The House & other Arctic musings

The Drake Shake

Part of the adventure about going to Antarctica is getting there. And I'm not talking about the flights all the way down North and South America to Usuahia. Nor the everyday challenges of navigating around countries and customs unfamiliar to you. I'm talking about the somewhat infamous Drake Passage.

The Drake Passage is the part of the Southern Ocean that lies between the Antarctic Penisula and the tip of South America. Essentially four days (two going and two coming) are spent crossing it. But don't get the impression that it is dead time, the amount of seabirds that can be seen during the crossing is amazing, lectures about what you're about to see, or have seen abound, there are films, and amazing meals.

The bird life is phenomenal. Several different species of Albatross, including Wandering, Royal, and Black-browed are almost always present just off the ship. It is amazing to watch these masters of the air soar and dip, never flapping their wings, but using wind and gravity to propel them for thousands of kilometres. Its called Dynamic Soaring and some species of Albatross actually lock their wings in place. To watch them in even the strongest winds  and stormiest of seas is indescribable. Dipping down to the ocean's surface, the tips of their wings almost touching the water, they use the difference in the wind's veolcity to gain or shed speed and then they snap back into the air, wheeling and turning.

Other species such as different petrals and shearwaters also abound, especially once the Antarctic Confluence is reached, and you can get can get crippling views of them. I spent a great deal of time on the bridge of the ship we were travelling on (for a couple of reasons), and one occasion watched a bird I didn't recognize soaring next to the window beside me. It pretty much remained there, moving a little ways off then returning, for several minutes while I flipped through a Seabird field guide until I identified it as a Soft-plummaged Petral.

Although it wasn't common during the passage there is also the opportunity to see whales and other cetaceans. On the Drake we saw Sei Whales, and Humbacks, a couple of different species of Porpoises, and Dolphins. One time, during the height of the storm, I got the briefest of views of a beaked whale, possibly Cuvier's Beaked Whale, as both the whale and the ship met in the trough of a wave.

The storm? Ah yes. The Southern Ocean has no land masses to interrupt the weather as it circles the bottom of the world (and I realize that that is a pretty northern hemispherecentric thing to say), and it is notorious for its storms, and the waves that accompany it. Crossing the Drake, where the ocean is at its narrowest, has a reputation for being rough. On our trip south to Antarctica we passed through a Force 9/10 gale, with steady winds of over forty knots, and 8 metre seas. It was, to me anyway, an integral part of the experience, and I savour the memory of it.

I was only briefly sea sick, when I spent too much time below decks, lingering in a lecture past when I knew I needed to get out. For me I found that as long as I could see the horizon (or lying in my bed) I was fine, which was the other reason I spent so much time on the bridge. If memory serves me, the bridge was on the 6th Deck, with the water line at the 2nd. We consistently had waves, or spray rather, wash right over the bridge. The ships stabilizers, which dampened lateral rolling, were constantly on. Despite this the ship rolled 30 degrees each way pretty much constantly. On occasion the rolls would get to 35 degrees, at which point things would begin lifting into the air, so setting down your binoculars wasn't an option.One of my vivid memories of the crossing is how I could look across the bridge, out the port side, and frequently see either nothing by grey ocean, or sky. It was, really cool.

Like I said, for the most part I didn't suffer, but others did. My cabin mate, a young fellow from Japan, never left the cabin, and was green. I'd occasionally pop in and leave him some fruit, bread, or crackers, and shared my ginger pills with him. After the trip he gave me a string of little origami cranes, to thank me for "looking after him" but in truth I mostly just watched him suffer. I wore acupresure seasick bands, took ginger, but most importantly kept the horizon in view, and kept food in my stomach (which I know seems counterintuitive but really seems to help).

The only other Drake Shake advice I have are these two things. First of all, enjoy the experience. It is something that only a few people get to experience, and all part of the adventure. The other is this, if you decide the seas are calm enough for you to have a shower, and while doing so you lose your balance and start to fall, if you reach out to grab one of the exposed water pipes to hold on to, make sure it isn't the hot water pipe.

Here are a couple of shots from the crossing, the ones that convinced Leah that she would never go with me to Antarctica. Try as I might to convey the spray breaking over the bridge I couldn't.

I've also modified one of them to put the horizon level.

