 |
|
Getting ready for the evening's fly-casting at Doctor's Island
Lodge on the Miramichi, August 1983.
|
On
Masada, “that astonishing site” (This Year in Jerusalem),
October 1992. |
|
“Come noon, on Canadian rivers, I would not be surprised
to see a moose or a black bear wandering down to the water’s
edge. But in the Highlands, at the stroke of twelve o’clock,
an appropriately attired waiter is sent down from the lodge with
a much-needed bottle of single-malt scotch, white wine and a baffling
hot lunch: pasta served with a baked potato. Then, casting into
a stiff wind, I spend another miserable two hours on the beat
without raising a fish." (From Dispatches from a Sporting
Life, to be published June 2002 by Knopf Canada)
|
The
first salmon-fishing trip with
Jake (on the right) and friends at Larry’s Gulch fishing
camp, on the Restigouche, New Brunswick,
summer of 1981. |
|
After a hard day's fishing.
|
|
|
Jake and Mordecai — coming home with the big one (Larry’s
Gulch on the Restigouche, New Brunswick), June 1983.
|
On
safari in Kenya, 1982. “At first sight, the Masai Mara, its
horizon endless, seems the most enchanting of pastoral scenes.
All those grazing animals. This you might think, is how things
were in the Garden of Eden. But on closer examination, it is most
certainly not a peaceable kingdom. Put more plainly, it’s
a meat rack….” (Belling the Cat). |
|
|
Fishing
buddies from the Owl's Nest pub (Quebec, 1981) From left to right:
the
bartender, Mordecai, Alan, Solly, Dipstick and Sweet Pea.
|
|
Mordecai with friends and his son Jake — both in their first
set of hip waders, August 1983.
|
On
safari in Kenya with Sandi and Bob Shapiro: “Our camp, neatly
tucked into a stand of shade trees, was actually a corner that
a bunch of baboons called home. Perched high and quarrelsome int
he trees, they did not take kindly to our intrusion, pissing on
our tents and pelting them with sticks at night. This, however,
was not the only thing to disturb our sleep...."(Belling
the Cat). |
|
“In
the mid-seventies, I realized a lifelong fantasy, my very own
snooker table…. Florence designed a room that could be annexed
to our dacha — a marvel to behold…. Once my snooker
table was in place, I inaugurated the annual Boxing Day Richler
Cup Tournament, an event not yet recognized by the snobs who run
the World Professional Billiards and Snooker Association. Competitors
in the tournament, which was an all-day (and then some) jubilee
during the years we spent Christmas at the lake, included our
three sons, Daniel most proficient with the cue; a number of their
friends; and the working stiffs who were my late-afternoon good
companions at the Owl’s Nest, an unassuming watering hole
perched on cinder blocks on Highway 242: [from left] Dipstick,
Sweet Pea, Coz and Buzz.” (On Snooker). |
BACK
TO TOP
|
 |
 |