Above/featured: Along Vancouver’s Seawall to a partly obscured Lions Gate Bridge – 17 Jan 2014.
I skipped a step, as I’ve moved from a triple-digit camera model to a single-digit model.
For over five years, I owned an entry-level Canon DSLR (digital single lens reflex) camera. Carrying the EOS 450D (XSi) along for the ride, I traveled over one million miles in the air and I made over 75000 exposures.
Every day felt like a bonus, a sweet taste of daily magic.
Over the time he spent in the hospital, Dad charmed the staff by chatting with them in broken English; it was a way for him to express some measure of control. As expected with decreasing hemoglobin levels, his body continued the downward slide. His mind and spirit departed at the beginning of the third week; he had become unresponsive. Over the next five days, his body remained, the breathing steady, though shallow and sometimes laboured. He was calm, at peace, and thanks to the meds, without pain.
From the top of St. Paul’s Hospital in Vancouver, Canada, I photographed this post-sunset scene on 8 August 2014, with fading light peeking up and over the cirrus, high over the Salish Sea (English Bay) and the downtown peninsula. I’m sure he sensed the daily change in light, even though he could no longer see by the end.
Hours later the following morning, Dad breathed his last and slipped away for good. He marked his 82nd birthday six weeks earlier.
The long road for him has ended; another chapter and another journey begins.
Warmest thanks to the staff at St. Paul’s Hospital, and particularly, the men and women who work enthusiastically and gracefully in the hospital’s Palliative Care Unit. This post appears on Fotoeins Fotopress at fotoeins.com as http://wp.me/p1BIdT-5vy.
2 August 2014.
I’m in one of the city’s hospitals, visiting my father who’s in very bad shape.
I’ve helped feed him dinner of roast pork, peas, and gravy, a direct sensory reminder of his past as ‘line cook’ in a downtown diner nearby. He eats with great enthusiasm, the most I’ve seen him eat in weeks. Dinner’s done, and he’s worn out. I suggest we go “around the corner” with him in a wheelchair to watch the evening’s fireworks, but he gently declines. A twinge reflects the growing reality of him never seeing fireworks again, but the feeling is moderated by resolved acceptance and mild resignation.
I go out into the corridor where people have already gathered by the windows next to the elevators. From the heights of the hospital, there are spectacular views of the downtown peninsula, towards Burrard Inlet, English Bay, and the waters of the Salish Sea. What sacred spirits have come and gone, then and the now.
Waiting patiently to catch a brief glimpse of fireworks are other hospital patients, their family, and various hospital staff taking breaks in their work schedule. It’s a four-day holiday weekend here in the province of British Columbia, and early August weather is summertime hot under the dome of clear blue skies.
Judging by the look in some people’s eyes, I empathize with feelings which must remain unspoken: “I’d rather be outside, laughing and having a good time, surrounded by family and friends.”
I thought about making a few photographs of the fireworks through the large windows, but something pulls me back, and I decide not to image the fireworks directly.
My thinking about this situation quickly clarifies. What I’ll do is record people watching the fireworks through the windows of the hospital’s upper floors.
They are not forgotten. It’s my promise to capture with a camera’s all-seeing eye an elemental and universal desire for something beyond the ephemeral and temporal, something that approaches a kind of eternity.
Fortune often favours the brave, especially for those who rarely get to see Vancouver from a height of 1500 metres (5000 feet). This city may be my birthplace, but this is my first helicopter tour. The only other occasions I’ve seen Vancouver from the air are from planes on approach to YVR international airport.
We arrive at Vancouver Helijet Heliport on a weekday morning, and hang out for a few minutes in the spacious waiting area, sipping on coffee and chatting with the folks at the front desk. We head outside, file down the walkway to the landing pad, and hop into a Bell 206L-3 LongRanger helicopter (chopper) for our 20-minute sightseeing tour.
The “West Coast Spectacular” tour heads across Burrard Inlet to the North Shore, goes up and over the nearby coastal mountains, flies past Crown Mountain and The Lions (The Sisters), before emerging over Howe Sound. It’s easy to forget this abundant B.C. evergreen wilderness is at the doorstep to Vancouver. After heading south down the Sound, the final half of the tour proceeds past West Vancouver to English Bay (Salish Sea), enters and covers False Creek, crosses over the downtown Vancouver peninsula, makes a small loop over Burrard Inlet, before landing at the harbour base. The map below shows in green the chopper’s path, the Heliport in downtown Vancouver is marked by the helicopter icon, and the blue pins indicate mountains I identified during the tour.
The scheduled 20-minute tour goes by quickly; blink or look away for a moment, and a part of that view in that moment disappears. Not surprisingly, there’s not a lot of chatter throughout the flight, and we’re astonished by what we’re seeing below. After returning to base, we rediscover our voices and express our wonder with grateful enthusiasm. Helijet’s sightseeing tours go for a pretty penny; the “West Coast Spectacular” tour costs $224 CAD per person (minimum of two people, 2014), but the price goes down to about $150 per person for a group of five. These photos show there’s a different side to Vancouver that’s tantalizingly close and within reach.
The “red, white, and maple leaf” flag is now recognized around the world as a definitive symbol for Canada. The National Flag of Canada celebrates its 53rd birthday in 2018.
Whenever I’m back in Canada, I always get a warm feeling when I see the English and French signage in our airports or train stations, and the the red, white, and maple-leaf flag flapping in the wind. The sight of the flag tells me I’m home.
I’ve often asked myself: how old is the Canadian flag? Has the flag been around as long as the nation? Does Canada have a day to celebrate the flag?
Since 1996, the National Flag of Canada Day is observed annually on February 15.
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