Update on Wasted

As predicted last June, although I thought December back then, and it's still October. (Of course, nobody then could have foreseen the kind of October we've been having!)

And here's a curiosity: why is it that -- more often than one might imagine -- the person nominally in charge of one of these back-country shows feels a need to assert his or her dominance by telling me that my dog and I really shouldn't be there at all?
This time, according to her, it was because they were lighting fires on both sides of the road.
I suppose she must have imagined inferno potential, in spite of the rain.

Letter to the Globe

I almost posted this editorial (!) because I agree with the first paragraphs profoundly. Then I read the penultimate paragraph.
So instead I wrote a letter:

Sirs;
Your editorial (Oct 11) calls referendums "Democracy's blight" and then, in 13 well-argued paragraphs proves the point, concluding they are, "...politically motivated gambits designed to trick people into voting in favour of a thing they might well vote against on a different day."
But then, in paragraph 14, the editorial continues, "There are moments that cry out for them, such as the Trudeau government’s plan to end Canada’s first-past-the-post electoral system," before concluding, "They (referendums) are anything but exercises in real democracy."
Why didn't you just call the editorial "Having our cake and eating it too"?


Note: In the online edition, the editorial is titled "From Colombia to Hungary, the dark side of modern referendums" 

It was published Wednesday, October 12.

Pitbulls

Since I retired, I've been able to walk a lot, frequently and most agreeably accompanied by dogs. Readers of the blog will recognize my two principal walking companions: Robin and Mike's “Eli”, a husky-cross rescued from a shelter in Yellowknife some 12 years ago, and, less frequently, “Pumpkin”, the Carswells' 6-year-old standard poodle, who was preceded by “Koda”.

They're both lovely dogs, and very different although about the same size and weight. Pumpkin is a purebred; his ancestors may at one time have been retrievers, but he was bred to be a companion dog: good-tempered, sociable, beautiful, and rather useless. He's all of those.

Eli, on the other hand, was bred to be a Yellowknife dog, their standard sled dog, which you see everywhere there chained to their shelters or roaming the streets. He looks a lot like the wolves who are not very remote in his ancestry, and frequently exhibits reminiscent behaviours, particularly when interacting with other dogs or when hunting. Fortunately, and after a rocky start, he's socialized brilliantly with the people in his life.

I've had years of watching and thinking about them both.

(Bear with me: we're getting to the pitbulls!)

When Montreal City Council recently passed a ban on pitbulls (and then temporarily rescinded it after a significant outcry) UBCProfessor-Emeritus Stanley Coren wrote a lovely essay in the Globe, basically expressing his doubts about the decision, based on the available facts. Coren has written a number of books on dogs, and knows more about the species and breeds than anyone could require. He's undoubtedly correct about the facts of the case, including the rather essential one that these bans don't actually work anywhere they've been tried.

That said, I still think his article rather misses the point.

Maybe it helps to remember that all dogs were once working dogs, even if that work merely involved being carried about by someone to demonstrate wealth and prestige. So we humans have, for example, bred and developed terriers that kill rodents and dig out rabbits, hounds that chase down foxes, and deer, and even elk, retrievers that recover ducks, and geese, and other fowl, mastiffs and chows that guard buildings and people, dogs that track, dogs that herd, dogs that race, dogs that bait bulls and bears, and even dogs bred specifically to fight other dogs.

We call all these purpose-bred dogs “dogs”, implying they're all the same. But we all know, even those of us who love all dogs, they're not. Similarly, Coren refers to various “dog bites”, as if they're all the same. Again, anyone who has seen the results of a pitbull attack knows they're not: most breeds bite and let go; pitbulls bite, adjust, and hold on.

(It's one of the reasons I carry bear spray when I walk with Eli or Pumpkin: I don't want to have to try to break the dog's jaw if they're attacked by a pitbull. Yes, cougars are the other reason!)

Any dog breed can bite, and there are unfortunate examples of individuals of most large breeds that have killed, including such unlikely ones as St Bernards, Great Pyrenees, and even Labradors. As Coren points out, however, “...if we focus only on the most severe dog bites (those resulting in someone dying), the dogs generally described as pit bulls account for approximately half of these, despite the fact that such dogs only account for 1 to 2 per cent of the total population...” This suggests there is a specific issue with pitbulls that manifests itself only very occasionally in other breeds, and I suggest that this is because pitbulls have been bred to do exactly what is aberrant and highly unusual in other breeds.

