The Book: let's begin writing it right here

It occurs to me that I can start writing my book right now, right here on the blog. When Brenda and I retired two years ago from Bow Narrows Camp after 26 years as owner-operators and a 56-year history at the camp, many of our friends implored me to write about that experience. I joked that a good title might be Wilderness Plumber, considering how much time I had spent at that trade over those years. I realize, however, that folks might like using the plumbing but really don't want to hear much about it. So I probably will call the book something else, eventually. Right now I'll just refer to it as The Book.
Here's a bit of a bio about my writing resume: I graduated from the University of Wisconsin-River Falls in 1979 with a double major in biology and journalism. I then spent about 10 years at the  Chronicle-Journal, a daily newspaper in Thunder Bay, Ont., where I worked as a reporter, photographer, outdoor columnist, editorial writer, editorial page editor, wire editor, city editor, weekend editor and managing editor. I also worked for four years for a forest products company in Thunder Bay in the public relations department where I wrote the company's employee monthly newspaper as well as press releases and advertisements. In addition I was the company photographer.
Brenda and I returned to the camp in 1992 and soon afterward I started the Bow Narrows Camp Blog. By the time I quit writing the blog in 2017 it had over a million views.
I like writing. In addition to the stuff above I have written a couple of dozen songs and poems. I think my writing bent comes from my beginnings. When I moved to Red Lake in 1960 with my mother and father at the age of 7 we did not have television. It barely existed in the town and was only available for a few who could afford such luxuries. That definitely didn't include us. During the summers at camp we didn't even have electricity for many years and in the winters we stayed at another camp in Red Lake that did have power but no running water. Needless to say I did a lot of reading. During the long winter nights I read absolutely every book I could find. By the time I was 10 I had read almost all of Ernest Thompson Seton, Mark Twain, Zane Grey, Jack London and Ernest Hemingway's works.  I read romance novels, spy thrillers and murder mysteries. One time I even read the complete Instrument Flight Manual for pilots. I'm sure I could have passed the test if anyone would have given it to a 12-year-old.
With all that writing and reading experience under my belt I have a strong hunch that despite some great plumbing stories from camp to relate I should begin my book with something more exciting, for instance, how it almost never came to be.

Chapter One 

Holy smokes that was close!

In an instant I knew I was about to be charged.

The animal was staring directly at me and had its ears pulled back so far it was like it had no ears at all. Every creature I’ve seen attack has first slicked-back its ears -- sheep, deer, dogs -- but this was none of those. This was a black bear and it was really close, maybe five yards away.

They say your whole life flashes through your mind when you are facing your death. That didn’t happen exactly but what did flash through me were all the mistakes I had made that led to this predicament.

The year was 1996 and I was placing out bear baits for the fall hunt at various locations near our remote fishing-hunting camp on Red Lake in Northwestern Ontario. My first mistake had been in picking this particular spot.  A week earlier I had walked up an old gold mining road to where I had found a game trail. I was probably half a mile away from the lake -- so far back in the bush that a bear could not have heard my outboard motor when I drove up.

Mistake No. 2 had been in following the game trail until it led to a “clearing” where I had tied a plastic pail containing fruit, meats and sweets about four feet up in a jack pine. The “clearing” was actually covered in waist-high bushes and ferns. Because of them I couldn’t see if there was a bear at the pail from a distance and, more importantly, it couldn’t see me coming.

My third mistake had been not making noise as I approached.  Despite the isolated location I would have been fine had I only whistled or sang or tied a can with some pebbles in it to my belt – anything.

Now here I was walking through the tall ferns when a bear suddenly reared up on its hind legs right in front of me.  And if that wasn’t bad enough, a split-second later, two tiny cubs climbed a tree right beside her.  

It had been such a sweet afternoon too. I had left camp about 2 p.m. with my 16-foot Lund boat full of bait pails. It was late August and the temperature was very pleasant, probably 15 C or about 65 F. The sky was clear and the wind was light – perfect for running around the shoreline of expansive Pipestone Bay with a small boat.

As always, I was unarmed. The only firearm I could have carried legally would have been a long gun and that would have just gotten in the way when carrying the pails. Also, I just never felt like I needed protection. Oh, I saw bears alright. In fact, at some of the bait stations I saw them every time I was there. Basically they were waiting for me. They knew I was bringing food for them and that was one reason I had nothing to fear. If they scared me they weren’t going to get fed. They seemed to realize this and would, politely, stay back in the shadows. If I looked long enough into the trees I would eventually spot their beige noses and beady eyes. I usually spoke to them in a friendly voice.

