Wolf Eyes

The opening moments of Paul Winter's Wolf Eyes opened every Parka Patrol episode, mixed with a second clip of Winter's solo saxophone.

The music sequence above provided the underscore for the spooky 1986 cabin fever episode The Sasquatch.

 

WHAT? A NEW PARKA PATROL?

Easy, Wolfie!

Yes, a new/old Parka Patrol episode is up on the web.

It's right here...

LINK: Parka Patrol, Baseball (Show #2)

In the wolf howl clip above, see what you missed  when you didn't follow 100 other cars along a dark, twisty ridge road in Algonquin Park.

Previously posted ...

LINK: Parka Patrol, CBC Birthday (Show #44) 

                             *  *  *  *
Running daily:

LINK: dunf in space

 

parkapatrol.blogspot.com    dunf.blogspot.com

     

Wolf call!

Please stand by, as we turn the CBC transmitters towards ... Maynooth.

https://soundcloud.com/gary-dunford/parka-patrol-cbc-birthday

Sweet dreams

Robert Crumb's Cheap Suit Serenaders

do I'll See You in My Dreams

(Parka Patrol closing theme)

Hey there, Parka Pals!

 

 You've found your corner of the internet, Radio Rangers!

Below, a link to the Anik satellite...

LINK: PARKA PATROL: CBC Birthday 

Up snow scoops! 

Do you hear wolves?

 

Please stand by, 
as we turn the CBC Anik satellite dish toward .... Maynooth.

PARKA PATROL: CBC Birthday 

PARKA PATROL: Baseball show 

Sons of the Snow Scoop

E-mails and letters still pop up annually about Parka Patrol.

Ah, the memories!

A sweet little Saturday night blues and Bambi fantasy hosted by a lovesick ranger in a fire tower.

Once in a while the corporal of the Radio Rangers got into town to feed the jukebox at the local hotel, which curiously only played B-17. Was it a reference to the dabbers of small town Bingo?

Listeners were highly praised as hardy countrymen and Sons of the Snowscoop.

Or was it a fantasy?

The show took mail at a post office box in Maynooth, ON--a tiny town on the way to Algonquin Park.  (I wanted to use Snowball, ON as our mail drop, but it was too far to go. LOL)

For 25 years, I commuted into T.O. to do Toronto Sun columns, and radio oddities like Parka Patrol and later a weekly CFRB opus, Recordhounds.

Once a month, I'd lumber into CBC Radio's old Jarvis St. Kremlin to tape three episodes. All of the strange records were my own, a frightening insight into my musical interests. We'd have a lead sheet for the tunes, and a nearly complete script.

One great achievement was the National T-Shirt Trade, a national unity parody.

Listeners mailed us their favourite small-town t-shirt and we'd trade it for one of the same size from somewhere else. Local fire companies, gas stations and unheard-of cafes seemed to be the most popular. The mail handler (me) went insane. In two years of the show, we drew about 1,200 letters--all answered with a note, bumpersticker or Maynooth Bears t-shirt. The CBC had no budget for inspired craziness.

Our other big bark was the Parka Patrol Dog Show.

Listeners entered a pic of their adored mutt, and the object was to send a Best in Show ribbon--100 printed up at a trophy store--to EVERY dog entered and mention each dog BY NAME. Every dog a winner! The Dog Show had about 80 dogs, with appropriate thoughts on their talents. (Owners had to tell us their talents, which included drooling, humping and farting).

We sent listeners Bingo cards for National Bingo Night. Many numbers called on the air. Very confusing. Many winners.

A political pal got then-Communications Minister Marcel Masse to record us a promo: "I am the Minister of Communications. You are the People of the Parka." It was Very Official.

People at the CBC were stunned that the minister in charge of the CBC was apparently pitching and recording promos for a silly blues show that celebrated Bath Night.

Anyway, the mail load, timing tunes and chasing ever-weirder music began to impinge on my real job as newspaper columnist. I begged the CBC to at least run off some pre-printed postcards--the same wolf image and the exploding pineapple seen here. Nada.

So Parka Patrol went away, to wherever old radio goes.
No more night music for the Saturday woodshed bath.
No word of whether Bambi ever won Bingo.
No more recipes for Stuffed Porcupine or how to catch one.
(Wait on the corner of the porch until a porkie comes to eat the house. Bean a big can of V8 off his noggin.)

Where will the young learn such stuff?