The House & other Arctic musings

Antarctic Farewell

Sigh, I feel a little down right now.  I decided to do a little tidying (very little) and took the link to Simon's 75 degrees South blog off my sidebar.  Simon's excellent blog was the third blog I added to my sidebar, right after two of the best blogs ever, bootstrap analysis and A Whippoorwill (dammit Trix, stop earning a living and write more!!). 

But Simon is back home now, and the link is a dead link so off it comes.  Hope Simon is adjusting to life back in the Big Smoke, but in this greedy little way I (not so) secretly wish that he was getting ready for another winter at Halley, at 75 degrees South.

Most Beautiful Bird Meme

Nuthatch, at the perpetually erudite and entertaining bootstrap analysis, has tagged me with a new meme, via John at DC Birding Blog, the Most Beautiful Birds  Meme. The rules are fairly simple...

Post a list of the 10 birds you consider most beautiful on your blog; you may limit the list to the ABA area (continental United States and Canada) or use a geographic area of your choice. Mark birds you have seen with an asterisk. Tag 3 bloggers to keep it going.

Of course, I just can't leave anything that simple, no not me.  The idea got me thinking about the value that we put on beauty in the natural world, how we value a cute animal more than others. I wonder how many people would care about the Harp Seal cull if it was the Harp Lizard instead of an animal that looks like a plush toy. And why we can't get more people to care about something like the "reclamation" of Saemangeum in Korea? Because mudflats and wetlands don't fit into many people's idea of beauty? 

It also of course, got me thinking about just what makes a certain bird beautiful to me.  Hmm..

So here are my answers..

1)  American Kestrel (Falco sparverius) *
I am partial to predators, and you'd be hard pressed to find a bird, so beautiful and sleek in form. They are strikingly coloured and possess a grace and beauty in flight.

2) Raven (Corvus corax) *
Ravens, of course one of my favourite birds, have this playful dignity about them. A raven in profile has such a handsome visage, and the glossy black feathers play with the light. There's much to be said about the beauty of intelligence also.

3) Black-billed Magpie (Pica hudsonia) *
Much of what I wrote about the raven applies here as well.  Glossy black and white, intelligent and resourceful. Just an all round pretty bird.

4) Canvasback (Aythya valisineria) *
There is something about the shape of this diver's head, and the deep dark richness of the red, contrasting the white and black of it's body that makes this our most handsome duck.  But not our most handsome waterfowl. Which would be...

5) Brant (Branta bernicia) *
Are they not a striking bird? Hmm.  I'm beginning to think I like contrast..

6) Baltimore Oriole (Icterus galbula) *
The brightly coloured, sweet sounding bird of my youth.

7) White-throated Sparrow (Zonotrichia albicollis)*
Too often, we find beauty in the brightly coloured, the showy, the painted birds. Simple in it's elegance, mottled brown and grey with the black and white stripes and just a hint of yellow for show. It also has a voice that rings out sweet and true, the voice of the Boreal Forest.

8) Great Grey Owl (Strix nebulosa) *
Nebulosa... nebulous in it's beauty.  It conveys strength and silence, patience and power.

9) Boreal Chickadee (Poecile hudsonica)*
Not rare, just not common.  Subtle in it's beauty, a visit from a Boreal Chickadee while eating your lunch in the woods is a rare sublime treat.

10)  Mountain Bluebird (Sialia currucoides) *
Well, I had to have at least one flashy one. Memories of flocks of Mountain Bluebirds, early migrants through the Deh Cho, flashing blue against the bright white of the remaining roadside snowbanks, are indelibly etched in my mind's eye.

So that's ten, but there is beauty in them all.  And as nuthatch added the most beautiful world birds that she has and has not seen so will I....

Seen:  Waved Albatross (Diomedea irrorata) * The power, grace and ability to see the wind of the world's Albatrosses is incredible. The Waved is arguable the prettiest of them all.

Not Seen: Blue-winged Pitta (Pitta moluccensis) Ever since I've seen Charlies photo of this bird I've coveted it.

And three to tag.. Dave, at Bird TLC ; Charlie of Charlie's BirdBlog; and Pete McGregor of pohanginapete. Although there are several others I'd also like to tag, and if they don't get tagged later I'll probably do it myself.

Hilary's Smile podcast

Okay, originally I just took this to share with my family.  But I ask you, looking at this, how badly do you think she has Dad wrapped around her little finger?

I and The Bird #22

Home Bird, over at Home Bird Notes, has been working on her geography.  She's put together a splendid I and the Bird #22, focusing on all the varied places that people blog about birds. So head on over to the South Jersey pinelands, and sample all of the great posts that have come to exemplify the best carnival in the blogosphere.

As always there is a lot to choose from including a post on the Vanishing Owls of the Wasatch in the always beautiful and well written Rigor Vitae - Life Unyielding.

