Fishing ELIXIR

Fishing ELIXIR, verse by les booth; reference photo by Bill Elliott | eLITHOGRAPH  17″x15″

A ‘Throw Back‘ photo caught my eye when it was posted by ‘Friend-Not-Yet-Met’, Bill Elliott. As many of my FB Friends know, such a collision of image and timing – can generally dislodge a story, poem, haiku or some sort of textual creation.

This event, was no different.

Taking the image and recreating it as an eLITHOGRAPH and composing a few lines of verse to fulfill the promise of story – combining them – I built the following full image montage – recapping Bills illustrious career as a top sporting life illustrator, painter and spokesman for outdoor activities.

eLITHOGRAPH: ‘Fishing ELIXIR’ measures 17″x15″.

Thanks to Bill Elliott for the inspiration and the ability to fill, quite nicely, another slot among my Facebook Gallery,

‘Artist in-Situ’, as well as permission to create from his original image.

Enjoy.  – AOJ





Invader By Trace

The light.  Just easing over the edge

of the window sill and pouring down, into the room, like a waterfall, moments before the flash flood engulfs the entire river bed.

The photon missile sent from the exploding orb, 93 million — and some-odd-change-miles — out in space, slammed into my over-used, alcohol abused, ocular orb, otherwise known as my left eye… with barbaric insensitivity.

One moment, bliss-filled comfort: it was dark: OFF. The next nanosecond it was ON! Bright! Fusing vision and pain in one gigantic, violent movement to get away. But I, did not move. It was only my mind perceiving the desire to movement, not the sensation of noted neurological response. It was far too early, into a recovering Sunday morning, after a most unfortunate liquid-driven, sleep-deprived, Saturday night. Despite the neurons records of firing, the only loads going off — were blanks.

Nothing was getting through.

Then the orbiting ball of nuclear fission, out there in deep space, decided to ramp up the wager. The clouds of favorable diffusion decided to part, just enough to allow for an Orwellian blast of trauma, piercing the geothermal crack in the ocular orb’s covering. Sending a searing column of excited photons screaming across the cornea to plunge head-long into the depths of the retinal zone. The result was an explosion of pain that shot through both ocular orbs, blowing both coverings open.

Now I was, wide … well, OK. Blindly lying there with one eye; barely open.

It was then that I saw it.

AD Maddox,  Ashlin Hellraisers, flie series, ©2015
AD Maddox ©2015 Ashlin Hellraisers, flies series

Looming, not a foot away from my left eyeball. A gigantic alien form. Growing with each second that ticked off the atomic clock. Its outer shield of armor expanding upon the march of the photon beam of nuclear fissile energy. Marching across the table. Heading straight for my eye. And I could not move. I was still immobilized by the self-induced comatic remedy sent to us from the far away shores of Brigadoon. I was helpless! I was going to have my eye impaled by a senseless, heartless, brain-devouring alien monster. I had to do something.

Sweat began to form on my upper lip. I began to chill. My heart raced; so much so that it began to thump in my ears like an old John Deer tractor. Increasing with each second’s passing, I just knew it would Alien right out of my chest. Landing on the floor to forever Tell Tale Heart my demise to the world.

The world tilted toward disaster as the alien invader crept, ever closer, toward my delicate and unprotected eye.

It had eyes, too. Big ones. They were bright. Shiny. Heartless. Soulless. Orbs of evil reflection. Reflection of its evil intentions. Nothing inside. Stealing the brief point of reflection – that which it encountered – into a fauchard of raped reality. It looked upon me as nothing more than a piece of meat on its way to domination. I meant nothing to this soulless creature from deep space.

How did it get here? Where did it come from? What the heck is it, anyway??

As the sun continued to rise, the alien’s pace quickened. Closer. Closer. Closer, it marched. A river of sweat was now pouring down my back, across my brow, over my lip and onto the pillow. Mingling with the pool of pillowed nocturnal spittle deposition. Oh, I was a sitting-duck. Ripe for the picking, plucking, mucking. What a dupe. If I could only move. I’d get my gun and blast it straight to Hell! But I can’t! Hell! I don’t even know if I am really awake!

I am a pathetic mess.

Then suddenly there was a warm, fetid, yet cold, and definitely wet sensation exploding all over my face. I can no longer see the alien. It must have blasted me with some sort of chemical bomb. It’s blinding me with some concoction of alien toxins… well in advance of its final pounce!

I am Doomed!

“Max! Max! MAX!!!! Get off the bed and stop licking A.d.’s face. You know she doesn’t like that. C’mon. Let’s go get you a walk in. I’m sure you need to get ‘outside’ to ‘green-up-the-grass!”

“Hey A.d., time to get up. You’ve got paintings to get done. And you really need to stop leaving those flies all over the house. One of those things could end up in bed with you. I bet that thing would put your eye out! That would be all you need. C’mon! Get up! Before that fly on the side table gets you.”

