The House & other Arctic musings

Ugly Fish

It is amazing the change wrought by a little blue sky. Well actually a whole lot of blue sky. The cold, rainy, windy, overcast skies of the last few days have been cast aside, and the change is incredible.

There were games down at Victor Bay this evening, and I dropped Leah off there (Travis was already there and Hilary was, as is usual, hanging with her dad) after work. I know this is going to sound nuts, but the traffic on the road to Victor Bay was annoyingly  heavy. Every truck and ATV in town seemed to be on the road, and it took me over 15 minutes to travel the four kilometres back to town. Not the 401 I realize but still...

After I fed the client I gathered up supper and brought it with us to Victor Bay and we ate in the tent after the games were finished. By the time supper was finished there wasn't a breath of wind, and the day felt so perfect it made you wonder why the rest of the world doesn't live here (and thankful that they don't). Travis wanted to go down to the ice to fish for "ugly fish", which is the local (English) term for the Sculpins that live here. So he, his cousin, Leah's brother, and I walked down and began fishing through the tidal cracks.

Now I know beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I suppose the reverse is true also. Ugly must also be in the eye of the beholder, for I find these fish marvelously handsome. They are spiny, with large heads relative to their bodies, cryptically coloured on top but with white spots bordered by bright orange underneath. I know why people think they are ugly, I just think they are fascinating looking.

The water beneath the cracks was shallow enough and clear enough that you could watch the fish approach and soon everyone had caught at least one, which I promptly returned to the ocean. Before long, Leah, two of her sisters and Hilary joined us, and even Hilary got into the act, catching her very first fish. At that we walked back to the tent, startled to learn that it was 11 o'clock already, I glanced up at that beautiful sky that stretched clear to forever, and hoped that the weather would hold. Days like this make the briefest of summers worth while, and I was reluctant to return home.

The icing on a perfect evening was waiting in the tent when we arrived. As we headed down to the ice, Leahs' parents had headed in the other direction going on an ATV ride. A short time later they discovered the lost rocket, not too far from where it had been launched. It was in surprising good shape for something made out of cardboard, but I think most of the cardboard tubes will have to be discarded, and the rest salvaged for another rocket. Still it was nice to know that it would fly again.

Playin' around

The fog is doing some dramatic things these wet, grey days. Unfortunately the light hasn't, for the most part, been conducive to translating that drama into photos. This evening, though, was a little better. I'm in the process of trying to get a better handle on using RAW as a format, and here is some post processing playing around from one of the shots.

This first one is in HDR and the least favourite of the three for me.

Here is the scene in greyscale.

And this is the traditional view, with the colour saturation tweaked a little.

I've actually discovered lately, though, that what I'm seeing on the monitor where I work on the photos isn't what is coming through on other computers. My monitor is an old 21 inch CRT that I bought used over 10 years ago, and even with the brightness turned right up appears darker than anything else we own. I think I need to either break down and get a new monitor, or start working on the photos on another computer.

The GSI Javagrind revisited.

In May I reviewed the GSI Javagrind and was quite enthusiastic about it. Unfortunately it only took one more use of it to change my mind.

The other night I took the Javagrind and (reluctantly) GSI's french press over to Leah's parent's tent at Victor Bay, determined to have a good cup of coffee while over there. When it came time to brew the coffee I took the Javagrind and began grinding my Yergacheffe coffee beans. After about four turns of the crank, the Javagrind stopped working.

The central part of the burr mill is what turns, grinding the beans against the outer, fixed part of the mill. This turning piece is attached to the crank by means of a bolt, the hexagonal head of which sits in a recess of the mill, allowing it to turn. In only its second use the head of the bolt stripped out of its recessed fitting, causing the shaft to spin helplessly inside the mill.

Again this was only my Javagrind's second use, and it certainly hasn't seen any rough handling. I was able to finish grinding the beans by shimming the bolt in the recess with a thin strip of cardboard, but it appears that the material used for the mill can not stand up to the minimal torques of the grinding process.

Disappointing, as I was quite pleased to find a hand cranked coffee mill for out on the land. The press perfomed marginally better this outing, but still had a sloppy seal on the plunger and is not worth purchasing.

Take me out to the Bird Game #103

The boys of summer are at it again. Who knew they were bird watchers.  The latest edition of I and the Bird (#103) is up at the Bird Freak.  As always, you'll find a fine selection of wild bird related posts from about the world. Visit, for you're bound to find one that hits it out of the park.

