Rouge River Valley, Toronto

There was an article in the Toronto Star the other day stating that the Federal Government is about to announce the creation of Canada's newest - and first urban - National Park This will be the Rouge River National Park on the eastern boundary of the City of Toronto.

In the early 1950s Toronto was slammed by Hurricane Hazel which left nearly 100 people dead and upwards to $1,000,000 in damages both to the city and to the rich agricultural area - the Holland marsh - to the north. Due to the destruction and the loss of life the City Fathers passed a by-law forbidding people from living in the ravines that scour the city. This has created a series of wonderful parks - some with formal gardens and playing fields, others left in a natural state but with paved bicycle/hiking paths - throughout the city. The most easterly of these is the Rouge River Valley.

I have hiked along some of those trails three times - the first alone one October Saturday in 1997. The second  was with the Out and Out Group and the third by myself again. I have now located more photos (which were taken on my original hike along the Rouge in October, 1997) and I am going to try to add a few of them here - if the program stops balking!

                                                                         
                                                                      A Wild Lily



The Toronto  Zoo will remain where it is now located and will become the northwest anchor to the park. A number of years ago, upon a visit to the zoo, one saw a viewer and a placard. The viewer was aimed to the east and an ugly landfill site. The next two photos are of that landfill now that Mother Nature has reclaimed her land.

Near the zoo the Rouge and the 'Little Rouge' flow together. This next photo is of the Little Rouge

For a little river the stream has carved out an impressive valley as the following photos illustrate.

For me, another delight in living in a city where 'the wild' is nearby is the example of wildlife. The following photo shows the work of beavers who are also reclaiming 'their territory'.

I have located a few photos which I took on the first hike down the Rouge Rover Valley in October, 1997.

The beautiful Rouge River Valley in its autumn glory. An overgrown field.

Further down the Valley.

The final photo was taken near the bottom and close to the campground. Mere yards from this point the river flows into Lake Ontario. 

Kamloops Trips - Part 2

                           


Ric and I spent part of two Christmas seasons with the part of my extended family who live in Kamloops. While that city has an airport, large jets do not land there. Instead the airport is serviced by small short distance aircraft from Vancouver and Calgary as well as Horizon Airlines - the subsidiary of Alaska Airlines - and these planes fly to and from Seattle, Washington. On that first trip I flew from Toronto to Vancouver where I connected with Ric and we flew on to Kamloops.

The next trip was different. It was decided that I fly there a day earlier so I could have a good visit with my youngest sister, Babs Gibson. My itinerary was from Toronto to Calgary and then the smaller aircraft over the mountains to Kamloops. The jet from Toronto to Calgary was loaded and the engines were started. However, the intake areas on the right hand side of the aircraft began spewing blue smoke. As a result we were all told to vacate the aircraft and wait for a replacement. This took an hour which made it too late for me to connect with the small aircraft in Calgary. Instead, Air Canada put me up in the Holiday Inn - complete with a voucher for dinner in the hotel dining room followed by a lengthy wait at the airport the next morning.

I did arrive in Kamloops before Ric but his flight was no more than an hour behind mine. We stayed with my niece, Teri, and her family. Teri's husband, Paul Denis, was working in Alberta and was not home so Ric failed to meet him. During the following summer my brother-in-law, Leo Poirier, passed away so we flew to Kamloops once again where we were met by Darlene who drove us up to 100 Mile House.

It was there that Ric finally met Paul who, at first, was very shy and diffident but, as Ric is not comfortable around crowds of strangers either, they spent most of the time together smoking cigars - and bonded!

Two Christmases later we spent part of the holiday in Kamloops and Christmas Eve and Day at 100 Mile House. The photos which I will now attach are of the two Christmas seasons in Kamloops. As you will note - quite different in terms of the weather!

Not far from where Paul and Teri live is a petting zoo and we went there for a walk. The top two photos are of kids in the zoo while the lower photo is of the topography in that part of the North Thompson Valley

 We returned for another visit the following Christmas when the weather was much more 'Canadian'!

