Premier Rachel Notley has made headlines for the last few weeks, peddling pipelines.
Apparently they're the solution to not only Alberta's financial problems, but also to Canada's.
She's so invested in this proposition that she's now even arguing for Enbridge's Northern Gateway, the one she earlier rejected as undoable and the one which in any case cannot happen if the Prime Minister's vow to ban tanker traffic from BC's north coast is actualized.
Well, she's an Alberta politician and Alberta politics demand she make the case. I get that. And I have no problem with her view that it's the rest of us being parochial.
It's a case she makes in spite of the fact studies have shown that Alberta would be better off relying less on fossil fuel revenues and more on a provincial sales tax.
Kind of like all the other provinces.
However, just because Albertans cannot see the world beyond their borders and perceived self-interest, doesn't mean the rest of us need to buy in, even if Notley is the last standing NDP premier and has, unlike any of her recent predecessors, started the difficult but essential job of turning her province towards reality.
Here's an interesting fact, brought to you directly from that notoriously socialist rag, the Globe and Mail: “Canada sent a record 3.2 million barrels a day of gross crude oil exports to the United States last year, up 10 per cent from 2014.”
What? Alberta has actually increased it's export of oil and is still in dire financial straits? That seems counter-intuitive.
The article does go on to say, “A lot of the discount for Western Canadian Select pricing has to do with [Canada’s] limited transportation options,” but then points out “...Canada generally produces heavy crude oil that is well matched to processing capacity in the U.S.” In other words, not every refinery is set up to process dilbit, and those in the US that can are increasing their consumption of Alberta's product. The article also goes on to note that the increased use of Canadian product in the US replaces other “heavy oil”, like that from Venezuela and Mexico.
Which of course means Venezuela and Mexico have heavy crude sailing the seas to find other buyers.
So when Rachel Notley and others like her make a case for pipelines to tidewater, what they're really asking us to believe is that the difference in price between what US refineries will pay for dilbit and what refiners in the rest of the world will pay (minus the considerable cost of shipping and handling, of course) would be the wellspring of Alberta's and Canada's economic future well being!
In other words, the dilbit sent through a maximum of three unusually expensive-to-build pipelines loaded on a couple of fleets of oil tankers cruising through some of the most difficult maritime conditions in the world and processed by the few refineries that can handle it is the key to our economic future.
That's an absurd proposition; you'll pardon me if I don't buy any of it.
And we haven't even begun to explore the environmental consequences of such a plan!
Monday, April 25, 2016
Wednesday, April 20, 2016
Letter to Rachel: Bill C-14
Dear Ms Blaney,
I'm quite confident you and I are on the same page on Bill C-14, but I thought you might like some of my thoughts anyway:
I'm convinced the bill, as presented, is unnecessarily bureaucratic, but I'm going to assume those bumps will prove to be sufficiently annoying they will eventually be ironed out.
However, there's really no excuse for ignoring all those people who, fearing that dementia will make them incompetent, clearly express a desire to have an assisted death at some future date when they can no longer request it.
That's just cruel, and doesn't protect anyone: if it should happen to me, I don't want to be forced to blow out my brains while I'm still able to hold the gun but before I'm fully demented.
Sincerely,
I'm quite confident you and I are on the same page on Bill C-14, but I thought you might like some of my thoughts anyway:
I'm convinced the bill, as presented, is unnecessarily bureaucratic, but I'm going to assume those bumps will prove to be sufficiently annoying they will eventually be ironed out.
However, there's really no excuse for ignoring all those people who, fearing that dementia will make them incompetent, clearly express a desire to have an assisted death at some future date when they can no longer request it.
That's just cruel, and doesn't protect anyone: if it should happen to me, I don't want to be forced to blow out my brains while I'm still able to hold the gun but before I'm fully demented.
Sincerely,
Thursday, March 10, 2016
Dear Rob Fleming
Willem,
On Tuesday I joined 900 parents in a crowded Osoyoos school gym to demand that Christy Clark keep their town’s schools open.
