SCA May Crown 2017

Just a few pictures I took at the SCA event of May Crown held at Moses Lake Washington.

I believe this was in the first round of the tourney, and Sir Christian went on to win.

South Sudan.

I live in a bubble.  My news usually comes from following links on Face book.

For the last eternity, that has been American politics, and the debacle surrounding it.

But, I finally broke out, to take a look around at things outside of the USA, and I am instantly appalled and disappointed by the situations found in several countries.  the lead on this is taken by South Sudan, but just because they are in the lead, it does not mean that they are alone.

In the abstract, I can understand what is happening.  I can accept the reality of a failed state, where the government is more of a burden to the people than anarchy would be.  But what is so hard to accept is the fact that the world as a whole is letting this happen.

Part of the reason the the UN was formed was to prevent such things from happening and act as a police force on an international scale.  This has failed many more times than it has succeeded.

I think a large part of that failure can be defined in one word.  Corruption.

From my distant perch in Canada, South Sudan failed because the two sides were unwilling to share power.  They were (and are) failing to share power because it means dividing money and influence.

Right now, in a place where there is drought and thus famine, where there is rampant inflation and very few jobs, and the only export worth mentioning is oil, the two sides have decided that fighting over the pie, blowing it up, shooting it full of poison and stepping on it is better than sharing it.

The result of this is that anyone not in uniform is suffering.  Rape, starvation and murder are the headlines.  Corruption and international indifference are the cause.

There are many NGOs (Non-Governmental Organizations) that are fighting this, but there are many problems with that, but two are paramount.  The first is that the NGOs are limited.  They are limited in funds, manpower and influence.  The second is that they are slapped in the face by corruption at every turn.

I have not done any direct search on the corruption in South Sudan, but by reading about past efforts in other failed states, it is not hard to deduce what is happening.  In all other places where there has been a failed state any attempts at international famine relief, the first people fed are the dictator and his family.  The next fed are the military, leaders first then the troops.  The next fed are those distributing the food.  The next fed are the refugees, and the last fed are those who did not flee into the refugee camps.  The ones too weak to make the hike, or the ones who refused to give up their land.

All because the two bullies at the top of the political pile refuse to share, and the international powers are too slow and too weak to force them into a peaceful resolution.

In an ideal place, we could take a long line from each side and send them one at a time into a small room where each is armed with a very dull knife, and they are given a choice, co-operate, make a pact or fight.  If you fight and even if you win, all that means is you stay in and another from the other side gets let in.  The only food or water is released when neither one has initiated violence for two hours and both are standing on the access point.   After three days, they can leave the room and return to the end of the line.

The lines are set up in the same order as the food distribution.  Political leaders first, then their families, etc.

 After both lines have gone through the room at least twice, they get to face each other at a negotiating table.
 

It is a nice fantasy, but there is no one to enforce it.

We are stuck with the methods we currently have which are weak and slow acting.

So, as the UN spins its wheels, slowly trying to police and entire nation with far too few troops and extremely limited and defined terms for intervention and enforcement, the rest of the world gets to watch a low speed train wreck involving over 11 million people.

And from where I sit, here in the comfort of Canada  I wonder how long it will be until Venezuela is the next train we will watch.

writing

For a long time I have tried writing.  I get scenes that spring into my mind and sometimes plot outlines but nothing has gelled into a full story.

Here is a teaser, a scene from a fantasy story.  Our hero who is not the main figure in this scene, is leading a group who are retreating.  They are trying avoid fighting vastly superior numbers.

'Are they still following?'

'Yes, over sixty, just starting on the trail up the pass.'

'Are they close enough to notice when we turn off the trail?'

'Unless they are distracted, they are bound to notice that we have turned off the main path.'

'It is my time.'. Vertun spoke with quiet authority.

Brian looked at him, and his slow nod was all that was needed.  'You honour us.'

Vertun slid off his horse, reach to remove his saddle bags.  'There are letters and my journal, if possible....'

'We will see that Lodis and Thomas get them.'. Brian took the bags, the weight of them magnified by the gravity of the situation.

'Jardan?

'Yes?

'My son has long admired you, it would please me if you could give him my signet.'

A nod was all that was needed to convey Jardan's emotions.

Vertun turned back to his mount, carefully picking up each hoof, running his hands over his legs quickly but carefully.

As he rode away, Jardan asked Brian,'His time?'

'You haven't noticed?'  Brian brought his mount around to face back up the pass.  'He is dying.
'For months now he has been consumed by a cancer.  By the time I knew anything, it was too advanced for me to try to cure.  I have done what I can to give him more time and ease some of his pain, but in truth there is little I can do.'

