Doin' it Right

To celebrate unexpected freedom from the duties of life, Gimli and I jouneyed to Jasper National Park. With only 3 days to spare, we needed to chose our trail carefully in order to maximize rage potential. On the advice of Jasper native George SW, we headed to the Tonquin Valley, hoping to see the elusive 25 cent beast. 

First, preparations. Dom quested to Cooper's for provisions. Seeing as great minds think alike, we both had taken advantage of a buy 4 special on Lipton's Sidekicks.

Remarkably, all except two were a different flavour

We set out with high spirits!

Our 46 km quest was for Woodland Caribou and Grizzlies. Instead, we found many thousands of mosquitoes. 

Dom is taking a huge risk

Despite the lack of animals, the scenery...(note the mosquito photo-bomb)

Despite these winged freaks violating our very manhood with their probing probosces, they were not the most terrifying threat to my survival - sleeping in tent with Dom where the very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. I was faced with a choice: sacrifice my flesh to the hordes outside, or risk severe permanent lung damage inside Dom's tent...

To cleanse my skin of the stench, a creek bath was in order

We scoured the tundra, but the White-tailed Ptarmigans eluded us as always

During the 46 km trek, our conversations explored various topics. One question I asked was: are businessmen happy? If they are always thinking about profits and moneymaking, how can they be happy? Even the most absurd things can occupy businessmen who will fill any number of niches if there is money to be made. Like start a webcam site (there is a niche for people who want to be viewed naked, then there is an opportunity for companies' adds to be viewed by the pervs that view the sites. And presumably, after unwittingly glancing at these adds for a few seconds in between bouts of creeping naked girls, they will subconsciously want to spend money on the products being advertised (or possibly view a different webcam site, which has adds for another one, and so on...).

En tout cas, we both agreed we would rather have any job than marketing. We would rather do anything that would actually help society no matter what it is, such as a gynecologist or anal surgeon.

Riders passed by here not 1 week ago

Crossing paths with a band of roving Rohirrim, we sought tidings. "Have you seen two Hobbits?" I asked. They stared at me blankly, very confused. "Halflings, only half your size..." Hopeless trying to make people get LOTR references...

"What business to two roving birders have in these lands?"

I fed my soul with rock, spruce and sky

Then, it was time to drive home. But whilst we were cruising through Banff, we received due compensation for our wildlife-devoid trek: GRIZZLY BEARS!!!

The mother kept a close eye on her two cubs and the creepoes photographing them from the roadside

All we can decide is what to do with the time that is given to us. So we continue to wander these lands: two roving biologists in search of our destiny....which will forever involve DOING IT RIGHT!

A Mountain Retreat

I couldn't stop thinking about a beautiful woman.

To remedy myself of this ailment, I turned to John Muir's ghost for advice. As always, he recommended a healthy dose of Mountain climbing.

I've had my eye on Cartier Mountain for some time. 2000 vertical meters, 17 km each way. This should clear my mind!

There were no Grizzlies nor Goats, just this Spruce Hen and her chicks to keep me company. 

Looking unto the peak, I was terrified

Two feet between the cliff, and death

I awoke in my cabin the next morning to find the entire mountain shrouded in mist, with freezing rain pelting the roof. I was stranded! I would have to wait for the storm to pass

When the storm finally passed, I looked unto the lands beyond with wonder

A precarious perch on top of Cartier Summit before the knee-busting 17 km trip back down

 AH THE SWEET NECTAR OF LIFE!!!

Rail Romp

Two birders have *startled* the birding world by flushing a Yellow Rail in record speed. The elusive Yellow Rail has long been the bane of birders, who've reported symptoms of longing and unfulfilment. The marsh marauders established a visual in 15 seconds.

Whilst driving down a rural road, they intercepted the antiquated communication signals being transmitted by the rail. As Tim stooped to remove his boots in preparation to maraud the Rail's domain, a flooded field of grass and sedge, Cormier shouted as the Rail took flight. Its black and golden back glistened in the evening sun. Its bill sparkled like dew on summer corn. Wings shined with ivory as it soared majestically 5 meters across the marsh.

Sorry, no photos.

We achieved four flushes of at least two individuals, before they were onto us and further attempts proved futile. However, it no longer mattered because we were Rail Kings.

