Snow Angel Sleep

A brief return to the old chestnut of both assumed and unplanned sleeping positions, it's still being explored but in no particular order:

a) I fell from 30000ft without a parachute, fall broken by trees and landed in snow.

b) Collapsed statue.

c) The well and truly embalmed mummy.

d) Ophelia.

e) Cartoon rabbit falls down a cartoon rabbit hole.

f) "I've overeaten."

g) Polar bear hibernates.

h) Polar bear dozes.

There's more work to be done on this...

Exceptional

This exceptional streak of almost happy blog entries shows no sign of stopping. Today I've pictured the new lampshade that resides at the top of the stairs. It makes me smile I'll have you know.

Cynical

...use of a reconstructed cute cat in the lotus position, a photo that lured unwitting search engines to this blog, an exercise from which nobody benefits in any tangible way other than those that get a whiff of satisfaction from a picture they have never seen before and a few percentage points more endorphin(s) in the middle of their nodding heads. Some people will just ignore, others click on to Facebook or the Daily Mail, more folks push on some interesting and hopefully live link on the right as their journey away from this page continues. Meanwhile the yoga cat and I stay calm and serene and are at peace with things in general, here in our small corner of the shared space we call the universe.

I made a good curry

Non-specific driftwood from the Forth.

A single chicken that feeds the family for four days, despite not being particularly big must be a good chicken. This one (you can't see it because we've eaten it) went through the full three days of Christmas phases starting with roast with veg and gravy, then stir fry with leftover greens and oranges and finally Korma and nan, with a little help from a jar of Coop sauce. I know that this is trivial and boring but in years to come folks will look back on this kind of cooking and marvel...

Meanwhile a site that caters for geeks, engineering drawing freaks and fans of tall buildings etc. There is something strangely compulsive about the lists, numbers, stats and diagrams.

Honestly Officer

"I was only testing the rope for an unreliable friend and checking to see how my new jolly rancher jacket dealt with the occasional passage of underarm friction and heat that occurs when arms and shoulders are stretched a little more than would be normal for a Sunday afternoon activity. If I look a little blurred in this photo then it is simply the effect of my non-prescription drugs, a cold bacon roll and a bottle of Dr Pepper I obtained from a reputable source earlier in the day (I paid cash). The dog shit on my shoe, the occasional burst of middle-aged competitive spirit and the wrist and leg abrasions I cannot however explain."

150 tons of sunflower seeds...

...scattered across the floor of the Turbine Hall in the Tate Modern. Each seed handcrafted by a member of the Chinese Secret Police or somebody in a Beijing ceramic sweat shop. God help us and save us from this madness and grant me the opportunity to take off my socks and shoes, drink a bottle of Buckfast and walk across this artificial porcelain landscape once in my lifetime. The artist Ai Weiwei is as mad as an unopened box of frogs and has a funny name.

"The seeds are the memory of communist times," Ai told The Sunday Times. "We would share them out with friends."

Sting's last stand

My darling wife enjoyed the recent Sting concert in Edinburgh. Accompanied by the Royal Polyphonic, Syncopated and Symphony Orchestra I am assured that music was entertaining, energetic and at times sublime. However of most interest was his mike stand, used on this occasion in full boom mode and complete with a tambourine attachment. "Can you get the roadies to set one up like that for me?" she inquired. Well should we ever venture back out into the live music circuit I will ensure that this requirement is carried out in full.

Star Wars Pooh

This stuff is brilliant, see more here.

Columbia Icefields revisited

Spent a relaxing day with the grand kids building an exact scale replica of the Columbia Icefields from a variety of soft, makeshift but appropriate materials. This shot shows the glacier crawlers parked high on the freezing ice whilst the passengers disembark for a well deserved cup of coffee and a yummy portion of Rocky Road. Shortly they will be chugging back down the mountain via the seaplane airport and then headed for their garage in the Thomas the Tank engine sheds. All in all a good example of play and a geography and geology lesson combined.

Lukewarm latte

The opposite of factory flying.