Don't forget that I'm trying to Blog my way to Antarctica with Quark. If you haven't already done so, take a moment to register and vote for me. Don't forget to tell your friends to do the same.

Camp Temporary

Okay, I've been lazy. Its been much easier to post photos than to take the time to write anything. And as a result I'm getting farther behind on posts I've wanted to write.  It is hard to believe more than two weeks have already past since I had not only a day off, but the opportunity to get out camping with Travis.

By the time we got finished with the client that was leaving, and got organized it was already past supper when Travis and I parked at the dump and headed out to our canyon.  I swear, either camping equipment has gotten heavier, and the hill over the dump has gotten steeper, or I'm getting farther and farther out of shape. Travis insisted on his own pack, and carried a change of clothes in it, along with runners, and trundled along merrily. As I watched this school Spiderman pack flop around on his back I thought we had better get him a decent kid's pack if we are going to keep doing this.

After pausing at the top of the pass in order to let my heartbeat drop back somewhere below 200 we got on with the hike in. First order of business was fending off the mosquitoes that accompanied us. This is the first summer that I've been up here that the mosquitoes have been bothersome. I'm not going to say they were bad, almost every place else I've lived has had it far worse in terms of biting insects, but the annoyance levels are definitely up this year.

Travis has a keen eye, and a sharp memory. Through out the walk in he constantly pointed out things he was seeing, every spider on his path, hordes of butterflies, and flowers. If he hasn't seen a flower before he'll comment on it, and if he hasn't seen a flower many times he'll mention when and where he saw it before.

This flower that caught our eye, is not new to either of us, but it is an interesting flower. They are like little patio lanterns.  It is the Nodding Bladder-campion (Melandrium apetalum). They seem to relish the moister areas and the company of Sudetan Louseworts.

We saw many butterflies, and here are a but a couple who paused long enough for me to get a photo. The first is Polaris Fritillary (Boloria polaris), the second is the Dingy Fritillary (Boloria improba).

I was relieved to reach our canyon and get the pack off my back. First order of business was for the two of us to drink deep from the cold, cold stream. After that it was a matter of making supper for the two of us, setting up the tent (field review to follow), and then brewing a pot of freshly ground Kenyan Estate coffee.

After coffee I glassed the canyon and briefly caught a glimpse of the Peregrine flying next to the canyon wall. I had no idea it would be my only glimpse of the trip.  Soon we were embroiled in all manner of activities, throwing rocks into the river, stick races in the stream, watching birds sing, and going for a bit of a hike up the hill.

Travis was not in the mood to climb it would seem, and we only made it part way up towards the Peregrine aerie. But one of the things we did see, was the largest wolf spider I've seen up here. This first photo is the best cropping of the best photo of her.

This second one, though is cropped to show Arctic Hare poop to illustrate her size. That pellet of poop is about the size of a marble (as an aside I'm now using Arctic Hare poop as a frame of reference for size: "He caught a char that must have been 67 poops in length." I expect it to challenge the metric system soon).

Although we didn't get as high up the hills as planned, there are still some spectacular views from up there. And a profusion of wildflowers, including the beautiful and fragrant Lapland Rosebay.

Once we headed back down to camp we explored a little more down the river, snapping photos and throwing rocks. But Travis announced that he was ready to sleep, even though it was only 9:30pm.

So we turned in, although I knew full  well that sleep would not come for me for a few hours, wishing I had brought a book. I laid there, watching my son disappear farther and farther into his sleeping bag, grateful for the opportunity to get out, and spend time out of doors with him.

I soon found it that it wouldn't be much time. About an hour after he climbed into his sleeping bag, a little voice came from inside. "Dad, I want to go home", he hadn't really slept much, was hungry and I think more than anything was missing playing with his friends. So we talked about it a little, I made us something to eat, and we climbed up to near the aerie.

We sat there for a short while, together, and when no sign of either of the falcons came, turned back to camp. I quickly had the tent down , and the pack filled. As he was tired I strapped Travis' pack to mine and with a quick call to Leah on the satellite phone to let her know we were on our way (12:30am) we marched off hand in hand for home.

Old slides

While looking for an elusive slide of Andean Condor for the last post, I came across a box of slides from the Arctic Cruise I led in 2000, and scanned some to share.

