-Bill Dunphy
On Monday morning, going through my various news feeds, I came across this anonymous lament: “Small weekend is over...now entering big weekend.”
Such has been the case for many Canadians struggling with self-isolation these past 45 days, 11 hours, 26 minutes, and 43 seconds...44, 45, 46... However, we in Nova Scotia were able to see light at the end of the tunnel when Premier Stephen McNeil and Dr. Robert Strang announced an easing of COVID-19 restrictions with the eventual goal of suspending the state of emergency that is due for review again at noon on Sunday, May 17. For the first time since Mar. 22, we were allowed to walk in a park or on a trail, go to a golf driving range, go to a garden centre (sadly, the Inverness Garden Club had to cancel National Naked Gardening Day on Saturday due to the pandemic and a suête wind warning), and perhaps most importantly to many Nova Scotians – go sportfishing! Little things, but things to give us hope that there’s an end in sight.
Thinking a first day of fishing photo would be appropriate for a story on the restrictions being eased, I set out on Saturday to some of the traditional fishing holes close to Inverness. I drove out the West Lake Road to MacCormack’s Brook...nobody...down to Hay’s River...nobody...along the back roads to Brook Village...coffee, a bite of cheese, conversation with Angus “Tulloch” MacDonald and Karen Allen...and off to Mabou Landing...nobody. It seemed a little odd that nobody was fishing at these spots, but didn’t really give it much thought other than it was just a fluke. On Sunday morning, I continued my quest, driving to Trout Brook...nobody...Skye River...nobody...and over to We’koqma’q First Nation...Holy Jumpin’ Jesus! It was a free-for-all fishing frenzy with every angler from Whycocomagh to Wichita in attendance. There was a lineup of cars on the Trans Canada Highway that hasn’t been seen since Chuckie Bernard thought it would be a good idea to set up a toll booth there. The parked cars – some legally, some not so much, began at the curve just past Eddie Googoo’s old gas station all the way to the Orangedale turnoff. It was the same scenario that prompted the premier to exclaim, “Stay the blazes home!” just before he closed the province’s beaches and parks.
Chief Roderick Googoo was at the entrance to the We’koqma’q fish farm, trying to get people to move their rigs. He expressed his concern about people parking on the north side of the highway where no parking signs are erected; people parking outside of the white fog lines; and people carrying up buckets of big, fat trout and leaving behind their trash. The anglers lined along the shore of Whycocomagh Bay seemed to be doing a good job of keeping two metres between each other. I was invited to go down the steep embankment to the shore, but declined, seeing the way down was to hold onto a wet nylon rope covered in fish blood and who knows what else. I would have gone down, but I didn’t have my gloves and hazmat suit with me.
All in all, I thought this was just the sort of thing that would spoil the easing of restrictions for everybody. Sure, catching five good-sized fish on five casts of the line is a great way to fill the freezer, but didn’t anybody realize that sort of spectacle would only lead to trouble? I heard that the RCMP arrived later in the day, certainly to ticket illegally parked vehicles, but I wouldn’t be surprised if some of those $1,000 Health Protection Act tickets were also handed out.
My idea of fishing is finding that quiet, out-of-the-way spot, getting there at the crack of dawn, feeding worms to the fish, maybe catching a couple, having a sandwich and pouring a coffee from my Thermos under a tree, trying my luck one more time, then going home for a nap. Hopefully more people will go back to their previous favourite spots next weekend, otherwise the premier will be using a stronger word than “blazes.”
*****
In the past 30 years, I have had just two hairdressers to cut my hair. It was Corinne Tubetti first, and when she left town, I started going to Isabel MacEachern. And that’s not quite true; there was a time when Isabel was out of commission with a broken bone and I had Charlene Clarke cut my fair. She did a great job, but I felt like I was cheating on Isabel.
Five weeks in on the closure of hair salons and barber shops, we guys have hair that has grown from Buddy Holly to early Beatles, with Twisted Sister not far off.
Meanwhile, the womenfolk who aren’t quite ready to go grey all the way, are missing their hairdresser appointments and the little tufts of grey around the temples and roots are starting to show. Two Saturdays ago, my partner in life and love uttered the seven deadly words to strike fear in any man’s heart: “I want you to dye my hair.”
Thinking fast, I told her I had promised Derry the Dog that I would walk her 20 times that day, including a nice hike to Sight Point (where I secretly built a lean-to, left a sleeping bag, quart of rum, and a supply of Jack Link’s beef jerky).
Last Saturday, she came back with a modified version of those seven deadly words: “You will dye my hair today hon.”
With nowhere to run, I mixed the ounce-and-a-half of Clairol #8 and half-ounce of #7G according to Isabel’s instructions, donned the plastic gloves, and boldly went where no man ought to go. Believing I had covered all the appropriate areas, we waited 25 minutes and she went to wash her hair, add the colour-seal conditioner, rinse, and dry. She said later that she thought about screaming during the blow-drying part, but thought better of it, knowing I would have been out the door without bothering to look back.
I believe in that thing called Beginner’s Luck, which is why my first attempt at hairdressing turned out not too badly if I do say so myself – and her hair didn’t turn green overnight. But I have to say, if the hairdressers aren’t allowed to go back to work in the next month or so, you can address my mail to RR#1, Sight Point.
*****
The local economy took another hit last week when the Broad Cove Scottish Concert committee announced it was cancelling this summer’s show, joining Granville Green, Stanfest, and several other events to throw in the pandemic towel this summer. For Broad Cove, it would have been their 64th concert without interruption or rain. I have a feeling that by missing this year, the 2021 concert will be wildly successful after people go through the “you don’t know what you have until it’s gone” blues. But what to call it? The 2021 concert would have been its Diamond Jubilee, but it will actually still be the 64th. Perhaps going with a Diamonds Are Forever theme for the next two years, highlighting what a jewel the concert is for lovers of traditional Cape Breton music.