 Requiem For 1000 Voles I like to walk, and bird, around the town of 100 Mile House. In 100 Mile there are a wealth of appealing local settings in which to seek my feathered quarry. I can set out in any direction and find a diversity of landscapes and habitats, each offering a unique glimpse of Cariboo atmosphere. Northward is the gold rush trail. It can be followed through fir slopes to the 101 Mile Marsh, a spot for soggy camping in bygone days, and now a haven for waterfowl and other marsh-loving birds. A turn to the northeast leads to the new sewer lagoons through pastures where newborn calves stand staring from the safety of their mothers' sides. Waterfowl abound at the lagoon. This is where I go to see the Wood Duck if I can't find it anyplace else. The sewer lagoon with its warm waters offers waterfowl a place to rest before local lakes are thawed. Another journey is due east of town, into the park where Dippers' and Winter Wrens' can be searched out along a thundering waterfall trail. Or, one can swing across the purple park bridge and enter the silence of the mature fir forest, home to the Three-toed Woodpecker and the Brown Creeper. Further east are a number of vernal ponds where Sandhill Cranes take to the air in a clamor equal to that made by a street full of impatient motorists. By a circuitous path one can return to the lower end of the park through a steep-sided gully formed when the creek cut its way through this area. This is the place where the first Hummingbirds often show themselves, attracted by sun-warmed slopes. The dense tangle of Rose Bush and Saskatoon shrubs often hide a shy Catbird whose presence is revealed only by strings of imitated bird songs, or plaintive cat calls. Despite being a road through an industrial area, even a westward walk along Exeter Road holds interesting sights. The road skirts the south slopes of Exeter Valley and in doing so, passes through pasture land. In the flooded valley bottom Cranes, Herons, Shorebirds, and Waterfowl swim and wade while a parade of Hawks and Eagles pass along the lightly forested edge. A strange mix of Songbirds find the jumble of buildings and machinery interesting and thus Bluebirds, Say's Phoebes, and Sparrows jealously guard territories in this greatly altered, man-made habitat. To the south the 100 Mile Marsh offers a circular walking route with Willow Flycatchers, Hummingbirds, Rails and Waterfowl. The walk can be expanded by looping round the arena where Meadowlark songs tumble from aspen trees, and Harrier Hawks migrate along a corridor of meadows and fields stretching from Horse Lake to Exeter Lake and beyond. There are many walks and birding opportunities to be found around town. And, as much as I enjoy these spring jaunts, this year my mind often returns to a small piece of town land. It is a small tract, quite barren by human standards. No mature trees reach to the sky and no landforms break its rather flat face. It is a field of grass bounded on every side by busy roads, paved parking lots, and more paved roads. A small creek flows through it. The creek emerges from under the highway and speeds through a rip-rapped, straightened bed, ushered quickly on its way into another culvert where it disappears into an adjoining pasture. Oddly, in all seasons, I have been attracted to this small triangle of land, drawn not to its offer of solitude, for it has none. Neither am I drawn by its beauty for in truth, it has none of that either. It is essentially a vacant lot on the edge of town. And yet, it has life. Any inventory of living things found here would certainly have to include at least 1000 voles, small rodents that live beneath the living and dead grasses, their winter tunnels are exposed by melting snows, and this is often the only sign of their existence. But exist they do, because fox and coyotes are drawn to hunt the voles, also Owls and Hawks. Despite being hemmed in by humanity birds stop to rest and even nest on this bit of land. Snow Buntings find the openness attractive in winter and each spring a Song Sparrow covets the riparian area where it sings to it hidden mate on its nest hidden in the grass. Rough-winged Swallows swoop over the creek and nest in the crevices of the culvert through which the creek flows. Red-winged Blackbirds find refuge in the strip of cattails as a Hawk threatens and amber-eyed Brewer's Blackbirds nest along the banks of the stream. Now this small acreage, and the wildlife scenes played out on it, are destined to fade. The voles will be eradicated by progress. Their lives snuffed, not maliciously, for no one knows they exist. The Song Sparrow will nest here no more. Next year, when it returns from the south, it will find, if not pavement where its nest once was, at least intolerable disturbance, as humans make the world suitable to their needs. Silently, inexorably, all that was wild will be crushed or forced to move. Last night I attended a public meeting in which many people got up to speak about the future of this small piece of land. Issues of water quality and the future of the creek were eloquently raised. People spoke of loss. This morning I discovered that the requested rezoning was put through. Progress would progress. I visited the small acreage this morning as the rain turned the still-brown grass misty. The Song Sparrow sang as before but a pang of guilt ran through me as I imagined the eyes of a thousand tiny voles silently asking me if I'd done all I could to illuminate their plight. But how does one balance the lives of mice and birds against the money earning potential of yet another car lot selling shiny SUV's? We can't. Our scales are too coarse to measure such difference. The songs of birds and lives of Voles are more precious to our own well-being then we understand, right now. They are without price and therefore cannot be measured. To e-mail Tom CLICK HERE To look at previous column CLICK HERE |
