forest again and after another hour, I came to Tsocowis - a beautiful beach that is largely ignored by everyone. It´s just not a convenient place to camp, although I have done it several times and it´s as good as it gets. There was a young trail worker there who showed me fresh cougar tracks from the previous day. I had been going to lie on the beach and snooze, but I re-thought that plan and instead, moved on to Michigan Creek - the last beach campsite on the West Coast Trail.

To get there, you have to walk four km along the beach and cross a few creeks. There was one guy at Michigan but he soon packed up and headed south, so I took his campsite - which was actually my campsite as I use it each time I´m there. Michigan is pleasant and there is much marine life to watch.

At this time of year, the trail bus only operates every second day, so the next day I remained at Michigan. Slept in until 7:00 a.m. and had a nice afternoon nap. The next day, Tuesday, I was up and out of there by 6:00 a.m., and was at the trailhead Park´s office before it opened at 9:00 a.m. So the last 12-km hike took me about 2-1/4 hours. Right at the end, and I do mean right at the end, there are two tall ladders up, and about four ladders down. Enough already!

The ranger phoned a taxi for me and I was in Bamfield before 10:00 a.m. and had a great breakfast at the one and only café. Best hash browns ever. Bamfield is a charming and pretty village where boats are more common and useful than cars because the town is divided by waterways. It´s prettier than any photos I´ve seen of Newfoundland or Nova Scotia. You have to take miles and miles of gravel road to get there.

The trail bus comes in at noon but it didn´t show up. I had burned all my contact information on the trail so I was stuck. There was a young German couple also waiting, as they had come out two days earlier. Thomas phoned and was told the trail bus had broken down but that a van would arrive at the trailhead by 3:00 p.m., but would not come into Bamfield. Why, I don´t know. I managed to hitch a ride back to the trailhead with a couple I had talked to down at the pier. The German couple, when they arrived at the trailhead (just in time), were quite agitated.

Anyway, we left in the van. I was dropped off in Cowichan and transferred to another vehicle for the remainder of the trip to Port Renfrew. The bad part was that I wouldn´t be able to catch the ferry back to the mainland because we didn´t get to Port Renfrew until 6:15 p.m. Bummer. But the logging road we had just used from Cowichan is now paved, so I got in my very zippy Honda Civic and raced (raced!) through the mountains to the main highway on the east side of the Island. There was very little traffic and I managed to get to the Nanaimo ferry terminal by 7:45 p.m., a remarkable feat if I say so myself. I was on the 9:00 p.m. sailing and home by 11:00 p.m. Don was waiting up for me with a cup of hot tea. (I made that last part up.)

On the trail, I had seen a mink (as I do each time) plus a garter snake [and the bear, of course]. The weather was fantastic. So many people hike the West Coast Trail, it´s like a rite of passage. But they only hike it once. This was about my 15th trip. And this time it was worth it.

The End

Oh, one more thing - I didn´t get to sleep until after midnight but was up at 5:30 the next morning and over to climb Grouse Mountain. So nice to hike without a pack!

ED. NOTE: Did I mention that Frank is a senior? For pictures of the West Coast Trail, click on http://arunaurl.com/4jm8

CORRESPONDENCE

Pat Moore writes: I just received this e-mail from a friend who used to live in B.C. to whom I sent a copy of Frank Pollock´s story about his hike on the West Coast Trail. He wrote back:

"I am worn out already, and all I have done is read about the hike. I have talked to people who have done it, and this is the real thing he is talking about. I think about half of the hikers have to quit and get help to get back to the start."

Verda Cook writes: Here in southern Ontario we had an unusually warm winter, enjoyed by mostly everyone except farmers. Then came March, with weather which we should have in June. Magnolia trees and ornamentals were pushed into bloom long before their normal blooming period. Along came a few days with hard frosts at night. Weather settled down in May to what would be considered normal: buds on magnolias, etc., which had not opened and were protected, came into bloom, giving the illusion that they were re-blooming.

Along with the "second spring" came a second wave of discontent from various sectors. It´s strange how some of these events can bring back memories of childhood. This particular event brought to my mind a song I learned as a child and had long forgotten. Not able to recall all the words, I went onto the internet and fortunately found the lyrics to the song.

It is attributed to the C.S.I. Bain School, which was founded by a Scottish missionary, in India. Try as I might, I cannot find the author to the lyrics, so it must be Author Unknown. This song has been performed in various ways on YouTube recently, so others must have also learned this song as youngsters. I know our children never heard this song, but I will sing it to our granddaughter the next time she complains!

I would give you the link to the YouTube site except that the lyrics are set on a dark background and are very difficult to read, and the song is only played with some instruments. There is another site where two young women are singing, it but it is difficult to understand the words unless you are familiar with them.

I wonder how many of your readers might recall this song? It is a good reminder for a better outlook on life:

The GRUMBLE SONG

In country town or city
Some people can be found
Who spend their lives in grumbling
at everything around.
Oh yes! they always grumble,
No matter what we say,
For these are chronic grumblers,
They grumble night and day

Chorus

They grumble on Monday,
Tuesday, Wednesday,
Grumble on Thursday too;
Grumble on Friday,
Saturday, Sunday,
Grumble the whole week through.

They grumble in the city,
They grumble on the farm,
They grumble at their neighbours,
They think it does no harm.
They grumble when it´s raining,
They grumble when it´s dry,
They grumble all the year round,
Yes, they grumble till they die.

They grumble at their husbands,
They grumble at their wives,
They grumble at their children,
It is their way of life.
They grumble at their parents,
They grumble in the school,
They grumble at the teacher,
And they grumble at all the rules.

