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November 02, 2006  The Best Game You Can Name Sunday mornings don’t usually start with me drinking a cup of really good coffee while watching 10 guys try to injure each other but, thanks to the arena concession stand, things have changed. Sunday morning coffee options are somewhat limited because one of my two favourite spots is closed all day and the other does not open until 10 AM. But the arena concession stand is run by the same people who run the 10 AM opening coffee shop, so I headed down the Sunday morning main highway with unusual conviction. The morning is bleak, reminiscent of a day in the high arctic. There wasn’t a lot of snow but what there was blew across the gray frozen asphalt lanes like white sidewinder snakes. Copious amounts of rain fell during the night which later turned to snow and resulted in patches of ice on the road. I turned from the main highway and swung left along the still open marsh where steely, gray waters lapped at the black shapes of ducks. I stepped from my vehicle and made for the arena entrance while a steady west wind tugged and pushed at my clothes. In the cavernous foyer of the arena I ordered a familiar dark roast coffee and turned toward the ice surface just as a fracas broke out. Every player on the ice, save for the goalies, merged into one giant organism with flailing sticks, arms, and steel tipped feet. Muffled whistles rent the air, somewhat silenced by thick glass. The referee and linesmen plunged into the mob. I turned blithely away and found it comforting to know that if this brawl was happening on the street, my nonchalance might have passed for a socially aberrant behaviour. But this was the best game you could name and it was all in the spirit of sportsmanship. Seating in the arena foyer is different than a restaurant. People come here to play and watch hockey, not loll in excessive comfort. Here there are gargantuan log picnic tables that often act as locker room extensions. Benches are replete with coats, boots and assorted hockey paraphernalia. I’m not complaining - this felt like home. I sat at one of the giant tables and turned my back to the hockey action the better to gaze out the huge windows at the winter scene in front of me. I love huge windows with my coffee! A flock of Bohemian Waxwings (some just arrived in town about 3 weeks ago) flew eastward over the airport runway. I also caught sight of about 40 Canada Geese struggling southward in the gray sky. Todays’ weather would certainly have many on the move. This was great! I was birding in luxury. After my coffee I felt inspired to brave the elements and once again stepped into the parking lot. I walked southward between the curling rink and the arena where the canyon created by both buildings temporarily stopped the wind. Far ahead, at the back end of the riding arena, a bird scurried into cover. When I reached the spot it was nowhere to be seen but I suspected it was a hardy, or foolhardy, Song Sparrow attempting to tough it out near the marsh. I walked up a slight incline to the rodeo grounds and startled a pale, sparrow-sized bird which lilted over the frozen grass and snow, executed an arc in the air, and then came back to ground not far from where I stood. It was a Snow Bunting and this open ground was typical of the habitat they like. The bunting sat fairly motionless on the ground and allowed me to study its plumage for some time through binoculars, a feat I rarely get the opportunity to do. There was much white about it, and it was also delicately marked with a huffy chest band, cheek patches, and darker wings. When it scampered over the ground its colouration reminded me of a small sandpiper with short legs. I moved off to let the Bunting go about the business of feeding on weed seeds. (In this past week, that one bird has grown to a flock of 11.) Continuing my walk I swung back toward the marsh. Gadwall, Scaup and Canvasbacks rode the dark waves on the east side of open water. A female Ruddy Duck and a Coot disturbed by my presence, left the cover of the cattails. I wanted out of the wind so I dove for cover in the willows and spruce on the south side of the marsh, and continued my walk along the path. All was rather quiet except for the strident call of a Brown Creeper. I reached the part of the trail I call the seepage area and was surprised to hear the scolding call of a Wren, but despite my best calling efforts the Wren remained hidden. I had no choice but to count it only as a Wren. I guessed that it was a Winter Wren, rather than a Marsh Wren, given the dense cover of tall willows and spruce trees. The rest of the walk was rather uneventful as far as birds go, except for a female or first year male Red-winged Blackbird that seemed oddly alone and out of place in the tops of the soon-to-be felled poplar stand near the highway. I call this the ‘under-siege’ area of the marsh walk, because highway construction, widening and a water settlement system will, in coming months, modify this part of the trail. The toughest part of the walk is the open stretch from the highway back to the arena parking lot where there is no cover to lessen the blowing wind. I forgot about birding and just walked quickly trying to keep warm. Ribbons of driven snow raced across my ankles and from the ragged gray sky the calls of flying Geese reached my ear-muffed ears. A few Ravens flew past keeping low to the ground. Back in the van I admitted to myself that despite the rather bleak weather, I enjoyed the walk. It was engaging and enlivening to be out with the wild things, tasting only a small portion of the challenges they face as winter once again grips the land. I also dwelled on the irony of humans who make artificial winter inside so they can play games, while outside real winter makes mere survival a sport with life and death consequences. To e-mail Tom CLICK HERE To look at previous column CLICK HERE |