The final note before closing is of a forest fire that threatened in August 2004. There were fires all around the area but the most dangerous one began in the sawmill village of Barriere (about 10 miles north of Kamloops) and raced along the mountain flanks on the east side of the North Thompson River. The Denis family was put on evacuation alert but, except for a couple of embers which landed upon their roof, they were unharmed. Here is a photo taken by somebody else of that conflagration

Kamloops Trips - Part 1

                                                      Kamloops Trips - Part 1


Ric was born and raised in Pine Bluff, Arkansas and his family belong to a conservative Christian denomination. Therefore, they are not that much open to understanding - and accepting - sexual minorities. However, as Ric and I were/are in love with each other, we needed to meet and to understand our birth families. As you may remember, we met late in January, 2001 and, as Thanksgiving is the big family gathering time in the US, he suggested that we visit Kamloops - the home of my youngest sister and just over an hour of driving from where my oldest sister lives - and he suggested that we go there for the Canadian Thanksgiving. It had been nearly 20 years since I had seen them - and they me. Already he had met two of my nieces in the MSN Messenger chat room. However, he was unsure as to how he would be received.

My sister, Babs Gibson, lives in an apartment in the north end of Kamloops, Her oldest daughter, Darlene, lives nearby while the youngest, Teri, is married and she and her family lived on the east side of town by the banks of the North Thompson River. We could have stayed there but Ric felt more comfortable staying in a room in one of Kamloops' older hotels. Ric's flight up to Vancouver from San Francisco was delayed so, while he made the connection to the small regional aircraft, his luggage did not. They did not arrive at the hotel until the next day.

My nieces met us at the airport and took us to their mother's apartment where my other sister - Alda - her husband and youngest granddaughter were waiting. It was so good to see them! My brother-in-law, Leo, was in poor health so he went to lie down while the rest of us visited. Darlene and I were sitting in the living room chatting and, while I could hear the voices of others, I had no idea as to where they were. Ric explained later - my sisters and Teri had cornered him in the kitchen and were giving him 'The Third Degree"! He need not to have worried - they fell in love with him as much as I had!

We were there from Saturday afternoon until Monday morning and I wondered what we would be doing Sunday afternoon? This was mid-October and the salmon were 'running' in the local waterways - they were making their way home to where they had hatched in order to lay eggs and then die. One of the most famous of these 'runs' is in the Adams River east of Kamloops. As that was touted as quite a tourist attraction I thought that that was where Darlene would be taking us.

Her reaction?  "Who the heck wants to see stinking dead fish?" She had other plans - a waterfall. While I am familiar with much of B.C. I am not at all familiar with what lies off of the main highways in the Central area so I had never heard of Helmcken  nor Dawson Falls on the Murtle River.

 We drove north from Kamloops on Highway 5 - the Yellowhead Route - and drove and drove and drove. Darlene had completely forgotten where the community of Clearwater was located so she sailed right on by for at least 100 miles - a distance which had to be retraced.  Upon returning to Clearwater we went into the roadside cafe for something to eat. The eating phenomena - which had been developed in Drummondville, Quebec - had migrated west and was served at that cafe. This was 'poutine' which consists of french-fried potatoes covered with gravy and then by melted cheese curds. As Ric loves anything cheesy he enjoyed that - and had the opportunity of eating the same food - prepared more authentically - on a trip to Ottawa a year later.

                                                            Helmcken Falls          

                                                                       

  After eating. we continued up the Clearwater Valley to the top and then to the Murtle River where Darlene pulled into a parking lot. A few feet below the lot was a viewing platform and what I saw was awesome. Not long behind us came a German tourist who volunteered to take the next photo.

                                          Darlene Gibson, Teri Denis, Ric Reed and myself.



The bottom of those Falls

Leaving there Darlene drove about half a mile back down the road and then pulled into a lay-by. From there a trail led towards the sound of running water.

After a 100 yards or so we came out of the woods to see Dawson Falls

A  wonderful afternoon of mountain scenery and white water - then the rush back to Kamloops in time for dinner!

