Birds of Muroran

In my middle age I have become a bit of a, ahem, bird fancier. Yes, yes, stop snickering down the back. I am of course referring to the feathered variety, the descendants of dinosaurs (though that could well describe our neighbours across the street).
By Hokkaido standards Muroran has a relatively mild (albeit extremely windy) climate. In winter the city and its hinterlands host a rich profusion of birds that you don't get to see in the rest of Hokkaido - principally because we don't get much snow and the temperature doesn't usually drop much lower than minus 6 to minus 10 (and this year winter it has only managed that once).
We live in a valley so that the effect of the wind is negated. Our house faces south-east so we get a fair bit of winter sun and there are no houses opposite us. Rather, there is a mix of trees: maple, white birch, alder, and a great big pine tree, all of which provide sustenance to different varieties of birds. Combine these factors and you have a bit of a hot spot for, well, 'spotting' our avian friends.
The photos below I took today and are the most common birds we see around the house. I have three feeders out at the moment and they attract a fair bit of attention, and squabbling too.

Great Tit (more colloquially known as 'Brian'

Hawfinch

Daurian Redstart (excited about this bird as it is quite rare in Hokkaido)

'Brian' and the rare bird.

A clatter (?) of sparrows. I'm not sure if this the correct group noun, but it sounds about right.

Marsh Tit

Varied tit

Nut Hatch

We have also seen Waxwings, a Japanese pygmy woodpecker, Bramblings, Dusky Thrush, Goldcrest, Bullfinch, Winter Wren and rather spectacularly, a Sparrowhawk attacking the clatter of sparrows. Go for a wander around the wider neighbourhood and on a good day you can spot a peregrine falcon, buzzard and our winter visitor, the white-tailed eagle.

Muroran and the Coronavirus

"Hello, Muroran!!"

 I was rereading some of my old posts (89 in 2011! None in 2019!!!!) and it seems that what really gets my fingers all a tapping on the keyboard is the prospect of imminent doom. We had the earthquake in 2011 and now it seems that the four horsemen of the apocalypse have saddled up again are raring to go. I am of course talking about the coronavirus, or COVID 19.
No doubt you are all aware of the Diamond Princess, the cruise ship turned floating virus incubator - I think we all know what not to do should something similar happen again. The Japanese Government have belatedly come to realize that "a problem out of view is a problem solved" and are letting passengers disembark (though in truth the only started doing this after pressure from the US government). Their policy is to only let passengers who have been tested and found not to have the virus to leave the ship. Unfortunately, this approach isn't quite working as a number of passengers who returned to Australia were subsequently retested and found to have the virus.
Last Thursday I was out for a few beers with some of my Japanese colleagues from the university. We have just finished the end of the academic year so the few beers turned into many beers and it was after two a.m. before I staggered home.
But I digress.
From one of my colleagues I learned that 4 people from Muroran had been on the Diamond Princess, they had tested negative for the virus, been allowed disembark and returned back here on Wednesday evening.
We were at that imperceptible stage of the evening when the beer count was heading for double figures and all our ideas were fast becoming great ideas. So, upon learning of the medical crisis potentially affecting Muroran, we had a few moments of calm reflection and decided that the thoughtful, considered response would be to go to our four, fellow citizens' homes and plant burning crosses on their lawns. And then tell them they had until sun-up to leave or we would run them out of town.
Or, as the senior professor suggested, we could just go to karaoke.
We went to karaoke.
And if Muroran becomes a post-apocalyptic wasteland with abandoned streets, empty buildings and a pervading sense of hopelessness, then, well, actually it already is a town with abandoned streets, empty buildings and a pervading sense of hopelessness.
So no change there, then.

The Heroes Cup

Team, coaches, parents, brothers and sisters, all made it happen.

 It was always going to take something special to rouse this blog from its seemingly permanent slumber. And so it has proved.
Last Sunday, the Hokkaido Barbarians won the Hokkaido regional final of the Heroes Cup (so named because you have to be a certified hero to be eligible to play). Cian was one of nine heroes that lined out on that historic day as the Barbarians won their semi-final match against Hakodate Rugby Club and then went on to defeat Bihoro in the final.
Now, mere words of mine cannot do justice to the sheer intensity of the two games, particularly the first match against Hakodate. This was the primary school equivalent of test match rugby, a titanic battle where every tackle was a crunching tackle, bodies were on the line, under the line, (and thankfully over the try line); ruck turnovers were minor victories in themselves; knock-ons a testament to stifling defensive pressure; and tries celebrated with wild abandon (particularly by the watching parents).
The victory over Hakodate was all the sweeter because the Barbarians had lost to them twice already this season. Plus, their coach has been spotted at a friendly game the Barbarians had played a couple of weeks before videoing the match.
Seriously. Under 12 rugby and he had driven 4 hours from Hakodate to surreptiously record their game. Sanae had to be restrained from attacking and making him eat his video camera.
Prior to the semi-final, the quiet (nay, smug) confidence among the Hakodate coaches and parents was plain to see - the less-than-concealed attitude was that they basically just had to turn up and they could make it three wins in a row.
They couldn’t.
God, but the Barbarians were immense, particularly in defense. Forget your open, running rugby, with quick passes, silky moves, and cheeky off loads. Rather, this was down and dirty Munster rugby, where the collective mattered so much more than the individual and all the players knew that.
And Cian, the boy was magnificent. No tries scored, but he kicked 3 out of 4 conversions (and 9 out of 10 for the day), and was tireless in his tackling, ruck clearing, and support play. Yes, I know I am his father and you’d expect me to say that, but watch the match and you’ll agree. (Mind you, it might be a bit hard to figure out who Cian is. He is number 15, but as there are two number 15s, that doesn’t really help. Plus the other number 15 is the same height as Cian, his father is Australian [God love him], and plays on the wing next to Cian. The only real discernible difference between them are their football boots - Cian’s are blue, the other boy’s are orange).
You can watch the Hakodate game on youtube.
The first half is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tXpyMi4u4To
And the second half is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TN1L1U2aC6w