This time it’s serious

Back to work again and travelling a little so I’m enjoying that marvellous early morning experience known as the airport security line up and departure lounge challenge. Hundreds of people, some zombies, some eager, some obvious Indie musicians, some clearly impatient and clutching their worldly goods, designer bags, titchy laptops and small children. Meekly queued in an endless and managed line for the pointless privilege of x-ray and search and processing in order to fly from A to B. Every time I find myself in this parade I promise myself “never again”, then a few weeks later I’m back for more sub-human humiliation and boundless evidence of international distrust. Everybody is a suspect, so don’t laugh, or make eye contact or make some witty quip, the senseless humour detection system will pickup your bad and disrespectful attitude and then it’s a small room, a stainless steel table and a two way mirror for you, you may even be barred from your bargain flight. Meanwhile the real criminals and terrorists are bouncing their Range Rovers and Mercs across the airport speed bumps as they rush to pick up the mule’s dirty luggage a few yards away in international arrivals. British passport and straight on to the Green Zone anybody?

I then daydream and imagine that we’ve all snuffed it (me and the other daily 420000), so the security queue is the entrance to eternal life, heaven or hell or whatever they have on offer and will you and your atrocious hand baggage stand up to scrutiny? What about the pathetic contents of your ragged pockets and the few coins and tissues therein? Then there are your evil thoughts, actions and deeds and of course, worst of all the good that you did not do. Bugger, no hope and less faith, I have taken strong drink, smoked the odd fag and I once voted Liberal Democrat and bought a Black Sabbath album. Just as well I checked in my excess baggage of extra strong original sin and in return received a sticky bar code receipt for it, let’s hope some mix up occurs and it’s shipped to Panama or Indo-China.

A worst picture is conjured up, this is the entrance to Belsen or Auschwitz and our rucksacks and duffle bags are being scoured for any small items of value, gold, silver, jewellery. We also have to open our mouths wide as we walk through the metal detector. Then we will be separated from possessions and our families and the curtain will fall. The officious security checkers are indifferent to our fate, writing on clip boards, they are just following orders, doing the business, making sure everything is in order for the cultural vacuum we are to be sealed in - the Flybe Lounge and series of dismal shopping and coffee experiences sound tracked by pop tunes from the 90s and sheathed by images of de-constructed lipstick red models who never were real people.

By now and despite these metaphysical challenges and bad thoughts we’ve made it to the wide oasis of the shops. WH Smith have triumphed with their shop design. The newspapers are skilfully hidden from early morning eyes behind piles of tartan rubbish and sinister looking S&M straps disguised as travel aids. Once your chosen daily rag is gathered and you’ve bumped into fat young insurance brokers mulling over the chocolate bargains then it’s back out of the shop and in again via a geometrically challenging route to the tills. This fenced and winding maze holds all sorts of wonderful impulse buys and offers, mostly batteries, shiny objects with no obvious use and chewing gum in at least two flavours, essential for the frequent flyer so they can meditate on, absorb and understand the economics of selling to jaded travellers offering little resistance. Once you get to the till the kindly assistant asks “Would you care for these two bags of mints, on special at only £1.50 today?” “No thank you, I’m saving my cash and hallowed PIN number so that I can buy £50 worth of tickets at the ‘win a white Audi’ display a little further into the mall, then I’ll get my magnums of lunch time Champagne in see-through bags and a few souvenir rugby shirts on my way to Gate 20 via Wetherspoons for my all day breakfast bap and a lukewarm Costa latte, so no thank you once again.” Next time I’m headed M74, M6; maybe.

Monopoly money to be won

OK, repeat after me, "I am a false prophet; God is a superstition!" ("And I drink your milkshake!")

$100 in Monopoly money and a Ritter Sport are on the table if you can name the film.

Goat on the highway

Monday: good day for a photo reminder of a lonely goat on the highway.

Not easy being a leader

Listen, squat (and ignore the Vancouver rain) as I tell you the story of Noggin the Nog...

Full time recovery mode is being experienced this weekend:

1 pot of curry, 2 fish pies and 3 Chinese carryouts.

Children, grandchildren and a successful operation.

No grass cut thanks to the inclement weather.

Apple pie, bacon rolls, copious amounts of red wine and a feline reunion.

Sleep, perchance to dream and recover in our own strange bed.

Shopping and a trip to Belgium.

Down the long, windswept M74 to Dumfries, the Queen of the Stone-Age South and a surprise 2 - 0 defeat for the mighty Pars thanks to two of the flookiest goals I've ever seen and I've seen a few. Nice (small) mince and onion bridie for £1.50 though.

