girls on a road trip

I crawl out from under the heaps of apples and the much smaller heap of Nanowords to post a picture-studded side-trip. Specifically, a little about the Golden Swan event in October (this is apparently a non-chronological blog).
I've posted before about the Tournament of the Golden Swan. It's a persona-development SCA event, originally designed to encourage the more creative and less combative aspects of the Society for Creative Anachronism, or more pragmatically described, to give non-fighters something to do. This is done by testing how thoroughly entrants have researched and imagined the medieval person they present themselves as being.
Given that it's been going a fair few years, the contest has been stuck in several ways in a very SCA mindset, perhaps describable as a 1960s take on a romantic Victorian idea of the Middle Ages. As knowledge about medieval society and daily life has grown, and research within the SCA reached a higher standard, the better-researched your persona, the less likely you were to find a good fit with a contest that required an embroidered favour (an SCA tradition, not a medieval one) and expected entrants to inspire the lord who fought for them. Last year the outdated format was addressed once again, and actual changes were made.
Perhaps relatedly, there were three entrants this year, compared to none last year.

I leap ahead chronologically to show off a painting I did several years ago, for the Wild Women of Frozen Mountain. It's based on a German playing card, the Queen of Animals, and depicts a wild woman (covered in fur) with a unicorn.
It was hung up inside the hall, so I took the opportunity to get a digital pic of it.
Geez, guys, you could hem it sometime, you know? 

Anyway, Joan and Rosie and I drove out Friday morning--a beautiful clear Friday morning--from Port Moody. The plan was to have enough time to stop for scenery and wineries, and this worked out nicely.

Stop on the journey. Rosie surveys the Hope Slide. It must have been too cold for the chipmunks that Deirdre and I saw and fed, because they did not appear, though we made coaxing noises.

Stretching our legs in Manning Park. High altitude and shade meant lingering frost on the grass.We did not spot the derelict cabin this trip.

We did, though, encounter this cool tree-trunk,. Is it safe to turn your back, or will it lurch after you?

Despite wineries, we arrived in good time, and set up our tent alongside Alicia and Stephen's tent. Most people were sleeping inside the hall because of the cold, but we hardy medievalists were relying on wool and down (and straw mattresses) to shield us through the night. I have a photo of the frosty grass taken early the next morning, but perhaps the point was made above. It was cold. The stars were amazing, bright white in a black black sky. Until I set off the motion-sensitive light outside the hall.

Swans at bowls, on the field behind the hall. Most of the contest is indoors, sitting and chatting in close quarters, thus not appropriate for taking photos. Outdoors it's more relaxed, and I followed the gamesters about making quick sketches. This one they posed for.

Another shot from the bowls game that meandered all about the site. It started in the field beside the hall, wandered past the bandshell, behind the mock-frontier streetfront, through the seating for the fair bbq, past the animal pens, and around to the fighting field. (There was fighting going on, with HH Gemma exclaiming 'Man fall down!' at intervals.)

A game of 9 mans morris outside Alicia's tent. Entrants need to show competence in pastimes their character would have known, as well as skills in their craft or station.
Needless to say (but I will say it anyways) Alicia kicked butt in every category. Happily, all three entrants carried it off successfully and joined the Order of the Golden Swan.
We packed up as early as we could manage the next morning and set off, managing to stop at another couple of wineries on the way back, and take our pictures with the sasquatch.

A Garbage Gobbler, an icon of my childhood travels. Joan poses with it on our way out the gate.

Then I ran away with the sasquatch and was never seen again.

I'm on a boat!

BC Ferries have wifi now. So I'm sitting in the upper lounge with my Eee and we're just about to Active Pass. A couple of minutes ago, the Captain announced that there was a pod of orcas on the port side, which is where I am. So I stood up and looked out to see a shining fin and back arch out of the water and down again.
We are curving between piney-backed islands crouching in the pale blue water. The rain of the last 3 days has gone, though I see gray cloud over Vancouver, my destination.
I meant to do a couple of ranty posts about things I dislike in fantasy novels: the hero(ine) of Unearned Specialness, and the CGI Ending. But I think I will stop and just stare out the window until we hit open ocean.

ruins amid the Saints

Simon's entry on South Elmham Minster is here, for supplementary reading.