I will continue my Kamloops stories in another blog.

Renaissance Faires

When Ric and I first met he was a 'host' in a AOL (America On Line) chat room. Two of the other hosts were Gerry and Becca who lived in Somerset, NJ. As Gerry was losing his eyesight Becca wanted him to meet as many of the other hosts as he could while he could still see so she organized a gathering for the weekend of  August 24 - 26, 2001 to be held at their place. Ric was flying from San Francisco to Newark and, as his flight would be arriving before mine was scheduled to, he would be waiting at the gate when I debarked.

This was the first time that we encountered a new policy where 'visitors' were not allowed to be at the Gate when incoming passengers debarked so I was confused. I looked everywhere for Ric but could not spot him until a young woman approached me and asked if I was Ernie from Toronto? When I acknowledged that I was, she told me that my friend was waiting for me at the top of the ramp. I was happy to see him but that was only the beginning of  the puzzles for us to solve. We were to meet a woman from Los Angeles named Janet who had red hair. She had been vacationing in New England and would be flying in from Boston.  Beyond the fact that she had 'reddish' hair we had no idea for whom we were looking and, during our search, a number of women with red - or reddish - hair were approached by Ric or I to be asked if she was Janet? Try that some time in a busy airport!

Eventually we found her and then we had to locate the kiosk for the car rental place where Janet had booked a car. In 2001 Newark Airport was undergoing massive renovations and the entire place seemed to be complete chaos. Eventually we found the kiosk and the keys for the car and then began a drive southwest on a freeway which took us to Somerset. Fortunately, once off of the freeway, the address where we were expected was not difficult to locate.

Gerry and Becca had a nice house in a nearly rural area so they had a huge yard most of which was lawn and trees. A large marquee tent had been pitched under some evergreen trees and that was where Ric and I slept for the next two nights.  

There were three other guests as well as Ric and I and we were asked to pick what we wanted to do on Saturday. The options were a tour of the Jersey Shore or a nearby Renaissance Faire in the hamlet of Tuxedo Park up in the hills on the New Jersey/New York state line. I had no idea as to what was a Renaissance Faire but I soon found out.

Ric had told me via email that he had purchased a 'renaissance costume' for me to wear (the charm of most of these Faires is that many visitors - along with practically all exhibitors - dressed in medieval costumes). Ric's costume was that of a Cavalier while mine was that of a wealthy French merchant of the Medieval Ages.

We arrived at the same time as a number of others and, while we were all strangers, everybody greeted everybody else - in costume  - as old friends. Later, while we were strolling the grounds, we encountered somebody else attired as a Cavalier - a young man from Kingston, Ontario!

 



         We small group of 'pilgrims' in front of the racecourse
.


The limo was waiting  for us when we exited and we were whisked back to Somerset. It was late afternoon by that time and I was sitting at a picnic table writing when I saw motion  out of the corner of my eye. Looking up I saw three adult white tailed deer who had been grazing on the lawn. Unfortunately, my camera was in the tent and, as soon as they realized that I had seen them, they leaped away into the neighboring woods. 

The next day - Sunday - we left to catch our flights home. When I arrived at the gate the Air Canada flight was already boarding and somebody was sitting in my seat. I pointed out his error to him and he moved to the aisle seat but, out of the blue, he asked me if I was Jewish?  Through my mother's side of the family, technically I am so I said so. When we arrived  in the Arrivals Hall at Pearson he wanted me to get down on my knees so he could lay a shawl on my shoulders identifying me as another long lost Jew!

I had never been any where near New York City before. When I flew down on the Friday the weather was overcast and I did not see the 'Big Apple' but Sunday was perfectly clear, the aircraft took off towards Staten Island and, once aloft, banked to the left and I saw Manhattan with the Twin Towers still in place - for two more weeks.

