Visiting the new and burgeoning town of Pueblo West in south-central Colorado was both a joyous and a depressing experience. Joyous because of the huge diversity of wildlife I encountered there - everything from raptors to reptiles. Depressing because urban sprawl is relentlessly swallowing all of these creatures up.
The crux of the problem is that Pueblo West is being built on top of a black-tailed prairie dog colony. A whole host of other species depends on prairie dogs for survival, including black-footed ferrets, swift foxes, ferruginous hawks and golden eagles who eat them and burrowing owls who nest in their tunnels underground. Bison, pronghorn and deer preferentially graze on the nutritious new grass that sprouts up where prairie dogs have mowed it down and mountain plovers need such close-cropped turf for nesting.
Prairie dogs once ranged in huge numbers all across the North American Plains, but since Europeans took over this continent, their populations have plummeted by 95% as a result of persecution, introduced disease and, of course, habitat loss like that currently taking place in Pueblo West.
I wrote a poem about all this and have coupled the words with images in the audio-visual presentation below.
OCTOBER 15, 2009
Rock-a-bye Babies: Great Gray Owlets in the Treetops
Doing my best to overcome my fear of heights - and my terror of falling - I gingerly climb 30 feet above the forest floor on a triangular metal ladder that sways far more freely than I would like in the pre-dawn air.
But once seated in the blind at the top, my camera safely nestled on a bean bag, enchantment replaces anxiety as I find myself eye-to-eye with two round-eyed, fluffy great gray owl chicks cuddled together in a large sticky nest anchored among leafy branches.
The government biologist who gave me permission to visit this blind near Elk Island National Park, Alberta, told me the nest had been built in a previous year by northern goshawks; great gray owls do not build their own.
He also told me to listen for the lovely, soft “bu bu bu” call of the female and the somewhat louder call of the male announcing the imminent delivery of a rodent repast to the nest.
But far more blatant clues are the sudden attentiveness of the chicks and their urgent food begging calls. Then one chick falls momentarily silent as a large vole disappears in mere seconds, swallowed whole and head first.
These owl sounds - along with those of smaller birds, of rustling leaves and creaking branches - are right beside me now that I am up here among the boughs. More grating sounds that would normally be at ear level - barking dogs, machinery, tires on gravel - fade into the distance far below. This soothing soundscape, topsy turvy for me, is just the norm for these baby owls.
In between infrequent feeds, the owlets, close to fledging, stretch and flap their wings in preparation for future flight, a snowfall of down accompanying each beat. Sometimes they awkwardly preen themselves or each other, peck at their talons and toes, or take a few steps to the edge of the nest.
I am especially charmed whenever they shift their heads from side to side to side on flexible necks, eyes fixed forward. They are using parallax to hone their binocular vision, triangulating in on only they know what, viewing it from the various angles their head movements provide.
But these feeding, flapping, preening, pecking, stepping and parallaxing activities are mere punctuation to their main activity - sleep.
I watch as they rest in their arboreal cradle, both of us rocked to the same rhythm by the same June breeze.
I watch for hours until it is time to return to earth, the 30-foot ladder swaying just the right amount in the gathering dark.
My favourite image from this great gray owl nest appeared on the cover of the Fall 2009 issue of Living Bird magazine, published by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology (http://www.birds.cornell.edu/) in Ithaca, New York.
JULY 15, 2009
Throat Singers: A Night in the Life of a Wildlife Photographer
I am standing under the full moon in hip waders in the middle of a rain-flooded cow pasture on the edge of the Pawnee National Grassland in eastern Colorado. I know it is a cow pasture because I see numerous pats of cow dung floating unappealingly in the water and the slippery mud under my feet is pitted unevenly with hoof prints.
Emanating from this temporary pond is a remarkably loud chorus of rattling metallic trills. I know the sources of these sounds are male amphibians of some sort, ardently calling to attract mates, but I don't know exactly what sort they are. And I want to find out.
To this end, I scan the beam from my headlamp over the murky water.
As I do, every insect from miles around flocks to my forehead. Most of these are mosquitoes. At the end of the night, I count 51 bites on my hands alone. Note to self: invest in bug repellent.
In my hands, I carry a camera with macro lens and flash attached. Thus armed, I wade further and further into this quagmire of crap, over-flown by the biting hordes.
I must wade slowly, slowly, very slowly. I do not want to ripple the water and disturb the amphibians' courtship. And I need them to keep trilling as I hone in on their sounds.
And when I finally spot one in my headlamp beam, I am stunned!
Revealed before me is a creature I had no idea even existed. And what a creature it is!
It is a large toad with large, distinct splotches on his back – and an astonishingly humongous vocal sac like nothing I have ever seen before.
The males of many species of toads and frogs have vocal sacs, flexible membranes of skin that are inflated when they call to advertise themselves to females. I've seen courting leopard frogs with their small discreet paired sacs, one at each corner of the jaw. I've seen the single large round vocal sacs of chorus frogs that extend below throat and chin. And I've seen pictures of the impressive bi-lobed vocal sacs of casque-headed frogs from Mexico, but these, too, are modestly confined below chin level even at full inflation.