They’re not alone. In towns all across BC, people are standing up to stop school closures.
But they need our help.
Sign the petition to stop these school closures.
The move to close schools doesn’t make sense with enrolment rising.
Right now more than thirty schools are at risk of being closed as a result of cuts and underfunding by the Christy Clark’s government.
This week I’m visiting communities across our province that are facing these school closures. I need your help to build this campaign and stop these school closures.
Please sign the petition to stop these school closures right now:
http://www.fightforkidsbc.ca
Thanks,
Rob
Rob Fleming Spokesperson for Education BC's New Democrats
Dear Rob,
As a retired public school teacher who watched colleagues lose their jobs and schools close as a result of Christy's most spectacular education budget slash, I'm sympathetic to this campaign.
Really, I am.
But that first slash was in 2002 and 2003 when she was merely the Education Minister and her animosity towards public education could possibly have been misinterpreted as something else.
However, now she's the Premier, has won two elections, and there's no longer any excuse. Anyone who couldn't see this coming has been willfully ignorant.
While I'm sympathetic, I note that Boundary-Similkameen elected BCLiberal MLA Linda Larson by a considerable margin (7%) and that Osoyoos is the constituency's most populous community.
So here's my message to the voters of Boundary-Similkameen:
Votes (and absentions!) have consequences, people: if you don't want what's on offer, me signing a petition isn't going to help.
Only you can do something about it.
Best of luck.
--Justus
On Tuesday I joined 900 parents in a crowded Osoyoos school gym to demand that Christy Clark keep their town’s schools open.
They’re not alone. In towns all across BC, people are standing up to stop school closures.
But they need our help.
Sign the petition to stop these school closures.
The move to close schools doesn’t make sense with enrolment rising.
Right now more than thirty schools are at risk of being closed as a result of cuts and underfunding by the Christy Clark’s government.
This week I’m visiting communities across our province that are facing these school closures. I need your help to build this campaign and stop these school closures.
Please sign the petition to stop these school closures right now:
http://www.fightforkidsbc.ca
Thanks,
Rob
Rob Fleming Spokesperson for Education BC's New Democrats
Dear Rob,
As a retired public school teacher who watched colleagues lose their jobs and schools close as a result of Christy's most spectacular education budget slash, I'm sympathetic to this campaign.
Really, I am.
But that first slash was in 2002 and 2003 when she was merely the Education Minister and her animosity towards public education could possibly have been misinterpreted as something else.
However, now she's the Premier, has won two elections, and there's no longer any excuse. Anyone who couldn't see this coming has been willfully ignorant.
While I'm sympathetic, I note that Boundary-Similkameen elected BCLiberal MLA Linda Larson by a considerable margin (7%) and that Osoyoos is the constituency's most populous community.
So here's my message to the voters of Boundary-Similkameen:
Votes (and absentions!) have consequences, people: if you don't want what's on offer, me signing a petition isn't going to help.
Only you can do something about it.
Best of luck.
--Justus
Sunday, February 21, 2016
Wednesday, February 3, 2016
Some Havelaar adventures in banking...
I'm a Credit Union kind of guy and, thankfully, so were my parents.
Which is a short way of saying that almost all my “banking” experiences, even those involving other people's money, have been positive, even exemplary.
That is best illustrated by a brief anecdote:
My mom did the finances, and when she died and my dad started to make a hash of his financial life, he and I agreed I should take over. So we went to his Credit Union and arranged for him to do his banking online. Which effectively meant I did his banking online and got cash from the machine as needed, very convenient for both of us.
After this had been going on for some time, and knowing there was a Power of Attorney on file and that some of his investments needed to be converted into cash, I dropped in to see one of the customer service people. During the course of our conversation I got too comfortable, and mentioned this arrangement with my dad, which I instantly realized broke all sorts of financial institution rules. Fully appreciating the situation, all she said was, “I can't actually hear that.”