Ahhh.. So that’s your angle. Alien mind-control! You beguiling evil alien beast! Make me think you’re harmless. OK! You crafty creature of doom. I may still be paralyzed by alcohol-induced neuron-impairment, but you will NEVER succeed. I will NEVER give in.

This is WAARRRRRRRR!!!!!

A.D. Maddox Studios –

Written by Arthur O’fieldstream | Image by A.D. Maddox

Streamside: CEC2010-001

”Yet, this type of ‘weirdness’ is the nature of such mystery.”
story ©2010 Les Booth; painting, Streamside, ©2010 Diane Michelin

Freestone Palette

Colors trace wild run
Essence of time freely flows
Life intensifies

Freestone Mystery

Penticton Herald, ePenticton Herald News
Josh Mavenhome Penticton Herald / Saturday Edition

Many unsolved mysteries exist around the world, but the 1998 unexplained disappearance of a Victoria, BC woman still has people down in Keremos shaking their heads.

This clip, from the article, written by my uncle Thomas Mavenhome, about the 1998 cold case, fills in some background for those unfamiliar with the 11 year old mystery.

‘Four weeks ago, Provincial Conservation Officer, Sarah Tumewatter, and BC Fisheries Biologist, Jon McCormick, stumbled upon a mystery on Bumblechoock Creek, north of Keremos, BC. The events of 23 September, 1998, still remain no closer to being resolved than they did on that fall Sunday afternoon, 4 weeks ago.

“We have no clues, other than the personal items and still alive brook trout, found, yesterday, on the banks of Bumblechook Creek. We are quite baffled. We simply have no idea where Jane Manson is today.”, said officer Tumewatter in an interview on Friday; 23 October, 1998.

Jan Manson, well known Victoria resident, is an attractive 32 year old, red-haired, athlete, fly-fishing aficionado, respected outdoor artist and conservation advocate. Ms. Manson, single, went missing Sunday 23 September. The answers to her whereabouts are still a complete mystery.

Tumewatter and McCormick were conducting a 10-year stream assessment of Bumblechook Creek, along a remote stretch of water in the upper reaches of the rough country, north of Keremos, BC, when they came upon a very strange scene.

Tumewatter and McCormick rounded a bend on the creek to find, neatly laid out on the rocks beside the stream, a fly-rod and reel, a landing net and a very much alive, brook trout.

Officer Tumwatter said both she and McCormick spent over 2 hours combing the area, after placing a call to report the strange findings to the Penticton BCCO office. Within an hour after the phone call – they were joined by other BCCO personnel. BCCO carried on the search, around-the-clock, for the next 14 days.

By the time the official search was canceled, nothing had turned up. No prints. No clothing. No personal items. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

There were no shoe prints anywhere. None. No prints of any kind.  Not along the creek; into the creek bed; nor back up into the woods.  McCormick said it was as if Manson was,”… just transported away. Gone. Without a trace”. ‘

Ms. Manson’s 1998 2-dr GMC Jimmy, bearing the custom trademark of a – Screaming Brook Trout – located on both lower door panels and rear tailgate, was nowhere to be found in the vicinity.  Despite extensive searches all across Canada, Alaska, the lower 48 United States and even into Mexico, no trace has been found.

Bumblchook Creek’, is said to have more than the occasional black bear and a rare appearance of cougars.  But neither animal is suspected to be involved in Manson’s disappearance.

BC Conservation Officers identified the owner of the fly-rod, reel and landing net and therefore the missing person – as Ms. Manson – from the name, email address and drivers license number, marked on each item.

Many speculations have arisen over the years as to the whereabouts of Ms. Manson.

Some say Manson fell into Bumblechook Creek’s icy waters, drowned and was swept downstream, over the 14 meter waterfall, downstream roughly 1/2 kilometer. But the water was thoroughly checked; above and below the falls. Nothing turned up. Most feel this was most unlikely.

Others say, she fell, suffered a concussion and amnesia then either staggered out of the area or was possibly lost and died of exposure.  But that too, seems unlikely.  The area was thoroughly searched; thousands of motorists and people in the area were canvased;  nothing; not so much as a ‘maybe’, was uncovered.

One popular theory is that Manson, a very pretty 32 year old, was abducted and kidnapped by the fabled remnant of the Spanish conquistadors, said to be living in the wilderness around Bumblechook Creek.  No one has officially documented the veracity of the claims as to whether these mythical residents  really exist. But wild and fantastical stories abound. With many claiming to have had contact with them; and some even claiming to be descendants.

The list of speculations continue, and continue to grow.  Many are fantastical enough to even make sense. But not seriously, unless you’re under the influence of mind altering chemicals first.

Yet, this type of ‘weirdness’ is the nature of such mystery.

Maybe it’s to be as Tumewatter said in an interview on the 5th anniversary of the unsolved missing person’s file.  “Some things just remain a mystery. Until something else shows up, that’s how we’ll have to look at this case.”

Yes, maybe so.

For now we only have the image of the fly-rod, reel, landing net and a live brook trout to help us conjure up the actual events that have led to this mystery.