Leaping ahead in chronology, because this site deserves its own post. We visited it on the day we meant to see as many of 'the Saints' as we could. The weather was bright and windy. With the help of our OS maps (#230 Diss & Harleston, and #231 Southwold & Bungay) we reached the plateau (relatively speaking) and found Mundy's Farm, the first landmark.
A signposted right-of-way led across the ploughed field, straight into the woods. We briefly considered finding somewhere to lock the bikes, but the only structure was the signpost, so we set out walking the bikes across the flinty field. The woods, as you can see, are open and sunny. It is very quiet, easy to believe yourself alone for miles.
Side note: I can lift a bike over a fence more easily than I can lift a bike over a stile. I have no good explanation for this.

Then, past hedges and a stream, we came to South Elmham Minster, as it's called. Flint-core ruins, roofless, with trees growing around and among them.
It's probably impossible to describe the place or the atmosphere of it without invoking Tolkien. Twisty trees. Inexplicable ruins. Deep in the English countryside. It only needs someone in a cloak, to tell you by what names this place is known to the elves and the ents.



In the first picture (up top), you can see the edge of a bench. That and a sign giving the probable history of the site are (thankfully!) the only overt modern additions. Mostly you can wander without speaking, imagining almost any sort of past use and purpose: castle, chapel, temple, manor, even cathedral. The name 'South Elmham Minster' comes from the belief that it was a cathedral, for all the small South Elmham churches. But apparently that Elmham Minster was in Norfolk.


Another theory is that it was a pagan temple, and it is surrounded by earthworks, which might be the remains of a Roman encampment.
Presently, though, it's believed to be a private chapel for a Bishop's residence, dating to about 1000 AD, built for the first Bishop of Norwich, Herbert de Losinga. (If anyone knows what name the Elves knew him by, I'll add that here).
It's easy to believe that the site had a religious purpose; even now (even more so now?) one wants to be still, whether to pray or meditate.

The trees (beeches, I think) are very nearly as striking as the ruins. Several are intertwined in this loving yet Laocoonish fashion. Perhaps it was the influence of the Minster, but I saw them as more intriguing than disturbing.
As many times before, I wished I were a better sketch artist, with much more time. But that's where photographs are useful.
We leant our bikes against a huge fallen tree that had begun to sprout upwards. I almost took a picture of it, and discovered later that the same view was for sale as a postcard--also that most of the pictures I'd taken were from the same angles & places that the postcards were taken from.
I'm not sure what this says about my eye for photos, whether good or just predictable. Or simply that it isn't possible to take really bad photos of some place this beautiful and mysterious.


Our next stop was to be South Elmham Hall, but I'll save that for another post. Since I neglected to take any pictures of the right-of-way across the fields, entering, here's a pic of the way out (to South Elmham Hall) which shows, maybe, how miles-from-anywhere the Minster seems to be.

I could have stayed longer, just sitting and being quiet amid the trees and stones, but South Elmham Hall has secular medieval wall-paintings, not to mention a caff, and biking does make for an appetite. So through the fields we trundled, following the footpaths from the eleventh century to the fourteenth century.

Our room marked with an X

UK 08 continued.
Have I mentioned that the plan for the first part of this visit was to spend time in one place? Specifically, to stay in some part of East Anglia and bicycle around to moated sites. Because on a previous visit, I'd picked up a map of Moated Sites in Suffolk, and had noticed how close together they were.
(Yes, I am just that much of an anorak--and you're reading me!)
While researching it, we'd spent a fair bit of time on Simon's East Anglian churches site, and discovered the Saints, several of which are moated or near moats. Much of this within bicycling distance.
So where to stay? Well, how could we resist staying at a 16th century timbered farmhouse on a moated site? The Gables Farm looked perfect. And yes, it was. (Only a brisk walk or short cycle from Wingfield College too.)
Our room is the furthest right window, upper floor. Looking out onto the moat.