The final was less epic if not more nerve-wracking for the watching parents. The Barbarians had pretty much given their all in the game against Hakodate. Bihoro, the opposition, weren’t the biggest players to ever grace the game, but they were fast and their passing skills were a thing of two-handed beauty. For the first ten minutes the Barbarians powered into a lead, ploughing through the smaller opposition to score three tries. But in the dying seconds of the first half Bihoro got a try. Then immediately after the restart they got a second. It was game on. Their heads were up and Cian and his teammates were clearly running on empty. Us parents began muttering nervously, invoking various deities Buddhist, Christian and whatever religion Joe Schmidt calls himself to help us out.
And they responded by whispering to the coach to cue the bench.
The Barbarians are far and away the largest club in Hokkaido and Cian’s team had a squad of 18 on the day (with nine starting). Bihoro, in contrast, could call on all of two players and both of them looked like they had been plucked from the local kindergarten they were so small.
So the ‘Finishers’ (to borrow Steve Hansen’s apt phrase) were brought on to close out the game. And they did it in style, scoring to more tries to ensure that Bihoro would spend the winter nursing their wounds while we all traveled down to Yokohama in February for the all Japan Heroes Cup Final.
Stay tuned.

The 31st Date Half Marathon

What better way to restart the blog than with an account of the 31st running of the Date Half Marathon. It is the first competition of the year and officially heralds the end of winter and the commencement of spring. Though you wouldn’t really think that with the steady rain that was falling all day; though, I suppose, at least it wasn’t snow (they had that further north). This was my 12th, I think, time around the highways and byways of Date, but unlike years gone by, I no longer attend alone. Sanae and Cian were both present, respectively running (plodding?) 5 and 3 kilometres. Which they finished in 14 and 28 minutes while yours truly was still pounding away out in the badlands. To be honest I preferred the wet conditions. Some years you can get a bright, sunny day with a strong, dry breeze blowing that leaves you dry to the marrow and rasping by the half way point. Where we ran is predominantly agricultural land and with the snow all gone, the farmers were busy spreading manure over their fields. Which is kind of intoxicating if you are trying to keep a sub 5 minute per kilometer pace and breathing deeply. As I loped my long-legged way along, the occasional runner, seeing that he (and it was always a he) was being overtaken by a foreigner, would suddenly speed up to stay in front of me. I called these ‘patriotic spurts’, for what was the point of running for the glory of the emperor if you can’t beat the hairy barbarian. Particularly when he has already stolen one of your womenfolk. Not too sure where I will point my long legs next. There is an Olympic distance triathlon in Tomakomai in July that I have wanted to do for a long time and now that certain, ahem, academic matters have been ‘assuaged’, this could be the year.

Easing back

 This blog has been dormant for a while as life in all its myriad demands and duties drew me away. Over, the past couple of days I have been rereading some earlier posts and they served as a evocative reminder of times past which memory itself had sifted away. At 47 with the neural synapses beginning to splutter, my recall needs all the help it can get. So, I've taken the Lazarus apporach, ressurecting the seemingly dead, in order to have something to jog the mind into remembering as I age.
However, before I can update you on all the goings on in the Gaynor-Takahashi family (rugby! surfing! skiing! mountain climbing! dislocated thumb! fainting in the Memuro Town Hospital's emergency room! etc.), I also need to update you on some rule changes that have been introduced to the blogging-sphere. According to Google:
1: The EU demands that I inform you about cookies on this blog. Yes, you've read that correctly, this blog comes with cookies. There should be a couple of chocolate-chip ones left at the bottom of the page if Sanae hasn't eaten them all. Scroll down and have a look. No, go on, scroll down. I won't tell anyone.
2: You scrolled down, didn't you.
3: My HTTPS setting have been changed so now visitors will be able to view the blog over an encrypted connection. Presumably Jason Bourne is going to rest a little more easy at night after reading this.
4: Russia is a great, great country. A tremendous country. And the Russians? Wonderful, wonderful people.

Coming-up: mountain climbing with Cian.