Stephan spoke up, 'I thought something was wrong.  I came close to touching him during sparring twice in the last month.'

'He has not slept well in months.  The only thing keeping him alive is his will.  He denies the ravages of the disease and ignores the pain, but there is a limit to that and he is rapidly reaching the end.' Said Brian.  'It is his choice to go out this way, a fitting end for a warrior.'

 The horse beneath Vertun sensed something was different, and danced a little, too well trained to kick up much of a fuss, but clearly sensing something.

'I will not make a stand, but charge into them.  They are bound to have at least a few archers, and they could easily end my delaying tactics.  At best I will buy you five minutes, maybe a bit more if I can slay a few of their mounts and clog the trail.'

He made eye contact with each one who would be continuing on and said his last words,  'You have all been great companions and I am sorry to not see the end of the trail, but have been blessed by being part of the start.'

The few quiet words that followed him as he turned to start back down the mountain were laden with the emotions reverberating within all.

The rest of the party started back up the pass, striving to make haste, to make the diversion work.

Vertun put all his mind toward the task at hand, and the world both shrank and expanded.  His mind detached, there was a distance between himself and his body in some ways, but his eyes clearly saw every rock and pebble on the path, the twists and turns of the trail became a tactical problem easily solved.  The odd glimpse of the foe as they made their way up the mountain, the speed they were riding and the ideal interception point came together into a solution that was more of a gesalt than actual thought process.  He slowly allowed his mount to gather speed, planning on hitting the leading members of the foe at a place where the path wound to his right and would cut off any long distance sight lines and make archery difficult.  The trail even wound for length under fir trees, and perhaps the needles would mask the noise of his progress a little, shortening the time they would have to react.

The trail flatten out, widening and letting him speed up a little more, the path under hoof going from bare rock to a graveled surface, with a few areas of needle carpets changing the tone of the striking of the hooves.  The cumbersome shield of a cavalry charger was absent, and in its place was a lighter one, thinner and not nearly as heavy.  With luck it would last through the first few encounters, but he would need to be ready to cast it aside and use something else.

There was no lance either, the length being the major reason they were all left behind, but there were other weapons to hand.  A javelin to toss at the first opponent and a spear for the second.  If the spear hit anything he would let go and draw his axe.  The blade of the axe could take care of any horse, and the back was shaped into a beak to force its way through armour.

Some small part of him wished for a longer life, more time to spend with his wife and son, and all his friends and relatives too.  He imagined that everyone facing a certain death had much the same wish, and a small smile curled his lip, acknowledging the black humour of it.

Mostly though he reviewed his own armour, how it fit and where it was weak.  The placement of his weapons and the technique to get them into action quickly.  The few throwing weapons he had and their placement on left and right sides.  Finally, how his mount felt, the rise and fall of movement, the rapid drumming of the hooves and the eagerness with which he moved down the trail.

It seemed luck or happenstance was on his side.  The last place for observing the side trail was now over three hundred paces behind him, and he had seen the party was near the ridge that would block them from sight.  Three minutes is all that was needed.

Vertun twisted in the saddle, his right arm stretching back and holding the javelin waiting for the first scout.

He saw the nose of the horse, and his body twisted, the arm coming forward and the aim instinctive as he released the javelin.  The scout had no time to react.  The javelin flew with force and speed taking his mount in the right shoulder, and it flinched either from the pain or from the motion, it did not matter as the horse then went off the steep edge of the trail to its left.

By placing his spear close to the cliff, and riding tight to his left, the next horse first moved a little away from the cliff and then was muscled over the edge by Vertun's mount.  It did not look to be super steep, but recovering from the slide to the next flat area would put him out of the fight.

The next foe was fully prepared, hugging the cliff side and ready for impact.  He had his own axe out and his shield was ready.  Vertun's mount had slowed, the impact with the second mount had robbed some of his speed.  Vertun managed to get his spear into the chest of the third horse, the massive momentum of the two mounts wrenched it out of his hand and as planned, he drew his axe.  The horse fell, perhaps the spear had done more damage than Vertun at first had thought.  It almost bringing his own down as well, and the opposing rider sprang clear to land on his feet, dancing back from the flaying hooves of the dying horse.  It was easy to swing the poll of the axe into the side of his head and his mount eagerly went forward, getting well past the downed horse.

