Traipsing the Tawd

The weather hasn't been that great in the UK since I've been back for the holidays. Whilst the brunt of it has hit further south causing flooding, travel disruption and power outages, up in the northwest the wind has been the main problem. Thankfully causing no damage round my way, the 40km/h winds are more of a noisy nuisance than anything, howling between the plastic cladding outside of my exposed room walls on the corner of the street. Earbuds have been a frequent accessory to my nights sleep these last few days.

So when today yielded calm clear conditions with a bright blue sky, I seized the opportunity to go and play with my camera again, something I am always eager to do. It also gave me a chance to convince myself that Skelmersdale still has something to offer when it comes to spending time outside. Inspired from a conversation with a dear friend over tapas (and some cheeky sangria) where we reminded ourselves of the fact that we hail from a relatively rural part of the world, with access to beautiful countryside not even outside of the town borders, I donned my wellies, gave the dog a biscuit to ease his impending loneliness, and wandered down towards the river.

Skelmersdale is dissected by the River Tawd, a tributary of the larger Lancastrian waterway of the River Douglas, and a much neglected part of town. Shopping trolleys are a prominent part of the river load both near to and far from the shopping centre. Litter is liberally sprawled along the banks, especially so now thanks to redistribution from the wind. Despite its deserved bad rep, I still enjoy walking along the trail system that runs alongside it, set up in a long forgotten past age. I have fond memories of walking down to the river on a class trip in primary school to explore the environment, and to play Poohsticks at one of the bridges. So while the light was dwindling in the late afternoon I thought the tall trees would offer long shadows and reflections on the river would make for some interesting photos. And I was pleasantly surprised with my results.

Long shadows. Tick.

Rushing waters.

Walk 2 minutes in that direction to end up in a housing estate.

The Poohsticks bridge.

Fabulous reflections. Tick.

Maybe my favourite photo of the outing.

Long shadows of the trees on the overpass foundations.

An artistically discarded Mini Cheddars packet.

Chasing down the light I emerged from the riverside woods into the grassy fields adjacent for some more open landscape shots. Seeing planes in the skies above West Lancashire isn't an uncommon sight with Liverpool and Manchester airports nearby. Whilst watching Cash Cab back in Canada (a fabulous quiz show where you catch a taxi and answer questions for money with the fear of striking out and being kicked out before your destination) I learnt that the stream of white smoke from behind a plane was called a contrail (condensation trail, duh!), and fittingly I saw some wonderful contrails, changing from straight to more chaotic but well preserved lines with distance from the planes due to atmospheric eddies. 

Love the curved projection of the sky in this panoramic.

Contrail may be my new favourite word.

Crossing paths.

Dispersion.

Making tracks.

Tumultuous geometries.

The above photos were taken from the grounds of my old high school, Lathom High. I have excellent memories of high school and walking across the school fields the outline of the rounders pitches brought a reminiscent smile to my face. The subway that essentially marks the boundary of the school premises have seen a dramatic face-lift since I last saw them, with vibrant commissioned graffiti, not ancient local graffiti marking the walls. Super vivid mode was not required.

Framing the sunset with the goalposts.

Trapped leaves.

Inspiration.

My alma mater.

Blues showing my allegiance to Lathom, as opposed
to our green neighbours at Our Lady Queen of Peace.

An hours walk had provided me with some lovely photos of my old stomping grounds, and had succeeded in restoring some hometown pride. So much so that I decided to share the photos as a blog instead of just posting them on Facebook. The photos I took today had a story, one which may only be important to me, but one that I felt worthy of telling. While Skem has more than its fair share of faults, it does have some redeeming features.

The tweeting procrastinator

Jorge Cham of PhD comics fame (in case you aren't friends with grad students who will inevitably post at least one of the comics per week: http://www.phdcomics.com) did a talk at MUN in April this year titled "The Power of Procrastination". Whilst explaining the favourite word of grad students worldwide, he made one point that really stood out for me. It was along the lines of;

"If you are procrastinating then you are spending your time doing something you want to do (i.e. topic of procrastination) instead of something you don't want to do (i.e. studying). So why are you doing something you don't want to do? Surely you should be doing what you do want to do. I (Cham) used to procrastinate by drawing cartoons. Look at me now."