Bylot Island through the late night fog.

Iceberg off Pond Inlet at the same time.

Iceberg, Bylot Island and Cotton Grass.

Although  this isn't a spectacular photo it is of a spectacular place, Prince Leopold Island. Prince Leopold is a small island off the tip of Somerset Island, mostly ringed by vertical cliffs rising almost 900 feet from the sea. It is bird sanctuary, and listed as an Important Bird Area of Global Signficance. It is home to some 86,000 breeding pairs of Akpa (Thick-billed Murres Uria lomvia), 62,000 breeding pairs of Northern Fulmar (Fulmaris glacialis), 29,000 breeding pairs of Black-legged Kittiwakes (Rissa tridactyla), Black Guillmots, Glaucous Gulls and other birds. Sailing past it was one of the highlights of my life.

Help send a blogger to camp

... on an island... at the Great Barrier Reef... in Queensland!

First things first.  Take a look at this video. There'll be a short quiz afterwards.

Now.  What are these people laughing at? Would you like to see the video they're watching? Carry on below the fold.

Dreams of a cup of coffee.

One of my favourite coffee experiences involved coffee that was quite unlike any other cup I've had. Every trip that I've made to Cuba included a visit to a 19th century coffee plantation. Isabelica was established at the end of the 18th century by a plantation owner who had fled the slave rebellion in Haiti. Although not a working coffee farm it is still in remarkable shape and is now a tourist destination. One room, a powerful reminder of the slavery that took place there, contained not only coffee growing tools, but shackles and tools of the slave labour. The most powerful reminder? A simple hole in the floor, to protect the belly of pregnant slaves that were being whipped.

On each visit there we did two things. One was take a group photo on the steps.  The other was to pause for a simple, but fabulous cup of coffee. The coffee was roasted along with raw sugar, in a very dark roast, then ground with a mortar and pestal. The grounds were placed in a long cloth filter and boiling water from a kettle poured over them. Reminiscent of a wonderful espresso it had a taste, the hint of the sugar, that was simply unrivaled.

Today I ordered some coffee beans from Cuba. I know it won't be the same, roasted in Canada without sugar. But I'm anxious to try them, and perhaps get a little hint of those great cups of coffee at Isabelica and another farm we'd stop at. I'm hoping that this morning cup of Joe will take me back to the island and friends I've not seen for so long.

The House? No the house.

I've decided to do a curling post in the hope that the Curling News links to me and I get to put up big numbers like the indomitable Townie Bastard.

I went to the final game of the Canadian Mixed Curling Championships down here in Iqaluit, which I mostly spent distracting the said Townie Bastard and the very lovely Cathy (No really Cathy, I think he deserves a new camera and a BlueRay). But it was an entertaining game, close right up to about the seventh end when things seemed to unravel a bit for Ontario. In the end the right team won (Go Manitoba!) and took home the championship to the province that really should have every curling championship. They also won the right to send half of their rink to the Worlds. What is up with that? Only two people curling at a time? What's happening with the world?

Amazingly I took about a hundred blurry poor colour balanced pictures (after being told to put away my flash on pain of death).  Here is one from the final end with the Ontario rink, looking down at far too many Manitoba rocks in the house (get the title now?). Only one more rock was thrown after this and when it went through the house the game ended.

The other Vilcabamba story

I'm not a really big fan of sleeping under a mosquito net. Oh I know of their utility, and the serious threat in many places by zoonotic diseases, but seriously if it wasn't important I wouldn't do it travelling in tropics. I just find them hot and stuffy, and lets face it, the tropics are hot enough for a guy from the Arctic.

Travelling through the alto plano of Ecuador one didn't need to worry about mosquitoes, it was too great an elevation for them. But when we went of Vilcabamba I discovered that, at 1600 or so metres, it was low enough that there were mosquitos.  I also discovered that mosquitoes there were not malarial.

Now for those of you who are used to North American mosquitoes you may not be aware that tropical mosquitoes evolved with different prey and are different in many ways.  Those of us who have laid awake in a tent or room while a lone mosquito buzzes around unseen might be surprised to learn that tropical mosquitoes are silent. There isn't much need to be sneaky when you evolved with animals such as moose as your prey, but tropical mammals such as monkeys are generally more dexterous so a stealthy approach was required. 

