Birds can be funny. People too.

Unfortunately I didn't have my camera with me at breakfast in the coffee shop of the rather posh, 4 1/2 star, Sidney Pier Hotel the other morning when it opened at 6:30 am. I was enjoying my first sip of their quite delicious blend of coffee, when out of the corner of my eye I spied a furtive movement on the floor beneath an adjacent table. Surely not a mouse in such an up-scale establishment, I thought, but then suddenly, there it was again, another brief movement. But my mouse had feathers.

When I drew the attention of the rather pretty waitress to the little trespassing sparrow, she simply replied without looking up, that it was in here most mornings. No smile or expression of annoyance or happiness or amusement. A couple of other early morning customers came in, ordered and sat down peacefully, until they too noticed the sparrow, and since the wooden faced, pretty waitress still appeared completely uninterested, I let the others know that it was apparently a rather normal every day event.

A different sparrow, another time and a prettier setting.

Eventually the expressionless waitress came out from behind her counter, and the sparrow popped up onto the back of a chair. I remember noticing that it was rather expressionless too. Anyway the waitress walked over to the front door, opened it and locked it in that position before stepping outside and looking back at the bird through the window. It cocked its head to one side then the other, then looked down at the floor for a moment before deciding that it must be time to go, and left obligingly to resume its hunt for crumbs under the tables on the sidewalk.

And you guessed it. Not even the flicker of a smile or word of acknowledgement for her triumphant exhibition of bird training ability from the pretty young wooden faced waitress. But I smiled and made some comment about it being all in the days work... and the other customers, at least those who had noticed the performance, murmured or nodded in agreement, while the waitress closed the door and walked stoically back to her post behind the counter.

The Vultures

I remember visiting our hi-tech daughter and son in law in San Carlos a few years ago and marvelling at the bravado of their Abyssinian and Burmese house cats, Kato and Miranda. They all lived happily together, high up on a hillside above the city in an apartment condo, with a grand view stretching out across San Francisco Bay. Much to the consternation of the two felines, who spent a substantial portion of their day, lolling in the sun on the window ledge, staring inquisitively out through the living room window, from time to time a vulture would glide past on a thermal up-draft. The cats would immediately morph into attack mode, occasionally leaping onto the drapes in a futile attempt to reach their quarry. I suppose, being indoor creatures, they had little idea that distance affects size, and that perhaps a better tactic might have been to seek refuge under the closest settee.

A vulture glides gracefully by on the thermals.

Yesterday I was reminded of these large birds of prey (well actually they are better described as carrion eaters than hunters) while I was out with a couple of my flat earth society, coffee buddies, scrambling over some rather steep, rough, rocky trails on Notch Hill, trying to find a few gaps in the tree cover through which to take photographs which would permanently dispel the theory that the world is round. We three like to think of ourselves in terms of vintage or maturity rather than age, but the circling vultures, and we did see quite a few of them (although it might be a stretch to suggest that there were so many that they were blocking out the sunshine) appeared to be following our unsteady progress with a rather morbid interest.

Of course we did all make it safely home, after stopping to remark on some particularly large bear claw scars in the bark of an arbutus tree. Unfortunately, a close examination of the photographic record of our expedition failed to prove our flat earth theory... perhaps it was just that the atmosphere was a little too hazy or, that we should have chosen a higher mountain.

Could that be Kilimanjaro, K2 or even Everest on the horizon?

Good neighbour fences - 2

One of my favourite haunts is Rathtrevor park on the east coast of Vancouver Island, just south of Parksville. There are many reasons that I enjoy it there: The fresh ocean breeze, the sound of the wind in the trees, the abundant bird life, the friendly people and the endless photo opportunities.

You can recognize me quite easily. I'm the fellow with a camera and binocs hung around my neck, ambling along with the aid of a five foot long, telescoping, silver and black monopod. This latter prop attracts quite a few puzzled glances, and if I pause for a moment to admire a particular view, from time to time, passers-by also pause to ask me what on earth it is. Being a bit of a joker, I sometimes tell the curious that it is a telescoping fishing rod, but few are sufficiently gullible to believe that, and I generally wind up demonstrating the quick release head, camera attachment, and its 90 degree tilt mechanism.

Sometimes I'm tempted to jamb it into the spokes of some idiot racing by at breakneck speed on a fancy mountain bike, or to trip up some young jogger who makes me jealous that I am now much too old to do the same thing. It also comes in handy for keeping at a safe distance, the occasional off leash, unfriendly looking dog, which the park's signs clearly insist "must be on leash and under control at all times".