Now, he didn't seem to be suggesting that people should leave grad school and spend their lives looking at videos of cats and sloths. That only seems financially productive if you work as a writer for BuzzFeed or something. But it was still an interesting thought.

Slow Loris videos are also important parts of people's lives.

The main theme of my procrastination is sports. While I try to do work at school, and I largely manage to do so, I will always have the BBC Sportsday live ticker on in the background. I might check it for 30 seconds every couple of hours, on a productive day that is. When not at work this use of my time changes from procrastination to a hobby. Thanks to our TV subscription and the fortunate time difference between Newfoundland and the UK, over the course of a weekend it is perfectly possible for me to watch 5 games of football, finishing at approximately 3pm allowing myself the chance to achieve something in the rest of the day. Until the hockey comes on at 8pm...

I have started to feel guilty about the amount of time that I invest in watching sports. Surely I should be doing something more beneficial or productive like...well, what exactly? Am I enjoying myself whilst watching sports. Yes. Even if my teams lose? Hmm that's more difficult but the rollercoaster of emotions is part of the thrill. Am I learning anything "worthwhile" from this experience? WHO CARES.

For most of my life I've thought my perfect job would be to be a sports journalist/statistician/photographer (all three in one job would be even better). I never sought to pursue any of these options seriously. Pipe dreams really. I fell in love with geology and ran with that instead, allowing my athletic fanaticism to remain a leisure activity. However, recently the possibility has popped up in my head. Thanks to Twitter.

The only thing I use Twitter (@ShtacyPhillips) for is to tweet about sports. Specifically to try and get my thoughts and opinions on the BBC sports live text commentaries. Stemming from the need for my opinions to be validated by someone, even the BBC online editors, and the fear of annoying my friends who watch sports with me with silly opinions that they don't care about (even though I do this regardless), I use social media to give myself a voice (as if mine needs to be louder anyways).

And not that getting published on the website for the rest of the BBC readers to see means that I have deep insights that no other fans have, or that I should pursue a media career, but I get strangely proud when I do get published. Someone has decided that my 140 characters are worth the world's web space. Granted, they do publish the views of absolute imbeciles too. I always fear that I am part of that crowd.

Whatever the editor's motivation, I screenshot my publications. I often post them on Facebook or Instagram (yes I've got an Android now and given into the craze) so that even more people can hear my opinions. This instant gratification validates the time I spend sitting on my couch in front of the TV. And a blog is another way that I can (and will now) broadcast things that people likely don't care about, for my own pleasure.

I tweet about Football...

(This one came true)

Rugby League (this was just an outpouring of emotion
after the Grand Final 2013 come back)

Tennis...

Women's Football..

Rugby Union...

General sporting chit chat..

And Cricket, where I indirectly helped two people outside of the
UK listen to the TMS BBC cricket radio broadcast.

Maybe I'm becoming a favourite of the BBC Sport website (I did get one of my Rugby League World Cup tweets read out on TV by Chappers). Maybe I am a decent armchair pundit. Maybe I'm just saying what everyone else is thinking. Or maybe nobody else gives a damn. Either way, I give a damn about sports. Always have and I always will. Its my procrastination tool. It's my hobby. Maybe one day it will be my career. But for now its how I simultaneously release myself from the real world and display my emotions to it. And it makes me happy. That's all that matters right?

Sports, rocks and cheesecake.

It's been a while since my last post so I thought I'd give an update to those of you that actually still read this! The 23rd of August saw the one year anniversary of me upping sticks and moving to Newfoundland to embark on my Master's. I'm a naturally reflective person, and this landmark made me ponder (dangerously) over what I've done over this last year. I've been to California. Twice. I've presented my work at two conferences. I've eaten cod tongues. All highlighted achievements in my eyes. I won't bore you with my sentimentality though, I'll just let you know what's happened since my last post.