It's also a bit misleading to refer only to human death-by-pitbull as a way to evaluate risk. Most pitbull problems are actually about their interactions with other dogs, which is understandable, given their breeding. Dogs receiving pitbull attention hardly ever do well, and the fact that they are both “dogs” is really no excuse: other breeds may injure, but will almost never kill.

Many people like to say, “It's not the dog; it's the owner.” Granted, but irrelevant; it's pretty hard to control owners or to make them responsible dog-owners. I've occasionally encountered a hostile pitbull or bulldog, outfitted with the standard studded collar and a chokechain that could actually do the dog damage, and I've always appreciated the statement being made, no different, except in degree, than the tattooed thug wearing his gang colours aggressively. I get that I'm supposed to be frightened, and don't understand why we have to cater to that owner's feelings of inadequacy and power, or accept the implied threat.

So I don't trust pitbulls, and wouldn't have one. I'm sure most are lovely dogs, and family pets, but that in itself doesn't satisfy: there are literally hundreds of breeds and mutts that would be equally lovely, and don't present the same potential hazard. We already control the keeping of all sorts of potentially-dangerous animals as pets, and I don't see why controlling a dog which has been bred specifically to engage in an illegal activity (remember MichaelVick?) is very different.

So here's a solution that beats Mr Coren's unworkable and very expensive one: We could solve this in one generation if we just sterilized all the pitbulls and bulldogs in circulation today. No unhappy families losing their family pet, no euthanasia, no export to another jurisdiction, just control of a breeding program that has become obsolete.

I'll happily contribute my share of the costs.

Reflections on turning 72

I've spent a lifetime ignoring both my birthday and advancing age, mostly convinced my family to do so as well, so it still comes as a bit of a reality check to find that Facebook has rendered this heretofore effective strategy inoperative.

So here are some reflections on turning 72:
1. The best comment I received all day came from my brother-in-law, Mike Dawes: “Happy birthday, Justus! 72 is a special number, palindromic when written in prime power notation as 2^3 * 3^2 . So for today it doesn't matter if you don't know whether you are coming or going.” He's obviously been thinking about this, as he's working on the same number himself. I always suspected his rather rarified area of study had to have a practical application in it somewhere, and here it is: useful advice, given when it exactly describes the situation.
2. It pretty much had to happen. My paternal relatives seem particularly long-lived as a group, having survived both the war and its aftermath with both luck and connections and living long lives after. By the same token, I can count only three times when I, by the odds, probably should have died. That leaves three more, right? I should probably resolve to be more careful.
Besides, most of the time I still feel only about 50. Maybe even less.
3. I'm now officially off the fingers in counting the number of my contemporaries who either are no longer with us, are exploring the various manifestations of dementia, or have suffered some kind of debilitating condition that makes seeing the positives of life difficult. There doesn't appear to be a straightforward connection between living a recommended lifestyle and longevity: the deserving don't necessarily live longer, or even better.
4. My parents appeared to love being grandparents, yet always seemed grateful when they could resume their lives without us. I now know exactly how they felt. I'm a bit taken aback by how much I love interacting with our children as adults, and love watching grandchildren growing up. I love the life Sandy and I have together even more, even if she isn't likely to ever retire!
5. Still, shit happens. My parents were exemplary in organizing their affairs in case someone else had to take over unexpectedly. That didn't happen in that when my siblings and I took over, very gradually, they were both quite elderly. The result was that when first my Mom died, and then my Dad, the procedures for dealing with those deaths and their affairs was very clear and straightforward. We have followed their example, and our children will, one day long into the future, thank us.
6. When statistics are cited that claim people over 65 cost the health system substantially more, they aren't exaggerating. I find myself in robust health, am able to do almost anything I've always been able to do, but have a persistent cough. The result is that, in chasing down these not-particularly-significant symptoms, I've seen more of my doctor, various specialists, and the Emergency Department than I did in all the years up to age 70 combined.
My dad almost died when he was leading up to 72. Turns out he had an unusual case of late-onset Celiac-Sprue disease, and when that was figured out, within a week he was no longer in danger and ultimately died when he'd been 99 for several months. If there's a message here, it may be this: some say that if you pass 65 you're home-free, but I think you probably have to revise that upward these days. 72 seems like a good number.
7. I think I may break the habits of a lifetime, and throw myself a party when I'm 75.
No I won't: I'll guilt the children into doing it. Surely that's one of the privileges of older age!

Wasted

Last February, over a period of several weeks, I witnessed a clearcut of several hectares of forested lands.
I'm a fairly devoted walker of logging roads in our area, so over the years I've seen similar shows regularly.
And I'm not at all opposed to logging: it's what we do here, and an important part of the local economy.
I'm not even that put out by the fact that most of these logs will be sold to foreign buyers, without further processing.