The 2016 Mizumoto Undokai

Well, I figured if I am going to resume blogging it might as well be with the biggest sporting event of the year. Yes, it was the 2016 Mizumoto Elementary School's sports day. An occasion that puts the Olympics, the Euro Championships, Ireland's tour of South Africa, and the GAA Championship in the collective shade (though the beating Tipp handed out to Cork in the football had us sitting up and taking note).
And what a sporting spectacular we had. Matched in its athletic grandiosity only by the blue skied magnificence of the weather. Which lasted until Saturday evening. Since Sunday we have had constant torrential rain everyday, all day. Cian and myself have taken to going to school/work in the morning in our surfing wetsuits.
But I digress.
Things kicked off with the usual bloodcurling calls to battle from the hoarse throated leaders of the Red and White teams. Which were met with clenched fist power salutes reminiscent of Tommie and John at the 1968 Olympics.

 

Then we had the 80m sprint.
Yes, that screaming streak of black and amber on the outside is indeed Cian in a Kilkenny jersey.

Silver. The gold was won by that poor lad who was clearly off his brown-eyed head on a potent cocktail of methamphetamines, cocaine, angel dust,  anabolic steroids, EPO, and curry powder. Though to be honest if you look at the size of him he could have used a spoonful or two of growth hormones in the cocktail too.
Mind you this shameful display of rampant drug abuse was roundly ignored by the assembled VIPs. One of whom, in the photo below, is the school principal. Can you guess which one?



Next, was the tug of war. Last year the Red team had suffered two straight losses to the White team and as Cian summed it up, Red team were collectively "Mad as hell and not going to take it anymore"!
Suitably enraged, they made it two tugs in a row (?) and left the White team face down in the dust.



Then it was Mammy's turn. As a sort of light relief from the otherwise unremitting tension of the epic battle between Red and White, the school PTA organize a parent's tug of war. Sanae decided to participate and lined up with the only other hobbit present at the Undokai.
Unsurprisingly they lost.
Both the tug of war and their dignity.





Then it was time for lunch, under a tent as the sun had reached its zenith and the temperature had climbed into the mid twenties. Plus, the relay, the day's premier event, was yet to come and we didn't want Cian suffering from heat stroke before hand.



After lunch there was a burst of frenetic dancing to ensure that all the food was digested.



There were a couple of other events involving plastic tape and running aimlessly around but the heat and food had got the better of me by that stage and I kind of drifted off into a prolonged daydream about Galway beating Mayo in the Football Championship.
Just a daydream, though. Sigh.



Finally we came to the relay, the gold standard of modern day athletics. The victors would be walking tall for a year, basking in the glory, a burnished cloud of awed respect following them around wherever the went.
And the losers? Well, over there in the shadowy, cobwebbed corner they'll find the dustbin of history...





I would like to write that it was an unbearably close race that went all the way down the long final straight to the finish line, but in truth by the end of the second leg it was all over as a contest. The Red Team, in their collective gazelle like brilliance, quickly took an insurmountable lead and literally ran away with it as a contest. Indeed, before they even got to their anchor some people had begun packing up and making their way to the exits to beat the traffic.
So, yes the Red Team took home the prize for the first time in three (long) years but you've probably read all about it in the sport's pages.

お玉杓子

 
otamajakushi is the Japanese word for ‘tadpoles’. Yes, it is spring and that means the Gaynor-Takahashi zoo must be replenished with its yearly quota of small, aquatic creatures. Dogs and cats are out as (a) we have no garden to speak of so we can’t leave them outside; (b) all three of us are out of the house from 7:30 to 18:00, so leaving an animal that can poo and pee at will in the house is a non-starter; and (c) in winter it is so cold outside that you would have to keep the animal inside day and night which brings us back to (b). We did consider getting something small and furry like a hamster but there is always the danger that Sanae might get fed up looking after it, ‘inadvertently’ deep fry it and serve it to us for dinner. So we stick with the fish and tadpoles, augmenting this in summer with various stag beetles, noisy crickets, and if we’re lucky, the occasional short-lived firefly.
So yesterday we went to get the tadpoles. It was a nice, brisk sunny day and being the eco-responsible-Subaru-driving-Patagonia-clothed family we aspire to be, myself and Cian cycled up and into the forest.



All of which was made a tad more strenuous that it should have been by Cian’s refusal to raise his saddle. He claimed that all his friends have their saddles low. I pointed out that all his friends are smaller than him and need to have their saddles low or their feet wouldn’t touch the ground. You, Cian, I argued, have the opposite problem: your saddle is so low your knees are almost banging into your chin. Still, he wouldn’t listen to solid Irish reason, but kept the saddle low, looking like Dennis Hopper in Easy Rider.

Cian and Peter Fonda go for a ride.

We found the tadpoles, or rather tadpole eggs as most of them haven’t hatched yet, duly scooped up some and brought them home. Turns out we brought more than just ‘some’ home. When the silt had settled in the glass tank and we could see things clearly, we had a lot of eggs in there. A lot. Mammy wasn’t happy, visions of hoards of frogs overrunning (over-leaping?) the house at the end of June. We promised that we’d let them loose before then, probably into the garden of the old decker who lives across the road from us.