The other side of the house lets out to the drive, and to the farmyard. The chickens that provide breakfast eggs (and eat the breakfast scraps) are only a few paces away.
Breakfast is generous. Even when Mark and I got to the cycling about, we found that breakfast and one other meal carried us through the day.
I must say, food in England has improved massively since we visited in the 80s. On the downside, many village pubs have closed (many villages have become bedroom communities, and long commutes don't make for going down the pub after, apparently). On the upside, those that survive have become gastro-pubs, which is a dreadful word but a fine concept.


The breakfast room. The picture on the wall is of the restoration of Gables, which was in sad shape when the Herveys bought it (very nearly sight unseen) and devoted themselves to freeing the original timber-frame farmhouse from a few hundred years of overbuilding and neglect. As you can see, it's gorgeous now.
It's funny how much of restoring is similar, even to the 'and then we found this old bit still under the wall' and 'they'd chucked that into the ditch/moat' and 'some fool had cut away half the supports and plastered it over' anecdotes, regardless of whether one's restoring a Victorian house, or a Norman stone manor, or a Tudor timbered farmhouse.
One notable thing about Gables is that (like many timbered houses) it wasn't built for people much over 5 foot. Several times in the next couple of days it will be Mark's habit of leaving his bike helmet on until reaching the bedroom that will save him from knocking his head on one particular beam. Mike Hervey is pretty much the same height as Mark, so I have to guess he's had time to practice.



This is Daisy, one of the two dogs. You can see Poppy in the picture at the top of the Accommodations page here. Poppy (black spaniel) is a complete moocher, who stares soulfully at you while you eat breakfast. Well, soulfully at me, because however much I inform dogs that I don't like them and am in fact a Cat Person, they unerringly realise that I am still a soft touch.
Daisy is a rather cat-like dog, as you can tell from her perch on the back of a chair, where she watches for arrivals. She is conveniently lap-sized, and I spend an hour or so one drizzly afternoon napping in an armchair with Daisy.



The view from our room, which is the Mullion Room. Every morning I took a photo from this window, and called it the Many Moods of the Moat series, but I won't inflict that on you. You can see a nice picture of the room on the website, but here is my blurry one.


On the upper right, where you can't see, is a television on a mount. And to the right where you can't see at all, is a lovely bathroom. With lots of hot water, and no tricky switches or taps hidden away that need to be dealt with beforehand.
Lucia had the Gable End Room, I think.

After Wingfield College, we drove to Hoxne (pronounced Hocksen) and reached the church just as it was being locked up, but the sexton(?) kindly let us in for a quick look round at the wall paintings. The lych-gate is quite fine too, and I have a picture of Mark and Lucia standing at it, but I'll save that for a churches post.
Mark had a drink at the Swan, a 15th c. pub, and we determined to return another day, earlier in the day.
For supper we followed Sue Hervey's recommendation and went to the Crown in Weybread, good pub food more than gastro-pub, and I had excellent fish & chips.
Seated across from us at the Crown were a father and son also staying at the Gables for a bicycling holiday, though a considerably more strenuous one than ours. That day they'd cycled to the coast and back--my tone of slightly-fearful awe doesn't seem to have an appropriate font, so I'm going with the italics.