The horses were slowing, the ones in front stopped, nostrils flaring and heads being tossed.  The path was too narrow for more than one horse, though if they dismounted perhaps three could stand abreast on this part of  the trail.  Someone at the back of the pack had dismounted, perhaps to make stringing a bow easier, though staying in the saddle would have given a better vantage to shoot from.  Bows no longer concerned Vertun, the fighters in front of him consumed his attention.

A quick signal to his mount, and up he rose, lashing is hooves at the next in line.  The already nervous animal retreated slightly, and as his mount came down Vertun flung his shield at the horse.  He was too far away to effectively hit it with the axe, and tossing his shield did not do much in the way of offense, but it freed his left arm to throw the next item to hand, a small hatchet that glanced off the breast of the rider and then the distance closed.  A twist and duck under the blade, Vertun reached out with his left to his current opponent to drag him out of the saddle, it did not work, but threw the man off balance enough that the next blow of the axe got in clean and ended one more life.  the next blow of the axe killed the horse, and luckily it dropped dead right in place, a plug that kept the next in rank from approaching.

The next thirty seconds passed in a blur, as the archer shot and killed his mount, Vertun retrieved his thrown shield and stood behind his fallen mount.  It seemed that there was only one archer in a position to shoot, and the archer was either not that good, or too far back for a decent shot, especially as he was now dismounted.

Chaos reigned across from him.  A few of the front rank were dismounting and preparing to advance over the slain horses, but their own mounts interfered, making it so that no more than the two now in the front could get at him.  The narrow path with it's twists meant it was very awkward to back the force up enough that a horse could jump the two fallen beasts.  Vertun was willing to wait in any case.  His job looked accomplished not matter what.  There was no way they could get him and the horses out of the way in time to see Brian and the rest turn down the branch that would lead to the small port of Vaux.  By the time they figured out where he had gone, they would be away and the tide would have turned, making a stern chase at least six hours behind and very unlikely to ever catch up.

They were getting more organized now.  The mounts had been backed up enough that six of them now faced him across the barrier of the animals.  The archer was making his way past the line of horses.  If he made his way all the way to the front, the delay would end.  Even a bad archer could drive arrows through his shield and injure his left arm and maybe even go deep enough to injure his body.

Carefully he gathered himself, subtly changing his stance which was mostly concealed by the horses.  With explosive power he leapt, landing on the horses and continuing to the far side.  The unexpected charge allowed him to land firmly on the far side and begin the next stage of his attack.  The grace of his movements belied the power of them, his feet danced over the rock, leveraging power and turning balance into might.  The shield was a part of his body an extension that allowed him to lift and throw two opponents.

The fight was truly engaged now, and nicks and bruises began to make the tally known as the fighters landed their own blows and tried their best to end his life.  Instinct guided his shield, and it vibrated with the deflection of an arrow.  The mess of bodies strewn about turned his dance from on of power and grace to one of dodge and purchase desperately sought.

Five down, only fifty- five to go.

The first true injury happened to Vertun, a shield slammed into his right leg sucking the strength out and denting the armour.  That left him with a limp and a slowed his dance.  Six down.

The archer was now almost too close to be effective, and the two opponents between him and the archer formed a mini shield wall, hoping to let the archer do the work.  A shrug of his right shoulder sent his axe hurling at the archer, and though it was blocked, the two following throwing knives rendered the archers left arm unlikely to hold a bow for the next week.

Sword work now, and his dance grew more graceful.  The injured leg responded and the attack renewed.   Vertun's breath was deep, but not yet coming in gasps and he felt truly in his element.  Block slide and reply.

Seven.

Eight was bad.  The axe of eight tore his shield away, nearly dislocating his shoulder before he managed to thrust the tip of his sword into the struggling man's armpit.

Nine.  Nine paused to look for an opening and instead received a thrust to the eye.

Ten was pushed over the side as he tried to run past, a poor idea not suited to the narrow terrain.

Eleven hesitated.  The pause was welcome, air was sucked down and vision steadied.  A crossbow suddenly shot, and the prod went clean through Vertun's left shoulder.  Eleven then charged and managed a shot at his right arm, exploding in pain at the bicep even as Vertun sliced into the man's lightly armoured groin.

Twelve.  Twelve took his time and set his stance.  No mercy showed in his eyes as he carefully advanced, his long shafted mace hidden behind his shield.  Vertun did not allow his injuries to voice their pain, and strove to force the damaged muscles to perform.  Twelve did not allow recovery time and continued to advance, creeping in to range to bash and subdue.  They engaged and somehow Vertun's sword was spun off line, the flat striking instead of the edge, and the mace rang off his helm, dazing him.  The next blow was blocked automatically, but there was little power in the block and the next one fell unimpeded on his chest and caved in the plate over his heart.  Dazed, his dance now over his life ended with the next blow, the crossbow bolt through his eye was an unneeded insurance.