The major event of August was the Royal St John's Regatta. The oldest sporting event in North America (which makes sense as this is the oldest bit of North America...) sees a whole day of rowing races on Quidi Vidi Lake and a general jamboree on its shores. An day not to be missed by a sports fanatic like myself. The day is a civic holiday meaning everyone gets the day off. Only, it's a weather dependant holiday meaning that if it's too rainy or windy for the rowing, you have to go to work. This is complicated by the fact that the night before is the least night of the George Street Festival, leading to many residents playing "Regatta Roulette".

The weather was good for the most part, making me a Regatta Roulette winner!

Not your typical rowing race, as boats are required to turn a buoy at one end of the lake and continue racing back towards the start.

August also saw one of my fellow St Andrews geology students coming over to Newfoundland to do her Honours dissertation fieldwork. Scheduling and general logistics prevented me from helping her with field work but instead I played tourist guide for the days in which she was in St John's. It was lovely being able to show someone around the fabulous place that I now call home, as well as catching up on everything that has been going on in the place I used to call home.

Glorious view of St John's from the Battery road walk.

A statutory visit up Signal Hill where on the way down we find a
British flag flying proudly in the dreary skies. 

After visiting Cape Spear we stop in at Fort Amherst, just across The Narrows.

September means the start of the school term, and my return to TA duties. Once again I am TAing 2nd year mineralogy, and now that I'm somewhat familiar with the syllabus I am much more useful to the kids than I was last year. Unfortunately for the kids though it also means I'm a harsher marker as I understand why stuff is right or wrong now!

As well as helping out in class I also had the opportunity to TA 2nd year field school, which I was super excited about, not only because I would get to see a bit more of Newfoundland, but also I'd get paid more cash! I've helped out in field courses before in St Andrews and found it really fun. I love being in the field, investigating new rocks I've never seen before and trying to pass on a few pearls of wisdom to younger geologists. One of my favourite techniques involves rather minimal teaching, going a little like this: 
"Is this a sandstone Stacy?" 
"I don't know you tell me!" 
"I think it's a sandstone..." 
"Okay why do you think it's a sandstone?"
"(Description blah blah blah)"
"Hmmm okay" *walks off cooly*
"JUST TELL ME THE ANSWER STACY!!!"

Bacon Cove. Our first stop of field school (minus the outcrop behind the grocery store).

The Bacon Cove unconformity; basal conglomerate marking the Pre Cambrian- Cambrian transition.

Local wildlife came to have a gander too.

The main mapping area was on the Northern tip of the Avalon at a place called Cripple Cove. With that name I approached the 40 minute hike into the area with cautiousness and trepidation, not wanting to return to my crippled past. Fortunately the patch was fine and I got to hang back towards the back of the pack, meaning I could gorge myself on the sweet wild blueberries that cover Newfoundland in the summer months.

Cripple Cove and the huge group of 2nd years eager to
make their first geological map.

Beautiful views out to the sea from my hidden
sheltered lunch spot away from the world.

A baby eagle glides over the field area majestically.

Major milestones have been reached in culinary terms over the last few weeks. Spurred on by the end of the blueberry season and my months of all-talk-no-action I made a blueberry lemon cheesecake which was well received by the grad students that were lucky enough to snag some. Then I was given a load of home-grown apples by one of the professors, and being too tart to eat they had to be baked, leading to my finest cheesecake masterpiece in my 9-year career; a caramel apple cheesecake topped with pecans.

 Elaborate, and including my first ever caramel it went down and absolute storm, despite me not being happy with its structural integrity.