Briefly

Briefly, the sun made an appearance yesterday evening. And briefly it highlighted the top of King George. Here then, was our view from Victor Bay, as a band of fog filled the pass.

Raven's Nest

My son, I'm quite proud to say, is turning into quite a budding naturalist.  He takes great delight in the natural world around him, and never fails to tell me of the birds and other things he's seen when we are apart. He also delights in the small, flipping rocks to find what lies beneath. A couple of days ago he found some tiny life during our walk, a small red mite under a rock and a larger whitish one under another stone.

The night before last he slept over with his grandparents at their tent in Victor Bay (Travis is never happier than when outside). When he returned home he told me of his discoveries, a dead bird (the name only known in Inuktitut), and a live one. When he described the dead bird I was at a loss, but his description of the live one tantalized me. I grabbed the closest field guide and opened it to a possibility. Yes, he confirmed that was the bird, one of the redpolls. 

So when we returned to Victor Bay we set off with two goals. He was going to show me the dead bird and where he saw the redpoll, a bird that while I know it is well within its range here, I've yet to see in the Baffin. The first spot was a small pond that is used by the kids for swimming at Victor Bay, and sure enough a smallish very dead waterfowl was floating in it. Numerous rocks later we moved it close enough to shore to grab. It was a female Long-tailed Duck, quite smaller than I thought they were, wrapped in fish line. It was a good example of why we gather discarded fishline when we find it, and why we never discard it on the land.

Next it was off to find the redpoll, and while I'd love to say we were successful, alas we only found the usual suspects. We saw a lot of Snow Buntings and Lapland Longspurs, both species pouring forth with song, but the redpoll was not to be found. It was then we found out about another treasure, an easily accessible Raven's nest.

As soon as we arrived and began scrambling over the rocks (our party had grown) one of the parents could be seen flying away from the site, low and fast and quiet. But tucked into a pocket in the rock face, perhaps twenty feet above the ocean was a jumbled nest. The bulk of the nest was made up of Arctic Willow sticks (gathered with a considerable amount of effort I would think), but it was lined with man made objects, cloth and I believe a small pillow. A single chick lay low in the nest, outstretched so as to show no profile that might belie its presence.

I dutifully fired off some photos, using a flash thanks to the heavily overcast days we have had, and the lateness of the hour. And after everyone, including my young naturalist, had had a look, we left. As we left the rocks I again saw the parent, low over the ice, heading back to check on her charge.

Dance of the Qarsauq

I'm not sure if I spending more time afield these days, or just being lucky, but I am witnessing more and more breeding behaviour this year than in the past. And seeing amazing scenes that I've never seen before.

A trip to Victor Bay to spend time at Leah's parent's camp didn't unfold as planned, as no one was there when we arrived. So our plans got altered and we went for an evening drive instead. I thought that we could drive out past Second Bridge, somewhat selfishly because I hoped to find some Horned Larks, a species I've yet to see this season.

On the way there though we pulled into the outflow of the water lake. I had just turned around at the pump when Leah's sister asked if two birds were ducks or loons (well actually she asked if they were Mitiq or Qarsauq, but I digress). A quick look saw that their silhouettes were unmistakably loons, and I pulled over and handed her the binoculars.  Then remarkable things started happening.

First I heard the mewing I heard the other day. At this moment there were probably seven (but certainly at least five) Red-throated Loons on the river/ponds below the water lake. The other day, the loon I heard mewing was by itself, the other loons paired up. Very quickly the single loon (I'm assuming that it is a male, but I really don't know) appeared swimming upstream towards the pair of loons we had initially spotted.

As it approached one of the paired loons started a display that involves plunging underwater producing a large splash, then all three began to swim rapidly around in a sort of synchronized display. The paired loons side by side, the odd loon out a little ways away. This display saw them swimming with their necks curved, heads towards the water, and their wings open partway, held in an arch. The activity was accompanied by a lot of calling that was, well, most loon like. It was reminiscent of the sounds of Common Loons (but distinct enough one would recognize instantly that it wasn't a Common Loon making the calls). It might seem strange to remark on this, but I have never, until the other day, heard these Red-throated Loons make any noise other than what I term a nuthatch on steroids.

