The Hazy Wilderness at Summer's End, Part 1

The Greater Vancouver area encompasses several cities, including New Westminster, which I previously wrote about (see part 1, 2, and 3). Another sister city, and one that is imprinted in my neuro-geographical history, is called Port Coquitlam. Nestled on the confluence of the Fraser and Pitt rivers, PoCo is about a forty minute drive east of Vancouver. As you drive there, the area becomes more rugged. Small mountains have been stripped clean and dense suburban neighbourhoods have sprouted. Downtown Poco is on level ground and hosts a population of nearly 58,000 residents. The city has retained some of the old charm of small town BC, but it has changed a lot since I lived there 15 or so years ago.

When I lived in PoCo, I used to go bike riding along the trails beside the Coquitlam river. It’s a magnificent strip of wilderness that follows the length of the river up to a small waterfall.

In summer, families, friends, and lovers gather along the river to frolic in the water. The brave ones jump on floaties, laughing and shouting with glee as they make their way down the gently but rapidly flowing waters.

It was the end of summer after a dry spell, common this time of year, forest fire season was well underway. The air was hazy with smoke, and the scent of burnt wood. Through the canopy, the afternoon sun was bloody red behind the smoke. All this was the result of some fires that had broken out in some nearby mountains.

Many leaves were brown- bone dry and brittle, some had already fallen on the ground, perhaps from heat stress, and the turning of the season that heralds the coming of Autumn.

The Coquitlam river is not particularly large in comparison to the Fraser and Pitt Rivers. Especially without rain. The waters were low and just perfect for swimming. The river can get plenty big when the rains come. It has a sensitive ecosystem. Salmon swim up from the ocean and spawn here. I had the pleasure of seeing the spectacle once. One quiet morning, with mug of coffee in hand, I saw scores of salmons floating on the river. Their skins torn by the birds that pecked them from above. A messy feast. Some of the salmons had succumbed to their injuries and floated in a half-dead state while the seagulls pecked and pecked. Others had been dragged to the shore by animals. Yet, the fishes remained stubbornly in place, depositing the eggs that would spawn a new generation. It was a magnificent event, solemn, as if nature had just revealed one of her most intimate secrets.

I was standing in the middle of the river...

...when I felt a presence and instinctively looked up to spot a magnificent owl staring at me.

It then turned its head 45 degrees to its left

It's body remained steady.

I had always wondered why owls moved their heads in such a creepy way. Now it made sense. If you’re a bird of prey standing on a branch, still and quiet not to alert your potential meal, then it’s advantageous to make as little movement as possible. Barring a second pair of eyes on your back, one of the most effective ways to be stealthy is too swivel your head with several degrees of freedom without moving the rest of your body. Eyes wide and possibly sterescopic to receive detailed input from the scene under observation. Any change across your visual field can then be analyzed to determine if its prey or not. The owl is a hunting machine finely tuned for covert forest operations.

The owl focused on the shore like a laser. He made a small crouching movement with its head, stood still, then jumping off the branch it spread its wings and lunged towards the shore. It hit a tangle of branches on the riverbank. Then it hopped on a branch that had fallen across the water and looked around with its cunning gaze.

Please excuse the quality of the photos. The moments were quick. I barely had time to take the camera out of my short's pocket, which at that moment was submerged underwater. My camera is waterproof, so it was in no danger. I was more concerned about the current, which was strong enough to make me sway in the slippery rocks and definitely strong enough to carry the camera away should it fall. I had a walking stick to help me stabilize, so I carefully slid my free hand into the wrist strap and pulled out the camera. Unfortunately, the camera was in HDR mode, which means it takes and combines multiple pictures at once to create more realistic light and colors. A tripod is required because the results are better if the camera is absolutely still. So, you can imagine how standing in the middle of a strong current is not conducive to this HDR setting. Changing it to the auto setting would’ve been the sensible thing to do, but under the circumstances I had to be quick and not fiddle around with dials and buttons.

Having not succeeded in its attempt, the owl screeched then flew across the river, empty handed or empty-clawed as the case may be. It perched on a similar branch and began its watch once again. Soon enough, it jumped off the branch and dove to the shore where it sank its claws into a rodent. The animal struggled to no avail. The owl flew back onto its perch and pecked the rodent to death. Bits and pieces fell on the water and floated downstream.

Later, I conducted some research and identified the species as a barred owl. Typically a nocturnal species, it was surprising to see one hunting during the day. I noticed that it was not particularly afraid of me, though it was very much aware of my presence. I read that these owls are comfortable around humans. This one had a monk-like stoicism in its predatory demeanor. A treat to watch.

Resources

Port Coquitlam
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Port_Coquitlam

Owls of BC's Coast (PDF)
http://www.sccp.ca/sites/default/files/resources/documents/SCCP%20OWL%20ID%204pg%20Sept%2027.pdf

Images by @litguru

---

Twitter
Instagram
NFT Showroom Gallery