And that's the very definition of personalized customer service!
In fact, the only off-putting Credit Union experience I can recall happened in a Caisse Populaire, Quebec's version of the Credit Union movement. We had an account in the Caisse in Beauport, because we were spending the year in Quebec City. We had arranged that our Credit Union would transfer money every month to our account at the Caisse, and we picked up the week's allowance every Thursday. So far, no problem. And then, one Thursday I had a cheque from my very part-time employer in Quebec to cash. Probably a rebate for expenses; I no longer remember. The lady at the guichet noticed that it was made out to “Justus Havelaar”, and that my full name wasn't that. How was she to know I was the cheque's “Justus Havelaar” and not an imposter?
I do believe Sandy lost her temper, that time. In French, of course, which is a splendid thing to witness: “And just how many Justus Havelaars have accounts at this caisse, Madame? Never mind in the whole of Quebec?”
We must have eventually convinced someone and cashed the cheque, and it seems funny now. But at the time we had four kids and no money, and really needed that infusion.
In the very late 70's, with only two very young offspring, I did a teacher's exchange to a school in Islington in London. We'd discovered that there was a branch of the Bank of Montreal just off Threadneedle Street in the City, so we arranged that our Credit Union would make a monthly deposit in a Bank of Montreal account in Campbell River, and that they would forward that money to London. What we didn't know was that banks in England – at least at that time – were nothing like those we were used to. For one thing, they were hardly ever open, and I was always working at the times they were, which meant that Sandy had to shlep two infants to Bank Street Station on several tube lines every time we had bank business. For another, they were set up to make it as difficult as possible for one to access one's own money.
And, as if to trump the peculiarities of the bank service, when we arrived the post office was on strike and electronic transfers had not yet been made available to British banks.
It took us months to get a handle on this. Fortunately, we had credit cards that saw us through the worst. And we finally convinced the Bank of Montreal to forward our money to a Barclay's close to where I worked. As long as I didn't take out too much money in any week (yes, there were limits that did not even try to correspond to the amount of money in the account!) that proved viable.
That part of the London experience was memorable for all the wrong reasons, and we were extremely grateful, the last time we spent time in London, for the ubiquitous bank machines.
Although we never had any problems with the Canadian branches of the Bank of Montreal, our relationship nonetheless ended in protest of the Bank of Montreal Mastercard Loyalty card issued to an anti-abortion group.
We got involved in a minor way with the Royal Bank when one of our offspring, having achieved some financial difficulties, needed me to cosign a loan. That would be easier if I had an account, so I acquired both a savings account and an investment account. To be completely clear: the local staff I dealt with were never anything but pleasant and professional – sympathetic, even, when we were unravelling the relationship – but that relationship nonetheless ended badly a few years ago when the Royal Bank not only outsourced its IT department to contractors in India, but had the gall to have its Canadian IT staff train their Indian replacements before they were made redundant.
The bank representative who responded to my letter by phoning to encourage me to keep my very modest portfolio where it was, claimed that all banks were doing the same, to which I was able to respond, “Maybe, but my Credit Union doesn't!”
My most recent Bank encounter just happened a couple of weeks ago in Costa Rica, where banking customs are obviously very different. From my record, written at the time:
We walked into town so I could go to the bank because I thought I wanted to change some US dollars into the local currency. That went like this:
The guard at the door asked why we were there. So I mentioned “American dollars” and “colones”. He wanted to see my passport. Then the money. Then he let me in by myself, leaving Sandy outside, and indicated I should take a number and wait in the only open chair. So I sat in the line of chairs. Two wickets were open, although there were tellers at five. Two people finished, then another… I eventually figured out that the number being served was on a screen. When I discovered this it read 35 and after another half an hour it had arrived at 40. I was 46. As people left, the empty chairs were filled, but several people, obviously much more experienced, arrived from outside as their number came up.