“Hey there, Mr. Bear. You’re going to like what I brought today. I’m leaving you a whole pail full of apples and plums. Can you believe it? See you again in a few days.”

They never moved until I started up the outboard and was driving away. As I looked back I would sometimes see the dark shapes step out of the trees.

I had been around bears all my life: dump bears and camp bears, mostly, but also bears you just encountered while crossing portages or out for hikes. I had also helped bait bears with my dad when I was just a kid back when there was still spring bear hunting. I was totally at ease around them. When you are feeding them they just want the food and when you are traveling though the bush they will avoid you as long as they know you are coming.

But this was something new. True, I was bringing food but I had done so in a totally stupid way. I had seemingly snuck up in silence on a mother with cubs, a creature whose motherly instinct to protect her young ones has been well-documented.

And silent it was. I remember trying to identify the calls of unseen songbirds as I walked along the game trail. “I think that might be a red-eyed vireo,” I was saying to myself, scanning the tree tops when, POP, the bear rose up out of the ferns, nearly at my feet. She was silent too. The only sound came from the cubs’ claws on the loose bark of the pine tree.

Looking back, I believe it was the fast action of the cubs that saved me. Years before I had been in a couple of situations while out walking where I had encountered mothers with cubs and as long as the cubs were safely up a tree the sows had been cool and had run off.

One time, in fact, I just came across a cub up a tree.  I looked around carefully for the mother but didn’t see her and figured she had heard me coming and fled. So I took out my camera and tried to get a shot of the cub. The problem was it was evening. The meter in my 35 mm indicated I didn’t have enough light for the shot so I moved right to the base of the tree and tried to silhouette the cub clinging to the big poplar about 30 feet up.

It was then I heard a little sound and looked down to see the mother standing on all fours about 30 feet away. She wasn’t acting aggressive but was just standing in a spot where a few seconds earlier there had been nothing. At the same time the cub decided it wanted to go back to mom and just let go of its grasp on the straight trunk. It basically fell down the tree and actually brushed the camera in my hands. It then ran to its mom and the two of them beat it into the bush. Although I never felt threatened I made a mental note to stay away from a tree with a cub up it.

The difference then was the bears had heard me coming. The cub went up a tree and the mom hid in the bush. This time I had surprised the mom and her babies and we were all just steps apart. I understood that difference in a blink, what my mistakes had been, how the sow would feel and why at such close quarters her instinct would be to charge.

I had been walking forward at a slow pace with a bait pail in each hand and despite the sudden shock of her appearance I instantly started backpedalling with the same motion and speed.  I also started talking to her in what I hoped was a calm, soothing voice, kind of like talking to a baby that you are rocking in a chair.  I said something like this:

“Oh, I didn’t know you were here. Sorry about that, mama. No problem. I’ll just come back another time. You’re fine. Nothing to worry about. I’ll just leave a pail right here on the trail and you can get it later. You’re fine. You’re fine.”

Nobody make any sudden moves, I thought, and slowly kept putting distance between us, nothing threatening about my actions, just getting farther away every second.

I knew that the worst thing would be to run. A human cannot outrun a bear and my running would just trigger the bear’s chase impulse.

I put one pail on the path in the faint hope its alluring smells might distract her. I kept the other because it amounted to my only weapon. I couldn’t hurt the bear with it, of course, but if it came to a standoff, maybe I could fling tasty things around and get her to go after them and buy some time.

After a dozen backward steps I turned calmly around, so I didn’t trip over any fallen trees, kept my walking motion the same and also repeated my little message over and over, “You’re fine. You’re fine.” As I walked away I kept my head turned to see if she was coming. She hadn’t moved a muscle. Finally, at 50 yards, I lost sight of her but kept up my singsong and slow retreat.  I eventually hit the old road and it was then I broke out in a cold sweat and started to shake.

Whoa! That had been intense.

 

 

Survival of the fittest on the 'Red" Planet

It's a cloudless day but the sky is dark with smoke

There have been about 500 forest fires so far this summer in Northern Ontario and a similar number are burning in British Columbia. That's about twice as many as normal. Today's temperature in much of Northwestern Ontario was 32 C or 90 F. The atmosphere is so full of smoke you can look directly at the sun. It just looks red. In June, 50 people died from the heat in Quebec which just happens to be the only province that keeps a close watch on that statistic. People are dying from the heat in Canada! What does that tell us about the state of the world?
It makes me wonder what is going to survive as we turn the planet into a barbecue. The cold climate species are toast, that's for sure.
Insects are supposed to be the big winners, especially mosquitoes.
When it comes to mammals, I would bet the whitetail deer will find a way to survive. Right now they have found a way to adapt to just about every climate. I have seen them on some of Canada's tallest mountains, in the arid Prairies and of course, here in the Boreal Forest.
A maxim that humans get wrong every day is "survival of the fittest." People immediately interpret that to mean "survival of the strongest" and that is definitely not the case. Whitetails are tough animals, that's for sure, but they certainly aren't stronger than moose which are disappearing, seemingly from the heat.