I thought I saw X Factor and Strictly Come Dancing but I may have been mistaken, now it looks like REM and ELP in concert and in HD or is it Spooks?

Back up to a damp Cupar for 2- 2 draw in the mud, blood and incessant rain and thankfully no serious injuries.

Reading the Sunday paper - was I wrong about Donald Dewar?

Driving a white van from Arnold Clark through the battered streets of Edinburgh and moving what looked liked lots of furniture but proved not to be.

Reversing a white van down a long narrow street, as if in some recurring dream.

Bought the Oliver Stone Wall Street DVD on Amazon, now thinking of a sandwich I once bought and ate in that very place.

The history of the Yardbirds at Pro Guitar Shop, nostalgia is big again.

That'll do for today, tomorrow it's laundry (and return the van).

Rocky Mountain Way

Back home from the Rockies...unforgettable and fantastic...and jet addled. Thanks to Air Canada for a nice job, free internet, nice noodles, drinks, Toy Story 3 and four episodes of "In the Loop".

Meanwhile Tony Curtis is gone and the Flintstones are 50, as is their baby elephant vacuum cleaner, my favourite stone age gadget of all time.

Great Urinals: No 3

The last word and the last post from Canada and strictly speaking something that is a little more than an odd urinal. This is of course a bear proof dunny from high up in the Rockies, sheathed in it's own one person timber shed. Main feature is a disturbing 15' drop into the dry "black hole" area. The smell? Well it's designed to keep bears away. The technology? Primitive but effective. The justification? Well it is a lot better and safer than going behind a tree; smoking whilst on the can is not recommended.

Great Urinals: No 2

Still in Canada, this one is from a sports bar in Granville Island, Vancouver. It appears to work according to the same principles as the other but of course the object of the exercise is to score a field goal - per American Football, and get the tiny ball over the bar. Alternatively UK and lesser placed colonial visitors may well decide that precise peeing on this is in fact a perfect opportunity to practice some rugby moves.

Pacific Ocean Blue

Looking out west from Stanley Park, the ten oil tankers are parked up and the sun is warm, sea planes buzz past and the puddles are steaming and drying up. We're about to cycle 18 miles around the coast, drink cold beer, eat salad, shrimps and cheesecake and just wander the shore side markets doing nothing in particular apart from being tourists. A perfect day.

Great Urinals: No1

This footballing themed urinal is in the "Elephant and Castle" Pub in Vancouver. Housed strangely enough in the building used in the TV series "Smallville" as the Daily Planet's HQ. So to get maximum fun from this urinal you need to hit the dangling ball (?) and then get the (dangling) ball over the line. A couple of pints of strong ale may be required to power the apparatus and so get a result. Best used in solo mode, not advised (by me) as any kind of team sport.

Train

Long Train Running.

Canadian Pacific Railways: The journey from Jasper to Vancouver was a strange but mostly enjoyable experience. The train carries an odd mix of passengers, mostly the cast from Cocoon, railway geeks and folks with a crippling fear of flying - and Japanese tourists. A cruise liner sense of community is fostered whereby everybody mingles except when you can make it back to the sanctuary of your own cabin. Four days of this would be unthinkable, a night is just enough. Meals are random affairs where you sit with incoherent grannies and Scottish lunatics whist enjoying decent food and very civilised table service from the railway attendants. The views and scenery are fantastic although a kind of “tree” madness descends on some as they respond to the millions of forest giants lining the route. I began counting trees when driving up from Calgary but quickly abandoned the count at the first set of traffic lights, others not so lucky have persisted with counting and teeter on the brink of some kind of tree mania.

In the late afternoon we finally got lucky with the wildlife. We were up in the iconic observation dome still mesmerised by blurred trees when the shout went up, “bear on the right!”. As we were at the rear of the 22 carriage train we had time to prepare and sure enough, five minutes later the bear was spotted. A little black fellow munching vegetation with his back to the tracks. A huge cheer broke out amongst the geriatrics and drunks and high fives were exchanged. Now we were a team. Some guy with a camera the size of a portable TV had captured the moment and email addresses were franticly swapped so that the precious pic might be shared. The bear meanwhile faded into the distance as we headed west and back to civilisation. Ali was however given her ceremonial Indian name “She who looks for bear” or “Chingachonk-Bana” as it is in the native Pawnee language.