I need a guest book

Well, although we haven't had as many guests as we'd like yet (I know it will come as the word gets out) we've had some interesting guests from all over.  Sport hunters from four states (well five actually. One divides his time between Alaska and Mississippi) have been here and another is set to arrive today.  Other guests have snowmobiled here from Iglulik and flown up from Ottawa and Iqaluit.  The other day we received reservation from sea kayakers from Scotland, who I think found us through our blog (Hi Nick!).  We've some people from National Geographic coming next month and again in July. We are set to receive our first long term guest for the month of May.

So far everyone has been extremely positive about the place and the food which is nice. Most often people comment that they never expected to find a place like this up here. As for the food I think it's the chef's jacket, so they think it must be good.  And we've also started getting some requests for take out food here, and will soon start doing a rib night every couple of weeks to satisfy those.  I also got a request to cater a supper for 31 for a student exchange trip, but I'm afraid that's a little beyond my capabilities.  One thing to cook for 8, completely different thing to cook for that large of a group. 

Suddenly there came a tapping

This morning, after our client had left, I was sitting here on the couch enjoying the silence. I had just finished putting Hilary back to sleep after she awoke hungry. Travis and Leah were still sleeping, and as I thought about getting up to get a coffee a visitor arrived.

I've spoke before about how the Ravens enjoy the House, but their visits never cease to entertain me. As I looked out the garden doors a Raven swept in and landed on the rail of our deck. He was a curious mixture of sleek and tattered. His "eyebrows" up, his was a handsome visage, but his tail was in a good need of a moult.

He sprung across to the closest hand rail, and flicked off the blade of a utility knife that I found while sweeping snow the other day and set up there. Lazily he hopped down and examined it, picking it up before deciding it was off no real use. Perhaps it was too utilitarian for his needs. Then he sprang back up to the rail, just out of my sight, but not out of my hearing.  He called and spoke and then he seemed to leave.

The stair treads on our decks are metal. Extremely durable, they don't require shoveling and they scrape the snow from visitors boots.  They are also function as our door bell, as you can easily hear someone climbing them from almost anywhere in the house. Not obtrusive, they have a low gentle ringing tone to them. It was clear from the sound that the Raven hadn't left but was now on the stairs.

Peering out I saw that he had found a chunk of pink styrofoam insulation, and he was now playing with it, moving it from beak to claws, testing it, trying to determine just what was the best use for this cool object. He tolerated my taking a picture of him, but when I moved closer to watch him as he moved down the stair I clearly was intruding. He flew down to the ground, taking the styrofoam with him.

Then he decided that the client's deck was more inviting, no nosy human interrupting his work/play. I can still hear him over there, announcing to the world his presence, tattered tail and all.

Okay. He's definitely shooting at me, do I know this guy? Conclusion

Link to Page one.

Once behind the Hamlet office I got out to see if the truck had been hit.  I just made it around to the passenger side near the hood when three more shots rang out. Obviously I hadn’t pulled completely behind the Hamlet office. I got in and backed up a few more feet, pulled out the rifle and went to a vantage point by the corner of the office. I could see nothing and after a couple more shots it again went quiet. 

It was now up to Eric to make more phone calls, on the phone of the residence he was in.  He called all the neighbours and made sure they would stay in; the radio station to reinforce that everyone should stay in also; both the Hamlet and Housing offices had people still inside and they were told to stay in and under cover; and he kept HQ updated regularly as they made preparations to get us help, and for a Inuktitut speaking negotiator to call the residence. One of our guards lived above the action and he was called to turn back anyone that might come in that direction, while I directed away the few people who wandered by at the bottom. Then we settled into to wait.

After six hours from the initial call, Eric received a call from the negotiator who had been finally speaking to the suspect. He was going to come out. He was instructed to turn on the outside light at the back of the house, and walk to the road with hands above his head, and not to bring any rifles with him. It was meant to bring him out on Eric’s side, as he was closer, and the suspect probably didn’t Eric was that close to him, certainly most of his attention had been turned to me.  Unfortunately we didn’t really know what would have been considered the back of the house and suddenly the outside light turned on on my side.  I moved the truck to near the Housing office, a better vantage point for me, that still offered some cover. Then I could see some movement on the street, Eric radioed that he had him and it was over.

As I pulled up the suspect was lying prostrate on the ground, Eric was standing behind him, his pistol trained on him. I got out of the truck, moved quickly out of his vision, and handcuffed him. Then we immediately started the process of the arrest, his rights, a search and as soon as we had moved our guard down to protect the scene, we took him back to the office, so he could speak to a lawyer and we could safely tuck him away in gaol.  HQ was called to let them know it was over and to cancel the teams. The Containment Team from Iqaluit hadn’t made it yet, and the Emergency Response Team in Ottawa, wasn’t yet in the air. Such is policing in an isolated community.

