[Ok, for the purists out there, the original is available here.]

That’s how our local police catches speeding boaters...

76! That’s the number of countries from which this - very - modest web site has received at least a visit, according to Geoloc’s statistics (that’s for the entire site, not only the blog.) It’s amazing, and quite embarrassing. I’m going to have to learn a few more languages. In the meantime, my most humble and enthusiastic salutations to everybody. Thank you for visiting, however brief your stay. I hope you find something in here that will make you smile or travel a little.

À vous tous les francophones, mes excuses les plus nasillardes de ne pas publier la présente en français, comme le voudraient mon cœur - et ma paresse... Mais il faut bien se rendre à l’évidence que l’anglais domine à tout jamais le monde en tant que langue des communications internationales. Ainsi soit-il. Bof, il y a moins d’accents et la conjugaison est superficielle. J’aime.

Y ahora, una pregunta: me aparece que vienen aquí más visitantes de Argentina que de todos otros países. Me alegro de verles y les saludo desde Canadá! Pero quizá me van a explicar como se hace que encuentren a mi sitio pequeño en la inmensidad de la red. Será el resulto de un motor de búsqueda específico? Por favor, déjenme saber con un comentario acá mismo, o un mensaje en el "guestbook” arriba. ¡Gracias y saludos!

Saturday morning, 5:00 am.

I’ve been up for 3 hours already. Daylight has begun painting another steamy day and I’m hoping for a blazing redish sunrise through the morning haze. I drive around the countryside forever, looking for a silhouette, for a shape that would compel me to stop and set up the tripod. But as time passes by, the light increases and flattens out without giving the sun a chance to shine seriously.

I end up snapping a few shots just for revenge, and as I am driving back through endless fields and the foul smell of animal farming, an idea pops into my head. I look for a pen, for paper; I have neither. So I flip the camera to its video mode and, while I’m driving, film myself explaining my thought.

After all, loosing a great idea is as sad as never having one.

It had been almost a year since I’d left the ground under my canopy, like a flea hoping off the back of an elephant. Now, that’s way too long.

So today I drove an hour east of Montreal to the mighty Mont Yamaska, a small hiccup on the flat expanse of the Eastern Townships, hoping for flyable conditions. It was a partial success. The winds were a little weak, from the southwest, facing the main launch pad. After waiting over an hour for some thermal activity to come our way, I decided that walking back down was not an option, mostly because of the black flies swarming around my face. I unpacked my paraglider, hooked up to the harness, put gloves and helmet on, strapped the vario to my leg, and waited some more.

There’s a lot to be said about waiting in the paragliding activity. It forms character. It teaches patience. It lets you sweat profusely and makes you wish you were somewhere else. Like at the shaded terrace of an alpine cafe with a beer mug in one hand and an ice cream in the other. Or vice versa. And then it gives the bugs a chance to fly suicide missions into your ears.

Here’s how I would define the essence of aerial wisdom:

Success is the result of good judgment.
Good judgment is the result of experience.
Experience is the result of bad judgment.
Bad judgment is the result of black flies.

I once took off against my own advice from this very same site, in a fierce crosswind and without my speed bar, only to find myself flying backwards as soon as I was airborne. But today the gods were smiling upon me and finally, the sun appeared through the clouds, triggering a few thermals that lazily ascended the hill towards my vanishing patience. Four or five wings launched, I was next, a few more followed.

We managed to soar for a while, fighting hard to gain a mere 200 or 300 feet above the pad, turning tight to stay in the lift at each end of the run. Then the sun went away again, and sinking air was everywhere. I headed for the field, crossed the road, followed an S shaped approach and didn’t quite flare enough while landing, so I actually had to run a few paces. A year is a long time to wait for a twenty minutes flight. But how sweet it was!

I came, I saw, I photographed.

It was Minnesota. Duluth turned out to be an interesting little town, and Lake Superior really is, well, superior. Especially discovered at the hands of a superior tour guide, listening to Coldplay and Keane. The month was extremely fun and went by so fast I’m still dizzy.

And now I’m back in Quebec. Time to address part 2 of the Big Move. Getting a life.

I’ve also resumed playing with my toys, and the photo I’m posting today is the result of my newest discovery. It’s a satellite view of the very café I’m writing this from, obtained with the help of Goggle’s quite amazing Keyhole. They have the whole world mapped out in satellite views, with various degrees of resolution depending on the area’s relative importance; the resolution ranges from impressive to stunning. A yearly subscription is necessary but I find the result fascinating and well worth it.

Like I said, me and my toys...

(As always, click on the picture to enlarge)