Ric had attended a Ren Faire at Vacaville, California where he had met an exhibitor who ran a couple of games on the grounds. I got to go there with Ric the following year and had a riot! The game that Ric had agreed to run during a short shift on the Saturday afternoon was a Rube Goldberg type of affair where a moving object along a wire tripped various signals along the way causing all sorts of crazy things to happen. If the player - usually a child of grade school age - was lucky he/she would win the prize of a chocolate 'dollar' wrapped in gold foil.

The young couple who tended the booth before us were 'very much in love' and did not really attend to the public. Ric and I, however, were very proactive and raked in the largest take that the game's owner had earned in any shift before. Ric was great with the prattle and I kept busy too. Everybody laughed and laughed and we had a ball. Also, there was a trip wire close to where I was and, if the child was not going to be successful, I tripped it so he/she did get the prize. Yes - I was dressed as a French Merchant Prince while Ric was the Cavalier.

At that time there was an annual Renaissance Faire held in a meadow near the northwest Toronto suburb of Milton. One Saturday afternoon I donned my costume and caught a bus out there. Two big letdowns - the first was that the Faire was a couple of kilometers from the highway (most of which I had to walk) - and I seemed to be the ONLY visitor dressed in costume. If I had charged for all the photos of me that were taken, I could have recovered my bus fare!

I still have the costume and have worn it on each of the past two Hallowe'ens with wonderful reactions from friends and strangers alike.

Alcatraz

                                          

Within a month of Ric and I meeting each other began frequent trips back and forth across North America between Toronto and San Francisco. While I have never been to New York City, Washington, Boston nor a number of other American cities I will say that my favorite is San Francisco - the 'City by the Bay'. While many of the other cities seem to be uptight, I have always found San Francisco to be very laid back.

One unique feature of San Francisco is that much of it lies within the boundary of Golden Gate National Park. This includes - of course - the famous bridge and the Presidio and Alcatraz. The latter was phased out as an active prison a number of years ago but the buildings still exist on the island in the middle of the Bay and it is now one of the most visited of all of the national historic places - at least, on the West Coast. It is such a popular tourist attraction that one must book passage on a launch well in advance. On one Saturday in June of 2001 that was where Ric took me.

We were staying in a hotel in Berkeley and commuting to and from the City by the marvelous BART trains which service many of the suburbs  south, southeast, east and northeast of the city. Our first stop was for breakfast at one of the numerous eateries in The Castro and, to reach there, we left the train at Embarcadero for one of the iconic streetcars which still service Market Street from there to Castro.

The San Francisco Street Railway System collects streetcars from other places to use on the Market Street tourist route. This one is from New Orleans of course! I understand that there are a few 'Red Rockets' included but, as the manufacturer of street railway cars is generic, the Toronto logos have been painted over and replaced with that of an American city.

After brunch we journeyed to Fisherman's Wharf and the launch to Alcatraz.

To get to Fisherman's Wharf we alighted from the traditional streetcar at Powell Street and took a cable car over those steep hills to the wharf. A fun way to travel on these cars is on the inside running board, hanging on with one hand and giving a 'high five' to passengers on the cars traveling in the opposite direction.  Cable cars are NOT the fastest way by which to travel. This is not a 'Powell Car' but one on the crosstown 'California Street' line.

                                       Looking across to Alcatraz from Fisherman's Wharf

              The photo above is of the warning sign still in place beside the ferry landing slip. A little difficult to read but it is an admonishment  against transporting firearms to the prison.

Just up from the ferry slip are the administrative buildings for that part of the National Park. That is where one can purchase food, drinks and souvenirs.

The cells of each of the most famous 'guests' are all identified so we saw the one occupied by Al Capone, the 'Birdman of Alcatraz' as well as other notorious criminals of the 1920s and 1930s.

Also, the cells of the three who made their 'escape'. This claim is now seriously doubted - while they definitely did disappear from the prison, nothing has been heard from them - nor have they been seen - since.  The water in San Francisco Bay is very cold, the currents are extremely strong - and there are sharks. It is thought that they were trying to swim either to the Fisherman's Wharf area - about a mile - or to Angel Island some two miles to the north.