Not so for the toad trilling in my headlamp beam!
His vocal sac extends out from his throat, up past his face and keeps on going well above and beyond his eyes, towering way over the top of his head. Looking straight on from the front, all I can see are his front legs and a huge balloon delicately traced with blood vessels. He is simply magnificent!
The precise acoustic role of the vocal sac is not fully understood. It may serve to amplify the male's vocalizations so they carry further. It may help re-inflate his lungs so he can sustain the rapid, intense calls most attractive to the opposite sex.
Certainly the calls of the toads in this rain-soaked pasture are loud and long and audible at great distance. At photographic range, they are almost painfully loud, at least to my ears. The sound literally fills my head.
I scope out the entire pond and find only five or six of these toads here. One is in a spot relatively clear of grass, the best photo op I have found so far. As I crouch down to get an eye-level image, my left wader rapidly fills with a cold tincture of manure. Notes to self: wash clothes, invest in chest waders.
Now wet, as well as anemic thanks to the mosquitoes, I try to aim my headlamp so there will be enough light on the toad for my camera to be able to focus. This proves to be a challenging task to accomplish on my own; I have to twist my head at precisely the right angle so that the headlight beam is not hidden behind the large flash unit attached to my camera while still allowing my right eye to look through the viewfinder. Note to self: hire an assistant.
Back at camp, I pull out my Field Guide to Western Reptiles and Amphibians and determine that I have just met the Great Plains toad!
Great, indeed!
A few nights later, clad in my new chest waders, I go back to the flooded pasture again. The toads are still calling, but this time there are no mosquitoes. There is no moon either. Instead, there is wind and fierce lightning.
Undeterred, I climb through the barbed wire fence and wade out. The wind gets stronger and stronger, rippling the pond and masking my own wake so I can move faster than on the previous night. I locate a photogenic toad and crouch to make some images, pleased that this time my rubber garb is adequate to the task.
Before long, the lightning closes in all around me, nearly simultaneous with the thunder. But that is not why I leave. No, I leave because I want to check out the amphibians in another flooded field I have found further down the road.
Just as I get back through the fence and into the car to head to that new pond, hail hits, furiously pummeling the car. The dirt road is slick and I slalom from side to side.
Lightning flashes straight ahead, blinding me every few moments. Reluctantly, I decide photography is over for the night. Note to self: Serving as a human lightning rod in the middle of ponds in the middle of the open prairie is probably not a good idea.
On a drizzly night some time later, I spot one of my Great Plains toads in the middle of the dirt road. I wonder if breeding season is at end and he is leaving the pond, his reproductive mission complete. As I approach, he inflates not his vocal sac this time but his entire body, puffing himself up to appear as large and intimidating as possible. That may work as a defense against predators, but not against photographers. I set up the camera, take a few pics and then carry him safely away from the road.
In September 2008, I heard talk that numerous grizzlies were being killed as so-called “problem” bears in the Bella Coola Valley of British Columbia. Disturbed by this, I did some research to determine the exact facts. And the sad facts are that the talk turned out to be true.
Journalist Mark Hume eloquently summarized my findings in The Globe and Mail, October 16, 2009. Below is his article as it appeared on page 1 of the British Columbia section of the newspaper.
When will they ever learn?
Clearly, the problem people in the Bella Coola Valley must learn to stop creating the problems that lead to their problems with bears. Only then will the out of control control kill of grizzlies in the Valley stop. That would not only benefit bears, but would also ensure increased safety for people by reducing human-bear conflicts - a win-win all around.
To this end, the Raincoast Conservation Foundation has recently launched a multi-pronged campaign to bring this win-win solution about. As part of this effort, Raincoast is calling on the B.C. government to: 1. reform the provincial Wildlife Act so that provisions addressing bear attractants are more stringent and enforceable; 2. station a conservation officer in the Valley to ensure compliance with the law; and 3. provide sufficient funding for Bear Smart/Bear Aware programs to educate Valley residents about proper handling of bear attractants and other bear-proofing protocols.
You can help. Here’s how:
1. Please take a brief moment of your time to sign Raincoast’s on-line letter to B.C.’s Minister of Environment, urging him to take these three important steps without delay.
Your on-line letter will also be automatically copied to Gary Coons (Member of the Legislative Assembly for the Bella Coola area), to the Central Coast Regional District (the municipal government for the area) and the Bella Coola Valley Tourism Association (which promotes bear viewing ecotourism in the Valley).