His body slowly fell, loose and free.  The pain of the last six months gone.  His spirit off to find solace in the world beyond this one.

The survivors tried to quickly deal with the blockage, strining the dead men in a line against the inside of the trail, pushing the dead horses over the edge, and letting down a line to aid those who needed to climb back up.  Saddle bags of the downed mounts were distributed and after almost an hour they were on their way.

Well past the turn off to Vaux, they noticed they were no longer hot on the trail of anything fresh.  By the time they realized their error, they had lost over three hours and arrived far too late in Vaux to even see the sail on the horizon.  With the tide against them and no way of telling which way Brian's party had sailed, the pursuit was stalled.

No more Dodging

Sigh.

Due to a diminishing bank account I will likely be unable to escape to the south for the winter of 2017/2018.

Because of this I will likely do more blogging from Canada than usual, and perhaps alter my blog from travel to a more general outlook on my social life.

To those in the SCA, I will try and take more pictures than is my usual wont at events and actually post them.

I will also strive to take more pictures as I wander through Canada this summer, and post about the variety found in this vast land.

Take care and hugs to all,

Ken

Dad

My Dad passed away Jan 27 2017.

I cannot say everything about him that matters to me, but here are some of the things I want to share.

His passing was not an utter shock, but still unwelcome.  His heart had been slowly getting worse, he had had a heart attack many years ago, and it was functioning under 25% according to his doctor in spring of 2016.

No one lives forever, and during my grandmother's eulogy, my dad mentioned how lucky he was to have been with his mom as long as he had.  I can now echo that sentiment, having been very glad to spend a couple months with him during the last few summers.  It is part of life to lose some of the ones we love, and it is natural that a child out live the parent, but that does not mean we have to like it.

We all see people from various points of view.  I know that my brother Glen had a totally different experience growing up as the son of my father than I did.  We have talked about that a bit.  My other brother, Lyle also had a different perspective than either Glen or me.

I have long known that we present different aspects of or selves to others, and that the face I show my daughter is not the same as the one I show my friends, and that is different from what I show the general public.

This means to me when you give the list of associations, each one is from a different perspective, thus we have son, brother, friend, boyfriend, co-worker, lover, husband, father, grandfather, great grandfather and others.  It is all of those aspects and more that make up a life.  The face that he showed to me is one I will always treasure and trust.

There is a fear in those considerably younger than my Dad that anything less than a great or extraordinary life is somehow a failure.

To me this is far from true, and my father achieved a life story of great worth by being a good man.  That was all he really strove for, it was more than enough for him.  The number of people he called friend, the number who loved him for who he was and the joy and humour he gave relationships was all he needed.  Although I wish he had lived longer, I doubt he thought he could have lived better.

 I can imagine that as a youth he was more than a bit wild, and got in more than his share of fights and scrapes, but I also imagine that he rarely if ever let down a friend.  I know he did his best in my raising.  He could have been better in a few things, but I also could have been way better kid, and he did a lot to show as well as teach me how to be better.

The older I get the more I realize how much he taught me, and how much more he taught me by example, rather than in the words he said or punishments or rewards I received.

There are many words that briefly sum up a life.  Beloved is one.  It encompasses so much and yet says so little.  It is a word that lets you fill in the blanks and allows you to see the emotions he shared with the ones he could call intimates.  Playful, the way his humour was always hiding somewhere just below the surface.  Honest, I doubt he ever applied that word to himself, but it is one many others have used to describe him.  Willing, he was never real generous with money, but always generous with his time and always willing to help those in need.

The words 'I love you' did not come from him often, but that did not matter to me either growing up or later in life.  He did not really need to say the obvious, and his attitude and warmth to me said far more than his words ever did.

He rarely swore.  Only once can I remember him really swearing.  We were doing some spring work on the farm, and there was a rock he wanted to get rid of from the field.  Rather than break out the tractor and rockpicker, he drove up to it in the half ton and we lifted it into the back.  About 3/4 of the way up his back went out, and he quietly said fuck.  It was amazing to me how much emotion and venting could be laden in a truly soft voice and a single word.