So far I have managed to resist all of these temptations, mainly of course, because of the risk of damaging the monopod, but also because of the fact that if push comes to shove, I'm quite certain I could not run fast enough, nor far enough, to make my escape.

 Rathtrevor's photogenic fences
Why the headline good neighbour fences? Well all along the trails throughout Rathtrevor Park there are these attractive low level, split cedar log, Cariboo style fences, many adorned with little signs beseeching the passers-by to stay off the revegitated areas. These are my idea of the ultimate good neighbour fence. Sufficiently unobtrusive to never impede a view, sufficiently obvious to clearly delineate your private territory, really attractive in a rustic sort of way, and eminently photogenic.

Oh, and let's not forget the environment, eh... completely biodegradable!
 

You should have been here yesterday!

 If only you could have been here yesterday. That is the the admonition so frequently given by one angler to another, when the fishing turns out to be not so great on that particular day. But, as anglers are also heard to state quite frequently, the sport would be called catching, not fishing, if you could expect go home with one for the fry-pan, every time out.


Nice fish

Tying flies, is often referred to as the art of the fly fisher, and matching the hatch is one of their sacred credos. This latter expression means that the expert should use flies that accurately imitate the genus, species, and life cycle stage, of the insect that their quarry is showing a taste preference for at that particular moment in time.

This in turn encourages many anglers of the fly fishing persuasion to become amateur entomologists, and consequently to become very involved in the study of nature. This apparently entitles at least a few of these fly-boys and fly-girls to assume an air of superiority over the participants in all other forms of the sport. Indeed they frequently refer to the others as bait chuckers, and occasionally use even less attractive epithets, with the addition of a few choice four letter prefixes and or suffixes.

May fly

Of course, I am not one of these hoity toity individuals, believing rather that if you don't have the skill to cast a number 16 midge (that is a very small size), on a 2 pound breaking strain leader (that is very thin) into a head wind, and to drop the fly temptingly, without the slightest splash or even a ripple, with great precision, right beneath a low overhanging tree branch, and precisely in front of a poor unsuspecting trout's nose... then you simply should not be entitled to purchase a fishing licence.

There you are, you blankity blank bait chuckers, now you really know how we superior beings feel. It's actually a bit like the sail-boaters vs. the power-boaters who refer to each other as wind-baggers and stink-potters, as one sort gets in the way of the other out on the water.

Oh yes, we anglers of different preferences, undoubtedly do get in each others' space on the streams and in the lakes... and even afterwards in that other, more comfortable, type of watering hole.

Tight lines everyone!

Life is a journey

The other day, because I could not remember the ending of the above quotation,I googled 'Life is a journey quotes'. Amazingly, that query returned 2,459,000 results in 0.12 seconds. Impossible you say! Then just try it for yourself.

Can you imagine having to browse through that lot to find the single one that fits the bill. Other expressions that immediately leapt to mind were: Too much information. Life is too short. How did Google do that. The information age.

But I digress. In any event I decided that it would be less troublesome to complete the quote in my own words, or perhaps those with which my memory is prompting me. Perhaps my name belongs up there with those who have already chosen to use their creative powers of thought and vocabulary to solve this particular meaning of life conundrum. You know names such as Socrates, Plato, Lao Tzu, Aristotle, Confucius, Gandhi, Galileo, Albert Einstein, Churchill etc. etc. No, perhaps my name does not belong in this group.

But there I go digressing again.

Assuredly, life is a journey to be enjoyed along the way, and we should cherish each special moment because it is unlikely ever to recur.

Perhaps one of the reasons that I enjoyed photography so greatly, is that this form visual art has the ability to freeze some of these special moments in time... enabling a return to them in memory, if not in fact.


All aboard?

Bang, you're dead.

One day last week we turned on the TV a few minutes before the noon news started. There on the screen was a magnificent male wild turkey with its tail feathers spread wide... as it calculated its chances of romance with a female of the species.

Suddenly there was a very loud bang and the proud male bird collapsed into a pile of trembling feathers. The camera shifted its focus to a beaming young lad with a large gun. He was being congratulated by his father on his first turkey kill.