A dangerous criminal from 'Solitary Confinement'! I didn't notice this myself but, later, a friend commented that the floors of the prison were made of metal and, in solitary, no beds nor bunks were supplied so those in there could sleep only with their feet up  under their bottoms and with their backs against the wall. Another 'torture' was that many marinas were located near Fisherman's Wharf so, on holidays, merriment from the yachts could be heard clearly by the prisoners.

Ric and I took turns standing in the prison exercise yard. The breeze was pretty stiff so we had to remove our caps.

After the prison closed the site was taken over by a group of anarchists and, during the ensuing riots, the Warden's house was destroyed by fire. I am standing beside the lighthouse as Ric took the photo while practically lying in bird poop!

Some views from Alcatraz.

A mother seagull guarding her hatchlings beside the path up from the ferry slip. The green is the temporary fence erected to give the little family some privacy

Various views from Alcatraz - north to Angel Island, south to Fisherman's Wharf and west to Golden Gate

On our way to catch the launch back to Fisherman's Wharf we dropped into the Visitors' Center where Ric purchased an 'Alcatraz' jacket which I wear everywhere on cool days. As the back panel has the daily schedule of prison life stenciled upon it, I receive many comments.

The Toolbox

                                                     

In my previous blog about homophobia, I mentioned two of the prime ways by which gay men meet each other. While I do not like alcohol, for me the 'Gay Bar' worked the best.

There are different types of gay bars which cater to different groupings of gay people. While there are Lesbian bars, this blog is about the ones catering to gay men.

There are dance bars, wine bars and other places catering to different groupings in the Gay Community. The ones which have always been attractive to me are the 'Leather Bars' and the clientele that is attracted to them. Most larger cities have at least one of these bars - often more than one - and the one about which I am now writing is/was The Toolbox.

In the earlier days of settlement in Toronto a number of factories and mills were constructed east of the Don River and housing for the workers was nearby. On Eastern Avenue between Logan and Pape was a bar which - according to legend - was as much a brothel as anything else. The building was a two story brick structure perched upon a shallow basement. The bar and dining room were on the main floor with 'guest rooms' upstairs.

Out back was an enormous double patio (a lattice work 'wall' separated the two parts) and, after dark, it WAS dark. The space nearest to the door out from the bar had tables and chairs and that was where brunch was served during the summer months.

When I first arrived in Toronto 23 years ago the potpourri of aromas was interesting. A block to the west was a major bakery, four blocks north was the Colgate/Palmolive factory, somewhere to the south was a tannery  and, added to this, was the stench of oil and grease.

Legend has it that the forerunner to the Toolbox was a brothel and there was talk of at least one 'ghost' - if there had been strife among the staff during the evening, at closing a woman would appear who would be walking around wringing her hands. A former 'Madame'? Much to my regret, I never knowingly saw that ghost.

When one walked into the bar via the door on the side (Morse) street, one entered the vestibule. Immediately to the right were the men and women's washrooms and to the left was the dining room (which served as the cloakroom as well). Ahead, and against the outside wall, was the bar. and to the right of the bar was the large kitchen and a buffet style serving area.


Once past the dining room the wall turned at right angle and, along that side, there was a set of bleacher seats.

To the left of the bar was the doorway to the outside patio and then, next to it, the railing which separated the rest of the room from the pool table. To the left of the 'pool room' was a doorway leading to a flight of stairs going up to some bedrooms which were let out to weekend guests. 

Beyond the doorway was an auxiliary coat check area and  the 'back room' which was no more than a very dark place where 'hanky-panky'  could go on.

I am a creature of habit so I usually follow a set routine. When I arrived at the 'Box and purchased my beverage I would go to join a group of friends who always stood along the railing by the pool room.  On the Friday evening, January 26. 2001,  I accepted an invitation from a friend to go to his place to watch some movies. However, on Saturday, I was back at the usual place. While standing in the group of friends the door from the upstairs rooms opened and out came one of the most intimidating looking men that I had seen in quite some time,

He walked past us, went to the bar and purchased a beer and then stood across the way staring at us. After a few minutes I realized that he was staring at me. I became very shy and could not make up my mind as to what to do?