There is no hurry with this train either, no fixed schedule, people are vague about timings and it stops and starts and crawls subject to the vagaries of the mountain and weather gods - as if they cared. This listless approach lulls passengers into a careless stupor which in our case was amplified by a liberal amount of alcohol, all at $7.00 a shot. Through the shiny panoramic glass I observe nameless and remote places I’ll never visit and am comforted by the thought that at least I’m not driving nor am I really affected. Canada rolls by like a pleasant film backdrop, replayed a hundred times over but still unrecognisable as anywhere in particular.

After the evening meal we returned to find our cabin had been transformed for night time use and bunks replaced the two reclining seats. Sleeping was easy for me, Ali chose to look out of the window all night and became both hypnotized and comatosed. Even the omelette, toast and honey that made up the early breakfast (6.30 Pacific Time) could not easily reinvigorate her.

Showering on the train was fun, I managed to find the compartment and get in as it gently rollicked along only to tip a bottle of what I thought was shower gel on my head. It was mouthwash. The water was warm and as the train was still moving slowly I felt safe enough - at 100 mph it would have been a different proposition. So now onwards to Vancouver and the West Coast.

Icefields Parkway Daily Photo

The weather around here is interesting and changeable to say the least. Somewhere in the foreground and the distance is an ice field the exact shape and size of Fife and as deep or deeper than Loch Fitty.

Alberta daily photo

Funny how there is always something annoying to be found in any car. This Nissan Rogue has a loose number plate, the self tapper screw is stripped so it cannot be tightened; therefore it rattles. Complete niff-naff and trivia of course and well and truly compensated for by the warm weather (?), hot tubs, cocktails and spectacular scenery. That's me in the spotlight, that's me reflected in the chrome.

Banff daily photo

Tree shadows cross Bow River Falls at 1500hrs.

A triumph for Canadian Pacific and a surprisingly good place to shop.

Looking down on Banff from 7676ft on top of Sulphur Mountain - on a chilly morning.

A long way from Kansas and everywhere else.

Highway #1a Revisited

The last time I drove on a Highway #1 it was from Miami to Key West. This Highway 1 is a long, cold, desolate, strange and semi-industrial piece of winding road that passes Ghost Lake and assorted other ghost towns and abandoned pickup trucks until it opens up, the clouds part and you realise you are in the Rockies.

In Canada most things are made of wood or steak, a fact I like, however I've yet to find an iHop, 7/11, any Welch's Grape Juice or peanut butter M&Ms, the quest goes on.

Tip of the day: if you encounter an elk on the street (or anywhere else, maybe your hotel room or in a hot tub?) make sure you remain at least three bus lengths away from it. I will do my best.

Complicated relationships...

...exist between the sky and the earth. When you add a human factor to the relationship it gets quite interesting and can be dangerous. The other useful additional thing is of course a sheet of tough glass.

More ridiculous

Who is more ridiculous, the Pope or the Dalai Lama? The Pope re-energises with each generation like James Bond or Dr Who in a puff of Papal white spoke - by that time too old to change or possibly even care. The Dalai Lama however reincarnates into some chosen small child once he reaches the end of life's long runway. The child will be brainwashed by lunatic monks into thinking he carries on the golden thread of the godhead and then parade around the world saying deep and not quite meaningful things for the chattering classes to consume. Meanwhile life on earth goes on...

Bottle Bank Blues

Public spending cuts have now struck a devastating blow to the community that clings on to the edge of life (as we know it) at the Newton. The bottle bank has moved! This meant that the numerous wine and vinegar bottles rattling about in my boot had to endure 25 miles of speed bumps and cobbles and my bad red light driving around Edinburgh before I returned (full circle) to the Tesco talking bottle bank which was, conveniently NOT WORKING! How I hate this blabbering, electronic and pointless conveyor belt. So it was down to the faithful SQ Coop where the clinking mass was eventually deposited, thus leaving a nice beer, wine and balsamic vinegar cocktail swilling around in the car boot. Just don't ask about the Coop policy of closing all the checkouts after 20:00 so that all purchases have to be made at the lottery till.

Walter Kasper is wrong

Dear Walter the friendly ghost says that landing in Heathrow and visiting the UK is similar to experiencing life in a Third World Country. Wrong! It's more like landing in some Eastern European ex-Soviet State that is rusty from it's dimly lit core. Our economy is fucked (in certain key areas) and we are morally and spiritually bankrupt, led by lunatics and to make matters worse we persist on driving on the wrong side of our potholed roads.