Interior journeys: awful damn scenic

Two trips into the interior of BC, one in July to Castlegar, the second in October to Oliver (and also to Nelson). Attempts to drag along travelling companions failed, which meant at least that I could sing in the van, because I don't sing where people can hear me.
Castlegar is in the Kootenays, and would like you to know it's the Greatest Dam City in the World, being right close to a large dam (the Hugh Keenleyside Dam, sorry no tours) with a mildly alarming array of bridges and on/off ramps (not as scary as Portland, but Castlegar is much smaller than Portland).
If I were a much hardier cyclist than I am, more in JH-R's league, I'd probably want to cycle the railbed trail between Midway and Castlegar, which looks even more scenic than the drive, but I'm a feeble old lady, so I'll just look at the pictures, and look out the car windows.
Oliver, which I've written of before, is the Wine Capital of Canada, with a classy wine shop in the town, and any number of wineries (even a fruit-winery) on the way, plus the fruit markets in the Okanagan. I'm told that while it's dead easy to find work, it's nearly impossible to live there because of the cost of housing.
Nelson is where Roxanne was filmed, with Steve Martin, and it is picturesque like anything. It had an influx of new people after the film, because it was so clearly an ideal small town, with the result that it too became an expensive place to live.

The Castlegar trip was to attend Troll Stomp, and to spend some time with my apprentice Lucy and others of the Wild Women. The Oliver trip was for the last Tournament of the Golden Swan to be held at the Skunk Hollow site, so there was a valedictory feel to the weekend, even while I was visiting with Lucy and Evangeline, and with Nan Compton and her family, and others I don't see often.
(Even before online nicknames, much of my acquaintance used pseudonyms and aliases--please note also that my acquaintance includes a number of people who are willing to camp in the Interior of BC in October.)
Castlegar is about 7 hours drive from the ferry terminal (how I measure every trip off-island--no point counting the ferry wait and so on), Oliver only about 5 hours. Nelson 8 or 9 hours. So it's fortunate that the view is not only attractive but variable. There's more than one ecosystem on the way.

On the first trip I remembered to borrow a camera(!) and take some photos of the places I look for and stop at, so here you are, a little visual relief from the usual wall of text this blog provides.

The Hope Slide. This happened when I was a small child, so it has a different sort of meaning for me than most historic sites. An avalanche that covered cars on a BC highway, the very sort of highway my family travelled every summer, and that my dad travelled every weekend to get back to us when he was teaching somewhere else. A couple of the cars were never recovered. Here's a shot of the mountain, and you can still see how it fell away.


The Manning Park cabin. The first time I saw this, I was driving with my friend Kellii as navigator, and she'd brought a book of West Coast ghost stories to enliven (endeaden?) the trip. So we were primed to see this as a haunted cabin. It's fairly close to the western end of the park, right after an eerie stretch of bog (lots of that in Manning Park) separated from the road by a rushing bit of river. Just out of this photo is what looks like a boathouse, though it's rather too far from the water, and might be a summer kitchen or other outbuilding. I don't know its history, but it should have one. Maybe I'll make one up sometime.



Bromley Rock Provincial Park, where I care little for the striking rock bluff or tiny white sand beach (okay, I do, but I didn't take pictures), and instead am drawn to the scrap of former road that the rest area and parking was built on, which remains behind the outhouses. Even when the park is busy, this spot remains quiet and set apart, as if it's waiting for something to come along it.




On the July trip return, I stopped just outside Castlegar and picked up two hitch-hikers, a young dreadlocked guy and girl who were heading to Vancouver, to be supportive for the trial of their friend, an American deserter who'd been hiding out in Nelson. They were good company, though I will offer this piece of advice for hitching: when your ride stops to fill up, it's a nice gesture to offer to clean the windshields, especially if you're too broke to put in for fuel.

On the October trip, no hitch-hikers, though I did drive into Nelson and back with Lucy and Evangeline to save them from having to hitch-hike with all their camping gear. And going to my van on the ferry, I met two young women who needed a ride into Victoria, one of them with a guitar. Pleased to hear both of them talking over the coming election and preparing to vote, and glad I wasn't a slacker myself in that way, while Lucy and her sister were planning to be helping with the vote in Nelson. Yay for the engaged citizenry!