I also had my first ever sushi experience. Being the opposite of a fussy eater I had no qualms about trying raw fish and as we were going to the best place in town I had high expectations. I was not disappointed. Surrounded by a group of sushi veterans I sat back and let them order everything whilst I developed my rudimentary chopstick skills, and elastic band helping greatly. Concentrating "harder than I have during my entire Master's" I managed to successfully guide the sushi into my mouth where the taste sensation occurred. More sushi will be eaten during my time here.

The coming weeks are set to be rather busy for me, so hopefully I'll have some exciting stuff to talk about and photos to make y'all jealous. Until next time...

Je comprends un peu le français

My latest adventure was a well planned one, Approached by Hannah on what we should do in the 10 days she was back in Newfoundland between working up near the Arctic Circle, we devised an epic itinerary, the main excursion involving leaving the country. Well okay, I'm being a bit dramatic there, but it is true.

To paraphrase Wikipedia, Saint Pierre et Miquelon is a self-governing territorial overseas collectivity of France, situated a mere 20 kilometres off the Burin Peninsula of Newfoundland. The main reason that I had heard of for people to visit there was in order to leave Canada and re-enter the following day for purposes of visas or permanent residency. We however just fancied going for good french wine and good french food.

The plan: Drive from A=St John's to
B=Fortune where you then get the FERRY to St Pierre.
When we returned we would drive to
C=Terra Nova National Park and then onto
D=Dildo Run Provincial Park.

Whilst I was the only one of us in civilisation it was my task to procure the various items we would need for the trip. Good job I already had a 3-man tent. After begging, stealing and borrowing gear from friends we were set to go. We eagerly set out in our rental car, road map and geology map in hand, down the Burin Peninsula. The landscape was remarkably flatter and less forested than we were used to on the Avalon. We arrived in Fortune after listening to a Madonna-heavy mix CD and found the ferry office, where we presented our passports and paid for our tickets. Waiting down by the docks I was naturally excited. I was going on another ferry (see the previous post if you don't know of my love of ferries.) And then it arrived...

A streamlined French excuse for a ferry.
Not being allowed above deck upset me greatly.

To get over my disappointment I reminded myself that I was going to France. Somehow I had managed not to go to France in the time I lived in England, something I am determined to rectify one day. So the first time I was going to cheese-loving nation was via Canada. Unorthodox but I'd take it. Our speedy ferry got us across the ocean in no time at all, and after briefly seeing some dolphin-esque creatures swimming alongside us we landed on French shores. A quick check of our passports and we were let out into the Place du Général de Gaulle where it seemed the majority 6000 residents of the island had gathered to celebrate Bastille Day! After dropping our stuff off at our B&B we headed back into town to soak up the atmosphere and have a wander.

The Government office decided that one flag was not enough for each flag holder,
and for their national holiday, they needed five each.

Pointe aux Canons Batterie.

Cute lighthouse, with Iles aux Marins in the background.

The US Coast Guard were in on a training exercise.
Unfortunately we missed the opportunity to go on deck and have a look around :( 

We had built up quite an appetite by this point and eager to eat some fabulous food we headed towards one of the restaurants we had scoped out earlier. Getting in just before the rush, but narrowly missing the chance to sit outside on the deck, we sat down and ordered a rather large flagon of wine. After examining the menu and admiring the English translations (the "inevitable steak house" was a favourite) we ordered our food, sharing a starter of foie gras (while in France eh?), which was absolutely divine. After an eternity our mains finally came out and we were not disappointed; Hannah's grilled bacon and scallops came on an elaborate hanging skewer, whilst my lobster risotto had been accidentally upgraded to a lobster and crispy cod conconction that did not leave me missing my original order.

The Bastille Day celebrations finished with a cracking firework display.

The following day we planned to see as much of the island as possible so we promptly went down to the Tourist Office where they quickly sorted out a van tour and a zodiac tour for us. We whiled away the morning by visiting the Museum, where Hannah once again showed off her excellent grasp of the French language, before we realised there was English translations on the other side of the boards...It was well before this point that I had discovered that while my high school level of French from 7 years could have got me through the trip if needed (everyone spoke English anyway), I was very glad to have Hannah's conversational skills. The following day she even got interviewed for French radio! While I could often follow bits and pieces of what was being said, I have always dreaded speaking in a foreign tongue. I never sought to continue to learn another language when I was younger, and it is only know I realise it is something I should have done. This is yet another mistake I am willing to rectify.