Shortly before this a neighborhood cat had adopted the Toolbox - the place was overrun with mice - and a box with a blanket had been placed on the top level of the bleachers. After a few minutes the stranger went over, peered into the box, and began scratching Genghis' ears. Here was my chance so I went over too.

The rest, as they say, is history. Richard D. Reed is now my spouse.

That evening we went up to his room for a while and then I went home so I could be up for church in the morning. In the 'Leather World' of the Gay  Community there were/are very few who have an interest in church and I assumed that Ric would feel this way. How wrong I was!

I returned for brunch after church but didn't see Ric - I was looking in the wrong place. Like I was afraid that he would not be interested in pursuing the friendship, he was assuming the same thing.

When I found him we left to go shopping in some of the second hand clothing stores on Queen Street West. Here I was - 64 years old and walking hand-in-hand with a man who was 28! There were two preteen boys who were sitting on a rock in front of the City Hall skating rink obviously waiting for a parent to come by to pick them up. They saw us holding hands and they stared at that phenomena.

Ric and I are now married to each other and have been on a number of trips together. Descriptions of those trips - along with photos - will be included in future blogs.
     

Homophobic Encounters

I had no intention of blogging about this issue but have been asked to by a dear friend. I do not have any photos relating to this topic so this will be plain prose.

From when I first began to be honest with myself and started to open the 'closet door' I had begun to patronize certain gay bars. I don't like alcohol - especially beer - so that was not the attraction - it was the chance of meeting other men with similar interests.

In the Gay Community there are all sorts of meeting places - the most popular being the steam baths and the bars.

The former have never had any appeal for me so I rarely patronized them (except in Seattle, Washington before I had met the friend with the house up on Capitol Hill and used a bathhouse as a place to crash before driving back to Vancouver).

An amusing aside - most of the time the piped in music was courtesy of a local rock station but, one morning when I awoke, the station had been changed to classical music and the piece being piped throughout the building was "The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies". Appropriate?

Leather bars were another matter. While I am not at all into alcohol, these bars were a great place to meet mature men who were into more than 'vanilla'. In Los Angeles, San Francisco, Vancouver and Toronto those were the places where I preferred  to socialize. I enjoyed them all - but the greatest was the Toolbox on Eastern Avenue. One of the charms of the place was that it was away from 'The Village' and not often patronized by the effeminate younger guys.

In all cities I traveled widely on my own without feeling threatened.

In downtown Toronto there was a bar on Yonge Street that was a pleasant place to drop in at on week nights. It was while on my way home from there that I encountered two incidents of homophobia.

The first was around supper hour on a busy Saturday evening. This was before Maple Leaf Gardens was closed so a goodly number of the pedestrians were looking for places to eat before the ice hockey game. A number of us were waiting for the traffic lights to change  at the corner of Wellesley and Church Streets and, when we could cross, a younger male couple strode out into the crosswalk while holding hands. The man waiting next to me commented, "Look! Isn't that sick?" I sharply reminded him as to where he was - besides, the lads looked to be Eastern Europeans and, in Russia I have been told, it is common to see young men holding hands not because of sexual attraction but because they like each other as friends!

A couple of years later - and later in the evening - a friend and I were walking home from the bar. We were sauntering up Church Street when I noticed a handsome van coming down the street with the driver pulling into the curb as if he were going to park. Just after the side of the van passed I heard a "Pop" and felt a sting in the back of my right wrist. I had been shot by someone with a pellet gun.

My buddy heard the "pop" so he whirled to give the single finger salute and then realized that I had been injured. There was a bank of pay telephones nearby but I was too shaken to use them so we walked back to Wellesley and a coffee shop. It was not long before the police were there, my wound (not much more than a bruise) was looked at and we gave our reports. Naturally, that van and the two young men inside were never caught.

It seemed obvious, upon reflection, that the kid was aiming at my crotch but the driver pulled too far ahead. What saved me from more serious injury was that I was wearing a motorcycle jacket made from heavy leather.