So I finally opted to leave, and went to the machine instead, where the service, while undoubtedly more expensive, was almost instantaneous.
Which is a short way of saying that almost all my “banking” experiences, even those involving other people's money, have been positive, even exemplary.
That is best illustrated by a brief anecdote:
My mom did the finances, and when she died and my dad started to make a hash of his financial life, he and I agreed I should take over. So we went to his Credit Union and arranged for him to do his banking online. Which effectively meant I did his banking online and got cash from the machine as needed, very convenient for both of us.
After this had been going on for some time, and knowing there was a Power of Attorney on file and that some of his investments needed to be converted into cash, I dropped in to see one of the customer service people. During the course of our conversation I got too comfortable, and mentioned this arrangement with my dad, which I instantly realized broke all sorts of financial institution rules. Fully appreciating the situation, all she said was, “I can't actually hear that.”
And that's the very definition of personalized customer service!
In fact, the only off-putting Credit Union experience I can recall happened in a Caisse Populaire, Quebec's version of the Credit Union movement. We had an account in the Caisse in Beauport, because we were spending the year in Quebec City. We had arranged that our Credit Union would transfer money every month to our account at the Caisse, and we picked up the week's allowance every Thursday. So far, no problem. And then, one Thursday I had a cheque from my very part-time employer in Quebec to cash. Probably a rebate for expenses; I no longer remember. The lady at the guichet noticed that it was made out to “Justus Havelaar”, and that my full name wasn't that. How was she to know I was the cheque's “Justus Havelaar” and not an imposter?
I do believe Sandy lost her temper, that time. In French, of course, which is a splendid thing to witness: “And just how many Justus Havelaars have accounts at this caisse, Madame? Never mind in the whole of Quebec?”
We must have eventually convinced someone and cashed the cheque, and it seems funny now. But at the time we had four kids and no money, and really needed that infusion.
In the very late 70's, with only two very young offspring, I did a teacher's exchange to a school in Islington in London. We'd discovered that there was a branch of the Bank of Montreal just off Threadneedle Street in the City, so we arranged that our Credit Union would make a monthly deposit in a Bank of Montreal account in Campbell River, and that they would forward that money to London. What we didn't know was that banks in England – at least at that time – were nothing like those we were used to. For one thing, they were hardly ever open, and I was always working at the times they were, which meant that Sandy had to shlep two infants to Bank Street Station on several tube lines every time we had bank business. For another, they were set up to make it as difficult as possible for one to access one's own money.
And, as if to trump the peculiarities of the bank service, when we arrived the post office was on strike and electronic transfers had not yet been made available to British banks.
It took us months to get a handle on this. Fortunately, we had credit cards that saw us through the worst. And we finally convinced the Bank of Montreal to forward our money to a Barclay's close to where I worked. As long as I didn't take out too much money in any week (yes, there were limits that did not even try to correspond to the amount of money in the account!) that proved viable.
That part of the London experience was memorable for all the wrong reasons, and we were extremely grateful, the last time we spent time in London, for the ubiquitous bank machines.
Although we never had any problems with the Canadian branches of the Bank of Montreal, our relationship nonetheless ended in protest of the Bank of Montreal Mastercard Loyalty card issued to an anti-abortion group.
We got involved in a minor way with the Royal Bank when one of our offspring, having achieved some financial difficulties, needed me to cosign a loan. That would be easier if I had an account, so I acquired both a savings account and an investment account. To be completely clear: the local staff I dealt with were never anything but pleasant and professional – sympathetic, even, when we were unravelling the relationship – but that relationship nonetheless ended badly a few years ago when the Royal Bank not only outsourced its IT department to contractors in India, but had the gall to have its Canadian IT staff train their Indian replacements before they were made redundant.
The bank representative who responded to my letter by phoning to encourage me to keep my very modest portfolio where it was, claimed that all banks were doing the same, to which I was able to respond, “Maybe, but my Credit Union doesn't!”