Two young whitetail bucks among the cedars here at our home

Can you spot the Boreal Forest?

Our recently mowed field

Scene along the ridge behind our home

Which of the two photos above is of the Boreal Forest? I'll bet everyone would pick the second showing mature cedars and balsam fir. I would argue that both photos are of the Boreal Forest.
The shot of the field is just what the Boreal Forest looks like after a disturbance. In this case I disturbed the vegetation by mowing it with a tractor. The species that are growing there are all natural. Nothing has been planted.
The field was quite beautiful with its native grasses and sedges along with wildflowers such as Ox Eye Daisy, Vetch, Buttercup, Purple Clover, Goldenrod, Yarrow, even a few Wood Lilies. All of these flowers were being visited by bumblebees and butterflies. It might seem a shame to mow them down but the truth is that if I didn't cut the field, all these flowers would disappear in just a few years. That's because the next successional stage would take over: shrubs and shade-intolerant trees. In fact I have been mowing the field especially frequently these past two years since we retired because I am trying to kill off the emerging woody plants which had become well-established while we were running camp. For 26 years I would mow the field each fall but that wasn't frequent enough to stop the relentless growth of the trees.
Each fall the field would be full of Speckled Alders, Bebbs and Pussy Willows, Quaking Aspen, and Redosier Dogwood. They were already shading out the wildflowers. I would mow these shrubs in the fall and then they would sprout up again from the roots in the spring and would grow unabated until I returned the next fall. It was as if I was farming shrubs.
A farmer friend here in Nolalu told me I needed to mow the field three times a year for two years in a row to finally turn back the shrubs. This fall will be the end of the second year and I can see that the mowing has indeed made a difference. There are almost no willows now and far fewer alders although some keep popping up. Mostly the field has gone back to wildflowers and grass.
 It wasn't like this when we first moved to Nolalu over 30 years ago. The whole township back then could best be described as plowed fields that had recently gone fallow. I had expected that the forest surrounding these fields would slowly encroach from the sides, that over time there would be the youngest trees in the center of the field with a graduation of larger trees toward the forest. That isn't what happened at all.
The fallow fields stayed pretty much the same for probably a decade and then suddenly trees started sprouting up everywhere at the same time.
The same farmer that would tell me later about how to get rid of the shrubs explained what was going on. The fungal mycelium that had been ripped apart by plowing had finally grown completely through the soil across the fields. The forest couldn't get started without the mycelium, he said. It was the first time I had heard of this symbiotic relationship.
There is a fascinating book that explains how this works: The Hidden Life of Trees by Peter Wohlleben. Trees use the mycelium network to communicate with each other and pass on nutrients and antibodies. You will never look at trees the same way after reading this book.
Anyway, the mycelium has been in place for 20 years now and if I didn't mow the field the trees would totally take over in just a few years. I only need to look at other fields that have not been mowed over that time. The trees there are 30-40 feet high.
A similar "natural" field-making process occurs from beavers. These big rodents will flood a forest with their dams, killing all the trees. When the food source is gone the beavers move on. The dead trees will fall down alongside those cut by the beavers. The dam eventually gives way and the water will recede creating a meadow. This clearing will remain until the mycelium is rebuilt. The stages of succession that follow will be exactly the same as happen in our field.
Forest fires, of course, also create forest openings that briefly allow wildflowers to flourish (especially fireweed) However, I don't believe the mycelium is disturbed by the fire at all. It is ready to support the new trees right away and the ash acts as fertilizer. The forest returns almost immediately.

Autumn version of a beautiful lily

The Bluebead Lily is striking even without its spring flower

A graceful citizen of the Boreal Forest that is beautiful from spring to snowfall is the Bluebead Lily, also known as Clintonia and Corn Flower.
It starts out in the spring with lovely yellow flowers, shown in the photo below. Those flowers then turn into glass-like blue beads over the summer. The flower, the berries and the elegant leaves with their parallel veins are a common sight just about everywhere you walk in the bush.