When you grow up in a stable family. there are many things you take for granted.  One of those things is the relationship between your parents.  Until I experienced  life, love and divorce for myself, I had no idea just how special a marriage that lasts could be.  Dad was surprised that his marriage had stood the test of time for over 65 years and was still in love with mom.  It was not the thought of the marriage lasting that long, nor the love between them that surprised him, but the fact that he was still alive to experience it.

What he taught me, how he showed me what he felt about me will be with me for forever.  

I love and miss you Dad.


 

Cochabamba Bolivia

Where to begin, perhaps with my first impressions.

I took a bus from La Paz to Cochabamba, and it was a long slow journey.  Although portions of the trip were at 80kph, for the most part the bus was going closer to 55 than anything faster.  There was some construction along the way, but for the most part the slow speed was due to the terrain, making for a steep and twisty road.  The road itself was decent well paved and smooth.

Arrival at the terminal was in the mid afternoon, and the place was quite busy.  I had gotten used to being in areas where there are a fair number of tourists, and this was suddenly not one of them.  The number of non-Spanish people in the depot was..... well it was limited to me, near as I could tell.

Stepping out of the terminal, it was onto a busy area of the city with what looked like a market close by along with a few hotels across the street.  I booked into a hotel for 2 days, just so I could rest, orient myself and find a cheaper place.

The next few days, I wandered around, finding a hostel that was cheaper, but still a little pricey, and finding that most of the hostels were quite busy and that hardly anyone spoke English.  The areas easily walked to included the financial district and a major park, Plaza 14 de Septiembre.  And wow do I like that park.

Here are a few pics.

The only thing that was odd, in terms of other places I have been in Latin America, is that when I sat down and read, I was not interrupted by people wanting to chat.  There were a couple wandering vendors selling stuff, and I had to deal with about one every twenty to thirty minutes but I have been used to locals seeing if i want to chat, and that did not happen at all.

North of the plaza, the city takes on a more modern and perhaps developed feel.  It still has a very strong Spanish colonial influence in its architecture, but there are more moderate high rises, and fewer street vendors.

Walking on the city streets feels safe, and for all that it is one of the poorest areas of Bolivia, it also seems to be one of the cleanest and the buildings painted and finished the nicest.  There is graffiti but not lots, and some street art inspired by graffiti.

The restaurants and cafes are numerous, and I found a great Italian place where the pasta is made on site and the staff are great.  The street food needs to be seen to be appreciated and it seems over half the city eat at the cheap places in the the market every night.

There is not a lot for a tourist here, in terms of ruins or museums, but in terms of getting to know the locals, in terms of wandering around and enjoying life, people watching and feeling welcome, this place is unmatched.

 

Self Evident

For all it's flaws, the American Declaration of Independence has the most recognizable opening lines in modern political history.

We hold these Truths to be self evident; That all Men are created Equal.

With the significant change from Men to People, that is a statement I can get behind.

My feelings on law, politics and social issues are wrapped up in that one simple statement.

Uncountable numbers of humans have given effort, pain, blood and far too many their freedom and lives for that simple concept.

There are many ways we humans have decided to rule over others, and none have them have been without flaws.  As a Canadian, I long thought our government did okay, but the longer and closer I looked at how our aboriginals people have been treated, the more ashamed I have become.

For decades the Canadian government forced the natives into poverty and squalor, pushing them farther and farther from our centers in hopes that they will disappear, those few who make their way into our society, only allowed if they blend in and strive to not be noticed.

The political chaos in 2016 will bear fruit in the coming years, and I fear we are in for very interesting times.  The political leaders in most of the modern world need to come to grips with a very fundamental fact, and that is that in our age of digital and social media, the truth will out.  As readers of social media, the public needs to learn how to sift truth from bullshit, facts from distortions, but the difference I see between a Statesman and a politician is the Statesman (or woman) will do it all above board.

I feel there needs to be a revolution in the way that government is done.

With the exception of national security. All meetings with all politicians need to be public. 

All financial records for all politicians need to be public.

All financial records for all political parties need to be public.

All statements given in debate may be fact checked for credibility , and if proven false the presenter must withdraw from the debate, and not be allowed to vote.

If our society as a whole wants to become better, we must be able to hold our politicians, in their public service to the standards we as a whole want for our society.  That in turn means a truly transparent process for government.  What they do in their personal life is their business, however screwy, as long as it does not spill over into how they govern.

The sooner our political parties come on side with this, the less painful our progress will be.  The more they dig their feet in and ignore the right of the people to full transparency, the more painful and perhaps bloody the changes will be.

To all those who fight against transparency, your day is waning.  What you have done may not be illegal, but if it is moral, why did you have to hide it?