Following in the footsteps of the Pope

Tomorrow Mr Pope comes to town and there will be some disruption and muted Catholic frenzy; some people will be happy, some disappointed, some will stay hurt, some will be indifferent, some will experience an experience and SuBo will sing. Most of us will get on with our lives and nod either way and watch the biased aftermath on the news. Fame, power and position are peculiar things, proven to be empty and strangely unfulfilling. I bet that much of the time the Pope and the Queen must just wish that they could just walk away from their assumed responsibilities and simply sit in a cafe somewhere and enjoy a cup of coffee whilst scanning the daily paper. Maybe, or maybe they are sadly delusional enough to believe that their duties are actually more important than the quality of their own precious lives.

Meanwhile on Sky Arts Jimi is still playing Berkeley 40 years on.

I've no idea

The remnants of a lost weekend following on from an explosion in a chutney factory, the ritual and unplanned squashing of toads and high level tree based fruit picking. As the weather closed in about us production intensified into a wide range of fruit based products, some liberally doctored and fortified with Leven's finest and Fife's national drink. These emulsified products will be released and cleared for general consumption in a few months, possibly by 2011.

Chutney Diaries

Some raw materials, duly gathered.

Fruit torturing equipment for the S&M fans.

Early stages of the elaborate stewing process.

Hot and steamy as the definition of simmering is discussed.

From pan to pickle jar in one simple and slick movement.

Leave to cool and ferment for at least three months (first batch).

It was later in my life when I was introduced to chutney as both a consumer and a manufacturer. I use the term manufacturer loosely, it was more as willing Munchkin. My duties were simple enough, shake trees and gather fruit (plums, apples), climb trees and gather fruit (plums, apples), gather fallen fruit (plums, apples), bag fruit (plums, apples), sort and wash fruit (plums, apples) and peel/core and stone fruit (plums, apples). Awful sharp cutting devices were employed on these production duties, huge spinning blades, sharp and ruthless knives, ice cold water and hot metal implements. To soften the physical pain numbing amounts of alcohol were consumed as we danced in a mashed up fruit cocktail of pickling frenzy. I was bloodied and bound but strangely ecstatic, somehow lifted by the experience, the raw process of creation, the boiling and simmering, the temperature plateaus and then the joy of bottling or compressing the rich mixture with a final twist of the lid.

Somewhere in the background wild and ragged conversations raged, “Was Jesus a contemporary of Elvis?”, “Who does the Pope think he is?”, “Why are there not more Masonic Lodges in Scotland?”, “What kind of business is Google really in?”, “What does Felicity Kendall apply to her face and bottom every night?”, “What exactly would you do if you had a fully stocked cellar full of handy spices, vital ingredients and useful groceries?” , "Has the cat got a mouse in her mouth?“. There are of course no clear answers to any of these.

Later I was granted a bit of a day off and spent it wisely but used less time than allocated. I had a few loose, straggly and grey thoughts and then read the Sunday Times from cover to cover, very little of it made sense but I did make friends with black eyed Miliband Brothers (creepy), swooned at the apologists for the Papal visit and then was puzzled by the condensed diaries of Christopher Isherwood. Soon it was time for a coffee and a warm Kit Kat as lap 18 sped past my glazed stare - at Monza.

I am careful not to overeat except for those periods of fulsome and healthy gluttony that I occasionally allow myself, having said that I no current chutney fantasies at all. Once made and secured ready to ferment chutney represents little danger to the general public, it’s explosive phase having passed. It can therefore be stored in crowded cupboards, pantries or in some other cool dark place that is seldom vacuumed or disturbed such as under the stairs. Once mature and of the correct viscosity it may be given away as additions to already complex Christmas presents, as a social gift or as a spontaneous treat for workplace colleagues.

Lifetime continuity explored

Still life with cat and fresh fruit.

