Kiggaviarjuq

With Leah and Travis heading off today out on the land for a week, and with the House being completely booked between today and the middle of August, I thought I had better take advantage of a free day to go for a bit of a hike, and see the Kiggaviarjuk. So before everyone else woke up yesterday I jumped in the truck and headed on out.  Parking at the dump, I ignored that stellar bird watching location (I'm not kidding, the bird list at the dump here includes White-crowned Sparrow) and headed to the back country.

The morning started a little on the cold side, the fog that I could see from home had just lifted and a stiff breeze felt a little more than brisk, but soon the breeze waned and I found myself overdressed.  Hardly a major problem though as I began to savour the wildness and views of King George that departed from the usual.  

As I hiked over the low pass at the foot of the mountain I could hear Lapland Longspurs singing and Ravens, Glaucous and Thayer's Gulls soared over head. Once over the pass the country broadens out and I set out across country for my destination, a small canyon.  My path took me over wet and dry tundra, over fingers of pre-cambrian rock, across small streams towards the rushing water of my destination. Colour is returning to the land, and pockets of Purple Saxifrage were blooming everywhere, they've been out for a couple of weeks now. Green mosses, chartreuse lichen and a surprise, the deep rich yellow of what I believe is either Sulphur or Dwarf Buttercup. I had not expected any other flowers for at least a couple of weeks.

Insects were also out, a moth flew past my face, leaving me to wonder if it was the moth of the Arctic Wollybear, finally free of its fourteen year cycle of freezing solid and thawing back to life. Wolf Spiders scurried everywhere on the dry tundra, the first syrphid flies I've noticed up here were conspicuous in the bottom of a small ravine, sheltered from the wind in the warm sun. I also found my first butterfly of the year, a dark fellow who is very hard to see in this top down photo. 

As I neared the canyon I found myself on top of a steep ravine, figuring out the best way down this other finger of the stream that formed the canyon. As I stood at the edge a male Snow Bunting flew by my ear calling loudly just as he reached me. It startled me so I almost didn't have to figure out a way to the bottom, I very nearly jumped across. It should have prepared me for my next bird encounter, but it didn't.

Once across, I stood for awhile and admired this magnificant scene. Small torrents of rushing water played their way down through the deep cuts on either side of me. The sun was warm and I turned and looked out over all of this bracing wild, seemingly alone in the world. Sweeping vistas, tundra ponds, small streams, larger torrents, and a commanding view of Victor Bay lay before me. Snow Geese flew over and bird song drifted by. Four Horned Larks (my first of the year) tussled with each other and sang high in the sky. King George loomed off to the side. But it was time to turn back to the canyon and the task at hand.

I climbed higher along the lip of the canyon looking at the opposite wall. As I got higher I could hear the bird I had come to see, the Kiggaviarjuk, Peregrine Falcon, not on the wall I expected but on my side. I paused and strained to find her, when suddenly the male screamed from behind me as he made a pass.  Although he was twenty feet above and behind me when he screamed he startled me something fierce and I dropped to my knees.

He flew up to a promontory and continued to scream at me. Here is a heavily cropped picture of him, doing just that.  He continued to launch and circle around me and now the female took to the air, screaming and circling around. She is noticeably larger than him and warier, keeping farther back in her circling.  I scanned the walls and located the aerie but suddenly it was quiet and both birds were gone.

I had overstayed my welcome, probably from the moment I arrived, and so I reluctantly turned and left, not wanting to disturb them any more than I had. I made mental notes of a place for a hide (I love the British term so much more than our "blind") on the opposite side of the canyon, but I doubt I'll be back there this year. Pity.