Now I do enjoy eating turkey for Christmas, or Easter, or at any time for that matter. And I've got to admit to having used turkey quill feathers and those of various other birds like peacocks, as in the example on the right, in the process of tying trout flies with which to capture that sometimes illusive prey for fish dinner. But right before lunch, at a time when many young children might be watching the notorious one eyed monster, could it really be appropriate to go: bang, your dead?

I do enjoy photographing birds, and often times spend hours at a stretch, patiently waiting beside streams or in meadows waiting for them to pose appropriately in front of the camera. Sometimes I just sit quietly watching their antics, or identifying a species with the aid of binoculars and a bird book, if a new one has appeared or one whose name I have forgotten.

I've never personally shot anything larger than a rabbit, and where I come from, these are considered to be pests by farmers and gardeners alike. And I am certainly not a vegetarian or vegan, and absolutely not a subscriber to that PETA cult. Neither do I oppose the seal hunt because I believe there are far too many of them out there in the ocean devouring the fish that I enjoy catching.

I suppose its a matter of each to his own... in this dog eat dog world.

Spiders can be dangerous you know.

I'm not talking about the hundreds of poisonous species that appear to thrive in Australia, or the tarantulas of America or even the black widows we occasionally find hiding in dark corners in our country. Nor am I referring to the one in the nursery tale that frightened Miss Muffet away. My one was more like the eentsy weenstsy spider from the water spout fable.

Yes, the spider in my story was so small that it was almost invisible without the aid of a large magnifying glass, and it was hanging from a web that was so fine as to be even less visible. But this minuscule creature had the audacity or temerity to suspend itself from the roof of my car just in front of the nose of my dear, but seriously arachnophobic wife, just as she ensconced herself comfortably in the passenger seat beside me.

The reaction was instantaneous. Indeed it was akin to an explosion. I didn't have a snowball's chance in the hot place of avoiding it. Wham, biff, bang, right on the side of the head came a flying purse. A large purse, loaded as usual with everything but the kitchen sink.

Although momentarily stunned, I wasn't knocked unconscious, but I did suffer from whiplash for several weeks thereafter.

And the moral of this story is that flying purses can be even more dangerous than dangling spiders.

The Eagle and its pet rock

Was this young bald eagle pretending that this little rock was a fish, or or was it just playing king of the castle?

Who knows?  Anyway it gave me and my camera ample time to record its high jinks. In fact I was able watch from about 30 feet away for a full 5 minutes, before it decided to amble away looking for better game (pun intended) on an adjacent sandbar.

There are quite a few eagles to be seen at Rathtrevor Beach near Parksville on Vancouver Island at this time of year. They congregate here to prey on the flocks of Brant Geese which have stopped to fatten up on the herring roe as they migrate between Southern Mexico and Northern Alaska.

Photography Takes Over from Fishing

You might say my age has overtaken my hobbies.

I was (and still am at heart) an avid fly fisher, but deteriorating parts (back, shoulder, feet, etc.) have necessitated change. So rather than getting soaked, or worse, by falling into a lake, river or the ocean I've traded in my fishing gear for a camera.

I made the change quite gradually, not cold turkey like giving up cigarettes, but it was almost as difficult to break this addiction as it was more than half a century ago to quit the nicotine habit. I must admit, though, I have retained a few my favourite rods, reels and other necessities of the gentle sport of fly fishing, just in case I have a relapse.

Among the many reasons I was always so keen on angling were: enjoyment of nature and the great outdoors. Much of this naturally continues via the new hobby because my favourite photographic subjects: water and mountain views, birds and other wildlife, oftentimes lead me back to the banks of a river or the beach where the views are open, and furry or feathered critters are likely to congregate, and to be visible.

A crimson sunrise over the Oyster Riverestuary

Flying Fish

Photographing jumping fish requires enormous patience in addition to great reflexes.

Just imagine standing on a river bank with the camera poised and your trigger finger cocked... waiting for one of these agile acrobats to pop into view for the time necessary to locate it in the viewfinder and freeze the action.

Despite the odds, I have quite a collection of these "flying fish" photos, but since this is my first ever blog I will only post one today. It's a magnificent buck coho, probably weighing in at about 10 pounds, just jumping for joy because it has successfully navigated all the hazards in the Pacific ocean while finding its way home to its natal river, the Oyster on Vancouver Island.

I used to enjoy catching (and eating) these great fighting fish but, now I satisfy myself with recording them  in mid flight with my Panasonic FZ35. Anyone who believes that angling requires too much patience  should attempt this soul torturing past time to see what being patient really means.

Stay tuned for more flying fish.