cktimes.ca Archives for Ecowrappin'
Ecowrappin'
THE THINGS YOU SEE
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Among the multitude of graphics that have been screened onto a multitude of T-shirts, there is one that shows a rather comical caricature of a large bull moose running past a rather comical caricature of a hunter standing in the background, partially shielded by a tree while answering a call of nature. The caption? The things you see when you don't have a gun in your hand! During the untold hours I have spent in the outdoors I have seen a few remarkable activities in the world of nature. Many of these are of a regular, maybe of nearly everyday occurrence, in the lives of birds and animals. But when I saw these natural dramas with my own eyes, I considered myself fortunate to have been in the right place at the right time.Many of the more extraordinary things I've witnessed in the natural world occurred when I did have a gun in my hand. Why might this be so? Only the duck, goose, deer or turkey hunter is out early enough, on enough occasions, to have the chance of seeing, or hearing, many things that the typical human being will never partake of. For example, only the early morning duck hunter will see the late fall moon reflected in the backwaters of a marsh. Only the early morning goose hunter will see skeins of geese silhouetted against the same moon. Only the deer hunter who is highly skilled at still hunting; the practiced art of moving very, very slowly and noiselessly through the woods, is likely to see some of the things that the vast majority of humanity will never see. A few of the things I've seen, with a gun in my hand, come to mind.
Many years ago I was hunting wild pigs on privately owned Hay Island in Georgian Bay in late December. There was about six inches of new snow on the ground, the first snow of the year. I was still hunting along the heights of the east side of the island when a doe and her two grown fawns suddenly appeared, coming at me from the opposite direction. As they milled about, the fawns, being typical youngsters who have had their mother looking out for them since birth, were a little careless in taking note of their surroundings. The doe on the other hand, was ever cautious, quickly spying my motionless, unfamiliar form against the background of the woods. The breeze was in my favour, robbing her of the use of her greatest asset, her wonderful nose. But her eyes, the poorest of her three primary senses, told her that something was amiss among the woodland scenery. While the doe watched me over several minutes with uninterrupted concentration, the fawns, on several occasions, stood up on their hind legs facing each other and in a fashion boxed with each other. The sharp cracking sound made by their hooves as they flailed away echoed through the woods. I had never seen, or heard, anything like this before, or since.
During early December deer hunts here in Simcoe County just a few years ago I saw a couple things I don't expect to see again. The first was a shrike, a predatory bird about the size of a large blue jay, trying to catch a tufted titmouse, just about one of the smallest forest birds there is. I watched for nearly half an hour as the shrike and the titmouse played a cat-and-mouse game in a large maple tree. The titmouse always seemed to know where the shrike was, no matter what sneaky move the shrike tried to make. The shrike finally gave up and flew away, but probably only a short distance to where it could perch and watch for the titmouse to exit the tree. Then, I expect, the chase would be on again.
The second thing I saw during one of these early December deer hunts still amazes me to this day. A very light covering, a trace really, of snow indicated some small but strange looking tracks, the likes of which I had not seen before. These tracks were in the snow on newly frozen puddles. Closely following the tracks for a few yards I came across two small frogs. They were partially frozen and appeared completely lifeless. I put them in my shirt pocket with the intention of showing them to my hunting companions, as proof that I was not hallucinating from the cold when I told them of finding frogs that had been out and about in December. About an hour later I noticed some movement in my shirt pocket. My body heat had brought one of the frogs back to life. It seemed quite normal. I found a deep pond, broke the ice, and put the frog into the open water. That frog, quite lifeless a short while before, energetically swam down into the depths of the pond. And the other frog? Though it thawed out and showed some brief signs of life it did not come back to the seemingly normal state of its companion. I guess it had gotten a little too much of the cold. So I still had some evidence of December frogs to show my companions.
From the time I was eight years old until I reached my early forties, we always had a beagle on the farm. The Bruce Peninsula was rich with cedar ridges and swamps and with balsam thickets; and equally rich with varying hares. We spent many a winter day in pursuit of the swamp ghost. Rather, we spent a lot of time trying to outmanoeuvre those snowshoe rabbits as they made their wide circles and figure eights while under pursuit by one or more happily baying beagles. If you have never heard such hound music, well, you haven't heard music. I don't know how far I have snow-shoed while hunting varying hares---or the wily red fox---with a beagle, but it would be in the hundreds, maybe thousands, of miles! Many winters we almost lived on snowshoes!
The only Boreal Owl and the only Hawk Owl I have ever seen was while out on one of these jaunts. My most memorable experiences with the Northern Goshawk occurred while on rabbit hunts. One ripped in over my head at the edge of a cedar swamp. The feathered bullet whooshed through the air like a small jet. It made a ninety-degree turn right over my head and rocketed straight up, with wings tight against its body, into a tall elm. It looked about the size of a robin sitting way up there.
Another time several of us, including a close friend and his wife, were listening to the hound music in another cedar enclave. We had shot half a dozen rabbits during the course of the day and had draped them over the branches of small trees along a trail. Later in the afternoon our female companion reported that a large hawk had taken one of the rabbits out of the tree and had opened it up. She had interrupted the meal and had hung the rabbit back up after the bird flew off. As I was picking up the rabbits at the end of the day I came across the Goshawk again. It had taken the same rabbit out of the tree and had partially eaten it. I gave what was left of that rabbit to the hawk. After all, fellow hunters should always share their kill.
More recent experiences with Goshawks have occurred in each of the last two years, in the same section of County Forest, while I was turkey hunting. Last year I heard the piercing and repeated calls the first time I went into this particular woodlot. The second time there I heard the same calls coming from the same area again. Only this time the caller came through the pines flying right over my head and settling down a short distance away. I could hear another bird calling back in the direction from where this one had come. Both were quite unhappy with my intrusion into their domain. I expect a nest was located where I had first heard them. I didnít bother going to look for it. I value my scalp a little more highly than that. This year I heard the same calls emanating from the same place. I expect it was the same pair of Goshawks at the same nest.
Yes, I have seen what I consider some of the wonders of nature while out among nature with a gun in my hand; things I'm sure I wouldn't have seen otherwise. Of course I've seen some amazing things when I didn't have a gun; or when I had a fishing rod. Next month, I will tell of a few more amazing sights, with or without rod and gun.
I was born on the Bruce Peninsula on July 20, 1951 and raised on a farm just south of the village of Lionís Head, which is located about halfway up the peninsula on the Georgian Bay shoreline. I graduated from Georgian College of Applied Arts and Technology in Barrie in 1973 as a Resources Engineering Technologist. I was hired by Ducks Unlimited Canada (DUC) in April of 1975 as the first DUC employee in Ontario. Throughout almost 29 years I was involved with the implementation of more than 500 wetland projects and project complexes in southwestern and south central Ontario. Some of these habitat projects included important waterfowl and migratory bird habitat along the eastern shoreline of Lake St. Clair. Just three weeks short of completing 29 years with DUC, I accepted an early retirement opportunity effective March 31, 2004.