Sitting in the crowd at East End Park today (4037 certified attendance) I realised that in terms of lifetime continuity it's here that I have the most ongoing lifetime history. I first arrived here with my dad in the early sixties when everything was literally black and white, one of the few places we regularly visited together and in fits and starts I've always kept coming back. As a teenager, then as dad, as a puzzled fan and as a dad and grandad, again and again. So sitting up in the West (Norrie M) Stand (?), where there once was just sleepers and dirt and looking around I see many weathered familiar faces and bald heads, ex-Dockies from Rosyth now wider in the waist, Toon people from the Kingsgate, ASDA and Park Road School, the same wheel chair folks, Hurley from LOST, old retired gits, boys from the local football teams and Sammy the Tammy. Half time means pointless banter, daft raffles and penalty kick competitions and of course a Stephen's Bridie, steak naturally, never the mince and onion variety. Final Score: Dunfermline 3 Dundee (City of Discovery, Desperation and Despair) 1. That'll do nicely.

£445? Kidding?

Odd, unseen and interesting photos: Recording sessions for the second album...

Shepton Mallet in 1970 - but £445 for a photography book? Not for me.

Right to be wrong?

The problem with making sensible decisions is that so is everyone else.
Why do we strive for excellence when mediocrity is required?
Don't try to please the client.
Have you noticed how the cleverest people at school are not those who make it in life?
If you can't solve a problem it's because you're playing by the rules.
You don't have to be creative to be creative.
You don't have to be able to write to be able to write.
Don't seek praise, seek criticism.
Sometimes it's good to be fired.
There is no right point of view.
It's right to be wrong.

A million times

Today I crossed the Forth Road Bridge for the millionth time (approx), it looked just like it does in this picture but less purple (I added the purple to signify the deep anger that resides in the inner steel soul of the great bridge - I sense it at times). It was Simon Mayo who said nothing particularly interesting on the radio but he did play a nice Neil Young tune the other night as I waited so he can be forgiven. I do a lot of waiting and forgiving, two of my best skills. For a period I undertook the right hand lane traffic and felt smug, then they all accelerated past me and had their turn at smugness or maybe they were largely unaware and focused on their own simple progress. That's how you get when crossing bridges. A large silver Nissan chugged past me "too big for his own good" I thought and then decided to continue to keep left and to follow a furniture van and some other vehicle. Soon I was at the other side and had completely forgotten any of the elements that made up the short but numerically significant journey up until now. Tomorrow it will be my lifetime millionth mile on the A904.

A local tree does an impression of a weekend mind map.

FFS

...and when I come home cold, grumpy and tired from work and a parent's night with a spot inside my left nostril, it's good to know you've made me a fish finger sandwich and that I don't have to bother with the egg, mackerel and noodle concoction (or nipping into MacDonald's) that I was hastily planning and considering when sitting at the red traffic lights at the Echline Roundabout listening to Mark Radcliffe on Radio 2 talking about the way you get your 1st Test cricketer name formula as opposed to your porn star or rock star name formula: American president from the year when you were born and the last British seaside resort you visited = in my case Eisenhower Nairn.

Burn the Koran

Burn the Koran if you like but that probably wont stop people reading it, believing it and interpreting it in their own special way - it will also contribute to global warming; naughty and some might say sinful.

Google v Religion

The Google Priests confuse the world with their gravity defying ball display. Heresy, arrogance and catastrophe some might say.

Time etc.

You could have said that it was like ticking away those moments that when put together make up a dull day. Looking deeper into things I could have been accused of frittering away the hours in an offhand or casual way, not the way I normally go about business. In a desperate attempt to do something I took a bus over to Fife to meander further, kicking around on a piece of ground (ground of all types is always available) in my home town and waiting. There is the interminable waiting for someone or even some thing to come along and show you the way. So, irrespective of the effort expended, no matter how long you live and all being well how high you fly, metaphorically speaking life goes on for a while anyway. You will continue to give smiles freely and there are tears you will likely cry, basically the whole gamut of emotions are on display as part of this process. Should you have the skills you might find that quite unexpectedly you are balanced on the perfect wave (how cool would that be), the downside of this bizarre journey is that you are ultimately headed for an early grave (not a major surprise but you’re stuck with it) , not sure why, these things just happen. Time passes.

Eating bear.

The ancient and indigenous peoples of the Canadian Rockies used to say: "If you can kill a bear and then you eat the bear in a salad or prepare a bear pie or fry a simple bear steak you are then consuming the soul of the bear and you then have dominion over the great bear kingdom." Quite a powerful and attractive position to hold some would argue. One of the region's most powerful meals is a bear rump steak topped with an eagle fried egg served in a basket of sweet potato chips, or so I am told.