My most recent Bank encounter just happened a couple of weeks ago in Costa Rica, where banking customs are obviously very different. From my record, written at the time:
We walked into town so I could go to the bank because I thought I wanted to change some US dollars into the local currency. That went like this:
The guard at the door asked why we were there. So I mentioned “American dollars” and “colones”. He wanted to see my passport. Then the money. Then he let me in by myself, leaving Sandy outside, and indicated I should take a number and wait in the only open chair. So I sat in the line of chairs. Two wickets were open, although there were tellers at five. Two people finished, then another… I eventually figured out that the number being served was on a screen. When I discovered this it read 35 and after another half an hour it had arrived at 40. I was 46. As people left, the empty chairs were filled, but several people, obviously much more experienced, arrived from outside as their number came up.
So I finally opted to leave, and went to the machine instead, where the service, while undoubtedly more expensive, was almost instantaneous.
Wednesday, December 16, 2015
Letter to the Globe, December 16
Sirs,
The headline on Lysiane Gagnon's column on the French elections (Dec 16, 2015) claims "a victory for moderation".
However, had the French used our electoral system, we'd now all be talking about the French extreme right winning a massive victory, taking advantage of their "win" to press forward with their xenophobic, anti-European-values platform.
But they don't share our ridiculous system, so instead the majority wins, and the French deliver a firm rejection of this party and those values.
Surely this implies some useful advice to Canadian voters!
Sincerely,
The headline on Lysiane Gagnon's column on the French elections (Dec 16, 2015) claims "a victory for moderation".
However, had the French used our electoral system, we'd now all be talking about the French extreme right winning a massive victory, taking advantage of their "win" to press forward with their xenophobic, anti-European-values platform.
But they don't share our ridiculous system, so instead the majority wins, and the French deliver a firm rejection of this party and those values.
Surely this implies some useful advice to Canadian voters!
Sincerely,
Friday, December 4, 2015
Food Bank Day
Dear NDP,
Here's a copy of my Facebook post of December 4, 2015:
I think it's obscene that there are 97 food banks that serve over 100,000 people per month in BC.
Where's our sense of collective responsibility? Why are we not overcome by guilt at these statistics? How on Earth is it we have allowed our provincial government to become so irresponsible?
I know that making an annual donation on "Food Bank Day" doesn't do anything to solve the underlying problems.
And yes, I'm aware the NDP didn't do enough to solve this situation last time they formed government, but the statistics show the problem has grown exponentially since then.
So my "Food Bank" donation is going to the NDP, along with an exhortation to deal with this intolerable situation ASAP.
With a copy of the letter to Christy.
Sincerely,
W Justus Havelaar
cc: Premier@gov.bc.ca
Wednesday, December 2, 2015
Walking the Pumpkin
When the Pumpkin comes for his annual winter visit, we go walking. Every day, usually in the afternoon (because it's too dark early in the morning when our friends Roger and Kona walk) and always for at least an hour never mind the weather.
That's pretty much essential for his health and well-being, but it doesn't hurt me a bit either, and I like the fact that while the schedule is intense while it lasts, there's always an end.
Usually just before the ski-season starts!
We almost always walk on the network of informal trails and old logging roads behind the airport, the area on and around the Erickson Main between the Jubilee Parkway and the Duncan Bay Main. It's not the most scenic country around, in that it's pretty-much all been logged – a lot of it very recently and much of it not very sensitively – but it's close, and walking there allows dogs to go off-leash without much chance that they'll meet overly-sensitive walkers or bike-riders, or overly-protective dog owners.
You will meet dirt bikes and quads, however, as well as the occasional 4X4. And, of course, other dogs, often delightful but occasionally not very well-trained and, very occasionally, aggressive.
You walk your dog; you take your chances.