We fashioned a rope-dragging implement (which it turned out we didn't need) but it was fun to drink all the beers necessary for its construction nonetheless

We turned our loyal autobot to the parklands of the rockies foothills, meadow after glorious meadow begging for Great Gray Owls to clear them of their vermin. It took not long. I scoped one immediately across a vast meadow. We walked over to the nearest house to ask permission to enter this sacred ground, something I realized I had never done. She was a hoarse-voiced woman of a rough countenance. Sporting a  pink  bikini top that didn't quite match up with her red and white tan pattern, she had a smoke in one hand, a glass of whisky in the other. "Don't worry, she's friendly" she called in a smoke-wearied voice as her large dog assaulted me. She said another guy owns that field, but it should't be a problem. She then went on the describe how "Revelstoke is such a s***hole"

What Revelstoke actually looks like

A razor-backed beast scratches his face with his weapon

After spotting a second Great Gray but no Hawk-owls, we called it a day, set up camp down a dirt track past someone's Texas gate, and prepared for the evening mosquito assault. I attempted to urinate and was swiftly violated by the swarm.

At dawn we cruised the roads once more to find a third Great Gray. I walked up to it until I was 1 1/4 meters from its face, then took a picture:

Quest for the Elusive Sparrow

What brought us to the prairies of Alberta was not the milk and honey bestowed by the oil Gods, as it is for most who migrate here to build cheap houses and drive trucks for ridiculous wages. It was a small, nondescript sparrow. But not just any sparrow, a BAIRD'S Sparrow! aka Lord Baird. Which as far as sparrows go it's pretty much the most dull, nondescript one in the bird book. We drove to the plains because Baird's only dwells in the northern prairies and is pretty much never seen in migration or winter because it is mythically secretive.

The fuels of a birder's quest

Little did we know we were to get our *bottoms* kicked. As we consulted the vast, endless pastures with our eyes and ears, roads we had been told would bestow the sparrow, we were in for one of the longest, most boring days of our life.

We roasted our eyes in the prairie sun, rosened our backs, invited mosquito probosces into our circulation, and wearied our ears of the incessant song of the over-abundant Savannah Sparrow that dominated these pastures. It was so depressing. Just Savannah Sparrows and cows, everywhere. It was one of the most disappointing, horrendously boring birding days of my life. Dom said "I've never felt so dejected."

Not only could we not located the fabled Baird's, we couldn't find its described habitat: Tall, dense grass. Nor any cool birds. You'd think that somewhere in the Alberta prairies you would be able to locate a patch of Tall, Dense Grass. Apparently this was rare! The cows had consumed it all in order to make the peperettes we were nibbling on, which we recently found out would give us cancer. Not even a baby Swainson's Hawk would eat one.

We went to Dinosaur provincial Park, where T-rexes and Veloci-raptors once terrorized...some kind of herbivorous dinos. Conventional wisdom told us not to enter the long grass, but since when do we follow conventional wisdom? Still, no sign of Baird's. The sun went down, the mosquitoes came out, we camped in cognito in a patch of cottonwoods on somebody's ranch. 

Camping in cognito

We rose at 4 am, determined for revenge. "Let's vacate this mosquito-infested *heck*-hole" said Dom, and our quest continued. I got a little artsy with the camera while we were in the Badlands.

We swept across the grasslands all the way past Brooks, then got slightly lost. Often times when you get lost though, that's when something exciting happens. A Gray Partridge walked across the road, lifer for Dom. An Omen.

Scouring the vast plains at dawn

Then we found a vast field, patched with long grass, the odd sage. This was it, the habitat we'd been looking for. We split up and scoured the fields. Then Dom frantically waved at me from a great distance. I sprinted. Then, panting, I heard the sweet melodious sound of Lord Baird. It trickled into mine ears like a sweet, clear brook, an audible nectar. My heart sang as well.

The field where I made love to Baird's Sparrow for the first time

We staked it for several minutes, then he presented all his nondescript, streaked glory through our lenses, prisms, eyes, then into our brains where it was ingrained forever.

A Baird's Sparrow belting out a sweet song of love

We fell to the grass, exalted.

BUT WAIT! When we viewed him through the scope, we spied a detail that can't be seen in the Sibley Guide illustration, a hidden and precious gem of nature, more valuable than any oil or gas or beef. A subtle but immensely beautiful detail of nature that nearly every Albertan will never, ever get to see or appreciate: the gold-infused crown of the Baird's Sparrow.