But I'm increasingly appalled by the waste.

The area in question this time is just off the Erikson Main, behind the airport. It's private land, owned and gated by TimberWest, which is (primarily) a forest company that contracts out the actual logging show to local contractors.
The logging is done by one or more large machines that fall, limb, and cut the logs into lengths, pile those logs onto trucks, and gather most of what's left over into huge piles.

In this particular case, 14 huge piles, several over 20 feet high.
Most of the area was replanted in March.
It's all pretty impressive!

But here's the thing: when the neighbouring several hectares were harvested in February of 2015, the same procedure was followed. So I know how this turns out:
Next December a team of guys will come in. They will torch the piles, which will burn for at least a week or two. Finally the burned-over areas will be replanted.

When I look at those piles, increasingly I see gigantic, unsustainable waste.
The company has no incentive to do something productive with the massive amount of usable wood left over; I just hate to think of the tons of CO2 that will be produced for no good end by each of these piles.
And the show on the Erikson Main is just one among hundreds on the Island.
The Main is gated at both ends, so although a few pickups have been in to cut firewood, to most people these piles are inaccessible.
Ironically, Campbell River is home to a “co-generation” power plant, which sells its power to BC Hydro. It was built in the 1990's, when we still had a functioning sawmill and pulp mill, and so had lots of waste wood to turn into electricity. 
These days it runs on natural gas, piped in from north-eastern BC and Alberta, and nobody is requiring them to burn the wood that is still readily available.
Or to employ the local people who could transport it to the plant and process it for use.
It's pretty disgusting.

Letter to friends and troops

As you know, we just completed a short expedition that had us in Fort St John over the long weekend.
That journey was pretty uneventful. We took the car and cruised happily at or just above the speed limit the whole way, even when we ran into a snow storm between Chetwynd and Dawson Creek.
But the car was rattling rather unsettlingly at the back, and one time, while we were negotiating the gravel road that leads to Robin and Mike's place with four of us in the car, there was a sound that resembled two manhole covers, banging together. We put the car in Mike's new garage, jacked up the back, and I crawled under.
Nothing seemed out-of-place or broken or even unusual.
So we drove back to Campbell River, at speed, via the Duffy Lake Road(!)
And did I mention that the brake squeal, which I've been unhappy about since last December? When I took the car in to find out why it was doing that, the verdict: Intermittent, just brake squeal, probably rust on the disks.
OK, no issue then.
The morning after we got back I phoned the VW dealer and described the symptoms. "That sounds like a broken spring or springs," said Michael, the service guy I usually deal with. "We need to deal with that right away; it could be dangerous."
So last Saturday I took the car in, had both rear springs replaced, (presenting my VW-issued credit card in payment!) and drove home.
No rattles whatsoever, and the brakes have stopped squealing.
I can't decide whether to be impressed by the car driving at least 2500km on broken rear springs, or to be annoyed that those springs -- which haven't had hard use at all -- broke at all, or to be astonished that the VW techicians didn't pick the up the problem either originally or when I had my regular service in March...
Regardless, I like the story, and it ended well.

To which Mike Hayes replied:
"As one who has travelled at high speeds on washboard roads with WJ Havelaar at the wheel, my knuckles white as they worked away at my worry beads, I think I can understand why the springs gave out."

And I riposted:
"But that was the van, which is relatively used to gravel roads, and still has its original springs and shocks.
The Golf, on the other hand has led a far more urban lifestyle. I cannot recall when it was off the pavement, before FSJ (and other than the Mount Washington parking lot!) and that was only a matter of two blocks...
So yours is an engaging theory, but lacks verisimilitude."

Yet another unpublished masterpiece

Sirs,
The editorial (The many flaws in the Liberal plan) in today's Globe misses some important information: The only party that advocated for FPTP in the last election was the Conservative Party. It got less than 33% of the vote. Prominent in all the other party platforms was a promise to change the system, although each differed on what that should look like.
If that wasn't a referendum for change, it's hard to imagine what would be.
Furthermore, although over 57% of voters in BC failed to pass the government's arbitrary 60% threshold, that was a direct consequence of the very complicated system the government's "consultations" had produced. Had we been offered the system the federal Liberals proposed during the election -- the system that just elected the new mayor of London -- I'm confident BC would now be the example we apparently need to prove that electoral change can improve democracy.

(By the way, that method produced our first Social Credit governments in 1952 and 1953. And no, there was no referendum to either implement it, or to revert to FPTP for the next election.)

Sincerely,

Dilbit unicorns

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!

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,

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