When we went to the scene the one thing that was clear was that he had intended for us to die. It was well thought through of that it can be no doubt. The front door had been barricaded, a coffee table wedged between it and a wall. The doors from the bedrooms had all been tied shut, so no one could sneak in that way. Two rifles were laid out, both loaded, and over a hundred rounds of ammunition lay spread out in various spots, ready. The furnace had been turned off, presumably so the place would be quiet enough to hear any approach by us. Most disconcerting to me was the back entrance way. He had set up a shooting station in it, a kitchen chair to sit on, even with the back door opened a couple of inches he had a commanding view of our only approach, and to where I sat parked a mere 150 metres away.

Twenty spent cartridges were scattered about the house. Four windows had been shot out, including the front where he fired two rounds when the pickup had pulled in. Twelve of the cartridges, though, laid at the back door, where he had been shooting at me.  One of those rounds had hit the Housing Office, behind where I would have been.  It penetrated the wall and a shelf of binders before dropping on the desk below. Moments before that had happened one of the workers had been seated there, having gotten up to grab a coffee she was momentarily away when the round came through.

When I got back to the office I went to the cells and asked him why he had shot at me. He just smiled and said he didn’t want talk about it, heeding the advice of his lawyer. In custody later he lamented to someone that we never came up to the house. “Why did they stop?”

I’ve often said there is no point in speculating what might have happened, no amount of speculation would change the outcome.  It is clear to me that we got lucky. Lucky that he told someone else who was concerned enough to warn us, and lucky that he was a poor shot.  What was shockingly obvious to me, sitting on that chair in the back porch, looking down to where I was parked, was that even a moderately good shot could have easily hit me.

Okay. He's definitely shooting at me, do I know this guy? Part four.

Link to Page one.

Early that January I was at the Hamlet Office, having a short meeting with the Mayor when my partner Eric called to say that we had a call and that I needed to come back to the office right away. The call seemed straight forward enough, a youth, three weeks shy of his eighteenth birthday, had called the office to say he’d taken a bunch of pills and needed help. Fortunately immediately after that call, Eric had received a second. The second call came from a friend of the youth’s, who called to warn us that the youth was actually waiting for us with a rifle.

In an isolated community this size you soon know everyone you police. It is part of the appeal of policing a community of this size. Knowing everyone has both advantages and drawbacks, but I firmly believe that there are many more advantages. But when Eric filled me in on the details, I didn’t recognize the name. Eric did know the guy, a youth from his home town who was here in open custody. Three weeks shy of turning adult, he had had extensive experience in the criminal justice system already.  After the incident I recognized him as a new face in town, our only contact was to nod hello on the rare occasions we had met.

The house he was living in, and where he was now holed up waiting for us, was up the hill from the hamlet. At the time you could only approach from below, the road dead ending farther up.  There was no road access from the other side, and the house had a commanding view of our approach.

Eric and I pulled to a stop about 150 metres down from the house, near one of the churches in town. As you can well imagine, police communications in the arctic weren’t high tech at the time. We had a radio that we could use locally, and an interface on it, so we could use the phone through the radio. Before leaving the office I had called down to our HQ and let them briefly know what was going on. Then when we had stopped, I phoned the house where this guy was holed up, and apart from his screaming “where are you?” and swearing at us, didn’t have much luck talking to him. Before long, communications would get worse.

Deciding we needed to get on the other side of the house also, Eric walked back to the office and picked up one of the snow machines.  He then skidooed the long way around, and came up to the house next to the residence.  With the help of the owners he set up shop in a washroom next to the house where he was able to keep an eye on the residence from a concealed position. I meanwhile had stayed where I was, and as it was an exposed position (I really should have been somewhere else) I slumped down in the seat.  I had just phoned HQ to update them. They had our containment team on standby and an Emergency Response Team in Ottawa mustering. Then two things happened.  The phone link for our radios died, and he began shooting at me.

To be honest, I didn’t realize it at first. In the truck the gun’s report sounded like stones hitting plastic. I looked out the side window and a snowmobile was driving by about 20 metres away, everyone on it was looking at me. I thought “Are they throwing rock’s at me?” And then the light came on.

I radioed to Eric that I thought I was being shot at, and backed down the road and behind the Hamlet.  There were no more shots and I moved to a vantage point near the Hamlet office. Eric hadn’t heard any shots, the house was in darkness, and I, after checking for bullet holes in the truck, got back in, and drove to the office.  I phoned HQ, who now put the containment and emergency response teams in motion, and quickly played with the radio interface, getting working again.  I then went back to my vantage point near the church.

