Strain and whimsy aren't mutually exclusive in Halibut Cove. They live side-by-side and it isn't always obvious which is which. Thus, which one drives a decision to build and live atop a 125-foot bluff that plummets vertically to a tiny beach, so that every load of necessities must by moved straight up, either by freight booms anchored to trees or on the backs of residents toiling up steep steps? And, that maybe coincidentally results in ingeniously anchoring a creeping house to bedrock with cables, to prevent it from throwing itself off the bluff.
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It is 125 feet down to the water. A few faint, barely discernible lines are cables for booming loads up.
One of the booms, and how it attaches to a tree:
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A neighbor's lift has a hydraulic winch and a net sling. The boat and the visible deck aren't adjacent to a dock; they are 125 feet above the rocky beach.
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This house, full of fine workmanship, threatened to tumble off the bluff.
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Sure, you could excavate a little and move the house back. But what's the challenge in that? And it might diminish the view a little. Better to leave the house where it is, hanging over the abyss, and simply anchor it to bedrock with cables.
Anchor cables:
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One of the anchor tensioners:
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At the neighbor's, the deck juts out for a superb view even on a drippy day.
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The deck railing is driftwood lashed or fitted at the corners.
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Sophie the dog presides.
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After a lifetime of mainly expressing myself with words, my postings here will mainly rely on images. They will speak for themselves to some extent, but I'll usually add a few comments of explanation. I've taken photographs for decades, since the 1950's, inspired in part by my father's photographic skill. Four years of photo assignments and quality darkroom time eventually gave way to decades of casual and family picture-taking. I re-immersed myself when I left film and turned to digital.