I understood this road sign explaining how to use a roundabout though. 
"You do not have the priority" should be adopted as a life rule for everybody

This is the only guillotine to have ever been used in North America. 
That's an incredible fact, but unfortunately it is woefully advertised by the
 museum and currently hidden away in a forgotten corner.

Standard WWI War Memorial photo.

Pretty Cathedral.

On our tour of the island, with the southern shore of 
Little Miquelon off to the right.

The highlight of the trip was definitely our evening Zodiac tour. Kitted up in our warm waterproof suit we drove out on the water towards Grand Colombier to see some wildlife. 

Puffins! I discovered they are awful at floating starts, flapping furiously to try and generate any sort of lift. Funny watching them belly flop back into the water too.

A curious seal. We may have seen 3 seals, or this guy 3 times, we're not sure...

Yappy Kittiwakes, with that adorable ball of fluff in the top right being a baby one.

Razorbills, looking very similar to the Murres we also saw.

Birds taking flight as we crept up on them round the corner.

Grand Colombier, where off to the left we saw a Sei Whale, 
and off to the left we saw a Humpback right by our boat.

It was nice being out on the ocean. I need to go on more boats.

Buzzing from our tour, we dined on more delicious seafood before retiring to bed happy. The following day we were aiming to go on a morning tour to the small island of Iles aux Marins however by this point I was rather poorly with a kidney infection (unfortunately can't blame the French for that) so we decided a lazy morning was best. Packed up with the two bottles of wine each that we were allowed to take back to Canada, we travelled back to Newfoundland for the next stage of our trip.

We stocked up on food in Clarenville and proceeded to Terra Nova National Park. We arrived at our campsite to find a ranger just before he left for the evening. Having not seen anyone to pay our Park fees to we enquired, before being told that we were able to camp in our spot this evening and so long as we left by 11am the next morning when the other rangers come round to check we would be fine! Money well saved. We set up the tent and after eating as if we were still in France we relaxed in front of the campfire.

There is absolutely no reason why you can't have 
mussels and garlic sauce whilst camping.

Leaving the next day before 11am we meandered up towards Dildo Run Provincial Park (same place I was in my previous post), again making a stop at the chip shop with the 26ft lobster for a lunch of crab sandwiches. We spent the beautifully warm day literally chilling in our idyllic campsite, playing 2-man euchre whilst I was wrapped up in multiple layers trying to break my chill. Sausages on birch sticks and smores were on the menu for this evening. A proper day of camping indeed.

The evening saw a lot of rain and a lot of wind, leading to me to constantly worry as to the sturdiness of my $30 tent. Having only let rain in through the tiny gap between the fly and the mesh our shelter did its job superbly. We packed up camp as it was still raining and decided while the weather was poor and I was still ill ,we should head home instead of heading up towards Twilingate for another night.

We stopped at the Tim's in Gander for some lunch when we spotted some gloomy looking people trying to thumb their way to St John's. We re-jigged our stuff in the car in an epic game of Tetris and created space for the hitch-hikers. We picked them up, restoring smiles to their faces and the two Canadian grad students made for excellent company on the dreary road back home. As soon as they were excited and intrigued to see my geology map of the island I felt reassured that we weren't going to be murdered. After safely dropping them off with long lost relatives in St John's, our adventure was over.

Overall it was successful trip abroad with a jaunt around The Rock to boot, and despite me being less than healthy I had an enormous amount of fun. I had been to France for the first time. I ate foie gras for the first time. I had seen the joy of puffins trying to fly for the first time. I had camped once again in the changeable Newfoundland weather. And I had picked up hitch-hikers for the first time. Not bad. Not bad at all.