One of the thing's we've spotted quite regularly this winter is a pickup truck, accompanied by two dogs, off-leash. The driver of the truck appears to be a young guy, and happily the dogs respond instantly to his voice, because the first time we met they started to give Pumpkin a hard time before he called them off.
But here's the thing: in order to get your truck onto the Erickson Main you have to go through the ditch, over the dike built especially to keep you out, around the gate and the sign that informs you you're trespassing if you don't have express permission to be there, then along the quad trail to the Main, which is just an unmaintained, disused logging road. Once is probably all the thrill you're going to get.
So it's clearly not about the driving; it's about the exercise the dogs get.
And if you're smart enough to know that exercise is good for your dogs, why aren't you smart enough to know it would probably be good for you too?
This year so far we haven't seen the resident bear, although we've seen his tracks a few times. We have seen (much to Pumpkin's ineffectual delight) numbers of rabbits, several grouse, a few deer, and a herd of elk.
I've found a driver's license, a bank debit card, and $2.10 in coins, all at different times on different trails.
I've also taken a number of photos which please me.
Still 18 days left in which to see that bear!
That's pretty much essential for his health and well-being, but it doesn't hurt me a bit either, and I like the fact that while the schedule is intense while it lasts, there's always an end.
Usually just before the ski-season starts!
We almost always walk on the network of informal trails and old logging roads behind the airport, the area on and around the Erickson Main between the Jubilee Parkway and the Duncan Bay Main. It's not the most scenic country around, in that it's pretty-much all been logged – a lot of it very recently and much of it not very sensitively – but it's close, and walking there allows dogs to go off-leash without much chance that they'll meet overly-sensitive walkers or bike-riders, or overly-protective dog owners.
You will meet dirt bikes and quads, however, as well as the occasional 4X4. And, of course, other dogs, often delightful but occasionally not very well-trained and, very occasionally, aggressive.
You walk your dog; you take your chances.
 |
| Erickson Main |
One of the thing's we've spotted quite regularly this winter is a pickup truck, accompanied by two dogs, off-leash. The driver of the truck appears to be a young guy, and happily the dogs respond instantly to his voice, because the first time we met they started to give Pumpkin a hard time before he called them off.
But here's the thing: in order to get your truck onto the Erickson Main you have to go through the ditch, over the dike built especially to keep you out, around the gate and the sign that informs you you're trespassing if you don't have express permission to be there, then along the quad trail to the Main, which is just an unmaintained, disused logging road. Once is probably all the thrill you're going to get.
So it's clearly not about the driving; it's about the exercise the dogs get.
And if you're smart enough to know that exercise is good for your dogs, why aren't you smart enough to know it would probably be good for you too?
This year so far we haven't seen the resident bear, although we've seen his tracks a few times. We have seen (much to Pumpkin's ineffectual delight) numbers of rabbits, several grouse, a few deer, and a herd of elk.
 |
| Pumpkin sees elk across the clearcut |
I've found a driver's license, a bank debit card, and $2.10 in coins, all at different times on different trails.
I've also taken a number of photos which please me.
Still 18 days left in which to see that bear!
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
Chonda
I believe I've done this often enough now to say there's a theme developing in this blog: Justus' encounters with technology. This one's a little off the beaten path of my experience:
A few years ago the original 5 horse Briggs and Stratton engine on our very skookum chipper/shredder died. This was replaced by an outfit in Comox with a "Chonda", a Chinese copy of a 5.5HP Honda engine. It was significantly less expensive than the Honda equivalent, and the repair person said they'd had good luck with the ones they had installed to that point.
Of course he would say that; but in truth, it worked like a charm.
This year, after the rains had arrived and I felt it safe to start on my chipping pile, I hauled the chipper out. As usual, it started enthusiastically. It ran for about 15 minutes, then quit. I started it again: 30 seconds, then quit. Several times.
Thinking it was a fuel-supply problem, I unbolted the engine from the chipper, put the engine in the van, and drove to my local small-engine repair person. He thought maybe it was a fuel issue as well, and agreed to give it a tune-up.