The yellow flowers stand head and shoulders above the first spring foliage

Climate change will cost us dearly

Ontario's new Conservative premier Doug Ford has scrapped all of Ontario's measures to fight climate change, from incentives to install solar panels and buy electric vehicles to the cap-and-trade system of carbon pricing. It's just too expensive, he says.
By too expensive, he means it will cost the biggest corporations who are the biggest polluters more unless they curb their emissions.
What this moron doesn't say and what the "base" that elected him into office doesn't seem to have the marbles to ask about is what is the cost of doing nothing? Well, here's what: life is going to become much, much more expensive for the average person, starting right now.
Your home and vehicles are going to get ruined routinely. How many times do you make an insurance claim for a hail-pounded roof or for a flooded or tornado-flattened house before the insurance company raises your rates? In fact, the time is quickly approaching when companies will simply refuse to cover you. Can you afford to replace your entire home through your savings every few years? Mega-millionaire Doug Ford can.
Rainfalls of Biblical proportions are already happening and they are going to get worse. Who pays to fix the washed out roads, bridges and highways? Charles Koch and his smug network of dark money billionaires? No, you do, the average guy. It is going to cost so much that we will likely abandon some roadways for good.
What is going to happen to food prices when entire crops are wiped out, over and over? Does Trumpsky care?
People, wake up! Get these idiots out of office.

Beautiful and mysterious mushrooms

This Russala mushroom (possibly) is the size of my hat

There is the smell of fall in the air now even though every once in awhile we still get a hot day. Fall means mushrooms and I wish I was better at identifying them. Even with three mushroom books at hand I still wouldn't swear any of my guesses are correct. And that means I don't try eating them. I don't want my epitaph to read, "This idiot ate a toadstool."

I really need an actual expert

Looks like a Chanterelle. If so it is said to be delicious

Another Russala, I think. Spore print is below

The 36 per cent that is such a bummer

Pastoral scenes like this of our field in Nolalu today will become fewer

So here it is; the thing that has depressed me to the point I quit writing the blog for more than a month. I will start out with an analogy.
We all know someone who has or still is battling cancer. It's a scary proposition. In fact, most people are frightened out of their wits to begin with. But then some facts start resonating and reassuring: there is an army of scientists out there, right around the globe, all determined to find ways to treat and beat this awful disease. And they have made great discoveries and have come up with new drugs and procedures that are letting people get on with their lives.
This is a wonderful story and we all look forward to the day when cancer can be beaten for good.
Every day that passes brings new scientific discoveries. We can rightfully claim that our civilization is making progress on the cancer front.
Now imagine how we would feel and the sheer destructiveness that would result if we elected a leader who claimed cancer was "fake news." There's no such thing as cancer, this jerk asserts.
And then he not only stops all cancer research but destroys all the studies and trials that have ever been conducted.
"Let's go back to the good old days," says the Blowhard. "Our grandparents and great-grandparents knew that all you need to do is eat an apple a day. They were far smarter than today's fake scientists with their fake science about fake cancer."
Here's the point: our planet's atmosphere has "cancer." The Earth is sick and is quickly getting sicker. Carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gasses are metastasizing. Like a smoker, we could have prevented the disease had we heeded our doctor's advice 20 or 30 years ago. But we didn't and now we're really sick and must rely on the latest cancer treatments. The situation is grim but if we start doing the right thing there is a chance we can make it. There is still a shred of hope, isn't there? Actually, such faith is probably misplaced when it comes to climate change. Just as progress starts to be made, the 36 per cent get control of the government and destroy everything.
What 36 per cent? I'm talking about Trump's base in the U.S. I'm talking about new Ontario Premier Doug Ford's base. I'm talking about former Conservative Prime Minister Stephen Harper's base, Alberta Premier Rachel Notley's base, Saskatchewan Premier Scott Moe's base.
They are the "base" of the world and polls show they consistently number about 36 per cent of the population. Hitler got into power with just 36 per cent of Germans behind him.
How can someone in a democracy get elected with less than 50 per cent of the population voting for him, or her? Easy, it happens every day as the above examples illustrate. For example there can be a third candidate that splits the vote between two progressive candidates. That is almost always the case in Canadian politics which has three main political parties. Or the "base" candidate resorts to dirty tricks and/or election tampering, with or without foreign interference. That route is incredibly easy now with half of the population getting all their news from Facebook, better called Fakebook.
Who are the base? Abraham Lincoln described them way back when he said, "You can fool some of the people all of the time..." Stop right there. That describes the base perfectly.
They only believe the things they want to believe, things that are convenient for them, that fit into their worldview when their world doesn't extend beyond their own street.
They are always there, everywhere you go, just waiting for a messiah to promise them all the riches in the world, with absolutely no responsibility for anything, if they vote him into office. It works every time and there is no reason to believe it will ever be any different. Such is the lot of democracy.
What can be done about climate change? Nothing, at least on the macro scale that is needed and which requires national and state/provincial government support. No matter what advances we make, eventually the base will destroy all the progress that has ever been made.
Individually we can make choices knowing that the weather is going to become ever-more vicious.
Move to higher ground to keep out of the floods from catastrophic rain events that are already commonplace. Make your roofs out of hail-proof materials. Prepare for the worst forest fires ever seen. Get ready for tornado after tornado. Anticipate that each summer will be hotter than the last. Figure out what you will do with the waves of refugees fleeing even harsher conditions.
And of course, keep using fossil fuels.

