Mule Polly never was intended to be a pack mule. The mule that I drove from Canada to Mexico and across Newfoundland has made it clear she doesn’t count carrying a pack saddle among her duties. Last time she was doing the beast of burden thing, she ran away, crashed her packs into some trees and high-tailed it to camp. Ronald Hudson, Polly’s last owner, has me warned she was ticklish about the subject.
This weekend I could take it… Continue reading
My ship has sunk. I’m sitting in my dinghy which has become my life raft. Around me the ocean is empty, blue and calm.
The walls of my wagon world are canvas thin. Lit by an oil soaked wick raised with a tiny lantern gear. Nights, when darkness falls, I put a match to the wick and write in my journal by lamp light. The… Continue reading
Every summer, I marvel how my mules cope with the heat, bugs and dust of hot weather travel. Six months later, freeze up comes and the sky rains icy pellets down on them and they take it all in stride. During a recent patch of icy weather, I stepped out to see how Polly and Smokey were faring. Here are a few photos of their seasonal transition.
Hey Bucky, ever wondered what it’s like to travel across Newfoundland by mule. No? Do you even know where Newfoundland is? Well, how about kicking off the year with an adventurous travel program. Learn a thing or two about caplin, screech and jiggers. No idea what I’m talking about? Yeah, you need to come.
Last year mule Polly and I traveled… Continue reading
This weekend I threw the corporate RiverEarth.com Christmas party. You know. That dreaded event where you stand around with your work mates out of obligation not desire. Kiddie-size glasses of red dyed drink in your hand. Not a drop of hooch in there because, you know, Corporate reserved the ball room and it doesn’t look good when Rupert in accounting gets sauced and does the… Continue reading
This wasn’t the way I planned to end my voyage across Newfoundland by mule and wagon. Saturday afternoon, October 6 2012, a four-door vehicle drove head-on into the back of my wagon. There were no skid marks or signs of collision avoidance at the scene. The impact was strong enough to separate the wagon in two. Mule Polly, the driver of the vehicle and I are okay.
Gentle readers. I have deceived you. Okay, “deceive” is a mite hard. Let’s say I haven’t been completely forthright about mule Polly and my mission here in Newfoundland. While it may seem we’ve been stumbling aimlessly around The Rock, we’ve actually been on a record quest. Record as in vinyl, not world.
One recent morning I woke to find Polly gone. Yep, while I was under the influence of some knock-out-grade REM sleep, she slipped her picket and took a self-guided tour of Barr’d Harbour, Newfoundland.
Who caught her? A young girl.
Seems Polly fell under the spell of the young gal’s potato chips. Followed her into the family’s yard where the two of them inspected the rabbit hutch. Then joined the girl and her mom for a bit of socializing on… Continue reading
So mule Polly have been traveling across Newfoundland for a month now. Plenty of time to get a feeling for the land. The beach launched fishing boats. The bottled seal meat. The lobster traps that Polly likes to eat. She does it for the fiber, not the salt. Ask me how I know.
Polly cadging a treat from two young lads on a fishing boats.
Thirty days on the road with a mule. Plenty of time answer questions about myself,… Continue reading