When I got it back, it ran like a top for about 30 minutes, then quit. Again, it started, but wouldn't continue running.
So I put the chipper in the van and drove to Comox to see the repair person who had initially installed it.
The company had changed owners and they no longer dealt with this kind of engine, but their repair person would have a look at it.
Next day he phoned: the engine was a Chonda, and because it was a Chonda, it couldn't be repaired: they couldn't get parts. A replacement Honda engine, he estimated, would cost about $1000, but he wasn't enthusiastic about the job, probably because it would be a special order, and they no longer do this kind of repair.
Reasoning that if an engine replacement was necessary, I didn't need to have it done in Comox, I drove back to the shop, thanked them for their advice, placed the chipper in the van, and returned home. Then I went to see my local small-engine guy. Yes, they could supply a Honda, and for only a little more than half the quoted price.
There are two 5.5HP models; one is $40 more than the other. And what's the difference?
Well, the more expensive one has a feature that stops the engine when the oil level gets too low.
...Wait a minute! That has to be the explanation! It exactly describes what was going on, and I'd noticed an oil leak. If that's the explanation, any chance it could be repaired?
Well, sometimes Honda parts work…
I went home, loaded the chipper into the van, and took it down to see him.
Several days later he phoned: he'd compared the crankcase on mine with a stripped-down Honda he was working on. They were identical, so a Honda gasket would probably do the trick.
“Go for it!” I said.
Today I picked it up. It runs like a top, and there's no sign of leaking oil.
A few years ago the original 5 horse Briggs and Stratton engine on our very skookum chipper/shredder died. This was replaced by an outfit in Comox with a "Chonda", a Chinese copy of a 5.5HP Honda engine. It was significantly less expensive than the Honda equivalent, and the repair person said they'd had good luck with the ones they had installed to that point.
Of course he would say that; but in truth, it worked like a charm.
This year, after the rains had arrived and I felt it safe to start on my chipping pile, I hauled the chipper out. As usual, it started enthusiastically. It ran for about 15 minutes, then quit. I started it again: 30 seconds, then quit. Several times.
Thinking it was a fuel-supply problem, I unbolted the engine from the chipper, put the engine in the van, and drove to my local small-engine repair person. He thought maybe it was a fuel issue as well, and agreed to give it a tune-up.
When I got it back, it ran like a top for about 30 minutes, then quit. Again, it started, but wouldn't continue running.
So I put the chipper in the van and drove to Comox to see the repair person who had initially installed it.
The company had changed owners and they no longer dealt with this kind of engine, but their repair person would have a look at it.
Next day he phoned: the engine was a Chonda, and because it was a Chonda, it couldn't be repaired: they couldn't get parts. A replacement Honda engine, he estimated, would cost about $1000, but he wasn't enthusiastic about the job, probably because it would be a special order, and they no longer do this kind of repair.
Reasoning that if an engine replacement was necessary, I didn't need to have it done in Comox, I drove back to the shop, thanked them for their advice, placed the chipper in the van, and returned home. Then I went to see my local small-engine guy. Yes, they could supply a Honda, and for only a little more than half the quoted price.
There are two 5.5HP models; one is $40 more than the other. And what's the difference?
Well, the more expensive one has a feature that stops the engine when the oil level gets too low.
...Wait a minute! That has to be the explanation! It exactly describes what was going on, and I'd noticed an oil leak. If that's the explanation, any chance it could be repaired?
Well, sometimes Honda parts work…
I went home, loaded the chipper into the van, and took it down to see him.
Several days later he phoned: he'd compared the crankcase on mine with a stripped-down Honda he was working on. They were identical, so a Honda gasket would probably do the trick.
“Go for it!” I said.
Today I picked it up. It runs like a top, and there's no sign of leaking oil.