2. Even more effective than signing the on-line letter is communicating your concern in your own words. The on-line letter provides more detailed information than I have given here, and you may find that helpful in formulating your own message. Then write (snail mail is more effective than email), phone or fax:
The Honourable Dr. Terry Lake
Minister of Environment
Room 112
Parliament Buildings
Victoria, B.C. V8X 1X4
Tel: 250-387-1187
Fax: 250-387-1356
Email : terry.lake.mla@leg.bc.ca
Mr. Gary Coons, MLA
Room 201
Parliament Buildings
Victoria, B.C. V8X 1X4
Tel: 250-387-3655
Fax: 250-387-4680
Email: gary.coons.mla@leg.bc.ca
Central Coast Regional District
Attn: Kevin O’Neill, Director
626 Cliff Street
Box 186
Bella Coola, B.C. V0T 1C0
Tel: 250-799-5292
Fax: 250-799-5750
Email: info@ccrd-bc.ca
It is probably too late for Eva and her cubs, and certainly too late for all those grizzlies whose untimely and preventable deaths I read about in government records. But hopefully, with your help, the problem people will learn to be part of the solution before it is too late for those grizzlies still left alive in the Bella Coola Valley - before they, too, get sent to graveyards, every one.
AUGUST 15, 2008
Crime and Punishment: The Illegal Killing of a Grizzly Bear
1. Crime
The image above - taken late afternoon on September 25, 2004 along a salmon stream in British Columbia - is the last one I ever made of this young grizzly.
The next time I saw her - at noon the following day - she was dead.
I heard the shots that killed her. I saw the dark mound of her body heaped on the smooth white stones of a gravel bar. I watched her red blood pooling and clotting in the cold water of the shallows.
The shots I heard were those of the two authorities who came, mercifully, to euthanize her.
They had found her alive but paralyzed, able only to lift her head and widen her eyes.
They determined that a single shot fired from the steep bank high above the river had hit her in the neck, shattering her spine. She had taken at most one or two steps before falling where she lay now.
And she had lain there, suffering, for 18 torturous hours before she was finally put to rest.
I knew this bear - a young, calm and docile female who had never bothered anyone.
She was one of numerous bears I had come to recognize as individuals during the five weeks I spent along this river - a place where grizzlies are supposed to be protected. During that time, I had been privileged to watch and photograph these intelligent, inventive and magnificent creatures as they fished for salmon, wrestled and played, dug their day beds, nursed their cubs - and lived their lives.
I brought four gifts to the place where she had last lived, and died: a spawned-out salmon for her continued sustenance; a sprig of cedar for the shelter of the forest; some bark from a grizzly rubbing tree for comfort and connection; and finally, a handful of Old Man’s Beard, a lichen made up of two different species - an alga and a fungus - that live together symbiotically for the mutual benefit of both. And I prayed that all future relationships between bears and humans could be just as tolerant, peaceful and civilized as that.
Then I posted a reward for information leading to the conviction of whoever had needlessly shot her, and left her to die. I advertised the reward extensively in all the local media. And I regularly contacted the conservation officer investigating the case to ensure that this bear would not be forgotten, and that justice would, in the end, be served.
2. Punishment
More than two years after her death, charges were finally laid against the perpetrators: Donald Kunka (owner of Kunka Logging) and his son Robert, both of Williams Lake, British Columbia.
Many months later, on February 20, 2008, Donald Kunka pled guilty. At the same time, the Crown prosecutor dropped charges against his son and agreed not to seek jail time as part of Mr. Kunka’s punishment.
Mr. Kunka was sentenced on July 25, 2008. At his sentencing hearing, the Crown sought a fine of $15,000 to $20,000 plus a 10-year prohibition on hunting as the penalty. The defence argued for a $7,500 fine and no hunting ban. The Court imposed a fine of $11,000 without any hunting restrictions.
Here are two samples of the considerable press coverage the case received. Together, they detail both the crime and the punishment.
3. Take Action
In British Columbia, grizzlies are listed as an at-risk species of special concern. Habitat loss and fragmentation due to logging, mining, energy development and human encroachment, failing salmon runs, fatal collisions with vehicles and trains, control kills of “problem” bears, hunting and poaching are just some of the many pressures grizzly populations currently face.
In 2007, a record 430 bears are known to have been killed in the province, 84% of them by trophy hunters who want only the hide and so just waste the meat. The B.C. government claims that the hunt is sustainable, but many bear biologists disagree. The official government estimate of 17,000 grizzlies is based on a fatally flawed model that falsely assumes grizzlies occupy every single square inch of suitable habitat. In fact, there are no accurate, peer-reviewed data on how many grizzlies actually live in B.C. Some biologists say there could be as few as 5000 bears.
Given that, a coalition of scientists, conservationists and environmentalists are calling for an end to the trophy hunt for grizzlies to ensure the continued survival of this vulnerable species. Polls show that over 70% of British Columbians also oppose this hunt.
Tell her you want an end to the grizzly hunt throughout the province right now. And while you’re at it, remind her she has yet to keep her promise to establish all the long overdue no-hunt Grizzly Bear Management Areas. And tell her you want her to develop and implement Recovery Plans for the highly fragmented grizzly populations in southern B.C. (If you can, send an actual letter by post as that will have more impact than an email.)
Contact the Premier even if you do not live in British Columbia. Let her know B.C.'s bears matter to everyone.
Please speak out and take action, in honour and memory of a young female grizzly bear I once knew.