In reply to a post with photos of beautiful flowers, Carol Dilworth writes about

THE GARDENS OF KEUKENHOF

I´ve been to the Keukenhof twice and, yes, it is that beautiful. The photo in the middle of all the cases of flowers may be in the auction house, which is the size of several football fields. The buyers bid in a way that I didn´t understand. There seemed to be a clock counting down.

I didn´t know that there was a theme each year. What I noticed on my second visit was the similarity of the designs to my first visit.

The Keukenhof is the reason that April is the Netherland´s busiest tourist month of the year. The first time I booked a tour of the Netherlands to ensure that I would get to the Keukenhof; the second time I got there by a happy accident. I went to Leiden to see the canals, the university, and Rembrandt´s home. I had no problem getting accommodation in Amsterdam or Leiden. It turns out that Leiden is the place where you catch inexpensive public transit to the Keukenhof, which I did.

It may have been in June because there was a wedding being photographed. They obviously plant flowers to bloom at different times because it was gorgeous. Another surprise was that the lady in the shop that sold bulbs told me not to buy them because they were now relatively old, having been on display since the beginning of the season.

You can see tulip fields from inside the Keukenhof, across a canal, but it is much more striking to drive/ride by them. When my tour bus turned the corner and suddenly they were there, we all gasped. Earlier in the season the fields have a lot more blooms. They let the flower bloom and then dig up the bulb to sell.

Warning: when I bought tulip bulbs in Amsterdam, I couldn´t bring them into Canada because they didn´t have the correct approvals on the packages. You have to buy inside the Keukenhof grounds and ship them.

ED. NOTE: For pictures of the flowers in those fabulous gardens, go to

Pat forwards this advice on

HOW TO CALL THE POLICE WHEN YOU´RE OLD

George Phillips, an elderly man from Walled Lake, Michigan, was going up to bed, when his wife told him that he´d left the light on in the garden shed, which she could see from the bedroom window. George opened the back door to go turn off the light, but saw that there were people in the shed stealing things.

He phoned the police, who asked, "Is someone in your house?"

He said, "No, but some people are breaking into my garden shed and stealing from me."

Then the police dispatcher said, "All patrols are busy. You should lock your doors and an officer will be along when one is available."

George said, "Okay."

He hung up the phone and counted to 30. Then he phoned the police again.

"Hello. I just called you a few seconds ago because there were people stealing things from my shed. Well, you don´t have to worry about them now because I just shot and killed them both. The dogs are eating them right now." And he hung up.

Within five minutes, six police cars, a SWAT team, a helicopter, two fire trucks, a paramedic, and an ambulance showed up at the Phillips´ residence, and caught the burglars red-handed.

One of the policemen said to George, "I thought you said that you´d shot them!"

George said, "I thought you said there was nobody available!"

Don´t mess with old people.

Don Henderson´s story ponders the question,

IS SEX WORK?

A Canadian Army officer was about to start the morning briefing to all of his staff.

While waiting for the coffee machine to finish its brewing, the officer decided to pose a question to all assembled. He explained that his wife had been a bit frisky the night before, and therefore he failed to get his usual amount of sound sleep. He posed the question: "How much of the act of sex is work and how much is pure pleasure?"

A captain chimed in with a 75-25% in favour of work.

A lieutenant said it was probably about 50-50%.

A warrant-officer responded with a 25-75% in favour of pleasure, depending upon his state of inebriation at the time.

There being no consensus, the officer turned to the Newfie private who was in charge of making the coffee. What was HIS opinion?

Without any hesitation, the young Newfie responded, "Sir, it has to be 100% pleasure, sir."

The officer seemed a little surprised and as you might guess, asked, "And why is that, soldier?"

"Well, sir, if there was any work involved, the officers would have me doing it for them, sir."

The room fell silent.

Good old Newfies!

FROM THE EDITOR´S DESKTOP

Many subscribers did not receive their Spinners last week, for undetermined reasons. When I sent individual copies to people who let me know, they were delivered. It seems unlikely that all the servers at once would block bulk mail, so it may have been a one-time glitch. I hope.

However, if this problem persists, I suggest that you check out the websites on which the Spinner appears every week to see if it is a technical fault or an editorial mishap. Why not bookmark the sites for easy reference? As is always mentioned in each issue, those sites are

SUGGESTED WEBSITES

Bruce Galway and Catherine Nesbitt send this link to a video of an iPad producing free beer:

Catherine Green suggests this site for a French light show that encourages watchers to lose calories:

Catherine also sends the URL for an island straight out of the Twilight Zone - Socotra Island, just off the horn of Africa and the coast of Yemen, where Somali pirates ply their trade:

Gerrit deLeeuw forwards the URL for a high definition video of the varied scenery of Alberta:

Pat sends this link to a site about shipwrecks on the Pacific coast. It has been said there is a wrecked ship for every mile of coast along the Graveyard of the Pacific. This is probably a low estimate, for we often know of the large vessels that met with tragedy, but rarely of the small craft lost to the rocks and breakers. To check out the wrecks over the years, drag the slider along the bottom of the map:

Marco Tempest spins a story of what magic is, how it entertains us, and how it highlights our humanity - all while working extraordinary illusions with his hands and an augmented reality machine:

Tom Mueller, the author of Extra Virginity: The Sublime and Scandalous World of Olive Oil, explains why olive oil fraud is so prevalent, the different forms that it takes, and how you can avoid inferior extra virgin olive oil:

No air conditioner? Before you die of heatstroke, try these cool tricks:

To check out the features of the "freedictionary", which changes daily, go to

"The secret of health for both mind and body is not to mourn for the past, nor to worry about the future, but to live the present moment wisely and earnestly." - Siddhartha Gautama