Taking a hiatus from posting

I don't plan on any posting for awhile now. I'm seriously bummed out and don't want to drag anybody else down.

Hummingbird moths on the increase

I think the first hummingbird moth I ever saw was just six or seven years ago. It was at camp, up at Red Lake. I then saw a couple every summer after that.
Now here in Nolalu I see at least one every time I mow the grass. They love dandelions but the one featured in the video, a Snowberry Clearwing or Hemaris deffinis, was feeding on a lilac bush.
These are also known as the Bumblebee Moth. Although they are moths they are only active in the day.
In the video you can clearly see the moth's wings beating but with the naked eye the wings are just a blur, like a hummingbird's.
Moths and butterflies both belong to the order Lepidoptera. Did you know that of the 12,400 species in this order in North America 93 per cent are moths!

Something missing in woods this spring

Only a couple days behind schedule, the Canada Mayflower

All the spring woodland flowers are coming out here in Nolalu. Although the temperature at the moment is quite cool (5 C in the morning) we just had a week of glorious warmth in the high 20s C (80s F).
In addition to the Canada Mayflower aka wild Lily of the Valley above, I have seen the Bunchberry, Wild Strawberry, Wood Violet, Fringed Polygala and Blue Bead Lily.
Flocks of Canada Geese are streaming overhead.
Ruby Throated Hummingbirds are buzzing between the lilac bushes and the nectar feeders.
Tree Swallows are nesting in two of our nesting boxes and Eastern Bluebirds in one of the others.
Whiskyjacks (aka Grey Jay and Canada Jay) have already fledged. Robins have hatched.
In other words the bush is alive with all sorts of creatures ... except one.
To date, I have not seen a single wood tick!
It would seem the frigid winter we just experienced was just too much for this arachnid. It's hard to accept but what other explanation could there be?
As you can imagine, no one is complaining!

Dark day for climate change action

I took this photo of Telegraph Cove, on Vancouver Island's northern tip, last week

Our federal Liberal government, under the leadership of Justin Trudeau, just sealed the fate of any meaningful action on climate change in this country. In a fit of pique over British Columbia's objection to a twinning of the Trans Mountain Pipeline from Alberta's tarsands to the B.C. coast the Liberals announced it will buy the pipeline from Texas oil giant Kinder Morgan and ram the project through.
This comes after Kinder Morgan issued an ultimatum that it would pull out of the project before B.C. could resolve the issue in court about whether it has the right to prevent the pipeline expansion.
The action by Trudeau basically says "Damn the torpedoes; it's full steam ahead."
And then they made each and every Canadian a shareholder by buying the existing pipeline for $4.5 billion and planning to spend at least another $7.4 billion of taxpayer money on the new project.
What a gut punch.
When completed the pipeline will see a tripling of the amount of diluted bitumen shipped out of Vancouver to refineries overseas. British Columbia fears the increased tanker traffic will inevitably lead to an oil spill that will devastate its one-of-a-kind marine environment.
We just returned from a month-long trip to B.C. Life there revolves around the incredible beauty and bountiful island archipelago of its coast. This is the salmon capital of the world. A major industry is whale and orca tours. There are ferries everywhere linking the many islands.
It is sickening to think of what an oil spill will do to this lush and wonderful region. And make no mistake, eventually there will be one. If anything can go wrong, it will, given enough time.
The tarsands oil (Alberta wants us to call it oilsands) is the world's most-polluting form of petroleum. It produces far more greenhouse gas than any other type of oil production.
We all hoped Trudeau's government, called the only current left-leaning government in the world by former British Prime Minister Tony Blair, would curtail the tarsands extraction and put its workers to work on green energy production.
Instead it has done exactly the opposite.