Wednesday, November 4, 2015
Snowman, the film
Those of you who number yourselves among the few occasional readers of this occasional blog may remember a post from December 2012, in which I talked about being visited by two former students, Mike Douglas and Kevin Fogolin, and what they had accomplished since they graduated from Robron Secondary in Campbell River in 1987. (If you don't remember, I think it's an interesting story; you could click on the link!)
Anyway, the film they were collaborating on came out a year ago. It's called Snowman, and it premiered last December at the Whistler Film Festival, where it was pronounced winner of the “best mountain culture film” award.
It recently became available, so they sent me a copy, and you get a brief review:
First and dominant impression: the scenery. Much of it is from the mountains above Toba Inlet – the place where Kevin very nearly cashed in his chips in a helicopter accident, and it is spectacular. Watching Kevin in action killing potential avalanches is breathtaking. And I loved the shots of places I know, Campbell River particularly. There's no question that the outstanding photography makes the film, and will be what most people will remember about it most vividly.
But I'm not really a film person, and I'm not at all a downhill skier so my enthusiasm for high mountain winter scenery, and tracks in endless powder, and avalanches (even those set off deliberately to prevent people dying), and guys doing impossible things with skis and cliffs, is pretty limited.
I was actually more gripped by the human parts of the story: the autobiographical parts where Mike becomes a ground-breaking, trend-setting professional skier while Kevin establishes a career and family in Campbell River. Then how Kevin parlays his love of skiing to become an avalanche expert, which is how he ends up surviving a helicopter crash and the avalanche it triggers.
That's pretty gripping stuff.
The film makers used a good deal of the original Super 8 film footage that Mike and Kevin produced for my class. It was pretty neat to see that again! They even managed to make my comments appear coherent and relaxed, which is not the way I remember the interview.
That's what good editing does, I suppose.
Which is why, although I found them very interesting, I don't altogether trust the interviews, particularly those featuring Kevin's parents and then his wife, Joanne: they all appear very calm, and even analytical, when there must have been times when they had serious doubts and worries.
Emotionally, I was with Kevin's spotter on the helicopter, who, having survived, then caught the first available float plane out of Toba Inlet and returned to Toronto!
Smart guy.
Anyway, the film they were collaborating on came out a year ago. It's called Snowman, and it premiered last December at the Whistler Film Festival, where it was pronounced winner of the “best mountain culture film” award.
It recently became available, so they sent me a copy, and you get a brief review:
First and dominant impression: the scenery. Much of it is from the mountains above Toba Inlet – the place where Kevin very nearly cashed in his chips in a helicopter accident, and it is spectacular. Watching Kevin in action killing potential avalanches is breathtaking. And I loved the shots of places I know, Campbell River particularly. There's no question that the outstanding photography makes the film, and will be what most people will remember about it most vividly.
But I'm not really a film person, and I'm not at all a downhill skier so my enthusiasm for high mountain winter scenery, and tracks in endless powder, and avalanches (even those set off deliberately to prevent people dying), and guys doing impossible things with skis and cliffs, is pretty limited.
I was actually more gripped by the human parts of the story: the autobiographical parts where Mike becomes a ground-breaking, trend-setting professional skier while Kevin establishes a career and family in Campbell River. Then how Kevin parlays his love of skiing to become an avalanche expert, which is how he ends up surviving a helicopter crash and the avalanche it triggers.
That's pretty gripping stuff.
The film makers used a good deal of the original Super 8 film footage that Mike and Kevin produced for my class. It was pretty neat to see that again! They even managed to make my comments appear coherent and relaxed, which is not the way I remember the interview.
That's what good editing does, I suppose.
Which is why, although I found them very interesting, I don't altogether trust the interviews, particularly those featuring Kevin's parents and then his wife, Joanne: they all appear very calm, and even analytical, when there must have been times when they had serious doubts and worries.
Emotionally, I was with Kevin's spotter on the helicopter, who, having survived, then caught the first available float plane out of Toba Inlet and returned to Toronto!
Smart guy.
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