This went back and forth for a few minutes with less energetic displays and activity punctuating the dance, when suddenly the lone loon was driven off (or had had enough). He flew over to another pair and the process began anew over there.  In the mean time the original pair began making their way closer to where we were parked. From time to time they would pause at the edge of the water and gather plant material as though starting a nest.

At their closest approach, the two began to display again. This time there were no calls, both loons were silent. Most often the male would do the "splash" display, throwing spray a surprising way into the air. But occasionally they would "dance" together. Not with their heads down and wings open, but upright across a short distance of water. Then, right at the edge of shore, the male mounted the female and copulation took place.  This was followed again by the gathering of plant material and "nest building". Then one more dance display and they swam away to a farther body of water.

The photos that follow show some of the behaviour we saw. Bear in mind that much of it took place at quite a distance, and all photos have been cropped. At times I was shooting almost directly into a low sun and glare on the water.

The unpaired loon approaches.

A whole lot of excitement and splashing.

The lone loon starts displaying.

The pair begins its open wing display and the lone loon moves to get beside them.

All three display.

After chasing him off, the two paired loons begin the dance display.

Closer now... Splash display.

Flapping wings display just before...

Copulation. The female is not visible in this photo.

Gathering plant material.

The start of...

... and peak of the "dance".

And at the end they turn and look in opposite directions. (And I don't know if it is just me but these loons' faces look a little strange when they look directly at the camera. The eyes and beak just seem to meld into the background of the face.)

Lapland Longspur (Calcarius lapponicus)

Now that we are getting some cloudless skies, I've been looking for some free moments to get out to the outflow of the water lake and get some photos.  I managed to find a couple of hours late last night, got dressed in some camo, and headed out. My goal was to get a decent photo of Red-throated Loons, but as someone once said "You can't always get what you want."  There had been three of the loons hanging about the other times I was there, but they were strangely absent when I arrived.

The water has risen an incredible amount in the last few days and I had to alter my plans and I found myself near some flat rocks that had been propped up against each other. I had noticed that several times in the past a male Lapland Longspur would occasionally land on these rocks after an aerial song and continue to sing, so I set up with the idea that it would make a cool photo. But of course, the longspurs had other plans. At one point I had three or four males all around me, flying up in the air and parachuting down singing, but none would land on the rocks my camera was pointed on.

This female, however was hanging out in the shadow of the rocks when I arrived and as she moved away from me I took a couple of photos of her in the low light on the late evening sun.
There were at least three pairs of Baird's Sandpipers scattered amongst small pockets of dry tundra, and I'm guessing that if nesting hasn't already happened it will very shortly.

I spent a great deal of time snapping mostly useless photos of a Long-tailed Duck male who would start to get closer to where I was but then kept changing his mind.

Of course, right on cue, shortly after I gave up and started walking away a pair of Red-throated Loons appeared. As they came in, seemingly unconcerned about my presence, they shone in the light of the low sun. As I watched them circle in to land they seemed to glow and it was an incredibly beautiful sight. I was apparently unaware that there was a camera in my hand and didn't even attempt to raise it up for a shot...

Baird's Sandpiper (Calidris bairdii)

It bears repeating but one of the biggest advantages of 24 hour sun is you can do things while the rest of the world sleeps. Say its 4:30 in the morning, and you've been hit by insomnia and knowing you have to get up in a couple of hours you give up trying to sleep. And say its the first sunny calm day in a week. If the feeling took you, you could hop in your truck and go watch birds. I mean its light out, no one is going to disturb you.

And say you decide to just sit quietly in the truck, you might get to see things you haven't seen before. Like three Lapland Longspurs fighting at the same time, tumbling through the air with a background of the cliffs across Admiralty Inlet framing them. Or you might see Baird's Sandpipers copulating right in front of the truck. And hear things you haven't heard before, like Red-throated Loons mewing like a cat, instead of sounding like a nuthatch on steroids.

And if you finally leave the truck, to see if you can stalk the Baird's Sandpiper for a closer photo you might, just might discover that occasionally birds can be unafraid and very accommodating. And you just might end up with a photo that you are actually very proud of.

Climbing higher

We are less than a week to Summer Soltice and every day the sun climbs a little higher in the sky. This morning at 1:00 it was just about peeking over the hills behind town, due north.  Here is what it looked like (rendered in HDR). You'll notice the "Arctic Bay" sign on the bottom right of the photo.