Moments later, a truck coming down from the other side, pulled into the driveway of the house, which was between it and the house Eric was in. Almost instantly the truck backed out, and Eric radioed that there had been two shot fired through the window. In the truck was one of the sons of the house’s owner, and he told me that someone was shooting and had shot out his dad’s window.  I explained to him what we knew was going on, and asked him to stay away. When it had become clear that we were dealing with a barricaded armed person, we had contacted the community radio and asked them to have people stay away, now it was clear we needed to do more.

I once again called HQ, to let them know that shots had indeed been fired and was half way through the call when the phone link died for good. Then the shooting started again, I started backing away to again get behind the cover of the Hamlet office.  There were four or five shots, and the last one made a loud crack…

to be continued....

Midnight at the Oasis

Although blurry from Camera shake, this photo will give you an idea of how much light we have right now.  Although we're more than a couple of weeks away from 24 hour sun we pretty much have 24 hour light now.  This photo was taken a few minutes ago at midnight, and although the sky will darken a little more in the next hour this is pretty much what it is like now.

Okay. He's definitely shooting at me, do I know this guy? Part three.

Link to Part one.

A day or two before the incident we had a complaint about the theft of a couple of rifles and shotguns, so when a call came in about shooting in the bush off the cutline behind the office, we immediately thought it was someone with the stolen guns. James and I walked down the cutline and then the shooting started. Round after round, mostly .22 but also the louder blasts of rifle and shotgun were heard. As we moved farther down the cut, we discussed what our options were. Convinced that it was the stolen guns that were being used and that if we made our presence known the culprits would melt into the bush, we decided to sneak up to them. 

The farther we went down the cut we realized that we were nearing the dump and that the shooting might be happening there, so James went back to the truck to drive around to the dump, while I continued on.  As I got closer and the shooting went on unabated I could tell that the shooting was coming from a couple of different locations, in the bush south of the cut, and moved into the bush to find a trail leading that way. As luck would have it I almost immediately found an excellent trail leading directly towards the shooting. The path allowed me to move quickly and quietly, and I hurried on.  James, meanwhile, had driven to the dump and found no one there.  The shooting was happening between us, and he moved into the bush, coming at them from the other side.

It wasn’t long before I located them, during a lull in the shooting. I came to an opening, a swamp, and could see three or four teenagers moving about on the other side. I determined that the path I was on turned at the edge of the swamp and made its way around it. I radioed James that they were just ahead of me. It looked to me as though they were moving around the swamp, coming my way. My plan was deceptively simple. I moved a little off the path, and would wait for them, surprising them as they came down the path. 

I had just finished kneeling down where I had been standing when I saw two of them walking on the other side of the opening. The second of the two stopped, turned and I saw the rifle being raised, the lull was just about to end.

It is funny how sharp your perceptions become in moments of high stress. It is a well-documented phenomenon, related to adrenaline and the fight or flight syndrome. Focus narrows, time slows down or speeds up etc. It is the reason that eye witnesses to armed events can describe in great detail the weapon, but not the person holding it or the reason that people talk about time standing still.

When the shot came I saw the puff from the barrel, I saw a branch a few yards away from me jump as the bullet nicked it, and heard the bullet whiz by my right ear and strike something directly behind me. At some point in that I heard the report of the rifle, a .22, although to this day I can’t tell you at what particular point it was. That was when I abandoned my plan.

There was a large pine near where I was kneeling and I immediately moved behind it, just as the volley of fire started in ernest. Mostly .22 I could hear round after round snapping through branches above and around me, and striking the bank of the swamp in front of me. I radioed James and told him that a round had just missed my head. “They’re shooting at you???” he asked. “Well,” I told him “I honestly don’t think they know I’m here, but they’re doing a pretty good job of pinning me down.”  James radioed that he was on his way.

It didn’t take long before I heard James yelling from the other side, and the shooting stopped. As I made my way around the opening I could see James had four of them sitting in the grass, and I picked up another, the one with the shotgun as he came out of the bush near me.  The guns were indeed our stolen guns, and we took the youths home after quickly processing them. As we were driving back to office, James looked at me with a smile and asked if I knew what I said when I walked up to the youths, sitting on the ground.  I hadn’t. “(expletive deleted) Do you (expletive deleted) have any (expletive deleted) idea, how (expletive deleted) close you (expletive deleted) came to (expletive deleted) shooting me in the (expletive deleted) head?” Not much for swearing it was small wonder they were looking at me with mouths agape.

Sometimes though at this job, the dark side of human nature comes out, and one day you find yourself really being shot at, by someone whose goal is to see you dead. The reality of course is that it is a fairly rare event, just not rare enough. In December of 2001, a colleague and acquaintance of mine, Dennis Strongquill was murdered not 50 kms from where I grew up. Dennis was killed after they tried to stop a vehicle for not dimming its headlights. After they were shot at, they attempted to get away and get back up, but were chased, rammed off the road and Dennis was killed,  shot while trapped in the vehicle. Less than a month later, someone was trying to kill me….

to be continued....