After my first night in the cabin at Vilcabamba I discovered that there was a hole in my mosquito net. I awoke with several mosquito bites on my arms and face.  The bites weren't itchy to me, and the redness disappeared after a couple of hours, so I figured that seeing I didn't have to worry about malaria I could put up with a few non-itchy disappearing mosquito bites and the minuscule loss of blood, and decided to forgo sleeping under the net the next night.

The following morning one side of my face and one arm were covered in bites but again no real adverse effects were noted and I figured it was better than the net, so I slept the third night with out the net.

The next morning I awoke up early as usual and sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I stretched and then scratched my beard. When I did I found something large... hard... and with legs residing in my beard. That the previous night we sat around talking about scorpions did not help the instant rise of panic in me and as I felt the legs begin to kick against being grabbed I flung what ever it was across the cabin. It bounced off the wall and hit the floor, righted itself and I got my first calm look at my guest, a large (very large) beetle. My breathing quickly returned to normal and I got out and had a close look at the beetle as he made his way across the floor and out the door.

I slept under the net the next night.

Did the earth move?

I've only been in one earthquake. It was disappointing. Only days after the Los Angeles earthquake of 1994 Janice and I were in Vilcabamba Ecuador. It had been a little surreal watching the destruction played on the news on a TV set in Cuenca Ecuador, and staying in a little cabin on the mountains overlooking Vilcabamba was rejuvenating.  I spent the days birding and hiking, or lazing on the hammock on the porch.

Vilcabamba is famous for the longevity of people who live there and a hallucinogenic cactus called the San Pedro cactus (explaining both the old people and the aging vacant hippies in town). Our cabin was small and a little apart from the other cabins, the beds were on opposite sides of the cabin, separated in part by the entrance.  About two nights into our stay there something woke me in the middle of the night.  I laid a short while awake and then the cabin started shaking. My first thought was "Good god Janice is tossing alot, she's shaking the cabin" but then I realized that she couldn't. But something was shaking the cabin. As I laid there wondering what it was, I thought it was probably a burro that hung around there. Then I heard something fall into a pit (for some future renovation) next to the cabin as the shaking stopped. I went back to sleep thinking that what ever was shaking the cabin would be in the pit and I could see what it was.

I always awoke early on the trip and as soon as I did I went out to the pit to have a look. Nothing. No burro, no tracks, nothing. Well that's not entirely true, I later realized that what I heard was part of the wall of the pit collapsing into it. Then I tried shaking the cabin.  It was solid. Really solid. I know I'm not as strong as a burro, but there was no way one would have budged the cabin either.  About at that point, while I was scratching my head Janice came out and informed me that my tossing in my sleep had wakened her because I was shaking the cabin. So, it wasn't a dream.

Going down to the lodge for breakfast I noticed that there was a magnitude 5.0 earthquake in Guayaquil that morning. It was far enough away that we couldn't have felt it, plus the times didn't match, the Guayaquil earthquake happening hours later. Then other guests began arriving asking if we felt the earthquake last night.  Earthquake? I had no idea.  You see it was disappointing because, to me, the earth wasn't moving the cabin was.  All in all it ended up being my second best story from that cabin.

All of this is a long way of going about with the news that there was an earthquake in Resolute Bay yesterday around 4:20 pm, magnitude 4.0. The earthquake was actually centred south of Resolute at the North end of Somerset Island, but it was felt in Resolute.  That's close, Resolute is only a couple of hundred kilometres away. Maybe one of these days I'll feel the earth move.

More links than a cartoon sausage

Here are some interesting things for your perusal.

First of all, the 67th edition of I and the Bird is up at Trevor's Birding, from way down under. As always there is a wide selection of bird posts to choose from as Trevor takes us on a holiday around the world. Stop by Murmuring Trees and listen as a little night magic turns Harriers into Short-eared Owls.

Next, Mike, Charlie and Corey, the tireless bunch over at 10,000 Birds, originators of I and the Bird, have a new endevour - Nature Blog Network, a Top list for Nature Blogs.  I wasn't sure I qualified, but Mike insisted I did, and now I spend most of my waking hours watching the House claw its way slowly up the list. If you blog nature, you need to sign up.  If not, stop by and read the many blogs who already have.

And finally, Nick of The Birdist! was having a slow news day and decided to interview me. You can see our talk about Arctic Bay and the birds who hang out in the High Arctic here.

Of Cats and Birding Cape May

Cape May New Jersey is one of the world's great birding spots, somewhere that has been long on my list of places I hope to visit some day. It is no longer on that list, as the city has shown that it cares little for the protection of birds, the same birds that draw thousands of visitors there every year.  It has, contrary to a management plan by the US Fish and Wildlife Service designed to protect delicate species such as the Piping Plover, decided to retain a Trap Neuter Release (TNR) program for feral cats.

I should point out at the start that I am not anti-cat, I'm rather ambivalent towards them really. I am however very much anti-outdoor cat. Outdoor cats, be they feral, pets allowed to roam, or "barn" cats, are essentially an invasive species. And like most invasive species they have a negative impact on native species, in this case birds and small mammals.  Cats are very efficient predators, and several studies have shown the impact that they have on bird populations.  In extreme situations, usually island ecologies, they can have a devastating effect on bird populations.

The solution, is rather simple actually, if you have a pet cat keep it inside, it is the responsible thing to do. It isn't cruel, quite the opposite, cats will lead healthier safer lives as indoor cats. The situation gets muddier because, unfortunately not all cats are pets.  Unwanted cats get released outdoors, people's pets wander away and stay away, feral cats begin feral cat populations.  Sometime ago someone hit upon the idea of the Trap Neuter Release program of managing feral cats.  Feral cats are trapped, examined (and in some cases destroyed if they are carrying certain diseases) and neutered, then released back to live out their lives. The goal is that the populations eventually disappears, being unable to reproduce and all.

It doesn't work, on a number of levels.  Certainly from a wildlife management point of view, birds and small mammals continue to be killed.  Populations, while in many cases lower, seem to reach some sort of equilibrium. Not all cats get trapped, ensuring there is still a breeding populations, peoples pets left to their own devices outside still wander away, and little Johnnies birthday gift cat still gets dropped off on that country road when little Johnny loses interest in it.  Feral cats have in many cases terrible lives, beset by disease, vehicles, feral and free roaming dogs (don't get me started), and spotty food resources. It is cruel to let feral cat populations continue.

Unfortunately the cute and cuddly factor comes into play with management issues such as cats. It is the same with the over-population of deer, mute swans etc. People recoil at the thought of cats (deer, invasive swans) being destroyed, euthanized, culled, killed, slaughtered (please feel free to use what ever verb works for your comfort level or ideology). As the result decisions that would best sustain native or other natural fauna get put aside. I have a hard time believing that any one would be promoting a TNR program for feral pet iquanas, or Burmese Pythons.  So, as a result of public outcries, proper decisions get set aside.

What can we do. Well, you can take the approach that Rob Fergus, of The Bird Chaser, has advocated much more eloquently than I could.  Be active in trying to change poor decisions by, first of all by the City of Cape May and secondly by other municipal governments that promote TNR programs. Few things will get the attention of communities that make money from tourists, such as Cape May, as people staying away. If you are a birder, or a person who cares about birds, stay away from Cape May.  Let the community know that you will not be patronizing them as long they have a TNR program in place. Tell the mayor, tell your friends, and if you blog - tell the world. 

More importantly if you have a pet cat, keep it inside.

Oh, and before I leave the topic, please don't write to tell me that "Yes cats kill some birds, but more birds are killed by habitat loss, climate change, building strikes, deer over population, carpal tunnel syndrome or what ever." Birds are under threat on many fronts, almost all human driven (including feral and outdoor cats), ignoring one problem because there are others isn't the solution.  People often ask what they can do to help birds, keeping cats indoors and opposing feral cat TNR programs is one simple thing you can do.  There are many others.

And for those of you who support the Cape May TNR program and do not wish to see feral cats destroyed I offer the following solution. The feral cats are trapped and divided up among the people who wrote supporting the TNR program, provided of course that they release Cape May from any damages resulting from injuries from the now wild cats and/or any diseases they may carry AND that they agree to keep the cats indoors AND that any additional costs from a trapping distribution program versus a cull are divided up among the people who get the cats.